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porcelainseashore · 14 days

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Into the Ether (7)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 7: More Than Human

During the time you stayed at his place, Leon let you have the bed while he took the couch. You tried not to feel guilty as he draped one of his extra bed sheets over it, fluffing the cushions up like pillows. And you tried not to feel the same guilt again, when you glanced over at the broken bedpost that you’d damaged in a fit of anger not long ago.

With a remote control, he closed the blackout shutters over every window in the apartment. They locked themselves with a click, ensuring that all outside light would be blocked out. A large duffel bag sat by the side of the room. Earlier, you’d packed a bunch of your stuff and transferred them over to your temporary residence. You didn’t know when you’d be able to return home again. Perhaps when the case that you’d been unwittingly assigned to was over and you had the chance to invest in some thick blinds.

You kept the usual hygiene routines you’d practiced before, wanting to retain any sense of normalcy you could from the time you had been human. Leon appeared to do the same. You felt like a weird couple, brushing your teeth together as your deadened gazes stared straight into the bathroom mirror. What was the point of pretending to be something you weren’t? You spat out the foamy toothpaste, traces of reddish-pink swirled along its surface. At least you could still bleed.

“Sleep well,” he murmured, fingers grazing your wrist as you passed by his couch. Then, he was out like a light.

You watched as he entered into a comatose type of daysleep; no breathing and no heartbeat to be found. He lay like a corpse, dead to the world — exposed, vulnerable and defenseless. Only vitae could reanimate him now.

You were glad that you couldn’t dream in this state. After what you had experienced, there would be no shortage of night terrors. Leon had mentioned about other Kindred who could hear whispers from the Abyss or the Beast in their sleep, but so far you hadn’t had to worry about that. In fact, going to sleep felt like dying all over again and for a moment you panicked, thinking you were suffocating on a bed you were unaccustomed to. But soon, you drifted off into nothingness, and your brain shut down until it was time for you to rouse the blood again.

It was an hour before sunset when you woke up, gulping in air as if you had drowned and resurfaced. Maybe it would take a couple more tries before you’d become more familiar with the feeling. You peered down from the upper level of the loft, spotting that Leon was still out cold. Funny how you were the early bird for once.

Filling a glass with the tangy, dark red liquid from his supply in the fridge, you drank it imagining it was beetroot juice. It was easier to stomach it this way. Your colleagues were expecting you at the cafe this evening, and you decided to get yourself ready to head off, paying close attention to the way you styled your hair, your makeup and even your clothes. You weren’t sure if they would be able to sense if anything was ‘off’ about you.

Leon hadn’t instructed you to do anything tonight, but it still felt as though you were a grounded kid sneaking out on a sleeping parent as you left the apartment building for a place you’d always regarded as your second home. Perhaps it would be nice to pay a visit to something you were familiar with in your previous life.

“Whoa… hey! If it isn’t the girl who came back from the dead!” Patrick called out the moment you stepped into the establishment.

You nearly choked on your saliva, and he must’ve noticed the look of absolute horror on your face, as he peppered it with, “I mean, your phone was dead, and, uh, we thought you got kidnapped or something,” while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Bursting into laughter from the unnecessary tension you had been holding in, you pulled him into a tight, almost desperate hug, like you’d never been happier to see him. He seemed flustered by your sudden display of affection, but returned the embrace, giving you a few awkward pats on the back.

“Y’know, something about you seems… different,” he squinted, giving you a once-over, when you released him from your grip.

Shit, did you miss a spot? Was there blood on your teeth? Could he tell that you weren’t human anymore? A barrage of thoughts raced through your mind, until you reminded yourself to play it cool with one of those jokes you usually cracked when you didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, guess I got pretty.” You shrugged, emitting another giggle as he rolled his eyes.

“If you were fishing for compliments, you could’ve just said so. I’m a generous man,” he retorted before heading towards the stage area to set up. “Anyway, whatever. Holler if you need me!”

As the evening crowd began to trickle in, you noticed that the two companions who seemed to know Leon, albeit on less than friendly terms, had shown up tonight as well. They waltzed over to you, though the nearer they got, the more they looked like they were treading on eggshells. You feigned busyness and the nonchalance that came with it, putting away clean glasses and helping your colleagues to take orders at the bar. It wasn’t until the male counterpart of the two thumped his broad, hefty hand on the counter top to get your attention, that you could no longer avoid the inevitable and turned his way.

“How can I help you?” you asked, putting on a well-practiced, polite smile.

“Mind if we take this somewhere more private?” It didn’t sound like he was the type to take ‘No’ for an answer.

“Um, sure?” You acted as if you were confused, but you had an inkling of where this was heading and wanted to see if your suspicions had been right all along.

Leading them to a storage area at the back, which was semi-hidden from public view, you waited for them to talk.

“So, we heard about your new status,” the man began, carefully choosing his words.

Oh boy, that explains it. “Jesus, you guys too?” you blurted out, pressing your forehead against the palm of your hand as you heaved an exaggerated sigh. “How many of you are there? And why my cafe?”

Before he could answer, you kicked a loose piece of trash on the floor in irritation and cursed out loud, “God-fucking-dammit.”

The man raised his hands halfheartedly like bear paws, his soft brown eyes looking on at you in amusement. “Sis, you sure this one’s a Toreador?” he roared out in laughter. “Smells more like one of us.”

The woman rolled her eyes, pushing her way forward in front of this hulk of a man. “Sorry about my brother, he’s not great with women.” You heard a disgruntled snort from him as she said that.

“Anyway, I’m Claire,” she mentioned rather matter-of-factly, though she hesitated a little before sticking out her hand towards you cagily, as if you might chew her head off.

You weren’t sure what all the fuss was about as you accepted it, offering a firm handshake, which seemed to surprise her. For the first time, she smiled appreciatively back at you while you followed up with a short introduction.

Turning towards the man, she indicated, “This big boy here is Chris.”

Without any pretense, you took his hand proactively, giving it a similar handshake as he glanced at his sister, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Does she know?” he questioned.

Claire ignored him, focusing on you instead as she broached the subject. “Listen, I’m gonna cut to the chase here. You and I? We’re kinda on different sides, if you catch my drift.”

You nodded at her to continue.

“Thing is, most of us Anarchs are wondering if we’re now gonna have to vacate this area, ’cause uh, well, you’re a Cammy,” she tried to put her point across as succinctly as possible. “And I don’t mean this as a threat or anything, but I gotta say, there are some who are pretty pissed that this shit went down.”

Right, the Anarchs. They were but a brief footnote in Leon’s history lesson. The ones who broke away from the Camarilla, founding their own governing structure from what they deemed as ‘oppressive rule’. You likened them to left wing radicalists against the exclusive, upper echelons of conservative society. It was a no-brainer which group out of the two you would have preferred, but unfortunately Leon had already made that choice for you.

Anger at the lack of agency you had in all of this unfurled like gaseous vapor, sluggishly rolling off the tip of your tongue. “Fuck Kindred politics and whatever form of bullshit that it comes packaged in,” you seethed. “I’m not going to play anybody’s game here. As long as you behave, you’re welcome in my books.”

Chris gave a low, drawn-out whistle through his teeth as he clapped measuredly in response, somewhat impressed by your impassioned speech. “I like this one; she’s got some bite,” he told Claire before addressing you wistfully, “Damn, you would’ve made a great baby Brujah.”

No prizes for guessing that these two belonged to that clan. Rabble-rousers, spirited fighters, but intellectuals all the same. You wondered what it would’ve been like to join them. Were you merely a Toreador by lineage alone, shoehorned into the clan because of some forlorn love that your sire had for you? One that you were conflicted in reciprocating. Or did you actually have the heart of Brujah instead? What would happen if you didn’t belong in your clan?

“Yeah, that’s a shame,” she agreed. “Though you are a bit like Leon in some ways.”

“Claire!” her brother warned. It was his turn to knock some sense into her.

“What do you mean by that?” you pried, aghast that they could find any similarities between you and the man who broke your trust.

She opened her mouth to say something further, but he gripped her arm as his eyes narrowed at her.

Wedging yourself between the two of them, you demanded, “You can’t just bring him up and leave me hanging?!”

“See what you’ve done now?” he fumed, the corners of his mouth drawn downwards into a pronounced frown.

“Chris, she’s gonna find out sooner or later,” she fired back.

“Will someone just tell me what the fuck is going on?” you groaned in exasperation.

Chris let go of Claire roughly. “Fine, sis,” he grunted. “But you deal with the aftermath.”

Yanking her arm away, she tugged her devilish red leather jacket down by the lapels to straighten it, before explaining, “Leon used to run with the Anarchs for a while. Well, not officially, according to the Cam, but I would’ve considered him like a brother.”

Shooting daggers at Chris, she added snippily, “Apparently, having one already wasn’t enough, so I had to torture myself with more.”

Chris shoved a fist into his chest, as though an arrow had pierced his heart. “Ouch, that hurts,” he grunted mockingly.

Your jaw dropped at the story that Claire spilled to you. Leon as an Anarch? You could never imagine him joining the cause.

“No way that prissy ass, stuck-up, boy band reject switched sides,” you exclaimed, as Chris stifled a guffaw at your insults. It was evident from your tone that your pent-up frustration over Leon’s convenient omissions and hypocrisy had reached its boiling point.

“Way,” she rebutted smugly. “And I don’t blame you; I’d be mad as hell too if I were in your shoes. Unfortunately, Leon was always guided more by his emotions.”

Expelling a weary sigh, you leaned your arm against the wall and buried your head in the crook of your elbow to steady yourself. “I don’t understand this guy.”

Claire threw you a sympathetic look as she continued, “Now, this is just a hunch, but I’m pretty damn sure he was about to defect to us, when the Cam got him by the balls.”

You perked up, arching your eyebrows as a quizzical expression spread across your face. “With what?”

“That’s a good question. We don’t know,” she admitted, exchanging perplexed glances with Chris that could rival yours. “But must’ve been something nasty.”

You wondered if Leon would tell you if you asked him. But seeing as how he’d already been keeping secrets from you, either out of a misguided belief that it was for your own good or for more malicious reasons, you weren’t optimistic. Maybe you’d wrangle it out of him someday. After all, he owed you — a lot.

“Anyway, you both seem, um, cool? We should stay in touch,” you suggested, suddenly unsure of whether things like this worked the same way in the Kindred world. Perhaps you were overthinking it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Claire flashed a grin. “We’re not going anywhere.”

At that moment, something caught Chris’ eye and his previously jovial expression turned solemn. Leaning in, he mumbled into your ear, “By the way, your vampire daddy is here.”

Vampire daddy?

You angled your head to peek in Chris’ line of sight and near the entrance of the cafe, you could make out Leon glaring in your direction. Uh oh, were you in trouble?

“Ha ha, very funny, Chris,” you articulated sarcastically, but before you could make your way over, Leon had beaten you to it, already standing by your side with his hand on your shoulder.

“I see you’ve been getting acquainted with my protegé?” his innocuous question taking on an accusing tone.

You couldn’t comprehend what the hostility was for. “Yeah, turns out they’re actually great company, so why don’t you back off?”

Chris snickered in the corner as Leon clenched his jaw, visibly incensed by your interference. Wheeling you around, he backed you against the nearby wall, palms flat against either side of your head, caging you in with his body.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he growled. “And don’t ever interrupt me again.”

His reprimand resounded in your ears which were now bright red; you weren’t sure whether it was from embarrassment or anger, or both. Swallowing a lump in your throat, your eyes darted from his glittering blue ones to his full lips, which were a hair’s breadth away from yours. He remained unmoving, but you could see his features darkening and a conflict brewing in his mind. Warmth pooled in your chest and your face flushed, remembering that same electric rush you felt the last time he was this close to you at the arbors. Was this what you were attracted to — the danger and excitement? Or was there something more to it?

“Having fun babysitting, Kennedy?” Claire’s voice pierced through the mounting tension in the room.

That broke his trance as he peeled himself away from you diffidently, carding his fingers through his hair as its silky strands fell back into his face. “Good to see you too, Redfield,” he remarked dryly. “Still running your mouth like you used to, huh? Guess nothing’s changed.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she shifted her weight to one hip and sassily replied, “Could say the same about you. I mean, you always did have a thing for… interesting women.”

He scoffed, brushing her comment aside with a shake of his head as he steered the conversation onto a different topic. “I need you to do something for me.”

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but he raised his finger to silence her. “Uh-uh, let me finish. This concerns all of our skins. I assume you’re aware of the incident that happened the other night?”

“Yeah, it was pretty fucked up,” Chris attested, speaking on behalf of his sibling, before glancing at you and mouthing “Sorry.”

You gave him a sad, side smile in recognition. It seemed like no matter how you tried to avoid it, you were fated to be reminded of your passing again and again.

“I’m not pointing fingers here, but it’s likely there are more players than the Sabbat involved,” Leon explained.

At this, Claire raised her voice defensively, “Are you trying to pin this on us? You think one of us was responsible?”

Her brother, who seemed to be the more collected one, patted her shoulder a few times, indicating for her to stand down and listen to what else Leon had to say.

Leon nodded curtly at him, as if they shared some sort of unspoken brothers-in-arms code that you and Claire weren't part of. “No one’s blaming the Anarchs. At least, not yet. I made sure of that,” he pledged.

Claire pressed her lips into a thin line; you could see her bristling at Leon’s words. However, she knew that he had done something to prevent Wesker from launching a full-frontal assault and destroying the Anarch conclave in one go.

“That suitor you mentioned…” he trailed off with a slight pause, and for some reason you felt all pairs of eyes land uneasily on you for a brief second before he continued. “The one interested in the East Side domain.”

“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about,” she snapped, obviously uncomfortable with the way this discussion was headed.

“What if it was no accident that she was there,” he suggested, pointing at you as more questions popped up in your head. God, you hated how they talked in riddles sometimes.

Waving her hands about frantically, she rejected this notion and went on a vehement tirade, “That’s nuts! Are you even listening to yourself? You sound fucking insane, how the hell—”

Though, once again, her brother stepped in as the voice of reason, “He’s right, it could be a power play.”

“It could be many things,” Leon corrected, trying to appease the siblings. “I’m just saying we need to keep an eye out. After all, we’re only pawns in this game,” he added cynically.

“And don’t try to argue with me on that, Claire,” he preempted. “You and I both know there’s bullshit within the Anarch ranks too.”

This time, she kept her mouth shut, though her face was still livid.

“Regardless of the politics, another incident like this and we’ll be wiped by the SI, I can guarantee you that,” he stated bluntly.

“He’s got a point,” Chris established, looking over at his sister to see how she was faring.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she let out an aggravated groan, “Ugh, fine! We’ll see if we can find any dirt on him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Leon squeezed her shoulder in gratitude before cautioning, “It goes without saying that this stays between us.” His eyes flitted momentarily to where you stood. “Including you.”

To his satisfaction, you bowed your head slightly in acknowledgement, making a mental note to run through some points with him later on.

As the siblings prepared to set off, Claire turned around to address Leon for a final time, “Guess we’ll be seeing you around here more often.”

Smirking at the dumbfounded expression on his face, she affirmed, “Your protegé declared the grounds as neutral… again.”

With that, they went back to join the crowd in the front of the cafe, leaving the both of you to your own devices.

“Couldn’t you have waited before making a decision like that?” Leon chided, sighing heavily as his eyes searched yours for an explanation.

Unfortunately for him, this time, you had the upper hand. “What was that about not ordering me around in my cafe?” you challenged, chuckling to yourself quietly. “Or did you already forget, Kennedy?”

He glowered at you, realizing a little too late that he’d locked himself into such a deal the night before. Luckily, he still had an ace up his sleeve. “That only works up to a certain extent. Remember, you’re still a fledgling under my care.”

“Right, the sire card,” you simmered, tired of the constant antagonistic exchanges with the man. “Anything else you wanna toss in while we’re at it?”

“Look, I don’t want to keep fighting with you,” he admitted, his gaze softening as his fingers grazed your cheek lightly.

If you were honest with yourself, that was what you longed for as well. “Then don’t give me a reason to,” you breathed, lowering your eyes as you reinstated a suitable distance from him, to avoid any further misgivings.

“I’ll see you later at home,” you whispered, your finger absently tracing the length of his arm as you walked away.

━━━━━━━━━━━

For the rest of the evening, Leon left you alone at the cafe, and though he sat at his usual spot while he was there, he left at some point halfway through without saying goodbye. On the one hand, you felt relieved that you didn’t have to speak with him further, but on the other, it smarted a little to know that he had ignored you afterwards.

The cafe was bustling with activity as usual, and it was as if you had never left. You found solace in the routine you had set yourself, helping out with the technical system, pouring drinks for guests and taking turns with your colleagues to announce bingo numbers on stage. Of all nights it was Bingo Night. Someone won a travel-sized steam iron while another snagged themselves a pastel-colored riding crop adorned with ribbons. The random prizes made it fun, as evidenced by the giggling faces of the crowd who made their way up to the stage to receive them.

You shared a smile with Patrick, sweating in the muggy air, as the house lights reflected across shiny surfaces, glitter on skin and bejeweled décolletés. The room was cast in a warm, golden glow, soft and blurred on the edges like a Rembrandt painting. Even though time slipped through your fingers like fine sand, things seemed to move in slow motion. You missed this; you missed living, just like the rest of them. Now you could only impersonate life, and watch as the rest of the world grew older while you didn’t, and your friends drop like flies, rotting in their graves while you mourn their loss.

Hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you wiped them away with the back of your hand, still smiling, teeth showing through the pain. Patrick looked over at you in concern and you laughed, dismissing it as being overcome with emotion. What was it—? Your period’s coming? Too many late nights and not enough sleep? Just tiredness, you feigned. Bidding your colleagues goodnight, you trudged out into the sinking cold, already craving the comfort of being surrounded by people, both strangers and companions alike.

You were lost in your thoughts the whole way back to Leon’s place, so much so that you didn’t even hear him greet you when you came in. It was only after the second time he had called out that you realized you were being spoken to.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked, worried that your current state of mind might have to do with how he had treated you earlier.

Collapsing onto the couch, you let your legs spread out limply over the edge, fiddling with your thumbs. It was not like you could go on social media anymore and chat with your friends on there. Not when your smartphone had been confiscated and all you had left was a semi-allowed, shitty flip phone which was mainly good enough for playing Snake.

You shook your head, but he still came round to sit beside you, holding a metallic, hexagonal contraption in his hand that he had been tinkering with at his study desk. That was when you noticed the reading glasses hanging loosely by a silver chain around his neck. The oddness of his get up momentarily distracted you from your previous troubles.

“You still need those?” you questioned, gesturing towards the dated-looking spectacles before his chest.

“These?” He raised them up, closing one eye as he squinted through the lenses, inspecting for dust. Sticking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth, he rubbed them clean with the hem of his iron-pressed white shirt. It seemed like he was used to them, and had worn them for a very long time.

“No, I don’t,” he answered plainly. “But old habits die hard.”

“They do, don’t they?” you remarked with a bitter smile. “Chasing after things that make you human?”

He sighed, understanding full well the predicament you were in and that he didn’t exactly have a remedy for it. Yet, there was no point in lying to you.

“I do, and many others do, until we can’t anymore,” he stated. “We’re just a wolf in sheep’s clothing and inherently evil — at least, that’s what the pessimists think.”

What he had mentioned was bleak, but at the same time, you appreciated his honesty, which, in your opinion, had been lacking lately. “What do you think?” you probed, eyeing him with curiosity.

He pondered on it for a while before he spoke, “I don’t believe a word they say,” he confessed. Cradling your chin with his fingers, he lifted it towards him. “You are human enough. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different,” he instructed, brushing his thumb tenderly along your bottom lip.

You felt heat rise towards your cheeks as you actively searched for something else to grab his attention. The contraption — it was lying at his side. “Is that a puzzle box?” you managed to cough out.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he muttered self-consciously, handing it to you as you pulled away from each other. “Wanna give it a go?”

He looked at you expectantly as you twisted and turned the various segments of the device like a Rubik’s cube, some of which clicked into place softly, while others remained unfettered and movable. A toothy grin broke out across his face as you motioned to him for help with the remaining steps and he jumped in, placing his hands over yours to connect the remaining steps.

Before your mind could process the closeness of your bodies and his touch, the contraption connected entirely, unlocking and unfolding itself into a flattened shape. He beamed at the object in triumph, as though he had achieved something remarkable.

“You built this yourself?” you asked, tracing its ridges, impressed with his creativity and craftsmanship.

“Yeah, I've loved puzzles since I was a child,” he explained. “Maybe that’s why I went into solving crimes, huh?” Raising his arms, he stretched himself out and yawned.

“Anyway, it kind of reminds me of better days,” he added melancholically. “When things were simpler.”

“I would’ve liked to get to know you back then,” you said, only realizing a second later that you had uttered your thoughts out loud. You had to restrain yourself from clamping a hand over your mouth in response.

His face melted at your words, though he kept his distance, uncertain about the mixed signals you’d been sending before. “That’s nice, but you probably weren’t even born yet,” he teased.

You snorted, surprised that he still had the ability to crack you up. “How old are you even?”

“Rude,” he scolded, wagging his finger at you.

Rolling your eyes, you propped yourself up on the couch, suddenly invested in learning about the man’s age. “Come on, tell me,” you coaxed. “I promise to be on my best behavior for a day in exchange.”

“A day?” he guffawed, shaking his head. His bangs swished from side to side as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Hey, take it or leave it, old man,” you taunted, turning towards him with an impish smirk.

“That’s a low blow, even for you,” he tutted, pausing briefly before revealing, “'77, I was born then. Embraced when I was 24… or was it 25? It’s been a while.”

“Oh, so you’re not that old then,” you pointed out, mentally calculating that he must’ve been in his unlife for just about over 20 years.

Ever the optimist, he shrugged, unruffled by your comment. “Guess I should take that as a compliment.”

Both of you erupted into peals of laughter — the first genuine one you’ve had in a while. This was how it should’ve been. No tears, no politics, no drama, just easy-going conversations learning about each other. You continued talking a bit more about the past, how he was like, how you were like, and you contemplated if you were just clinging onto things that didn’t exist anymore. He had changed and so did you, but when you looked at a person as a whole, their histories made them who they were. You wanted to accept all of him, though a barrier still stood in your way.

“Can I trust you to always be honest with me?” you raised out of the blue in the middle of your conversation with him.

He was taken aback at first by the sudden request, wondering if there was more to it.

Scooting closer to him, you added, “Even if it’s bad, I want to know.”

It was a lot to ask of him, considering how much the Kindred world relied on secrets, games and deceit. But he knew it was important to you, especially in earning back your trust. A voice in his head, which he had grown accustomed to after being burned time and time again, warned him about betrayal. She’s no different from the others… it said in a garbled, distorted tone, like someone speaking underwater. She’ll use it against you.

Call him naive or stupid, but he went ahead anyway. You could bring him to his knees to beg, and he would still do it gladly. “I’ll try,” he whispered, aware that he was on the verge of signing his unlife away. “You can ask me anything you’d like.”

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest, smoothing out the creases in his clothes as you swept it upwards to his neck. Your caress against his weak spot caused his breath to hitch. Toying with the trace chain hugging his skin, you pried, “Did the suitor you were talking about with Claire have something to do with me?”

Right away, a shadow cast across his face and his eyes clouded over. Withdrawing your hand, you began to regret your choice of words to begin with.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

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nova-amor · 7 months

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𓈒∘☁︎ ◜ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ◞

𝐜𝐰 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 [𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬], 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐫𝐲-𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟑.𝟖𝐤

the white noise of the television buzzed in the background, your knees tucked up to your chest as you rested your head on the armrest of the couch, a thick sherpa blanket draped over you while you aimlessly scrolled through your instagram timeline. time seemed to creep by slowly, the minutes achingly passing by. another friday night wasted, gone, yet you couldn’t quite bring yourself to complain.

you hadn’t made plans to go out earlier in the week like you had wanted and, in the end, hadn’t spent the evening alone. after receiving a last-minute text message from your next-door neighbor to watch his kids, you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to at least do something productive for the evening.

the evening had consisted of playing board games and baking white chocolate pumpkin cookies with the two kids, before tucking them into bed at their designated bedtime. you loved the two kids, showering them with the motherly warmth and attention they lacked while in the care of their adoptive father. they were well taken care of, of course, made obvious by the numerous clothes, toys, and sugary snacks stocked in the fridge and pantry.

but, even with all the love and care in the world from their father, you couldn’t miss the look of disappointment in their eyes whenever you left after babysitting them. it always made your heart ache, guilt sinking in as they begged, and pleaded for you to stay with them because they loved your company. and, you knew it bothered their father, the way his kids constantly asked for you to come over to play with them or how they would praise your food whenever you stopped by with dinner containers filled with baked tonkatsu and curry rice because cup ramen and mcdonalds were no substitute for a homemade meal.

you were sure he didn’t like you, he had made it obvious in the way that his jaw always seemed to tense and his eyes would harden whenever you stepped foot into his apartment. rarely ever engaging in conversation with you unless it was to ask you to watch his children or get advice on what to get little tsumiki because she was a growing girl and he didn’t know what girls her age needed.

you truly didn’t mind the strained relationship between yourself and your neighbor, as long as you knew that the two children living across from your apartment were being properly taken care of — that’s all you really needed.

“hey,” the front door creaked open, the metallic jingle of keys filling the air as gojo’s arrival was made present. you sat up properly, adjusting your position appropriately as the blanket remained draped over your lap. you hadn’t been doing anything inappropriate yet you didn’t want to seem like you were sleeping on duty.

“hey,” you greeted, your gaze fixated on his moving form. gojo retreated into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets, the clinking of glass loud and irritating in comparison to the once silent apartment.

there was a routine you and gojo followed whenever you babysat his children and he got home late. you two would greet each other, and he would then pour himself a glass of aged japanese whiskey on the rocks, followed by a quick recollection of that night’s activities before you went home.

“sorry, i know i was supposed to be home an hour ago, i meant to text you but i kept getting held up at work,” gojo sat down next to you, slender legs spread far and wide as he relaxed into the comfy cushions of the couch. he rested his head back, tilting his head to the side to properly look at you, his hand still clutching the half-filled whiskey glass.

“it’s fine, i put megumi and tsumiki down an hour and a half ago anyway,” you replied, resting your head back as well. gojo and you were so close, your knees barely brushing against his thigh. his ocean blue eyes shimmered under the faint warm glow of the kitchen’s overhead light pouring into the living room, the need to sleep etched into his face and tensed muscles.

you weren’t sure what he did for a living, most likely something important and high-paying given the late hours he worked throughout the week and how he was able to afford comfortably raising two kids at only twenty-two.

“how were they tonight?” he asked, taking another thin sip of his drink. his pink lips glistened with droplets of the liquor, the tip of his tongue running across his top lip to lick at the remnants. “guessing by the deep dish container filled with cookies on the counter, you guys had a good night?”

you nodded your head. “yeah, actually, we did,” you answered, watching with attentive eyes as gojo relaxed further into the couch. his eyes flickered closed, snow white lashes casting a soft shadow over his cheeks. “played a ton of board games— megumi is a tyrant in monopoly, no nine-year-old should have so much control over real estate.”

gojo chuckled, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he looked angelic— a heavenly aura radiating around him. your fingers itched by your side, fighting the urge to brush away the strands that fell across his forehead. instead, you curled your fingers around the edges of the blanket and tugged it higher up your lap.

“sorry, i don’t know why i’m so tired,” gojo murmured, his eyes barely peeking open to look up at you. you could almost feel yourself growing hot under his gaze.

“it’s okay,” you breathed out. “i can just go ahead and leave, the spare key still under the plant? i can use that to lock up so you don’t have to move.”

before you could even motion to get up, gojo reached out to grasp your hand, thin fingers curling around your own. his fingers were colder than you had expected, a shiver running down your spine at the foreign contact. you remained still by his side, completely caught off guard. gojo and you rarely ever made physical contact, only doing so while exchanging items or when crossing close paths.

“stay,” he ordered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i want you to stay… at least for a little while longer.”

you nodded, sinking back comfortably next to gojo. his thumb rubbed at the top of your hand, drawing loose circles around your fist. your eyes raked over him— skimming over his form-fitting button-up blouse, the top three buttons were already undone and collar slightly disheveled, his black dress pants slim and clinging to his muscular thighs. his white hair was tousled, as messy as he usually kept it but the style suited him regardless.

gojo was in fact a good-looking man; something you didn’t want to outwordly express to him yet something you couldn’t quite deny to yourself either.

“hey,” his husky voice pulled you away from your thoughts, your eyes meeting his now open ones. there was something different in gojo’s eyes, his pupils a bit wider as he peered up at you. “do you like me?”

you hadn’t expected such a question. you never thought twice about your relationship with the man— it was cordial, respectful, approach. you two obviously trusted each other enough to be active participants in one another’s lives, he allowed you complete access to his apartment while he was away and he trusted you enough to watch his children.

“of course i like you, gojo,” you finally answered after a pregnant pause, brows furrowed in confusion. “you’re the father to my two favorite kids, i have no choice but to like you. what kind of question is that?”

gojo’s jaw clenched and then loosened, “a question i needed to ask. just because you watch ‘gumi and tsu doesn’t mean you like me.”

“gojo,” you rolled your eyes, leaning in closer to the man. you were so close, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheeks with how short of distance there was between the two of you. “i like you, you don’t have to worry about that.”

gojo’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, your breath catching in your throat as he moved his hand away from yours and up to your cheek. he cupped the side of your face, the palm of his hand icy cold. you fought the urge to pull away from his cool touch, instead finding yourself leaning further into it.

“cross your heart,” he whispered, stroking the peak of your cheekbone with his thumb. his breath smelled of whiskey— spiced notes of oak, caramel, vanilla, and the familiar sting of alcohol overwhelming your senses. “because i like you a lot and want you to promise that you aren’t lying. i know i’ve been awful to you in the past and ”

you breathed out his name, the two-syllable surname rolling off your tongue like butter. the close proximity was intoxicating, his blue sapphire eyes reeling you in closer. you couldn’t move, frozen in place, your heart beating radically in your chest.

following his request, you drew a slow x-shape over your left breast, mumbling a “cross my heart” in a breathy tone. gojo’s adam’s apple bobbed as he watched you do so, swallowing a thick load of saliva. you had been honest and promised him, swearing over your heart that your feelings were true.

in that moment, gojo couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time he had been this close to someone. it had been years since he had last opened his heart up to someone, the fear of being left alone with a broken heart constantly plaguing his thoughts.

the pain had hurt him too much and had made him more anxious and emotionally closed off than expected. but, you had made a promise. and, that was good enough for him to start thinking with his heart once again.

“can i kiss you?” he questioned, his plump lips nearly brushing against yours. he sounded almost desperate, his voice husky and deep, dripping with need. and, you weren’t really one to say no to someone.

the kiss nearly stole your soul straight from your being, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips meddle with his. gojo’s lips were as soft as a pillow, his hand finding its place on the back of your head to press your face further against his.

he tasted of vanilla and oak, his tongue laced around yours, coaxing a guttural moan out from you. your senses dulled, truly encompassed by gojo’s touch and taste. you shifted your position, creeping your body closer to his.

your fingers laced themselves in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp as the kiss grew hotter. it was messy, sloppy— saliva seeping out from the corners of your mouth as gojo’s tongue explored every inch of space within your mouth. as your lungs strained for your air, you couldn’t bring yourself to move away from him. if this was how you died, so be it.

“hey,” gojo pulled away from you, lips swollen and red. you whimpered at the lack of contact, your hands trailing down from the crown of his head to rest on his shoulders. the fabric of his shirt wrinkled within your tight grip. “need you t’ breathe f’r me, sweetheart, don’t want you gettin’ light-headed from just kissing.”

“sorry,” you apologized with no real reason to. your breaths were heavy and labored, your grip on gojo’s blouse loosening. “sorry, just haven’t been kissed like that in a while.”

gojo smirked, “‘s okay, sweetheart, i haven’t either.”

“i find that hard to believe,” you retorted, finally catching your breath. you hadn’t had a proper kiss in months, let alone an actual date. “i’m sure girls throw themselves at you all the time.”

“they do,” gojo replied, his hand trailing down to cup the nape of your neck. his fingers danced across the skin, motioning for you to lean back in for another kiss. “but, i’ve had my eyes on someone for a while.”

the kiss was just as intoxicating as the last— gojo pulling you onto his lap, his drink knocking over and left to be abandoned on the tan carpet below. his hands rummaged beneath the loose fabric of your shirt, inching further up your back until he was fiddling with the clips of your bra.

“is this okay? is it okay if i take this off?” gojo rambled between kisses— his cool persona slipping away. you rolled your hips atop of his, the fabric of his dress pants grinding against your own, his erection stiff and hard against the restraint of his pants. “i just want to make sure you’re comfortable, and—”

“fuck, gojo,” you pulled away for the kiss, cutting his sentence off. you snaked your arms out from the holes of your shirt, peeling it off and over your head so fast it might as well have been burning your skin. your bra flew off next, your breasts spilling out and sides aching a bit from how long you had been wearing it. “just shut up and touch me. wanna feel you touch me.”

gojo sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixated on the view in front of him. his hands trailed your sides upwards, long fingers cupping the underside of your breast. he rolled his thumbs over your perky nipples, chewing on his bottom lip as he kneaded your breasts.

“fuck,” he muttered more to himself than to you. your hips began to roll again on top of his, grinding your core against his rock-hard erection. you were concentrated on making you both feel good, the crotch of your panties deliciously rubbing your clit as it clung to your folds through the aid of your sticky arousal. “god, you’re so beautiful… best lookin’ tits i’ve ever seen, so pretty and soft.”

gojo leaned forward to litter kisses across your chest, his head tilting down to lap at one of your nipples while he tweaked with your other sensitive breast. he swirled his tongue around your areola— sucking, tugging, and nipping until it was puffy and sore, his saliva staining your skin. he moved on to the next, following the same routine as he had done with the previous one.

your back arched into a crescent, hips stuttering as you struggled to maintain a steady rhythm from all his attention to your breasts. your head felt light and empty, your movements uncoordinated and lazy from how good he made you feel.

“such a pretty girl, don’t know why i didn’t do this sooner,” gojo muttered between kisses as he delivered attention to your craned neck. he peppered kisses along your neck, canines lightly nipping at the arch of your throat. “keep movin’ em hips f’ me, sweetheart. feels too fuckin’ good to stop now, right?”

you nodded your head, trying to find the strength to keep going instead of succumbing to the pleasure. gojo took note of this, wrapping his arms back around your waist and twisting your body so that you lay sprawled out on the couch.

“g’na take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered after pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. he began his descent down your body, pulling your pants down until you were left in just your panties and socks. “open up a little more for me and relax, okay? you’re a bit tense— just loosen up and lemme make you feel good.”

gojo pressed hot, sloppy kisses along your inner thighs as you relaxed your muscles beneath him. the rustle of the cushions beneath your combined weight was loud in the quiet living room, the white noise of the tv finally having turned off after an hour of neglect.

his tongue licked at the lacy edges of your panties, tracing the curve of the skin beneath with the tip of his tongue. your hips bucked against his face, cunt soaked and aching for any semblance of release. gojo peered up with half-lidded eyes, his smirk hidden by the angle yet you could see it reflected in his eyes.

“gojo, please,” you begged, your hips bucking up once again but gojo was too quick to move his head away. he tsked, shaking his head, floppy hair bouncing around.

“patience, sweetheart, i’m gonna take care of you, promise,” gojo chastised, pressing another kiss to your thigh. one of his hands crawled up the length of your body, poking at your lips, prodding you with the proposition for you suck on them. “just let me have my fun, okay? suck on my fingers t’ keep that mouth busy— don’t want the kids t’ wake up to your mewling.”

your lips wrapped around gojo’s fingers, tongue swirling around the digits while he busied himself with teasing your entrance through your panties. his tongue rubbed at the clothed slit of your cunt, saliva staining your panties along with your musky arousal.

the flat of his tongue lapped at your cunt; the pressure and weight just enough to make your head dizzy once again. even through the cloth, you could feel everything— your body chasing after the bare amount of stimulation gojo was giving you.

your moans were silenced with gojo’s fingers in your mouth, his index and middle fingers curling into the floor of your mouth, hooking onto the back of your teeth. he then sucked on your clit through your panties, sucking off all the arousal and saliva from the fabric until it was crinkled and damp.

“gojooo,” you whined as he pulled away. he sat up on his knees, leaning back to rest on the balls of his feet. the metal clinking of his belt being undone caught your attention, his pants moving down to the middle of his thighs.

“touch yourself for me,” gojo ordered, his eyes locked onto yours. his gaze was fiery and heavy, one of his hands palming at his erection hidden beneath his briefs. “wanna see how you touch yourself, wanna know how t’ please you— want ya t’ teach me.”

your head bobbed up and down quickly as you nodded, your cunt forming a mind of its own and eager to finally be actually touched. you peeled your panties to the side, strings of your arousal connected to the cloth as you bunched it up to the side.

gojo’s eyes narrowed as one of your fingers dipped between your thighs, arousal collecting around the tip of your finger as you dragged it up and down your slit. one of your legs moved to drape over the top cushions of the couch while your other foot was placed on the floor, your thighs spread as wide as possible. his jaw locked and tightened when you rubbed slow circles around your clit, your pussy lips spread open and wide for him to get an all-access view.

he tugged the elastic of his underwear down, a trimmed white trail of hair leading down to his throbbing cock. it was porcelain white and slender, curving slightly upwards with an oozing trail of semi-translucent pre-cum dripping down the underside. he gritted his teeth, his thumb rolling across the pale rose-pink head, smearing pre-cum along his length as he stroked his shaft, eagar to match your pace.

you two stayed like that for what felt like an eternity— the tension heavy between you as you watched one another with hungry eyes. your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as your fingers dipped into your entrance, barely able to reach the spot so high up along your squishy walls.

“no, sweetheart, keep ‘em eyes open,” gojo spoke through his teeth, his pace growing faster in a match with yours. you opened your eyes to see gojo with his blouse caught between his teeth, fiery eyes trained on your face. droplets of pre-cum fell and stained the couch cushions, a problem neither of you cared to deal with at this moment. “want t’ see you cum. be a good girl and cum f’me, okay? please.”

something about the way he asked you, the desperation heavy in his voice, made your pussy tingle and cunt clench harder around your fingers. you rubbed the heel of your palm against your clit, plunging your fingers in and out of your cunt faster and shallower. your moans were hushed, falling quieter and quieter as you grew closer to your release.

you could tell gojo was close as well, his abs tightening and pale cheeks and nose flushed a cherry pink. beads of sweat had formed along his forehead, his fringe sticking to his skin.

“gojo, i’m close— s’ close, wanna cum with ya,” you mewled, finally giving up on fingering yourself. you stimulated your clit, pressing hard against the throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing your fingers around in tight circles.

“i think i’m gonna cum too,” he panted, scooting closer to further occupy the space between your legs. he matched your speed, his hips bucking into his fist as he stroked himself faster. the sloppy squelching of fucking his hand while you rubbed one out filling the air. “where d’ ya want me t’ cum, sweetheart? need t’ know now— g’na cum, g’na cum— holy fuck—”

your tongue lolled out, eyes crossing as the pressure at the pit of your stomach grew stronger. you were barely able to direct him until it was too late, hot white ropes of his load spilling atop your pelvis. a deep growl was elicited from gojo’s throat as he continued to fuck his fist through his orgasm, his hips stuttering as his movements grew sloppier.

with a series of “please, please, please”s, you were quick to cum after him, a buzz settling across your eyes as your release gushed out from you. the walls of your cunt clenched around empty space, your wrist cramping up as you continued to rub in one particular direction that made your toes curl and breath hitch.

you rubbed your clit until it was too painful to do so anymore— your body going slack as you pulled your hand away. gojo grabbed at your wrist, bringing your pruned fingers up to his lips to clean your arousal off your fingers. your eyes were trained on his mouth, intensely watching as his tongue rolled around and between your fingers, the wet slurp of his greedy mouth stirring the pot of lust still boiling in your stomach.

“maybe we should move over to your bedroom,” you suggested in a hushed tone, the vibration of gojo’s hum against your fingers making your clit throb with need once again. gojo allowed you to retract your fingers from his mouth.

“or, maybe i just fuck you right here,” one of gojo’s hands found the back of your thigh, bringing your foot off the ground and pressing your leg close to your chest. he leaned over you, the tip of his still-hardened cock poking at your puffy folds. “don’t wanna risk ruining the fun and wake up the kids, right?”

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phantomspiderr · 6 months

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heart beating ~ mike schmidt

a/n ~ brain decided when I was half delirious with sleep it wanted to write this so here we are, first fnaf fic let’s gooo

You wince the second the old, battered door handle squeaks. Hoping so badly that you haven’t disturbed Abby who’s just fallen asleep after a battle to get her in bed in the first place. Or worse you’ve woken Mike who went to bed hours ago, complaining about the pain in his head. You try your best to quietly slip into his bedroom, choosing not to close the door fully as to avoid the noisy handle.

The room is cast in darkness, the only source of light coming from the measly alarm clock on his bedside table. You have to squint your eyes, not that it helps much, as they adjust to the lack of light. Slowly, you shuffle around the room, flinching when you bump into the corner of the bed. You use your fumble to guide you along the bottom of the bed, stripping yourself of your clothes as you go and throwing them in pile to deal with tomorrow. Eventually, your hands connect with some drawers, now in search of pyjamas or at least one of Mike’s tshirts to put on. Every little noise you make seems to be amplified in the silence.

“You could just turn on a light.” Mike’s voice is muffled and hoarse, it’s evident he’s just woke up. You don’t know why but your body tensed the second he spoke, eyes shutting tight and a wave of guilt washes over you.

“Sorry,” it’s the only word that runs through your head but your body relaxes when soft light floods the room. You look at Mike, laid on his back with an arm draped over his eyes. The blankets are bunched around his waist and all you can think about is how you want to crawl into bed with him right now. That tiredness that hadn’t noticed until now seeps into your bones, eyes instantly growing heavy the longer you think about it.

Your hands quickly grab a tshirt from the open drawer, now that you can see. You slip it over your head as you hastily make your way to the bed again, climbing in and immediately laying next to him. You prop yourself up on one of your elbows so you can look down at Mike, a hand gently sinking into his hair. Mike lets out a long sigh as your fingers delicately press into his scalp.

“You okay?” Concern makes its way onto your face, your eyebrows knitting together and head swimming with ways to make him feel better.

“Feel better now you’re here.” Your face instantly relaxes hearing his words and a smile makes its way onto your face when peeks one eye out from under his arm.

“You’re sweet but how do you really feel?” His eyes close again when your fingers press a little harder.

“Tired, just want to sleep.” That’s all it takes for you to reach over him, snuffing out the only light in the room. In tandem you both shuffle around a little, Mike wraps an arm around you and pulls you to his chest and you mould your body to his until you’re comfortable. There’s a few moments of silence, the rhythmic thumping of his heart the only thing you can really hear.

“I can hear your heart beating.” You point out the obvious. Mike lets out a deep breath before replying, “Good. You tell me if it stops okay?”

A quiet giggle escapes you, “okay.”

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt fic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf #fnaf movie

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bbyquokka · 7 months

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changbin x gender neutral reader | genre: fluff | warnings: none | words: 0.5k ~ (583) 🐷🐰ㆍ₊⊹

late nights in the studio with changbin would consist of you two working together in the dimly lit room. both of you dressed in comfy clothing, changbin in sweats and an olive oversized hoodie, the hood over his head, the beak of his black cap peaking out with his curls covering his eyes. the harsh screen of the computer screen would illuminate his face, showing and accentuating his facial features; his plump lips, soft skin, long lashes, textured skin and his cute button nose! soft melodies of lofi music playing in the background whilst you sit next to changbin on the spare swivel chair, watching him work. it's late and you don't have to be there, but you miss him and want to spend time with him. changbin would occasionally ask for your opinion on the track he is working on, passing you the headphones and playing the track where you'd listen and give him criticism on what's good and what's not. changbin takes your criticism to heart because he values and treasures you. every now and then, he would place his hand on your thigh and give it a squeeze, leaning in and kissing your lips sweetly and telling you that he loves you. he'd order food for you both and that would be the time where he would take a break. you'd sit on the floor of the studio facing each other with the take-out in the middle. you'd talk about anything and everything, changbin asking you about your day and listening so carefully and attentively, his undivided attention on you. he’s been at the studio all day and he's missed his other half; his soulmate. he'd sometimes make you blush with his suggestive jokes that’d be paired with a smirk and raised eyebrow. changbin can work day and night (with the help of a red bull or two) but you, on the other hand, love your sleep. soon, you'd start to feel drowsy, the number on your phone screen reading ‘1:20’. you'd tell changbin you're just going to rest your eyes to try and recharge, not planning on falling asleep but as soon as your heavy body sinks into the sofa and your head hits the square cushion that has a giant YouTube logo on it, do you crash. changbin wouldn't notice at first. he'd be talking to himself, explaining certain things, completely unaware of his sleeping beauty behind him. he'd call your name out several times and turn in his seat when you don't answer. his heart would swell, butterflies in his stomach. a big, dumb grin plastered on his face before standing from his seat. he'd drape a blanket over your body before taking his hoodie off and tucking it under your arm as you would if you were to cuddle a plushie. he'd feel guilty for not spending time with you and making you stay for so long (even though you insisted you wanted to be there) but the guilt is quickly casted aside when he hears his name being called from you in a soft and needy tone and his hoodie being snuggled, his calming scent tickling your nostrils and making you squirm a little. changbin would quickly rush back to his seat, his cheeks pink and flush and body burning up. “now is not the time for dirty thoughts, changbin.” he'd mumble to himself, giving himself a pep talk to calm himself down (maybe even giving his cheek a gentle slap) before resuming his work.

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #straykidsland #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #seo changbin #changbin #changbin fluff #seo changbin fluff #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz oneshots

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ken-dom · 8 months

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Perfect Match

Holland March x afab!reader

1.5k words

Summary: Holland doesn't want your view of him to be tainted by what he still carries with him of his past; the wedding ring he wears around his neck as a symbol of his loyalty (and crippling guilt). You have a solution to help him through his first time in a long time.

Warnings/content: NSFW, angst and smut, size kink, (messy) cream pie, suit kink, hand jobs, alcohol mention, crying, comfort

Your hands dragged down Holland’s clothed chest, the air between you simmering with heat after every brief, passionate meeting of your lips.

A tear rolled down his cheek when you dragged over a hard lump beneath his shirt and your fingertips paused over it.

He held his breath. Perhaps he could get through this without broaching the topic. How? He wasn’t sure yet. But if he was really going to do it, share himself body and soul with you, there would come a time when you’d find out. And he imagined all too often that it would either ruin the mood, or upset him, or both. Probably both.

He’d feel guilty too, no doubt, betraying his wife like that. Only, she wasn’t his wife any more, was she? And he couldn’t bear the thought of that, but he craved companionship. The combination of longing like that, pining even, in two opposing directions made his heart, and his head, hurt. Especially after a few drinks.

Fuck. Why did his cheek feel wet?

Jesus, he was already crying after just a kiss. How pathetic could he get?

You removed your fingers from what you’d found hiding beneath his shirt and gently wiped his tears away with them instead. Holland flinched, dragged abruptly out of the black hole of his thoughts by your undying tenderness.

‘Hey, you know what I’ve always wanted?’ you soothed. That’s what he liked about you. He could be unashamedly himself in front of you and you never seemed to stop being… soft with him.

He couldn’t use actual words. Not unless he wanted to crack up and cry like a baby with you half naked and straddling him. Surely even you wouldn’t have the patience for that, he chastised himself. So instead he let out a quiet, ‘Hmm?’

‘I’ve always wanted to fuck a hot guy in a suit…’ your fingers toyed seductively with the lapels of his deep blue jacket, and you smirked at how it made him shift beneath you. ‘Wanna keep it on?’

Holland sucked in a shaky breath.

You knew he wasn’t ready to share that part of himself just yet, the part that couldn’t bear to take the ring off, who wanted you to see him when he finally showed you his body – not his past and his wife and his trauma – and you knew that if you stopped now, he might never be able to take this step. He needed it.

It was like you read his mind. And you still managed to make it sexy. God, you might just be his perfect match.

Holland bit his lip, and murmured, ‘I’ve always wanted to do that too.’

It wasn’t just the perfect distraction for him, it was also the truth. There was something exciting about the thought of you baring yourself to him while he was still fully dressed. It felt naughtier somehow. And safer. He felt safe with you.

You pulled his tie undone, placing it carefully to his chest, draped over him like a work of art, and as you stripped the last of your clothes from your body and dropped them to the floor, he impatiently unfastened his belt with a loud metallic clink and unbuttoned his fly, easing his cock out of the space he’d created.

You hummed delightedly as you immediately wrapped your fingers around his thick length, pumping slowly to relax him first, and his head fell back with a quiet, drawn out groan.

You’d done this before, of course, slipped your hand inside his trousers to bring him off while you desperately made out, and you thought he felt big, but Jesus… you never expected him to be quite so impressive. And you got the feeling he didn’t realise how big he was, which somehow only made him sexier.

‘I’m gonna ride you now, ok?’ you whispered, and Holland nodded and let out a vague noise of agreement, far too swept up in your touch to form a fully coherent sentence now.

When you slowly sunk down onto him, already well prepared from your earlier activities, his head shot back up and his fingers drove into the flesh of your bare hips as he cried out – a sound you’d only heard before when he’d been in pain. But this wasn’t pain, it was pleasure he’d forgotten.

‘Fuck, baby! Jesus! Oh… hmmnnngg…’

You’d not even moved your hips yet. You bit your lip. Holland was always very vocal, sometimes a little too vocal, but when he was like this? It was music to your ears.

You clenched around him, the sounds of his pleasure causing sparks of excitement in your core, and rocked your hips above him, holding his head to the crook of your neck, cradling him in your arms.

The fabric of his suit dragged against your flesh with a hint of burning as you moved, and at some point, his face ended up pressed to your chest, sloppily mouthing at a nipple as his fingers took care of the other, kneading and pinching in time with the way you bounced on him.

You looked down at him, this mess of a man, handsome beyond comprehension, beautiful mussed hair, and his body… as much as you’d daydreamed what he’d look like naked, he looked so goddamn good in a suit that this was undeniably better, even with a partially unbuttoned shirt, his tie hanging loose around his neck...

Little moans began to spill from your lips, his hips stuttered upwards; always one for ensuring your pleasure before his own, the sounds you were making drove him crazy despite the fact that you’d already cum three times tonight; once on his thigh, once on his fingers, and a final time on his tongue. Each time he wanted more, craved your moans and your satisfaction, and here you were finding it again, on his cock.

‘Baby… baby, I’m gonna… ugghhhnnn… oh fuck…’

Holland had never been one for holding off his orgasm. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and boy did you know about it.

Your own climax was so close, the sight of him desperately writhing beneath you, jaw dropped open and eyes squeezed shut as he found his release tipped you over the edge.

The way you clenched so rapidly around his pulsing cock caused his back to arch, and he came so hard inside you, spilling and spilling for what seemed an eternity until there was no more room and the rest dribbled out onto his suit pants with the final few thrusts, combining with your slick that had coated his cock (and his pants) so generously.

You collapsed onto him, laughing, and he laughed too. You loved it when he laughed. He could never stop that once he started, either.

‘Fuck, baby, that felt so good?!’ he exclaimed with a heaving breath.

You climbed off and laid beside him, propping yourself up to consider the mess you’d made.

His suit pants were ruined, unless he had a really fucking good (and discreet) dry cleaner, and his softening cock lay twitching through the fly. You considered tucking him back in, but you weren’t sure it was worth it. You couldn’t leave him to sleep in that mess. He'd somehow managed to get some on his jacket too.

‘Shall we take these off?’ you asked carefully, tugging at the pocket of his trousers.

He smiled at you. ‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t mind you know,’ you whispered, as you shifted down and shimmied the bottom half of his clothes off.

He bent his neck, tilting his chin down to watch you, voice strained from the angle. ‘Don’t mind what?’

‘That you still wear it. Your wedding ring. We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to show me. It’s alright. You can keep your suit on forever if you need to, but I won’t judge you. Or mention it ever again.’

He dropped his head back, and with the subtle shaking coming from his ribcage, you knew he was crying again.

You disappeared for a moment only to return with a towel, wiping the copious amounts of his seed from his limp cock and thighs, and finally laid beside him again. He turned to you, really trying to sober before he spoke.

‘You know that was my first time in a really long time, right?’

‘I know.’

‘You felt so good.’ His voice cracked a little.

You didn’t answer. You knew the end of the sentence couldn’t be said out loud. You knew you’d feel different to his wife, and that it confused him that he liked it anyway. You knew somewhere deep down, no matter how good you’d made him feel, it was crippling him.

You slid an arm inside his suit jacket, around his waist, and made yourself comfortable, gazing into his pretty eyes.

‘You felt amazing too. And big! Jesus, Holland, I’m surprised you could fit.’

He smiled bashfully at you then, half asleep. ‘Yeah well you know what they said about guys with big dicks?’

You narrowed your eyes at him, unsure where this was going. Apparently, he was unsure too.

‘You know… they have… they have big… feet or whatever…’

And with that, he was fast asleep in your arms.

#not s f w 💀#holland march #holland march x reader #holland march x y/n #holland march x you #holland march smut #holland march fic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x y/n #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling fic #ryan goslkng smut #the nice guys #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys fic #ken-dom writes

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corpsekiller · 1 year

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𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. dabi x genderneutral!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff, mentions of blood and death, pre!dabi dance

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. dabi finally opens up about his past and much to his surprise, you accept him as he is. even more you give him a choice of who he wants to be when he's with you.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. i'm finally getting back into writing after a quite long hiatus and i couldn't be happier that my motivation and my inspiration is returning. i'm still pretty busy with my studies since my exams are coming up in a month or so, but i'll try my best to write whenever i find the time. so enjoy this fic, my loves <33

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.363 words

MASTERLIST

"What do you want me to call you?"

The question hits him like a train at full speed, crashes into his ribs, and punches the air out of his lungs until his head spins with the lack of oxygen. His fingers have gone numb around the cigarette he’s holding and although he thought he grew accustomed to the cold after years of living out in the streets, lurking in the shadows of dark alleys most citizens of that shithole avoid at night, his entire body shivers under the thin layer of his torn clothes. And yet, even as the wind lashes around him and seeps through the seams of his sleeves to lick over his scars, he makes a point of pretending he isn’t freezing to the bone.

You, on the other hand, seem to sink further into your sweater, hands buried in the thick material and legs pulled tightly to your chest to keep yourself warm — a pathetic huddle of clothes hunched against an old tree, desperately trying to make yourself as small as possible to press yourself further into the crevices for some sort of shelter. As he watches you from his spot a few feet away, he feels a sharp sting of guilt for bringing you all the way here, away from the liveliness of the city and the hope it holds despite the war that has been raging through the streets.

But he owes you this, he thinks as he shrugs off his coat and closes the distance between you, carefully draping it over your shivering figure. The small smile you give him in return makes his heart ache with an unknown feeling of warmth; he isn’t quite sure how to call it, this sense of comfort that washes over him whenever your eyes meet, but he knows it’s something akin to love. Perhaps that’s why you deserve to know what really happened to him all those years ago, he supposes, a confession of the trust he has in you.

It would've been easy to get rid of you here; he could've burned you to a crisp without a single witness, slashed your throat before your mouth could've opened to release a treacherous scream, or simply broken your neck to watch the light inside your eyes die slowly. No one would've known where you went if there’d be anyone who cared enough about you and your miserable life.

On that count, you’re both very similar.

There was no other place he felt safe enough to talk about his past, though — about the boy he was for his father and killed mercilessly when he learned he’d never be good enough to meet his expectations. It felt fitting to return to his own grave, deep in the woods, where his fire consumed every living thing in a haze of cerulean blue and left a wasteland of solitude between trees shedding thick layers of ash and soot.

He remembers the pain of the flames melting the flesh off his bones, how they swallowed him whole and spat out something far worse than any monster he could ever imagine — a demon in the shape of unbridled rage and hatred, clawing his way out of scorched earth with a new thirst for war in his eyes.

“Y’know, doll,” he finally speaks, crouching down in front of you to pull the heavy leather tighter around your body before he leans forward and gently cups your face, caressing the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Instantly, you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chasing the warmth of his touch and smiling softly when he breathes out a low chuckle and presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

It’s strange to see how he’s capable of such tenderness when all he’s ever known was violence and anger — these very same hands that have murdered and tortured mercilessly before have grown soft in your presence. Even if he would want to, Dabi doubts he could ever hurt you. It sounds fuckin’ stupid, he notices now that he thinks about it, but you changed him. “I never thought I’d hear someone ask this question.”

And look, he didn’t expect you to stay. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to him if you’d jumped to your feet and made a run for it as soon as he revealed his past, his true identity to you, but instead, you stayed right where you’re sitting, wrapped in his coat that smells faintly like days without a proper shower, like cigarettes, like him.

Instead of leaving him, you stayed and listened patiently to every word that spilled past his lips like blood gushing out of an open wound — watched how the tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he recalled his father’s rage towards him, reached out for his hand to give him some sort of reassurance whenever his voice broke, encouraging him to continue despite the horror that seemed to grow in your eyes with every passing second.

And when he finally stopped talking, when the wound stopped bleeding for the first time in years, you gave him something he never had before: a choice of who he wants to be, regardless of the horrors he committed. and the blood that clings to his hands after so many lives he took just to quench his thirst for revenge.

And that—

That must be love, right?

The realization comes crashing down on him when you gently grab his wrist and pull him away from your cheek, instead lifting it to your lips to brush a kiss over his bruised knuckles as you repeat the question, softer, more careful this time. “So, what do you want me to call you?”

His eyes search yours in fervor. It’s a desperate attempt to find any doubts that you might not accept who he truly is, that this love you have for him was only a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s just been so scared all this time to open up to you because he was waiting for you to realize he’s just not worth it, that he’s better suited for the edge of a knife driven between his ribs than any kindness, but your gaze holds nothing more than pure adoration for him.

“Touya,” he finally replies, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You can call me Touya, sweetheart.”

“Touya,” you repeat slowly, delicately forming every syllable of his name on the tip of your tongue. His breath hitches in his throat as he listens to you say it again and again, trying to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar ring of his real name — it sounds like a fuckin’ prayer falling from your lips and any resentment he ever felt for his old name seems to simmer down into reluctance.

With every whisper of his name, Dabi shuffles closer to you, until your face are only mere inches apart and he can feel your breath ghost over his parted lips. It’s addicting, to hear you say those two little syllables, and it buzzes through his veins like some sort of drug, like he's getting high on fucking heroin.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so present in his stupidly frail body, doesn’t think he’s ever felt this fuckin’ alive before until this very moment and when the corners of your mouth curl into a smirk and your tongue darts out to repeat his name once again, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

He surges forward and crashes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss that coaxes a whimper out of you and Dabi swears he’s never felt like this before as he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip and hotly licks into your mouth, devouring you with everything you can offer. Your hands sink into his hair. A moan in the shape of his name escapes your throat and his stomach jumps into his chest because this—

This must be love, right? It has to be.

Because he never felt this fucking addicted to the sound of his name before until it fell from your lips.

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penvisions · 3 months

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!

A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.

She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.

“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”

“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.

“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”

She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.

“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”

“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”

“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”

He’d been searching the city for days.

Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.

Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.

Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.

He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.

It was as if you had simply vanished.

Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.

Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language. Rolling off your tongue with precision.

It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.

There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.

He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.

Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.

That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.

Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.

But now it was too little too late.

After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…

Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.

Burc’ya. Friend.

Ner kar’ta. My heart.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.

You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.

He was beginning to think something had happened.

But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.

He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.

He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.

Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.

He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.

Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.

Would…would you even want that type of life?

Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.

I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.

Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.

The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.

He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.

Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.

“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“

“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.

Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.

“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Now go and stay out of trouble.”

An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.

“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”

“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.

“Yes.”

The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.

Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.

It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.

Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.

And then, suddenly.

There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.

The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.

It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.

I’ve always loved the forest.

The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.

You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.

Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.

It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.

There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.

One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.

Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.

It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.

Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.

“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”

Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.

“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”

Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.

“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”

Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.

If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.

But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.

But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.

“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.

Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.

It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more. He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.

The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.

Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.

His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.

Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.

The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.

With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.

Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.

Similar but not identical.

There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.

You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.

He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.

Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.

Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.

It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

Ner kar’ta.

The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.

You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.

Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.

Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.

And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.

I love you. Future husband.

And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.

Jatne vod.

Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.

And then you had been gone.

And it hurt.

He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.

Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.

“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”

Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.

Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.

The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.

Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.

He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.

And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.

Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.

Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.

“Where?”

“Sir, please, you need to check in-“

“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.

Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.

“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.

“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.

“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”

“He will.”

“Mando-“

He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.

The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.

And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.

I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!

You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?

Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?

Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…

A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.

The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”

“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”

The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.

The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.

“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.

The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.

“Where?”

“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley. “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”

“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.

“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“

Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.

Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.

“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“

“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.

“Not so fast-“

“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”

“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.

“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.

“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”

It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.

When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.

Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.

“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”

“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.

“What if someone knows?”

“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”

“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”

Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.

With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.

“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.

When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.

The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.

“I…I made a mistake.”

“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.

“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”

“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”

“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”

“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”

Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.

“Betrothed.”

He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.

And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.

And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.

Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?

What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.

But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.

The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.

Din had been like that too, not that long ago.

Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.

Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.

“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”

“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.

“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”

The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.

“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”

“She knows you care about her, Din.”

The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.

“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.

“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”

K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.

Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.

Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.

It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.

It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.

There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.

“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.

The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.

“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.

“Is that-?”

“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.

Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.

Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.

The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.

Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.

Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.

They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.

He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.

“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.

“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.

“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”

“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.

Shit.

It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.

Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.

The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.

Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.

Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.

The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.

There were two glaringly obvious problems:

Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.

And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.

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dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune

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distortionbobble · 9 months

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Royal Flowers Chapter 8

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni, some mentions of gore, guilt, trauma (who is surprised. please), angst, a shower scene but it's really unsexy except for anakin on his knees series will have eventual smut, canon level violence, etc etc.

a/n: tagging makes me feel a type of violence that is historic in nature. not beta read. any comments and reblogs and all are so so appreciated thank u so much for reading

You never realized how intertwined grief and guilt are before now. Anakin allows you to pretend that you’ve fallen asleep as he hoists you into the speeder with Obi-Wan, stroking your feverish forehead with his cool metal hand. He’s draped you in his cloak, hiding the blood on your clothes. If Obi-Wan knew you were awake, he’d ask you questions, questions that you wouldn’t have the strength to answer. Anakin lays you down gently with your head on his lap, a comfort you don’t think you deserve.

You keep remembering the spray of blood on your face, its metallic, coppery scent staining you forever; you did that. You took away her life, forever, without hesitation, without stopping. While it felt like a blur in the moment, it feels crystal clear now: the sight of your hands, tangled in the roots of Reyna’s hair, blood muddying the sand as dark rivulets formed from the pool of blood forming from Reyna. And that lifeless look in her eyes, the one she had before you had actually managed to kill her… she wasn’t afraid. She knew you were going to kill her. She knew she was dead before her heart managed to stop beating.

The thought of that alone terrifies you. So you cling tighter to Anakin’s thigh, a shiver running through your body as you try to hide from your guilty conscience. He says nothing, just holds you tighter; you imagine he’s doing the work of shielding both yours and his emotions from Obi-Wan. You feel guilty that you can’t even muster the energy to care. Reyna’s face haunts you in the dark space of your eyelids every time you blink. There is nowhere to hide from her, from your guilt.

Anakin can feel your turmoil. He strokes the top of your head, hand shaking as he tries to hide his own sins. How many bodies has he buried, now? If he hadn’t been talking with Obi-Wan, distracted by the thought of you instead of living in reality, would he have been able to protect you from Reyna? That, too, scares him. When did death become his shadow?

“It has been a long time since you last meditated, young Anakin,” Obi-Wan comments quietly, just barely audible over the hum of the machinery. Anakin wonders if Obi-Wan can see the movement of his hands, the way that he’s seeking comfort in you. He hates that Obi-Wan is right about this whole thing. This is attachment. He’d do—did— dark things for you. But if it’s so dark to keep you safe, to protect you, how can the darkness be all that bad? It’s tearing him apart. All he knows now, all that makes sense to him now, is keeping you safe. Whether it’s for himself or the galaxy is a question Anakin does not have an answer to.

“How can you tell, Master?” Anakin asks. You’re restless on his thigh and, worried you’ll give yourself away to Obi-Wan, he quickly brings his hand over your face, willing the Force to send you into a dreamless sleep. Some peace for you, he hopes. Obi-Wan does not answer his question immediately, only giving him that knowing smile that drives him absolutely mad sometimes.

“You forget, Anakin, that I know you just as well as I know myself. Even if you have hidden your Force Signature from the world for the protection of the Queen, you cannot hide your emotions from me. They are written plainly on your face,” Obi-Wan responds finally, placing a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He knows it’s meant to guide him, comfort him, but it just feels… oppressive now. All Anakin can think about is getting you to somewhere that no one can hurt you, where you won’t have to put yourself through what you did ever again. His selfishness tears through him, cuts into pieces his resolve and wish to be a good Jedi. “Anakin, I… I worry for you. In this lonely palace, with only the Queen to keep you company. The Force will never abandon you, Anakin, but you must take care not to abandon it. There is light within you, light that you must foster and protect.”

“And what happens to that light if I’ve done something horrible, Master?” Anakin asks quietly, trying desperately to find that light within him. Maybe it was snuffed out long ago. Obi-Wan seems stunned by his question, but Anakin’s question remained. Everything that happened today has brought his past to the forefront of his mind. The Sand People, his obsession over Padme… maybe there never was any light in him.

“It is never too late to turn back to the Light, Anakin.” Obi-Wan doesn’t press further. For his own sake or for Anakin’s, Anakin doesn’t know, but the guidance soothes him anyways. He’s tired. The cold of Tattooine’s desert at night has caught up to him, so many years later, sinking into his skin, threading through his tissues until his heart pumps sluggishly.

“You and the Queen look unwell,” Obi-Wan observes. “Perhaps the both of you can get some rest, and I’ll talk to Padme to get a lead on which Ministers we can use.”

“Padme’s here?” Anakin asks. He’s acutely aware of the unchanging pace of his heart, the steadiness of his breath and he realizes that his love for her has faded. All that remains is a genuine, pure fondness for her. It only makes him feel more hollowed. “Give her my regards, will you, Master?” Obi-Wan nods wordlessly as the speeder reaches the service entrance of the palace. Anakin rouses you quickly, the short window of time serving as cover for your silent departure.

Your bleary eyes take in the palace groggily, the beautiful stone walls seeming more and more like a prison as your knees buckle. Before you can fall, Anakin lifts you into his arms, hooking one arm under your knees and the other across your back. You feel safe in his arms, a temporary comfort as he sneaks the both of you back to your chambers.

By some sheer luck, you reach the room completely undetected. Anakin sets you down and ushers you to the shower. Anakin had done his best to wipe the blood off of you, but it stains you still. The sight of it confronts you as you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, rings of blood and tired eyes staring back at you. Anakin, noticing the unforgiving scrutiny of yourself, turns you away from the mirror and begins to ease the clothes off your stiff form. He’s hesitant but there’s no choice— you aren’t in the state of mind to be able to take care of yourself, and the longer you stay like this, with the dirt of your crime still smeared on your body, the worse you get.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You ask him softly as he undoes the last piece of clothing, leaving you bare to him. The physical vulnerability does not cross your mind as he guides you into the steam of the shower, studying you for a moment before he realizes you shouldn’t be alone. Privacy is not a luxury you can afford right now. He washes his hands, still caked in blood and sand, and joins you in the shower.

“No, my queen. I think you were forced to make choices that no one should have to make. I think you’ve done your best to keep your conscience,” Anakin responds. He washes his hands and brings them to your face, wiping the blood and dirt from your cheeks with his thumbs. Your eyes flutter shut from his gentle touch, overwhelmed by the intimacy of his care. He moves slowly to your shoulders and neck, easing away the tension in your muscles with each knead of his hand. Your eyes look downwards, to the foamy stream of red dripping off of your body, but Anakin catches the movements and directs your gaze back to his eyes. The spray of the water soaks his clothes, making it cling to his skin as he gently cleans your face. “Hey,” He says quietly. “Forget about that. Just look at me, okay?” You nod, and he quietly washes any blood from your arms. He does it delicately, keeping his eyes fixed on yours even as water drips from his eyelashes onto his cheeks. The shower stream drenches him, making his hair plaster to his forehead, but he doesn’t look away, even as he works down your body, getting to your legs. He’s respectful about it, doesn’t break his gaze away from your face as he kneels at your feet. And from your feet, looking up at you under the harsh bright light of the shower, he thinks that you look like a terrible goddess—powerful, so powerful, burdened with a task that will forever remain thankless. You are a remorseful goddess, the deity of those who never got to keep their humanity. Beyond the hollow sheen of your eyes, he sees it all; the guilt, the sadness, the knowledge that you’ve done something that will stain your soul forever. He cannot look away, captivated by you and the sheer energy you hold. To Anakin, this is right; this subservience to you, bowing at your feet because there is some part of your spirit that demands respect.

But even goddesses stumble. The distant look in your eyes makes him stand without second thought, holding you up before you crumble into his chest. You shed no tears, merely closing your eyes as Anakin holds you to his body, surrounding you in warmth with the help of the warm water. The warmth of being next to you, the privilege of holding him warms him even as the soaked cloth clinging to his skin chills his bones. He hesitates before he slowly puts his chin on your head, holding you tightly as you breathe shallowly.

“Remorse is a luxury few can afford,” you mumble into his clothes. Anakin knows you’re right, but Maker, if you don’t deserve that luxury, no one does. Your breathing slows and deepens as you regulate your emotions and distance yourself from it all.

You are a monster. It couldn’t be clearer to you. Anakin’s handling of you as though you are made of glass only shows his revulsion. He must have held you out of fear, out of responsibility, but it’s a kindness you do not deserve. Is the value of a life worth so little to you? It wasn’t a clean death. It was messy, vengeful, and there was no walking back from this guilt. You killed someone. You’re no better than the woman you killed.

And then you look into Anakin’s eyes. Eyes like the oceans, like the horizon of a clear blue sky. Eyes filled with compassion, softness, and you realize that you don’t regret your bloodshed. You’d do it again to protect him. To protect his goodness, and the goodness just like his, you’ll take the sins of the world as your own. You’ll become something awful, metamorphosize into something unrecognizable to those who loved you, but it’ll be worth it. Deep down, you’ve always known your fate was something like this; you are a lamb, raised for slaughter. You’ve been staring at the knife that will bring your death for so long. It only makes sense; the death of the Queen of Naboo would only serve the final blow to the people of Naboo. They’d be left defenseless, with no protection against the Separatists, who’d tear the planet apart. You’ll die at their hands or someone else’s, you’re certain. But here, you feel as though your death will mean something. To protect Anakin, to protect Padme, and all the others that you’ve loved in the small moments of kindness that you’ve borrowed from them. You’ll kill, again and again, and be killed, for their sakes.

“I must see Padme and Obi-Wan,” You say, pulling away from Anakin’s embrace. Your movements are swift, methodical as you get dressed. You’ll act as though nothing happened. You’re a monster, you might as well act the part. You don’t want to see the expression on Anakin’s face as he watches you return to normalcy. You’ll protect him from your guilt, too. “Don’t stay in your wet clothes for too long, you’ll fall sick,” You add. You don’t deserve to care for him, but you care anyway. He’s silent for a beat before he responds.

“Their meeting is secret. You’ll find them in the hidden passageways of the palace, known only to the Queens. Obi-Wan was led there, but I’m sure you know where to go,” Anakin states. He sounds tired, but you don’t have time to dwell on that. You bid a quick farewell, and head to find Padme.

~~~

“Padme’s told me that the Political and Economic Advisor Horace Vansil is trustworthy,” Obi-Wan informs you as you join the duo in the shadows of the secret passageway. The lit beacons flicker some distance away from you, casting shadow on to your figure. You’re grateful for it. Padme can read you like a book, so you can only hope that the lowlight will obscure the numbness upon your face.

“We’ll task him with increasing the import of grain and long-term food sources, then,” You conclude. There’s levels to your response, but you need to be prepared. And to be prepared, you need to be detached. Cool. Collected.

You blink, and Reyna’s face, bloodied and bloated from death smiles at you in the darkness. She’s laughing, lips pulled into a grotesque, mocking smile. She’ll get away with it, she’s telling you. Listen, she says. Listen to me. You’ll fail. You’ll fail them all. We’ll kill you last, so you’ll have to watch them die before you. You shudder involuntarily.

“...Milady?” Obi-Wan asks, snapping you out of your nightmarish trance.

“Apologies,” You say, blinking rapidly to refocus. Obi-Wan’s scrutiny is unforgiving, but you pay it no mind. “Yes. We’ll do it,” You respond absently. Padme also looks oddly at you, but says nothing on the subject.

“There’s one more thing,” She adds. “Something is off about Chancellor Palpatine. I can’t place it but he seems more antsy these days. Getting much more involved in the business of not only Naboo, but nearly every planet and system that has any power in the Republic. It’s… odd, to say the least.” “Speaking of the Republic,” You respond, recalling the interaction you had with Darth Sidious, “there’s something odd that Darth Sidious said to me. He said our forces will be too occupied to help Naboo. I believe that like with the government of Naboo, there’s someone with great power in the Senate who is more than they seem.” Padme nods. “I’ve gotten the same feeling. Things are changing, and I don’t think we have much time left.”

“We’ll give them what they want, then,” You sigh. “If I can arrange a visit to Coruscant, I’ll be in a vulnerable-enough position for them to want to make a move. If we can draw out the mole, we can act.”

“Padme, your suspicions of Chancellor Palpatine… will Anakin’s friendship with him jeopardize this in any way?” Obi-Wan asks.

“On the contrary,” You smile bitterly. “I think it could be of great help.”

“It’s settled, then,” Obi-Wan sighs. “You’ll have to come back to Coruscant.”

#royal flowers series #distortionbobble's fics #my writing #fic #anakin skywalker series #star wars series #star wars fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x f!reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

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nyonyen · 3 months

Text

NSFW ALPHABET - nyon

AO3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

nyon loves to clean you and nuzzle up against you. if he scratched you, he’ll be sure to lick it. lick your scratches on him too, and he’ll be in heaven :)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he’s partial to his ears, of course. you might think they’re inanimate, but he adores it when you pet them. he loves your hands, especially when they’re all over him

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

loves cumming on your chest, but will never admit it. and boy, he cums a LOT

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

terminal panty sniffer and pillow humper

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

not very much at all, but this doesn’t mean he’s a virgin. nyon is very gentle and notices reactions, so be prepared for an attentive partner

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

mating press when he’s desperate, riding when he wants your dominance (please scratch down his chest lol)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he thinks he’s pretty goofy, but you don’t see it. language barrier?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he definitely trims, but it’s there!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

it’s very obvious how head over heels nyon is during the heat of the moment, the desperation is less needing to get off and more needing your touch

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jerks it way more than he wants to admit. see entry d for more information

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

anything masochistic, would even let you gut-punch him. down for pegging, he loves the idea of being filled by you

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

luther’s bed, but there’s always a huge twinge of guilt. it seems super hot in the moment! oh, and in nyen’s bunk

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

getting hurt, being pet behind the ear, and being tickled

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

nyon hates getting his ears pulled, do that and he’ll bite you (unsexy)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

will stay down there until you tap out, brother is a CHAMP who takes pride in his work. he loves it when you hold down his hips when he gets too eager to receive, especially when you dig your nails in

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

totally 50/50 on this one. he’ll be extreme in either direction though

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

sadly, this is most of what he has to do, since he’s always there for luther. the hardships of being a good kitty…

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he doesn’t initiate much of the experimentation, but he’s game for anything once!

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

it depends on the day. he either falls asleep as soon as he cums, or he’s going till YOU pass out

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

owns a small bullet vibrator and the tiniest of butt plugs. don’t ask where he got them, he’ll never tell. nyon loves using toys on you, especially vibes. seeing you squirm is delightful

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he doesn’t tease much at all frankly, unless you ask him to. he then learns how much he likes it :)

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

fairly quiet until you start teasing him, that’s when he starts to whimper & whine

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

wants his partner to act like a cat (or pet in general) for him, just to see what it's like. who knows, he might really like it!

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s packing a good ol’ reliable five ½ inch, not super thick

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

very high, but is good at holding it in to save face (he’ll hump his pillow later)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

as said in entry s, he can often fall asleep pretty fast

#nyon x reader #nyon catman x reader #nyon ranfren x reader #ranfren x reader #✎

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 2 months

Text

his good girl, always.

pairing: dom/daddy!chan x afab reader

genre: smut— smut— more smut— maybe a little fluff

wc: ~2.9k

warnings: A LOT of pet names (daddy, princess, good girl, little one, etc)— unprotected sex— oral (f receiving)— spanking— lmk if I missed something

synopsis: you get caught during some ✨alone time✨ and are ‘punished’ accordingly

an: this is a repost from my recently dead blog hyunjins-orange-slice, may she rest in peace. of course i had to start my reposts with my favorite work ive ever done.

Almost there.. so close. Your body tenses, trying to remain completely still, afraid that the slightest movement would rip this feeling away from you. So incredibly close. And that’s where you’ve been for what feels like hours. Having lost track of the time, you didn’t really know how long you had been at this. How long had you had this vibrator pressed to your swollen clit? How long had you been fucking yourself with this dildo? Your arms were tired, your body sore from tensing your muscles trying to find that sweet release. Nothing seemed to be helping. You just couldn’t get there. Maybe it was because you knew you were being bad. You weren’t allowed to be doing this. It broke the rules. But he had been gone on tour for so long. How were you supposed to wait for him when you were so needy?

Shamelessly, you had your phone propped up on the pillow next to you, a picture of him filling the screen. It was supposed to be hot, help you get there, but all you felt was guilt. You’re usually such a good girl for him. You knew he would be disappointed. But the thought of what punishment he might dish out had your walls clenching around the dildo. Would he spank you? How many times? Would they be hard smacks, using all of his strength? Would he make you count them out loud as you were draped over his lap?

There was that familiar feeling in your stomach, the tightening.

Or would his punishment be to tease you relentlessly, constantly bringing you to the edge but never letting you fall over into bliss? Kind of how you felt right now and it was so incredibly frustrating. You didn’t want that punishment. Aaannnnd the good feeling is gone.

‘Ugh’ you groan.

It’s probably best to just give up at this point, wait for him to get home in a week or so, and pretend this never happened. That’s when you hear the front door unlock. Shit. What is he doing home this early?You quickly try to hide the evidence, shoving the toys under the pillows and throwing the blanket over top of your naked body. You roll to your side and pretend to be asleep as the door to the bedroom slowly opens.

He quietly enters the room and tries to shut the door as silently as possible. He pads across the room to the bed and lifts the covers, sliding in behind you. He gets as close as he can, your naked back to his clothed chest and he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. “I’ve missed you so much princess..” he whispers. You pretend to stir, acting as if his words are pulling you from a deep slumber.

“Channie..?” You grumble in your best sleepy voice impression.

“It’s me princess. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He presses a kiss to your temple.

You turn to face him and bury your head in his chest, breathing in his scent. God you had missed him these months he’s been gone. “You’re early.” You say quietly.

“Wanted to surprise you.” You can feel his smile against your hair, and it makes you smile against his shirt. “Speaking of surprises..” he began. “Where are your clothes, baby?”

Now how do you explain this one without giving away what you were doing? You must think on it a little too long because he makes a hmpfh sound and says “doesn’t matter, just want you close.” He slides one arm under you in an attempt to pull you closer to him. In doing so, his arm slides under the pillows. Fuck.

“What’s this, baby?” He pulls the dildo out from under the pillow and holds it up so you can see it. You have no words, no explanation to give him. Your cheeks flame in embarrassment. “Now what’s this toy doing under the pillow instead of in my bedside table where it belongs? Would you happen to know how that happened, little one?” He knows. He totally knows what you were doing before he showed up. Is he mad? You know it’s against the rules. You’re not allowed to touch yourself without his permission, but he doesn’t seem mad. You shake your head no in response to his question.

“You don’t know?” He asks. “Are you lying, baby?” He reaches under the blanket and his fingers find your core, still wet with desire. “I think you’re lying baby. You just couldn’t wait for daddy to get home?” He carefully dips a finger into your entrance. You let out a soft whimper. “So wet. But what am I going to do with you? You’ve clearly been such a bad girl.” Your stomach twists in knots at the mention of ‘bad girl’. You want so badly to be his good girl, always. But you know that you have been bad and deserve his reprimands.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks. “Did you have fun breaking my rules like a little brat?”

“No, daddy.” You say meekly, tears welling in your eyes. You look up at him, your big doe eyes rimmed with tears absolutely breaks his heart and he can’t find it in himself to continue to scold you.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. “Daddy isn’t mad, but you know you broke the rules, yeah?”

You nod. You feel so guilty, knowing he is disappointed in you. You don’t think you have ever broken the rules before this moment. You pull away and look up at him. “I’m sorry, daddy. Honest. I know I broke the rules. I just missed you so much, need you so bad. I didn’t cum I promise, I felt too guilty. I tried for a long time but couldn’t stop thinking about how you would be so disappointed in me. I gave up right before you came home and I hid the evidence. I didn’t want you to be mad at me. I’m a good girl I promise.” You were rambling at this point, so nervous and trying to get it all off your chest.

“Shh, sweet girl.” He cooed. His hands cupped your face, thumbs rubbing slightly across your cheeks. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, I promise.” He smiled at you, and then he let out a little laugh.

“Why are you laughing at me?” You pout. He laughed again.

“You’re just too cute. My precious baby was so worried I would be mad at her, that she couldn’t even cum. Thought I would be sooo mad.” He said, chuckling.

“It’s not funny.” You roll away, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What did you think I would do to you?” He asked. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you. Is that what you were worried about? Me hurting you?” He was no longer laughing, his face had turned to one of sadness.

“No! Of course not.” Now it was your turn to hold his face in your hands. “You would never ever hurt me. I know that. I just want to be your good girl. Always.” He smiled at that.

“You are my good girl.” He kissed the tip of your nose. You scrunched it up and giggled at him. “I would like to know what you thought when you heard me come home though. Did you think you were going to get punished?” He asked.

Your mind flashed back to images of you bent over his lap, counting out loud as he smacked your bare ass with all his strength. Your cheeks flamed and you had to look away from him. You stayed silent. “Your cheeks are red, baby. Tell me what you’re thinking.” He coaxes.

“I thought you might spank me.” You said quietly.

“Hmm..” he pretended to think on it. “And did you like the thought of me spanking you?” He asked. You still couldn’t look at him. Too embarrassed of your thoughts. He put his hand in your hair and gripped it close to your scalp. “Look at me.” He commanded, using his hold on you to turn you to face him. You pressed your thighs together, feeling your wetness grow. You nodded. “But only bad girls get spankings.” He said. “You’re not a bad girl. But..” he paused. “I guess you were bad today. Touching yourself without permission. Maybe a spanking would be a fit punishment.”

He suddenly released you and sat up. He turned so his legs were off the side of the bed, feet on the floor. “Come here. Across my lap, princess.” He ordered. You gulped, nervous, but also strangely excited. He had never spanked you before. At least, never a proper spanking. Of course there had been some light smacking on occasion as he switched your positions, but this was an actual spanking. You slowly made your way over to him, and draped yourself across his muscular thighs. He ran his fingertips down your back, then up the backs of your legs gently, giving you goosebumps. “Here’s what’s going to happen, yeah? Are you listening baby?” You nodded and he continued. “I’m going to give you ten spankings for being bad while I was away. You are to count them out loud. This is a punishment, baby. So I’m not going to go easy on you.” Your stomach fluttered. “What are you supposed to do if it gets to be too much?” He asked.

“I use my colors.” You answered him. “Yellow is slow down and red it stop.”

“Good.” His hand started to gently rub across your ass, traveling slowly back and forth across both cheeks. “But I know you won’t need those. I know you’ll take your punishment like a good girl.” He swatted your right cheek, hard. But you didn’t think it was his full strength. You yelped. “Don’t forget to count, princess.” He chided.

“One.” You said.

His hand came down again, this time on your left cheek. “Two.” You said, proud of the strength in your voice. This wasn’t so bad. But when his hand came down for the third time, across the spot where both of your cheeks met, he was using all of his strength now and you could feel it. Tears sprang in your eyes and you jerked away from him. “Three.” You choked out. He continued at a relentless pace. You did your best to count loud enough for him to hear you.

“What was that princess?” He asked.

“E-eight.” You stuttered out, a little louder.

He gently ran his fingertips across the tender skin. “Your ass is a beautiful shade of red, baby. You’re doing so good.” You hummed at the praise. His hand traveled down to between your thighs, your arousal dripping onto his fingers. “Honey..” He said in a surprised tone. “You’re so wet.” He ran his middle finger up your slit, playing in your wetness. He gently prodded your entrance. You moaned quietly against his thigh. “Only a couple more.” He said, then he spanked you again.

“Nine.”

“Last one, baby. Are you ready?” He asked, rubbing circles where he just smacked. You nodded against him. For the last time, his hand came down and connected with your skin just below your right cheek.

“Ten!” You cried out. Face wet with tears and ass stinging, you felt accomplished in a way.

He scooped you up and cradled you in his arms, being gentle with your backside against his sweatpants. “You did so good baby. Daddy’s so proud. I knew you could handle your first punishment.” He kissed your forehead. “Such a perfect baby.”

You could feel his erection pressing against your sore bottom. You tried to grind yourself on him, but quickly realized how painful it was. “Daddy..” you whined.

“What princess?”

“Need you.” You answered. Words were hard when you were in this dreamy state.

“Need what baby? You can tell me.”

“Need your tongue. Your fingers.” You told him, embarrassed.

You didn’t need to ask him twice. He loved the taste of you and could eat you for hours if you’d let him. He gently placed you on the bed, your head on the pillows. He pulled his shirt up and over his head and discarded it on the floor. He used his big hands to push your legs apart, laying you bare before him. “Baby..” he said, dreamily. “Look at your princess parts. Soo ready for me, so pretty.”

Too slow for your liking, he inched closer to your pussy. You could feel his breath on you now, just another inch and he would be there. “Daddy… please.” You begged. And that’s all it took to push him over the edge. He began lapping at your pussy like a man starved, like his life depended on it, like he would never get another chance to taste you on his tongue. The feeling of his tongue on your clit, after you basically edged yourself for hours, was like nothing you had ever felt before. You gripped the sheets in your fists, sweet moans falling from your lips.

“So sweet..” he moaned against you, the sound of his voice muffled.

“Fuck..” you could feel your release building. Please don’t let it slip away this time. Chan slowly inserted his middle finger into you, only up to the first knuckle, and you exploded. Legs shaking, back arched, you couldn’t breathe. He continued licking, riding with you through your high, and cleaning up every drop.

“Fuck baby.” He panted, his lips and chin wet with you. He looked down at your fucked out frame below him, skin glowing, hair a mess across the pillow. His pupils were blown wide with lust. “I love you so much, pretty girl.” He told you, coming in close to kiss your mouth softly. You could taste yourself on his lips. “I wanted you to suck my cock-“ he began. You nodded vigorously. You loved putting him in your mouth. You felt like you were good at it. Of course he told you that you were, but you didn’t think it was something he was just saying because he was daddy. You genuinely believed you were good at it. And you loved making him feel good, loved the look on his face and the dirty praises that would fall from his lips. Good girl baby, suck daddy’s cock, choke on it, you can do it, take it all, that’s my girl. “Maybe later baby. I haven’t had you for months and after spanking you and tasting you, I don’t think I’m going to last. I need your cunt stretched around me, yeah?”

That also sounded good to you. You nodded, unable to voice what you wanted when you were this deep in sub space. He removed his sweatpants and kicked them to the floor. Kneeling on the bed in front of you, chiseled muscles, cock hard and throbbing in his hand as he slowly pumped, he looked.. godly. Your pussy clenched around nothing, you needed him. And he needed you. He lined himself up with your entrance, and rubbed his head up and down your slit, playing in your arousal. His head fell back in ecstasy. “Fuck I’ve missed this princess. Daddy thought about your pretty pussy every single day.” And with that, he slowly pushed inside. The stretch you felt was welcomed and pleasant. His cock stretching you out in the best way. You moaned, scrunching your eyes shut at the feeling. “Uh uh princess. Eyes open. Look at me.”

Fully seated inside you now, he came close, his weight resting on his forearms, his face inches from yours. He slowly started to move in and out of you at a miserable pace. “Please daddy, faster.” You begged. “I’ve been good, daddy. Please fuck me. I’ve been good.” He eyes rolled in the back of his head with the pleasure your words gave him. He slammed into you, skin slapping, hitting the best spot inside you. Your pussy fluttered around him.

“Going to cum again sweet girl?” He asked.

You nodded. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping baby. I wouldn’t dream of it. Not until my good girl gets exactly what she wants. My sweet girl, so perfect.” He panted. You clawed at his biceps as your orgasm hit you, waves of pleasure filling your body, pussy clamping down on his cock. “Fuck baby, your gonna make me cum. Want daddy to fill you up? Want your pretty pussy filled and dripping with daddy’s cum?” He asked.

“Yes please, Channie!” You begged. “Please can I have your cum? Please!” He released inside of you with a groan, his thrusts slowing until they stopped completely. Both of you breathing hard, he looked down at you lovingly. And then he giggled. Gone was your domineering daddy, and back was sweet giggly Chan. He kissed your nose. You smiled at him with all of the love you could muster. Your heart was so full you felt it might burst. How could you love a man so much?

He slowly pulled out, and you groaned at the empty feeling. You could feel his cum dripping out of you and onto the sheets.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He smiled. “My good girl. Always.”

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

#stray kids #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan stray kids #hyunjins orange slice too #repost

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deartouya · 2 years

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HANDS SO TENDER — DABI

✶ summary: domestic fluff; bath fic + sick fic. dabi's never been good at accepting help, but when it comes to you he's getting better at it.

✶ pairing: touya todoroki x gn!reader

✶ word count: 1,020

✶ warnings: domestic fluff >:), non-sexual nudity, mentions of eating/food, mentions of non-specified sickness/medicine. this spawned because. i wanna wash touya's hair and burrito wrap him like a cat. he deserves it. 🔫 love him >:( tagging: @atsumeii ; @tobiodose

taglist / anthology masterlist

“Think you’re getting sick.” Touya groans, his head lolling back against the couch cushions as you settle next to him. He can feel your fingers on his skin, skating through his bangs as you smooth them away. “You feel warm—warmer than usual,” the words are soft, concerned, spoken against his forehead. It makes him feel warm. Having someone be concerned for him. For someone to worry and care.

He huffs, “don’ get sick.”

Despite his petulance, Touya lets you poke and prod him, shedding his jacket and draping a cool cloth around his neck. Lets you smooth his hair back again and press your lips back against the feverish skin. Watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you look him over, brows creased.

“Have you eaten anything?”

The thought makes his stomach churn, “no.” He feels guilty when you sigh, thinks that maybe he should have tried to eat something—toast or crackers—before you got home and found him curled up pitifully on your couch.

Your fingers tangle with his own, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of his palm as you think, “I’ll make you some toast—maybe check if I have any saltines in the pantry still.” The guilt ebbs away when you smile at him, all soft and adoring.

“What about a bath? Get ‘ya out of these clothes.” He doesn’t answer, lolling himself towards you and tucking his face into the crook of your neck, “please, baby? Then I’ll let you hole up in the bedroom watching horror movies and The Princess Bride for as long as you want.” Touya scoffs when you raise a hand, “scout’s honour.”

He huffs a laugh against you, scrubbing his face into your neck. You won’t, you’ll hover over him and hand feed him soup and awful-tasting medicine until he’s better and he can’t help but want it. A selfish little desire curling in his stomach, to soak up all your affection and worry.

“Shouldn’t have let you find out about that,” he nips at the skin of your jaw and you know you’ve won, letting your fingers tuck sweat-curled hair behind his ear. “Usin’ ‘em just so I cave—mean.”

“Not my fault you like it so much, pretty boy.”

Touya stands slowly, braced stubbornly against the couch to fight the dizziness before you—equally stubbornly—duck beneath his arm. He caves immediately, body slumping against yours even as he pouts, “I can walk, y’know.”

“I know you can,” you placate.

The bath’s warm, sweet and smelling of sandalwood, steam curling around his shoulders and bubbly water lapping at his collar. He’s easy to maneuver, following the soft warmth of your palms and eyes weighing heavy as you scrub at the flush of his chest. “Good?”

“S’good.” Touya’s quiet as he watches you, chin thunking against the rim of the tub as his whole body goes slack in your hold.

The shampoo—which smells overwhelming like you—is cool against his scalp and he can feel his eyes slipping shut under the repetition, soft strands coiled around your fingers and slicked back from his eyes. Soft contented hums as you comb through his hair, leaning into your touch and soaking up the affection.

He lets you tilt his chin when it’s time to rinse, one hand shielding his eyes from soapy water and the other tipping a cup of water over him. It’s something he brought home one day—a knockoff Jaws shark, clunky and impossible to drink from but you still kept it. Let it hold your—and his—toothbrush and take up space.

You do that with all his things, let him take up space. You’ve carved out so much room for him in your life, to let him be. Half your movie shelf was picked by him and you buy all the muted fruits he loves and let him have claim over half the bed despite him barely getting to sleep in it.

Touya feels you lean in, forehead knocking against his own softly and palms cupping his jaw, “I’m done.” You smile when hazy blue eyes meet yours, letting him nudge himself closer until he can kiss you. It’s simple, gentle and soft, but he feels himself shiver. He feels warm and safe, taken care of.

He lets you dress him too, bundling him in a fluffy towel and oversized sweats.

“Sit, gonna dry your hair so you don’t soak through my pillows.” Despite the warning he still glares at you when you ruffle a towel over him, nipping at the skin of your wrist, before settling into the bed. It’s nice—even though he’d rather die than say it—to be looked after, preened and soothed.

It’s only after you have him bundled up on his side of the bed that his eyes open again, face cocooned by blankets and eyes dropping with sleep, “gonna let me hole up and binge watch now?”

“As you wish.”

You grin when he huffs, the corners of his mouth downturning to avoid his smile, “you’re a nerd.”

He’s already fighting sleep, head lulling minutely as he tries to keep himself awake. “You’re one to talk—now, scooch.” You don’t get in though, guiding him back into the pillows and tucking the blankets back under his chin. Then, seemingly pleased, you worm your way under him.

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the soft sound of waves and your breath—but he’s still awake. Stubbornly staring at your profile in hopes you’ll read his mind. You do. “Hey,” your fingers pause in his hair, tapping softly against the base of his skull. He hums against your sternum, making a show of cracking one, recently closed, eye to stare at you. “Kiss?”

“Needy,” he nips, propping himself up on an elbow, “now who’s gonna get sick?”

“Please, baby?”

He huffs again, eyes half-lidded and full of put-on annoyance, “really shouldn’t have let you know how much I like those. Nothing good ever comes from it,” he leans up anyways, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. And he lets you keep his cheeks trapped between your palms as he pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose and forehead.

“You know you love it.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi fluff #gn!reader #✶ writes #✶ writes.bnha #✶ writes.dabi #[🧺] — love is to care

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

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Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara wants nothing more than to return home and exact revenge on the courtiers who hurt her and killed her sister. Exiled to a distant temple, Gwyn finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious stranger offering to escort her home on orders from her eldest brother and king of the realm.

Unraveling the secrets of the strange soldier will prove more deadly than Gwyn could ever have imagined, setting into motion events that began nearly five hundred years before.

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!

TW for mentions of past sexual assault

Read on Ao3

Gwyn was beginning to believe the gloom would never lift. Though she tried to remember, she couldn’t recall a time when the world had been so draped in fog. It was supposed to be spring, wasn’t it? Where was the sunshine, the chirping birds, the swaying flowers? All was rot and ruin, like death itself stalked the world to keep the world in perpetual slumber.

It made waking difficult, though the pounding fist on the other side of the door was insistent enough to convince her to throw back the scratchy blanket before Azriel burst in. “I’m up, I’m up,” she grumbled. Gwyn stood in the room, staring at the dishes piled against a little table as she tried to recall her dreams…but nothing came. Odd. Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d had dreamless sleep, though she wasn’t complaining, either. She felt strangely unburdened, as though someone had come in and scooped out the worst of her grief and guilt and set it all to one side.

Gwyn was quick to braid her hair and dress in riding clothes, abandoning the aqua dress from the day before. That belonged to the priestesses, not the princess. And out here, she was neither—just Gwyn. That felt strange, too. She’d never been just herself. It was just play pretend until she reached the palace and yet Gwyn liked the sight of herself in rough pants and a fitted shirt only half tucked in. Neither Merril nor Eris would have approved, which made Gwyn happy.

Another series of pounding knocks drew Gwyn out of her satisfied staring. With a sigh, she made her way to the door where Azriel stood dressed exactly as he had the night before. “Sleep well?” he asked, a bite in his voice. Clearly he hadn’t.

“Like a babe,” she replied, the worst honest. “And I’m hungry.”

“What a surprise,” he grumbled, gesturing toward the narrow hall and the creaking stairs just at the end. It was hard to imagine Azriel, with his powerful frame, sleeping here. Would he be able to stretch out his legs? Did she feel pity for him?

Maybe a little, she supposed, though the dark scowl etched over his otherwise lovely face certainly dampened some of it. He didn’t have to sleep in the hall. He could have slept in his own bed across the way given he’d locked her in from the outside. His exhaustion was his fault and Gwyn refused to feel bad for him. Perhaps he’d learn his lesson this upcoming night and be more proactive.

Or perhaps by the time they reached the palace he’d be a snarling, snapping beast. Either way, Gwyn just barely cared. He was a grown man, he didn’t need her to take care of him. Nor did she have any interest in doing so.

Such was her good mood that Gwyn forgot who occupied the tavern, halting so abruptly at the sight of all those men that Azriel barreled into her back without warning. She would have slammed to the ground, likely chipping a tooth had he not reached out to grab her, yanking her against his chest before any harm could come to her.

“Careful,” he warned in that low, lethal voice of his. Shrugging off his touch with casual indifference, Gwyn allowed Azriel to pick a table close to a dirty window. “Don’t move.”

A few eyes drifted toward her, lacking the curiosity she was so accustomed to. Perhaps, after being gone for so long, no one expected to see a Vanserra so far north. Or maybe she no longer looked like one at all, a thought that deflated some of her good mood. All she had was her family—if she lost them, who even was she?

Just Gwyn, that voice whispered seductively. That was enough, at least for the moment. And Gwyn had no more time to truly turn the thought over because Azriel appeared, balancing steaming bowls of porridge alongside a heaping serving of rather sad looking fruit.

“Eat,” he said, turning again only to return with bread and a jam and a carafe of water. She did as she was told, delighted by the fare even if it was merely mediocre. Sometimes food was good so long as it was hot and available, and Gwyn knew better than to be picky right then. Lunch would be served from a satchel–dry bread, hard cheese, and dried meat that Azriel tossed over before remembering she probably needed water, too. Gwyn would eat that, too, atop her horse even though the swaying made her a little nauseous.

Azriel certainly ate like a soldier, finishing well before she had so he could stare with disapproval. Just because he could unhinge his jaw and had no need to chew didn’t mean the rest of the world did.

“I thought you were anxious to arrive home,” he grumbled when Gwyn reached for more bread.

“Not exactly,” she admitted around the food she’d begun chewing. “I want to return but I’m…” Why was she telling him this? “You’ll tell Eris everything I say, won’t you?”

Was that a smile? It flickered and then faded but Gwyn swore it had been present. “I have no intention of gossiping with the king, if that’s your concern.”

She could have throttled him right then. Why couldn’t he just be a regular ass and say her secrets held no interest to either himself or Eris and leave it at that. Gossiping? When he’d asked her a direct question and she intended to answer it truthfully?

“Forget it,” she grumbled. Azriel didn’t press, drumming his fingers against the wood table until Gwyn had eaten so much she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t be sick when she got atop her horse. Somehow she managed and thus begun another miserable, silent day with the man her brother had deemed trustworthy enough to bring her home.

Gwyn still remembered that frantic kiss. The it’s you before slumping back into unconsciousness. Who had he thought she was? And where had that man gone? She wasted a good part of the morning idly wondering what woman could love someone as cold as Azriel and the rest turning her plan over in her mind.

Once again, they came into another haunted looking village with a populace of exhausted, overworked people. And once again, Azriel ordered her silence while he paid for a room. The tavern felt indistinguishable from the last in terms of how it was built nor did the people seem any different.

In fact…as Gwyn looked over the tavern, she swore the two men half hidden in shadow in the corner of the room were familiar. She couldn’t see faces but their builds…had they been at the tavern the night before?

No. That was both silly and absurd. Surely there were large men all over the world and it wasn’t surprising a few might find their way into the nightly tavern after a hard day at work. But Gwyn was uneasy as Azriel led her up to the room he intended to lock her back up in.

“What?” he asked when she hesitated, standing in the doorway.

She could have told him.

And he would have thought she was crazy.

“Nothing,” she lied, turning back for the tiny, chilly room. The door snapped shut behind her and a lock clicked, making her little more than a prisoner once more. It was just a coincidence, though the anxiety ribboning in her gut told her otherwise. What was Azriel doing down there? Gwyn filled the tub with warm water and while she scrubbed the dirt from her hair and skin, she began to count the seconds.

Was he waiting to give her time to bathe? Or was he doing something else?

Merril’s dagger was still tucked in her bag, half-forgotten until she dug through, looking for something clean and warm to sleep in. Gwyn hadn’t bothered to question why Merril would do such a thing…but what if they knew something she didn’t?

“You’re paranoid,” she whispered to herself, though she couldn’t shake that feeling, even when Azriel came up with food and a scowl. She waited until his back was turned to ask, “Where do you hail from?”

“The coast,” he replied casually, not looking back at her.

Gwyn knew if she asked who his father is, he’d give her a name she’d never heard of. But all Eris’s close guards were nobility, second and third sons hoping to gain favor and avoid priesthood, but who would never gain a title and all that came with it. Would Eris send a common, low-born man to retrieve his sister?

Once, Gwyn would have been able to answer that question without hesitation, but now…maybe Eris would. That was the problem—she was jumpy, nervous of strangers and distrustful and Azriel refused to give her a reason to trust her. Strange, how that instinct of his lent credibility to what was happening.

Gwyn settled uneasily in bed, listening to the sound of Azriel’s heavy boots just outside the door. With a thunk, he plopped down and something about knowing he’d spend another miserable night sleeping upright made her say, “You can sleep in here, if you want?”

He was silent for so long that Gwyn was certain he wouldn’t respond. Well, fine. At least she tried to be nice. That was more than he could say, though perhaps they didn’t teach courtly manners on the coast. And maybe this was more punishment from Eris, something Gwyn hadn’t even considered.

She was half asleep when Azriel’s voice floated back to her. “Where?”

That was a good question. He couldn’t have the bed and there wasn’t a chair. “The floor?” she offered, thinking she could hand him one of the lumpy pillows and half-shredded blankets, if he wanted them.

She heard him chuckle. “How…sweet.”

But he didn’t move, and Gwyn tumbled into sleep not long after. Her dreams were back with a vengeance, pulled from the vault she typically locked them in as though someone held the threads of her mind and was combing through—looking for something. Gwyn fought, thrashing as she tried to pull herself out of her nightmares, but something kept sucking her deeper into the abyss.

Show me, show me, show me.

Gwyn resisted, holding the memories of the attack, of her sister's dead body so tightly she swore she could taste blood. Someone was screaming as she fought, begging for help that Gwyn couldn’t give them. She wouldn’t give her sister up to this monster, this creature living in her mind even when that seductive voice promised to free her of the torment she felt.

Better to feel the torment than to forget.

Gwyn surfaced abruptly to the near glowing eyes of Azriel. His face was impossibly close, his hands gripping her arms as he shook her.

“You’re screaming,” he said, when Gwyn stared back, trying to make sense of what was happening. Azriel was in the bed, straddling her as he held her, his gaze searching for some explanation. She blinked.

“I was?”

But of course she had been. Her heart was racing, thudding in her throat so painfully she could taste blood. “I…”

Azriel seemed to realize he was on top of her and swung his leg over the bed so Gwyn could sit up. “I don’t remember,” she finally said, trying to recall what had just happened. “Was I having a nightmare?”

Azriel swore softly, running a hand through his inky hair while turning his back to her. “You sounded as if you were being murdered.”

“Oh,” she replied.

Azriel turned again, something vicious etched into his features. It ought to have frightened her—she was certain in the morning it would—but right then, Gwyn only felt relief.

“What happened to you?”

Her hands went cold. Looking at the thin blanket bunched around her hips, Gwyn whispered, “Nothing happened to me.”

Nothing he was entitled to know, anyway. Azriel was just another man who wouldn’t help—who would protect the people who had hurt her and her sister. Telling him was likely to see her injured all over again. Or worse, if the men at court ever thought Gwyn had told someone. Some secrets had to stay just that—secret.

“Liar,” he whispered, the word filled with venom.

Gwyn didn’t like him right then. “Why would I tell you anything?” she shot back. “It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to trust you. Thank you for waking me up—and sorry if I scared you. But as far as I can tell, you’re not entitled to know anything else.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “My apologies, princess.”

Azriel stormed from the room, though he was careful not to slam the door. She heard him pace for a moment before he thudded back to the floor, his back against the wall. Something about his presence was soothing at least right then.

Gwyn didn’t need to remember to know what the dream had been about. She wished she could forget Catrin’s death.

And knew she never would.

#gwynriel #this chapter is so short because it used to have a really long azriel pov #and i removed it so as to not spoil my plot

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