#i’ve got a full on series beginning middle and end in my head
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this is so price and his escort when she won’t allow him up to her room <3
#so instead he goes to his own room and fucks his fist whilst her scent is still all over him#i really want/need to write this but i don’t hAVE TIME#i’ve got a full on series beginning middle and end in my head#i love them#captain john price
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part time soulmate, full time problem
Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!
Summary: Gator’s sleep deprived but dead set on setting up that goddamn air mattress, which the two of you use for anything but sleeping.
Word count: 4.2k+
CW/Tags: language, mutual masturbation, oral sex/face riding (fem receiving), soft switch (both Gator and Reader), praise kink, dirty talk, brief anal play, squirting, brief body image/self esteem issues, tooth rotting fluff, orgasm induced syncope (i am so sorry lmfao), sleepy confessions, gator being a lovable idiot
Series Masterlist // Read on AO3
A/N: hi y’all!! thanks for all the kind words in the tags and replies about this series!! I’m glad others are enjoying this, bc I’ve been having lots of fun writing this. This chapter is kinda silly and a bit of a filler, but hopefully it still keeps y’all fellow sluts happy and entertained :’) <3
Day 6
It’s one in the morning, and you’re still awake. So is Gator. And the two of you are delirious at this point, running on broken sleep schedules.
The two of you were bundled back up in the coziest sleep clothes while the fireplace burned on and illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow. Gator blew up the air mattress like he suggested, but you were skeptical about the idea.
“We’re gonna end up on the floor by sunrise.” You warn with a yawn, side eyeing the mattress with arms crossed. “These things never stay inflated.”
“No, no, look, this one’s high quality, okay?” Gator insists, slapping the mattress as the air pump raises it from the collapsed state it was just in. “This thing doesn’t deflate, I swear.”
“Didn’t you say that when we went camping in middle school?” You argue with the memory fresh in your mind. “We ended up on the ground and the tent leaked from the storm, so we got all soggy and sad.”
Gator snorts at the memory, “Yeah, but if we did sleeping bags we still woulda’ got wet.”
“This isn’t the same mattress, is it?”
“Wh— no!” Gator grumbles, focused on closing the entrance for air before it begins leaking. “Look, look how big it is! Now that,” Gator slaps the top of the mattress one more time before grinning at you, “That’s a firm mattress. That thing means business.”
You’re giggling at his enthusiasm. “You sound like a dad that found a deal on an air mattress at the hiking store.”
“You just can’t appreciate a good mattress.” Gator’s totally more delirious than you at this point, with less sleep in his system than you. “Look, watch, are you watching?”
“Gator, I am literally staring at you, what the fuck else should I do? Throw my eyeballs at you?”
“This won’t deflate. Seriously, watch me, I’ll show you,” Gator jumps onto the air mattress like a child would, and he’s right, it doesn’t deflate. It does, however, bounce him back into the air and onto the hardwood floor.
You gasp, but can’t hold back more giggles. “Are you- oh my god- Gator that was so fucking—“
He’s face down on the floor, cutting you off with one hand raising in the air, flipping the bird.
“You did this to yourself, Tillman.” The laughter continues, but you move to his side, glancing down at the exhausted heap his body landed on the floor into. “You want some ice?”
Gator turns his head to the side but doesn’t move otherwise, “Yeah… maybe. That might be a good idea.”
“Okay, there’s plenty outside,” You tease as you sit on the bed, bouncing a little yourself. At least you’re still on the bed. Gator pushes himself up from the floor, shooting an unamused glare your way.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, it’s still inflated. Told you!” He’s a little too excited about this damn air mattress.
“Gator you definitely need to sleep,” You tug at his legs after he’s back on his feet. “C’mon, maybe if you lay down like a normal human being, you won’t get hurt again.”
Surprisingly, he’s got no marks on his face despite launching in the air and falling flat onto the floor.
Your arms loosely loop around his legs, trying to gently tug him onto the bed; his arms mirror yours, pulling your face closer to him. He’s not aware of where your face is, he’s too tired to think clearly. You, however, are very aware.
“Gator, if you want me to blow you, you could just ask.” You’re teasing him, but he lets go, laughing nervously.
“I- that wasn’t intentional, I swear.” He’s in a fit of sleepy laughter now, and it’s contagious, making you join in. “I was just huggin’ you back, I promise!”
“Uh-huh, sure.” You taunt as you move over, mocking Gator by slapping the mattress like he did moments ago. “Are you getting on this damn bed or not?” Gator narrows his gaze at you before sitting down slowly, as if it’s your fault he fell.
“What if I told you I hurt my dick when I fell?” Gator asks, trying to keep a straight face. His eyes are bloodshot, and the circles under his eyes are dark. “What then? Huh? Ice can’t fix that, y’know.”
You roll your eyes before swinging a pillow at him playfully. “Well, I ain’t no doctor. You’re shit outta luck.” Dramatically, he falls over on the bed, frowning while clutching his chest.
“I can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”
“Gator, what happened to watchin’ more movies?”
“An emergency happened! It’s not like you can really plan for those.”
You snicker, “Do I look like an ambulance?”
“No, but y’look like an angel that should be saving my life.”
Eyes rolling, you say, “Hey, Gator?”
He rolls over to get closer to you, head laying in your lap as your legs are criss-crossed. “Yeah?” He looks up at you, grinning like a sleepy idiot.
“Go. To. Sleep.”
His smile flips into a ridiculous frown. “Why? I like bein’ up with you.”
“Because I can tell just how exhausted you are by talking so sweet right now.” You gently move him off your lap before settling under the fluffy blankets piled around the two of you. Gator follows suit, grabbing your waist as soon as he’s under the covers.
“Surprised you ain’t takin’ advantage of that.”
“Listen, I’m not complaining, but you need sleep way more than anything right now.”
“M’fine! I probably could stay up ‘til sunrise.”
“Gator.”
“Fine, fine!” He glowers at you before shutting his eyes. “Fun sucker.”
He falls silent, and the only sounds around the two of you are the fireplace crackling, the wind continuing to brutally howl outside, and the soft breaths between the two of you. You watch Gator for a bit, and he seems to be relaxing, falling into a steady pattern of breaths.
That was fast.
As soon as your own eyes start to shut, though, Gator breaks the silence, groaning, “I can’t sleep like this.” You were so close to falling asleep; your eyes open, glaring at Gator.
Irritated, you still humor his thoughts; your brows knit together, confused, “Like what?” His hand clumsily grabs yours, leading it down to the length growing under his sweats. Your eyes are wide now; you’re definitely awake again.
“Like this,” His eyes flutter closed as he lazily bucks into your palm, making himself shudder a sigh out. “Please, baby.”
You’d be a liar if you tried to deny how attractive he is while he’s so needy.
“Again, you did it to yourself.” You’re trying not to automatically give in, but the way he looks so pathetic and cute at once is hard to ignore.
He ruts against your hand, whining when you don’t return the friction and pressure he craves. You pretend to start to fall back asleep, while Gator still searches for satisfaction from his actions against your palm.
“You’re terrible at faking bein’ asleep, darlin’.” He’s trying to sound composed, but his words just come out breathy and desperate, instead.
“And you’re terrible at going 24 hours without being as horny as a teenager.” You murmur, keeping your eyes shut. While he keeps moving, you can feel a damp spot forming on the fabric. It’s taking everything within you to ignore that, too. “Your dick’s gonna fall off if you don’t leave it alone.”
“If I wasn’t so tired, you’d be over my knee already for being a brat.”
“See, you admit it! You’re tired! Now, go the fuck to sleep.”
Gator doesn’t listen, pulling his sweats down and moving your hand so you can really feel him. “Can’t. Need you, darlin’,” is all he breathes out.
Pulling back, you sit up, leaning on your arm, watching disappointment cover Gator’s face. “You want to get off?” His face lights up immediately.
“Yeah, yes, I need it,” He’s palming himself now, growing more agitated the longer he goes without relief.
“Alright. Show me.” Gator’s confused, so you elaborate. “Show me how you get off.”
“Me? I have to do it?”
“You don’t have to, but you’re not getting off any other way.”
Gator’s mouth drops as he glares at you, insulted. “But I’m so tired.”
Shrugging, you lay back down. “Oh well, not my problem.”
“Well, actually, you stole the blankets from me, and that kept me up, so—“
“And?”
“You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit, Tillman.” You’re quick to respond. “You’ve got two options: show me how you touch yourself, or sleep. Your call.”
Gator huffs, frustrated, before pushing his sweats down his legs completely, kicking them off the side of the bed. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, hand wrapping around his length; he’s a swollen, leaking mess. The tip of his cock is red with need as precum pulses out.
“You gonna be okay without a sock, baby?” You pout at him mockingly. “You might make a mess.”
His hand speeds up as he arches into his own touch. “Shut up about the fucking—“
You lean over him, spitting onto his cock and hand around it. He stops to watch you in awe before breaking his trance to spread the saliva over himself.
“That make it easier?” You continue mocking him. Gator grits his teeth, hand moving with ease against his skin. You grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “Answer me.”
Those two words seem to make Gator’s brain melt; they’re not special, but the tone you give him hits a weak spot somewhere within him.
“Y- yeah, it does.” He sighs as he continues jerking himself off. You move back a little before removing your own pants, touching yourself lazily in front of him. Gator throws his head back on the pillow, unable to take his eyes off of you. “We could be doing this together, y’know. Isn’t easier to just fuck instead?”
Your fingers slide up and down your slit, gathering arousal before pushing two fingers into yourself at once. You gasp at the sensation of stretching your own walls out. It’s not as good as Gator using his hands, mouth, or cock, but it’s enough for right now.
“You haven’t earned it yet.”
Gator’s eyes roll back in his head as he picks up the pace on himself. His back arches again, off of the bed as he whines. “Fucking fuck—“ his face is red, embarrassed that you’re making him work for his own release. “How the fuck do I earn it then?”
“Not sure.” You giggle, and he glares at you. “Guess we can figure it out along the way.”
His eyes dart back and forth between the hand between your legs, now toying with your clit, and the taunting smirk you’re shooting his way.
“Need you.”
“I know, you told me already.” Every time you mock, dismiss, or belittle him, his hips stutter, and his breath shudders, but he tries to hide it. “It’s okay, Gator, it’s hard to keep your thoughts together like this, isn’t it?”
Gator shakes his head, free hand reaching out for you. You pull back, but he’s faster, grabbing your leg, digging his nails into your skin. “No, I need you.”
“You already said that, babe.”
“Fuck— just fucking sit on my face. That’s what I need. Please?” He sounds so hot and bothered like this. “I owe you, you didn’t get off last time, darlin’.”
Your face heats up at his words, suddenly growing shy. “Won’t I- uh-“ You’re trying to find your words without embarrassing yourself, so you just shake your head ‘no’ instead.
“Why not?” Gator whines, grip still tight on you. Your own actions along your folds stop, and you pull your hand away from your core. Gator slows his own hand, noticing the way your mood shifts. “Hey, what’s up?”
“What if I hurt you?” You motion to your legs and hips, plush with curves and softness.
Gator sits up, letting his grip on himself go, focusing on you.
“You kiddin’? There’s no way you would.” Gator tries reassuring you, ignoring the way his cock twitches after he stopped stroking himself. “Plus, on the off chance you did hurt me, I’d think it’d be an honor to have my neck snapped by a pretty girl like you.”
You snort at his sentiment. “You’re definitely sleep deprived sayin’ some shit like that.”
He reaches out, hand cradling the side of your face; you instantly lean into his touch, tension leaving your body. “Sleep deprived or not, it’s true.”
Your face gravitates towards his as you giggle, “You’re corny.”
“And you’re a sucker for that.” Gator’s voice drops low while his thumb wanders to your lips, eyes quick to follow and linger, too. You nod, watching his expression as he toys with your bottom lip. “I’d still love to make ya’ feel good, if you’re comfortable with it, darlin’. But we can go to sleep if you’d rather that.”
“Oh now you want to sleep.” You tease, and it earns an eye roll from Gator. “If we do… you’ll promise to tell me if I hurt you, right? Like you can tell me to stop, I don’t want you to feel like—“
Gator cuts you off with a kiss; his lips languidly move against yours, coaxing your lips to part, letting him in with ease. His tongue melds with yours, earning a whimper from you; his reaction is a smirk and a breathy laugh into you before biting on your bottom lip, slowly pulling on it before releasing his hold on you.
“Use me to feel good, darlin’.” He whispers as your noses still touch, lips just centimeters apart. Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. “I promise you can finish this time.”
“Oh, how generous of you,” You deadpan, pushing his chest gently so he falls back onto the pillow. He reaches out to you, hands grabbing whatever he can touch. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if you’re not okay?”
Gator nods intently, tired eyes wide with desire. You pause for a moment, hesitant.
Fuck it.
As you clamber up Gator’s body, he assists you faster by hooking his arms around your legs, pushing them from the back. You yelp at the sudden push, only making him smirk. You’re hovering above him, about to lower yourself, when concern for his pleasure hits you. “What about you, though?”
Ignoring your question, his arms move to hook under your thighs, hands finding your backside, kneading the soft swell of your ass. “Hey, darlin’?”
You’re dizzy from his touch. “Hm?”
“Shut up already.” He swiftly pulls you down to his mouth, and on contact you’re beginning to see stars. The noises that erupt from the two of you are obscene and loud; you’re immediately grateful there’s no neighbors around his house.
You’re frantically searching for something to hold onto; air mattresses don’t come with a bed frame, unfortunately. You look down at Gator, who’s already looking up at you, and the eye contact makes the knot in your lower tummy tighten with want. Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging softly.
“C’mon, you can pull harder than that.” Gator murmurs into your folds, deliberately taking his time tasting you. “You did a few days ago, remember?”
The morning you found his porn searches flashes in your mind, along with pinning him down to his bed after he caught you, pulling on his hair as you taunted him.
“Uh-huh,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. Your fingers weave and wind through his hair before tugging harder, earning a deep groan from him, vibrating into you from below.
“That’s it, darlin’.” He’s praising you in between sucking on your clit. “Just like that.”
Your hips start rolling, but you force yourself to stop, worried it’s too much for him. Gator notices, reminding you, “You don’t gotta to hold back. I can take it.”
Your thighs instinctively try to close, but you stop yourself from doing that, too. Gator pushes on your thighs, closing in towards his head anyway.
“You’ve got no idea how many times I dreamt about bein’ between these legs,” Gator softly nips at your clit, and you cry out, head falling back. “Got no idea how many times I wished it was you riding my face when it was someone else.”
“Gator…” You’re tensing up as you keen, pulling roughly on his hair now. He spanks you, earning a shaky yelp from your lips. “Th— you’ve— god.”
“No one’s tasted as sweet as you, baby.” He tongue fucks you, and you lose it, all concerns and doubts vanishing into thin air; you begin really riding his face, and he’s taking it with pride. “Can’t believe you’re this fucked out already.”
Your whole body is burning up; you hastily tear your shirt over your head and throw it aside, hand leaving his hair to start grabbing yourself. You barely begin groping yourself before Gator unhooks an arm to reach up and shove your hand away. You’re about to whine out, annoyed, but he immediately replaces your touch, teasing your body. “Let me do the work, darlin’.” His other hand follows suit, fingers tweaking and pinching your nipples, causing you to grind down on his face.
Gator alternates between his tongue, lips, and nose to keep the pleasure building within you. The combination as you continue riding him makes your legs begin to shake.
“You better not be cummin’ yet,” He warns as his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking it again while his strong hands continue to fondle your tits. “I just started playin’ with ya’.”
“Ye- yeah but what about you?”
“This is more than enough for me.” He quickly answers before delving back into your centre, tongue teasing your entrance again. One hand comes back down, but as he hooks it under your leg again, he lightly touches and circles your tight, puckered hole. You jump, not expecting the sensation, but you moan, thighs tightening around Gator’s head again. “Can I play with ya’ back here sometime, darlin’?”
You nod quickly as your hips work faster. Gator chuckles into your core while his fingers swipe through your folds briefly, collecting arousal to spread onto your tight ring, making his touch even more sinful.
“Gator, please…”
“Anyone ever eat ya’ here, too?” The filth of his words and casual tone make your eyes roll back into your head. “Need an answer, darlin’. Wanna learn everything about you, pretty girl.”
You can only think of one response, “I’m- I’m close,” You whimper, lightheaded from all the teasing and stimulation. “Gator— Gator, please, I—“
His arms move back to where they first started, hands on your body, guiding you along roughly on his face as your hips stutter their movements.
His tongue works in tandem with his mouth’s suction before murmuring, “Make it count, princess.”
The encouragement is enough to send you over the edge; you started this seeing stars, but now you’re surrounded by the entire fucking galaxy. Legs shaking, you’re involuntarily grinding harder onto Gator’s face. He doesn’t stop his meticulous actions, even when you nearly put him into a death grip with your thighs. Your head lolls back, mouth falling open in a silent cry before a moan fills the empty space. You’re screaming his name, followed by an incoherent chain of noises and babbling, mind melting from the intense pleasure.
“There ya’ go, darlin’.” His praise earns another wave of noises. You’re unable to tell until it hits you like lightning; another orgasm floods through you, causing you to squirt. You’re too engulfed in your second climax to realize how horrified you’d probably be, squirting on Gator, but he moans into you loudly, hips flexing up into the open air before his own legs shake wildly. Despite it all, he’s somehow able to continue praising you. “That’s it, such a good girl. My good girl.”
Your eyes cross, vision tunneling before everything goes dark. You don’t even hear yourself make the loudest cry you’ve made so far since being snowed in.
——
“Hey, c’mon, get up baby.”
Your head feels floaty, eyes softly opening while you try blinking away the blurriness. Everything comes into focus around you; you look up to see Gator gazing down at you, worried. You’re resting on the bed, head laying in his lap.
“Jesus, you scared me.” He runs a hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. You’re a mess, soaked, sweaty, and finally coming to.
“Gator?”
“M’here, I got ya’.” Relief replaces his worried expression as you wake up more. “It was only a minute, but might’ve been the longest minute of my life.”
“Whaddya mean?” You slur, breath calm, slow and steady now. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Can you worry about yourself for once?” He’s lighthearted in his words, but he means it. “Are you okay?”
You’re silent for a moment, reaching up with tingling hands to rub your eyes. “I think I found God in that last orgasm.”
Gator can’t help the laugh that leaves his lips, despite trying to stifle it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Uh-huh,” you breathe, continuing to become more aware of your surroundings.
Gator’s here. You’re on the air mattress. The one he insisted the two of you sleep on tonight. Everything’s okay. It just made you—
You look down, realizing how soaked you are. The pillow Gator laid on earlier and the surrounding area of the mattress are wet, too.
Fuck. Not again.
“This is so fucking embarrassing.” You grumble, sitting up fast, but your vision tilts, and Gator can tell you’re still dizzy.
“C’mere, give yourself a bit to get up.” He pulls you into his lap, but you squirm, even more embarrassed. “Darlin’, what’s goin’ on?”
“M’all gross, don’t let me sit on you—“ You stop, studying his face. To your horror, his face, not even just the bottom half, is damp, and you know exactly why. “Oh my god. I- fuck. I’m so sorry. Oh my god, this is so fuckin’ humiliating.”
Gator uses the back of his arm to wipe his face crudely, but he’s smiling. “Wish you’d stop apologizin’ for this, because it’s so fuckin’ hot.”
You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head. “Here I was worried I’d crush ya’, but instead I just— I can’t even say it.”
“Squirted?”
“Gator.”
“Why’s that so bad?” He’s sincerely asking, but his tongue swiping along his bottom lip isn’t making this easier to accept. “It felt good, yeah?”
Slowly, you nod, but you’re embarrassed to admit it. You look away from him, but your gaze lands on the damp spot on his sweats. You figure he put them back on after you passed out, but it takes a second to realize he came on himself, and didn’t clean up before checking on you.
Something about that, despite being gross, is really sweet.
“Gator, did you touch yourself?”
“Huh?” He looks down, blushing as he notices the spot, too. “Oh, uh, no. My hands were on you, baby. It just kinda happened watchin’ you cum again. Swear it’s not from watchin’ you pass out.”
You giggle, “I figured, since you didn’t even clean yourself. Fuckin’ A, Gator. We just cleaned up like two hours ago.”
He shrugs, still grinning. “I’ll grab somethin’ to clean ya’, wait here.”
“No way, I’m coming with you, and we’re sleeping upstairs. I’m not laying on this bed that I soaked half of.” You cringe at your last sentence.
“Alright, fair point. I’m gonna put the fire out, then we can head upstairs, okay?”
It’s only a minute or so before the fire’s extinguished, and Gator’s helping you up, guiding you safely to the stairs.
“Hey, darlin’?” He’s a few steps ahead, turning on the bathroom light and grabbing towels for the both of you.
“What’s up?”
“…. Can I use that face wash of yours?”
———
“Have you ever passed out before while you cum?”
Gator’s voice is raspy, exhausted, and he’s wrapped around you in his bed. You offered yours this time, but the two of you remembered he’s the one with blackout curtains, not you.
You quietly respond with just “No.” with your head ducked in towards his chest. The two of you are naked again, it’s just easier at this point. “M’sorry that happened.”
“What do I gotta do to convince you that ya’ got nothin’ to be sorry for?” He asks, kissing the top of your head. “Stuff happens out of our control, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to scare you like that. I think the combination of everything happening and being sleep deprived caused it— wait. Gator? Why the fuck are we still awake?”
“Because we’re both idiots.” He chuckles, eyes growing heavy. “Did you drink enough water? I can get ya’ some more.”
You shake your head, “No, thank you, though. I can’t get over how nice you are when you’re not being a total douche.”
“There were definitely nicer ways to word that, y’know.”
You ignore his quip, half asleep. “Thank you, Gator. Wouldn’t wanna be an idiot with anyone else other than you.” In seconds, you’re dozing off, falling into a steady breathing pattern in Gator’s arms.
As you fall asleep, you don’t hear Gator murmur, “Thank you for givin’ me another chance, darlin’.”
#gator tillman x reader#gator tillman x y/n#gator tillman x fem!reader#my fics#part time soulmate full time problem#gator tillman smut#sorry this took so long!! i was having issues with tumblr lol but who’s surprised
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Tuesday Again No Problem 2/13/24
My friend @girlfriendsofthegalaxy has a weekly post series summing up things she listened to/watched/made/etc that week, and I'd like to give it a try myself. I tried to do something similar with my Synthwave Sunday posts, but those ended up being unsustainable for me in the long run. I think something in the middle of the week might be a bit easier for me to maintain, but I'm not going to hold myself to a strict standard or anything.
Without further ado:
listening
Mostly the Rain World soundtrack. It’s good to put on when I’m focusing on something else.
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That said, I also listened to Tangerine Dream’s album Hyperborea in its entirely the other day, and I ended up liking it quite a bit. I might have to look into more of their stuff. It’s full of good retro synths.
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reading
I finally started reading Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie earlier this week, after the poor book had been sitting on my bookshelf, unread, for nearly two years. Good friends of mine have been telling me I’d enjoy it that entire time, but I just never got around to starting it until now. I’m not very far into the book, but I like what I’ve read so far.
I made a post a few days ago about why I think I have trouble reading books these days. Because of the way my brain works, I have a really hard time keeping characters from a piece of media straight in my head if it’s not a visual medium. I already know this book is going to throw a lot of characters at me, so I’ve been doing my best to write down a list of characters and their basic attributes as I read. I’m hoping it will make this book easier for me to parse, because I really do want to give it an honest shot.
I’ve been mostly reading during my downtime at work, which is few and far between these days, so I expect this book will take a long time for me to finish. Time will tell, I suppose.
watching
Fallow week. Unless Rain World memes and Canopener Bridge videos count.
youtube
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playing
Still playing Rain World. I’m very close to beating Artificer’s campaign, but at this point I’m kind of just milling around getting passage tokens and finding pearls for Five Pebbles to read. I’m not going to be a completionist about it, I mostly just want to see how many pearls I can find before I start to get bored.
(I’ve brought him seven so far.)
making
I’m continuing to work on my Five Pebbles amigurumi.
I still need to finish and attach his arms, and then make his cloak. But he should be finished soon! Then I’ll start working on Looks to the Moon.
He ended up being much bigger than any amigurumi I’ve made before, but I’m fine with that. It’s an interesting challenge.
I’m also going to count my recent post about my Rain World iterator headcanons in the “making” section too, because fuck it, media analysis is a hobby too.
Rain World in particular has been a pretty good chew toy for my brain recently. The lore is kind of vague and confusing, but there’s enough there for you to begin to piece together the bigger picture. I recall reading in a devlog, “Some mysteries in Rain World aren’t meant to be solved”, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t going to try! And try I will, even if it does make me feel like that one scene from It’s Always Sunny sometimes.
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Home
gif credit: @javier-pena
Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 19.5K
Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!
A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕
Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!
Day 5–11:13am:
You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.
Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.
It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.
“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”
Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.
“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”
Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”
The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.
Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.
Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.
It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.
About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.
Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.
At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.
A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…
Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.
Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?
For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.
***
Day 5—5:04pm:
It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.
More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.
“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”
She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.
“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”
Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.
“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”
You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.
***
Day 5–5:17pm:
“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.
Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.
“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.
“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”
“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.
“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”
You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.
The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—
He’s here… isn’t he?
Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.
It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.
This… this is a taunt.
The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.
“You okay, Nerida?”
The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.
“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.
“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”
***
Day 5–5:32pm:
Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.
Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.
Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.
Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.
Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.
“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.
“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”
“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”
Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”
Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.
Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.
And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.
And that’s when you see him.
But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.
You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.
You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.
Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?
No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.
Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.
You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.
Unless…
Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.
You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—
A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.
Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.
You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.
“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.
Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.
Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.
Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.
“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”
They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.
“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.
You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.
“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”
There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”
You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.
***
Day 5–5:24pm:
Din is fucking furious.
He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.
But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.
He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.
Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—
No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.
But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.
Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.
***
Day 5–6:59pm:
This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.
It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.
That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.
You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.
Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—
It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.
As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.
Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.
Din.
You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”
It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”
The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.
“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?
“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”
For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”
He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”
So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.
“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”
The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.
“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.
“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”
“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.
“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.
“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.
“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”
It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.
But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.
“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.
It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.
Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.
“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”
***
Day 5–7:37pm:
After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.
Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.
“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”
“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.
“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”
You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.
But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?
There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.
It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.
“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.
“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”
Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”
Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.
Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.
You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.
***
Day 5–11:32pm:
You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.
The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.
It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.
When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.
“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”
You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”
She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.
Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.
Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.
A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?
You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?
Something catches your eye.
Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.
But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?
Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—
—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.
Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?
Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.
You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.
As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.
Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.
You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.
You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?
Behind you.
There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.
Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.
But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—
Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.
Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.
But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.
Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.
The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.
Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.
He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.
“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.
“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.
“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”
“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—
—Bong—
Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…
…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.
There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.
One o’clock.
You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.
But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.
Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.
Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.
But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.
You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.
“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.
Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.
Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—
Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.
“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?
Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.
“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.
Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.
When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.
“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—
Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.
This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.
You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.
You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.
Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.
“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”
“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”
“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”
“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”
You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.
“—ve you—I l-love y—”
He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.
When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.
Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—
The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.
You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—
Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.
Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.
How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.
Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.
Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.
“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”
You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”
It takes you a second.
“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”
He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.
“Ma—”
“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.
You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”
“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”
You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”
“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”
And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?
“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”
His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.
“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”
Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.
“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”
Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.
“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.
***
Commotion.
After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.
Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.
When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.
Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.
It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.
“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”
The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.
“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”
Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”
You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.
“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”
He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?
“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”
Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.
Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.
You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.
Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.
So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.
“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”
It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.
Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.
You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.
***
About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.
“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”
“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.
“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”
Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”
He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”
If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.
“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.
“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?
“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”
Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.
Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.
You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.
The crib—he forgot the crib—
“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.
You raise your voice. “Din?!”
“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.
“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.
“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.
Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.
Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.
What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.
Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.
“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”
Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.
“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”
The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.
You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.
“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.
Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.
“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.
“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”
He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.
So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.
“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”
“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.
“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”
From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.
“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”
Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.
“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”
So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.
You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.
“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.
You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.
Home.
***
@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#mando x reader#mando x you#smut#reader insert#fanfic#star wars#rough day#no-droids
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French Class [6]
A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!
genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut
words: ~ 3.8 k
✽series masterlist✽
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon
couldn’t tag: @chorizoek
You: can I come over? I kind of need u
H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone
It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.
The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.
“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”
You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.
“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.
“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.
“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.
“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.
“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”
You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.
“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”
With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.
“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.
“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”
He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”
“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”
“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”
“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.
“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.
“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.
“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.
“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.
“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”
At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.
“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.
“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”
“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.
“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.
“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”
“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.
“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.
“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.
“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”
He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.
“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”
You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.
“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.
“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.
“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.
“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.
He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.
One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.
“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”
In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.
Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.
“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.
“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.
Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.
“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”
This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.
When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.
“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.
“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”
“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.
“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.
The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.
Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.
Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.
Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.
The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.
Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”
He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.
He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.
“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”
Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.
“Okay,” you answered.
#the way i suffered writing this is not funny anymore sfbsfbskf#prism.nw#kpoptopia#bts smut#kpop smut#kpop angst#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#got7 smut#ateez smut#stray kids smut#the boyz smut#optional bias smut#optional bias#optional bias scenarios#optional bias imagines#txt smut#cravity smut#day6 smut#nct smut#monsta x smut#onlyoneof smut#pentagon smut#btob smut#astro smut#seventeen smut#the rose smut#onewe smut#oneus smut#enhypen smut
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BestFriendsDad!Bucky x Reader
A/N: i’m still working on part two of This Is Trouble and also the actual dfb!bucky series i want to write because i’m having a bit of writer’s block but! i wanted to post something because i felt bad that it’s taking so long agdkdhdjdh this kinddd of got away from me a bit i’m sorry if it’s way too long sgskdhdkdj
summary: you were just trying to bake secret cupcakes for your best friend for her secret birthday party but mr. barnes had to, like always, make it difficult.
trigger warnings: sexual tension, hints to sexy time, beginning of sexy time at the end, FLUFFFFFF, they are cute ok like wtf damn i’m alone
“You’re doing it wrong”
That stupid smirk with a voice. You internally sigh, stopping the mixing of the cupcake batter for your best friend’s, his daughter’s, surprise birthday party. Looking up at the ceiling, preparing yourself for Mr. Barnes to exhaust you with his teasing remarks.
Absolutely, no doubt you found him attractive, incredibly attractive. There have been your fair share of nights with your hand between your thighs and him in your mind.
“I’m not doing it wrong, asshat.” The last part you mumbled under your breath but he caught it, throwing his head back with a good laugh. You take a risk and flick your gaze to him, inhaling deeply at the sight of him leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, watching you, a full smile on his face. You were always bickering with each other, all in good fun but you both knew that it was just to get some of the tension, that you both never brought up, out.
Rolling your eyes, turning back to the task at and, you try your best to focus when he starts walking towards you. “Asshat? I’ll let it slide.” He’s standing beside you, hands pressed to the counter, watching you stir as best as you can with his intoxicating self right beside you, causing your movements to falter.
“If you have something to say then say it.” He suppresses a cocky grin, loving how easy he can rile you up. “I’ve already said it, you’re doing it wrong, but I guess I have to show you. Move.”
“No.”
He barks out a laugh at the quick, clipped reply.
“C’mon, move.” You stand up straighter, half in defiance and half in trying to hide your body’s reaction when he removes his hands from the counter and god, he’s full on smirking now. You a hum a no which causes him to roll his eyes, “Fine.”
As quick as he said it, his hands are burning their signature into your waist, picking you up and moving you aside, sitting you and your now gaping mouth back down on your feet, squeaking out a shocked, “Hey!”
Chuckling, he slides his long fingers around the handle of the whisk that you are now barely holding on to. “Now,” He starts with an at eased smile, eyes locked on yours before he plucks the whisk from you and goes to the bowl. “You do it like this.”
You hate yourself. You absolutely hate yourself in this moment because all you can focus on is the way his hand is gripping the handle and moving it. Swallowing, pulling your eyes away from his hands, you mutter, “I was doing fine.”
A bold lie. Right through your teeth. You knew you somehow butchered up stirring. Fucking stirring. All because he was in the same room with you, burning a deadly stare through you.
Pausing his movements to laugh, he looks at you with those crinkles beside his eyes, proof of the huge smile you’re giving him.
And you can’t help but give up and let yourself smile back, chuckling to yourself now.
“Honey, I mean this in the nicest way possible.” Turning to rest his hip against the counter, his fingers lifting to brush your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear as he speaks. “You can’t bake for shit.”
You gasp, mouth falling into an o shape. “It’s! It’s not my fault!” You defend yourself as he crosses his arms over his chest, still resting against the counter, highly amused at your reaction. “Oh, it’s not?”
“No! And how was that the nicest way possible!”
Squinting your eyes at him as he laughs, grumbling under your breath. “I’ve made cupcakes before.”
“Mhm, sure you have, doll.”
“I have!”
Your heartbeat thumps wildly against your chest at the second pet name he’s called you not even within three minutes. Cocking his head to the side, still smiling. God, you want to wipe it off his face or kiss it off. You can’t decide.
You huff, turning away from him, busying yourself with folding a little towel, your cheeks heating up, feeling him study the side of your face. “You have to stop doing that.”
He’s a bit perplexed at your words, “Doing what?” God, this was so embarrassing. You’re going to have to actually say it. “Calling me honey and doll!”
“And why’s that?” Cockiness replacing his confusion in a blink of an eye. You have half the mind to just turn to him and tell him, because I already constantly think about you railing me and your best friends dad so that can’t happen. Oh! I’ve also masturbated to you and want to jump your bones and kiss you every time you walk into the room. Did I mention you make my body feel like it’s on fire without even touching me? No? Well, You make my body feel on fire without even touching me.
But, you choose to not go that route. Yet, you do turn to face him, “Because!” Great, you sound like a petulant child. Which is the exact opposite how you want him to view you. “You’re my best friends dad! You’re not supposed to make me feel stuff!”
“Yes, I’m aware of the title I have.”
You shoot him a glare.
He stares at you for a while, his eyes unreadable, dancing with something that sparkles. “Fuck it.” He shrugs, voice soft, gentle, matter of fact.
“What?” You release your bottom lip, having been biting it in anticipation of what he was going to say.
“Fuck it.” Blue eyes shining, that smile returning. “You are too good to pass by.” Your heart does a backflip, unable to conceal your smile. He brushes your hair from your face, something more is hanging between you two. Something more than just sex. But you both don’t mention it for the time beginning. It was too soon. “So, fuck it.”
Both doe eyed and grinning wildly at each other, “Fuck it.” You say.
“Fuck it.” He replies and you both begin laughing at the giddiness.
You both just stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, his fingers in your hair, the kitchen light a spotlight for the shared goofy smiles. Then he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder.
“What are you doing!”
Undeterred, he walks briskly and with purpose to his bedroom. “Showing you how too good you are to pass by.”
“What about the cupcakes!”
He jogs smoothly up the stairs, “We’ll go buy some from the store.”
It’s like he knows you’re about to throw a comment back and he beats you to it. “Besides, you suck at baking.”
“Are you kidding me!” The biggest smiles permanently displayed on both of your faces, laughing happily at each other. He gently kicks the door open and sits you down, your voices growing louder and your bodies moving closer, “I’m just saying the truth!” Words tumbling out the best they can through laughter and face hurting smiles, both of you speaking over the other, firing quips at left and right.
“The truth!”
“I’m being honest!”
“Honest!”
“Stop repeating what I’m saying! Is that all you can do!”
“I’ll repeat whatever you say if I want to! Don’t tell me what to do-“
His lips slam into yours, shutting you up. “Take off your clothes, right now. I mean it, do it.”
Completely taken back by the kiss, lips tingling, your core aching, clenching around nothing. You choke out, “On it.”
He snorts and you go to swat at his chest but he catches your wrist. “Finally found a way to shut you up.”
That stupid smirk.
“So fuck me until I can’t talk. That’s another way.”
That stupid smirk, wiped from his face and now displaying itself proudly on yours. His pupils grow dark, hunger and full on lust in his eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re really in for it.”
#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes au x reader#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes masterlist#bestfriendsdad!bucky barnes#enemiestolovers!bucky barnes x reader#enemies to lovers bucky barnes#marvel masterlist
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A Well Rounded Education (4): Equality Statement (Fem!Reader x Naoya Zenin, 7.5k)
series synopsis: you are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. gojo, unfortunately, does not make things easy for anybody.
chapter synopsis: you make the mistake of crossing naoya zenin at a sports festival and are forced to apologise. but as you well know by now, nothing ever seems to go to plan where any of your student’s fathers are concerned.
NSFW. MINORS DNI. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. misogyny, weird power dynamics, hate-sex, piv sex, blowjobs. naoya.
(a well rounded education m.list and navigation) ♡ (jujutsu kaisen masterlist)
1.
The Saturday morning that your first ever undokai is scheduled for dawns bright and early, and you can’t help the little thrill that goes through you at the golden fingers of dawn lighting up your room. There’d been talk of the weekend bringing rain, and things needing to be rescheduled – but it’s perfect weather, as you put on a comfortable tank top and shorts instead of your neat pencil skirt and suit jacket combination.
This will be your first event of the kind, and you’re excited about it. The kids in the class have been practising all of their cheers and routines and the like constantly, whilst the ones involved in the competitive sports have been cheering one another on and snatching time when they can to race against one another in preparation. It’s been nice to see all of the camaraderie between them – even some of the quieter ones have seemed to come a little bit out of their shell, with so much team spirit in the air.
Well. Most of them have. You’ve noticed Junpei still hanging back, face sad, uncomfortable when other boys crowd him and tug him off to who knows where – probably to get him involved in their own practises or rehearsals.
It’s been long and hard preparing for it, but even Gojo has been focused on something for once.
“There’s just something about events like this!” Gojo chirped to you, once, as he’d held up a megaphone he did not really need and called his class back into formation in front of him. “You know! The joy of youth! I want them to have the best time possible! They deserve it.”
Seeing Gojo’s mischievous eyes sparkle with determination instead of humour had made you smile at him, and you’d felt a strange pull in your chest when he’d smiled back, needing to pull your gaze away to ask Yuuji to stop poking Megumi in the back to get him to look at a weird caterpillar he’d found on the ground.
As a junior high undokai, things are a little more competitive than they might be if this were an elementary school or even a middle school event, but there’s still a big emphasis on the teamwork and the cheering on portion of the day. You’ve watched and applauded what feels like a hundred practises for the cheering section, confiscating whistles when they’re sneakily blown whilst you’re trying to teach a mathematics lesson.
Still, you’re not surprised to see that Gojo’s class have been corralled into his classroom whilst your vivacious teacher and mentor gives them a rallying encouragement that seems to contain a lot of bigging up the fact that they are, in fact, his class.
“I thought the pep talk was for them,” you say, as heads turn to you when you walk into the room. It’s strange to see all of the faces dressed in their gym uniforms instead of their school uniforms – and it’s even stranger to be wearing an approximation of it yourself.
“You look nice!” Yuji pipes up, and you smile at him.
“It is for them,” Gojo brings a hand to his sunglasses to push them down a little, giving you a charming smile and the full force of the galaxies swirling in his eyes. “I’m just reminding them that as Satoru Gojo’s class, of course they’re going to do well! We’re going to be the strongest, and win!” He looks at all of them – bright shining faces turned to him, all lit up with the excitement of competition. There’s something in him that you rarely see right now – something encouraging and bright and compassionate. He genuinely seems to want them to do well. “I believe in all of you!”
The warmth spreading through your chest at Gojo’s words is a new experience. You’re far more used to exasperation and frustration where he’s concerned.
But now, you can’t help the infectious smiles of the children and the determination in their face to do well enough for everyone to be proud of. Maybe Gojo isn’t so bad after all, you think, as he bids the children in the class farewell and tells them to go and join everyone else outside in preparation for the day’s events.
“What d’you think?” He asks you, as Junpei leaves the room, still dragging his feet a little. You can’t blame him. He’s involved in the cheering section, as so many of the less athletic kids are, but the undokai is not optional and you think that Junpei is the kind of boy who hates being looked at. “Are we gonna win?”
“I don’t think that’s quite the point of the exercise,” you say, eventually. “We’re supposed to be fostering team spirit and co-operation--”
“Yeah,” Gojo wrinkles his nose and grins. “But we’re still gonna win, right?”
You sigh.
“With Yuji and Maki? Probably. But that’s not the point!”
Gojo stands up and stretches his arms out above him. He’s in a shirt that clings tight to a surprisingly muscled abdomen, and dark grey sweatpants. He’s never been the ‘formal wear’ kind of teacher, but it’s still jarring to see him dressed so casually – and even more jarring to realise that he’s handsome, despite the fact you’ve spent most of the last few months rolling your eyes and sighing and cursing the world that you’ve ended up having to endure Satoru Gojo so much.
“I know, I know – but it’s nice to think about, right?” His grin is infectious. “Did you have time to have breakfast this morning? I know it’s an earlier start than usual, I’ve got a spare blueberry muffin in my bag – hope it didn’t get crushed too badly by my stretches--”
“I’m fine,” you tell him, already dreading the idea of him pressing a crumbled muffin into your hand. “I had a healthy, nutritious breakfast.”
“So did I!” He says, hotly. “The blueberry muffin had fruit in it, croissants are glazed with egg so that’s protein, and I had a slice of honey on toast too just because I felt like I’d have to keep my energy up today--”
You are constantly impressed by how he manages to consume all of this sugar without going into overdrive – then again, maybe that does explain a lot about him.
“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing today,” you admit to him. “I mean, I know I’m here to cheer on the kids and stuff, but I don’t know what my role’s supposed to be--”
“Oh!” He comes around and begins to walk out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow him. “Didn’t I tell you? They told me ages ago--” He did not tell you. You don’t know why you find this a surprise. “You’re gonna be in charge of the refreshments table for the first half of the morning – Yuta, you know, the other teacher’s aid, he’ll relieve you for the second half so you can cheer us on and help me a bit. Not that I’ll need it! It’s not a hard job, just be polite to anyone who needs to use it, most of ‘em bring their own lunches and snacks but we find that it’s always good to have a table with some extras – especially when it’s so hot outside!”
“You didn’t,” you say, but you follow him anyway. You have learnt by now that the most you’ll get from Gojo is a shrug and an airy ‘sorry’. And you suppose, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t so bad. It’s not like you needed to have time to stop and prepare yourself to give people a polite smile and ask them if they’d like you to pour them a glass of water.
The two of you spill out into the grounds of the school, which is already full of excited students and proud parents. You recognise a few of them – your face heats up as you see Nanami forcibly pressing a bottle of sunscreen into Yuji’s hands, and as the two of you walk past Geto who is tying back Mimiko and Nanako’s hair, ensuring the team hats that the students are all wearing sit neatly on their heads.
There’s a man stood with Maki and Mai who you assume is their father; a blond with a sneering face and a presence that makes you feel like you shouldn’t even be looking at him. Maki has her arms crossed, her chin jutting forward – the two of them are clearly involved in some kind of argument. Even as you watch, some other men are walking towards him with their heads bowed, like he’s something special.
You vaguely recall that you’ve heard some tell about the Zenins being a very rich, very old, very respected family. Judging from the way he carries himself and the way people keep looking at him, you think that must be it.
“Is that Maki and Mai’s dad?” You ask, curiously, as you’re pushed past him towards a collection of tables beneath a bright yellow awning. Gojo makes a noise that sounds like a sigh.
“Yep,” he says, sounding short. There’s some kind of history there, you think. “That’s Naoya Zenin. Better for you to avoid him, if you can – he’s not the kind of guy you want to cross, y’know?”
“But Maki’s--”
“Absolutely nothing like him,” Gojo deposits you in front of a table heaped with water jugs, ice cubes and plastic cups. “Really.”
You wrinkle your nose as you look around. At least everyone else seems happy – excited, buzzing with energy and the promise of an exciting day ahead. You can’t help but worry about Maki’s expression, though. She had looked like her and her father were having an argument that had been going on for months--
Gojo waves at you as he jogs across the field, moving surprisingly quickly for a man who ate nothing but sugar for his breakfast. You watch him go, unable to stop a smile forming on your face as he pauses by Maki and Mai. He slaps a hand onto Maki’s shoulder and says something with a bright grin that she seems to respond to with a smile, turning to follow him. Her father’s eyes narrow, as he spits something that even you can work out is venomous at the retreating backs of one of his daughters. He sighs as he says something else to Mai, a smile almost tugging at the corners of his mouth as his attention shifts back to her.
It’s clear who the golden child is there, then.
You try and shake your thoughts away from Naoya Zenin and his two girls and concentrate on the place that you’ve been given, reminding yourself that even if it doesn’t seem like a big role, you all have to work hard to make sure that today is a success. Your students have been practising and getting excited for this event for weeks, and you want all of the parents to be as proud of their students as you are.
You have a good view from the refreshments table of everything that’s going on. You watch a few of the races, a few cheering displays from the other classes to the beat of the drums – and when kids run up to you, sweaty and panting, you hand them a plastic cup full of cool water and they thank you as if you harvested it from a spring yourself instead of merely pouring it out.
Some parents ask you politely who you are, and you tell them with a smile and a bright look, hoping that you being friendly and polite will get back to other people. A few of them exchange looks when they hear that you’re attached to Gojo’s class; the man has a reputation that follows him everywhere. You give out oranges and other pieces of fruit to some of the students who need an extra sugar boost, or the ones who have a bandage wrapped around their knee or grazes from falls that have recently been cleaned. Shoko is busy today, and you often see her direct these injured children to you as a rest stop, and so their parents can find them easily.
You pause for a moment as the names are called for a relay race, and you hear Maki and Mai being summoned. This is the first race that they’re taking part in – if their team wins this one, they’ll qualify for the final this afternoon. You can see Gojo lifting his arms and hollering and hear his loud, excited voice even with all of the other people crowding into the school grounds to watch, and despite yourself you feel a smile spread over your face.
You’re still smiling when you hear a scoff.
You turn around to see what the fuss is – only to see Naoya Zenin, holding a plastic cup of water as if it’s offended him mortally. Seeing you looking at him, his lip curls.
“Is this tap water?” He asks you. He has a curious accent; slow, drawling, and clearly much superior to your own. It’s not an accent that Maki and Mai have inherited – and as he raises one eyebrow, the sun catching the rings in his ears, you find yourself glad of it. “Well?”
“I think so,” you say. You are on edge. He peers into it, and sighs.
“Don’t you have anything better? Cell-gen or Tennensui or even I LOHAS, at least?” He speaks to you slowly, like you’re a child, or as if he’s not sure whether a peasant like you would even know the names of any bottled water brands. You can’t stand being talked down to, and you curl your hand into a fist as you say, trying to keep yourself polite;
“I’m sorry, Sir. There’s just this.”
“You’d think with the money pumped in-- fine.” He sighs, taking a sip of the water, his face scrunching in displeasure at – you don’t know. The disgusting taste of tap water, you suppose. You try not to look at the bob of his throat as he swallows. Everything about this man seems to be unpleasant except the way he looks.
You take your own cup of water, just to quell some of the dryness that has made itself known in your throat at interacting with him.
The cheering gets a little quieter, and you turn to see what’s happened. As it turns out, all that’s actually happened is Gojo has stopped putting forth his own shouts to the fray, his eyes focussed on you and Naoya, a look that you think is almost sympathy spread across his face. You see that the race is about to begin, and you don’t look at Naoya as you say;
“You’re Maki and Mai’s father, aren’t you? Their first race is about to start. Maki’s been training really hard, I think she’ll pip it for us—”
A dark presence at your shoulder, and a sneering, uppity drawl.
“I gather you’re the teaching aid I’ve been hearing so much about from everyone.” he says. It does not sound like a compliment. “Maki has really found you . . . encouraging.” He says it like it’s a dirty word.
You force yourself to remain cheerful, and not ask him what the fuck his problem is.
“Maki’s really talented,” you say. “Mai’s fast, too – they’re both really good representatives for the class--”
Naoya snorts.
“They should be on the sidelines,” he says, coolly. “Supporting the men. Not running. Not getting all sweaty and hot and messing up their hair and their pretty faces.” He shakes his head. “It’s unwomanly, and if Maki listened to a word I’d said, she wouldn’t be doing it.”
“Mai is doing it too,” you point out, hating yourself for getting involved in this. But you just can’t let him stand there and be such an asshole, spewing his narrow-minded ideas when there are impressionable girls around.
“Mai’s already agreed that if they win this race, she’ll ask one of the boys to switch in for her. I’ve sorted it with the principal. It’s not ladylike for her to do any more than she has to. She’s not going to get a husband in good standing based on her athletic prowess--”
Oh, this is too far. You’re seething, though you’re trying to keep your respectable face on. You’re at work, you’re at work, you’re at work--
“Perhaps there are some other things they consider more important than finding a husband, at the age of twelve?”
Naoya’s laugh is nasty, mocking – and you hate that there’s something in it that sends a curl of heat right through you, blooming between your thighs.
“The younger a girl learns her place,” he says, his voice very slow. “The better it is and easier it is for a man to be assured she’ll do her duties. I don’t see a ring on your finger, Miss – I’d hate for them to end up working some dead-end little job just because they don’t have anyone to cook and clean for--”
Nope.
You can’t take it any longer.
You turn and you throw the cup of ‘shitty tap water’ in your hand right over Naoya Zenin’s stupid, smug, asshole face.
2.
Gojo, for what you think must be one of the first time in his life, looks uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know you were going to throw water on him,” he tries to say, weakly. “Look, we all hate him, but . . . ugh. This is so frustrating! I hate all of this bureaucracy bullshit--”
It turns out that Naoya Zenin’s family – and Naoya Zenin himself – donate rather a lot of money to the school for such functions as the one you’re all currently attending. It turns out that nobody wants to piss off the bank-roll that’s keeping their gym maintained, their events fancy and expensive, the library well-stocked – and you get that! You really do! You know that school budgets are overstretched already, and that donors like the Zenin family are something to be gently courted and kept around for as long as humanly possible.
You just wish that the big donor for this school was anybody else.
“I didn’t know all of this,” you say, reasonably. “I know I shouldn’t have thrown a drink over him, but Mr. Gojo--”
“How many times? You can call me Satoru.”
“If you’d heard the way he was talking--”
“Oh, believe me,” Gojo’s full lips press into a thin line. “I know exactly what Naoya Zenin’s modus operandi is. Let me guess: he was all on at you about how Maki’s not a proper young lady, how the boys should be doing the hard work, how he’s trying to make sure his daughters get a proper start and a rich husband – ugh.” Gojo tugs at his shirt, clearly frustrated. “I’ve had it way too much.”
“Yeah,” you say. You find yourself sighing too.
“The Vice Principal’s in his back pocket,” Gojo says, taking a seat on top of the desk that you’re currently sat behind, cooling off some of your anger – Principal Masamichi had sent you inside to calm you down, and Naoya himself had been escorted into the building by Vice Principal Gakuganji to dry off, all the while saying placating things to calm down the school’s meal ticket. “They want you to apologise to him.”
“I suppose I should,” you say miserably. “But it’s gonna feel like swallowing gravel.”
“I certainly don’t blame you,” Gojo says, with a smile, trying to cheer you up. “Hell, I know some of the other staff members have been dying to do it--”
“Ugh,” you bury your face in your hands. “This is a horrible impression in front of the whole school.”
He pats you gently on the shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, “when this is all over, I’ll take you out for ice cream. I know the best places in the city, and they all know me too!”
You summon a smile for him. He’s not so bad, really – sure, he’s chaotic and thinks too highly of himself for his own good, but . . . at least he’s nothing like Naoya. You stand up and pull down your shorts, wriggling your tank top down to cover you as much as you possibly can. You feel a bit exposed, not in heels and stockings and a blouse.
“I should get this over with, then.”
Gojo has too much to do back on the field to escort you to Naoya himself, so he tells you that Naoya’s in the Vice Principal’s office and gives you another friendly squeeze on the shoulder.
“Good luck,” he tells you. “Remember: ice cream at the end of this!”
“Ice cream at the end of this,” you repeat, as you watch him jog out of the corridor. You’re almost tempted to tell him off for running in the halls – Gojo moves so fast that sometimes you lose track of him entirely – but you push back the urge. Gojo is being decent today. You’re thankful to him for sitting with you and helping you calm – and also, evidently, for being one of the things that keeps Maki’s fighting spirit inflamed.
You stand there for a moment, in front of the door to the office, balling up your courage tight and hot in your stomach. You do not want to have to apologise to Naoya, but you know it’s for the best. The sooner you can put this sorry incident behind you and try and avoid Naoya at every single function from herein, the better – so you tap hard on the door and wait until you hear his slow, drawling voice.
“You can come in.”
At first, you’re surprised to see that he’s alone in there – sitting in front of the desk in a comfortable chair, clearly at ease with everything. His arms are sprawled over the back of it, his legs wide apart. You chastise yourself for thinking it immediately – of course the vice principal is busy right now, of course he trusts someone as well-known to the school as Naoya to be alone in his office.
It’s hard not to think about every other time you’ve found yourself alone with the parents of your students, though. A heat crawls onto your face at the very thought of it. You find Naoya repellent, disgusting – but then again, he’s also (and you’re not being glib about it) handsome. You’d be lying if you’d said you sometimes hadn’t ignored a man’s personality for a night in favour of a face and a body that had drawn you in.
Not now.
You close the door behind you, clasping your hands together so you don’t clench your fists, and bow your head so that Naoya can’t tell that you’re grinding your teeth.
“I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me, Sir,” you say, though it really does feel like you are gnashing ice to get the words out. “I should have been more polite. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
“Mmm,” Naoya says, and you peek up at him through your lashes to see that he’s clearly enjoying having you at his mercy, his lips tilted into a smirk. His hair is still a little wet at the ends, but all that you throwing the water over him seems to have actually done is made his shirt cling tight to a surprisingly chiselled chest and stomach. Asshole. Fuck him. “Yes. I should hope not.”
You straighten yourself up, still a little stiff.
“I hope you can forgive me,” you say. “I . . . I am still learning my place in the establishment.”
He laughs, low and soft.
“Your place?” He asks, the words dangerously sweet on his tongue. “Yes. I can see you still need some help on that one.”
His eyes crawl over you slowly, dragging up and down the length of you, lingering over where your shorts cling to your hips and the tank top hugs your chest. You resist the urge to shift – you don’t want to let him know that he’s making you uncomfortable. You know, though, that he can sense that you have gone hot and prickly all over. He has that smug air; the one men who know what they do to people always seem to have cultivated. The knowledge that they are good-looking.
You suppose for Naoya, it’s the heady combination of knowing he is good-looking and powerful and rich, and you breathe through the force of all of his attention concentrated on you.
“Seeing as you’re still . . . new to all of this,” he says, bringing an arm forward to tap his long fingers on the desk. “And you did apologise prettily, I suppose I can forgive this transgression – just this once, darling.”
The pet name crawls up your spine like ice. He’s still staring at you, enjoying the view like you’re a piece of meat on a market stall he’s considering purchasing.
“Th-thank you, Sir,” you say, hating yourself a little bit but hating him all the more.
“You know,” he says. “You’re not exactly bad-looking.” He stands, rising to his full height, stretching out, frustratingly comfortable in this environment when you feel like a deer who’s about to turn tail and flee at any moment. “You’d be much better off at home raising children than here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Working for a living.” The way that he says the words makes it clear that he considers this a task far beneath the likes of him.
He’s moving towards you now, and your breath seems to get stuck in your throat as he’s suddenly in front of you, stalking elegantly. You want to snap back something about how you’d rather work for a living than have to rely on the whims of a man, much less a man like him – but as he grabs your chin to tilt it up to the light, you find that the words seem to die in your throat.
“Hmm,” he says. “Not bad at all.” He makes an approving noise that sends a flutter right through you, making you dully aware of a pounding ache between your thighs. He leans a little further in, until he’s so close that you can see the pale colours dancing in his eyes, the way the light hits his high cheekbones. “You’re trembling with rage, you know. It’s adorable.”
“You’re very easy to be angry at,” you half-breathe, half-hiss, and Naoya’s smirk is going to be burnt into your memory forever and ever.
“If you’re so angry,” he murmurs, “I can certainly think of a way I wouldn’t mind helping you work out your aggression.”
You shouldn’t do it. But your heart is beating a frantic rhythm against your ribcage and your breath is short, and part of you wants to wrestle him to the ground and dominate him so that he can have a taste of his own medicine. You grab a handful of his hair and drag him down into a bruising kiss.
3.
Oh, and he kisses back. His mouth is soft against yours, but the kiss itself is rough – both of your tongues fighting for dominance, both of you trying to nip at one another’s bottom lip and seize the victory. You’re practically shoved backwards so that your ass catches the edge of the Vice Principal’s desk, even as you tug hard on Naoya’s hair to tell him that you’re not going to be overpowered by him so easily. You feel the feral curve of his grin as he pulls back just enough to whisper;
“Oh? You really think you’re going to get the better of me? You’re cute--” and then you push his shoulders hard, and he stumbles and falls back onto the chair he started this whole escapade sat in. You reach down to tug off your shirt, dropping it onto the floor beside you – Naoya looks for a moment like he’s going to stand back up and resume trying to wrest back the situation into his favour, but as he sees the slight bounce of your breasts in your bra he seems to decide it would be more interesting and beneficial for him to stay exactly where he is and watch you disrobe.
So you do, wriggling your shorts down past your hips – he lets out a low groan at that, as you stand before him in nothing but your underwear with your fists clenched on your hips.
You feel surprisingly powerful like this. It definitely makes a difference from all of the other ways you’ve felt when you’ve been alone with somebody’s father--
“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, and you’re almost surprised at the imperious tone in your own voice. “It’s your turn--”
He raises an eyebrow at you, but he does as you ask. Long fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, taking his sweet time pulling it off his body – and yes, it’s a nice one. Nice, too, are his thighs as he undoes his trousers that probably cost more than you make in a year and pushes them down, sitting before you in nothing but his equally as expensive-looking underwear – an impressive looking bulge outline pressed against the fabric. Even as he looks at you, he takes hold of himself through it and squeezes it, his grin crooked.
Your body does a throb of need.
“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise. “I didn’t realise you were so needy already--”
“Like you’re not dripping,” he says sharply, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your thighs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I can see the damp patch from here.”
“Who’s to say that’s for you?” You walk towards him. You can’t help but feel powerful and in control at how his eyes follow you with rapt attention, how his tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he drinks in your form in front of him.
“Please,” he says. “As if there’s anyone here more deserving.”
He reaches forward and his hands settle on your hips, dragging you closer to him – hot fingertips brushing your waist, the bare skin beneath your bra before he’s unclipping that too and your breasts are bare. He breathes in deeply.
“Pity,” he says, though his voice is thick with his own arousal. “You’re such a cute little thing, if only you didn’t open your mouth--”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me opening my mouth to do something else,” you breathe, and you reach down to ghost your fingers over his cock through the tent in his underwear. He hisses through his teeth, his eyes half-lidded.
“Don’t just say it, princess,” he says. “If you’re going to run your mouth, the least you could do is make it do something useful--”
“I’d rather die than get on my knees for you.” Your mouth is very close to his neck – to punctuate the statement, you give his earlobe a tug with your teeth, and he practically groans. You’re almost straddling him on the chair, and you do not miss, either, the twitch that his cock seems to give at the tug.
It seems like for somebody who really wants to be in control, and wants women to know their place so badly, Naoya actually is rather enjoying somebody giving him a taste of his own medicine.
He grabs your underwear and pulls it down, clicking his tongue as it bunches about your knees.
“Just give into what your body wants,” he says, all saccharine sweetness in that slow, deep voice. “You’ve made a mess.”
You know you have. You can feel slick when your thighs press too close together, hot and wet between your legs. You really are practically dripping. But it’s not just from Naoya, you don’t think – it’s from the sudden power you’re feeling, the rush of being an equal participant in everything, in feeling like you have the upper hand. And not a small part, you think, is because of the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins at the thought of putting Naoya Zenin in his place. You tip your head to the side innocently.
“What about you?” You ask, with a mean shade to the pitch of your voice. “You’re so hard it’s a wonder you’re not in pain--”
He grabs a hank of your hair with one hand whilst spreading your legs further with the other, so strong that the breath’s knocked out of you. The tip of his finger skims the outer lips of your sex, gathering your slick arousal on the pad as he growls;
“I’m still a man, darling. I see a pretty cunt to fuck and a pair of nice tits and I want to bury myself into it until the bitch remembers her place--”
“Good luck,” you breathe. “I think you’ll be the one remembering his place, here.”
He laughs breathlessly.
“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re going to be singing a different song when you’re begging me to fuck you harder.”
You give him a smile with your teeth bared; the challenge is obvious. It’s a smile that says ‘we’ll see’, even as you both tug at his underwear to pull it down and reveal what he’s been hiding beneath it.
You don’t want to admit that he’s got a pretty cock, but he has. He’s not the biggest you’ve seen, but it’s still impressive; a slight curve giving it an elegant angle that you realise with a clench will hit you exactly in the right spot when you take it inside of you.
He’s slick with his own pre-come, bubbling from the reddened slit – and as you shift forward and trap it between your thighs, he groans aloud again.
“That’s right,” he grunts, as the tip catches on your entrance and you begin to sink down upon it. “This is what you were made for, princess--”
“What?” You pant. “That would be disappointing. You barely fill me up--”
He grabs you and pulls you into another kiss as you finish off sheathing his cock inside of you – perhaps to save his pride, perhaps to muffle the noise that comes out of him, transferred into your mouth instead of his own. Whichever it is, you hate that you were right about the angle of his cock – you can feel it pressing snugly against the spongy G-spot even now, threatening you with a better time than you’d like to have.
You break the kiss to pull yourself off of him and sink back down, forcibly taking the lead and setting your own pace. You know it’s fast, you know it’s greedy – but fuck, if you aren’t boiling over with need.
You splay your hands across his shoulders, nails digging into his skin with little care to how you might mark him. You need him for leverage, as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock. Naoya tips his head back and groans, enjoying the feeling, before he remembers that you two are engaged in a battle of wits and attempts to get the better of you once more.
“I-is that,” he groans, coming to cling onto your waist and force you down on him with even more strength, helping you along in the too-fast rhythm of your thrusts and bounces. “The best you’ve got?”
“Come on,” you say breathlessly, as his cock continues to stroke that spot. You can hear the sounds of him sliding in and out of you, shamefully loud – too, you can hear the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, echoing and mixing with the breathless pants and the attempts to trade barbed insults. “Y-you’re making me do all the work?”
“Fucking pity you’ve got such a nice cunt,” Naoya snarls, his hips flexing, somehow managing to hit you deeper even as you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet and straddling him on the chair. His words are starting to sound very far away. “You should be in my fucking bed, keeping it warm, better off than wasting away here--”
Both of you are running your mouths, overwhelmed by how close one another’s bodies are and the intense heat radiating from you. There’s a frisson of electricity in the air, showering sparks, as the two of you continue to snatch words in between moans and groans and pants and whimpers--
“You’re pathetic--”
“You’re so fucking tight, I shouldn’t be surprised when you’re such a bitch--”
“F-fuck, harder, c-can’t you even keep the momentum going? You’re weak--”
“Baby girl, you’re fucking shaking – you gonna come first? Women are so predictable--”
You can feel your release hovering on the edge of your vision, blurring it as your eyes squeeze shut and you feel tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. There’s a heat inside of you that’s close to overspilling – and as you come down on him particularly hard, the head of his cock rolls over your g-spot just right, and you feel a dam inside of you break as your nails dig hard enough into his shoulders to draw blood. You bury your face into his neck so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you cry out his name, teeth worrying into his neck to leave a love-bite reminder of exactly what transpired between you two in the Vice Principal’s office.
You feel yourself twitch and tighten around him as your orgasm rocks your body, heat running through you like veins of marble. You can’t breathe – all you can do is bite, your hips chasing the final aftershocks.
Naoya is still hard inside of you as you lift yourself off him, letting his cock slip out of you as easily as butter. His own hands clench around your hips.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, his voice rough and hungry. Despite that, though, you can hear the thread of some other emotion sewn in to them – and with a shiver of delight, you realise it’s neediness. He’s been left wanting, and you’ve been handed all of the cards. “I haven’t finished.”
“And you won’t finish inside me,” you snap at him, enjoying the longing in his voice. “Ask me very nicely and I’ll finish you off with my hand.”
“Mouth,” he demands – and he grabs your cheeks, squishing them, pulling you down and reminding you of all of the power that he has even though it’s your body that’s got the advantage of the high ground. “You don’t really think I’m going to be satisfied with your hand, princess--”
“You don’t deserve it,” you spit at him, but you sink to your knees anyway.
You’re not entirely lacking in manners. You suppose you did get to come. It would be rude to just leave him like this. Especially when the whole reason you’d ended up in this office in the first place was to apologise to him politely.
“This is the perfect position for you,” he sneers, as you open your mouth and envelope the head of his cock within it. You can taste yourself on his shaft. “Fuck, that’s right – put your mouth to good use for once--”
You give him a mean, slow lick along the slit of his cock head that makes him groan in the back of his throat. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, fingers digging into the nape so he can control you at least a little bit, pushing you a touch too far so you almost choke. You pull off it, drooling.
“Choke me again and I’ll bite,” you snarl, and he pats your cheek like you’re an obedient dog.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he says – and you narrow your eyes at him in a way that says ‘try me’ before you return to sucking at him, hollowing your cheeks. You want to do a good job. A part of you wants to make him come so hard that he regrets being an asshole to you, even though you know that’s ridiculous and not going to happen.
Still. You’re not going to back down from a challenge, so you use your tongue to play along as much of his cock as you can.
“Fuck,” Naoya breathes. “Good . . . good fuckin’ girl—”
You’ve been hearing that low, polite drawl swear and curse for what seems like hours, but that one sends another pulse of heat through you – at your heart, you can’t argue that you love being praised. You whimper against his cock, glad that the fast pace you’ve managed to establish and the wet noises of your mouth around him muffle the noise so Naoya can’t dangle it over your head.
The hand on the nape of your neck jerks, so that you’re forced to look up at him and meet his eyes proper. His hips are slamming to meet your bobs now, the noise of him fucking your mouth filling the room. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and you feel him twitch, his voice pitching--
Salt coats your tongue as he fills your mouth.
But he doesn’t let himself finish there.
He pulls out, and he pumps his cock himself two, three times – coaxing out the other ropes of come, that hit your neck and chest and breasts hot and white and glistening. You’re too surprised by it to do anything – you’d expected him to keep your mouth on him, make you swallow down everything he gave you. He seems the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing--
But instead, he’s sighing, relaxing back into the chair as he looks at you with lazy eyes.
“You look cute like that,” he says, his voice low and sated. “I should take a picture.”
“Fuck you,” you breathe, getting off your knees. You are so fucking thankful for the box of tissues on the Vice Principal’s desk, as you reach across and grab some to dab at yourself so you’re not sticky and disgusting for any longer than necessary.
If you leave them in his pedal waste-bin, you hope that the cleaning crew will dispose of them before the Vice Principal is even aware that they’re there. Your lip curls as you wipe your mouth. You wish you had a mint – or at least a glass of water. Even tap water would do.
For what it’s worth, Naoya seems a little agitated as he puts himself to rights too. Evidently he was not expecting you to fight back so much – he places a finger on his shoulders and scowls when he sees that you made him bleed.
“I should sue you for assault,” he says. You tap your own body, at the curve of your hips and waist.
“I’m going to bruise,” you tell him. “So I guess it would be self-defence.”
“You’re too smart for your own good,” he tells you, with narrowed eyes – and you give him another smile, one that is clearly fake, as you pull your tank top and shorts back on and re-tie your shoes.
You’re surprised as you go to leave the room and he sets a hand on the small of your back in a mocking echo of polite manners. As the two of you walk down the corridor towards the exit, he does not remove it. To the assembled crowds, you hope it will look entirely innocent – like the two of you have merely had a little chat and come to an agreement instead of heatedly fucking one another’s brains out.
You blink as you emerge out into the light, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. You see Principal Masamichi give you a sympathetic smile – and there’s Gojo, immediately charging towards you like an overprotective bear. He slows down as he sees the way that Naoya is still touching you.
“I hope everything’s alright,” he says, sounding stiffer and more formal than you usually hear. Naoya’s smile towards him is cold.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, “Perfect. You apologised beautifully, didn’t you, Miss?” Naoya looks down his nose at you, a conceited smile on his mouth. “I’ve decided to overlook this little transgression.” He leaves a pause, and you swallow as you realise what he’s waiting for.
“Thank you so much, Mr Zenin, Sir,” you say. Again, it feels like you have to force the words out through a mouthful of marbles – but they make it out of your mouth.
“Oh, don’t be so formal, Miss,” he smirks. “You can call me Naoya. I look forward to seeing you again – soon, I hope.”
“You’re just in time,” Gojo says coldly. “Maki just won the final race of the day for our team.”
Naoya’s gaze is sharp as he looks at him. His lip curls. You can tell that both of them want to do something – maybe have an out-and-out fist fight on the field. But Naoya manages to get a grip (you’re glad about it; you’re not entirely sure whether Gojo would have been able to hold back) and turns on his heel to stalk away.
He does give your ass one last squeeze, though, that you desperately hope that Gojo doesn’t notice.
Gojo’s shoulders stay set, his chin thrust proudly forward, until Naoya has been swallowed up by the crowd at large – and then, he turns to you. For the first time, you see his normally humorous eyebrows draw in with worry.
“You look upset,” he says. “Sweaty. You smell terrible. Do you need a minute?”
Your shoulders fall. Gojo gives you a sympathetic pat on the back.
“It’s a rite of passage to deal with someone from the Zenin family,” he says. “You’re just unlucky it happened to actually be Naoya today. He usually sends an underling or an uncle or someone to pretend to care about the girls.”
Wow. You sure hope the rite of passage has gone differently for everyone else.
“Why d’you think he came here today, then?” You ask Gojo. He looks at you strangely, a spark of something you can’t quite read in his eyes.
“Well,” he says, “he’s related to the Fushiguros, you know. I heard he and Megumi’s father have met up recently for drinks – it ended in a fight, of course, it always does. But maybe he expected Megumi’s dad to be here too?” He shrugs. “He can never resist an opportunity to relish over someone in his family winning, even if he doesn’t want Maki doing anything unladylike. Megumi’s dad isn’t here, though, so looks like that backfired on him--”
Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think about Megumi’s father fucking you on Gojo’s desk – and the lingering way that Naoya had said that he’d heard so much about you from everyone.
#naoya zenin x reader#naoya x reader#naoya x you#naoya smut#naoya zenin smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#not sfw#afab reader#fem pronouns#jjk teacher aid au#jjk writing#writing
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request:
maybe like a part 2 where the reader was a singer!
but maybe like everyone in the marvel cast goes to the sweetener world tour to suprised them n congratulate them?
Thank you for the request, hun! I appreciate you for reading my other stuff and suggesting a part 2! Now that I think about it, I might make the whole singer thing into its own series of imagines and headcanons! Just a thought🥰 Happy reading!❤️
A/n: I’ve never been to an Ari concert, so I don’t know the set list, but enjoy my loves❤️
💌.
Sweetener
(She’s so pretty ugh)
You looked at yourself in the mirror. You leaned forward making sure your makeup was all good and to check if your lipstick has smeared onto your face.
“Everything good, hun?” Your makeup artist, Perrie, chirped from behind you. You took a step back, getting one more look.
“Yes Ma’am.” You turned to her and she was holding up the familiar bottle of setting spray.
“One more spray for good measure.” She motioned for you to close your eyes and you did. You breathed in through your nose as you felt the vibrations of the arena. The mix of the music playing out on stage mixed with the cheering of your fans added to your adrenaline.
The tour was finally at Inglewood, California, the last stop of the Sweetener World Tour. You had been traveling around the world for the past 10 months, performing every night in a different country or state. As tiring as it sounded, you absolutely loved the experience. Not only were you traveling and seeing new places, you were meeting your fans from different countries and doing what you loved. After 101 shows and 3 tour legs, it was finally coming to an end. The ending of tour was always bittersweet. You’ve been traveling with multiple people and crew who have grown to be another family. You were going to miss them so much but it was time for you to go back home to your real family. Not only have you missed your parents and siblings, but you also needed the rest. 10 months of nonstop traveling definitely took a toll on you. But nonetheless, it was all worth it.
“All done!” You opened your eyes to see Perrie smiling at you.
“Thank you so much!” You pulled her into a hug as your eyes began to water. You groaned playfully and tilted your head back.
“I’m gonna miss you doing my makeup everyday. Ugh, I haven’t even gone out on stage yet and I’m crying already.” You laughed through tears as Perrie began to protest.
“(Y/n), I swear if you mess up your makeup, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Cry later!” She laughed as she tried to get you to stop the tears from falling.
She gripped onto your arms and yelled, “NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY REMEMBER?” You bursted out laughing at her reference. You waved your hands at your eyes and when they finally felt normal, you looked straight.
“Okok, I think I’m good.” You released a breath as you smiled sweetly at her, “I love you!” You giggled pulling her into another hug.
“I love you too, darling. Have fun out there, you’re going to do amazing like always.” She squeezed you tight before letting you go. Victoria, one of your dancers and friend, peaked her head into the room.
“You ready? They’re waiting for you in the circle.” She informed you holding a hand out. The circle was like a pre-show ritual you had backstage with all the dancers and crew. You took her hand as you all walked out the makeup room. Your heels clicked against the floors, echoing in the hallway. The closer you got to the stage the louder the fans got and the stronger the vibrations got.
The circle was already gathered with all the dancers and crew. When Scott, another one of your dancers and friend, noticed you he began to cheer. Everyone followed along as you entered the circle. You were tucked in between Scott and Brian, who were twins. The two have been your dancers since the beginning and still are how many years later. You were truly grateful for them and everyone who was included in your Sweetener family.
“Damn. Last show ya’ll!” You began causing them to all cheer. You waited till they quieted down, shyly laughing, before continuing.
“Um, I don’t wanna get all emotional and shit right before going on stage. I’m gonna look like a mess out there with my mascara running down my face. Perrie I’m sorry!” You laughed. “I just wanna say, thank you to every single one of y’all. You guys have been the most fucking amazing people to work with. You guys have been working day and night to make the show as spectacular as it is and I love you all so much. You guys are my family and I can’t wait to write another album so I can tour with y’all again. I just want to hug every single one of you, you guys mean so much to me. Like literally, from the bottom of my heart I love all of you so much. I know I’ve said that like multiple times, but I really mean it. Y’all are gonna get a fatass check after this.” You finished making everyone laughing again. By now a few tears have made its way down your face. You even saw a few people’s eyes well up.
You laughed as you heard a chorus of “I love yous” as everyone squeezed in for a group hug.
“Alright! That’s enough crying, let’s get this show on the road!” You cheered to help everyone from crying. Everyone moved out the circle and got into places.
Before you can get in place, Perrie pulled you aside to fix up your makeup. Your stylists began smoothing out your skirt and making sure your knee high boots were securely on. Next was to get your earpiece on while one of the stage hands gave you your mic. From backstage you could hear the intro to the concert playing causing the fans to scream louder.
You got into place as you got the signal to start singing. You sang the opening lyrics of Raindrops (An Angel Cried) and began to smile as your fans sang along.
The platform began to move up when you finished and the beat of God Is A Woman began to play. You were now on the stage, the sea of white lights looking back at you. The adrenaline was still running through your veins. You performed the song, acing every move of the dance you’ve learned 10 months ago.
When the last note of God Is A Woman played, all the lights turned off except for the red lights on the stage.
“INGLEWOOD!” You yelled into your mic, your fans cheering even louder than before. You shared an excited smile with Brian.
“Welcome to the Sweetener World Tour!” And with that the opening notes of Bad Idea began to play, the show finally kicking off.
You were in the middle of singing R.E.M which was part of Act 2 of the concert. You moved towards the pit to see familiar faces beaming up at you.
“Boy, you’re such a drea— oh my god!” You squealed as you saw the pit full of your Marvel cast mates. You saw all the Chris’, both of the Tom’s, Robert, Scarlett, Elizabeth, almost everyone you’ve worked with in Marvel was there. You got down to your knees to touch their outstretched hands.
The fans screamed as the camera from stage panned down to the pit where all the actors were. You took the mic away from your mouth and leaned down to them.
“What are you guys doing here?” You asked them through the loud arena.
Scarlett, Brie, and Lizzie were the nearest to the stage.
“We’re here to surprise you! It’s your last show and we wanted to be here for it!” Scarlett yelled over the track that was playing.
“We’ll catch up later, keep going!” Lizzie urged you to continue the concert with a toothy grin.
You held onto Brie’s hand as you sang to them, “Inglewood let me hear ya’ll! Excuse me um...”
“I LOVE YOU!” The fans sang back to you, including your cast mates. You dusted your knees off and continued to walk around the ramp. Before you could leave, you sent an excited wave to Brie and the rest of them.
~After the show~
You hopped off the platform that brought you down from the stage and were greeted by a bunch of congratulations and cheering. You and your dancers shared another group hug.
“(Y/N)!” You heard a familiar voice yell. You follow the voice and see Anthony waving at you with his infamous grin. He was accompanied by the rest of the cast behind him. You run towards them and jump into Anthony’s outstretched arms.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sweaty, but I’m so happy to see all of you!” You wrapped your arms around Anthony’s neck as he spun the two of you around. He let you go and you were suddenly being pulled into hugs by everyone.
When you got to Robert, a proud smile was on his face as he cradled your face, “Sweetheart, that was amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.” He pressed a fatherly kiss to your forehead and pulled you into a hug.
“Thank you.” You laughed, your eyes welling up with tears once again. Next was Chris (E) who playfully shoved Robert.
“Stop it, you’re hogging her! Let me hug (y/n)!” He childishly whined. He gasped when he saw your eyes watering.
“And you made her cry! C’mere.” His arms enveloped around you as he hugged you tightly.
In your ear his whispered, “You absolutely killed it.”
You thank him and move on to Scarlett who already had her arms out for you, “Surprise!”
“This was your idea?” You asked her as she hugged you. A cheeky grin quirked on her lips.
“Maybe” she teased dragging the ‘e’. You hugged her again as she laughed into your shoulder.
“Thank you, Scar. This means so much.”
“It’s not a problem, honey. We just wanted to see you together while you did your thing up on stage.”
You were now full on crying through a smile as your Marvel family showed you mass amounts of love. You stumbled into Tom (Holland) who instantly grabbed you into a bear hug. Tom’s actually seen your show in London with his friends and brothers, so this was his second time seeing you perform.
“You know what’s so crazy?” He asked you leaning down to your ear so you can hear him.
“What?”
“It’s literally just as great as it was in London. Like everything looks the same, you sound exactly the same, everything! The show was fantastic!” He looked at you with wide eyes with so much amazement on his face.
You laughed at him and patted his shoulder, “Thank you, Tom.”
Suddenly there was a commotion a few feet away from you. You saw Robert standing on one of the cases your crew used to store equipment in.
“ATTENTION EVERYONE!” When everyone backstage was looking at him Robert sent them a sweet smile and was handed a megaphone.
“Alright, so I gotta say, (y/n), you definitely know how to throw a show. Everyone who was part of this tour, your hard work pays off because that show was the most fun I’ve had in a while! (Y/n), you keep surprising us everyday with your talent and I hope you get to do more of what you love in the future. As my way of thanking you all for throwing such an amazing night, I want to take out every single one of you for dinner! I just rented out a whole restaurant just for all of us and I hope to see all of you there!” Robert said into the megaphone. A round of cheers and claps were heard from everyone at the announcement. As everyone began to file out, you were being called to get out of your costume.
Before you can turn to leave you hugged Robert and looked at all your cast mates who showed up for the night.
“Thank you guys for being here, it really means a lot.” You sniffled, wiping a tear from your face.
“And you, I can’t believe you rented out a restaurant for my crew, thank you Robert.” The older man just waves you off as he slung his arm around your shoulder.
“Not a problem, sweetheart. We wanted to be here and we are all so proud of you, you’ve come a long way, (y/n).” He gave your shoulders a squeeze.
“Now run along now, you still need to get changed and I’m starving. Go.” He teasingly turned you towards your stylists. You rolled your eyes as you waved at all of them.
“We’ll see you at the restaurant!” You heard Brie yell after you. You quickly turn back, “OK, I LOVE YOU!”
The further you got you heard Evans scream, “I LOVE YOU TOO!” You turned down the hall, your laugh echoing against its walls.
That was definitely one way to end a tour.
#marvel#mcu#avengers#chris evans#chris evans x reader#marvel cast x teen!reader#marvel cast x reader#robert downey jr x reader#Scarlett Johansson x reader#anthony mackie x reader#brie larson x reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#Brie Larson#Scarlett Johansson#anthony mackie#robert downey jr#ally’s requests
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destiel, 1.4k. another post-series (15x20 coda?) of the Heaven reunion, this one with trueform!cas :)
“Cas helped.”
Dean looks up at that, and Bobby is looking at him with an easy smile, and Dean waits for the inevitable rush of oh God does he know—but it doesn’t come. He starts to understand what this “at peace” thing is all about.
“Yeah?” he answers, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is he, uh. Here?”
Bobby turns his smirk back on his beer bottle. “He’ll be along.”
Dean looks from Bobby to the impala, sitting clean and shiny in front of Harvelle’s, and then on to the dirt road that stretches off into the distance. He nods, begins to stand. “I’m gonna go for a drive,” he mumbles to Bobby, who just nods absently and watches him leave.
The Impala is warm, familiar. Grounding. The keys are on the passenger seat, on top of the same box of cassette tapes he’d had since he was 26. He’s glad to have it with him—he hopes Sam is taking good care of the real thing. He hopes Sam has Eileen riding shotgun, Miracle panting in the back. He smiles. They’re all in good hands.
Dean turns on the stereo and the opening bars of Ramble On fill the car, and he realizes the tape playing is the only one that hasn’t been in the box from the beginning. It makes his heart ache—he’s not meant to be listening to this alone. More than anything, though, it reminds him what—who—he’s driving to.
He’ll be along.
Dean drives for what feels like hours but could only be a few minutes—and time doesn’t really exist up here, anyway. He just drives, and the scenery around him shifts with every passing mile, and he doesn’t know where he’s going but he knows he’s driving until.
Until ends up being a field off the highway that opens up in front of him as he turns the bend. The sky darkens as he pulls up, and it’s a clearer night sky than he’d ever seen down below, and it looks just like one of the fields Cas would always make him pull over at on the way back from a hunt, just for a few minutes, just to see the stars.
He pulls the car into the shoulder and steps out, walks until he’s in the middle of the field, and stops. He looks up—but he is up, and how do you pray to a place you’re already in?
“Cas—” he starts, but he’s barely done with the syllable before a cold wind blows past him and he feels something behind him. A presence. Him.
Okay, so maybe he was overthinking the praying part.
Dean turns slowly, and all his breath leaves his body at the sight of the angel before him. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—he’s in Heaven, obviously, and angels, well—this is just what they look like. And this angel, well—
Castiel is towering. Approximately the size of your Chrysler building, Dean remembers. He’s many-headed, a mass of wings and eyes, a being made of pure light. Dean half expects him to start with be not afraid, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t say anything—and Dean isn’t afraid. This is right, he thinks. This is beautiful.
“Castiel,” Dean breathes, the full name leaving his lips for the first time in years, and the angel glows brighter at the sound of it.
Hello, Dean. He speaks without speaking, as if the words are being projected straight into Dean’s mind. His whole body reverberates with them. You’re early.
Dean smiles, and it’s a bittersweet thing. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t too eager to get up here, either.”
He can’t explain what, but something about the angel feels sad.
“You, uh—last time, you kinda left in a rush. Didn’t let me say anything,” he continues, both to shut down any more death talk and also because if he doesn’t say anything now he’ll chicken out for another century.
My apologies. I wasn’t intending on seeing you again.
Dean throws both his arms out. “That’s the point, man! You can’t just drop something like that on a guy and die.” There’s something almost absurd about chastising an Angel of the Lord in his true form, but Dean doesn’t care. His whole damn life had been absurd.
There’s a silence. Dean can almost see the way Cas would be shifting on his feet, if he still had feet to shift on.
I’ll try not to do it again, he says, finally, and Dean can’t help but grin.
“Yeah, you better not. At least not without letting me tell you that I love you too, you asshole.”
There wasn’t much sound to begin with, but any ambient noise around stops. For the first time since he arrived Heaven is silent, except for a low buzzing he slowly realizes is coming from the being in front of him. He suddenly remembers sparks of electricity and shattering lightbulbs.
You love me?
Dean laughs again, nervous now. “Yeah, I do. I mean—I have. You know. For…a while.”
There’s another moment that is too still, too quiet, before Castiel moves—something that could be a wing reaches out for him, and Dean should be terrified, but he’s not. He lets the light touch his cheek and closes his eyes. It’s warm. It’s pure.
Slowly, the light-wing becomes more and more solid, more and more hand-shaped, until Dean feels the weight of a human palm on his face. He opens his eyes and meets familiar blue ones. He grins. “Heya, Cas.”
There’s still an apprehension in Cas’ eyes, which Dean hates. “You love me,” he repeats, out loud this time.
“Yeah,” Dean confirms.
“I don’t understand.” Cas drops his hand from Dean’s face but Dean catches it in his own, links their fingers together.
“It’s three words, Cas. Pretty self-explanatory.”
“But you said it to my true—to me.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, dumbass. I love you.”
Cas is still staring at him like something isn’t clicking. He takes a deep breath. “Dean, you know that—what I said, just saying it, that was enough…I don’t need you to—"
“Hey, Cas?” Dean cuts him off, and he stops rambling. “You know what you said, about wanting something you can’t have?”
Cas nods.
“I’m telling you that you can have it.”
Cas blinks at him, and then it’s like everything slides into place, and he’s grinning and reaching back up for Dean’s face, and then—then they’re kissing. Dean is in literal Heaven, kissing an angel, and it’s—well. It’s perfect.
When they finally move apart, it’s not far, and Cas doesn’t drop his hands. Dean leans their foreheads together and they stay there, breathing together, until Cas breaks the silence.
“I was going to come back.” Dean has his eyes closed but he opens them at that.
“Hmm?”
“I was going to come back,” Cas repeats, louder this time, pulling back enough to look Dean in the eye. “Dean, I promise—Jack needed help repairing Heaven, but after that I was going to come back to you. And Sam. I just didn’t expect—”
Dean gets it. He does. “Hey, I didn’t either.”
Cas shakes his head, as if Dean isn’t getting it. “Yes, but, if I had been there—”
And nope. No. They’re not going there. “Cas,” Dean cuts him off, stern but not unkind. “It’s okay. You weren’t, and it happened, and that’s—it’s okay.”
“Is it?” Cas is staring at him, earnest and sad, and the sadness is heavy, and—well. No, it’s not.
“It’s not—I ain’t too thrilled about being dead, alright? But it also ain’t your fault, and I figure I’ve got an eternity to mourn myself, so…” Dean tightens his hold around Cas’ waist. “Can we just. Have this, right now?”
Cas smiles at him, and it’s still sad, but it’s a start. He strokes his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. “We can have it forever,” he promises.
Dean smiles back as he leans in again.
#destiel fic#deancas fic#destiel#deancas#i wrote smth again :)#for the first time in a WHILE#im healing :')#also im claiming 'he'll be along' for the hellers#bc the show is over#and misha says we can write our own endings#and therefore i can do whatever i want#my words#over 1k words
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Billy & Stu's Adventures in Puppy Care
18+ / NSFW Accounts Do Not Interact
A/n- I wrote this a few months ago...thought i'd finally share. sorta nervous about this :O
Word Count: 1858
description: Y/n spends the day as a sleepy, affection starved puppy with their favorite people.
ship: billy loomis / stu macher / reader
this is about SFW pet regression so don't be weird !! for the love of slasher movies, DONT. BE. WEIRD !!
Y/n comes home from work in the very early hours of the morning, exhausted to the bone and just wanting to curl up and sleep. They still had to shower off the day's grease and sweat, and start breakfast for everyone. Sleep would come...but not soon enough. They try to wipe the sleep out of their eyes as they head to the bathroom, they take a quick glance at their boys in the other room. Smiling at the sight of Billy and Stu cuddling into each other, Stu with his long arms wrapped around the smaller boy. They’re quick to scamper off to the bathroom, no matter how much they wanted to stay there and take in the gorgeous view of their beloveds so at peace. No matter how much they wanted to nestle their way in between them. Bask in their warmth.
Their shower is long, spending time stretching their limbs and properly grooming themselves. Lathering a sweet and calming lavender scented shampoo along their body. Taking too long under the shower head, making sure all the suds are washed off themself and none of it clings to the tub.
Next, is breakfast. They put up the hot water for coffee and tea. Put the bread in the toaster, sort through various items in the fridge, trying to find jam. Finally acquiring strawberry jam, and taking the butter out as well. They scramble eggs, and plate the food on three plastic dishes. They place everything at the table, finally heading off to their bedroom again to retrieve their boyfriends. They place gentle kisses to each of their foreheads, then shake them awake. Billy’s the first one up, pushing himself out of Stu’s grip- much to his begrudgement.
“Aww, c’mon! Just a little longer,” he whines.
They let out a tired chuckle, “You can cuddle more later, breakfasts ready.”
The three of them sit down, and begin to dig into the meal. Y/n gets up when they finally hear the kettle whistling, making everyone's morning beverage of choice. They sit back down, a hot mug of tea in their hands. They take a sip, slipping their tongue out as they accidentally burn it.
They shake it off, and give an apologetic look to Stu, “We’re out of your favorite, we’ll have to stop at the store tomorrow. You two don’t have work, right?”
Stu pouts and Billy answers, “Not today.”
They give a pleased smile, “Good. I’m off the rest of the weekend.”
Both of their eyes glimmer at the news- “What did you have in mind?”
“Really? I just wanna...destress for a bit. Work was awful last night.”
They both frown. “Is it your boss again?” Billy asks.
They nod.
“Y’know, we could always-” Stu begins.
They narrowed their eyes at him, “If you suggest to kill my boss again- I swear to god, Stu!”
He raises his hands up in defense, giggling and smiling. “I surrender, I surrender.”
Billy and Y/n can’t help but smile at his antics. The three of you finally finish up, dishes in the sink, coffee filters and old tea bags in the trash.
“The two of you mind cleaning the dishes?” They yawn out, rubbing at their eyes.
Billy leans against the edge of the sink, giving them a soft look, “No problem.”
“Thank you,” they sigh, slumping into Billy. Nuzzling their head against him, aching for attention.
He smiles down at them, curious- as realization slowly dawns his face. “What do you want, pup?”
They brighten at the name, continuing to nuzzle him. He brings his hands up, one to pet through their hair, the other tracing across their neck. “You want your collar?”
A few quick nods later, and moving the three of you to the bedroom- Y/n finds themselves kneeling on the ground awaiting the collar. Stu’s rummaging through piles, trying to remember where they stored the thing- it wasn’t often that their beloved found themselves in this regressed state, so they often misplaced the gear needed to keep things exciting and safe for Y/n.
Stu finally finds it, Y/n curiously sniffs at his hands, the item looking suspiciously different than usual. He pets their hair, guiding them to kneel back on the ground. He then leans down to put it around their neck- stepping back to admire their look. They turn their head to peer at Billy, showing off the pretty, red collar in the process. In big, curly letters the top of the pendant reads Y/n . Their shared apartment address is written at the bottom along with their wonderful owners' names.
“Does our little pup like their new collar?” Billy grins down at them, scratching the bottom of their chin. “Good, good baby.”
Y/n spent most of the day following their partners around as they did chores. From napping on the kitchen floor as they did the dishes to hiding in the laundry as they attempted to clean and fold it. Once or twice they go off to do their own thing- possibly planning other murders- where they leave them alone. It’s not all bad when that occurs, they find their doggy bed- a perfect fit for their size- in the living room. They rest in it’s comforting hold till their loved ones make their way back to them. They find themselves fluctuating between their regressed state of mind and not throughout the day, it finally settles to a consistent regressed state as the day comes to a close.
Billy grabs a red ceramic dog bowl from one of the bottom cupboards- it’s tucked away neatly, covered in a worn towel to prevent it’s breakage and protect it from dust. He hands the bowl to Stu, who pours a considerable amount of dry cereal into it. He moves to set it down, and Billy lets out a not entirely gentle, “Be careful.”
Stu rolls his eyes, “I’ve got it,” and places it on the ground, next to the edge of the counter. While he does that, Billy gets out bowls for them and milk from the fridge, placing two full bowls of milk and cereal on the table.
They sit down and begin to eat, idly chatting with each other. Billy tries not to laugh too hard from something moronic his boyfriend says. Sparing odd glances at their other partner, who's got their face right up against their bowl, while they happily munch up their kibble . Billy snickers, looking away from them. They were too cute and silly for their own good.
Y/n’s the first to finish up. Instead of waiting patiently for their owners, they crawl underneath the table, finding themselves next to Billy’s chair. Unbeknownst to him.
They nudge their head against his leg, achieving nothing but a small jolt of surprise.They let out a sharp whine when he doesn’t react immediately.
Billy looks underneath the table for a brief moment, “What’re you doing down there, Y/n?”
They keep rubbing at his leg. Stu, who has just finished, looks down to see what the commotion is. “Aww, they just want some love,” he grins. “C’mere.” He pats his lap, inviting them to him.
It was awkward trying to situate themself on Stu in a way that felt comfortable and puppy-like, but had little to no feelings of how non-regressed, human them would sit. They end up lying their head on his thigh, letting out a pleased noise as he pets their head.
“What kinda manners you teaching our little pup over there?” Billy teasingly remarks. He sighs, taking in the blissed out state of his partners, and how happy Stu seemed to be as he fulfilled their smallest desires. He quickly finds his way standing next to Stu’s spot.
“Let's take this to the bedroom,” he gestures away from the table. “You’ll be more comfortable, Y/n- and you.” He points a finger at Stu.
Stu chuckles, face falling slightly, and smiling nervously at Billy. “What? What’d I do?”
He smirks at him, having fun playing around with Stu, “You gonna be a good boy, too?”
“I’m not usually?”
Billy barks out a laugh, “You’re a fucking nuiscance.” It’s not said with malice, but an odd sense of affection. He glances down at Stu’s lap, noticing Y/n’s eyes drooping shut. “Looks like our baby’s getting tired.”
They perk up at the name, wide eyes staring up at Billy. The two boys chuckle. “Gonna carry em, okay?” Stu mentions, petting down their hair once more. They nuzzle against him at the idea. “You like that, huh?”
Eventually, Stu picks Y/n up, cradling them in his arms. He places them safely on the bed- though it takes as a second as they struggle with him, trying to stay wrapped in his nice, warm embrace. They whine as they’re finally left on the bed by themselves- Billy and Stu changing into proper bedroom attire. Billy’s in boxers and a white tee- while Stu has chosen quite a minimalistic approach. Boxers only. They try not to pay mind to Y/n’s whining too much, as they finally stop- dejectedly curling up on the mattress.
Stu’s quick to join them, as Billy lets out a sigh- “C’mere, baby.” They hurriedly uncurl themselves and kneel on the edge of the bed- looking up expectantly.
He places a small kiss on the top of their head, moving his hands slowly across their body- stopping at the edge of their top. He peels their clothes off, with ease and if practiced, till it’s nothing but bare skin. They press into him, thankful for his help. He kisses them again, and holds his hand against their head in a gentle manner. Hugging them close to himself. “It’s okay, love.”
Stu comes from behind pulling the two of you down with him. Y/n lets out a surprised squeak along with a series of giggles. They find themselves laying against his chest, while Billy’s over both of them, trying not to accidentally hurt Y/n. It’s warm in the middle of it, and they feel protected. Stu’s got an arm lazily playing with Billy’s hair, and the other hung around Y/n’s shoulders.
The three of them don’t stay in the position long. Comfortable? Yes. But no one, even their little pup, would want to stay the whole night like this. They needed- and deserved- a proper night of sleep. Especially after their long and tiring day of work, and having to deal with their hardass of a boss. (If he ended up missing or found dead within the following days...well, he had it coming.)
Y/n’s practically asleep when they try moving themselves around. They tuck their little puppy in first, peppering them with kisses and little reassurances. Then Stu climbs under, after sharing a quiet kiss with his boyfriend. Billy’s the last to get in- both boys curling their bodies in a way that allowed their pup to safely cocoon themselves in the middle. Their small bundle of love secured in their grasp. Billy whispers small “I love you”s, as sleep finally takes them in.
#polyam ghostface#polyam! ghostface#poly ghostface#poly ghostface x reader#poly!ghostface#polyam!ghostface#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#billy x reader x stu#billy loomis x s/o#billy loomis x stu macher#sfw petre#sfw pet regression#sfw interaction only#sfw regression#pet regression fanfiction#petre fanfic#petre fanfiction#regression fanfic#regression fanfiction#reblogs are encouraged !!#requests are open#:D
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The Forbidden Fruit {medieval priest!Kylo Ren x Reader}
anonymous:
Priest!Kylo + tavern + visiting his known mistress
author’s notes: hello, hello! ooo, priest!Kylo is a dirty man and I am very much here for it ;) thanks for the request! (post-writing note: this got waay longer than I originally intended lol)
warnings: a touch of fluff. smut. general filth. the incorrect use of the Adam and Eve bible story. oral sex (f receiving). a bit of religion-infused coercion. innocence kink if you really squint. hints of praise kink. virginity loss.
tw’s: extramarital affair/sex (as was common in medieval times). (!!) dubcon (!!)
**please let me know if I missed any warnings and/or tw’s!!**
word count: 1.8k
kylo’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings @icarusinthesea
my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie
[NOT my edit. full credit goes to sacklers_sack on Twitter]
Father Kylo walks into the Adam and Eve Tavern and steps up to the bar, ordering a mug of frothy golden brew. He takes a sip as he walks over to his usual corner table, fingers fiddling with the ring around his thick finger.
Even though his wife already knows of his affair, he still feels a small twinge of guilt whenever he lies to her about his whereabouts. It’s a very slight feeling of remorse, though, considering the fact that she’s one of Satan’s disciples.
You walk in only minutes later, flipping the hood of your cloak off the top of your head. He looks over at smiles at the sight of you, admiring your pure and raw beauty. He’s almost sure you’re some sort of angel in disguise, too beautiful and pure to be anything less. Gods, he wants nothing more than to wreck you, split you in half with his cock.
“Hello, angel.”
He purrs as you walk over and sit down at the table with him, eyes lingering on your bosom, which is accentuated greatly in this particular gown.
“I am glad to see your beautiful face this eve.”
Your lips curl up into a small smirk.
“No need for such flattery, Father. We both know why you summoned me here.”
“I’ve always loved how you get right down to business.”
Kylo chuckles devilishly.
“There are a series of rooms upstairs, the very reason I chose this particular establishment to conduct our...meeting. Step into the last one down the hall and strip bare, lay down on the bed. I will join you in a moment.”
Nodding, you stand and make your way up to the room, swaying your hips a bit extra for the Father. He smirks when he notices this, taking another sip of his beer as he feels his length twitch to life ‘neath his robes.
He waits a few minutes, finishing the mug of beer and leaving behind a tip for the barkeep before walking up to the room he’s reserved for the night. When he walks in, the sight of your nude body illuminated by the warm orange glow of the crackling fire greets him. Gods, is there a better sight to behold than this one?
Your chest rises and falls gently, rhythmically, breasts rising and falling along with your steady breathing. He’s hypnotized, momentarily, drinking in the angelic beauty that lays across the bedsheets.
His robes are swiftly removed and draped over one of the chairs, leaving him in only his undergarments. He points to your legs with his pointer and middle fingers, silently indicating that he’d like you to spread them. You do.
“Tell me, angel. Have you heard the Biblical tale of Adam and Eve?”
You shake your head, biting down on your lip when he takes a step forward towards the bed.
“No, Father, I have not.”
He smirks, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Remnants of his hot breath tease your bare skin, causing you to shudder.
“Adam and Eve were the first human beings created by God, and they inhabited in the Garden of Eden. They were given allowed to use or consume any of the other plants in the Garden, but they were told not to eat any of the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”
You gasp when his hands suddenly seize your ankles and pull you to the end of the bed.
“But,”
The Father sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact.
“They failed to resist the temptation. The fruit...”
He pushes your legs as far apart as they can go, then lightly traces your glistening slit with his fingertips. Your breath hitches in your throat at his featherlight touch on your center.
Your eyes widen when his nose nudges your outer lips and he takes a long, slow inhale of your natural scent. He shudders, groaning under his breath before his tongue suddenly licks an agonizingly slow stripe up your cunt.
“The forbidden fruit was just too sweet.”
Kylo says, licking his lips with a small smirk at the corners of his mouth.
“It was so tender, so juicy; it just felt too right to be wrong, too delicious to be sin.”
You can’t stop the desperate whimper that escapes between your parted lips, insides clenching desperately against themselves. He notices the way your hole puckers, and his smirk grows a bit wider.
His mouth opens, then, and he encapsulates your entire core in a sloppy kiss. Your back arches and you gasp loudly, head pressing back against the pillows. The coarse hairs of his beard scratch your skin in the most delightfully pleasurable way, only adding to the sensations he’s creating with his mouth.
“F-Father--ohh!”
Your feet plant and your hips lift up off the bed.
“Oh gods, mmmm!”
He begins moving with more aggression, passionately slurping up each and every drop of the sweet nectar that leaks from your cunt. His assault doesn’t let up, not until his efforts bring you to the ultimate high.
“Father! F-Father, oh Christ!”
You shriek softly, legs quaking as you hit your peak with an Earth-shattering intensity.
Kylo pulls away shortly after you’ve ridden out your high and he’s consumed every single drop of your sinful sweetness, upper lip and beard glistening with your release. He practically rips his undergarments off and wraps a large, veiny hand around the base.
“Lay up at the head of the bed, now. I shall claim your innocence tonight, angel.”
Your eyes widen and you sit up, chewing on your now-tender bottom lip.
“I d-don’t know...”
The Father shakes his head, quickly pinning you to the bed, caging you with his large body. You watch his silver Holy Cross necklace shimmer in the dim light, reminding you that he is a man of God and that he would never ask anything of you that he didn’t think you were ready for.
“Do not fear it, my child; why would His Holiness grant us the bodies we posses, ones that can bring such pleasures, if we aren’t intended to use them? Trust me, angel, all will be alright.”
You’re not much of a religious woman, but he makes a reasonable argument...
“O-Okay.”
He smiles, reaching down to place a gentle kiss on your lips.
“I will go slowly for you. It may hurt at first, but I promise it will get better.”
You nod.
“I trust you, Father.”
His tip swipes all through your slick before settling at your entrance, ready to push in. He holds your cheeks, looking deep into your eyes.
“Are you ready, my angel?”
As soon as you nod, his pelvis pushes forward and his length pushes through your unstretched walls. You cry out, tears instantly burning your eyes as they instantly begin to collect in the corners.
Once he’s fully seated inside you, he remains still, jaw clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll crack his teeth should he clench any tighter. It’s taking every single ounce of his willpower not to fuck you raw, but he knows what he must take care of you this eve. There will be plenty of time for all of that in the future.
“You’re doing sssso well, angel. Taking me so well.”
His words of encouragement, his mutters of of praise reassure you that this was a good choice. You’ve never felt so stuffed in your entire life, not even after holiday feasts and the more your insides stretch in accommodation, the better it begins to feel.
You nod up at him, the first tear escaping your overflowing eyes.
“I’m a-alright now, Father.”
He plants a kiss on your forehead, still cradling your face as he draws back, then pushes forward once more. The noises that escape your lips are positively sinful and they only encourage him on, hips steadily gaining speed and force with each passing moment.
Soon, your body and breasts and excess flesh bounce in time with his hips’ sharp, forceful thrusts. By now, the pain has completely subsided and made way for the pleasure to build in your loins.
“S-So sssweet,”
He grunts quietly in your ear.
“So j-juicy and tender...and you’re a-all mine...”
Your small whimpers and gasps turn to scandalous moans and cries of desperation. You hold onto his arms tightly, fingernails digging deep into his alabaster skin, surely leaving marks.
“Please, Father, please...”
Kylo can feel his control, his restraint beginning to slip as he nears climax. He’s unable to hold it off, unwilling to deny himself this heavenly pleasure whilst his cock is stained with fresh virgin’s blood.
The thought of that alone thrusts him right up to the edge, looking over the cliff to the peak of bliss.
“Y/N, my a-angel, I...I will not be able to endure much l-longer.”
You nod, grabbing hold of his hair firmly.
“It is alright, F-Father. Use m-me, use my body to bring yourself p-pleasure.”
Those words send him careening into climax and he quickly pulls away just as the first rope of his foggy liquor emerges. His hips still give half-hearted mock thrusts as he spills his creamy seed all over your puffy, used cunt.
He crawls off of you once he’s finished, beginning to redress immediately. You sit up, shakily and already you can feel the pain in your loins beginning to build from the Father’s hardened intrusion.
Your eyes catch sight of some red dripped down onto the bedsheet and your cheeks warm, acute worry flaring up inside of you. Is that supposed to happen?
Almost as if he read your worried mind, Father Kylo steps up to you and holds your chin up so that you can look into his eyes.
“Bleeding is typical for virgins, nothing is the matter, I promise.”
You nod, sighing softly in relief.
“Thank you, Father.”
He smiles, bending down to place a chaste kiss on your lips.
“It is I who should be thanking you, my child. Thank you for giving your innocence to me, for trusting me. You did so well for me tonight, angel.”
Your cheeks warm in flattery, smile splitting your face. But, your expression falls into a frown when you see him drape the cloak over his shoulders.
“Must you leave so soon, Father?”
Father Kylo nods as he pulls on his shoes.
“I must get back to the convent, angel; I apologize for having to rush off so quickly. But, I promise I will make it up to you next time, yes?”
You nod, offering a small, disappointment-tinged smile.
“Yes, of course, Father. I understand.”
He reaches ‘neath his robes and pulls out the small, silver Holy Cross necklace, draping it around your neck.
“Something to remind you of me, ‘till we next meet.”
Kylo says, kissing your temple.
“Farewell, my beloved angel.”
Your lips tug up into a genuine smile, fingers toying with the silver charm as he approaches the door and slips out.
“Farewell, Father.”
#mrs-gucci#mrs-gucci writes kylo ren#mrs-gucci's sunday funday events#medieval au#medieval kylo#priest!kylo ren#priest au#medieval priest!kylo#adcu#adcu fanfiction#adcu fanfic#kylo ren#kylo ren fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren x you#kylo ren x reader smut#kylo ren smut#kylo x reader#kylo x you#kylo smut#adam driver#adam driver fanfic#adam driver character#adam driver fanfiction#adam driver smut#adam driver fandom
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To Hell and Back PART 3
Hi so a lot of people liked that last part, thank you for the support, it really made me smile and made my day. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific scene then feel free to ask, my dms are open, but for now here’s part 3! This series spans across the ending of season 4 if it wasn’t already clear enough.
✰
The flight to Windsor, Ontario, Canada felt longer than it should have. Trying to avoid Spencer’s prying and profiling eyes was harder than it seemed. Even staring at her book wasn’t enough to keep him from noticing how long she had been on a single page. And the looks the team were now giving to a certain profiler who seemed to be studying every movement of his co-worker were hard to ignore.
By the time the plane had touched down, Y/n had cleaned up her space and was sitting on the edge of her seat, book in hand and satchel across her chest. As soon as it was clear to leave Y/n was out of her seat, mumbling a thank you to a flight attendant and hurrying down the steep steps. The normal cars they had assigned to them were directly outside, waiting for the team. Flinging an SUV door open and hurrying into the back, ducking behind the headrest, she tried her best to see over her hiding spot to check if the hour ride to R.C.M.P. Headquarters was going to be one filled with torture, or one filled with awkward silence.
She was just about to sit up, realizing how idiotic she looked and how stupid she would feel if someone spotted her when an uncoordinated Reid tried to hurry down the steps without looking, well… hurried. A grimace settled onto his face as he squinted through the sunlight trying to spot her. Rossi was next behind him, taking slow steps. Clapping a hand on his back and leaning in, Rossi muttered something in Reid’s ear, smiled and then started for the car. Reid’s demeanor shifted, his shoulders went stiff and then relaxed, his expression softened and then fell. He took off for the next car.
Y/n sat upright and stuffed her nose into her book as Rossi entered the car, pulling his seatbelt on before finally starting the car. “You can sit in the front if you like, you know?” He offered, looking up in the mirror to meet her eyes. Hesitating, she dropped her book and moved to the door. Settling into the front passenger seat, she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. The drive started out fine at first, Rossi didn’t try to make conversation and let the silence flow comfortably around them. After the first 20 minutes of driving and staring down endless highways, Y/n had grown restless and drew her book back to her, in need of something to occupy her mind. As she read her eyes grew heavy, sore, and her head fell forward slowly. Every so often she fought against closing her eyes fully and instead found herself sinking further and further into her seat. By the time she had woken up, the drive was over.
✰
“Come on Sunshine,” a voice laughed near her ear, startling her out of her sleep. Craning her now sore neck to peer up at the person who stood with her door open, trying to unbuckle her now, she rubbed her eyes. “Have a good nap?” He chuckled, taking her satchel from out of the backseat. She grimaced, taking his hands to help lift herself up, steadying her balance. “Where are we, Derek?” She asked, taking a look around. “Headquarters, they dropped your bags off at the hotel, told me to give you your room key for tonight. You were knocked out for a while, Rossi didn’t wanna wake you when we got to the hotel. Don’t worry, we didn’t go through any of your belongings,” he added with a smirk. Looking up at the headquarters, she smoothed her shirt and pulled her into a ponytail, trying to look decent, or at least as if she hadn’t been asleep for the past hour. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking her satchel from his hands. “No problem.”
A thought popped into her head as she pulled the satchel onto her shoulder, “Aren't you supposed to be with Prentiss?” she asked, twisting to look for the other profiler. “Yes, mother,” he chuckled, “I’m heading there now, but the teams inside and I'm apparently on wakeup duty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do,” he answered, walking backwards towards another SUV. “Drive safe,” she called after him, turning to the big building as he called back, “You know it.”
The building was big and red. Bigger on the inside than she anticipated, multiple floors, lots of bustle and busy people. The faint smell of peppermint and air freshener wafted to her nose. As she entered the building she caught sight of the rest of her team, giving a small smile as she started towards them. “Morning sleepyhead,” JJ cooed. Her stomach did flip flops as she came to a stop in front of them, locking eyes with Spencer. “Very funny,” she retorted as the team started to set a stride.
A small elevator sat at the far end of the room, a door titled, “Stairs Access,” stood just across from it. On any normal day Y/n would’ve chosen the stairs, she had always had a problem with the close quarters of an elevator, the uncertainty and danger of such an unstable device had always left her off put. But a long way to the ninth floor on the stairs would not only be physically tiring, but would most definitely be accompanied by a certain doctor to her left who had been dying to talk to her alone. Still, the team became increasingly interested when Y/n stepped in with them. “Someone’s getting brave, huh?” JJ chuckled, “Just too tired to deal with the stairs today.”
The hallway the doors opened to was short and led out to a giant office full of people. Tan walls extended on each side, the tiles on the floor reflected the lights above them. A man met Rossi in the entrance of the room, exchanging pleasantries and introducing the team, it was impossible not to notice the way Spencer’s gaze kept flickering to hers. Two red offices stood at the far end of the room and the room to the right of them. Walking in between the desks and making his way to one of the rooms, Jeff led the team, “I've got a victim board and timelines set up on monitors in the conference room. Anything you need, you've got the run of the place.”
“We appreciate it,” Rossi replied lightly.” “Don’t thank me, Thank the unsub. He's the one that put you all in charge.”
Something about that last remark hit Y/n the wrong way, wrinkling her nose in agitation. JJ excused herself to go talk to Garcia as Y/n took in the room. A long conference table sat in the middle of the room, six chairs pushed into it. A tv hung on the left wall, faces of the victims littering the screen. Rossi took in the site, then moved around the table to make room for Reid and Y/n. Following Reid, she took a second to go over the tv soon realizing that she had already seen the pictures in the file JJ had supplied her with. Realizing that everyone’s backs were to them, Spencer made the quick decision to steal a look at her. Turning on her heel to walk away from the screen, her eyes reached his, the pleading look on his face was enough to make her stomach turn. Guilt flooded her, all he probably wants is his best friend back, this isn’t fair to him. Did I ruin our friendship? Turning around to take her place next to Rossi. “You believe that he killed all these people?” Reid asked, his eyes turning back to the screen, “Fits the profile,” Officer Jeff responded absentmindedly. “How so?” Rossi asked, clearly quizzing his former student, everyone in this room knew of the Unsubs history, but Jeff answered nonetheless. “He got a recent physical trauma. Could be a stressor. Wide disparity of victims. No bodies. Possible border cross. Two entirely different terrains,” He paused, “To pull that off, you'd have to be smart, you'd have to be organized, mobile, physical.” His missing leg ran through Y/n‘s mind once again, before the accident this all could’ve been possible, but now? After such physical trauma? It didn't make sense.
“Military background gives you all that,” Rossi finished for him.
“Exactly,” Officer Bedwell hummed.
“It appears as though he clusters his victims into men, then women, and then back to men again.” Spencer’s voice raised in tone, confusion heavy in his voice.
“What does that tell you?” Officer Bedwell asked.
“At the moment, nothing.”
They were informed that he hadn’t contacted family, nor a lawyer and was awaiting an interrogation. Hotch was the last person to talk, deducing that since this man had contacted the FBI, he would want to speak to whoever he believed was the most in charge.
The interrogation room was dimly lit, only one light directly overhead, the room behind the glass was filled with two officers, Rossi, Reid and Y/n. Crammed into the few chairs there were, Y/n watched, her brows furrowed, as Hotch sat down at the table. William was a tall man, broad shoulders and muscular arms, he sat in silence, a detached look sewn onto his features. A black goatee rested above his lips, his hair was cropped in a buzz cut, understandable due to his military background. His body shows his training too, he sat straight up, shoulders back, hands on his thighs, his legs slightly spread. The pinnacle of perfect posture.
It was silent as Hotch announced himself as the behavioral analysis unit chief from the FBI. William’s face didn't change as his eyes lifted to Hotch’s, “You’re here to analyze me.” This wasn’t a question, but a statement. “No, I’m here to take your confession and find out where you dumped your victims,” Hotch corrected. Y/n could see the technique Hotch was using beginning to form, diminishing any hope of negotiation. Setting himself in charge in the room and demanding the attention, making it clear that this was Hotch’s room, not Heightower’s, taking away any slimmer of wiggle room around the conversation. He continued, “Or are you wasting my time?”
Y/n’s boss was always great at keeping his voice firm but somewhat monotone when speaking to unsubs, not letting emotion intercede unless it was directly needed. “I gave you names, I gave you dates.” William bounced around the subject, his voice low and gravely, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. Hotch reigned the conversation back onto topic easily, “You didn’t give me a dump site.” It was silent for a moment, as if an unspoken staring contest had started, the Unit Chief’s jaw was set, William was withholding information and he wasn’t intending on opening up anytime soon. “You were a sergeant,” Hotch started, again not a question, a statement intended to gain an emotional reaction, “You led troops, probably lost men.” Y/n’s eyes flickered to William’s just as he let out a hesitant, “a few.”
“What would their parents feel if they didn’t know whether their sons were dead or alive?” Hotch tried. The tension shifted uncomfortably. A cord was struck, “Don’t lecture me on notifying families, I’ve been on those doorsteps,” as William spoke his voice rose slightly from the whisper it had started out as. He’s protective of these men, his angry tone shows Hotch’s words affect him, why is he trying so hard to make us not see that? “No one cares about those people, why should I?” His head shakes as he says it, even his own body is rejecting the words he’s saying, subconsciously disagreeing with them. Hotch’s words have caught him off guard, this technique is making him emotional.
Rossi’s voice interrupts Y/n’s thoughts, “Here we go.”
“What do you mean?” An officer to the right of Y/n’s chair asks, he leans against the interrogation window, unknowingly making her scoot her legs closer to herself. He mindlessly takes up so much of the little space beside her that she cringes uncomfortably away from him. “An interrogation doesn’t really start until you get the first lie,” Rossi finishes, so he picked up on it too. Hotch’s voice silences all of them as he resumes the conversation through the glass, “See that’s just the thing William, you were out there every night. You took their photographs, you checked off their names in a notebook,” William remains blank as he mutters, “So?” Hotch grimaces at the answer and then continues, “Your behavior was more like a protector, like someone in the army doing a bed check.” If Hotch’s words resonate with anything at all to him, he doesn’t show it and lets him continue. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to confess to a crime you didn’t commit,” Hotch accuses.
Suddenly all reservation in William is gone, his lips quiver as he spits the words out angrily, “The folks on the street, did they tell you people were missing?” It's like he’s trying to prove their absence rather than his own guilt.
“If my team is here there are cases we are not working on, you are wasting our time.”
“10 people dead, huh?” Swallowing harshly, scowling, challenging Hotch, “That’s not enough for you?”
“I’ve watched the tape of you at the border cross over and over again, you wait until every guard is out of the booth before you drive into it,” Hotch raises his voice, as he leans closer to the table, “if you wanted to kill people you had your chance.”
William’s voice is booming now, his face enraged, “Are you investigating these murders or not?!” His whole body shakes violently as silence fills the room. “So that’s what this is all about?” Hotch questions, “Making sure we investigate?” What a way to do so. “If you thought people were being killed you should’ve gone to the police in Detroit.” Another shudder rips through William, “I already did,” his voice is low as it break. “3 times. They told me the kind of people I was looking for disappeared.” His voice trembled, the light reflecting off tears in his eyes, “They said that’s the way life on the street works.” Silence enveloped them again.
Struggling to keep his composure, he enunciated every word, “Do. You. Believe. The. People. I. Showed. You. Are. Missing?”
“I believe it's possible.”
Rage wracked through his frame once again, “Don’t give me a political answer!”
Hotch hesitated, giving himself a moment before he responded, “Tell me about what happened the night before the border cross.” William opened his mouth and then shut it before starting, “I did a head count,” he began. “Every night for the past month, like we do in Baghdad. That night I saw a boy named Charles wasn’t where he usually camped down.” The mention of a boy sends a pang of pain through Y/n’s chest, wondering how old the boy must have been. Hopefully he had meant a young man, rather than a young boy. The idea of a child in the case was a sore subject. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she hoped she hadn't shown any visible signs of discomfort.
“So I made another pass.”
“He didn’t turn up?”
“By the morning I knew he was gone,” another scowl had set on his face, though this time it wasn’t targeted at the man across from him. “William,” Hotch started, sympathy thick in his voice, “People don’t do what you did out of honor.” He paused, “They do it out of love.” William’s lack of a response was enough to confirm their suspicions. “Who were you looking for on the streets every night.” His brows furrowed as William prepared himself before continuing, “I got home from Iraq, first thing my mother told me was that my baby sister Lee was on the streets.” Y/n’s heart sunk, with the way he’d been acting there was no way this story was going to end well. Rossi must have noticed it too because out of the corner of Y/n’s eye she watched him shake his head slightly, turning away from the glass before coming back to it, exhaling roughly.
William continued, “She asked me to find her.”
“But you couldn’t?” Hotch pried.
“I managed once. Brought her home, we got her fed.” His eyes fell, staring longingly as his voice broke yet again, “She even wore my dog tags. For good luck.” Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. No matter how long you were on this job, no matter what horrors you’d seen, it never gets easier to hear from the relatives of people who’ve gone missing. The team was evidence of that, Rossi’s head was to the side, face contorted in uncomfort. The officers sat quietly, staring at their laps. Though Hotch had to remain indifferent in order to keep control of the room, his face was no longer hard and stern. While he held his lips together in a tight line, a deep sadness sat behind his eyes, something only his colleagues who’d worked with him for so long would pick up on.
“Two weeks later, she slipped back onto the streets.” Composure was no longer an option for William, his breathing came out in short, quick breaths as his chest visibly shook. The tears spilled over, “That was it,” he barely managed to let out, another shaky breath in.
“William, you’ve got so much information about the other potential victims, why not Lee?” Hotch asked, though this was a raw subject, it was still vital to know. Blinking rapidly in order to control the tears and reign his emotions back in, Heightower replied, “I hid it in a spare tire, in my car.” That explained why none of the team had any knowledge about Lee, organized and brilliant, William had intentionally left her out of the files he created for us. He wouldn't have even been considered had the officers known how close he really was to one of the victims, Y/n pondered. “I needed to wait until I was sure,” while the tears had stopped and his breathing was now in control, his hands still shook slightly under the table as he finished, “that you were on board.”
That was all the team needed to hear, Frankie excused herself from the room. Walking down the hall as she assembled her thoughts. The car would definitely be in evidence somewhere, how they hadn’t managed to find the new piece of the puzzle was surprising, confused she wandered the hall trying to find the stairs.
The sound of the stairwell door opening made Y/n falter. She’d reached a platform between the set of stairs, eyes glancing to the door at the end of the platform that would take her to the hallway. Stairwells were where most assaults happened, but due to the fact that she was in a police department, she pushed that thought to the back of her head and continued to the next set of stairs. It wasn’t until she heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps behind her, that she realized she should have taken her chances with the elevator.
“ Y/n?” A pang of dread ran through her body in slow waves. Turning slowly on her heel, her eyes met Dr. Reid’s. His face was contorted, his eyes fixed on the ground, then fluttered back up to hers. “I-”
“Did I miss something on Heightower?” His eyebrows furrowed, confusion making it’s way on to his features.
“No- I just-”
“Does this have anything to do with this case or a previous one?”
“No-”
“So this is not work related?”
“No, it’s not, but-”
“Then we should not be having this conversation.” Starting back down the stairs, he was next to her in a moment. “I know that, but the other night I didn’t mean to make it seem like-” “Spencer,” her nose scrunched up in uncomfort. “Please, don't do this.” Another flight of steps was through. At this point she was counting them down in her head.
“Y/n, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, it just seemed like the worst time and I didn’t want you to-” “Spencer, please.” One more flight to go.
“Okay but give me a moment to-”
“Spencer!”
Blinking back tears, she tried to reason with him. “That was the single most humiliating thing I’ve ever done. Just having to look you in the eyes right now is unbelievably painful. Knowing that our friendship will probably never go back to the way it was is killing me and you bringing attention to it every five seconds is making it worse,” she rambled. “I mean for God’s sake Morgan won't stop trying to profile me and Hotch looks at me like a kicked puppy. I can tell everyone here is second guessing my decision to come back and I’m already having a hard enough time proving that I’m okay without your worried glances making everything worse so please. Give me some space, some time before I have to have this conversation with you.”
Spencer’s eyes flickered down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“I just can’t do this right now Spencer.” Opening the door and entering the lobby she made her way to an officer, flashing her badge and asking where the evidence storage room was.
✰
okay that’s part 3, again, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that's chill too. tagged everyone who wanted a part 3. i know it was pretty long but i wanted to get a lot of the dialogue out of the way so i can focus on the reader and spencer in the next couple parts, rather than just the case, although that is pretty important. thank yall so much for the kind words!! and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 4, let me know! if you want me to stop tagging you then let me know that too lol. part 4 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)
@anarchy-n-glitter i love you sm, thank you for the support lol.
@reidselle
@doctorspenceryeet
@ashwarren32
@reidsbookclub
Part 2
Part 4
Masterlist
#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds self insert#reid#reid x reader#reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#reid imagine#spencer x you#spencer x reader#spencer x y/n#spencer imagine#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid comfort#fanfic#fanfiction#series#fanfic series#fanfiction series
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This Week In BL
May 2021 Part 1
Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.
Ongoing Series - Thai
Second Chance Ep 6 fin - Chris & Jeno were TOO CUTE we got ALL the tropes: parental passing on the torch of care (a rare one), hair drying, hair touching, the prom with everyone was in adorable suits (Tang Yi approves), GOOD kisses, confessions galore, boop (+ bonus pool boop), tumblr now thinks they’re lesbians (new trope I’ve just decided on), claiming, rooftop assignation. Conclusion? This is one of the best BL pulps I’ve seen in a really long time. We are PLEASED!
Y-Destiny Ep 7 - a pretty classic take on the “reformed player/rake” romance trope plus a ton of BL visuals like back hug, messy eater, rooftop assignation, and pillow clutch (a Cheewin signature). Cheewin sure knows his tropes (he should, he started a lot of them and his YYY Special is nothing but a trope parody pastiche, it’s Absolute BL before Absolute BL and A LOT weirder).
Lovely Writer Ep 11 - The casting closet has come to play. I really like that LW is taking the industry and fans to task. It’s hard to watch sometimes, but it SHOULD be a little squirmy and uncomfortable. This was an excellent Episode 11 and we all suffered for it. I hope they can resolve it well in the finale. They’ve done great work so far, I trust them.
Close Friend Ep 3: (Willing or Not) - sports kinda romance, it was cute because MaxNat are cute together, but it reminded me a lot of their arc in Why R U, which is to say, short and somewhat forgettable.
Fish Upon The Sky Ep 5 - am I over this? I think I might be over it. Not into the punching down humor in terms of femme or Sikhs, I don’t like Pi, and found myself fast-forwarding through most of this ep. Mostly I only watch when Mork is on screen. I wanna know why Mork likes Pi so much, but that’s all I’m interested in. Tons of tropes but I’m not even motivated to screen cap, which is saying something. Look, the characters pretty much lack motivation and so I’m losing sympathy.
Nitiman Ep 1 - oh I like it. This is the standard Thai BL delicious trash I know and love. 2 Moons university setting pastiche, check! Engineering students = gay, check! Instant hate vrs instant love, check! Seme vrs tsundere uke, check! Plus the side dishes are tasty. I’m disposed to be pleased, especially as Fish is disappointing. Sadly they insisted on singing, but you can’t have everything.
Love Area Ep 1 - I’m not holding this post just for one BL that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find tomorrow, so I’ll let you know how it is next week.
Ongoing Series - Not Thai
Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korea) Ep 7-8 fin - so flipping cute, their little smiles, just GAH. Bit of a dead fish kiss but I don’t care because I loved this tiny show full of soft bois and no one saying anything directly (except our man with the poetry, I hope he finds his true love). Adorable.
Papa & Daddy (Taiwan) Ep 3 - HOW IS THIS SHOW SO WHOLESOME? This is possibly the cutest thing on air right now (and I don’t actually like children). Just GAH! The actual Taipei pride footage. I didn’t even mind all the product placement (I happen to like that bubbly myself). It’s just so cute. Everyone should be watching this. It will make you feel so good and happy. Not gonna lie, this ep is ALL about queer found family and I might have ugly cried over the teddy bear at the end - in a good way.
*** Quick note because I think it’s super important: in 2020 Taiwan Pride was called March for the World. Why? Because Taiwan managed to control C19 better than any other country, they were the only country able to hold pride safely, so they did it for all of us. I don’t feel like they got enough recognition for this.
Word of Honor (China) Ep 34-36 fin - In the end, WoH turned out to be a morality tale about the superiority of agrarian society over semi-nomadic tribes combined with a message about enduring love profoundly undermined by Chinese censorship. It’s like this amazing meal. I ate my fill, and enjoyed every bite, but had a bit too much, and now I have heart burn. Am I upset about the ending? Sure am. Good for them for manipulating my emotions! Was this a great drama? Yes. Did I expect this from China? Sure did. Do i feel betrayed anyway? Sure do. I guess these things are going to have to coexist in my psyche. Along with heart burn. Here have the actual-not-really-epilogue-ending. It's wafer thin.
I’m putting this one to bed. I feel like I’ve said my piece and I want to move on from 36 courses of pretty men in pretty robes full of pretty innuendoes and deadly peanuts. I’ll miss the big fuck off white fan, tho.
My Lascivious Boss (Vietnam) Ep 5 - still very much enjoying it, the secret identity lies are beginning to unravel, tension is increasing. I don’t see how they can resolve this in just one episode tho, so this series might go longer than 6 episodes (rare for Vietnam).
HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 8 - I demand Boxiang & Zhigang (repping for the healthy LTR and marriage equality) show up in every HIStory installment henceforth. This was a cute ep, lots of good communication & tropes. Still not sure how I feel about the stepbrothers, but can’t complain about their chemistry (waves at TharnType). Speaking of, how awesome that Yongjie caught the man he always wanted, that man is a SUPER bossy bottom, and Yongjie is like ...
Gossip
Crazy rumor that Singto has a new BL in the works (totally unsubstantiated). It’s Still Just Us (frankly, the biggest strike against this being true is how grammatically correct the title is).
Vietnam is messing with our heads and hearts by putting the leads from Nation’s Brother and Most Peaceful Place together into a delightful little love triangle of... something or other. Honestly, I’ve no idea what this is. The actors playing around? A new series? An advertisement? What?
Breaking News
Mandee (of Why R U fame) dropped a “mini intro” for something that they’re calling Bed Friend series. HI BEER! But I thought these two (James & Net) were the side dishes for Middle Love AKA Middleman's Love. I am so confused. (Get your titles together Thailand, no one wants you going down the Taiwanese rabbit hole, mm’kay?)
Taiwan would call it: Middleman’s Middle Love: Bed Friend.
Top Secret Together got a full trailer with subs. I’m kinda over ensemble pulp pieces (like Close Friend, Bothers, Y-Destiny) but the presence of Newyear makes this one I’m still going to watch. It starts this Friday on Line TV.
Cutie Pie the series got a teaser (fundraising trailer). Arranged marriage, home/office set, Thai BL staring Zee? Sign me tf up! I am so excited, I hope they can make this happen. Deets here. (Thanks @heretherebedork for the tip.)
Next Week Looks Like This:
Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International accessibility reasons.
Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.
Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.
#asian bl#bl update#episode recap#this week in bl#asianbl#thaibl#thai bl#second chance the series#close friend the series#y-destiny#lovely writer#nitiman#love area the series#taiwanese bl#HIStory 4: Close To You#Papa & Daddy#vietnamese bl#My Lascivious Boss#word of honor#chinese bl#Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding#korean bl#middle love#middleman's love#bed friend series#top secret together#cutie pie the series
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“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you."
Warnings: N/A
Pairing: James Potter x Reader
Words: 2.8k
Summary: James Potter is desperately in love with you.
Part One “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her, not me.”
Part Two "James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”
(Hi! This is part three of my James Potter series. Feel free to read those before hand!)
It was odd to see you without James. It seemed that after the Gryffindor party, you had disappeared. It was rare to see you during meal times and you were nothing but a passing figure in the corridors, fleeing before the boys could stop you. It wasn’t just Remus you were dodging, Sirius could barely find you in a crowd and Peter had spoken to you all but once these past few weeks. James, it seemed, was taking your absence the hardest. He frequently turned to his side to tell you a witty or inappropriate joke only to find that you weren’t there. Living without you was torture. Living without the person he loved was torture. And, what made it worse, was that it was his doing that brought this fate upon the Marauders. Remus Lupin, to put kindly, was extremely fed up. He missed his friend and found himself quite lonely studying in the library. And if he were to catch you somewhere, reading or doing homework, you were quiet and reserved, almost fragile to an extent. So, Remus made it his mission, after a grueling day of classes, to find you. He stalked the halls, peering left and right, checked the Astronomy Tower and the Owlery and the kitchens. It was only until he found you, tucked away and unseen, in the back of the library that he let out a sigh of relief.
Remus pulled a chair from the table and sat down, staring at you intently. “Right, Y/N. This has got to stop.”
“What are you on about, Remus?” you asked, raising your eyes from your book that you were barely reading.
“Don’t play dumb!” Remus used his hand to refer to you, “This has got to stop. It’s become ridiculous.”
“Rem-”
“No, just listen to me. I don’t want to raise my voice or become angry, but you’ve beyond frustrated me. Y/N, this has got to stop, you cannot go on like this.”
“Go on like what?” you asked sharply.
“Like this!” you knew exactly what Remus was talking about. You had become quite skinny, almost gaunt like. Your body adorned an old knitted sweater that James had given you after his growth spurt. It engulfed your body and swallowed you whole. Your face has lost its colour, and your paleness reached all over your skin. You looked sick. Lovesick, if you will, and suffering from heartbreak and losing the battle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you gazed back at your book, hoping Remus would leave.
“Damn it, Y/N. Stop it.” Remus slammed his hand on the table, making you jump. Remus had never raised his voice at you, but looking in his eyes, you could see how desperate he was. Remus redacted his hand and shook his head, “I’m sorry.” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly, reaching to place your hand on his.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I know,” you said truthfully, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb, “but I’m alright.”
“No, no you’re not, Y/N. This isn’t you. The person sitting here isn’t you.” Remus trailed off. If this is what love is, Remus thought, then maybe he didn’t want it. He could see how this was tearing you apart, inside and out. “Everyone misses you. James misses you.”
“I miss you too,” your voice quivered a bit, hearing James’ name struck a blade in your throat.
“He’s not the same, y’know? Have you noticed?”
You couldn’t say you had. Every time you had seen him in the corridor or in the common room, you practically ran away. It was utter agony to see the man who you so desperately loved, not love you back. But, if you had lingered, if you stayed for mere seconds, you would have seen how broken James was. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair as he usually did, but the smile was nearly blank and his hair was pulled nervously.
“Rem-”
“I know,” he sighed, “But at least think about coming back, okay? It’s scaring me to see you like this.”
You nodded, “I love you, Moons.”
Remus squeezed your hand, sending you a worried smile and stood up to leave you alone with your thoughts. As you sat there, you found yourself playing with James’ sweater, fiddling with and pulling out the loose strands. You feared that this was the end of yours and James’ friendship, perhaps even for good. You weren’t sure you could go back to being friends, it simply felt too emotionally difficult to be nothing but mates. You couldn’t do it. A small part of you wanted to be angry with James. In fact, you wanted to be furious at him for toying with your feelings like that. You wanted to scream and send him a jinx that would cause his head to become an octopus. Maybe then he’d see how much he sucked. But, you couldn’t. You couldn’t even be annoyed. The only thing you could feel was the throbbing hurt of your broken heart and helplessly missing a certain James Potter.
Sirius had become just as frustrated if not even more frustrated than Remus. He had become fed up with constantly telling James to grab life by the balls and tell you how he truly feels. It became too much when James was fidgeting during breakfast before his second Quidditch game.
“James Middle-Name-That-I’ve-Forgotten Potter!”
James looked up alarmed, “Padfoot? What’s wrong? You never call me James,”
“You! You’re what’s wrong.”
“Padfoot, don’t do this right now, I’m already nervous enough for the game.”
“This is the absolute last time I’ll say it if you don’t tell Y/N how you feel, I won’t talk to you for a week and we both know that’ll be right awful.”
“I’ll do it! I swear, I’ll do it, it just has to be the right time. And-and now, it’s just not.”
“Then when will be the right time?” Sirius prodded, “In a year? Two? When you’re old and wrinkled?”
James bit his lip, knowing full well that Sirius was right. “I’ll tell her at the party tonight,”
Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah, like that turned out well last time you did that.”
“Well! I-okay? It’ll be fine!” James groaned loudly. Why was he such a coward?
“I mean it, James. Do it, or you’ll regret it.” Sirius pointed. “I didn’t pretend to be Y/N and fake kiss you for nothing.”
“You were the one who pretended to kiss me!” James accused,
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” Sirius clicked his tongue.
“I didn’t,” James said.
Although James felt joyous over his quidditch game win, he could feel the nerves bundled in his stomach. As he reached the common room James swallowed harshly and plainly greeted the partying Gryffindors who congratulated him.
“Drink of firewhiskey?” Someone offered him, James shook his head.
“No thanks, mate. All yours.”
James searched the common room, his eyes scanning the heads of the bouncing and swaying students. His brown eyes locked with Sirius who sent him back a pointed look with eyebrows raised. He had to do it. He had to do it now. James Potter blinked, hoping to find you somewhere in the crowd with a smile on your face that he so loved. James pushed against the throng of students before reaching Remus who was leaned against the wall.
“Moony,” James said with relief.
“There you are! Hold on,” Remus fixed James’ glasses that seemed to have come askew and crooked on his nose. “Two wins in a row, how bloody lucky are you?”
“Yeah yeah,” James waved it off before asking frantically, “Where’s Y/N?”
Remus’ face dropped and his eyes showed nothing but wariness, “Why?”
“I need to tell her something.”
“Have you been drinking again?”
James shook his head rapidly, “No. Where is she?”
“Prongs, I think-”
“Moons, I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this. I need to see her, I need to see her and tell her I love her. I need to do it and I need to do it now,”
Remus’ eyes lifted in surprise, “Oh.”
“I know, I know. But, where is she? I need to find her.”
Remus’ thoughts were racing horses and he seemed to piece together what was happening, “James.”
“Please, Remus. Please tell me where she is.”
Remus bit his bottom lip, “I think I saw her in the courtyard, sitting in one of the window sills, but-” Before he could continue, James spun around and hurried out of the common room.
Sirius strutted over and slung an arm around Remus’ shoulders.
“Is he going-”
“Yup.”
“And does Y/N feel-”
“Yup.”
Sirius turned his head with a wide grin, “Thank god. I was nearly ripping out my hair waiting for him to tell her.” Remus hummed in response. As Sirius seemed to quiet, Remus turned to him with questioning eyes.
“I need to tell you something-”
Remus interrupted him, “You pretended to be Y/N for James, didn’t you? That’s why you pretended to wear a dress.”
Sirius sighed pathetically, “Yeah. And I kind of liked it.”
James could feel the sweat begin to bead on his forehead, and the adrenaline run through his veins as he looked the corridors for you. This was it. James could feel it. He was ready, he was in love with you and nothing else seemed to matter but the idea of you. You. He loved you. He would rip the skin off his back to keep you warm or swing upside down on a tree with his trousers off just to make you smile.
It was cold. Cold enough to feel a brisk breeze on your shoulders and cold enough for you to wrap yourself in your arms. You enjoyed the quiet, at least you learned to enjoy it. You debated on returning to the common room to attend the party like Remus and Sirius had begged you to, but you quickly decided against it. You stared up at the stars that blinked back at you. Though you were absolute bollocks at astronomy, you found yourself counting the stars, seeking a constellation, or maybe even guidance. A cloud brushed over the dark skies, the twinking stars disappearing into the darkness. You sighed and stared at your feet until you heard something. What was that? It sounded almost like thunder, pounding against the corridor floors. As you curiously faced the source of the noise, you could barely make out a tall figure bounding towards you. You could make out their messy hair that seemed to stick out everywhere. Messy hair. James. It was James. He ran towards the courtyard, pausing to look madly all-around before spotting you. James Potter froze, his mouth coming agape. The adrenaline and rush that he had previously felt faded every slow step he took towards you. Your hands instantly became sweaty and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from his. Should you run? Maybe, if you hurried now, you could make it back to your dorm in minutes. But you stayed. You stayed, watching his every move until he finally reached where you were sitting.
“Hi,” he whispered, barely trusting his voice right now.
“Hi,” you said back, your voice shaky and low. His eyes looked towards the free space next to you on the bench, a silent question if he could sit. Your eyes widened as you scooted over allowing James to sit. It was silent, something neither of you were used to. Before, it was rare that you two had a minute of quietness between you as the conversation seemed to bounce naturally. But now, it was hushed. James clenched his hands nervously.
“Congratulations on your win, James,” you said sincerely, surprised that you had even said something. James inhaled. He didn’t want to talk about quidditch. He didn’t want to talk about anything, he wanted to lean in and kiss you and tell you how much he truly adored you.
“I need to tell you something.” James let out.
“James-”
“No, please? Let me talk.” You stayed silent,
“I made a mistake at the last party.”
“Really, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just forget about it.”
“No, I don’t want to forget about it. It was a mistake. But not in the way you’re thinking. It was a mistake because I shouldn’t have told you how I felt like that. I feel like a right prat and, and.” James lost his words for a moment before clearing his throat, “I should’ve never told you I loved you when I was drunk. And, I should’ve never pretended I had forgotten about it either.”
This was painful. He did remember, he just ignored it. You managed to pull your lips into a small smile, “James. It’s okay. It didn’t mean anything, we can just-”
“No, that’s the thing. It did mean something. It meant something to me. I have been trying, constantly trying, to find a way to tell you, but I’m terrified of losing you.”
“You’d never lose me-”
“Y/N, you little shit,” he let out a small joke making you laugh, “Will you please be quiet because I swear I’ll go mad if you don’t.”
“I... I adore you.” James said finally. Your hands went cold and you struggled to breathe. It was a trick, wasn’t it? Or a nightmare? Or were you daydreaming in the library again and you’ll soon be woken up by the sound of a book dropping?
“What?”
“It’s true. I adore you. I think you are frustratingly annoying sometimes when you lose at exploding snap, when you argue with me I go a little insane and sometimes you snort when you laugh. I had this whole speech planned out and I was supposed to have flowers, but whenever I see you I just. I lose myself a bit. But, I think you’re amazing.” James shifted in his seat, getting a good look at you. You were thin and had bags under your eyes, but you were still just as beautiful as you were when you were children. “And I. I love you.”
“Have you been-”
“No. I haven’t been drinking. I’m as sober as a nun and I can say now, finally, that I, James Potter, am terribly and irretrievably in love with you. I have been and always will be.”
You sat there stunned. James bit his bottom lip nervously, looking up at you, eyelashes on his cheeks as he wondered what you were thinking. He had an anxious smile on his lips.
“Say it again,” you said softly.
“I love you.” James reached and interlocked his fingers with yours.
“Again,”
“I love you.” You let out a breath of shaky air, your lungs could implode. You couldn’t help it. Tears welled in your eyes, you couldn’t even blink them back in time. You could taste the salty tears slip down onto your lips as you began to cry. James looked alarmed and raised his hand to cup your cheek softly wipe the tears with his thumb.
“Please don’t cry Y/N. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“No,” you sobbed, “Please. Don’t say anything. This? This is... perfect.”
“But, you’re crying,” James said worriedly, brushing more tears off your face. You felt yourself do something you hadn’t done in a while. You smiled. You beamed through your tears and sent James a dazzling smile that nearly knocked him off his seat.
“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m... I’m perfectly happy right now.”
James could feel his own eyes begin to tear up as he sniffled and laughed, “Well you’ve gone and made me all soft now.”
“Oh, James. I missed you.” You leaned comfortingly into his hand.
“I missed you too, Love.” James whispered, “And I’ll never leave you again.”
“Will you say it again, for me?”
“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”
You laughed out in relief, wishing to hear him say those sincere words again.
“I love you too. I love you, James Potter. I’ll love you until I stop breathing, until the day I die and even more.”
“Will you say it again for me?”
You closed your eyes, “I love you.”
Under the stars, the stars you had earlier compared your love to James Potter to, he kissed you. The salty tears of both yours and his mixed as you smiled, beyond joyful, effortlessly happy. A weight slipped off your shoulders and landed on the ground as James held your face in his hand and pushed all his love, his endearments, his affections into this kiss. You pulled away, foreheads pressed together as you felt nothing but content. From the beginning of your life together, James Potter knew you were destined to be together, tied with heartstrings. And slowly, but surely, the love you both shared combined, and not even the stars could outshine it.
#james potter#james potter imagines#james potter imagine#marauders imagine#marauders#remus lupin imagine#sirius black imagine#harry potter imagines#harry potter#harry potter imagine
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Twisted 7 - Enemies with Disregard [Spencer Reid x Reader]
A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, smoking, drinking.
Summary: Ice meets fire.
Being heartbroken over a genius whom you weren’t even dating to begin with was not something you saw coming, but here you were.
Lying in bed, eating chocolate and trying your hardest to focus on the show playing on the huge TV.
“That’s a beautiful wedding dress, fuck what your aunt says!” you shouted at the screen, chewing on the caramel chocolate but then looked up when you heard the front door open.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
You groaned and turned your head to see your sister walk into your living room before she leaned on her hip.
“Oh great, you’re still where I left you.”
“I gave one person a key,” you pointed at her, “One. I don’t know if it was mom or you or your wife, but when I remember who it was, that person will be in trouble.”
“It was mom and we had copies made for times like these.”
You made a face and slid a little on the couch, “You should just leave me with my misery.”
“Are you seriously still sulking over that Reid guy?”
“I’m not sulking.”
She heaved a sigh and plopped down next to you, “The guy you liked suspected that you were a killer. So what? It could happen to anyone.”
You shot her a look, “Mina I’m pretty sure it doesn’t just happen to anyone,” you said, “In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure I’m the only person in the entire world who has had this problem.”
“It’s the 21st century,” she reminded you, “There’s some surreal shit happening every day, I’m willing to bet it happened to someone before.”
You popped a piece of chocolate into your mouth “Yeah well. It doesn’t matter.”
“Did he call you?”
“Yeah.” You tossed her the phone and she checked the screen.
“You’re not going to call back?”
You scoffed, “I’m busy.”
“Watching reality TV doesn’t count as being busy,” she said and you shrugged your shoulders.
“The charity ball is tonight, I’ll be busy towards the evening.”
“Oh right, I forgot about that.” Mina mused, “I mean…. At least you can get your mind off him tonight then. There’ll be so many insufferable people in there, you’ll fit right in.”
You were way too bummed out to retort to that.
“Um- about that,” you murmured, “There’s a huge chance that he will show up there.”
Mina blinked a couple of times, “I beg your pardon?”
“Apparently it would be a good place to see if the killer showed up, since they’re obsessed with dad’s life, so Spencer and his team might show up.”
She reached for the chocolate box in your lap and grabbed a piece,
“You must’ve fucked up in your previous life or something to piss off the universe like this,” she commented, “That being said, you’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting?” you exclaimed, sitting up straighter, “He implied—”
“There’s a copycat killer out there who looks up to dad, copying his life, dad was raising you to follow his footsteps and he wanted to talk to you after that first kill. You would’ve thought the same, and that’s not even your job.”
“I just wish…” you trailed off, “I just wish someone would actually have a good opinion of me, you know? I know it’s stupid to want that, but I guess I hoped Spencer would think that about me.”
“Hey,” she kicked at your feet, “I have that good opinion of you. Not just me, my wife adores you and my kid thinks you hung the moon. Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?”
That somehow made you smile and you nodded slowly, turning your gaze to her.
“Damn right,” you said, “Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?”
***
It took you almost three hours to get ready, but after three hours, you were finally happy with the way you looked. You walked through the entrance of the ballroom, fixing your bracelet, the chatter of people talking to each other, the lovely smell and soothing music greeting you.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as terrible as you thought it would be.
After all, it was for a good cause, so you could definitely bear it for a couple of hours
“Oh here you are!” your mother approached you, a smile warming her face, “You look gorgeous in red! I have to be honest with you, for a moment I thought you wouldn’t show up.”
“The thought did cross my mind,” you grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray one of the waiters was holding, “Thanks.”
“Mina mentioned you were having some romantic problems?”
“What?” you let out a snort as she linked her arm through yours, walking beside you, “I don’t have any problems and there’s no…romance.”
“Yet, but the night is still young.”
“Mom,” you whined, “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to set me up with someone in here.”
“I’m not!” she said, “I just think you could meet some people, that’s all. And if you happen to meet anyone and fall in love, decide to get married and have cute little babies—”
“Mom.”
“Tonight would be a lucky beginning!” she waved her hand, “That’s all.”
“That’s all? Oh good thing it’s not much.” You deadpanned, “Anyone ever told you that you have high expectations?”
“Multiple people on multiple occasions, they turned out to be wrong in the end,” she pointed out but before she could say anything else, a middle aged woman with a very high updo stopped you.
“Y/N honey!” she blew a kiss in the air so as not to ruin your or her makeup, “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you in a place like this.”
“Hi Sarah,” you smiled at her, “I’ve just been so busy. And I know I can’t look as good as this lady over here,” you pointed at your mom with your thumb, making her chuckle, “So I figured I shouldn’t even try.”
“How sweet!” Sarah clasped her hands together, “Now that I got you here, Tracy wanted to hire you for her wedding and I promised her I would ask.”
“Ah unfortunately my client list is full,” you hissed in a breath, “So sorry about that, but I can recommend an amazing colleague of mine, I’ll tell my assistant to mail her.”
“That’s great!” she said, “This whole wedding business is insane, she’s under so much pressure— oh there she is, excuse me.”
“Congratulations for the wedding,” you called out as she walked away and your mother raised her brows.
“Your client list is full?”
“Not really,” you said, “But Tracy said my hair looked terrible and pushed me into the pool when we were ten, I’m not helping that bitch with her wedding.”
“She really is insufferable,” your mother whispered, “Like mother like daughter, and I just think—” she stopped talking when her eyes stopped on someone in the crowd and you turned your head to see what she was looking at.
More like who she was looking at.
The older man had to be around your mother’s age, maybe only a couple of years older, but he could definitely pull off the suit and the grays in his carefully styled hair. He looked like he was having fun, telling something to the people around him who looked like they were hanging onto every word he said, but when he caught your mother’s glances out of the corner of his eye, he smiled at her, raising his glass a little.
You could’ve sworn you heard a small giggle coming from your mother and you tried to look not as amused as you felt.
“Well, go on then,” you said, nudging her and she looked at you, suddenly embarrassed.
“Oh sweetheart, no way.”
“Why not? I don’t see a wedding ring.”
“He was widowed ten years ago,” she said and you pulled your brows together.
“And you know that how?”
“Well you inherited those party planning talents from me darling, I know everything about everyone here.”
You clicked your tongue, “Well, okay then. My condolences, go get him tiger.”
“Y/N!”
“What?” you let out a laugh, “Mom, I work with couples, okay? It’s like Hunger Games out there. Besides, what was it you told me? If you happen to fall in love, get married and have cute little babies—“
“Babies?!”
“Dogs, mom. I mean dogs.” You heaved a sigh, “So I’m going to walk away to give the silver fox over there enough space to make his move.”
“He really does look good, doesn’t he?” your mother mused but then shook her head, “What am I saying?”
You tried to stop yourself from laughing, then stepped back, “Go. It’s about time Mina stopped being the only member of this family who’s lucky in love.”
“But sweetheart, you are lucky.”
A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you scrunched up your nose.
“Nah,” you said, “It’s fine, don’t worry.”
“I’m not letting you go away before you tell me what happened with that agent. Spencer Reid, right?”
You lowered your glances to the champagne glass in your hand. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing really,” you shrugged your shoulders, “It’s just…life. He works in the FBI, even if he did have feelings for me and that’s a big if, there would always be that doubt, you know? About how much influence dad has over me. He’s always going to have that suspicion at the back of his mind.”
“Is he going to have that suspicion or are you?” she asked, making your eyes snap up to hers and she heaved a sigh.
“I’m your mother, and you’re not as secretive as you’d like to think sweetheart,” she said, “There’s not a bone in your body that’s capable of doing what your father has done to all those poor people, Y/N. Trust me.”
You swallowed thickly and cleared your throat.
“We can talk about it after you flirt with that silver fox who’s looking at you as we speak,” you said as you downed your champagne, “You know what they said about the killer potentially being here so stay here in the crowd.”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere with him, people would talk!”
“Oh yeah, scandal,” you wiggled your brows, “Be careful, you crazy kids.”
With that, you walked away from her, desperate for a cigarette. You had been here before, and there had to be a balcony somewhere-
Bingo.
Maybe Spencer wouldn’t even show up. That wouldn’t be so surprising after all, FBI had a bunch of other agents, so maybe there were already some undercover agents in here and you didn’t know it yet.
Even if he did show up, you were sure you wouldn’t talk to each other since he would be busy trying to find the copycat and you had been avoiding his calls and texts. The small voice at the back of your mind scolded you, and you wondered for a moment whether Mina was right, whether you were overreacting but before you could reach the balcony, you were stopped by someone and you snapped out of your thoughts.
“Hi,” the guy said, “Y/N?”
You blinked up at him, trying to focus. He looked strangely familiar with dark hair and light blue eyes, and his smile reminded you of something you couldn’t put your finger on. His suit was expensive and just by his posture you could tell you were from the same circle.
All of you were taught the same thing after all. Chin up, back straight.
“Oh God, let me guess,” you said with a sigh, “My mom sent you.”
He pulled his brows together in confusion, “Uh, no she didn’t?”
“Listen buddy, no offense because you look really good but I’m going through some really weird shit right now so these are not the droids you’re looking for—”
“I’m Lincoln,” he cut you off, “We used to be neighbors when we were kids?” he tilted his head, “I uh… we used to play house in your treehouse?”
Your eyes widened as soon as it dawned on you.
“Linc?” your jaw dropped, “Oh my God hi!”
“Yeah, hi,” he grinned at you, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“The last I heard you were in….?”
“Italy,” he said, “I was dealing with my father’s business there but I came back a couple of months ago. How about you? I could swear my mom said you have an event planning business now?”
“Yeah my company deals with events but I specialize in wedding planning,” you said, “Wow. It’s been years huh?”
“Oh yeah,” he nodded, “It’s great to see you. I- I don’t know if it’s appropriate to say but I’m sorry about your dad.”
You forced yourself to smile and grabbed another glass of champagne. “Oh. Thanks.”
“You know, I wanted to reach out but we were both kids, and then afterwards it just felt strange,” he said as you dragged your gaze from him to the room, but as soon as your eyes landed on the figure by the entrance, the rest of Lincoln’s sentence became drowned out in the buzzing in your ears.
God damn it, you were right about the black suit looking good on him.
Spencer looked oblivious to the rest of the crowd just like you were, his gaze focused on you. You saw him swallow thickly, as if the mere sight of you was enough to make him freeze while his teammates spread out in the huge ballroom and you let out a breath, trying your hardest to ignore how fast your heart was beating.
“You okay?” Lincoln’s voice carried through the fog in your mind and your head snapped up.
“Yeah,” you managed to say, “I am. Uh…Linc, it was really nice to see you but I need some fresh air. Let’s catch up sometime, okay?”
Without even waiting for his answer, you made your way to the balcony, pulled open the huge glass door and stepped outside, letting the cool air hit your face. You inhaled deeply, then grabbed your cigarettes from your purse, put one between your lips and lit it. The first drag managed to calm you down just a little as you closed your eyes, exhaling the smoke.
It made no sense that you were this affected by some dude’s presence.
You heard the door open behind you but you didn’t even need to turn your head to see who it was. Your body responded way before you did, your shoulders rolled back and you straightened your back, fixing your eyes in the darkness.
“Did you know that in the United States alone, cigarette smoking causes 80 to 90% of lung cancer deaths?”
You raised your brows, still refusing to turn your head.
“Yeah? Do you have any percentages for killers who smoke as well?” you asked, putting your glass of champagne on the marble railing pillars and you heard footsteps behind you coming closer. You stole a look at him as he leaned back to the pillars, taking out his earpiece.
“Can we talk?”
“It’s a free country Dr. Reid, no one’s stopping you.”
He pulled his brows together, “You never call me that.”
“Well I should,” you said, “I think we can both agree that it’s better to keep it professional.”
“Is that what you want?”
A bitter laugh escaped from your lips, “Fuck what I want,” you murmured to yourself, taking a drag of the cigarette and he cleared his throat.
“I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he said, “It’s not that I suspect you. It’s just that the profile would fit—” he paused, “It was before we met. It’s not what I think of you now.”
You tried to swallow the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat.
“What do I care what you think of me?”
This right there, this was the exact reason why every relationship of yours ended. Mina had called it the shock effect, it was either too warm or too cold with you, in terms of affection. Much like the rest of you, your anger either burned everything on its path or froze everything.
You knew it was wrong, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself once that ice made its way through your veins.
But unlike everyone else who had witnessed it before, Spencer was a profiler and he could see right through that.
“You don’t?”
You shrugged your shoulders, “I can’t worry about what people think of me, really. I wouldn’t be able to pull through what happened if I had.”
“But if what I said hurt you—”
“Hurt me?” you repeated, interrupting him and locked your eyes with him, “You don’t know me, Reid. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
He stayed silent, his hazel eyes looking into your soul but you dragged your gaze away from him and exhaled the smoke into the chilly night.
“You think, what— you think just because we’ve had couple of drinks together along with some flirting you discovered some hidden part of me? Honestly, what you know about me is about the same amount of information that any one night stand with enough skills to use Google would know about me.” You took a sip of the champagne and scoffed a laugh, “But hey, before I forget. Sorry if what I said hurt you.”
“Are you done?”
That was enough to make you turn your head, the question taking you by surprise,
“What?”
“Are you done?” he repeated, for some reason the look in his eyes made you feel like you were falling off a cliff, “If someone’s going to get hurt it’s not going to be you, and you can attack back just fine, are you done proving that? Or should I wait a little longer?”
You clenched your teeth, “You think this is me attacking back?”
“I think this is the only way you know how to protect yourself when you’re hurt.”
A painful smile pulled at your lips and you took a drag of the cigarette,
“You know, after my father was caught and imprisoned,” you said slowly, “After that summer, I had to go back to school. My mom was pretty worried but she let me go anyway but this whole social circle is so small, so every kid’s parent in my school knew about what happened, and they apparently talked about it around my classmates back then. Because on my first day, some of my friends ambushed me in the girls bathroom and in all that chaos, one of them tripped me so I fell and slammed my head to the sink. I had to get stitches, I thought mom would lose it.” You shrugged your shoulders, “I’ve learned that people would blame me for whatever shit dad decided to do when I was a kid, Spencer. You’d have to try a little harder if you wanted to hurt me, because right now you’re just being a cliché.”
You took a step to walk past him but he stopped you, his grip around your arm firm but soft at the same time, as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t cause any discomfort even though the light in his eyes was intense enough to wake goosebumps on your arms.
He knew how to keep it under control just like you.
“It’s not—“ he started but both of you snapped out of it when the balcony door opened.
“Reid, where the hell is your earpiece?” Luke asked through his teeth as Spencer pulled his hand back and you tried to ignore the warm tingles spreading under your skin, “We found a body upstairs.”
Your stomach dropped, “What?”
“Same signature, come on,” Luke said and you and Spencer followed him out of the balcony. The crowd was buzzing already and your mother made her way to you.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah I was just smoking outside.” You answered quickly and looked up at Spencer when you heard him saying your name.
“Stay here in the crowd,” he said as he put his earpiece back and you nodded.
“Hey,” you stopped him before he could take a step, “Be- be careful, okay?”
A small smile ghosted over his lips before he made his way out of the crowd with Luke and you massaged your temples before pulling yourself a chair. Your mother pressed a hand over her chest and sat down next to you, watching the people whispering with scared expressions on their faces.
It took her two minutes to pull herself together and she cleared her throat.
“Is that him?”
You gawked at her for a couple of seconds, your mouth agape.
“Mom, there’s a dead body upstairs,” you reminded her, “Read the room.”
She shook her head, “Of course, it’s the shock talking.” she said, stealing a look at you, “Sorry. It’s such a tragedy.”
“It is.”
“….But seriously, is that him?”
You groaned and closed your eyes, throwing your head back and slipping a little in your seat.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 8
***
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Queer Movies/Books/TV Shows for Pride Month!
Happy Pride everyone!! For your viewing/reading pleasure I have made a (non-exhaustive) list of queer media that I have enjoyed!
Movies/Documentaries
Pride (2014): An old tried and true favorite, which meets at the intersection of queer and workers’ rights. A group of queer activists support the 1985 miners’ strike in Wales (complete with a sing-through of Bread and Roses + Power in a Union)
Portrait of a Lady on Fire: On an isolated island in Brittany at the end of the eighteenth century, a female painter is obliged to paint a wedding portrait of a young woman (or, two young lesbians fall in love by the sea, and you cry)
God’s Own Country: Young farmer Johnny Saxby numbs his daily frustrations with binge drinking and casual sex, until the arrival of a Romanian migrant worker for lambing season ignites an intense relationship that sets Johnny on a new path (Seriously this movie is GREAT and doesn’t get enough love, watch it! It’s rough but ends happily)
The Half of It: When smart but cash-strapped teen Ellie Chu agrees to write a love letter for a jock, she doesn't expect to become his friend - or fall for his crush (as in she falls for his crush who is another girl. This movie was so good, and really friendship focused!)
Saving Face: A Chinese-American lesbian and her traditionalist mother are reluctant to go public with secret loves that clash against cultural expectations (this is an oldie and a goodie, with a happy ending!)
Moonlight: A young African-American man grapples with his identity and sexuality while experiencing the everyday struggles of childhood, adolescence, and burgeoning adulthood (featuring gay men of color!)
Carol: An aspiring photographer develops an intimate relationship with an older woman in 1950s New York (everyone’s seen this I think, but I couldn’t not have it here)
Milk: The story of Harvey Milk and his struggles as an American gay activist who fought for gay rights and became California's first openly gay elected official (the speech at the end of this made me cry. Warning, of course, for death, if you don’t know about Harvey Milk)
Pride (Hulu Documentary): A six-part documentary series chronicling the fight for LGBTQ civil rights in America (they go by decade from the 50s-2000s, and there is a lot of great trans inclusion in this)
Paris is Burning (Documentary): A 1990s documentary about the African American and Latinx ballroom scene. Available on Youtube!
A New York Christmas Wedding: As her Christmas Eve wedding draws near, Jennifer is visited by an angel and shown what could have been if she hadn't denied her true feelings for her childhood best friend (this movie is SO CUTE. It’s really only nominally a Christmas movie and easily watched anytime. Features an interracial sapphic couple!)
TV Shows
Love, Victor: Victor is a new student at Creekwood High School on his own journey of self-discovery, facing challenges at home, adjusting to a new city, and struggling with his sexual orientation (this is a spin-off of Love, Simon, and it’s very sweet and well done! Featuring a young gay man of color)
Sex Education: A teenage boy with a sex therapist mother teams up with a high school classmate to set up an underground sex therapy clinic at school (this has multiple queer characters, including a featured young Black gay man and also in season 2 there is a side ace character!)
Black Sails: I mean, do I even need to put a summary here? If you follow me you know that Black Sails is full of queer pirates, just queers everywhere.
Gentleman Jack: A dramatization of the life of LGBTQ+ trailblazer, voracious learner and cryptic diarist Anne Lister, who returns to Halifax, West Yorkshire in 1832, determined to transform the fate of her faded ancestral home Shibden Hall (Period drama lesbians!!! A title sequence that will make you gay just by watching!)
Tales of the City (2019): A middle-aged Mary Ann returns to San Francisco and reunites with the eccentric friends she left behind. "Tales of the City" focuses primarily on the people who live in a boardinghouse turned apartment complex owned by Anna Madrigal at 28 Barbary Lane, all of whom quickly become part of what Maupin coined a "logical family". It's no longer a secret that Mrs. Madrigal is transgender. Instead, she is haunted by something from her past that has long been too painful to share (this is based on a book series and it’s got lots of great inter-generational queer relationships!)
The Haunting of Bly Manor: After an au pair’s tragic death, Henry hires a young American nanny to care for his orphaned niece and nephew who reside at Bly Manor with the chef Owen, groundskeeper Jamie and housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (sweet, tender, wonderful lesbians. A bittersweet ending but this show is so so wonderful)
Sense8: A group of people around the world are suddenly linked mentally, and must find a way to survive being hunted by those who see them as a threat to the world's order (queers just EVERYWHERE in this show, of all kinds)
Books
Loveless by Alice Oseman: Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush – but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she’s sure she’ll find her person one day. This wise, warm and witty story of identity and self-acceptance sees Alice Oseman on towering form as Georgia and her friends discover that true love isn’t limited to romance (don’t be turned off by this title, it’s tongue-in-cheek. This is a book about an aroace college girl discovering herself and centers the importance and power of platonic relationships! I have it on my TBR and have heard great things)
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters: Reese almost had it all: a loving relationship with Amy, an apartment in New York City, a job she didn't hate. She had scraped together what previous generations of trans women could only dream of: a life of mundane, bourgeois comforts. The only thing missing was a child. But then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Now Reese is caught in a self-destructive pattern: avoiding her loneliness by sleeping with married men.Ames isn't happy either. He thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese—and losing her meant losing his only family. Even though their romance is over, he longs to find a way back to her. When Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she's pregnant with his baby—and that she's not sure whether she wants to keep it—Ames wonders if this is the chance he's been waiting for. Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family—and raise the baby together?This provocative debut is about what happens at the emotional, messy, vulnerable corners of womanhood that platitudes and good intentions can't reach. Torrey Peters brilliantly and fearlessly navigates the most dangerous taboos around gender, sex, and relationships, gifting us a thrillingly original, witty, and deeply moving novel (again, don’t be thrown off by the title, it too, is tongue-in-cheek. This book was GREAT, and written by a trans women with a queer-and especially trans--audience in mind)
A Tip for the Hangman by Allison Epstein: A gay Christopher Marlowe, at Cambridge and trying to become England’s best new playwright, finds himself wrapped up in royal espionage schemes while also falling in love (this book is by a Twitter friend of mine, and it is a wonderful historical thriller with a gay man at the center).
Creatures of Will and Temper by Molly Tanzer: a very very queer remix of The Picture of Dorian Gray (which was already quite queer), featuring amazing female characters, a gay Basil, and a much happier ending than the original.
Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston: The gay prince of England and the bisexual, biracial first son of the president fall in love (think an AU of 2016 where a woman becomes president). Featuring a fantastic discovery of bisexuality, ruminations on grief, and just a truly astonishing book. One of my favorites!
One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston: For cynical twenty-three-year-old August, moving to New York City is supposed to prove her right: that things like magic and cinematic love stories don’t exist, and the only smart way to go through life is alone. She can’t imagine how waiting tables at a 24-hour pancake diner and moving in with too many weird roommates could possibly change that. And there’s certainly no chance of her subway commute being anything more than a daily trudge through boredom and electrical failures. But then, there’s this gorgeous girl on the train (This is Casey McQuiston’s brand new novel featuring time-travel, queer women, and I absolutely cannot WAIT to read it)
The Heiress by Molly Greely: Set in the Pride and Prejudice universe, this takes on Anne de Bourg (Lady Catherine’s daughter), and makes her queer!
Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters: Nan King, an oyster girl, is captivated by the music hall phenomenon Kitty Butler, a male impersonator extraordinaire treading the boards in Canterbury. Through a friend at the box office, Nan manages to visit all her shows and finally meet her heroine. Soon after, she becomes Kitty's dresser and the two head for the bright lights of Leicester Square where they begin a glittering career as music-hall stars in an all-singing and dancing double act. At the same time, behind closed doors, they admit their attraction to each other and their affair begins (Sarah Waters is the queen of historical lesbians. All of her books are good, and they’re all gay! The Paying Guests is another great one)
(On a side note re: queer books, there are MANY, these are just ones I’ve read more recently. Also there are a lot of indie/self-published writers doing great work writing queer books, so definitely support your local indie authors!)
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