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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

Note

“fine continue to act like you hate me” ;D

QUEEN! Thank you so much for sending this in, I hope it meets your expectations? ;) Love you bunches! ❤️💞

This turned into a little more than a drabble. Oops?

Prompt is from here

Warnings: Language, very NSFW content, Dominant Eddie, and more!

~*~

“Uh… Eddie?” The freshman tries, fingers curled against his beige lunch tray, a little confused, eyes darting across the lunch hall and then back to his leader.

Eddie raises a brow, sneaker squeaking the plastic lunch chair’s end, leg perched atop it in an awkward bend, his fingers inking something on his kneecap through the exposed thread work of his ripped denim. When the raven haired kid still isn’t vocalizing what he’s acquiring Eddie’s attention span for, the older male sighs, pen pinched between two fingers as he places it down, folding his hands together and leaning forward, everyone else seemingly following. “Wheeler?”

Mike swallows harshly, thumbing back to the left, avoiding Dustin’s giggling gaze. Eddie’s eyes—along with the entire Hellfire Club table’s—drift languidly, until they lock on you. You don’t falter, folding your arms beneath your bosom and making a show of acting bored and irate. It gives Eddie those butterflies in the very pits of his stomach. He loves when you torment him, and how fucking good you look doing it. It takes the rocker a few seconds before he’s dropping back into his chair, popping a smashed Pringle into his mouth with a crude crunch. “Y/N does this every year.”

“But, she’s like… she is glaring at you, Eddie. You realize this, right?” Dustin questions.

“It’s a sign of flattery, boys. And one day you’ll learn that.” Eddie’s jacket crackles with the movement of his arm as he waves at you above his head, that lazy smirk on his mouth.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Eddie hears Mike and Dustin say in unison.

You don’t hesitate, middle finger saluting your long haired classmate. He pretends to be stabbed, theatrically grabbing an invisible dagger over his heart. This seems to get your gears grinding, your body moving before your mind catches up. Everyone else is shying away from your wrath, others intrigued and craving momentary popcorn. The moment that you reach the table you’re balancing your tray on one hand, knocking Eddie’s chips from his hand mid-bite with the other, making him blink rapidly, snorting when he catches up.

“That was pretty rude, Y/N.”

“Why are you such a fucking show off for your little ass monkeys, Munson? And all of you hanging off his every obnoxious word?” You chastise, rolling your eyes, slamming your lunch tray down in Eddie’s eye line.

“Am I not impressing you, Y/N? My god, after all these years I thought I was your hero in this Hell.” He widens his arms, motioning around the lunchroom’s expanse, dipping forward and too close for you to not catch his wafting, spicy scent.

Stupid bastard…

“I hate you, Munson.” And with that, you take heavy steps away from them, face flushed.

“Love you too, Princess of my personal galaxy!”

~*~

You hate Eddie Munson, and you’re pretty sure he hates you. The two of you have always fed off this fucked up chemistry that seems to worsen each year, never having more than traded blows or glares. Ones that you’ll never admit to considering more than you should. You’re honestly surprised at how mean you can truly get with him, guilt piling in after the blows settle. Shaking your head, you grip your spiral notebook, slamming your locker closed.

You know Higgins is gonna be pissed if you show up late again, but you’re more amped than you’ve felt in so long, that you don’t even notice Eddie Munson sliding in behind you, leaning by your ear to the give a thick ‘boo’. You turn around angry, y/e/c irises shining wildly, glazing your perception a little, making Eddie blush by just seeing how you look right now.

“You always gonna be mad at me for refusing to let you into the club, Y/N? Just because you can’t play worth a shit doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not cute for trying.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your stupid club.” You smack his wrist to shake his touch, swiveling around and stepping up to his taller frame, eyes glittering, lips wet from your popped pursing.

Eddie wants to kiss you goddamned stupid.

“They think that you hate me, Y/N. But we both know that you can’t get enough of me.” Eddie startles your posture and himself, back-stepping you, caging you into a press against the wall, tilting his head down until your noses are touching, his warm mouth hovering.

“That was… I don’t…” You sound beyond ignorant.

Eddie smiles softly, that grin he is attached to paving the way out. He reaches to brush your hair from your temple, letting his hand flip, knuckles caressing your jawbone, ring metal stimulating your skin. “If you loathe my very existence so much, I’d hate to see how much attention I’d get from you if you loved me.”

“You fucking wish, Eddie-“

“Ah, did I say we were on a first name basis, Y/N?” Eddie presses one finger over your lips, “Well, I say your lovely name, but did you ever think that I may not like you enough to say yours?”

You start to protest, and that’s when Eddie presses himself directly into your personal space, your back flush to the hallway wall, cold seeping through your shirt. You need some warmth.

His hand slides around your neck, tickling his fingertips across your jugular, thumb pressing your chin into a tilt, testing the waters, giving you an out if he’s making you uncomfortable. You part your lips for his finger to fit into—your answer. It’s salty like the chips of his you’d discarded, but you suck on it, an adrenaline rush flushing your skin in dark pink dusts. You can’t believe Eddie has taken this initiative, his annoyance with you shoved down beneath the surface, permitting lust to control. His dark brown orbs have widened considerably, caverning into a glossy black abyss of blown pupils, gliding his thumb along your slick tongue.

The next move belongs to you, a desperation going to bed without caution on its tail. You let Eddie’s thumb slip out, bringing your mouth to his in a violent kiss, one that has you nearly dangling over the floor, forearm flexed around his neck’s nape, fingers underneath his collar, digging into his flesh. He reciprocates rather excitedly, a lick of his plump lips, a suck to his teeth, his hand adding a little pressure onto your throat.

He’s got you backed into a corner near some lockers—a quiet little cove, the hallways of Hawkins High abandoned until the period is through. You feel like you’re stumbling around, falling through a dizzying, galactic dimension, and your knuckled grip on his coat and the other finding purchase in his long tresses—tightening. Eddie is kissing you with all that he’s got, that noisy smash, that sloppy slope of him swaying back and forth to keep you secure between him and the wall. In the break away, heaving, hot breathing pants, Eddie’s smirk folds into your features, his words echoing, inked knee diving between your thighs to roll. “You may hate me, Y/N, but I don’t think my pussy does.”

Fuck… His?

An ache so sharp, slices through your belly, dangling over your abdomen, before settling between your thighs—burning you a singe.

It’s a comedic slow motion for you to watch Eddie’s hand drag down through the valley of your breasts, lingering on your waist, before it settles over your jean covered cunt. He doesn’t have to ask for an answer, you jolt into him like gravity. Your eyes are damned near hazed over and fucked out, fascinated with observing his jewelry designs curl, adorning his knuckles in rests, his large hand pressing flat over where you need him the most.

“I say my pussy, because I know it belongs to me. The more you hate me, the more you want my dick buried inside this.” He rubs his palm back and forth, making your sneakers scuff the floor as you try to widen your stance, riding his hold. He teeters back, making you gape incredulously.

“Munson—“ You get that fiery temper back, ashamed, shoving his chest.

“You really are somethin’, Y/N. Two years of my campaign rejections and you’re suddenly my drooling slut? Kinda likin’ the fact that you loathe me so much.” Eddie quips, reaching out to grip your hand. You side step him, crossing your arms, defensive, still caught here, struggling for steady breaths.

He sighs, stepping back, starting to leave, despite that straining bulge he’ll need to take care of, but he changes his mind mid-way, shifting his body in a rather ungraceful pivot to say, “Fine, continue to act like you hate me.”

“Eddie…” You let yourself say his name, beckoning your own embracing of this situation, no bite or spite behind your words. You’re a pathetic mess of revealing want.

You grip his jacket sleeve, fingers playing with the decorative chains attached to it. Eddie let’s you roam him like a lab specimen, hand settling on your lower back, bunching your shirt in encouragement. Your bravery is impressive, your digits finding that happy trail beneath his shirt that tucks into his handcuff accessorized belt, painting back and forth, making him inhale in a hiss. Your next words are abruptly cut off by a seething older male, eyes narrowed and jaw slack.

“Edward Munson and Y/N Y/L/N! My office, now!”

~*~

You’d think you would be angry that you let Eddie Munson get the better of you and have you both caught by Principal Higgins, but the more the old man paces in his office as you two are sat in front of his oak desk, and rambles on about school conduct and human decency, the more that Eddie nods and mockingly says, “Of course, Sir” to further piss him off and have you biting into your hand to keep the snorts at bay—you figure out you’re having a damned good time. You pick at your notebook’s edges, letting the shreds sprinkle onto the floor.

“Y/N, are you listening to me? You’ve been letting yourself venture too far off track this year, young lady. I’m frankly disappointed and I expect better of you.”

It’s out before you can stop it, “Of course, Sir.”

Eddie’s lip twitches, head bowing. He’s fighting snickers under his breath. And that’s when you literally have to look away to keep from falling apart and risking expulsion. Before either of you can cause your red faced authority anymore stress, his secretary is garnering his attention, mentioning a fight in the cafeteria amongst some sophomores. He gives you and Eddie one clear direction, pointed finger at Eddie. “Don’t touch anything in this room, Munson. I expect both of you to sit here until I get back, do you understand?”

It’s a unified look you and Eddie share, not missing a beat as you both repeat, “Of course, Sir.”

Higgins slams his door on the way out, blinds slapping against the glass. Eddie and you bust out laughing, your hand over your mouth, Eddie giving you that grin. You’re still giggling as the gamer overlooks all the shut blinds, standing, moving closer and running his finger along their dusty edges. He does that thing with his tongue, poking it out in concentration, locking Higgins’ door and turning to you, hands now behind his back. “Stupid fuck really closed the door on us when we were literally just grinding on each other in his hallway?”

You swallow on a parched wonder, Eddie stalking forward and taking your beat up spiral from your hands, tossing it onto Higgins’ desk, where you note his key ring.

He can’t get back in here without his keys, and Eddie locked the door…

“He’s really fuckin’ stupid, Y/N.” Eddie sees what you see, helping you from your chair, his hands on your waist, lifting you onto the edge of your Principal’s desk.

Your heart is hammering sporadically, throat constricting with its vice beats. Eddie noses his way into your neck, mouth finding a patch of skin that he can lay slow, torturous kisses to. Your lids flutter closed, legs wrapping around his lower back, letting yourself push into him. He groans a deep sound that you feel in your cunt. His lips kiss the side of your mouth, leaving open ended questions, pausing wants. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, only kisses you with a feverish appreciation.

“What if,” Eddie is speaking again, tone raspy and damp with desire, “what if I make you cum on our Principal’s desk, Y/N?”

You can’t describe that tickling weight that plummets from your head to your toes, making you dizzy, stringing your insides into a scorching, throbbing mess. Eddie lets his hand drift to your denim waist, lightly dipping. “It’ll take him five minutes to get his slow ass to the cafeteria, maybe another five back here—give or take, and that’s not counting his noble mission at hand.”

You’re hanging onto his every word, practically a damned drooling mess.

Eddie takes it as his cue to keep on going. “Gives me around twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, just locked in here with you.” He staples himself over you, your ass digging into the desk, feeling him swell in his jeans, rocking over his cock.

“Munson…”

“Mhm, call me Eddie now.” He coos, blowing a strand of hair off your face.

“Eddie.”

“So, that means we can either fight in here, or we can fuck. Your choice, Y/N. Personally,” Eddie takes a deep breath, his hand rubbing circles underneath the back of your top, the other stroking you over the heavy fabric between your legs, “I’d rather help myself to this sweet little pussy for a while.”

Your vision is damn near whiting out, body shaking from nerves, soothed by the outcast you swore you hated, that you assumed hated you. It takes you a second or two, after telling Eddie you don’t hate him, reaching behind you and shoving everything to the side on Higgins’ desk, not caring about objects that clatter onto the floor. You’ll do anything to have Eddie Munson. He’s grinning into a ‘game on’ face, closing in. “For the record, I don’t hate you either, Y/N.”

#kristenwrites #my work #my writing #stranger things drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #writing prompts #writing prompt #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson

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thegunrafeusedtoshootpeterkin · 3 years

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poly!rafe cameron and nate jacobs hc

tw: possessiveness, sexual implications, drug use, alcohol use, language, it’s rafe and nate for crying out loud

rafe and nate hated eachother at first, two kooks with daddy issues and fucked childhoods and drug problems and attachment issues is a bad mix

then they saw you y/n l/n or as your friends call you pookie which means you ain’t a kook and you ain’t a pogue you just go with the flow

rafe saw you as a challenge because you were hard to get but nate saw you as a trophy that he knows he can collect but he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to get with you by himself so him and rafe became friends and the rest is history

jj and rue were the first people to bring to your attention that they might like you

“dude ,do you see the way they look at you?, rue tell me i’m not crazy” “no fuck yeah i see it to they look at you like you’re something to eat it’s kind of gross”

then maddy perez

“dude, rafe and nate totally like you, you gonna go for it?”

then kat hernandez

“pookie,you should totally go for it they are literally eye fucking you right now as we speak”

even your mom

“honey, i think you should atleast go on a date with them”

so like any wise or fed up person would do you agreed to a date with the most dangerous and eligible bachelors on the island and it went well

after that date you were smitten they bought you what ever you want they protected you and they loved you, they never thought you were to clingy or to much of anything

if nate had to miss a practice because his princess needs pads and is having a crisis all the way across campus and rafe can’t help because he’s on vacation he’s willing to make that sacrifice

if rafe had to miss a smoke session with fez and barry because his queen is having a panic attack and nate is at practice he’ll be there

if they have to stop fucking because you dropped a glass cup in the middle of your apartment and sliced the middle of your foot open they’ll be there to drive to the emergency and sit with you until the stitches are done

if you get into a fight with on of they’re exes or an old hookup they’ll be there to break it up or help you out if the bf of the bitch tries to join

if you wanna go to a party they’re coming to

you wanna go grocery shopping you are going with one or both of them and if they can’t come you better go with one of your friends

you guys get in an argument expect to be either manipulated or gaslighted or get the most sincere and hopeful apology ever there’s no in between

some guy bothering you at a bar, they show up and he won’t bother you any more

teachers pass you out of fear of what either of there families will do if they fail you

your mom loves them

she bakes them there own separate batch of cookies

you drink? they will get you the most expensive version of your favorite alcohol

you smoke? shit fez and barry always have the hookup

you like pope and do none of that okay that’s fine by them

you do harder drugs? shit you are in the right relationship

if you ever get laced nate and rafe are gonna kill whoever did it and they ain’t gonna give af about the consequences

nate and rafe are soft with you and rarely raise their voice at you because you can manipulate and gaslight too all you gotta do is cry

rafe and nate get in heated arguments about football and you have to calm them down 99.9% of the time the other 1% rafe gives up

it’s a very versatile relationship but nate usually tops because his ego can’t take being a bottom

rafe has slapped his father in his mouth for calling you and nate out of your names

nate has been in many fist fights with his dad because of the crude comments he makes about you and rafe and what he would do to you guys

you balance out the crazy always but you’re just as crazy as them

you all love eachother and that’s all that matters

taglist: @msgorillagripcoochie @cordeliascrown @thedemonsimpofcamphalfblood @dreamypeaches

#nate jacobs #nate jacobs x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron headcanon #nate jacobs headcanon #rafe x reader x nate #nate jacobs x reader x rafe cameron

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celestial-martian · 3 years

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Astrology Observations No°1

Hey guys! This is my first astrology post! I’ve been studying astrology for a few years on and off, but I still feel like a beginner. I've never tried this before, but hopefully some people can relate to these or find it interesting 😊

Have you ever seen an Aries Mars and Scorpio Mars in an argument? Both know how to use their words as weapons quite well. This combination can lead to extremely heated and destructive arguments. The sheer amount of energy is also insane. In low states, they might resort to verbally hurting each other just to "get even."

Aries Mars / Mars in 1H might get so angry that it’s hard for them to communicate well sometimes. This could also depend on their Mercury and Moon placements. Mercury = how you communicate and Moon = how you regulate emotions.

Fire Mars could view arguments as a competition. They might be quick to get defensive when it comes to their ego. Air or Earth Mars (especially Virgo) might view arguments as a competition on an analytical level, like a debate. Or they approach arguments very logically.

Virgo Mars in an argument could be called “nitpicky.” They might like to focus on little details or words you use. They want what you say to be exact.

Capricorn + Aries + Scorpio in a chart = very sharp, dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Could be crude, even. Really good at delivering jokes deadpan.

North Node in the 4th house could make a person feel like they’re meant to have a family. Their family could also play a critical role (positive or negative) in their life purpose. I’ve noticed this could make someone very hardworking for their loved ones. There’s a possibility of wanting to support them and make them feel secure. Intuitive placement as well.

Lilith conjunct Mercury / in 3H could make someone very vocal about their rebelliousness. People could definitely find their voice or words sexy and alluring. Their power is their voice and ability to communicate. I get “take no shit” vibes from this placement. Could be a very vocal feminist supporter, too.

Lilith in Aquarius / 11H is very much about breaking the norms and doing their own thing. Could get a thrill out of shocking others or being unpredictable. Very sexually experimental. Also could be very big on activism and speak out about human rights causes. They could want to empower others.

Positive Sun - North Node aspects could find it easy to be in alignment with their life purpose, given that the Sun represents our core identity. This could also mean someone who shines brightly on others, whether this be in the public eye or lifting people's spirits in some way.

Libra represents others (relationships, partnerships, etc.), balance, and harmony. Moon in Libra / 7H can be really good at balancing their emotions at their best, but at their worst, they could too often put others’ needs before their own. Could have a hard time setting boundaries with others. They might have a very strong desire to help others.

Libra + Virgo placements in a chart could make someone very selfless. They might have a tendency to overwork themselves until they feel resentful. They work hard to create harmony, and they want to be recognized for their hard work. Acts of service and words of affirmation could be their dominant love languages.

Sun and Venus in Taurus are the epitome of quiet stubbornness. My brother has this placement. Such a grounded, stable energy to them. They take love very seriously, and the amount of loyalty, wow. I really admire that.

Neptune at a Scorpio degree (8° and 20°) / in 8H can make someone very intuitive. Could have very intense dreams / fantasies or have psychic experiences. A spiritual placement, too.

Mars - Pluto aspects create intense energy. This is the meeting of two volatile, harsh planets. This individual might need an outlet to express excess energy. Depending on how tight the orb is, their drive, passion, anger, or desire can be very transformative.

Negative aspects could mean there’s tension between their drive and transformation, and positive aspects could mean ease between the two. Overall, very passionate aspect. Could be prone to obsessiveness.

Moon conjunct Chiron / possibly Chiron 4H can indicate someone who has mother wounds. Their mother could have been absent or abusive in some way, or the individual could have resentment toward their mother-figure. I personally know someone with this placement. The individual could struggle with these emotions for a long time. Their healing of these wounds can be incredibly powerful and inspiring.

Where Chiron is in your chart indicates early emotional wounds. But pain is also an opportunity to transform and heal, which can be a beautiful thing. On a positive side, Moon conjunct Chiron or Chiron in Water Signs / 4H / 8H / 12H could also indicate someone very in tune with their emotions. High emotional intelligence. They could heal other's emotional wounds. This would probably be a good placement for a therapist. Empaths.

7H ruler in 3H - True about the possibility of meeting your future spouse young, through neighbors, siblings, or in your hometown!

Fun fact: My mom’s 7H ruler (Mercury) is in her 3H, and my parents met through my dad’s cousin when they were teenagers. Both of their Venus’s are in their 3H also.

Leo stelliums, especially in air/fire houses, are truly charismatic. They could have a tendency to attract drama into their life. Very good at sales. They could have a way with people and be very persuasive.

I dated a guy with a Leo 7H stellium - Mercury, Venus, and Mars - and, wow, these people are memorable. Enthusiastic, positive, and gregarious. Always seem to be in a relationship. Their shadow side could be prone to manipulation, but not always.

Capricorn Ascendants / Saturn in the 1st can make a person appear serious but also exude boss energy. Others might see them as very hardworking and diligent. They typically have sharp features, even if it’s just one feature of their face. In my experience it’s the eyes. Their teeth could also be noticeable in some way, either small, large, or they have a great smile. They may have a manner-of-fact “let’s get down to business” attitude at first.

Saturn in the 1st could indicate someone having a lot of karma or lessons to learn about themselves, their appearance, and/or how they approach life. A father figure could’ve also played a large, memorable role in this area as well.

Whichever house Sagittarius is in or the sign over your 9th house could indicate what you’re interested in learning more about.

Ex: Sagittarius in the 6th would like learning about new routines, their health, how to help others, or their career.

Pisces in the 9th house is probably very interested in spirituality, the collective, astrology, or something obscure.

This was really fun. Thanks for reading! 🌟

Sending love wherever you are,

~ Celeste 💜

#celestial-martian #astrology observations #astrology #Lilith #mars in aries #mars in Scorpio #capricorn rising #celeste #astrology notes #birth chart #leo stellium #mars - pluto #chiron

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mandospace · 3 years

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Inside and Out (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request: Hello!! I was wondering if I could request something? I was wondering if you could possibly do like a touch starved Din? I would so love it! Whenever you are able and inspired to write of course! ❤️ thank youuuu!

Requested By: @snow30285

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: Fluff!! Blood, mention of an injury, first-aid

A/N: I got a little carried away with this! I hope you all like it, and if you wanted to be added to a tag list just let me know. Also, my requests are open for Din Djarin and Boba Fett!

MASTERLIST

He caught himself staring at your form for the fourth time that day. Din quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing under his beskar helmet. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, thank the Maker, and continued on with your task. Grogu giggled at you hiding your face behind your hands, playing a game of peek-a-boo with you.

“Where did mommy go?” You hid your smile behind your hands. Quickly dropping them from your face, you smiled at the small green child that erupted into a fit of giggles. “There she is!”

Din’s heart stuttered at the image of you playing with his child, Grogu waddling towards you before leaping into your lap. Grogu continued giggling, his tiny little hand reaching out to grab at yours.

“AHHH, YOU GOT ME!” You dramatically cried out before falling to the ground, wrapping a secure arm around his body to ensure that he was safe. He carefully stood up on your belly, waddling his way to your face. His little hand rested on your cheek, and the soft smile you gave him made Din’s heart falter once more. You rested your larger hand on top of Grogu’s little one, holding it to your cheek. The tender moment shared between you and Din’s son was almost picturesque, it reminded him of the old oil paintings that displayed a mother and child in the palaces of the more richer planets Din visited.

You turned your lips to place a small kiss on his little green hand. Din felt himself involuntarily reaching a hand out, wanting to join in on the tender moment between the two of you. Din imagined that he was the one cupping your cheek, his big hands instead of the small green ones of his son. He imagined how warm your cheek would be, how soft the fine peach fuzz of your cheek would feel against his palm. How your soft, pillowy lips would feel against his skin...

“Din?” Your voice is what pulled Din back to reality. You looked up at him with concern in your eyes, gaze flicking down to his still outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”

Din brought his hand back to his side, leather creaking as he closed his fist. “’M fine,” he mumbled, turning to head back to the cockpit. “It’s time to drop from hyperspace.”

Nodding your head at his retreating form, you looked back at the child that let out a small yawn. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you to bed.”

——

“I should only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” Din commented, grabbing various weapons from his armory. You stood off to the side, Grogu balanced on your hip while the two of you watched Din strap the pulse rifle to his back. You’ve watched Din prepare for a hunt what felt like hundreds of times, but it never got easier. The worry that laid deep in your chest never went away.

“Remember to close the ramp once I’m gone,” Din moved to the ramp, pressing a button on his vambrace to lower it. “And set up the safety perimeter. I recently just installed the new security system, so it should alert you to any nearby life forms. And-“

“And have a blaster nearby and communicuff on me at all times,” you interrupted his ramblings. He only talked this much when it had to do with either your or Grogu’s safety. “I know, Din.”

Din turned to you with a sigh, black visor meeting your gaze. He noticed that your bottom lip was already between your teeth, showing your worry. He wanted to reach out and glide his thumb over your lips, releasing your bottom one from your teeth. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Cyare.”

You smiled at his words, noting the strange nickname he gave you. He only ever used it when he was leaving. “I know, and we will be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on your hunt.”

Din felt himself reaching out to you, but he stopped his hand midway. “I always worry about you...” Din’s voice trailed off, and your heart thumped in your chest. “And Grogu,” he added, his face reddening under the beskar. Just talking to you made him flustered.

He turned back to the ramp and gazed out of its opening. He had tracked the bounty to some forested planet, you weren’t sure of its name. After you visited one forest planet, you’ve seen them all. You could see Din’s shoulders tighten under his beskar pauldrons, anxious and excited at the prospect of a new hunt. This was the part that you hated the most: him leaving you. Before he even took a step onto the ramp, your free hand was reaching out for him, gripping his arm around the elbow, one of the only places on his body free of beskar.

Din stopped in his tracks, and he felt like he was going to both pass out and have a heart attack at the same time. Your small hand couldn’t even reach around the thick muscles of his arm. Even though he was wearing thick layers, he could feel the warmth from your hand seeping through. His eyes dropped to your hand on him, and he couldn’t believe you were actually touching him. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, but his heart was already in hyperdrive. This all happened in a single second, the span of a blink.

“Be safe.” Your voice was small, timid at this new interaction you were having with the Mandalorian. You had always thought him attractive, even though you had never seen an inch of his skin. You admired his strength and how great of a warrior he was. The silver beskar just proved how powerful he could be if he saw you as an enemy. What really attracted you to him wasn’t his strength or how great of a warrior he was, no, it was how soft and protective he was over Grogu. He always held him with great care, as if he would break with the tiniest movement. He spoke softly to the kid, afraid he would scare him with his louder voice. Watching him and his son interact is what really attracted you Din, like some primal instinct telling you to find the strongest and most caring partner you can. “Come back to me.”

“Always, Cyare.” Din’s heart fluttered at your soft spoken words. Before his heart could leap through his beskar-covered chest and into your arms, he turned away from you. Your hand slipped from its resting place on his arm and he immediately missed your touch and warmth. He could feel the longing he felt for you nestle its way in his chest, right near his heart. Before he could do or say anything stupid that would surely embarrass himself, he trudged down the ramp and began his hunt.

———

It had already been six days since Din had left for his hunt. Your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his hard muscles under your fingertips. How his voice was soft when he said the strange name of ‘Cyare,’ a name he only said when he left. You knew it was Mando’a, but no matter how many times you scanned the holo-pad’s built in dictionary, you couldn’t find a single word of the dying language. You resigned yourself to the fact that you may never know what he was calling you, unless you asked him. But that was never going to happen, your words always stumbled out of your mouth when you talked to him.

So you busied yourself around the Razor Crest whilst you waited for the return of your Mandalorian, trying to keep away the thoughts of how his hands would feel on your skin. You had cleaned nearly every surface in the old ship and even organized the wires under the dashboard. By the time you were done with your chores, the Crest was nearly spotless- there was always going to be that one stubborn blood stain near the carbonite chamber that you were never going to get out. Din had brought back a rather difficult quarry that day, and as soon as he started flinging crude insults at you, Din promptly reached for his viroblade. The cut he made was only superficial, you learned later, but the man still bled quite a bit before Din shoved him back into the chamber. You had immediately tried to clean up the pool of blood, but Din took the rag from your hand with a gentle “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Besides the one stain that refused to go away, the Crest was as good as new, or as new-looking that it was going to get. The rest of the day you spent playing with the kid, mind drifting back to thoughts of Din. You had just put Grogu down for a nap when the Crest’s new security system let out a loud beeping noise, alerting you that a life form was approaching the ship. Locking Grogu away in his pram-thankfully he was still asleep- you reached for the blaster that was resting atop the stack of crates. Running up to the cockpit, you noticed that a single dot was showing up on the ship’s new security system. You managed to stop the alarm from blaring before you made your way back to the hull. You were ready to protect yourself and Grogu from this intruder if necessary.

A loud banging noise sounded against the ship as the ramp started to descend. You gripped the blaster tight, switching the safety off. When you saw the silver glint of beskar, you sighed in relief, switching the safety back on before setting it off to the side. Din slowly made his way up the ramp, arm wrapped around his middle. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, arms reaching out to Din once he was safely inside the hull.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching your arms out to catch Din when he stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“Knife,” he grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. His hand slowly fell away from his side, revealing his blood-soaked clothes. “Not deep.”

“Din!” You exclaimed in shock whilst dropping down to your knees. Your hands fluttered to his side, unsure of what to do. “I think you need to remove your beskar.”

“Do it,” he grunted, resting the helmet against the wall with a ‘ting.’ His hand moved to yours, dragging your hand to show you the release mechanism under his cuirass. Flicking the switch, the armor’s magnet released its hold on the beskar. Pushing it to the side, you grasped at the bottom of his tunic, trying to work the fabric up his torso so you could have access to the wound. You tried not to notice the small amount of dark hair leading down to his pants, or the beautiful color of his skin- a warm, sun-kissed tan. Your resolve failed when your eyes trailed over his abdomen, skin littered with scars over the lean muscle. Your fingertips lightly grazed his stomach and Din jerked back with a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Your hands flew back from his stomach, afraid that you had hurt him in some way.

“No,” Din grunted while his head rolled to the side. “Didn’t hurt, it... felt good.”

You blinked at the Mandalorian currently bleeding all over your clean floors. Okay, he must be delusional. “Din, I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this. There has to be someone el-“

“No one else,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours. “You can do it, Cyare.”

The familiar nickname is what grounded your rising panic. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed the necessary kits and bacta so you could patch Din up. Kneeling at his side once again, you pulled back the remaining clothing to reveal the knife wound. He was right, it wasn’t that deep, but just like the quarry that Din had slashed at all those months ago, he bled quite a lot. You tried to remain as gentle as you could while you wiped a piece of cloth over the wound to soak up the blood. It took a few rags to thoroughly clean the wound, but you had finally gotten it to a manageable state.

“This might sting.” Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from your side, you tipped out the liquid onto a clean cloth. Your eyes flitted up to where his would be but was met with only the familiar visor. Din gave you a slow nod, telling you to ‘go ahead,’ and you placed the alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.

“Dank farrik!” Din yelped, jolting slightly upright in response to the stinging sensation that was radiating from his wound. You could just barely hear the grinding of his teeth from under his helmet, and you visually cringed at his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized but continued to clean the wound. The knife must have been serrated because the wound was jagged. You laid your free hand on the expanse of his stomach, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin. Din hummed at the contact. Your soft fingers sent goosebumps racing over his flesh, thoroughly distracting him from the pain. He barely registered the soothing cool of bacta when you pressed it against his wound. Din was too distracted by your touch. It was the first time that he felt someone’s touch, skin-to-skin contact since he was a child, and he knew that he was already addicted. You were completely intoxicating and you didn’t even know.

“Done.” Pressing firmly against the newly applied bandage, you could feel Din’s eyes on yours.

“Don’t stop,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. You had pulled away your hands from his torso, and you quirked a brow up in response. “It-it feels g-good.”

“What, me torturing you with alcohol and bacta?” You joked and began to clean up the blood-soaked rags.Your right hand reached for the medpac that was laying next to Din but stopped when he grabbed your wrist. Din slowly pulled your hand to his stomach, resting your soft flesh over his scarred skin. He shivered at your touch and laid his hand over yours, keeping you there. His gloved thumb began to draw patterns on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of your own down your spine. “Din, what are you-”

“C-can I touch you, Cyare?” He interrupted with timid words. He was staring at your face, you could feel his gaze through the helmet. You sat there in shock, unable to comprehend that your hand was sprawled against his warm stomach and distracting you with the light graze of his thumb. “Please,” Din whispered when you didn’t respond to his earlier question. You felt yourself nodding your head in a dumb stupor, not believing that this was real and happening.

He picked his right hand up from yours that rested on his stomach, and moved to cup your face. Din stopped halfway between your bodies, hesitating for a moment, before bringing his other hand up to pull off his gloves. His right hand continued on its previous path, only stopping again when he was a centimeter away from your face. You could feel the tangible tension in the air, the nervousness shared by the both of you while you stared at one another. He just held his hand there for a moment, afraid to touch you and learn exactly how your cheek would feel against his skin. Bringing up your left hand, you placed it over his right one and pressed his palm to your cheek. His skin was rough from years of fighting, but incredibly warm and soothing.

Din let out a shuddery breath when you took his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You were so soft, so warm against his palm. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone out of curiosity. Eyelids fluttering shut at his touch, the pad of his thumb left sparks against your skin. Din’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when you turned your face into his palm, lips softly pressing into the meat of his hand. Your eyes opened and you looked up at him with such a soft look whilst you held his hand in yours, lips moving over his hand, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. Right hand joining your left, you gently laid his hand in your lap, palm facing the ceiling. Your fingers traced over every vein in his hand, stopping at his wrist when you met his vambrace. Lifting his hand up to your lips, you placed a tender kiss to his pulse point. Your kisses left him breathless, every brush of your lips intoxicating.

As much as Din loved your soft touches, he wanted to caress you, feel your lips against his. He knew what he had to do in order to feel your lips against his, and the thought made him draw in a tight breath. “Cyare...” He tipped his head forward, leaning his forehead against yours. Your hands trailed to the nape of his neck, fingers worming their way under his thick cowl so that you could feel his hot skin. The beskar was cool against your forehead, a soothing sensation. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” There wasn’t any hesitation in your voice. Being this close to Din was addicting. You wanted to feel more of his skin against yours, have his warmth envelop you.

“Close your eyes, Cyar’ika,” Din whispered. You followed his orders, shutting your eyes tight. He waited a few moments before you felt him lean back, cool beskar no longer present on your skin. You heard the locking mechanism of his helmet release with a hiss and the sound sent your heart racing. Was he taking his helmet off?

Din couldn’t breathe. He tried to pull the much needed oxygen into his lungs, but it was like his diaphragm wasn’t working anymore. Seeing you, truly seeing you without the many filters of the helmet had knocked the wind out of him. You were utterly breathtaking. Din sat there, trying to commit every feature of your face to his memory. You were even more beautiful than he thought was possible. The soft planes of your face made him want to reach out, touch you again. So he did. He was more sure this time, taking your face in both of his hands. You inhaled sharply when he first touched you, not expecting the touch, but you quickly relaxed at his touch that was becoming more familiar with each brush of skin. Both of his thumbs skimmed the planes of your cheekbones, felt the thickness of your lashes when he ghosted over your eyes. It was like he was a blind man trying to see with his hands, creating a mental image from his sense of touch.

Din continued to map out your face, slowly trailing his thumbs over your skin. He saved your lips for last, wanting to savor them. His thumb brushed over them, and he inhaled sharply when he felt how soft they were. Din desperately wanted to mold his own to yours. “Ca-can,” he stumbled over his words, mesmerized by your beauty. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Can I kiss you, Cyare?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and you were sure he could feel how your face heated up at his words. His slow touches were driving you insane, but not as insane as the knowledge that he was a mere six inches away from you, helmet off. It would be so easy to just open your eyes to see him. “Please.”

Hearing the wanting-tone of your voice that matched his ever-growing need for your touch, Din leaned in. His slightly-chapped lips timidly pressed against your soft ones, and you let out a sigh at the feeling. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over you that seeped into the very cracks of your foundation. Timid and shy at first, his kiss became more confident as he slotted his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the way that your hands reached up for his face to pull him closer to you. His kiss made you realize that you had been cold and alone your entire life, and that he was a blazing fire that would warm you to your core.

Din softly gasped at your actions, and he decided that if he were to die right then and there that he would be completely fine since he was already in heaven with you. He felt the way that your fingers mapped his face like how he mapped yours. When you carded your fingers through his unruly locks, tugging him even closer, he hummed in contentment. Din’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you to his chest. Your legs draped on either side of his hips, kneeling in front of him. You tilted his head up to yours since you were slightly taller than him in this position, his arms squeezing you closer. Din slowly grazed his tongue over your bottom lip, and he moaned at the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He explored your mouth, tongue tracing each tooth. Din saw stars behind his lids from kissing you. He had never kissed anyone before, but now he knew why others found it so intoxicating. The feel of your soft lips pressed against his was something he never wanted to forget. He burned this moment into his brain, desperately trying to remember the way your lips felt against his, the way your fingertips tangled in his hair, the warmth of your chest pressed against his.

When the need for air became too great, you both reluctantly pulled apart. You could already feel your lips starting to swell from the passionate kiss the two of you shared. Din’s lips never left your face, though, and he trailed kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. You couldn’t help how his name spilled from your lips when he kissed the juncture of your neck and jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” Din mumbled into your skin. Soft praises fell from his lips with each kiss against your skin. He loved the way you said his name, the way your grip on his hair tightened when he kissed your neck. His grip on you never lessened, hands bunching the material of your shirt in his hands. He never wanted this to end.

“You are too,” you sighed when his lips returned to yours. Din lightly shook his head in disagreement, making sure to not break the kiss. His self-deprecation made you pull yourself back.

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

Leaning your forehead against his like before, you traced your fingers over his face. “I don’t need to.” You grazed your fingers over his eyelids, down his prominent nose, over his swollen lips. “I know you are beautiful both inside and out, Din Djarin.”

Din was thankful that your eyes were closed so that you couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He placed a loving peck against your lips before he nuzzled his face in your neck. Din breathed in your scent, immediately finding that it both excited and calmed him down. His lips brushed over your jugular, placing a soft kiss there. “I never want to let you go, Cyar’ika.”

“Then don’t.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he placed another kiss on your neck.

“You know,” you started, fingers slowly working out the tangles in his hair. “I never know what you’re saying when you speak Mando’a.”

“You’ll learn, Cyar’ika,” Din closed his eyes, content at the feeling of you playing with his hair. “You’ll learn.”

_____

Mando’a translations:

Cyare = beloved/loved

Cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin oneshot #din djarin one shot #din djarin drabble #din djarin masterlist #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian one shot #mandalorian oneshot #mandalorian drabble #mandalorian masterlist

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 3 years

Text

I Know (Rewrite)

Javi Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angstttt more angst than the smut i’m sorry peeps, Language

Word Count: 2.3K+

Summary: The end was always inevitable.

A/N: So in case anyone missed it I decided to delete my old Javi fics (which was only three) and rewrite them. I apologize if this upsets anyone. I will also try to do part two to this like before if y’all would like!

Javier Peña is a walking contradiction sometimes.

Like now, with the way he fucks you. Rough and yet gentle, crude words as he pounds into you followed by a soft praise.

“Fuck look at your pussy, taking my cock like a good girl.”

You respond to it like you do every time, even when you know that this will be it; you knew it the moment he walked through that door, giving you one look before clashing his lips to yours.

“Javi,” you gasp through another powerful thrust. “Javi.”

Javier grips your hips tighter and maneuvers you closer to his hips, panting just as you are; a sheen of sweat covers his chest and his hair is tousled from your fingers, pouty lips pulled back in a snarl, he is one of the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in this world.

Which makes this so much harder. So fucking hard. Tears start to sting at the back of your throat but you swallow them down; you will not ruin this.

“Hey,” Javier slows his thrust to a languid stop, keeping himself deep inside your weeping pussy.

The scrunched lines on his forehead tell you he’s worried—funny, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. So, what is he exactly worried about?

You finally think it’s hitting him. What he’s doing. Coming to terms with the decisions he’s made. Sees right through your façade and realizes just how hurt you are; it’s more than that, much more and if that doesn’t tear him apart too then what was the point of any of this?

It’s not just the sex you’re talking about, either. That’s always a given with the infamous DEA agent Javier Peña and you knew that from the start. It’s how he checks in on you throughout the day, making sure that the dangers that plague him aren’t passed on to you, going farther by making sure your doors and windows are always locked and secured, giving your door handle a jiggle after he leaves and locks it. How one time, when you got sick and tried taking an extra shift at your job, he fought to keep you in bed so you could rest. Or when he would just sit with you in your tiny apartment; comfortable silence, small talk here and there, shoulders brushing against each other in a nervous, unspoken dance.

It’s all the things that make up the definition of love. A sensitive topic for someone like him, so afraid of letting anyone see his true colors, all the love he has stored in him—when he shows even the slightest of it, he runs. You knew that from the beginning, too.

“Let me ride you,” you whimper.

He nods and leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s not enough for you, so you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him back; he lets his body slant perfectly atop yours, cupping your jaw with one hand while steadying your trembling thigh with the other, allowing your tongue to trace gently around the seam of his slightly chapped lips and opening his mouth to your eager tongue.

This may be the last time you’ll ever get to taste him.

The thought makes you whimper, but he takes that as a sound of pleasure and grinds his stiff, thick cock into you, breaking the kiss to let out a low groan. The curls of his pubic hair scrapes against your clit, making your pussy jolt with the much needed attention.

“I got you,” he assures in a soft coo.

You wish that were true for more than this night.

“I got you,” he repeats as he carefully turns the two of you over so he’s lying on his back, keeping your hips connected.

For now.

Looking at him from this angle makes the ache in your chest pulse wildly. Those dark chocolate eyes of his peering up at you like you’re the most beautiful thing yourself, a goddess in the making, the light in his darkness—this is going to destroy you.

“Please,” he begs in a whisper. “Baby. Please?”

He knows.

Placing your hands on his hairless chest for balance, you lift your hips as far up as they can go until his slick red tip hovers just below your puffy folds, and slide back down hard.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back.

He keeps his fingers on your hips, digging blunt nails deeper into your flesh with every harsh thrust you give him; he isn’t hitting your g-spot and the drag of his cock against your velvety walls is only enough to teeter you on the edge of an orgasm he’s chasing, but that doesn’t matter to you right now.

What matters is the mewls he lets escape through closed lips, a rumble in his throat that vibrates through you. The intimacy in how close you’re pressed against each other, not an inch of you untouched or unmarked from his hands, or mouth; they’ll be reminders in the coming days.

Then suddenly, as if he was reading your thoughts, he sits up and wraps his arm around your lower back to keep you close, thrusting up into you as you go down, finally hitting that soft spot inside you that curls your toes.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes against your mouth. “Always so wet for me, so good to me mgh—” He chokes when you move faster, tugging on the small strands of hair on the nape of his neck. “Shit, princess.”

Javi attaches his mouth to your breast, latching on to your perk nipple and hollows his cheeks; his mustaches scratches your skin and you want to take back any time you ever complained about it. You whine and hold him to your chest, angling your legs to stretch out; the action brings him deeper inside you, bumping against your cervix so hard that there’s definitely tears now.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, feeling your whole body shiver along with your cunt.

He lets go of your breast with a pop. “Close?” He moans.

You nod. He pulls you down with him, holding the back of your head so that you’re angled with his face—sharing the same breath, noses brushing against each other, tongues flicking out for another quick taste of the other.

The claps of skin against skin echo louder in your bedroom, along with the obscene squelches of his cock slamming into your pussy. The bedframe slams against the wall with every push and pull, and you know that in the morning you’re going to hear it from your very pissed off neighbors; you’ll tell them they won’t have to deal with it anymore.

Javi plants his feet on the bed and starts drilling into you, holding you down so that you have no choice but to take what he gives you. Pointless babbles fill the air, begging for more, give me more than this, more of this.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your pussy spasm around him. “O-o fuck keep going, baby don’t stop.”

Your moans spur him on. “I won’t. Gonna cum deep inside this gorgeous pussy, f-fill you up so that you’re dripping for me.”

Your pussy clenches at the words, earning a strangled gasp as you feel his cock throb. You bury your face in his neck, nipping and sucking at all the spots you know turns him to mush.

“Princess I’m gonna—” Clapclapclapclapclap. “T-touch yourself, let me feel you soak my cock.”

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and you follow his order, bringing your hand down between your desperate bodies to circle your aching clit.

“Javi,” you preen in his ear. “I’m—”

The rest of your sentence gets stuck in your throat. The coil in your lower stomach is too much to keep a hold of, eliciting a blazing tightness in your core that just snaps under the pressure of his onslaught but you want this to last, fuck you don’t wanna cum now but he’s—shit you can’t breathe, you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t feel anything other than the warmth radiating off him and the clenching of your cunt—

“Yes,” Javier gasps. “That’s it, that’s it baby, just like that.”

Your moans get louder and louder until they turn into screams, and you can no longer hold back and your pussy explodes around him, gushing him in your juices.

“Fuuuuck,” a growl resonates deeply from his chest and hot ropes of cum spurt into you after, and yet he still moves inside you, pushing through the persistent fluttering and the combined fluids of your releases until the sensitivity gets to the both of you.

Your moans mix together into a chorus, dying down with the pace of your thrusts, drawing every bit of your orgasms out as you can. You collapse on his chest, panting heavily; his chest moves quickly, heart beating rapidly and steadily under your ear. He continues to hold your head, lightly scratching your scalp and rubbing your back—if you didn’t know any better, it’d feel like he was staying.

Your eyes start to droop under exhaustion that seeps from more than the physical workout of the night. His fingers slow and curl until they gently rest, holding you—the way he does is comforting, and real.

This. This is what you’re going to keep precious. This is how you’ll choose to remember him after all that anger subsides. The real Javier Peña you know and love.

A few moments and he sighs and pats your hip. You flinch as you lift your hips off him, his cum leaking out of you, some even dripping onto his soft, glistening cock; you ignore it.

You pull the sheet over your naked body as you watch him quickly pull his pants up, forgoing boxers. He reaches across from you where his cigarettes rest on your nightstand, not looking you in the eyes and turning his back to you once he straightens. You expected it, but it doesn’t ease the sting.

The muscles of his back curls deliciously as he curls his hand around the cigarette. The orange gleam of the burning stick glows as he sucks the smoke in, inhaling deeply before exhaling away from you. The smoke curls around his head, slowly disappearing just like he will. You can’t take this anymore.

“Javi,” you finally sit up, struggling to keep your voice from cracking.

“I know,” he interrupts; his voice sounds forced, like he’s struggling himself. “I—I… you know…”

It brings a sudden ignite of fury in you. Now that he’s acknowledging it out in the open, it’s not only the heartbreak that’s been clouding your life, there’s now rage boiling inside you.

How dare he? How dare he take your heart and stomp on it right in front of you and not even have the grace to say sorry? Or make this any less painful for you when it’s his fault. Hisfaulthisfaulthisfault—

“Yeah.” Your voice is, surprisingly, steady. “Just take care of yourself, Javier.”

You see it. The way his face crumbles. You don’t know what he expected.

He says your name, hesitates, then finally makes up his mind.

“Is it okay—fuck never mind.” He waves it off.

You don’t want to ask him what he was going to say—you’re too afraid to, if you’re being honest.

“I’ll always love you, Javi,” your voice trembles with tears. “But if you can’t love me back, if you can’t work with me on this… Javi I can’t let you hurt me like this anymore. It’s not healthy, for either one of us.”

He watches the tears stream down your cheeks with glistening eyes of his own. It creates a stir in your chest, tying your stomach in knots, tightening your throat, knocking all the air out of your lungs; you wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone.

It seems like an eternity of staring at each other. Committing the other’s features to memory, remembering the good that isn’t tainted, shadowed by the agonizing reality he’s created for himself, bled onto you by your own free will.

Silently he gathers the rest of his clothes scattered across your room. He dresses leisurely, and as angry as you are with him you’re grateful for the extra few minutes before he walks out your door for the last time.

When he finishes fastening the last button of his shirt and slides his shoes on you can’t help it. You throw your legs over the bed, not bothering to throw your shirt on and throw yourself in his arms.

“Hmph,” he grunts, nearly doubling over from the unsuspected force.

You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. He hesitates again, but when his arms do wrap themselves around you it’s crushing; you feel the muscles in his arms bulge from how hard he’s hugging you, making it a little hard to breathe but you don’t care. You inhale his cologne, the smell of smoke on his clothes, the shampoo he uses for his hair, the different soap for his body; he’s doing the same, burying his face in your neck as well. You hold each other until it reaches a point that if you don’t let go now, you never will.

Javier’s the first to pull back. Calloused hands cup your cheeks, gives you a glimpse of the torture behind his eyes, and he leans in and presses a final kiss to your forehead; he holds it, keeping his lips still, and something hot and wet trickles down over your eyebrow.

When he walks away he doesn’t look back. His footsteps toe quietly away, followed eventually by the soft thump of your door.

The door handle jiggles and the sob you’ve been holding back breaks free.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @paintballkid711

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic #mcfreakin-bxtch #javier peña imagines #narcos netflix

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forzalando · 3 years

Text

Lessons | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Royalty!AU Word Count: 2,240 words Warnings: mentions of sibling d*ath, a very rude knight grabbing the reader, mentions of bruising on reader, reader sl*pping aforementioned knight, aggressive language and behavior

A/N: hello friends! here is part one of a two-part George Weasley Royalty!AU! I am so very excited. I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies throughout the story, there isn’t really a specific time period except that I didn’t want it to be modern! thank you to @awfulmoons for being the first person to read this and for her support! part two will be posted tomorrow! :)

Summary: After the tragic loss of his twin brother, George Weasley finds himself using his talents to secure a job as the new Potions Master and Healer for the Royal Family. Unbeknownst to you, he takes a particular liking to you knowing that you have more in common than you realize.

part two here

***

Your mother playfully glared at you as you giggled, watching one of your father’s knights trip over a bit of wire and slam into the wall outside her study. He was a rather crude man, always touching your arm or lower back when he walked past you in the castle, and seeing his dazed expression and the bruise forming on his cheek brought you far more enjoyment than you’d ever admit.

“Sir Cormac, are you alright?” Ana, your younger sister, asked as she fled to his aid. She never minded his lingering touches and had always envied that you received his “affections” as well, even though you hardly wanted them.

“Yes, yes, quite alright, Your Highness. Just lost my balance is all,” Cormac grumbled as his eyes lingered on the wire. He didn’t want to be seen as foolish enough to be bested by a simple prank, but unfortunately the evidence was far from discreet.

“Come, I’ll take you to the infirmary. I’m sure there’s something we can do about that bruise.”

You watched with disgust as your sister practically carried Sir Cormac down the hall, until the clearing of a throat broke your attention.

“Y/N, did you lay that wire?” your mother asked, the accusatory tone evident in her voice.

“No, Mother, but frankly I wish I had. Do you see the way he’s always caressing my arms?! He’s even dared to touch my back and he does it to Ana as well! Of course, she doesn’t mind, though it truly escapes me why she doesn’t. He’s horrendous.”

Your mother stifled a laugh; even though she was the Queen, you knew your mischievous and independent ways had come from her.

“Next time he tries to touch you, tell him that your Mother will have his hands,” she spoke with a smile. “I have business to attend to in the dining room, please try to stay out of trouble for once.”

She turned on her heel and left you on your own, but you knew her warning was playful. When the sound of her footsteps receded, your mind and feet began to wander. Your thoughts were consumed with all of the small, mostly harmless, pranks that had been occurring around the castle.

Just the other day, your handmaiden and close friend Luna had witnessed one of your tutors walk out of the kitchen sopping wet. She asked around and found out that a bucket of water had fallen on her head that morning seemingly out of thin air.

You wished that you would have felt sympathy for her, but she had scolded you until you cried last week because you couldn’t remember the first name of a Prince that you would never meet.

A little over a month ago you noticed that Lady Priscilla, a dreadful, awful young woman from a noble family in your Father’s Court, was itching constantly at her corset. You recalled receiving an actual stern glare from your mother for laughing at that one.

But, the little things you noticed weren’t always directed at people. Occasionally you’d find furniture askew, flower arrangements and paintings altered, sticky substances on the railings (you had gotten caught up in that a time or two). You recalled finding every piece of furniture in the Great Dining Hall practically glued to the floor once and thought your parents were going to have coronaries, but to your surprise, they laughed alongside you.

Your father had suspected you at first, of course, but when the pranks continued while you were away last month visiting your best childhood friend, Lady Hermione Granger, it was obvious you were not the culprit. No one could recall when the odd occurrences started happening, so it just became a way of life around the castle. Not that anyone minded, you’d even seen your grumpy sister crack a smile or two at the jests.

Sometimes you wished you knew who it was, that you could dismantle the mystery, partly because you wanted them to include you in their havoc. However, a far greater reason, was that over the past few months, you had found yourself smiling and laughing again after the untimely death of your elder sister, Clara, during the Great War. Whoever this mystery prankster was, you owed them a thank you about a million times over.

Fearing that you’d smack straight into a wall while your mind was reeling over the castle’s secret joker, you shook the thoughts from your head and found yourself walking towards the gardens.

As you began opening the door to the greenhouse, it suddenly flung open to reveal a rather tall and beautiful man with hair the color of a roaring fire.

“Pardon me, Princess,” he apologized immediately. “I was all too focused on not dropping these herbs and didn’t realize the door was opening.”

You realized then that you had stumbled into Mr. George Weasley, the Potions Master and Healer that your Father had employed months ago. He was supposedly brilliant; had a way with creating concoctions that even the brightest minds had never thought of. When your Mother fell ill earlier this year, George had her right as rain within days.

You also recalled from palace gossip that he used to run a business with his twin brother a few years ago, but his brother had died in the Great War and George refused to carry on the business without him.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Weasley. Do you need some help carrying your things?”

“I-I-You know my name?” He stuttered quietly.

“Of course I do,” you chuckled. “My Father speaks very highly of you, especially after the way you took such great care of my Mother. Thank you for that, by the way. I tried to find you to thank you in person before, but it seems we always miss each other.”

“Yes, it seems we do, and please, call me George,” he trailed off lightly, a twinkle in his deep, brown eyes.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you; you could have been gazing into each other’s eyes for hours, you couldn’t be sure, but the trance was broken when the hoard of plants fell from his arms.

“Here, please let me help,” you said as you bent down to the ground, gathering the discarded herbs.

“If your Mother or Father catches you helping the insignificant Potions Master – ”

“They would be thrilled that they had raised a kind and helpful daughter. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

George smiled down at you, a blinding smile that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

The two of you headed off towards the East Wing of the castle where his living and work chambers were located. Once you had helped him sort out the herbs and tidy up any fallen leaves or stems, you sat down and sighed, admiring his workspace.

“I’ve always been fascinated by potion making and medicine,” you said quietly. “I wish it were part of my studies. I learned a little bit during the War to help with the wounded but nothing more in the past few years. Now that I’m older, my lessons, if you can even call them that, only consist of recalling Monarchial history and information about other kingdoms.”

You noticed George stiffen at the mention of the Great War, his cheerful demeanor suddenly disappearing from sight, but as quickly as it was gone it was back again.

“The War is what got me into all this in the first place. I figured I’d use my talents to help people if I could, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

He managed a weak smile, and the sight of it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry about your brother, George. I-I heard about him in passing, some Noblewomen were discussing your tragedy like it was front page news since they never have anything better to do. I suppose I’m no better for listening, even if it wasn’t entirely on purpose, but I’m still so sorry.”

“I appreciate that, Princess. I will always miss him but in the past year I feel like I’ve finally started moving forward with my life instead of standing still.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, embarrassed that you had brought up such a sensitive topic upon your first time meeting George, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him to know you were sorry, and that you understood his pain.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “You lost someone as well, didn’t you?”

“My sister, Clara. She was always rebellious, even worse than me, and she was in love with a man from the village just outside the palace grounds. His name was Thomas and they were just perfect for each other. When my Father got word that Riddle’s Army was headed towards the castle, she snuck away through one of the secret passages to the village to save him, but Riddle’s Army was already there and she died with him when they destroyed the village.”

George couldn’t say anything, the tragic story rendering him speechless. Your sister’s bravery and your obvious heartache, he didn’t know what to say, but you began speaking again.

“We probably have a lot more in common than you think, Mr. Weasley,” you teased, although he didn’t miss the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

“I’d love to find out what more, Princess, and I told you to call me George.”

“I’ll call you George only if you promise to call me Y/N.”

“Your Father would have my – ”

“He would have your utmost support because I asked you to call me by my name and it’s never polite to refuse to request of a Royal, right, George?”

“Absolutely, Princ…I mean, Y/N,” George said with a smile.

You decided instantly that your name had never sounded better.

Once again, a comfortable silence fell between you two as you rose from your seat and traced your fingertips along his equipment. Cauldrons, beakers, books with the directions to make the most difficult of healing draughts, when suddenly you had an idea.

“George,” you began, turning to face him, “what would you say to a little extra work?”

“Well, that depends. Is it difficult?”

“Well, that depends. Do you find me difficult to spend time with?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered immediately with a smile.

“In that case, how would you like to teach me your ways? I want to learn all that there is to know about potion making, herbs, plants, medicines. And who better to teach me than you?”

“If…I mean if the King and Queen do not mind, I have no objections,” George spoke, failing to stop the hopeful grin that appeared on his face.

“I’m sure they won’t but I will speak to them this evening. Shall I come find you tomorrow? Will you be here?”

“In the morning, yes. Let’s meet here at, say, nine o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said eagerly. “I’d better get back, I’m sure someone’s wondering where I’ve been, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you swiftly made your way out of George’s workshop before he could tell that you were practically trembling with excitement.

Unbeknownst to you, George had to steady himself against a table so he wouldn’t faint at the prospect of seeing you not only again, but so soon.

Your hurried steps had brought you back to your Mother’s study and you were delighted to see she had returned from her earlier meeting.

“Mother, what would you say if I began taking lessons from Mr. Weasley?”

“Well,” your Mother began as she closed her book, “I’d be curious to know how this proposition came about.”

“I bumped into him in the gardens earlier. He’s brilliant, Mother, and you know how interested I am in his specialties.”

“Are you interested in his specialties or him?” She asked with a sly smile.

“I…I suppose maybe both?”

Your Mother stared at you for what seemed like ages, taking in the sparkle in your eyes and the giddy smile on your face that had been absent since the passing of your closest sister.

“As long as you’re able to attend to your duties and join Father in court meetings, I don’t see why not. You need something substantial to fill your time anyway, I swear you’re either always in the garden or sneaking tarts from the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you exhaled, not even realizing you had been holding your breath awaiting her response.

“Go find your brothers, supper should be ready soon. I’ll speak to your Father about these lessons and let you know what he decides.”

You nodded your head and went off in search of your younger siblings wondering what color dress you would wear tomorrow.

Elsewhere in the castle, George Weasley was in front of a mirror fiddling with his hair and already planning what he would say to you when he saw you in the morning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed another trip wire safely tucked away near the Knight’s living quarters.

For once, you didn’t stick around to wait for the inevitable chaos because the quicker you found your brothers and ushered them to supper, the quicker your day would end, and the quicker you would again be able to see Mr. George Weasley.

***

taglist: @thoseofgreatambition @theboywhocriedlupin @theseuscmander @fortisfiliae @carolinesbookworld @starssayhello @finnofamerica @swellwriting @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @marauderskeeper @wildfire-whizbangs @woakiees also tagging some mutuals who maybe might want to read! if you do not, PLEASE let me know and I apologize profusely!: @ickle-ronniekins @hollands-weasley @weasleytwinswheezes @theweasleysredhair @sleep-i-ness

#george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #george weasley #tw: death #weasley #weasley twins #lumosbarnes #lumos barnes #moonlitfam #moonlitfamily #moonlitcoven

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mahizli · 3 years

Text

Bonds (Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, 22 BBY)

Art by Mokorney and Part 22 of ‘Sparks of Hope’

***

Dooku held nothing but contempt for the Skywalker boy – no finesse, no subtlety, and no mastering of emotions, without much room for improvement. The Force knew he had tried to curb similar faults in Qui-Gon, very long ago, but his former Padawan had found his balance into meditation, oddly enough, and Dooku had only needed a few seconds to assess that Skywalker was completely unable to achieve it, and never would be.

Dooku was no fool. He could sense how powerful the boy was, what an asset he would play once he would have fallen completely – he was also very much aware of the interest his Master had in him. An interest that Dooku needed to be watchful of – because he knew how easily a Sith Apprentice could be replaced.

Dooku was no fool – and that was why he was keeping Ventress just close enough to control her, and just far enough for her not to attract Sidious’ attention unnecessarily. Ventress was fierce, skilled and loyal to a fault – and since he could not have Kenobi yet, she was a tolerable substitute.

It did not mean Kenobi was entirely lost to him, though – and Dooku watched him wake with carefully hidden interest, sitting up and rubbing his brow silently, helping Skywalker to recover.

“How you could choose to walk out there and get yourselves caught despite my warning is truly beyond me”, Dooku quipped, taking delight in watching Kenobi’s eyes widen slightly.

His former Grandpadawan’s eyes wandered to the electric bound wrought around his waist, attaching him both to Dooku and Skywalker. And the Count was surprised to feel resolve and relief seep through his incredibly strong shields. Kenobi was quick to place himself in front of Skywalker, holding him back and shielding him with his body, as soon as Dooku began to provoke the boy – it was frankly too easy. One just had to mention his arm, and watch Skywalker go feral.

“You will pay”, Skywalker hissed. “For all the Jedi you murdered on Geonosis.”

“That, my dear fool of a Jedi, is entirely your Master’s doing. Remind me again whose rescue it was that needed two-hundred and twelve Jedi?”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Anakin.”

Kenobi’s voice was calm. Measured, and so very soft. His body language still spelt protectiveness, one hand lightly placed on Skywalker’s left forearm. His face looked pale, in the dim light of the cell – but there was nothing but steadiness in the Force around him, and the command on his shields was frankly impressive.

“The Republic is going to send envoys with the spice. We need to get out of here before. And since we appear to be bound together, for the time being, I suggest we refrain from murdering each other.”

“You want us to team up with him?!!”

The indignation in Skywalker’s voice was grating – and Kenobi sighed.

“Currently, having you running in different directions is no option for me.”

He gestured towards his waist, a small smile playing around his lips, and Skywalker huffed.

“Good point, Master.”

They spent the next hours trying to escape from Hondo Ohnaka’s cells, only to found themselves back there. Dooku just shrugged, mentally, not overly worried and secretly impressed when Kenobi pulled that mind-trick on the stupid Weequay sentinel.

“You don’t want to stand guard. You want to deactivate the cell bars and… go out drinking.”

They watched the guard turn to a mindless puppet and set them free, and Kenobi muttered:

“Almost too easy.”

They had been prisoners together long enough for Dooku to recognise the small frown between Kenobi’s eyebrows as a sign of worry. He was not projecting anything into the Force, his signature surprisingly mild and gentle, but Dooku had already learned that his former Grandpadawan’s mind never stopped running.

They left the cell for the second time, running towards the exit, and suddenly Kenobi was pushing him behind a crate, palm splayed on his shoulder, body shielding him in an unconscious, protective move mirroring his earlier one.

“Hurry along, Dooku.”

His sharp, focused grey eyes darted around, and Dooku realised just how strong and dangerous his Grandpadawan could be, even without a lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s sleeve was brushing his, and he had adopted a defensive Soresu stance, but his hand was trailing behind, feeling for Skywalker in the Force, attuned to his reactions – and this was Qui-Gon’s training.

Qui-Gon had perfected the dual Master-and-Padawan technique along with Feemor, and brought it to completion with Obi-Wan, who had mastered the skill himself along with his own Padawan.

Dooku could have invaded their bond through the Force – but such was a crude, dirty thing reserved for the ones like Maul, whom Dooku abhorred and despised. Instead, he focused on the quiet signs: Obi-Wan’s small tilt of the head, the way his shoulders relaxed once Skywalker shifted his own position, and the quiet smile in his eyes when they started to run in sync.

Their bond was not closed, clearly, and this was so very interesting – but it also tugged at something Dooku had though to be long purged from his very system.

Something reminding him of a vibrant green blade, of Qui-Gon’s quiet, casual shrug whenever Dooku ordered him around – but his Padawan had been dutiful and strong, truly skilled in the Force and so very warm. Until Feemor had died. Until Dooku lost Qui-Gon’s friendship and goodwill for good – because his Padawan had always been too headstrong, and too tender-hearted.

“Jump!”

They were still bound by the waist – Obi-Wan linking them together, and Dooku heard his gasp when Anakin grabbed the fence, leaving them both hanging below him.

“You’re too heavy. I can’t do it.”

They were slipping, and suddenly the link between him and Obi-Wan snapped – and then Dooku felt warm, strong hands grab his.

“Are you crazy, Master?! Just drop him!”

But Obi-Wan’s hands just tightened around his, eyes narrowing in steely resolve even as the bound tugged at his waist, drawing another pained exhale from him.

Never.

The small word echoed in the Force with quiet determination, and Dooku almost winced in pain, because the dedication within sprang from something so old, so long forgotten it burned, around his chest and in his very mind.

Ohnaka’s men somehow managed to knock Skywalker out and drag them both up in one fluid motion, and they soon found themselves back in their cells, finally separated but still unable to flee.

Dooku’s wrists hurt and he was somewhat short of breath, and so was Obi-Wan, who was bent above Skywalker’s unconscious body and had yet to straighten fully, arm wrapped around his waist.

“You should have dropped me”, Dooku stated, but Obi-Wan just huffed, with a small, annoyed shake of the head.

He fumbled through his utility belt, and managed to unfold a small Bacta patch, placing it against the welt on Skywalker’s brow, then he splayed his fingers, pressing them gently against his head.

Skywalker let out a soft moan, then his limbs seemed to relax and Dooku watched Obi-Wan’s face soften, his features still focused but appeased as he guided the boy into a healing trance.

“Rash, and unbalanced.”

This got Obi-Wan’s attention, and Dooku soon faced those calm, grey eyes, watching his Grandpadawan straighten, Anakin’s head still cradled in his lap.

“He might be skilled with machines. Wires. Even lightsabers”, Dooku dropped. “But he has not mastered anything in the Force, and he will disappoint you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Anakin will never disappoint me.”

“Don’t be so sure…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, but then his Grandpadawan shook his head.

“I know what you are trying to do. And it will not work. You want to sow distrust and hatred between us. You want to belittle Anakin in my mind, and in my heart. But you cannot. Because those faults you point out are known to me, and known to him. Because I did not seek to raise a perfect machine, or a droid, when I took Anakin as a Padawan.”

“Did you? Take him as a Padawan? Or was it something more complicated? A promise to the one who had raised, and forsaken you?”

“Qui-Gon did not forsake me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was very quiet. He was not a small man, but he was definitely smaller than them both. Thin. A small reed, Yoda had always called him. And Dooku knew just how very fragile he was, how insignificant the Dark side of the Force made him – their duel was only months old, and he had brought him down within seconds.

Yet, just now, there was a conviction and a power radiating through him that seemed to dwarf them all. Obi-Wan raised bright grey eyes towards him, and Dooku realised, then, that the boy had worked hard towards balance – and that his efforts had not been vain.

“Qui-Gon believed in him. And, when it came to choose between Anakin and myself, he chose him because he saw, and realised, that Anakin needed him more than I did.”

“You do not resent him? For calling you only stubborn, and capable, in front of the whole Jedi Council, when you gave him twelve years of your life?”

It still irked something in Dooku. It had made him want to shake Qui-Gon until his teeth rattled – but Qui-Gon had died before Dooku had even known the full extent of the mess he had made with Obi-Wan, and then… Then Dooku had realised that the Jedi Order was nothing like it should anymore – nothing like it could.

“And what kind of a Padawan would that make me?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was just a whisper, and his face had turned very pale, but the resolve had not left his eyes. On the contrary, something warm and light had begun to seep through his shields, permeating the Force around him, and it was searing open that small, long forgotten spot deep into Dooku’s chest.

“What of the years Qui-Gon devoted to me? What of Qui-Gon choosing me? Of helping me understand the Force, and myself, and the world around us, every single day of my apprenticeship? What of the love and care he provided, for my mind, body and soul, giving me all he had and even more? What of the devotion he inspired in me – strong enough to help me come back to him when I almost fell? How could I resent him for caring for a boy who deserves the world, and who was unwanted by most, yet who holds such promises?”

His Grandpadawan was facing him, features pinched yet glowing so brightly in the Force – and there was no contempt in Obi-Wan’s words, just genuine truth and belief. And it was painful.

“Qui-Gon taught me to be gentle with the faults we can find in others, because he was not perfect and never sought to be. He simply sought to improve himself. And this is something Anakin does as well – which is why he will never disappoint me.”

“Such meekness…”

“Call it whatever you want. I do not care.”

“Have you no pride at all?”

The question was genuine – almost taking Dooku by surprise. Obi-Wan however just raised his eyebrows, hands finding Anakin’s shoulders.

“And who am I, to place myself above so many others? We are a whole, Dooku. And just because I have no interest to dominate or best others does not mean I do not seek to improve my skills, and my way of understanding the Force.”

“How can that be enough?”

Dooku was laughing now, but it sounded cold and foreign to him.

“Because it is.”

There was sadness, and compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes – and Dooku realised then, that this conversation had to end. That he would not gain the boy to his side that day – that he would have to wait for the war to extinguish the light into Obi-Wan’s eyes, for the battles and losses to harden his heart, for the despair to invade more of his mind, until he would be ready to hear some of the truths Dooku had come to embrace.

“I wish you would see it. I wish it would not be you we had to fight, day after day and night after night. But if I must, I will – because it is worth it.”

“What is…?”

Skywalker’s quiet mumble brought them both back to the small, grey cell they were still stuck in, and Obi-Wan’s eyes instantly searched for his face.

“What’s worth it, Master? Why are we back here with him?”

“Because your Master would not take your advice to drop me”, Dooku quipped.

“’Course not.”

The childish surety in Skywalker’s voice was surprising, and the boy lifted a hand, gently patting Obi-Wan on the arm.

“I’m the evil one here.”

“Hush now, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s hand had not left his brow, and his eyes met Dooku’s again. Steely, with a hint of sadness and unshakable resolve. His Grandpadawan wrapped an arm around Skywalker’s chest, and gave a curt nod.

And despite of himself, Dooku nodded back – because Obi-Wan was definitely worth a conversation. His Grandpadawan also had the means to defend himself, and to get himself – and Skywalker – out of this mess. And so, when Ohnaka’s men went to fetch them, leaving him alone in his cell, Dooku wasted no time preparing his own escape.

When the power died down, he killed the guards and the men facing him without any remorse. And he did not look over his shoulder, not once – determined to leave Florrum as soon as possible, and return with enough forces to burn it to the ground.

Just like he would burn the small part of himself Obi-Wan had brought back to life, because it was not part of Dooku’s plans and schemes.

Some bounds were better severed, and Dooku was honing his blades.

But not just yet.

#The Clone Wars #star wars #starwars fanfiction #Obi-Wan Kenobi #dooku #Anakin Skywalker #lineage feels #foreshadowing #i love them all

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notchesandbullets · 3 years

Text

Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

Part 12: The day for the Provisional Licensing Exam has arrived!! You attend to spectate along with your dad, when he runs into an old colleague of his. Aizawa gets reassured that he’s not a terrible father. Then, an unknown threat turns into an unexpected surprise (feat Todoroki) when a tuff of grey fur shows up. Class 1-A is chaotic and it’s even worse when you’re in the mix.

Word Count: 8.4k

Before you knew it, the day arrived for Class 1-A to take the provisional licensing exam.

“Stop shoving me!!” You shouted loudly, catching the attention of everyone else who was in the vicinity.

“Hah?! I’m not fucking touching you!!!” Bakugou yelled, his palms lighting up in aggravation and you glowered at him.

“There’s nowhere for me to sit!!” You protested, huffing and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fucking deal with it, dumbass!!” He screamed at you and you covered your ears.

Aizawa glared at him, eyes flashing red once in warning and reprimanded for his language and crude behavior towards you, Bakugou grumbled as he sank back in his seat.

Your eyes scanned for another place to sit aboard the cramped bus. Almost every inch of space left no room for you and shrugging your shoulders, you were about to tough it out on the floor near Kirishima’s feet when a throat cleared softly.

“Y/N,” Ojiro called, his voice almost lost as the rest of the class chattered in a mixture of nervousness and excitement. “Here.”

Your ears perked up as he scooted to the side, making room for you even though now he was pressed flat against the window of the bus. Tail flicking, you paused upon approach, hesitating.

“What’s wrong?” Ojiro asked, concern seeping into his tone as you halted in front of him. The railing blocked most from seeing the two of you interact clearly, since Ashido was currently engaging the other girls in a game to take their minds off of the pressure of the exam and your tail fluffed up.

He frowned, wondering if he did something that made you uncomfortable.

Your brow furrowed and your nose wrinkled as your lips formed into a small pout. “There’s not enough room…”

Despite your dejected tone, Ojiro’s shoulders slumped in relief and he smiled reassuringly, patting the spot beside him. Tokoyami had moved to sit next to Shoji in order to free up the space. It would be a squeeze but he didn’t want you to sit on the floor where you could get hit by Kaminari’s unpredictable feet that flew up when he got startled by something or shocked by Jirou’s earphone jack.

Padding forward, you jolted, eyes shooting open and a squeak tumbling from your lips as the bus went over a pothole in the road, losing your balance.

You floundered for a second before a muscular tail slammed into your stomach to prevent you from hitting your head in time, lifting you up and carrying you the rest of the way over to him.

Ojiro was quick to examine you, double-checking to make sure you were really okay after your ears warmed and your heart skipped a beat at his proximity. Just like you thought, his leg was pressed right up against yours in the corner of the back of the bus where the two of you sat in a chair that was only meant to hold one.

“You’re too clumsy, Y/N.” Ojiro breathed endearingly, patting your head and you pushed against his hand, pouting up at him when he pulled away.

You took no offense to his words, simply begging for more pets and his chest shook with laughter before he obliged you.

The two of you were locked in your own little world, the knowing look Shoji and Tokoyami exchanging passing by unnoticed as you enticed Ojiro in a spontaneous game of seeing how many times you could get Bakugou to explode before you reached the exam arena.

It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was the whole ride there. You lost count around fifty times in half an hour because you were laughing so hard you couldn't breathe and Kirishima held Bakugou back as he raged at you.

Aizawa rolled his eyes at the racket caused by his rowdy students. He was wrong to think you had a calming presence. If anything, it was the exact opposite.

But you had potential, he was not denying that fact. And you had gotten strong. You were going to be a great hero one day, he was sure of it.

You were the first one off the bus when it pulled up to where the test would be administered. Since you were still behind, you couldn't take it this time around but Aizawa had gotten special permission for you to watch.

You had a feeling that Principal Nezu also had a hand in that. The chimera had made sure you had everything you needed in order to succeed at his school and he probably thought that this would be an enlightening experience for you.

You liked to think of him as the uncle you've never had.

The licensing exam changed every time it came around so you weren't cheating by any means. By the time you were going to take yours, hopefully six months later, you would be in the same ring and on the same level as the other students taking it.

Before you could sprint off to who knows where to explore, a hand gripped your arm and hauled you backwards. You pouted as you faced your dad, who was shaking his head at you.

"Y/N..." He warned and your ears drooped, eyes watering.

Aizawa sighed, looking away. No one was a match for your puppy dog eyes.

"Don't run off." He scolded lightly, resting a hand on top of your head to block his view of those impossibly cute eyes but it did no good.

You just tilted your head innocently and stared up at him hopefully, tail wagging behind you.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he corrected himself as he caved into you. "Just don't go too far, alright?"

You nodded eagerly before racing off and he turned to his students who filed out of the bus, giving them last-minute instructions on what to expect once they got in there. They were all panicking.

Mineta thought he didn't have what it takes to obtain his license, Ashido was clinging to Yaoyorozu, Asui was hanging onto Kaminari who was playing with Ojiro's tail and the rest of the class remained indifferent except for unique ticks that gave away their stress.

Iida's vibrating in place, Tokoyami twitching every so often, Koda and Shoji hiding in the back, Aoyama's smile not as bright as usual, he could tell that they were all nervous.

Only Todoroki appeared to be completely unaffected.

Aizawa tried to keep an eye on you but you disappeared from his sight in a flash and he glowered, wanting to find you but he had a responsibility right now.

Continuing with his brief answers to Iida's endless questions as the class rep fired them one after another, he waved a hand at his students to prevent any more and was going to leave them to get changed into their costumes when he heard his name being called.

"Eraser!! Eraser, is that you?!"

He flinched. He knew that voice.

A woman with mint-green hair in her hero costume waved at him enthusiastically. "It's been so long!!"

Shakily, Aizawa turned around and saw the pro-hero known for making villains laugh with her Outburst Quirk, Ms. Joke. An old friend, if he could call her that. No, a colleague seemed more accurate.

Almost as annoying as Yamada.

He buried his face further into his capture weapon as she approached him. Maybe she would go away if he ignored her long enough.

Fukukado flicked a finger back and forth between them and Class 1-A watched in confusion at the stranger’s sudden appearance. "Let's get married."

"No thanks." Aizawa retorted dryly.

Ashido was already hooked on this love story, her eyes turning into hearts at such a blatant rejection from her homeroom teacher, already forgetting the impending licensing exam.

Fukukado laughed heartily, doubling over and clutching her stomach. "No thanks?! Good one!!"

Shaking his head, Aizawa stared at her impassively, done with this conversation before it even started. "As always, you've got an unamusing sense of humor, Joke."

"If you married me, we could start a family filled with unbearable laughter and joy." She said with a cheeky smile.

"A family like that can't possibly be happy." Aizawa deadpanned.

She burst out laughing again and Asui smiled, letting go of Kaminari as her nerves calmed down with the ease that her teacher interacted with this woman even though appearing like he was irritated.

"You guys seem pretty close..." The frog girl commented nonchalantly.

"Huh?" You tilted your head, gazing up at the adults curiously as you came wandering back to their ranks, finding your way to your dad's side. "Dad, I didn't know you were dating someone."

"I'm not!!" He shouted at you, bonking you on the head.

You cried out, rubbing the sore spot forming and pouted. "That hurt!!"

He sighed, then ruffled your hair somewhat apologetically.

"Sorry, kid." He grumbled out shortly and you beamed.

"It's okay!!" You cheered, good mood restored.

"Aww, Eraser!!" Fukukado cooed at you. "She's so cute!!!

You squeaked in surprise when she pinched your cheeks, blinking up at her, puzzled and a little intimidated by her outgoing personality. When she released your face, you darted behind your dad’s back, poking your head out to inspect the strange woman.

"Emi, knock it off." Aizawa glowered, glaring at her.

Everyone else was just watching, jaws dropped in shock at such a ridiculous and chaotic exchange. They didn't know what to make of it.

The spunky pro-hero wasn't deterred in the slightest, going as far as to drag you out from behind him and hug you. "But Eraser!! She's adorable!!"

Aizawa practically hissed, but he backed off when you didn't seem to mind it. You didn't look uncomfortable, just mildly curious and very interested.

"How do you know Aizawa-sensei?" You asked, echoing the unspoken question that was going through every single person in 1-A's head.

It felt weird calling him that now since he had taken you in for good but hey, it was the most respectful way to address him in front of his potential partner. You still weren't fully convinced that this woman wasn't secretly dating him.

"We had hero agencies near each other!!" Fukukado laughed brightly, placing her hands on her hips and grinning brightly at the other students. "We'd help each other out, coming to each other's rescues. Eventually, our mutual love turned into—"

"That never happened." Aizawa interrupted, narrowing his eyes at her as if looks alone could shut her up and get her to stop spinning this tale.

It never changed no matter how much time had passed. His glare had never worked on her. Of course he knew it wasn't going to do anything now but it didn't hurt to try.

You were practically preening at all the attention Fukukado was giving you now as you warmed up to her endless amounts of energy, eagerly hanging onto her every word as she told you of the adventures the two of them used to go on when they were younger.

Eventually, she called her class over and they introduced themselves to your friends while you drew back to Aizawa’s side.

You waved goodbye to Ojiro as you found him in the crowd and wished him good luck as he left to go ready, the two of you heading in opposite directions once Ms. Joke sent off her own students.

Ojiro sent you a smile and promised that he would do his best before Ashido came to drag him away.

But not before teasing him how he couldn't stand to be apart from you.

He ignored her for the most part, looking the other way before she could catch a glimpse of his smile. If he had to deal with her for the entirety of the test, he was going to be screwed. It was already going to be distracting enough knowing that you were watching him in the stands.

Ojiro pushed it in the back of his mind for now. Test first. He had to get past this first.

Down the corridor leading into where the exam would be taking place, you skipped ahead of Aizawa despite his best attempt to stop you from going too far, dashing into the rows and rows of seats overlooking the huge arena.

Eyes rounding in awe, your lips parted in astonishment at the setting, filled with all sorts of different terrain and a box in the middle of it that looked kind of awkward amongst the mountains, factories, and made-made rivers.

"This is so cool!!!!" You cheered, jumping up and down as Aizawa and Fukukado caught up to you.

Other than a handful of other teachers and chaperones, there didn't seem to be anyone else here. You assumed that was due to being only the homeroom teachers needed to attend for the first and second years, since the third years could probably handle the transportation all on their own.

Aizawa let you pick out where you wanted to sit, following you as you finally settled down somewhere in the mid-range that would give you a good view of all the arenas.

You bounced in your seat eagerly as you waited for the test to start.

"Aw Eraser, look!! She's so excited!!" Fukukado exclaimed, pinching your cheek as she took the other seat next to you.

You whined as she tugged on your cheek again, batting her hand away as you curled up on Aizawa's side for comfort.

His eyes went wide as you snuggled into him but he didn't push you off. He rolled his eyes when Ms. Joke continued to pester him with questions. Where you came from, how old you were, what your quirk allowed you to do.

She was way too curious about all of it and he didn't find it nearly as endearing as he did with you.

Your eyes lit up when the center box in the building finally opened up and Fukukado ceased her relentless questions, revealing all of the heroes-in-training and you were on the edge of your seat as the licensing exam began.

After watching your classmates for a while as they scattered in different directions, you gathered the rules. They had to knock people out with the targets they had put on their body while avoiding getting knocked out by others.

You were stunned as Class 1-A outmaneuvered and managed to outsmart the other candidates at every twist and turn.

How Midoriya rallied the group to stand against everyone when they came after them first and how he managed to come up with a plan to counter so quickly.

You weren't surprised that Todoroki went off on his own but you really wished that he would one day come to realize that he could depend on them too. You didn't know what he had been through, but you knew it had been bad.

You wouldn't push him. He needed to take his own time.

Besides, he had shown that he was more than capable of handling things himself when he was the first one from your class to finish.

But once you spotted Ojiro amongst the crowd, you found that you couldn't take your eyes off of him. His physical prowess was something to be feared on the battlefield.

You didn't get much of a chance to ever see him in action, Aizawa preferring to separate the two of you so that you weren't distracted by each other while you were training and in the classroom, hence why your desk was all the way in the back where Ojiro couldn't see you.

It didn't matter. It wasn't like you looked away from him at all during class but you weren't going to tell your dad that his seating arrangement ended up having the best view to daydream about your crush.

Eyes sparkling as you watched Ojiro take down one after another, you were struck with how strong he was and how he managed to use his tail to the best of his ability. All while not moving quite like how you expected him, too.

"Dad..." You trailed off without taking your eyes off of Ojiro. "The way he's fighting..."

"Hmm?" Aizawa hummed, in the middle of looking at something else but strayed from them to align his sight with yours. "Who is it?"

"Mashirao— Ojiro-kun." You corrected yourself hastily when his gaze snapped to you at such an informal use of his name. "He's kind of fighting like you."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. "He's been working on his style for a while now, it's come a long way since Ectoplasm helped him with it."

You tucked your hands under your legs, tail swishing behind you as you raised an eyebrow. "You gave him some pointers, huh?"

Aizawa turned his attention back to the several battles taking place. "He's my student, of course I did."

He spared you a glance and rolled his eyes when your knowing grin didn't fade.

"Pay attention." He instructed with an underlying warning to his tone and you conceded for now.

You would get him to admit it one day, that he was the dad of the class. It was inevitable. Fate called for him in the form of twenty-two troublesome kids.

You watched as your classmates fought and cheered when they finally won, springing up from your seat when you saw that Ojiro passed.

Aizawa, on the other hand, glared at the group of ten students who just barely managed to pass as the limit was called. "So... there were that many of you left."

Fukukado leaned back, grinning at Aizawa from behind your back as you shouted your ecstatic congratulations down to them. "You're happy aren't you?!"

He scowled slightly. "No, I'm not."

"You are!!" She shouted with a loud laugh, slapping her thigh. "Your leg is bouncing happily!!"

Forcing it to still, he schooled his expression into one of indifference when your attention panned to him.

You leaned forward and bent your head, the tip of your fluffy ear poking his cheek cutely before you straightened up to beam at him. "It's okay to be proud of them, Dad. They worked really hard, right?"

Aizawa smiled faintly, resting a hand on your head and ruffled your hair.

"Doesn't matter." He huffed, suppressing the pride swelling in his chest as all twenty of his students passed thanks to their dedication and hard work. "They'll have to train even harder when we get back."

Your grin matched Ms. Joke's and she winked at you as the first test of two was called.

Aizawa didn't have to say it but you both knew. And you were definitely going to tease him later when he put up pictures of you all in his office tomorrow, hanging them proudly for the rest of the teachers to see when they walked in the lounge.

His kids had made it.

For all twenty of them to finish as part of the 100 that were allowed to pass out of thousands and thousands of students, that was already an accomplishment in it of itself.

There was a short, twenty minute break for the people who passed as they filtered out the ones who didn't, the examiners asking for them to leave so that they could continue promptly after the break was over.

"Dad, I'm hungry..." You said with a slight whine at the end, unable to help yourself, your stomach growling as if on cue.

Your stomach had been rumbling since the start and it only increased with your apprehension as the numbers were called. The first hundred to pass and the majority of Class 1-A had been in the last ten.

It was a close call, that much was for sure.

Still, they had all managed to pass. You were stoked. Ojiro even flashed you a thumbs up when he succeeded, finding you in the stands so effortlessly you were kind of hoping that it was because he was looking for you too.

Fukukado threw an arm around your shoulders energetically, causing you to squeak and almost lose your balance as she declared that she could take you. Your stomach rumbled again, louder this time and your cheeks tinted in embarrassment.

Removing his colleague's arm from you, Aizawa gestured for you to stand up. No way was he going to let you go off with his crazy colleague. "Come on then, kid."

Bounding up, you raced him to the concessions stand. Well, you raced. He kind of lumbered behind you, finding great amusement in the way your tail would twitch behind you in annoyance once you realized he wasn't racing you.

You pouted as he ambled over to you. "You're so slowwwwwwww."

He flicked your forehead and pinched your cheek in retaliation and you batted him away, growling but there was no bite to it.

Hopping in place, you whirled around and he had to actively jump back to avoid crashing into you.

Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, Aizawa quickly paid for your armful of snacks that you collected when he wasn’t looking. Nobody needed to see your canines when you ate.

He was wary of your surroundings as you sprinted over to a bench positioned under a large tree, plopping down and tearing ravenously into the food. Settling down beside you, he leaned back against the tree and crossed his arms.

“How did your internship with Hound Dog go?” Aizawa asked, unable to mask all of his curiosity from you. He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask you yet, he had been too busy training Shinsou for his transfer.

Cheeks stuffed with food, you attempted to talk around it but all that came out was gibberish and you winced as your dad reprimanded you for talking with food in your mouth. Once you finished chewing, you were able to respond, albeit cheekily since it was so fun to see him like this.

“Why do you ask?” You asked, pretending to be clueless about the fact that you and Hound Dog both picked up on his scent when he lingered near the two of you the first day of your internship. “It went alright.”

At the sight of his irritated scowl, you did a double-take. You didn’t expect him to actually care this much about it, it must’ve really been bothering him.

Your eyes widened. “Did I do something wrong?”

Aizawa was quick to hush you, pulling you in for an awkward hug as you maintained your hold on your snack, cheeks bulging with food.

“No, kid.” He sighed. “Just wanted to make sure.”

You didn’t push him, knowing that if he wanted to say something he would. He wasn’t the type exactly comfortable with confrontation and you couldn’t say that you blamed him. But you couldn’t deny that you were curious as to why he asked. You couldn’t figure it out.

“... Why do you ask?” You repeated slowly.

Aizawa’s shoulders stiffened before he forced himself to relax.

You leaned forward, but your eyes widened as he vocalized his feelings at the time, admitting that he had felt a tad bit jealous that you didn’t ask him to train you.

He knew that Hound Dog was the best choice for you to train under, you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to hone your quirk for combat and the pro-hero who practically ran security for UA along with Snipe was the topic choice.

You lowered your crackers, losing your appetite as his words sunk in.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You confessed softly, your ears pinned back on top of your head at how difficult it was to express your thoughts into a sentence that made sense. “I know you were busy with Toshi, not that I mind it!! I’m really glad you’re training him and I can’t wait until he joins our class—”

“If he chooses my class.” Aizawa interjected pointedly.

“Oh hush.” You snapped playfully at his negativity. “There’s no way he’s not going to choose us.”

Transfers had the option of choosing which hero class they wanted to be enrolled in. Principal Nezu liked to think of it like a gift for those that worked extra hard to follow their dreams, a reward as their efforts paid off and were recognized.

There was no way Shinsou was going to choose Class B over Class A when the latter had both you and your dad.

The corner of Aizawa’s mouth crooked up in a smile. He’d seen a lot of himself in the teenager with the brainwashing quirk. The likeness was uncanny.

The love for cats and coffee, the sleepless nights, the fact that their quirks didn’t enhance their physical combat abilities. He connected with Shinsou on a level he honestly never thought possible.

But he was worried that he might’ve been lacking in the attention and love he was supposed to give you while he was occupied with Shinsou’s training.

“You have that look on your face.” You told him, going back to eating your snacks, finishing one in record time before opening another one.

Aizawa scoffed. “What look?”

“The brooding look.” You grinned.

This time, he really did glare at you and you collapsed into a fit of laughter. His eyes softened at the sound.

“What are you so worried about, Dad?” You said, your fluffy ears poking his cheek as you snuggled up to him.

“Nothing, kid.” He muttered. He could figure this out on your own.

You shrugged your shoulders, willing to let it go if he was so stubborn to hold onto it. “I think you’re too worried, Toshi’s gonna do great when it comes time for his evaluation.”

Aizawa blinked. That wasn’t what he was worried about at all. Okay, maybe a little bit. But not much. He was more worried about whether or not you felt less loved ever since Shinsou had come into your lives.

“What?”

He froze as he realized he had said that last part out loud, mind racing to cover up his mistake when you suddenly threw your arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Of course not.” You whispered in disbelief that he was worrying about you all this time. “That’s what you thought?”

Your internship with Hound Dog must’ve made him insecure about his parenting abilities now that he was officially your dad. You were surprised, you didn’t think anything had the capability of rocking this man’s boat. He seemed so stoic, unshakable.

It was good to know that even the people you idolized the most were human too.

“I’m not offended, Dad. Toshi’s family too, right?” You questioned though you weren’t really asking. “You’ve never made me feel unimportant.”

Aizawa had hesitantly hugged you back. It felt wrong to hug you after he just voiced that he was having second thoughts about being the right kind of dad for you and here you were, comforting him. It felt weird.

But it was nice.

“You’re lucky I love you, kid.” Was all he said, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face.

You nodded, smiling softly against his shoulder. “I love you too, Dad.”

After somehow convincing him that you had to have ice cream as you headed back, Aizawa stopped short when you nearly devoured it in a heartbeat. There was nothing left by the time you got back to the stands.

He shook his head fondly as you raced ahead. And by the time he had found his way over to his seat, you were eagerly talking to Fukukado about something.

By the time the next test started and your attention had been stolen away once more, he waved to catch her attention.

Raising an eyebrow, Fukukado’s tease died on her lips as she noticed the serious expression on his face. She would recognize that look anywhere. Shooting him a questioning look, his gaze flitted to indicate something behind him and she followed it discreetly, with the experience of a pro.

What she saw had her eyes widening in shock.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed a fraction as he gauged her reaction. His heart stopped as she shook her head, slight enough not to catch your attention and his jaw clenched, fists balling at his sides.

He would take care of them later.

This time, when the pro-heroes turned their attention back to the arena where the second test was in full swing, there was something a lot more ominous in the air.

A threat that promised Aizawa he hadn’t seen the last of them.

“So Eraser,” Fukukado grinned, leaning forward as she caught your attention. “I didn’t know you liked playing dad.”

“Enough, Emi.” Aizawa sighed exasperatedly, masking his distress from you.

You, however, didn’t pick up on the social cue and scampered behind him before he could stop you.

His voice raised as you left his vision field but before he could twist around to see you, you plopped your chin on his head. “Kid, what are you doing?”

Your tail was thumping so hard against the back of his chair that he could feel the vibrations through the cheap plastic.

“Scary…” You whimpered and his head immediately swiveled to the person he had spotted before, narrowing his eyes when he didn’t see them or the thing that they were torturing earlier.

But before he could instigate emergency protocols and whisk you out of there, you were shakily pointing towards the area where Gang Orca and a mini army had just crashed through the wall and was terrorizing your friends.

Aizawa couldn’t help but relax. You weren’t scared at anything other than the test.

You winced as one of the cement bullets came close to hitting Ojiro and Ashido. “Dad, are they going to hurt them?”

“No,” He said, settling back in his chair now that he knew there wasn’t any threat. “This is a test, remember?”

“I know that, but—” You winced again as Todoroki got hit, immobilizing him instantly, and covered your face with your hands. You couldn’t look.

Aizawa sighed, reaching up to awkwardly pat your head. It was harder to do when he couldn't see you.

“They’ll be fine.” He muttered, more to himself than to you. “They have to face this if they want to become heroes.”

You nodded, more of a reaction than an agreement with what he was saying. Peeking through your fingers, you shot up with a cheer as a paralyzed Yoarashi from another school worked together with an immobilized Todorki to trap Gang Orca in a spiral of flame.

“They did it!!” You burst out, a wide smile on your face as the end of the second exam was called. “Way to go you guys!!!!”

Aizawa sighed heavily, slumping back in his seat. Having to see his class go through a test more rigorous than usual was bad for his heart.

But a proud smile made its way onto his face as his students raced towards each other, congregating around a stage so that they could get their results.

He had said before that they needed to succeed, but that was to push them. The truth was, the fact that they all tried and ended up with results like this even though they had to overcome their personal differences and mistakes just proved that they all had what it took to be just like the heroes that they all admired.

Annoyed at the warmth that bloomed in his chest, he hid his face in his scarf so no one would see he’d gone soft.

You smirked, nudging his shoulder. “You’re proud of them~”

Aizawa rolled his eyes and snorted. “You’re just as bad as Mic, kid.”

“Eh?! That’s not fair!!”

“Life’s not fair.”

Pouting, you crossed your arms petulantly over your chest. “I’m telling Uncle Hizashi!!”

At Aizawa’s snort of indifference and nonchalance, you revoked your threat and gave him your very best watery puppy eyes.

But he didn’t cave like normal. In fact, his attention wasn’t even on you. He was staring off into the distance but you had no idea what he was looking at.

You were confused when Aizawa hurried to walk you to meet up with his students, but not before whispering something to Ms. Joke that you couldn’t make out, even with your enhanced hearing.

Then, as soon as Ojiro was within sight, Aizawa motioned to you in some sort of code and left you with him before disappearing from sight.

You blinked and Ojiro held out his hand for you to take.

“What was that all about?” He inquired curiously and you shrugged helplessly.

“I have no idea.” You said honestly.

But the energy buzzing in the air took your mind off of it as Ojiro led you to where the others were at.

Class 1-A were granted their provisional licenses, with the exception of Bakugou and Todoroki. Both were vastly disappointed but while Todoroki understood his shortcomings in the second test, Bakugou was having a bit of a tougher time coming to terms with it.

“Bakugou, calm down!!” Kirishima shouted, blocking a rogue explosion from hitting anyone else passing by. “C’mon man, they said you’ll get it once you attend that class!!”

“I don’t need a fucking class with those shitty extras!!” Bakugou exploded, storming off a little ways away to brood and process everything that had just happened.

With the sun setting, the other examinees had trickled out and gone home for the day with the exception of their class while they waited for their homeroom teacher to come back from whatever he was sorting out.

Yaoyorozu, Koda and Aoyama left to go get food from the same concessions stand that you and Aizawa were at earlier. Everyone was starving and Iida figured that some food couldn’t hurt while you all waited.

Midoriya bounded over to you eagerly, capturing your attention and you congratulated him enthusiastically on his success. While he talked to you about all the interesting quirks he came across, you couldn’t help but stray from him every so often to glance up at Ojiro.

He was scanning the premises every so often but would mask his concern and shoot you a reassuring smile every time you glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes.

After the three of them returned, Midoriya flocking to Koda to get some food to replenish his energy as Kirishima dragged a protesting Bakugou the entire way over, you tugged on Ojiro’s hand.

You were worried. Your dad hadn’t returned yet and come to think of it, you hadn’t seen Ms. Joke either. Her students had passed by awhile, saying that they were getting on a train to make it back to their academy but they didn’t say a thing about her, so either they weren’t worried and this was a normal occurrence, or she was in trouble.

Your heart started to beat faster as your mind raced with possibilities of what could have happened and you couldn’t keep up, panic constricting in your chest and your breathing getting heavier until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You couldn’t sit here and wait, you had to help them!!

But your joined hand with Ojiro’s didn’t slip out as you tried to run off in the direction you had seen your dad go in last.

Ojiro’s tail wound around your waist and he hugged you tightly, suppressing his own conflicted feelings as you trembled in his arms. He was worried too, but he had to trust his teacher. Aizawa was more capable than any of them when it came to villains and if one had snuck in, he’d be the best qualified for dealing with it.

But the security for the licensing exam was flawless so he highly doubted that was the case. Still, he understood your distress.

Your knees knocked together but you stayed put due to the lock around your middle and you gritted your teeth.

The apprehension didn’t fade, it only seemed to get worse as the seconds ticked by but when the rugged appearance and bright costume of your dad and Ms. Joke stepped out of the shadows, you were wrestling out of Ojiro’s hold as the breath you had been holding in rushed out of your lungs.

“Dad!!” You cried out, bursting into tears when you reached him.

Any other time you would’ve scolded yourself for being so emotional in front of others but you couldn’t help it. He had just left and you didn’t know where he went. It felt just like the first time Ojiro met you and treated your injury before disappearing from your line of sight.

Aizawa caught you with one hand as you tunneled into his chest, stumbling back a few steps at your force.

“Geez, kid, what’s the—”

His eyes widened at the sight of the drops of water streaking down your cheeks and he cursed himself for not telling you where he was going to be. He had been so focused that it narrowed his field of vision.

“Sorry,” He murmured apologetically, resting his free hand on your head.

You closed your eyes as his reassurance and guilt washed over you, batting your head against his hand again just like earlier to show that you were okay.

You weren’t exactly sure why you got so nervous when people left without any explanation. Maybe because it reminded you of your birth parents but you honestly couldn’t say because you didn’t remember them all that well.

A soft ‘meow’ snapped you out of your trance and your eyes trailed down to where you heard the sound coming from, a loud squeal erupting from your lungs before you could stop it, startling everyone within a ten foot radius of you.

Which included Aizawa, Fukukado, and all the students of Class 1-A.

“A kitty!!” You squealed, catching sight of your dad holding it in his other hand. “Where did you find it?!”

You stretched out a hand to pet it but Aizawa lifted it far out of your reach. Your protest died when Fukukado ushered you a little bit away, still within Aizawa’s earshot but far away enough so that you couldn’t touch it.

“Why can’t I—”

“It could be a spy.” Fukukado whispered to you seriously and your tail fluffed up.

“What?”

“The Quirk Traffickers.” Aizawa glowered, glaring at the small cat as he held it up by its scruff. “Some people were messing with it earlier, tossing it around and holding it up, making a show before kicking it to the side.”

The troublesome kids had scattered before he got a chance to capture and question them so he couldn’t say for certain but he was pretty sure they were involved.

Your fur bristled at those people doing something so cruel to an innocent animal. But that still didn’t explain why they thought it was a spy, let along a spy for the Quirk Traffickers.

“Eraser thinks it might be a lure.” Fukukado explained, all amusement gone from her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. “A kid who’s got a shapeshifting quirk that’s being forced to spy on you.”

You couldn’t say you were completely astonished that he had filled her in on your rough past but you were a bit surprised that he seemed to implicitly trust her despite saying that he wanted nothing to do with her earlier.

How interesting. You would have to question him later.

Ms. Joke jabbed a thumb over to where Aizawa was having a staring contest with the grey kitten who was battered and bruised from the treatment earlier. Your blood was boiling just thinking about it.

“Eraser’s trying to see if he can get it to change.” Fukukado told you.

Everyone, the students who had crowded closer to see what the commotion was all about and the two pro-heroes, stopped short when you burst out laughing.

“Dad, put him down.” You wheezed, still trying to catch your breath from your laughing fit.

Now everyone was really confused.

Ojiro, who had overheard the tailend of Ms. Joke’s information, was wary when she mentioned that Aizawa thought the Quirk Traffickers might be involved. He caught your arm but faltered when he saw the twinkle in your eye. You wouldn’t look like that if you were in danger.

Reluctantly, he let you go.

Aizawa still hadn’t let go of the cat, despite what you had said. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, he just didn’t exactly trust that there was nothing going on and—

“It’s just a kitten, Dad.” You reassured, giggling slightly when the sharpness in his glare dulled just a bit. “I promise it’s completely harmless.”

Aizawa stared at it suspiciously as the creature weakly batted at his hand but set it down in his hands so that he was gripping it gently to not add to its injuries but firmly just in case you were wrong and it tried to escape.

He hummed lowly, not completely convinced. “And you know this how?”

Tapping the side of your nose, you smiled as you nonverbally reminded him of your enhanced senses.

“Humans have a different scent than animals do.” You said softly. “If he was someone who had a shapeshifting quirk, he would still smell like a human even in animal form.”

You could pick up on the kitten’s distress at being handled so roughly by so many strangers but you couldn’t say you blamed him. Plucking him from your now shell-shocked dad’s hands, you petted it soothingly, careful to keep your canines tucked away so that you didn’t scare it.

“There, there…” You comforted, hugging it close to your chest. “It’s alright.”

Aizawa couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been so convinced after seeing such irregular behavior from people. And while he still couldn’t explain why they had been beating up an innocent animal who hadn’t caused any harm, he supposed it wasn’t important anymore. What mattered was that you were safe.

“I didn’t know you could do all that…” Aizawa trailed off, underlying wonder following his voice. He had no time to feel flustered or embarrassed by his mistake, seeing as how if he ended up being right, you would’ve been in grave danger.

He was glad that wasn’t the case. Better to be safe than sorry.

You grinned cheekily as the kitten purred contentedly in your hold. “Maybe you should take me with you next time then!!”

“No.” He rejected bluntly and you exclaimed indignantly.

“Eh?! Why not?!”

“No.”

“That’s not an answer!!”

Ms. Joke laughed at your quick retorts, planting her hands on her hips now that the threat had been cleared. She was glad you weren’t in any danger and that the situation had been contained with cuddles.

You stopped petting the kitten as you noticed the longing expression on someone’s face and stared down at the dirty, grey little cat. It could use love. Someone who would care for it and love it to the max.

You knew just who that was going to be.

“Todoroki.” You called out, gesturing for him to come over.

Ojiro hid a smile. He knew exactly what you were thinking. Your kind heart knew no bounds.

Once the half-and-half boy was closer, you thrusted the kitten out to him so that he had no choice but to take it. “Want to care for it?”

Todoroki blinked at you blankly, an unusual flicker of warmth shooting through his heart as he cupped his hands to delicately cradle the tiny bundle of fur. “I’m sorry?”

You sighed dramatically, a hand over your heart as you pulled out your very best theatrical performance. “It’s just that Dad’s already got a cat—”

“Y/N!!” Aizawa burst out. His students weren’t supposed to know about that!! You were exposing all of his secrets!!

You didn’t miss a beat. “And Coffee doesn’t take too well to other animals, just like Dad with people!!”

“Y/N!!!” Aizawa yelled, trying to scold you but it came out exasperated. He was already defeated.

By now, Fukukado had doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach as she lacked the strength to remain standing and collapsed to the ground, rolling from side to side as she laughed hysterically.

Lowering your hands, you got serious for a second so that Todoroki could see you weren’t messing with him.

“He needs a home.” You murmured softly, stroking the kitten’s head and your eyes softened as it mewled happily. “Do you want him?”

You knew he had never had a pet before. The two of you had talked before when you caught him staring longingly after the strays that roamed the campus. Those were off limits. The students were allowed to leave food out and pet them, they were domesticated, but because they were enjoyed by everyone, no one got to take them into the dorms.

He had told you his dad didn’t really ever let him play with his siblings, let alone entertain the idea of getting a pet since all his time was spent training every since a young age.

Todoroki’s heterochromic eyes grew misty. Out of everyone you could’ve chosen, you picked him. It was true he wanted a cat so badly but to just accept this out of the blue seemed a bit too fast. He didn’t even know if this kitten liked him—

A throaty purr erupted from the soft ball of fluff as it snuggled into his left hand, finding the warmth too heavenly to leave.

You barked out a laugh, a grin so wide that it hurt your face and you clapped your hands gleefully. “I guess that settles it then!!”

“Dad, he can stay right?!” You tossed over your shoulder, already knowing his answer.

Aizawa sighed heavily. “I assume you’re referring to the cat.”

You beamed brightly, bounding over to him without a second thought. “Pleaseeeeeeeee?”

He glanced over the top of your head. “Todoroki, are you willing to take care of it and be responsible for it?”

The hot and cold teen looked down at the kitten in his hands, cuddling up on his left hand. The side that he thought only had the ability to bring about harm to the people he cared about. It had only been a total of five minutes and now he couldn’t bear to part with it.

“Yes.” He said quietly and Aizawa nodded decisively.

“Alright then.”

The whole class cheered, ecstatic that they now had a dorm cat, even if it was going to be Todoroki’s. Koda was practically bouncing in place with excitement, a sight that had never been seen before. Jirou tried to hide it but even she was enchanted by the kitten.

Midoriya and Uraraka high-fived each other, celebrating the fact that there was going to be a tiny cat roaming around the halls of their dormitory. So cute!!

Animals made everything better.

Ojiro drew to your side like a magnet. “So that’s what you had up your sleeve.”

You smiled widely. “Do you think I went overboard?”

You knew the kitten would like him. Todoroki was quiet and wasn’t overbearing. He wouldn’t feel the dire need to pet it every single second of the day, but would take comfort in its presence, just like you believed the kitten would come to reflect it all the same.

Ojiro pointedly glanced at your friends who were surrounding Todoroki, Ashido and Hagkure begging for a turn to hold it and the former giving in even though he clearly didn’t want to let go of it yet.

“No, I don’t.” He said anyways, laughing along with you when Bakugou demanded to hold it next, only for Todoroki to make him promise not to launch the kitten halfway across the street if he let him.

It was clear that Todoroki was touched by your decision to give it to him. You didn’t know how much he treasured it already.

“What are you going to name it?” Asui piped up thoughtfully as Midoriya got a turn after the explosive boy.

Todoroki’s brow furrowed and he was silent for a long time as he mulled it over before coming to a conclusion.

“... Soba.”

Uraraka’s jaw dropped open. “Eh?! You’re going to name it that?!”

“Is it not appropriate?” Todoroki asked cluelessly. He thought because of the color it would be a good fit. Plus, you did say Aizawa’s cat was named Coffee. Were all cats supposed to be named after drinks?

Maybe he should change it.

“Just don’t eat it.” Sero said, eyeing him oddly.

“Ignore him.” Tokoyami said and Shoji nodded in agreement.

Todoroki cocked his head to the side. “Why would I eat it?”

“I dunno man!!” Kaminari exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You named it Soba!!”

“Ignore them.” Tokoyami corrected calmly and the two of them shifted their attack to him instead for his poor choice of names to approve for the unofficial dorm cat.

“Y/N, what do you think?” Sato interjected, quelling the argument before it could get out of control. He knew you would approve no matter what Todoroki decided to name it, that was just the type of person you were.

You tapped a finger to your chin in thought. “Well… considering I was just going to call it Dusty, I think Soba is better.”

Your claim sparked outrage at your unoriginality of names, effectively taking all the pressure and uncomfortable attention off of Todoroki and dumping it onto you.

“Dusty?!” Kaminari shouted, waving his hands wildly.

“What?! I thought it fit!!” You objected stubbornly, hiding a smile.

“That’s the worst name ever!!”

“Hey, don’t judge me!! I’m uncreative, okay!!”

Kaminari scoffed. “That’s no excuse!! It’s clearly a Cloud!!”

“That’s even worse!!” You shrieked in horror. “The bar was so low, Kaminari, and you buried a hole just to avoid it!!”

Ojiro’s shoulders shook with laughter at your sharp comeback and Kaminari pouted, betrayed, as Jirou, Sero and Sato burst out laughing.

“All of you, be quiet. You’re giving me a headache.” Aizawa groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as his students slowly but steadily started to file onto the bus to get back to UA.

You winked at Todoroki, who continued to softly pet Soba still purring in his hands as his failure to obtain his license faded into the background with every happy noise the kitten made. Today wasn’t what you expected it to be.

It was even better.

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel

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beigehearts · 3 years

Text

The Price of Self Respect

Read part one here! Read part two here!

PART III CW: mentions of kidnapping, alcohol, drugs, crude language, physical trauma

Let me know if you want a part 4!

1,873 words

____________________________________________

The first thing that comes to mind on dreary morning like these, where the rain trickles down the window and sun hides itself from the world: what started this all? What made you decide to become a hunter? What made you decide to become a freelance hunter? What made you decide to become a freelance assassin? While the answer was easy, a fucked up childhood, you still wondered. Was your first mistake becoming a hunter? Or was your first mistake killing?

A sigh escapes your lips, rolling off of them with practice. Your leg is still covered in the nen cloths. If it weren’t for the myriad of illicit pain medications you are on, you would probably still be doubled over in pain. The bruise that is your entire abdomen has bloomed into a beautiful yellow and red. You felt that Picasso would be happy to use your abdomen as reference.

You no longer reside in that dingy cave-like area, where you were surely deprived of vitamin-D. The Phantom Troupe has moved, where did the whole group go? You did not know. Chrollo and yourself occupate a small cabin in the middle of no where. Middle of no where and you have no idea where no where is. You have been bed ridden, laying in bed staring out the window, being served food and entertainment. Speaking of, you glance over to the stack of books in the corner of the room, it’s about time for another book. The thought of Chrollo needing to give you everything does upset you, feeling so helpless. You’ve been on your own for so long that needing someone is torture.

You swing your legs off of the bed, and hobble towards the bathroom. If you were going to be helpless you would at least keep your dignity. Chrollo has offered many times to help you to the bathroom but you would rather rebreak your leg than that. At this point though there were so many medications in your system that you could barely feel anything from the waist down. Sure you risked falling and breaking your face but again, you will not give up your dignity. It’s only been about two weeks here, though sitting in bed staring out a window makes you feel every single second that passes.

Finally you reach the bathroom that’s on the other side of the bed. Though you don’t lay on that side. Oh yeah, you almost forgot, there’s a catch to this moment of peace. You sleep in the same bed as Chrollo. It definitely took getting used to, and you’re still not quite used to it. The first night was hell.

You scooted yourself down on the bed so you were under the covers, instead of the position you sat in to read. You reached over to the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off. You sigh with relief, finally not sleeping on rocky ground, and finally you had some medication to ease the pain. Most of it anyway. Once you finally shut your eyes, you heard footsteps. You chalked it up to your kidnapper checking in on you, making sure you were still kidnapped.

Then it happened, the bed sheets rustled and you felt a weight next to your own. You sat up as quickly as you could with a broken leg, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He turned over to you, “Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Looks like you’re sleeping next to a helpless girl.” You growled at him.

“There’s no heat in this cabin, I looked for any sign of heating besides a fireplace and there was none. This is our best way of survival.” He stated as if it were obvious.

You grimaced. “It’s not exactly freezing cold outside.”

He gave you a look which said more than words could in the moment, and that was the end of the conversation.

You allow yourself to reminisce in the memory once you sit back down from the bathroom, though you don’t get to do so for too long. The bedroom door creaks open, Chrollo opening it gently. He wore his fur coat and carried a tray with fruits and a soup. He closes the door behind him with his foot, wanting to keep the heat of the crackling fireplace in the room.

You nod at the tray in his hands, “Where’d you get the soup?” You ask knowing there was none in this house you have broken into and entered.

In response he offers a smile. “I see you didn’t finish your book.”

He lays the tray next to you on the bed, and sits down in the rocking chair next to the fireplace.

“It was boring. I’m not interested in a misogynist’s philosophies.” You cross your arms, now realizing that it is cold as the drugs ware off some.

Chrollo chuckles, “I agree, he was not the most agreeable man. Much too sexist for my liking.” He rocks back and forth in the chair, creating a methodical creaking that you count off in your head. Creak crack, creak crack, creak crack...

Silence befalls the both of you, you have learned that Chrollo enjoys his silence. He would rather sit in hours of silence than hours of passionless conversation. After what feels like hours, and may have been hours, Chrollo walks over to the stack of books, he thumbs a book out of it. “How would you feel about a glass of wine y/n?”

A smile almost presses itself against your lips but you stop it, “That doesn’t sound half bad.”

Forty-five minutes later, you’re on your third glass of medicinal wine while Chrollo serenades you with the words of a book you’ve already read. He gently swishes the wine in his glass before taking a sip, and finishing off the chapter. His reading had almost lulled you into a light sleep but just the gentle sound of the book shutting snaps you awake.

“What time is it?” You mumble, and realize there’s still half a glass of wine in your hand. You go to sip it but a hand beats you to it, and slips it from your fingers.

Chrollo places the glass on a table out of reach, “I know you’re not a light weight, but I think the medication and three glasses were enough.”

You frown and throw your head back. The wisest of choices for a girl who just had half a bottle of wine, and is laying on a bed with a wooden bed frame. there’s a loud crack sound and pain instantly blossoms in the back of your head. “God damn!” You hiss and sit up with your legs off of the bed. You rub the back of your head and groan.

You glance up and see Chrollo who almost looks dumbfounded, until he starts laughing. “The fuck are you laughing at? Get out of my way.” You bark at him.

Without much thought you stand up, but manage to keep your balance. You didn’t realize how close that Chrollo was standing next to you, you tilt your head up and find that you can feel his breath.

“Go ahead and lay back down y/n. You’re still healing.” He manages to say between some laughter. His hands fall upon your shoulders but you grab his wrists before he tries to push you back to the bed.

You grip his wrists as if about to make a plea, “I’m tired of this bed, I want to see the rest of the house.” Your eyes meet his, “Let me look around.”

He seems to understand without further explanation, he offers his arm for you to hold onto, and begrudgingly you accept his offer.

The house is much bigger than you were expecting. You didn’t understand how this wasn’t just someone’s home and not their ‘villa’. As Chrollo had put it. He chose a good house to occupy for a while, you had to give him that.

The roof is high up, with wooden beams lining the ceiling. The kitchen is grandiose and has marble counter tops, you looked through all of the cabinets and found no sign of soup. The tour for the rest of the house was as expected, overly expensive and too much time has been put into a house that’s used once a year for maybe two weeks.

The small walk about tired you out immensely, you were only able to use one leg and someone else’s arm to get around. Chrollo helps you sit down on the couch of the main room, and sits down next to you.

Chrollo seems comfortable, as if this were any other day for him. You begin to wonder if it is just another day. Suddenly you feel a pet on your head, and then another one. Is this man... petting you? You look to his face and see his eyes trained on you, his other hand reaching for your face.

Is it your extreme desperation for affection that you’ve been missing all these years, or was that wine stronger than you thought? When his lips reach your own, you make no move to stop him, no move to stop him at all. A hand grabs your chin, and another grabs the thigh of your unbroken leg to pull you towards him. You hiss out in pain at the sudden movement jostling your still injured leg and he whispers something of a sorry on your lips. You had slept with people for your missions before, but for some reason this made your lips burn, it made your heart pound, how it never did before.

But you feel sense snap into you and you raise your hand between both of your faces. “This isn’t going to happen Chrollo. I won’t succumb to stockholm syndrome. No, I won’t” You state as if only reassuring yourself. Before you can get anything else you’re stopped in your tracks when he begins kissing the palm of your hand, small and enticing kisses.

“Oh y/n. You continue to surprise me everyday.” He sighs and flops against the back of the couch, “I’m not sure a woman has ever denied me.” He claims.

You raise an eyebrow- the mood suddenly lifting, “So you’re a ladies man huh?”

He scoffs, “Hardly, no more of a ladies man than I need to be for missions.”

You can’t help but to smile, the tone between you has changed. From captor and victim to old friends. This is looking bad for you. Will you be able to say no next time?

#chrollo #chollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunterxhunter #yandere

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silksandcravats · 4 years

Text

Training (part 2) Kylo Ren x You

Summary: Kylo has a long and brutal punishment in store for you after your behaviour this morning. Read part 1 here for context

masterlist

WARNINGS: explicit language, smut, dom!kylo, mean!kylo, blindfolds, handcuffs, collar, anal play, slight painal, mention of caning, wax play, crying during sex, PIV sex, generally a bit rough, aftercare tho don’t worry

A/N: Accidentally deleted this b/c i’m dumb so reposting. I apologise this took me ages to write but it’s here now! and it is LONG so i really hope the wait was worth it! (ps gif is basically a visual representation of what he does to you… you da helmet b.)

You managed to keep yourself busy for much of the remainder of the day. You could have any food delivered to your quarters, but today you ate at the furthest dining hall possible, trying to kill time. But it would seem that the more you tried to occupy yourself, the more you found yourself coming up blank. In fact, you couldn’t seem to remember a single hobby of yours, instead your mind forced you to relive the events of your morning again and again.

You refused to acknowledge any form of remorse for your actions, but you couldn’t help it when the anxious knot that had grown in your stomach seemed to tighten further and further with each passing hour. It was only after you had given up your game of playing busy that you were forced to face your waterloo.

You were sitting on one of the sleek lounge chairs, facing the glass wall that stood between you and the endless mass of glittering stars and indefinite darkness, when the doors opened. You listened to heavy steps enter the quarters, and you closed your eyes for a moment, collecting yourself, bracing for whatever was next to come.

“Come along kitten, we have much to discuss.” He called for you, opting to forgo any pleasantries. You took a deep breath, before standing, following his voice to another room in your quarters. Technically, it was your bedroom, but the room was so large it served multiple purposes, to one side sat a bed, two bedside tables, a door leading to the refresher, and another door to a large closet, on the other side of the room was a few sleek shelves and an excessively large desk a few feet from the wall, and between the two sides, a large expanse of empty floor.

“Bring me your collar.” he said, already holding something in his massive fist you couldn’t quite see.

You nodded, remembering to add a “yes sir” after he cleared his throat, going to collect the black piece from it’s home in your bedside table. You brought it back to him, setting it down in his waiting hand, before dropping your hands awkwardly to your side, unsure what he wanted you to do with them. He noticed this, but offered you no guidance, grabbing your chin and thrusting it upwards so he could fasten your collar around your neck. He was sorely tempted to pull it too tight, to make you gasp and turn your face a pretty shade of pink, but you would need your breath for what was to come.

Once the collar was secured he began undressing you swiftly and quietly, face void of emotion. If he was aroused by seeing you nude, he didn’t show it.

He then circled around you, stalking his prey, stopping behind you he moved to blindfold you, robbing you of your sight and encouraging you to tune into your other senses. Once it was on tightly you heard him take a few steps back from you. You stood there a few moments before you heard him speak.

“Kneel.” The addition of the blindfold made the simple task more complicated, as your sense of balance was altered. You did your best not to tip over as you fell to your knees quickly, you knew he was expecting blind obedience, and if you failed to comply immediately he would roughly push you to the ground himself.

“I must confess pet, I was under the false impression that we were making progress in your training.” He mused circling to your front again. “But your infraction today has made it apparent I have been entirely too forgiving with you. That will have to change.” He paused and could him shuffling next to you and then you felt his hot breath fanning against your ear. “You look so pretty and vulnerable like this baby.”

“Thank you sir.” you purred, grateful for the compliment.

“It’s too bad I have to punish you for being such an insufferable brat.” he sneered, grabbing your ear tightly, and standing. You winced in pain and followed him up as quickly as possible trying to ease the pressure, but he didn’t let up. He walked to the other side of the room with you staggering blindly just behind him. Using only the grip on your ear, he practically flung you forward so you fell against his desk bent over. Your hands coming to catch yourself a bit too late.

He pulled your arms back meeting them just over the swell of your ass and you felt the unmistakable sensation of standard first order cuffs locking around your wrists. You nearly rolled your eyes, wondering what he had in store for you that he felt the need to restrain you. You were left to wait for a while before you felt contact again. His hand reached your ass grabbing one cheek and crudely pushing it to the side, and then you felt his now slick finger prodding against your back door. You squeaked and tried to move forward but there was nowhere to go.

Self defence wasn’t the only training Kylo was guiding you through. He was obsessed with the idea of claiming you- all of you. And that included every hole. The past few weeks he had begun working you towards taking him up your ass, and while you found the idea of it totally arousing, the painstaking slow path towards it was a pain in the ass, literally. You hated the way it felt so cold going in, the stretch was painful, and at the end of it all it felt like there was no real relief as a plug would usually sit ideally in you, taking up space but not providing you the stimulation you craved.

Tonight Kylo had decided to use this distaste for anal training against you. You groaned at the feeling as his finger pressed firmly inside your unwilling hole, sliding right in, two knuckles deep working into you.

“I’ve got a new plug for you tonight little one,” he informed you, pressing his finger all the way in so it sat deep inside you.

“Is- is it bigger?” You asked nervously, trying your luck as you weren’t sure if you were even allowed to talk right now.

“Indeed kitten,” he answered, it seems your question was allowed for now. He continued pushing in a second finger. “I’ve skipped a few sizes, this one’s bigger than you’ve ever taken. And it’s going all the way up your ass.” you shivered at the thought.

He didn’t prepare you much more before you felt his fingers withdrawal and the tip of a cold steel plug pressing against you. You couldn’t help the grunt of discomfort that fell from your lips as you instinctively clenched tightly, denying him access.

“Don’t fight me.” he commanded calmly, pressing harder against you. You squeezed your eyes tightly under the blindfold, your entire face scrunching with discomfort.

“Don’t want it.” you complained. Suddenly the pressure stopped momentarily.

“Fine,” he relented, tone still eerily calm. “Then you can help me put it in. Hold yourself open.” Your eyes flew open.

“I-I can’t.” You tried, holding your cuffed wrists up slightly as an excuse.

“I won’t repeat myself kitten,” he warned. Not wanting to provoke him further, you elected to oblige. With a pink face and shame filling your guts, you pushed your hands back, grabbing your own ass you pulled yourself open, fully presenting your little hole to him. The position was entirely humiliating, but that was what he was going for.

“The little slut can listen,” he mused, once again lining the steel invader with your entrance. When he pressed again you were unable to resist the way you had earlier, and much to your disappointment you felt yourself beginning to stretch painfully in an attempt to accommodate the foreign object. You could already tell this one was a good deal wider and longer than any of the preceding plugs, and you felt all too sorry for yourself as you thought about how your only option was to lie there and take it.

“You are going to learn that I have final say of anything and everything that happens to this little hole, and every other inch of your body.” he lectured, pushing deeper and deeper. “This body belongs to me, you are mine, and whatever happens to you is entirely up to me. I will see to it that you learn to listen to me better than you listen to your own body. I know what is best for my pet, and you will listen to me.”

You let out a small whine as the widest part slipped inside of you, but otherwise the plug was fully seated without much further protest from you. Finding yourself too overcome with shame to fight your situation anymore. Once it was all the way, he took a moment to admire the shiny and excessive jewel at the end of the plug before batting your hands away. You worked to even your breathing as he stepped away from you, you could hear his footsteps echo as he walked across the room.

“Open” he came around to your front, placing something hard and wooden, a cane, between your teeth, you bite down, realising he wanted you to hold the implement. “We are going to try something new today, it is intended to be a punishment, although I suspect being the little whore that you are you will find some way to enjoy it. This is practice for you. It will be quite intense but you will not move an inch because I told you not to. Since it’s so hard for you to follow instructions, you’re going to hold this in your mouth the whole time. If you so much as step a toe out of line, I will cane you until I draw blood, understood?”

You nodded quickly in response to his threat, knowing full well he was not bluffing.

“Good” he muttered, patting your face and moving behind you again. He allowed you to wait in wonder as he worked behind you. Anticipation swirled in your belly as you wondered what new trick he had in store to make you squirm.

Suddenly your curiosity was answered as you felt something scalding hot drip onto the top left of your exposed back. You gasped, but fought against your instincts, remaining entirely still. The burn was intense but short lived, You felt white hot pain for the briefest moment, before the substance cooled and hardened against your skin. You quickly realised he was dripping hot wax along your back.

“How does that feel?” he asked curiously, running a line down a portion of your spine, moving lower down your back towards a region he knew would be even more sensitive.

“Hurts.” you slobbered slightly against the cane holding your mouth slightly agape, fighting your body’s instinct to wiggle away from the sensation. You yelped aloud as you feel a small puddle of wax pool in one of the dimples of your back. Oh how you wanted to arch your back in response. You found that when the wax made contact with the lower portion of your back the sting only halfway subsided when it hardened, a soreness remaining.

Kylo felt himself hardening at the sight of you. You were purring out pathetic little whines every time he splattered more red wax against your poor flesh. You looked stunning like this, clearly so desperate to move but forcing yourself to be still, to be good for him. Ever the sadist, he continued his work until your skin was practically covered, and your little whines had begun to shift into little moans. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was rather proud of your resilience, and decided to reward you by trailing his hand down to your dripping, neglected center.

“Just as I expected. Soaked.” he hummed, spreading your labia to expose your clit and opening to the cool air. “It would seem the little painslut enjoyed herself,” he ran his finger just along your opening, but didn’t give you the pleasure of entering you. “I supposed we better take care of this greedy little cunt.” he withdrew his prodding fingers, moving his hands to your wrist. He released you from the cuffs only to grasp your wrists in one of his big hands. With his other hand he grabbed the top of your right arm tightly, pulled you up so your entire naked backside was flush against his clothed front.

Once you were standing he kept his grip on your wrists but let go of your arm to reach around and pull the cane from your mouth. It was more than a little wet from where you had been holding it in your mouth and you wished your hands were free so you could wipe the drool that had run down your chin.

“I suppose this will be saved for another time.” He muses, tossing the cane to the side. His next move was to release you from the blindfold, granting you sight again. Your eyes immediately squinted and blinked, trying to adjust to the harsh fluorescents of the room again. He kissed down your neck sloppily, overwhelmed with arousal at how well you had taken the experiment. You basked in the shift of attention for a while before he pulled away from you abruptly. You whined at the loss of contact but he shushed you, pulling away entirely letting your hands go.

“Go wait on the bed for me.” He commanded, softly. You nodded moving to the bed still stark naked to wait for him while he undressed. Your attention was once again drawn to the large plug invading your back entrance, as it shifted inside you with every step you took. You wondered to yourself if he would notice if you reached back and pulled the kriffing thing out. But you decided against it as you crawled onto the bed. Of course he would notice.

He hadn’t told you how he wanted you to wait for him, so you opted to lie on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching as he finished undressing himself and moved over to you. He crawled onto the bed, hovering over you, pressing his mouth against you and you kissed back eagerly, opening wide enough that he could poke his hot wet tongue around, exploring your mouth. His hand slid down, grasping your breast and tweaking one of your nipples between his fingers, making you groan into his mouth.

You bucked your hips up into him as he twisted and pulled. “Patience,” he warned against your mouth, moving his hand to give your other nipple the same treatment. You whined, and continued bucking yourself upward against his hardened cock, trying to provoke him to hurry up and fuck you already. Suddenly he ripped away from your mouth, grasping your throat roughly and shoving your head back against the pillows.

“You don’t cum until I tell you. Is that clear?” he snarled, pressing just firmly enough to restrict the blood flow to your head.

“Yes s-supreme leader.” you gasp, knowing the effect his title on your lips had on him.

“Good girl,” he seemed pleased, releasing your neck, moving his hand down between your legs. His fingers grazed past your entrance, but kept moving further down to where the little plug sat, nestled in your back hole. He twisted and tugged at it, to which you responded with more wiggling and groans. “How’s the new toy treating my little toy?” he pulled it out so that the widest part of the plug was stretching you open again and you squeaked.

“F-full sir, really full.” you tried to respond.

“You better get used to it.” he slammed in all the way back in suddenly, making you jump. “When I shove my cock in there soon, you’re going to feel much more full.”

“Please,” you begged, his words making your pussy clench on nothing and your asshole tighten around the plug.

“Please what?” he hummed, watching you practically writhe on the bed.

“Please fuck me.” You sounded so desperate.

“Fuck you?” he asked in a mocking tone, teasing your clit, his touch was feather light but in your state it was enough to make you jerk your hips.

“Yes, yes please.”

“Have you learned anything today, kitten?” His tone is condescending.

“Yes yes! And I’m so sorry I’ll be so good, please.” you word vomit, hoping you’ll say what he wants to hear.

“You’re sorry?” he taunts, lining himself up.

“Yes, yes I’m really sorry!” you plead, shrieking when he slams into you.

“Hmm, I better see if I can fuck any last bits of brat out of you, just to be sure.” He begins pounding into you harshly, finally giving you what you want to feel. The sensation of his cokc ramming in and out of you rapidly is only further amplified by the shiny object plugging up your back hole. You felt entirely stuffed, the feeling was overwhelming. “Look at you, I’m going to make such a mess of you kitten, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes supreme leader.” you moaned, every stroke reaching a new depth within.

“Who do you belong to?” He growled, sweat beading on his forehead as he pounded into you.

“Y-you sir.” You pant. He pulled back suddenly, grabbing both of your ankles, he pulled them up and pressed them back as far as you would stretch. You felt the ache grow in your muscles as he slammed into you from the new angle. “Fuck! Kylo I can feel you in my guts!”

“Shit kitten say my name again. Who fucks you so well?” He growled as trying to get his words out straight as you tightened against him.

“You do Kylo! Shit! Kylo!” you were practically howling, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you. “Kylo, k-kylo please, please can I cum?”

“Hold it.” he moved his hand down toying with your clit, making you scream.

“I-I can’t!”

“You can and you will, what did I just teach you?” He wrapped his free hand around your throat twisting it away from the pillows so he could glare into your glossy eyes and watch you cry.

“Stars! I’m t-trying sir please!” you cried, feeling the familiar knot in your tummy.

“You can do it kitty, make me proud, just a little longer.” He grunted, snapping his hips into you again and again. You cried harder but nodded, watching his concentration as he fucked you into the mattress. He’d make you wait longer, but he was nearing the edge himself.

“Kylo!” You cried, the sensation was building and you knew you couldn’t hold off much longer.

“Shit, come for me angel, be a good girl and cum on my cock. SHIT!” He yelled head twitching inside of you, unloading his seed deep inside of you.

“Kylo!” You cried the knot inside of you exploded and he released inside of you, squeezing again and again as he continued rocking into you. You sobbed loudly, totally blissed out, and entirely overwhelmed.

Finally, his hips slowed, he let out a grunt, not bothering to pull out of you yet, he collapsed onto you, his heavy weight pressing you into the mattress, comforting you. He buried his face in your neck, panting and you weakly reached your arms up to wrap around his neck, still sobbing into his shoulder as you came down from your high.

“I’m here angel, I’ve got you.” He pet your head as you cried his name. You could feel his heartbeat, steady across your chest as you came down. Soon your crying was reduced to slow ragged breaths, and you seemed to re-enter your body, all too aware of the wax still stuck to your back, your wrists aching from the cuffs, your pounding head, the foriegn presence in your ass, and the overall feeling of achiness and exhaustion.

Kylo and his impressive stamina recovered much quicker than you. He pulled his weight off of you, kissed your forehead, and scooped you up, ignoring your noises of protest, he moved and carried you to the refresher. He sat down with you in his lap on the edge of the tub, leaning to plug the tub and turn on the water.

“Did so well kitten, I’m so proud of you.” he muttered, tightening his hold on you, kissing your temple.

“M’sore.” you grumble softly.

“I know baby, here.” He stood and moved you to stand on your feet. You whined again when he let go of you and pressed you slightly to lean over the sink. “Shh, just taking this out.” He hushed you softly, reaching down to work the plug out of you as gently as possible. When more sad noises left your lips, he reached his free hand out for you to grasp. You took it quickly, squeezing a few of his thick fingers in your fist every time you felt a stretch. He let you without complaining, you weren’t really hurting him, especially compared to what he had put you through.

When he was finished he tugged you up into his chest again, and you nuzzled against him. You were still wobbly from being so fucked out, but his tall, sturdy frame took on most of your weight. He ran his hand up and down your back slowly, cooing more praises to you, about how proud he was, and how good you had been. The skin to skin between the two of you was all too comforting, and you felt your eyes drooping shut to the sound of his thumping chest and the sound of the bath still filling up.

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Never Let Me Go: Part 1 of 2

Summary/Author's Notes: Confession time. I have been @stevieharrrr 's "Daily Carrillo Thirst Anon" for some time now. Y'all seemed to really want this! So, after some idea bouncing, friendly threatening, and overall caps-lock screaming at one another, this is my poker chip that I am raising Stevie in the Carrillo feels war. (This takes place in season 2... episode 4)

Pairing: Col. Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ -- SMUT, oral f!receiving, fingering, THICC CARRILLO ARMS/HANDS, language, violence, CHARACTER DEATH (I'm not kidding with this one y'all, I know it fucks me up when I read it in fic so you have been warned.) Cannon-divergence, this is a FIX IT FIC, if that makes you feel better. Gif by @el-cheung

And the questions I have for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean deliver me

MASTERLIST

Being married to Horacio had never been easy. You had lost count of the number of times you had moved, the number of houses you both had tried to make a home, and the number of times you had almost thrown in the towel. The key word being almost.

Colonel Horacio Carillo was a man's man. If anyone opened up a dictionary and looked up the word 'brave', a picture of your husband would be underneath. Along with the word reckless, cunning, ruthless, and a whole slew of other things that his superiors like to throw in his face when something didn't go according to plan. His strong resolve kept the underlying volcano of his rage carefully under wraps. And if you asked the man himself, he would attribute it entirely to you. According to him, the moment he put that ring on your finger was the moment he had a reason to not give in to his unbridled savagery, his desire to get the job done no matter what it cost. And so far, you were okay with that. You could play the dutiful wife on the sidelines, you could be his anchor, because as soon as his feet crossed the threshold of your home, he was no longer Bogetà's Atlas. He finally got to take all of Columbia off of his shoulders and fall into your waiting arms.

And that's the reason when you received the call that he would be working late for the third night in a row, you decided to do something about it. Hanging up the phone, you got dressed, pulling that small floral print dress that he loved so much over your head. You shimmied it down your ass and it just ghosted the middle of your thighs. The small pink and red flowers on top of the wispy white fabric made your skin look softer somehow, grabbable--at least that's what your husband had told you the first time you wore it out to the farmer's market. You picked up the phone again and called in his favorite take out from the small shop around the corner, balancing the receiver against your shoulder as you put on a touch of makeup and a bright pink lip stain.

By the time you arrived, the precinct was winding down for the night. A few of the regulars were standing around, and there was a general uneasiness in the air. Your high heels clicked against the laminate floor and it sounded way too loud, making you second guess your apparel.

"Mhm, what's that smell?"

Javier Peña turned from his pair of desks as you made your way across the office with the bag of takeout hanging over your forearm, your car keys jingling in your hand.

"Good evening, boys," you gave a small wave at the two DEA agents and continued on your path.

"Where's mine?" Steve Murphy, Javier's partner asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Sorry, Steve," you laughed softly, walking backwards a couple of steps. "Next time, okay?"

"Carrillo's a lucky son of a bitch!" Steve called after you and you shook your head feeling your cheeks blush. Javier mumbled something undoubtedly crude under his breath and Steve elbowed him in the ribs drawing a grunt from his partner before they both sat back to work.

Boys. That's what the two of them were and you weren't sure how Horacio put up with it all day. You raised a hand and tapped your knuckles against the glass bearing your own last name.

"Come in."

His voice made your shoulders relax. You let out a breath that you felt like you had been holding for the last three days, and walked into his office, closing the door behind you.

Colonel Carrillo looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and his eyes widened. Clearly expecting literally anyone but you to walk through his office door and it was humorous just how quickly his stoic persona melted in front of your eyes. He stood up abruptly, taking off his glasses and saying softly, "Mi amor?"

"Hey," you said, setting the to-go bag on a clear spot of his desk. "I thought you might be hungry."

"You didn't have to do this," he said, still looking surprised that you were actually standing in front of him. He stopped down as you offered your cheek to him and he gave it a small peck.

"I know."

"Ernesto's?" He raised an eyebrow and looked into the bag, inhaling deeply.

"Mhm," you nodded, reaching in and taking out the styrofoam boxes one at a time.

Carrillo rubbed his chin, looking you over slowly before shaking his head with a grin. "Thank you." He walked around the desk slowly, twisting the string on the blinds to his office window until they closed fully. You didn't look up from your task of setting out dinner until you heard the firm 'click' of the lock on the door.

"Horacio?" You asked over your shoulder as he rubbed his palms together and walked back over to you.

"So we won't be bothered," he said simply with a shrug and you nodded.

"When is the last time you ate?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I had coffee this morning." He admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You knew you were the only one that ever got to see that flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, like he had somehow disappointed you. He didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of his actions, but your opinion was always held in his highest regard.

"Coffee is not a food group. How many times do I have to tell you that?" You said, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"Of course it is. Because you know what I'm like without it." He chuckled.

"Oh, I absolutely do," you laughed. "A bear in a uniform--"

Your hands paused on the food as you felt his large arms slide around your waist, his tender lips finding their way to the base of your neck. Was he trying to distract you from your current annoyance at his poor excuse for nutrition? Maybe. Was it working? Also maybe.

"I haven't seen this dress in awhile," he mumbled against your skin, removing one of his arms to pull your hair to the side and out of his way. He kissed his way up your neck then back down to your shoulder, soft feather light touches that made your eyes close for a brief second.

"You haven't been home in awhile." It was meant as a joke, a harmless jest, but your smile fell as you felt him tense behind you. You turned in his arms slowly, putting both hands on his broad chest. "I didn't mean it like that." You whispered, fingers playing along the collar of his army green button up. Your fingers traced the path against the embroidered name badge over his heart and you wished you hadn't said anything. The moments you did get together lately were so brief that any that weren't dedicated to loving one another felt like time wasted.

He didn't want to be gone all of the time. He made sure you knew that. The war on Escobar wouldn't wait just because one man's wife was missing him. There were plenty of men who never returned home. Escobar had left many widows in the wake of his cocaine empire and every time the man in front of you walked through the door and into your arms you thanked your lucky stars. You didn't believe in much, but you thanked every deity that might have been listening for keeping him safe.

"I know," he said, trying to give you a smile but unable to keep the sadness off of the edges.

"Come on," you said, nodding to the food. "It's gonna get cold."

"Not yet."

He kept his arms firmly planted around your waist, his hands slipping lower to take two huge handfuls of your ass. The movement made the dress lift slightly, the material bunching in his grip. You gave him a surprised look and he bit his lip, playfully waggling his eyebrows at you. It made you giggle. God, how you missed him when he wasn't home. This playful, boyish side of him that made you walk on air. The side of him that made it seem like you both were young and in love and didn't live in a war torn country.

"I thought you were hungry?" You asked as he continued his way up your neck to the shell of your ear.

"I am." He worked his way back down, kissing the tops of your breasts as he walked you a step backwards against his desk. "But not for take out."

"Even Ernesto's?" You gave a mock gasp of shock and smiled, letting your fingers card through his hair as he pulled the scoop neck of your dress down and squeezed your breast in his large hand. "I thought it was your favorite!"

"There's something I like more," he said, looking up at you with dark brown eyes, refusing to lift his lips from the mound of your breasts. It made the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here?" You asked and as a response he reached around you and shoved a stack of files off of his desk and to the ground with a loud clunk.

"Yes. Here." His words were firm and he shoved a few books off of the desk to join the papers on the floor. He gripped your waist and picked you up to sit you on the edge of his desk, nudging your thighs open with his knee and standing between them. "Think you can be quiet, dulzura?"

"You know the answer to that," you giggled again, cupping his face in both of your hands as he closed in on you. You were not a quiet lover and he often told you it was one of his favorite things. The way you said his name as he brought you through your orgasm was his most favorite song and he liked when it was turned up loud.

You reached for the front of his dark slacks, palming the bulge at the front of his pants and he gripped your wrist with a shake of his head. "Not yet," he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it before putting it back on the desk. He put his hands up the dress and gripped your underwear, sliding them over your hips and down your legs. The lace got tangled on the heel of your pump and you kicked them off with a shake of your foot.

"Kiss me again," you demanded with a shaky breath and he happily obliged.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as one arm held you tightly and his other hand went up your dress. His thick fingers pressed against your labia and you moaned into his mouth as he began to run them up and down, slowly spreading your wetness. He pressed your clit and you jolted, it was too much too quickly and you gripped his neck.

"Mi amor?" He asked and when you hummed in response he continued. "Lift your dress."

You did as you were told. With excited hands and a hammering heart, he helped you pull the soft material up over your thighs, letting it bunch around your waist as he went to his knees in front of you. Those dark, chocolate colored eyes that you loved with all of your heart never strayed from your own as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. He let out a small noise of content as you ran your fingers through his hair and the noise carried over as he pressed his mouth to your aching cunt. With a gasp and your head thrown back, your hair cascading down your back, your husband would have said that you looked like a vision--if his mouth wasn't already preoccupied.

Carrillo's hands slid around each of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh and keeping them wide open for his broad shoulders to sit comfortably in the middle. His tongue slipped through your wet pussy like it had a hundred times before, but it still made you moan his name softly to the empty office around you. Your husband may have been a man of few words, but he liked to say he used his mouth for much more precious things.

He sucked each of your folds separately, a soft pop sound coming each time he moved to the next spot. When he finally closed his mouth around your clit, you gasped sharply and grabbed his hand that was resting on top of your thigh and squeezed it.

"There?" He mumbled from between your legs and you nodded.

"There. Right there."

"Right there. Mhmm, I see," he teased your desperation but continued to oblige your request. He worked his jaw against you in such a way that you imagined he was coating his face with your juices like you were the most delicious of fruits. The wonderfully crude image made your cunt twitch and he groaned.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he continued to suck your clit. You wanted so much more right now. You wanted his cock inside of you. You wanted his hand around your neck. You wanted him to flip you over and take your ass. Suddenly you wished more than anything that the two of you were home so you didn't have to pick what you wanted most, you just had to pick which one you wanted first.

"Horacio," you moaned his name, rocking your hips forward gently against his chin. You bit your lip and closed your eyes, the feeling of how well he knew your body started to overwhelm you. In the years you had been together he had taken so much time memorizing every spot that made you sigh, every place that made you break out in goosebumps, and every series of movements that had you falling apart in his arms.

He loved you fully, completely, and unconditionally.

The orgasm he brought you with his mouth took you from your thoughts as you clenched your thighs around his head suddenly. "I'm cuming!" You gasped desperately just before you felt the rush of heat flood your core down through your legs. It made you bend forward over him and open your eyes, moaning loudly as you saw him looking up at you, watching you orgasm in his hands as his mouth continued to ravage your aching cunt.

"Come on, baby," he squeezed your hand, feeling you clench again against his mouth and it was too much.

"Stop, stop," you said with a shaky voice to match your quivering legs. You grabbed two fistfuls of his button up and pulled, making him get to his feet and slam his mouth against yours.

He grunted against your lips as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, greedily tasting your own wetness on him. He cursed quietly in Spanish as you pulled his shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his pants. Your hands went to his belt and you slowed down, suddenly remembering you were in the precinct.

"Do--" you swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally as you spoke against his face. "Do you have time?"

"For you? Siempre," he slid his fingers in your hair at your temple and cradled the back of your head. "Siempre, mi amor."

Always.

You blushed a little, your fingers starting to unbutton his shirt as he kissed you gently and kept hold of your hair. With each button your heart raced faster, you smiled against his lips as he slipped his tongue back inside your mouth, expertly colliding it with your own. His kisses always felt like they were going to devour you from the inside out. He kissed with such an intensity that you knew from the first time he pressed his mouth to yours all those years ago you would willingly allow him to consume you.

You clenched your thighs around his waist and let your heels drop to the floor behind him. He ran his hand down the curve of your ass and hitched your leg further up on his hip, dipping you down to lay on his desk. He grinned down at you and started to open his mouth to say something but was stopped short by a hurried knock against the glass.

"Carrillo!" Javier called from the other side of the office door.

"Go away," he returned, throwing his voice in the direction of the door, leaning down to kiss your breasts.

"Messina needs us. We got a hit off of the wire taps--it could be Escobar." There was a pause as he tried the door but it was still locked. "We gotta go!"

Carrillo's shoulders fell slightly and ran a hand over his face before helping you sit up. "Coming!" He helped you pull your dress over your breasts and started buttoning his shirt back up. "Lo siento, mi amor." He said quietly and you shook your head.

"It's okay." You bit your lip as you watched him tuck his shirt back into his pants and he hissed softly. "Sorry about that," you nodded towards the bulge against his zipper as he did his belt.

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek, bending over to pick up your thong and held it out to you in offering. "I'm not. It'll give me something to look forward to when this search comes up empty like all of the others."

You took your underwear from him and smiled as you slipped off of his desk and put them back on. "I take it I should put the food in the fridge?"

He nodded and put his hands on his hips as he watched you fondly finish redressing. "I'll be home late."

You cupped his face giving his cheek a gentle pat and a nod. "And I'll be asleep." You smiled as best you could but you knew he could see the twinge of sadness in the corners of your mouth. The number of times he crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning far outweighed the number of times the two of you got to go to bed at the same time.

Carrillo grabbed your hand before you could turn away and kissed your knuckles, squeezing your hand as tightly as he could without hurting you. As he walked to the door and unlocked it, he looked over his shoulder and said seriously, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you barely managed to get out before he unlocked the door and he and Javier walked briskly down the hall, leaving you to tidy up and head home.

When the knock at your front door came, you were already in bed and sound asleep. The oscillating fan of your bedroom was breathing a cool breeze across your body as you snuggled deeper into the comforter. The bed hugged you like it knew you better than anyone else in the world, and apart from your husband, it probably did. The knock came again and you groaned because it meant that you hadn't been dreaming about the first one.

You leaned up and pushed your hair to the side, looking at the side table that held your alarm clock and a lamp. "Fuck," you mumbled as bright red numbers told you it was almost three in the morning. Three AM? Where the hell was Horacio? You touched his side of the bed as if to confirm what your eyes were already telling you--he still hadn't come home.

The knock came again.

"Shit," you cursed again, turning on the lamp and opening the drawer to grab the hand gun that you knew was there.

The 9mm felt cool in the palm of your hand as you checked the magazine for ammo before slamming it into place and pulling the cartridge back to slide a single bullet down the chamber. You grabbed your robe and wrapped it around your shoulders, tying it tightly and hurrying across the bedroom barefoot. You saw the flashing red and blue lights outside the front room window as they ran along the walls of your home, chasing each other over and over, casting shadows on the entire room. The fact that there were no sirens paired with them made you feel uneasy--that was never a good sign.

The knock came again, this time it was apparent that whoever it was was pounding their fist against the wooden paneling of the door. Leaning up on your tip-toes you looked out the peephole and recognized the somber face of Javier Peña. You hurried and put the gun on the table in the mudroom before flinging open the front door and asking him accusingly.

"Javi?? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Your voice sounded foreign even to you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your eyes frantically searched the two police cars behind him for your husband.

"(Y/n)..." Javier said quietly as he leaned against your door frame, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"What's wrong?" You said as he shifted uncomfortably on your doorstep. In the back of your mind you already knew what he was about to tell you, but you wanted him to say it. If he didn't say the words out loud then they would never become real. The news he was about to give you was a stone, and unless he threw it, it would never be allowed to shatter your entire existence.

"There's been an accident." He said flatly, forcing himself to look you in the eyes. You glanced over his shoulder and saw Steve leaning against the hood of the Jeep with his arms crossed, looking at the ground. The other officers in uniform wouldn't look at you either and you knew your next question was a foolish one.

"Is he hurt?" You asked in a meek voice. Hurt you could handle. Hurt you could work with. But you knew before you even opened the door tonight that hoping that he was only hurt was a faulicy that your brain entertained purely to keep you from fainting on the hardwood floor.

"(Y/n)," Javier tried again, moving his arms from the door frame as he started to put his hands on your shoulders.

"I need to see him," you blurted out as Javi's hands clasped your biceps. You tried to shove him off. If he touched you, it was over. If he held you it was all over. If Horacio Carrillo was alive then he would have already told you to get dressed and get in the car. No, comfort meant trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb that was a woman about to learn that she was a widow.

"I can't--" Javier tried and you jerked your arms out of his grasp.

"Take me to him, Javi. Let me see him!"

"I can't do that. There's nothing--"

"Shut up! Don't you dare--" you raised your hands and he was faster than you and grabbed both of your wrists, holding them to his chest. "Don't you fucking dare! Where is he? Where's my husband--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as you finally gave in.

He kept his hands on your arms as your knees buckled out from under you and you slowly sank to the concrete stoop. Javi followed you down, pulling you against his leather jacket and letting you scream against his chest. You would have screamed all night if your vocal cords would have allowed it. But it wasn't long before the screaming turned to sobs and the sobbing turned to silent gasps as your body couldn't seem to figure out the appropriate noise to make to express your anguish.

You felt his voice against your hair as he spoke Spanish softly in your ear. Only catching half of it, you nodded helplessly as he told you it had been a quick death, that it was no secret around the office how deeply Horacio loved you, and other forms of condolence that didn't do a damn thing to stop the meticulous tearing of your heart within your chest.

He was gone. Not even twelve hours ago he had been in your hands, against your skin, warm and alive and looking at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. And now...nothing. You felt Javi's hand in your hair as you heard Steve's boots approaching the both of you quietly and respectfully. They were trying. They had been saddled with the task of telling you because they were friends of the Colonel. But as the tears started up again and you felt Javi's arms tighten around your shoulders, you desperately wished they belonged to someone else.

Permanent Tag List: @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @cosmicbug379 @winters-buck @rae-gar-targaryen @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor Please let me know if you want to be added to my Permanent Tag list or of I tagged you by mistake. I have done a shit job of keeping track of the Permanent list and I am trying to fix that. ❤️

#narcos #Horacio Carrillo #colonel carrillo #Carrillo x reader #narcos fic #i promise its gonna be okay #Horacio Carrillo x reader

375 notes · View notes

kumqu4t · 3 years

Note

Hii, sending the match up!

I'm 5'3-5'4, long brown thick wavy hair, that gets knots and messy easily. I have a curvy body, but can gain strength and muscles quite easily. I have deeep green eyes with little caramel-like dots. My eyes change colour from green to shades of blue, depends on my mood.

I seem shy and polite at first, but when I get comfortable, I am goofy and wild. I'm Virgo, Slytherin, INFJ, with strong sense for art and aesthetic. I get anxious and stressed out easily, I'm quite insecure. My hobbies are writing, drawing, listening to music, learning languages, stargazing. I'm the mom friend, one of the oldest ones as well, so I hate when people call me childish or a kid. If people make me mad or hurt my loved ones, I get protective and can give them a piece of my mind, then I take my loved one and try to make them smile, or I just am there if anything.

I notice details, listen to others, and notice the energy of room or a person. I often need to balance all my emotions, I think deeply about things and I'm just overall pretty complicated person, who hardly opens up.

Hope u are having an amazing day!!💕

i obviously ship you with kili!!

headcannons:

- after you mention that your hair gets tangled super easily, kili makes sure that never happens again

- every morning he gets up early to brush and braid your hair

- he loves your curves

- sometimes he has trouble with roaming hands during serious situations

- he could look in your eyes for hours, and sometimes he does

- he marvels at the way they change color

- he even tries to do things to disturb your mood just to see them change color!!

- he later learns this is not a good idea

- elle’s wrath is nothing to scoff at

- you two go so well together

- so many dirty jokes

- “that’s what she said” is a staple

- there is no shortage of compliments between you two

- you both struggle with insecurities, and you are always there to lift each other up

- sometimes it is with long, sentimental speeches, other times you just hold each other

- kili teaches you khuzdul

- he loves the way your voice sounds when you speak it

- you two go stargazing together

- i can definitely see you two making that joke:

kili: wow the stars are beautiful tonight

elle: yeah they sure are

kili: you know who else is beautiful though

elle: *blushes* who

kili: me

- tickle fights all the time

- kiki totally understands not liking being called a kid

- because he is often scolded for his childlike, easy going attitude

- so you both treat each other with respect

- kili loves showering you with gifts

- kili is able to help you open up

- he is always there, never judging, only comforting

- fili, thorin, and dís love you to death

- kili may not be the most eloquent person, but he tries his best to express his love through words

- he writes you awfully cheesy (and sometimes crude) love poems

- elle

roses are red

violets are blue

your face is cool

and your breasts are too

love, kili

- you balance kili out wonderfully

- literally everyone ships you two

- there is no doubt you are meant to be together

#erin writes i guess

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whumpiary · 4 years

Text

Continued from here

content warning: misplaced anger, arguments between loved ones, general insensitivity around trauma, discussed forgiveness or excusing of past abuse, briefly mentioned abusive relationship/returning to abuser, mentioned mind control and crude language used to describe it

By the time they’ve all settled at the kitchen table, they've managed to get Cass positioned on the couch with a blanket draped over him and a bucket down on the ground beside him in case he woke up with the world spinning.

Lou sits with her hands curled around her mug, feet tucked under herself like a cat. Josiah sits across on the other side, frowning squarely at the succulent positioned at the center of the table. And Mal sits between them like a damn couple’s counsellor.

Not that he’s feeling bitter about it.

He holds back the joke about the round table.

Lou clears her throat. Josiah’s hand twitches. Mal looks between them and holds the balance like the fulcrum on a set of scales.

Sitting tense like this, Lou and Josiah could almost pass for siblings. Not in looks, perhaps, but in manner. Both faces fixed with don't-give-a-fuck-irritation, both trying to find things for their hands to do before they curl into fists on automation. Both failing. Each have a way of holding their shoulders like they're caught halfway between a shrug. Mal wonders who taught who that particular way of being pissed off or if they both, over time, bashed the same shields out of sheet metal, side by side.

Maybe they were just always destined to meet each other in some gym on a Wednesday afternoon. Mal doesn’t mind the thought of destiny most days of the week. And on this one, with a long lost, very lost, friend stumbling back in through the door…

"How long has he been here, Jos?" Lou asks, voice soft and low. Josiah looks away from her straight away, arms crossed, already on the defensive. "No lies this time. Just tell me."

The long, stretching silence is heavy enough that Mal thinks for a second that maybe that Josiah's already shut down and unplugged. That they’ve already lost him. No room for conversation beyond a few grunts and a shrug. But Lou waits, and she watches. She times her breaths with the patience of someone planning to outlast.

Josiah shrugs and shifts in his seat, eyes locked at some place on the carpet. “Since Tuesday.”

Mal can’t tell if the sharp intake of breath from Lou as she closes her eyes is to stop herself from screaming or from shutting down all together. She stays like that for nearly half a minute, and Mal watches her face for clues.

When she opens her eyes she’s looking at the wood of the table, jaw clenched, fingers white-knuckled around her mug, determinedly focused on staying calm.

“Jesus, so… Five days. He’s been here five days.” She rubs her hand over her face, across the fuzz of her hair. “And why, uh… Why didn’t you tell me? Tell anyone?”

Josiah shrugs again. "I had it handled."

Lou actually laughs. A dangerous, broken glass against glass kind of sound. "Oh, I would love to know what part of having a mind controlling drug addict with a death wish sleeping on your couch you think you had handled."

Mal looks up at her with a tilt of his head and in an instant she’s scowling like a kid being scolded. She mutters something in the vague vicinity of an apology. She presses the heel of her hand to the side of her head like she's ironing out the thoughts in there. Lets out a long exhale. Barely concealed grief. Fear.

“Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole, Jos but this was stupid,” she says, after a minute or so. “This was really stupid. Cass is dangerous and you know that. He is manipulative and out of control and-”

"He was passed out most of the time, it was fine.”

“Yeah but a single word and it could have just as easily not been fine.”

Josiah just looks at her with dead eyes and shrugs. Lou searches his face, exasperated. She splays her hands wide, shrugs. "What if he had've made you go back again?"

"He didn't, though."

"But what if he had?"

“But he didn’t.”

Lou, to her credit, doesn’t launch across the table to hit him across the jaw like Mal half-expects her to. Instead, she buries her face in her hands, squeezes her eyes shut, swallows about three times before speaking.

"Jos, the last time Cass showed up out of the blue needing help, I lost you for three weeks-"

"Two weeks."

"Three," she says, voice hard. Then she tilts her head back, eyes skirting across the back wall like she's solving a math problem, expression just on the brink of cruel. "Actually, it was bang-on 22 days. Wanna take a stab at how I remember?"

Josiah just slams his jaw shut and turns his head away. The tendon in his jaw jumps, muscles of his neck taught against the jugular.

Mal closes his eyes for the barest of moments. He can still hear the sound of the empty blister pack hitting the rubbish bin. The dry, dead laugh that came along with the gonna have to find another way to tally it, huh?

Lou leans forward on the table with a look of challenge on her face and Mal straightens automatically. He can feel old habits bristling in himself, already flicking back to sit on protective defense before the first swing even comes.

He hates playing umpire. He hates that she’s asked him to do this. But it’s fine. It’s a part of figuring this mess out. They’ll be fine in a minute.

Lou clears her throat.

“Okay, so let’s assume for a second that Cass isn’t about to screw you over and sell you off to the highest bidder– ” she ignores Josiah’s scoff. “– Let’s be generous and assume the fucker’s at least a little repentant. Where has he been, then?”

Josiah looks pointedly away, arms shifting to cross over his chest again but there’s otherwise no response. Lou doesn’t shift, though her tongue flicks out to wet her lips like loading a bullet in a gun. “He’s been gone for fourteen goddamn months and then he turns up unannounced on your doorstep. The story better be pretty damn impressive.”

There’s no response.

Lou shrugs like it doesn’t matter. "Okay, so he hasn’t told you where he’s been. Fine. Has he told you why he’s come back?"

No response. Mal opens his mouth to speak but thinks otherwise and clicks his jaw shut again.

Lou barrels on. “Do you know if he’s running from someone?”

No response.

“In danger of something?

No response.

“Do you know if you are in danger of something?”

Nothing.

“Have you even fucking asked?” Her voice shakes, breath shuddering, but she’s so furious it barely seems to register.

Josiah doesn’t look at her, gaze fixed on the carpet with his own brand of burning rage. “The second I ask him that shit he’s gonna bolt and you know it.”

“Good riddance, then.”

“No, not good riddance,” Josiah shoots back. There’s a twisted sort of urgency to the way he says it that Mal’s not even sure he’s seen before on Jos. “I’m not having Cass drop dead on the end of the street because I scare him off instead of helping. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

“Bullshit he will.”

“What would you have done, Lou? He showed up sick and scared halfway to hell-”

“The last time he showed up sick and scared halfway to hell he was lying through his fucking teeth,” she spits. “I would have let him rot.”

The room is still and deathly quiet. Lou stays laser-focused on the man across the table from her, eyes burning. Mal can track her heartbeat by the pulsing of the pendant around her neck.

“Do you want to go back there, Josiah? Do you want to go back to Ellie?”

The tendon at the back of Josiah’s hand jumps as his fist tightens but he doesn’t respond.

“You couldn’t speak to us for a month, Josiah. You couldn’t shower, you couldn’t eat. Do you even remember that?”

“He got me out of that place. Not you.” Josiah spits with deadly precision, looking up at her. “That’s what I remember.”

Lou sits back. Bullet to the chest. She scoffs but Mal watches the ice around her glint as the words bite and cut through, needle under her skin and sit there, ready to rot. Her chest jerks in a silent hiccup, the hollow echo of what should’ve been a sob but can’t be. Not right now.

She laughs instead. Bitter, twisted, and full of grief. She crosses her arms across her chest and slouches back, looking Josiah up and down. “Oh man, I am so glad I wasted a year of my life helping you recover from everything that asshole did to you now that I know you were just gonna throw it away the second he walked back through the goddamn door.”

Josiah’s eyes slam shut. Mal makes eye contact with his wife across the table. “Harsh, Lou.”

“No it’s not, if he's not gonna give half a shit about himself, why the fuck did we even bother?”

He tries to reach for her hand. To ground her, calm her down. “Love, come on, you’re not being fair.”

“No, fuck off,” she tugs her hand away violently, tears dangerously close to falling. If Lou had been small on the porch swing not twenty minutes before she looks like a giant now. “Fuck right off. What’s not fair, is that piece of shit turning up out of nowhere and expecting us to take him back. What’s not fair is what he did.”

It’s hard, with someone halfway standing from fury, not to cower like a kicked dog. Mal tries to catch Josiah’s eye, to let him know he still has an ally but the man’s eyes are closed, shoulders knitted up and tense under the onslaught. Mal lets out a loud exhale. Lou burns on.

“And you know what else isn’t fair, Jos? Finding out five days after the fact that my best friend’s kidnapper just turned back up on his front step.”

“He’s not my kidnapper.”

“I’m sorry, what would you to prefer me to call him, Josiah? Mental rapist?”

Mal snaps his eyes to her, rocks forward in his chair. “Alright, line found, Lou. Take a walk.”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked me to call you out if you crossed a line. That’s what I’m doing,” he says, voice quiet and firm. “Get out. Go for a walk. You need to cool off.”

“No fucking w-”

“Love,” he says, reaching for her hand. “Who is this helping?”

She holds his gaze for a minute, her eyes flicking between his, ready for fire, ready for fight. Mal holds his own, squeezes her hand, hopes to God she’s listening. And then all at once she folds.

She takes a minute. She sucks in a sharp intake of breath, one hand over her own face. Squeezes her eyes shut. Takes a breath. Shakes her head. Takes another breath. In for six, hold for four-

“He might’ve gotten you out of there Jos, but he sent you in first,” she mutters, voice low and quick as though to get it out before being cut off “You might have selective memory around that particular sequence of events but I sure as fuck don’t.”

Lou pushes back from the table all at once and rushes out the front door before anyone can stop her or grab her or make a move as though to comfort, as though the decision to leave had been he own. A dramatic exit, not a necessary intervention.

Mal watches her go, takes note of the curling of Josiah’s shoulders as the door slams shut behind her.

Mal slumps back in his chair with a heavy exhale. He refrains from the urge to just sag forward, exhausted and empty after holding the tightrope tight. He hasn’t felt this drained this quickly in a long, long time.

Two hours ago he was halfway through brunch at Now he had a wife stuck in fight mode, a friend on the brink of shutting down completely, and a relative stranger withdrawing from something he wouldn’t even admit to taking. Something was telling him he was gonna need a little more time off than the convenient long weekend.

He looks to Josiah across the way. The man looks unmoored, wounded, hollowed out. Which, to be honest, was miles and miles of fair enough.

“You alright?” Mal asks softly, after the silence stretches too thin. He almost doesn’t really expect a response but Josiah’s shaking his head almost as soon as the question’s asked, face locked in a frown, eyes still staring off into the middle distance.

“I’m the one it happened to,” he murmurs, after a beat. “That’s what she always says. I’m the one it happened to.”

Mal opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. Makes a few clicks with his tongue. Sighs. He pushes his hair back from his face.

“Yeah, but… you weren’t the only one it happened to,” he says eventually. It’s an awkward way to put it but it’s what he’s got. He watches Josiah’s face carefully. Watches the “Do you know what I mean by that?”

“She wasn’t even there.”

“Mate…”

Josiah looks up at him finally and as soon as he sees the grief and understanding sitting behind the other man’s eyes, Mal exhales.

Talking to Josiah could feel like talking to a wall that kept spitting bricks back at you for every new one laid down but eventually – by the end of the hour or the end of the week or the end of a very, very long year – he’d give you a look like that and without a word confirm that he’s listening, he’s learning, he understands. He’s getting there.

“Yeah,” Josiah says as he looks away, his voice a low rumble. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The other man closes his eyes and seems to deflate, one arm curled around his middle the other hand pressing on the back of his neck, head resting on his forearm. He looks, now Mal’s paying attention, exactly like someone who’s been solo nursing their ex-loved-one-come-kidnapper back to health for five days straight.

“What do I do, Mal?” he murmurs without opening his eyes. “I’m trying but... I don’t know what the fuck I’m meant to do.”

Mal sits back and looks the other man over, grief tugging at him but a kind of pride too. Josiah’s changed in the last year. He looks stronger now, is stronger now, but softer as well. Mal can’t imagine a question like that coming from him even six months ago.

He sighs and looks to the figure on the couch, halfway hidden with blankets, then at the frosted glass pane of the front door, then back to the man beside him. He shrugs. “Have you slept?”

“Some,” Josiah shrugs. “Not much.”

“Why don’t we start there?” Mal offers. He nods to the couch. “I’ll keep an eye on this one. And try and talk to Lou.”

Josiah looks, for a moment, like he wants to argue, but then the exhaustion seems to hit him all at once and he nods, sitting back. “Will you come get me when he wakes up?”

“If he needs you. Yeah.”

Josiah sucks a breath in and shakes his head, already starting to tangle himself backward. “No. No, he’ll get stressed if I’m not here. He gets, um... nervous. Paranoid-”

“Jos, if he needs you, I’ll wake you,” Mal repeats, gently. He taps his fingers on the table, to get Josiah’s attention, holds his gaze once he’s got it. “You can’t help him if you don’t get rest.”

The other man looks like he might break in two, eyes fogged, half-way drifting already. His eyes shift to Cass and then to Mal and then back to Cass with a hollow kind of longing. But slowly he lets out a shaky exhale. Nods again.

“You’ll come get me,” he echoes. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

He stands, wavering just a little on his feet, and makes his way down the hallway. He squeezes Mal’s shoulder on the way past briefly and the blond man smiles a little. A silent thank you, a silent apology, a million other silent things that don’t have words to be said right now. It means the world and a half, if he’s being honest. And then Jos is gone.

The house, in the wake of things far too close to violence, feels viciously silent. The clock ticks. The rain starts up again. And for now, Mal sits in it alone.

#abusive relationship cw #whump aftermath #emotional whump #misplaced anger #angry caretaker #tired caretaker #mal #lou #josiah #cassius #the present #forgiveness is a fucky little rollercoaster #grimace emoji

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astrology-india · 3 years

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Moon in Gemini Man - Unlock The Love In His Heart

New Post has been published on https://www.astrology-india.com/moon-in-gemini-man/

Moon in Gemini Man - Unlock The Love In His Heart

Optimistic, smart, outgoing, and funny. If you have found a moon in Gemini man then you have found the life of the party.

He is always on the go, bouncing from discussion to discussion, amazing everyone with his charm and intellect. But even the moon Gemini can be sometimes too smart for his own good.

If the Gemini is identified with his dark side, it produces a guy who is emotionally disconnected and directionless in life. So, how does he treat others?

Moon in Gemini Man Key Features

Positives

Optimistic

Friendly

Intelligent

Social, and a

Adaptable

Negatives

Flighty

Disconnected

Indecisive

Manipulative

Ideal Partner

Someone outgoing, smart, open-minded, adventurous, who likes to talk a lot.

Needs To Work On

Connecting with his emotions and respecting the feelings of others.

Positive Traits

The happy-go-lucky Gemini moon guy makes a great companion for those who like to explore all of life, jumping around from one thing to the next.

He likes to be intellectually stimulated and is open to trying out the whole buffet that is life, and then going back for seconds.

This Gemini male can be extremely entertaining and usually, has a smart wit, the type to pull out one-liners that simply amaze those who surround him in his wide social circle.

Yes, he is a popular guy. Not only because of his charm but also because he is an optimist with an A-plus attitude that pulls in friends and associates like a magnet.

Gemini represents communication, and the male is usually a master wordsmith. He can either sell you beachfront property in Montana or verbally express ideas and philosophies that can help the masses in major ways.

It turns out his flightiness mixed with his inquisitive nature serves him well in most instances. As represented by his zodiac sign of the twins this man can balance a lot of ideas at once.

Likely, he has multiple interests and projects he works on and you are more than welcome to join him if you can keep up. Though, it takes a special mind to do so.

Negative Traits

This man’s moon sign is in Gemini, which is an air sign. So, he filters his emotional experiences through his intellect.

If not careful, he can be disconnected from his feelings because he tries to analyze them from an intellectual standpoint, and because of this disconnect, the Gemini man may unplug himself from his emotional outlet altogether.

He can be sharp mentally, yet cold emotionally. This recipe sets the Gemini moon guy to be crude and even belittling of others.

A moon man on the dark side of Gemini can be vain and manipulative. Since he is shut off from his emotions and the emotions of others, he sees no problem in using others.

He can be pretty good at it too. The Gemini male is known for his two sides; the twins. As a natural-born actor, he can fill any role.

Gemini Moon and Love

This moon in Gemini can be flighty, jumping from one experience to another, and in conversation skipping from one topic to the next so fast, it will make your head spin.

But is he the same way with his romances? Possibly???

He may hop from partner to partner, looking for a real connection, or maybe he is a tough one to get to commit.

However, once he is settled with someone, he will need to keep the relationship fresh by changing things up regularly. He will not try to do this by his might, it will occur naturally.

You cannot expect him to surrender to any type of schedule. He probably will not like to have a set date night or anything close.

A relationship with the Gemini moon is more like going with the flow.

For the romantic at heart, this will be fresh air. The adaptable Gemini man will not only be full of surprises, but he is also content with doing the things that you want to do too.

He aims to please and he is only happy if he feels that he is making his partner happy. He will do amazing things that most guys will not, like admit that you are right, or that he is at fault.

He craves to be the hero in the eyes of the woman he loves, but things need to be done in a subtle way. He wants to be wanted but not used or taken for granted in any way.

Someone who has studied this behavior in a man is relationship expert James Bauer who has helped 100s of women find true love.

If you want to be assured of a long-term future with your guy, you need to understand this deep yearning that a man requires in a relationship. This video by James explains more.

Gemini Moon – His Sexual Nature

The Gemini moon guy will need to feel like he has a meaningful mental connection with someone before he can let himself go in the bedroom.

The man thinks a lot, and we all know that making love is more physical and emotional than anything. If he feels safe with his partner, he can drop out of his head for a bit, and then it is game on.

He will go to the moon and back just to make sure that you are satisfied. He enjoys sex, and he values you more if you appreciate his need for reassurance.

Gemini is one of the most versatile signs that there is. This means tons of excitement and adventure in the bedroom.

The moon in Gemini man placement will need to feel like he is taking on the dominant role between the sheets, but in actuality, he does not have to be. He only requires that you make him feel as if he is the leader.

One way that has been proven to work is by stimulating his brain by whispering words of encouragement and reassurance during lovemaking.

Something that can help you in this department is a program that I recently discovered called The Language of Desire by renowned relationship expert Felicity Keith.

Confidence between the sheets is a must-have ingredient in any relationship, so you might find it worthwhile listening to this short video by Felicity entitled The Language of Desire.

Gemini Moon and Attraction

The moon Gemini man is an outgoing social butterfly in full flight out of the cocoon. He likes to flirt, banter, and kid around an awful lot.

He forges his relationships based on a mental connection, so, If you want to meet him, it is really as simple as striking up a conversation with the guy.

He is governed by his intellect and appreciates witty humor and anything else that is semi-interesting.

If you can make the weather sound fun and smart, he will bite. Show him that you can match his pace, and you might win his heart on the spot.

He appreciates charm, beauty, and sometimes a dash of dramatics on the side. Do not be afraid to crank up your inner diva around him, as long as it is done tastefully, of course.

The man with his moon in this placement will definitely take notice if you decide to go all out with makeup, dress, and attitude. Just make sure he knows that you still have class and wits about you.

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Final Thoughts

The positive and extroverted Gemini moon will converse with you for days about anything that holds his interest for more than a minute.

He is intelligent, and even when he is clowning around, he comes across as smart. The moon in Gemini man can seem like an airhead, jumping off topic often, and conversing with him is like a wild ride.

But if you are social and fast-paced, show him that you can give him a run for his money, he will swear that he has just met his soulmate.

#Gemini Man #Gemini Moon

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bayern-moni · 4 years

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Pair Questions part 1/2 featuring Gin and Aizen

This time no ship intended, but it will be rectified in another post. Enjoy ~

Who steals the covers at night?

Gin. He's a cold blooded creature, literally and metaphorically. His skin always feels too cold not to bury himself in the covers for all the span of that goddamned season. He doesn't care if his claim on the covers leaves his unfortunate bedmate damned to a frosty fate all night, nor does he have problems to brutally kick out of bed whoever tried to make fun of him by putting a cold foot in the vicinity of his own. He is selfish like that and doesn't know remorse. Or maybe, he could feel sorry if that other person were the cute Izuru-chan (but then his most sadistic part would revel in the wait until his too respectful Lieutenant'd overcome his qualms and actually start to fight for the covers) or he could decide to suffer himself the cold and leave the blanket to Rangiku like he did when they lived in that shack as kids, but if that other person happened to be Aizen, then he'd have absolutely no qualms about it. The dark-haired shinigami could and would die of frostbite before Gin actually accepted to give up that pleasurable warmth. After all, the wannabe god is too superior to actually lower himself to start a pillow fight to get it or start listing actual reasons why he had a greater right than his second (stressing that word too much for his taste) to be covered by the blanket, wasn't he?

But ... was he?

Who cooks normally?

Aizen. There'd be a cold day in hell before he let this change. It took him too many years to get his little Lieutenant to understand the difference between 'survival food' and 'actual food' to afford now to have him fall back into his old habits. And the Rei-o knows what he'd do If he decided to purposely mess with the first kind of food to get a good laugh at Aizen's horrified face. Again. How could he forget that time when, during the first days of his training under Aizen's tutelage, Gin decided to thank him for his supposed generosity with a 'sumptuous lunch' (his words)? Go trust that little hellchild. Aizen's stomach wanted to vomit only at the memory of it. When the pest put the plate full of mice and insects, "killed just for the occasion" said proudly the child, in front of him he was torn between the the strong impulse to throw up and the need to examine closely Gin's body language to discern if he sincerely believed that was a satysfing meal or if he just exploited his Rukongai upbringing to make him suffer. Probably the latter.

... And those awful dried persimmons...

When he looked at the genuinely expecting and just a tad mischievous look the kid was giving him, he understood it was a balanced mix of the two. Right then, he decided two things:

Gin would never be allowed to get close to his kitchen again without a real, convincing and absolutely necessary life-or-death reason;

He had to take the problem in his own hands because: first, no way that the future king of the three worlds will ever eat something like that, ever, and, secondly, it was his duty to bring that too scrawny and bony hellion to health.

He could not have his future second in command be weak or die because of the consequences of starvation before he could make himself useful to him. It was a pragmatic matter. Regardless of all the times that moron of Hirako made fun of his attempts because "aren't you too old to play family, Sousuke-kun?" or "did you really adopt the kid, don't you? How 'cute'!". It was just that. But then he continued to encourage Gin's insatiable appetite until he was satisfied with his now not dangerous weight and even found that he really liked cooking for both of them, it was a relaxing hobby for his abused patience. Kaname's recipes and passion for cooking helped, too.

Nickname for each other?

Hellion. Wanna-be-God. Reptilian calamity. Overdramatic narcissist. And so on. Not very difficult saying who's what.

What would they get each other for gift?

Kamishini no Yari's poison A guide on "how to survive your obsessed fangirls and still look cool". A set of dried sweet potatoes to thank him for the time Gin raided his fridge of all its contents and filled it with 12 kilos of hard-boiled eggs. How he managed to put them there without making the fridge explode was beyond him, but still. He'd be sure to make Gin pay for it.

What would they do if the other one was hurt?

It depends. On what, you'd ask. It's quite simple. It depends on who is responsible for the other's wound/hurt. If it were each other, then they'd be perfectly cool with it and not bother too much for it, just plot a gruesome revenge (the other isn't so weak and unproud to make a big deal out of something so trivial like hurt, isn't he? And if they were, it'd mean that they're not worth of the other's attention like they believed). If the culprit were not one of them, though, that person would probably be eviscerated or severally maimed before they could even complete the thought "I did it!". Because only they had the right (and the power) to wound or kill the other. None of them would ever let someone else in the way of this challenge between them.

Who remember things?

Both. They have entire metaphorical archives full of blackmailing material in organized folders against each other, carefully collected for more than 109 years. Aizen-taicho hates boiled eggs, Gin felt betrayed by sweet potatoes, Aizen would never go out without having checked the exact angle of his hair lock at least twice at minute, Gin becomes skittish every time Matsumoto or that bratty Lieutenant of his come in the picture, Aizen secretly fears Hinamori's obsession with him, etc...

They both made a mental note to remember that each of these things could be useful, sooner or later.

Their thoughts on the whole Fangirl and ships topic?

Disturbing. Fascinating and distur - Hinamori! For the umpteenth time, I'm fine and no, I don't need anything. You did a great job and you can go now! - bing.

Who cusses more?

Surprisingly enough, Aizen. Actually, Gin is the one that cusses frequently, steadily and on daily basis, but only for the fun of annoying Izuru's, Aizen's and Kuchiki-taicho's noble sensibility. But when he's in that mood that makes other people cuss, he'll communicate it with icy glares, a sharper edged grin or a overall crueler behavior. On the other hand, Aizen is the one that pledges himself as above things like annoyance, rage and (especially) a "crude language so beneath my godlike status caused by irrelevant emotions like irritation", as Gin decided to put it to make fun of him. But when he's really pissed like when Urahara doesn't take action, ruins his plans or Gin writes obscene kanjis on the board during his calligraphy lessons, he'll lose all control on his legendary composure and start cussing like a sailor. Hopefully, Kyoka Suigetsu prevents people from noticing it.

How often do they fight?

As a serious fight? Once every hundred and nine years, but it's "until death do us part". As just a way to kill time? Very very often, but it's never beyond a good deal of verbal jabs. You could almost consider it as their own fond way of saying hi to each other.

Are there any foods that make their stomach upset?

For Gin, no, there aren't. At least, Aizen has been conducting a research on the topic since the infamous lunch with still no result worth of notice. Ichimaru hates some foods, doesn't like others, but, by now, his stomach's completely anesthetized even to Rangiku's cooking after being subjected to it for so many years. And that's saying something, as far as Aizen is concerned. Not that he meant to imply anything about Matsumoto's cooking abilities, of course. Overall, he'd gulp down anything if needed.

Aizen instead is very picky about his food. He's a perfectionist here, like in every other aspect of his life. There's nothing able to upset his stomach, though. And even if there was, he'd never tell a soul. Ever. Gin had not to be encouraged to do anything stupid against him, no matter what.

Who's the most irritable during an hungover?

Gin. Aizen doesn't drink anything but his beloved tea and the occasional sip of fine wine. But Gin during an hungover is something Aizen wouldn't wish on anyone, not even Yamamoto or the Rei-o. A hissy, horribly-moody, vengeful cat you just woke by stepping on its tail is a cutie puppy in comparison to him. Really, it happened once and Aizen swore Gin should never end up with nothing more alcoholic than a glass of water, never again, for his own sanity's sake. Fortunately, Gin found that if he ate a dried persimmon after the drink he shared with his dear Rangiku, he couldn't get hungover. Still to this day, Aizen wasn't entirely convinced of the scientific accuracy of this theory, but given that it didn't happen anymore, he was willing to give him credit for it.

Have they ever tried to ruin the other's dates?

Life in Soul Society is particularly monotonous. This is a fact everyone agreed with and what's at the core of the matter. So, yes, they did, but only when paperwork became so painstakingly boring that it could be seen as something funny to do. Particularly, Aizen loved calling secret meetings between himself, Kaname and Gin as soon as he knew, because he did know, that Gin was in the middle of an especially good moment during a date with Rangiku (or even during a friendly walk with that Kira) just because Aizen could. On the other hand, Gin loved making fun of Aizen's utterly missing and more-dead-than-Omaeda's love life, despite the fact that half of shinigami and the recruits desired him and the other half either belonged to Byakuya fanclub or were just lying to themselves. So, he did not so much ruin Aizen's dates as he did try to set him up with absurd dates with psychotic and obsessed fangirls and fanboys that always left Aizen baffled at how much he had underestimated people' crazyness. An "I care about your love life, taicho, I try to find a good date for you because we can't have you become an old grumpy overlord with a dog as your only company at night, can we?" my ass. Bratty moron.

#bleach #gin #gin ichimaru #aizen sousuke #aizen #tosen #kaname tosen #rangiku matsumoto #izuru kira #shinji #shinji hirako #headcanon #character meme #truth or dare challenge

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