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atmilliways · 1 year

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Part Five: Come, Come On

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) - complete

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2455 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, The Pining Is Mutual Actually, Getting Together Additional Tags: Smut, Steve Harrington Has A Praise Kink

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn.

Read it on Ao3

They stumble into Steve’s unlit bedroom, because they both know he has the better mattress.

(Even though Eddie has been trying to pretend he doesn’t know that ever since the day they moved in and Steve had joked, ‘I bet my mattress is better than yours’—and no shit Sherlock, but then Steve hadn’t let it go until Eddie had rolled his eyes and laid on it to officially confirm its superiority.)

Steve lands on his back, Eddie’s hands holding his wrists down to either side of his head and Eddie’s knees to either side of his hips and Eddie practically sitting on his lap. Another press of lips and ragged breathing into each other’s mouths has Steve arching up, not fighting where he’s being held but seeking contact, and Eddie wants to fucking combust.

“Wanted this,” Steve moans into his mouth. “You. Fuck, Eds—”

“Of course you did,” Eddie growls back.

Whether he believes him or not, Eddie has spent too long stewing to let this happen totally on Steve’s terms. That’s not how this is going to go. So he pushes himself up, out of range.

Steve whines, trying to roll his hips again and still not getting what he wants.

“I was trying to be, be cool about it,” he says desperately.

Eddie’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. “Cool? Is that the word the popular kids are using for ‘slutty’ these days?”

Steve pouts, all bratty and defiant, and nods down between them. “You don’t seem to mind that much.”

‘He likes for people to see what they’re missing out on by not being with him,’ Nancy had said.

Well, fuck that. Right now, Eddie decides, is all about showing Steve what he’s missed by not being with him. He leans down and bites at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder, first with teeth and then with suction, and Steve moans, trapped wrists jerking under Eddie’s hands and pressing up into his rings.

“Yes, okay, yeah, yes,” Steve is babbling, “I was being slutty, oh fuck—”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says roughly, licking over the spot when he’s done, “that’s better. So much better when it’s me you’re moaning for.” (He’s never actually heard Steve moaning for anyone else, he’s been careful about that. But he’s thought about it. Punched a few walls over it, and on one occasion a door—which had been very ill-advised, because the damn thing had rebounded off the wall and smacked him in the face. No one is ever going to hear about that, not even on his deathbed.) “Wanna tell me why you were being so slutty, sweetheart?”

And god, the way Steve’s throat bobs at the endearment. “Wanted you to look at me.”

“I was looking at you anyway.”

Enjoying the pink flush that paints Steve’s cheeks at that, Eddie moves both captive wrists up to above the man’s head, pins them with one hand while the other scrabbles down for the button on his own jeans. A groan of relief spills out when he gets that undone and the zipper down, adjusting himself to no longer be so tightly confined, and then he wastes no time going after Steve’s as well.

“But what can I say?” He nips at Steve’s earlobe, worrying it in his teeth to elicit a series of gasps. “Guess I got a little jealous, Steve—or was that what you were going for?”

“Kind of,” Steve admits, his pout a shade more contrite now. His arms are relaxed where Eddie is holding them above his head but his hips strain with every beat at the pulse point Eddie is nuzzling now, like he just can’t help himself. “I didn’t—I think I did it wrong.”

“Mm, and why’s that?” Eddie murmurs against his skin.

“It took too, ah, too fucking long, Eds, please. . . .”

The whine, the way Steve turns his head to seek another kiss, need rolling off him like steam from a kettle quickly coming to a boil, has Eddie immediately indulging him.

(Indulging both of them, really.)

Keeps playing with him while Steve spills about the whole thing. About how knowing Eddie liked guys didn’t mean he’d like him, and feeling self-conscious about having no experience with guys himself. When Eddie had backed off from dancing with him, he’d spiraled into thinking that maybe it was because of the uncaring asshole that he’d been back in high school; that maybe there was no forgiving King Steve.

(Which is fucking ridiculous, because Steve had literally saved his life and that bought a hell of a lot of leeway.)

So he’d set about proving that he was serious, which. . . . “You know how the last time I was any good at dating was in high school?”

(Debatable. By all accounts, King Steve had been pretty slutty before he’d landed Nancy as a girlfriend, though he had landed her. They’d dated for a whole calendar year, even. And Steve hadn’t exactly been going through a dry spell in the spring of ‘86, before that last brush with the Upside Down.)

“And back then,” Steve continues breathlessly as Eddie strokes a ringed knuckle over the front of his boxers, “it usually worked to, uh. Pretend I didn’t care? It, it drove the girls nuts. So I thought—f-fuck—”

Oh my god, Eddie thinks, feeling his face go completely slack. Oh my god. This is either too funny to be real or so stupid he can’t stand it.

“So,” he says slowly. “You decided to woo me by . . . sleeping with other people.”

(Holy fuck, he was going to kill Nancy. Steve had been jealous of him getting laid because he wanted Eddie’s attention, that’s what had been going on with Steve. And she’d fucking known it.)

Steve whines. “Don’t make me defend it.”

“No no, science is on your side, Steve.” The ‘I really like you’ and ‘I think about you all the time’ parts of the conversation are starting to sink in now, zipping around in Eddie’s blood and making him feel almost manic. The growing damp spot on the front of Steve’s underwear is also a contributing factor.

(Holy fuck, Steve wants me.)

Eddie can’t help the grin that stretches across his face as he continues, “You’re like a bird showing off his sexy plumage and ability to attract a lot of mates—”

“Wanted to make sure I knew how to be good for you, if you ever gave me a chance,” Steve blurts out. “But I haven’t, I haven’t done everything. Eddie, I want you. Not just to show me the rest—that too, please god that too because you’re so, y-you’re—but not just that.”

They should probably talk about all of this more. Except Eddie is tired of talking, tired of anything that isn’t kissing Steve now that that’s apparently a thing he can do.

He breaks away after another moment though, shoving Steve’s shirt impatiently up his chest. “This needs to come off.”

“Just the shirt?”

Brat, even now. Eddie bites sharply at his bottom lip. “Depends on how much you want to give me, sweetheart.”

“Everything,” Steve groans. “Fuck, Eds, all of it. All of me. ‘S yours. Yes.” Which is really all he needed to hear, isn’t it?

That was all he’d ever needed to hear.

Eddie has been thinking about this for a long, long time. In the privacy of his room, in the shower, in his dreams. He’s thought about what Steve would sound like, what he’d feel like, what he’d like, when—

Well. Now, with their clothes flung in all directions and Eddie’s rings on the side table and Steve face-down on the mattress, clutching at the sheets with every fraction of an inch that Eddie eases inside of him, moaning with every little teasing rock back only to push further in. Slowly—because despite his hookups this is one of the things Steve somehow hasn’t done. And when Eddie is buried in him to the hilt, still pushing his ass hopefully back to take more, Jesus H. Christ.

“God, look at you,” Eddie murmurs, breathless. “You fucking love this, don’t you, Stevie?” He has one hand in the other man’s hair, pulling until Steve glances back at him and gives a dazed nod.

“Can you,” Steve pants, eyelids fluttering at another tug of his hair, “can you. . . ?”

Apparently unable to assemble the words, he gives up and lets his mouth fall open, craning back to look up with the side of his forehead braced against the mattress. His tongue lolls invitingly, making Eddie shudder.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Eddie leaves his hand in Steve’s hair, brings the other one up from Steve’s hip instead and slides two fingers into his mouth. Kiss-reddened lips close over them immediately, eager to the point of almost jumping the gun, and Steve moans around the digits as his eyes roll back and he begins to suckle. “Fuck. . . .” Eddie bites his lip, cock throbbing inside him in response. “You just want somebody filling you up all the time, huh Stevie? Is that what you want?”

Another obscene moan and the suction increases—and, yeah, if this is a ploy to get him to pick up the pace then it’s working. There’s no way he’s going to last long.

“You were jealous too, weren’t you,” Eddie breathes heavily into the shell of Steve’s ear as he builds up to a faster tempo, tingling all over because this is fucking happening. “That’s why you let the bartender take my keys, hmm? Why you walked me home? You wanted to get me out of there and have me all to yourself, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” comes the shaky but heartfelt reply around his fingers, a brief interruption in the wet heat and suction.

Eddie licks along his neck, biting down on the tendons there just hard enough to leave imprints in time with his next thrust, and the admission is just as delicious as Steve’s skin. “God, you’re so fucking good like this.”

Steve makes a low, desperate noise beneath him, flushing and fluttering around him, and isn’t that an interesting reaction.

‘I don’t mind you bossing me around.’

“You like being good, baby?” And oh, the muffled whine in response shivers down Eddie’s spine in the best possible way. He slides his fingers out, cups his palm by Steve’s mouth and, obediently, Steve spits. (Not that they need it, with the mess Steve is making of himself; he just wanted to see if he would.) “Good boy.”

“Eddie,” Steve groans. He also cries out when Eddie’s hand smears down his chest and wraps wetly around him.

“That’s it,” Eddie pants, bracing himself from a new angle and nipping at his ear, his jaw, his pulse point. “Wanna hear you, big boy. Make those pretty noises for me, mmmn—Let me hear it and I’ll let you come.”

(Next time, he swears to himself, Steve will be facing him so he can see while it happens. Next time he’s going to draw it out.)

Steve keeps making these low, desperate noises while rocking between his hand and his cock like he can’t decide which one he wants more, captivated in perpetual motion between the two. There’s curly hair in Eddie’s face, in his eyes, sweat-dampened and draped over Steve’s shoulders.

(Next time, if he doesn’t get to tie his hair back and get Steve’s cock in his mouth he’s going to mutiny against the universe.)

“Close,” Steve gasps desperately, the word bursting out in all its cracked glory as he chases the pleasure that Eddie is both wringing out of and pounding into him.

“Good,” Eddie, breathing hard, is about five seconds from coming undone, pressing wet kisses against his neck and shoulder as he doubles his efforts to give Steve his absolute best, to ruin him for anyone else. (As though it’s not the other way around, as if any other man could possibly compare to Steve fucking Harrington, the dude who’d literally carried him out of hell.) “Come for me, sweetheart, be a good boy—”

At the command, Steve goes taut so immediately that the orgasm seems to somehow catch him by surprise. It catches Eddie too, Steve’s tight heat convulsing around him—sweeps him up and tumbles him in his own body until he can no longer tell up from down.

His toes curl, and when he catches his breath several minutes later, he can’t remember the last time he experienced that particular cliche. If ever.

(Absolutely goddamn ruined.)

Steve is adorably pliant when Eddie rolls him gently out of the wet spot on the comforter for a quick wipe down with a warm washcloth. He moves slow and sweet as honey, grinning dazedly up with his eyes barely open. “Stay?” he murmurs hopefully.

Despite some lingering uncertainties, Eddie smiles softly back as he traces over scars that echo his own. They really are like a matching set. “You want me to, baby?”

“Yeah. . . . ‘Sgonna be cold though, comforter’s dirty.”

“You don’t say.”

“Mm.” To emphasize the point, Steve wriggles lazily until he’s off the comforter—Eddie just sits back and enjoys the show—and kicks it off the bed. “You’ll have to hold me.”

Eddie snorts, but he’s grinning. “You wanna be the little spoon, Stevie?”

“Learned lots of new things about myself over the past few months,” Steve replies, sounding very pleased with himself.

Well, Eddie thinks, appraising and giddy and edging on interested in going again sometime soon because he’s in bed with Steve goddamn Harrington. The guy is an Adonis, all broad, strong shoulders and kiss-reddened smile and everything Eddie has been kind of obsessed with for years. Why not be the dish that ran away with the spoon, in the end?

He does make a quick trip to his own room to grab the blanket off his bed, though, because he spent too many winters in a poorly insulated trailer to run the risk of sleeping cold, no matter how much of a heat source Steve is. After all that life and death stuff, he figures they’ve both earned that comfort.

Earned treating this like it means something, because it does.

It’s everything.

A few weeks later, when Robin inevitably visits them in their shitty two-bedroom apartment, she sleeps in the second room. She openly makes fun of them for two years of friendship and two really dramatic nights to figure their shit out, too—nothing that Eddie hasn’t already heard from Nancy, really, and Steve takes it with resigned good grace.

Eddie loves him so fucking much. He’ll tell him one of these days.

(. . . Lie.)

(He’s already written it on the J-card of the mix tape he’s made for their one-month anniversary.)

#steddie fanfiction #steddie smut #post-canon eddie munson lives #steve harrington has a praise kink #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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dumfanting · 2 years

Text

Well, here it is! The final part of my first ever fic/smutfic. Originally, this chapter was only 2800 words, but I blinked during proofreading and oops, now it’s around 4300. I’d like to thank @madameminor @kaminocasey and anyone else I can’t tag for encouraging me through this. Thank you guys for the support, and thanks to all of you for reading.

AO3 Link

Rating: M Explicit, grapefruit, minors be gone!

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, Dom reader, sub Crosshair, teasing, begging, masturbation, oral sex (both receiving), edging, kneeling, vibrators, safeword, restraints, biting, cum eating, unprotected PiV sex, aftercare, sorry Hunter, cross may be ooc in this one

Word Count: 4,272

Orders, part 3 (final)

Crosshair/F! Reader

Armed with your new purchases, you’re ready to teach Crosshair a lesson about obedience.

You make your way back to the ship, humming, and feeling a tight ball of excitement and nerves settle into your gut. You had a feeling Crosshair would not be happy with you. As you turn a corner and see him sitting on the ramp of The Marauder, head in his hands and a single knee bouncing rapidly, it occurs to you that the rest of the squad could walk in on whatever was about to happen at any time. You surprise yourself when the thought of getting caught sends a rush of heat into your core. That was new, you thought. You would have to explore that later, however, as you were now within Crosshairs line of vision. You walk just a little bit faster, exaggerating the sway of your hips again.

Crosshair, dressed down to just his body glove, hears your footsteps, and takes a deep breath before moving himself into a standing position, blocking the entry to the ship. He catches your eye, and oh yes, he was seething. Your heart beats faster as you stride towards him, a falsely innocent look on your face, hoping you look more at ease than you feel. Once you're about a foot apart again, he doesn’t move out of the way, so you stop, and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?” You ask. Crosshair practically snarls at you.

“What the hell were you doing?” He says, barely restraining himself from shouting. Ooh, this was going to be fun, you thought, feigning a look of confusion.

“Uh, shopping? I ran out of soap,” you say, holding up the bags in your hand.

“You know damn well that is not what I meant.” He growls, stepping closer. You stand your ground, but still pretend to be confused.

“What then?” You ask, and you could swear steam was coming out of Crosshair's ears.

“At the debriefing!” He says, red in the face. You suppress a giggle, and step closer to him, the distance between you two shrinking until your chests are almost pressed together.

“You still look feverish,” you say, before softly placing your palm against his forehead again. Despite his anger, you catch him leaning into your touch. “You’re still warm! I thought I told you to get some rest?” You say, stern.

“Like I’d even be able to after all of that,” he says, voice lowered, and looking at the ground. You both realize you're still touching him, and he backs off as you pull your hand away.

“All I’m hearing,” you say, still serious, “is that you disobeyed an order again. Am I mistaken or aren’t good soldiers supposed to follow orders?” Crosshair scoffs at you, but you don't miss the way his eyes darken.

“Fine. Yes I did. What does it matter?” He says, with an edge to his voice and finally looking back at you. “What are you going to do about it?” He challenges you, looking smug.

“What was it you told me earlier? That someone who disobeys orders should be disciplined?” You respond, taking a step forward, your chests now pressed firmly together. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, see the poorly hidden lust in his eyes, you can hear his ragged breathing. And you love it. His breath catches in his throat when he tries to speak. Smirking, you stretch your face upward, only a breath away from his own again.

“Stand aside, soldier. Or do you actually want me to teach you a lesson on obedience?” You whisper, voice husky with lust. Much to the surprise of both of you, Crosshair says nothing, and moves out of your way. Once you’ve moved up the ramp and are standing slightly higher than him, you cup a hand to his cheek, lean in towards his ear, and whisper, “There’s a good boy,” before abruptly walking away again. The needy, wanting moan that leaves his throat is music to your ears as you quickly put your supplies away.

You hear him scrambling again as he follows you, punching the control pad to withdraw and lock the ramp as he does. You pay him no mind as you casually strip down to your bra and panties. They were old and worn, and not sexy in the slightest, but you wouldn’t have known by the way Crosshair is practically drooling over you when you turn around to face him.

“Oh,” you say, as if you forgot he was there. “You like these?” You continue, watching his eyes hungrily look you up and down, over and over. You give him five seconds to respond, but when he does not, you snap your fingers at him, redirecting his attention to your face.

“I asked you a question, soldier,” you say, your tone shifting from husky and lustful into stern and commanding. Crosshair mumbles something you can’t hear.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” you say, staring him down. Unlike earlier, you notice the difference in tone between then and now. Before, you were annoying him. Now, however…

“Y-yes, dank ferrik,” he says, stumbling over the words, breaking your train of thought. Maker, this was going to be a good night.

“Yes, what?” You say, stepping confidently over towards him.

“Ma’am,” he says as you saunter over to him. You can almost see his stubborn pride collapsing. “Yes, yes ma’am, I do!” He says. He is quiet, almost soft spoken, and you can see him tremble slightly. You almost feel sorry for him, but instead all you feel is power. You grip his shoulder, firmly pushing him onto his knees, and he looks up at you in awe.

“That’s better,” you say, tone softening. “Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to go put this on,” you say before pausing to dangle one of your unplanned purchases at him. “And you’re going to wait here while I do. Don’t move. Can you be a good boy for me and do that?” Crosshair swallows loudly, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.

“Yes, yes my lady,” he whispers. You don’t know where the title came from, but you decide you like it.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” you purr, cupping his cheek and softly tracing your thumb across his lips. You bend down, eye level with him. “Think of a safe word,” you tell him, then stand back up, remove your bra, throw it at him, and retreat to the refresher before he fully processes what’s happening.

When the door slides closed behind you, you let out a massive, shaky exhale. The anticipation is almost too much to bear as you quickly whip off your drab underwear and change into the lacy, strappy black lingerie you’d seen in the window of that shop. Redressed, you take a moment to look yourself over in the mirror. The lace panties sit low, hugging your hips. The bra you picked out is more like a body cage, the delicate lace doing very little to actually support your breasts. The thin black straps are criss crossing over your sternum, creating what looks like an inverted star. And to top it all off, you impulsively find your supply bag in the refresher, then grab the reddest lipstick you have, hastily applying it to your lips. You stand back again, and nod at your reflection. Perfect. You take a deep breath, and open the refresher door.

—

You’re almost shocked by what you find. Crosshair is still on his knees, but has removed his upper body glove, and freed his cock, rubbing at the head desperately with one hand, the other tightly holding your bra to his nose. His eyes are closed, and he is slightly panting. He doesn’t realize you’ve returned until he hears you loudly clear your throat. He opens his eyes and lets out a startled yelp when your face is inches from his for the third time that day. He drops the bra and releases his dick as you frown and tut at him.

“My my, disobeying again?” You say, straightening up to your full height. “Well, I just can’t allow that. On your feet,” you say. The thrill that rocks through you when he immediately complies is addicting. You scan him up and down, lips pursed. You curl your finger at him, prompting him to follow you into the bunks.

“Sit,” you command, and he settles, fidgeting, onto a bed. You don’t know whose bunk it is, but that doesn’t matter. “I’m going to go get something,” you say, “and you're going to stay here while I do. You will not touch yourself, understand?” Crosshair whines, hips jerking involuntarily, but he agrees.

“Yes, my lady,” he says. You hum in approval before returning to where you left the last shopping bag. You fish out the small box and open it, nodding to yourself, then take a few steps back towards the bunks, but pause, listening carefully. The distinct sound of skin on skin reaches you, and you sigh, returning to the bag again and grabbing something else.

This time, Crosshair notices your return immediately, but not soon enough to jerk his hands away from himself. You shake your head, huff in disappointment, and walk over to kneel in front of him. “You really can’t listen can you?” you say.

“M-my lady, please, I,” he starts to speak, not looking at you, but you cut him off, gripping his chin and forcing his gaze back to your face.

“I was hoping I wouldn't need these, but it seems you've given me no choice,” you say. You set the small box down, then hold the binders you also purchased in one hand where he can see them. You can practically taste the desire coming out of him, and hum again. Releasing his chin, you stand once more.

“Before this goes any further, I need your safe word. You can stop this at any time with it.” you say, seriously, looking him in the eyes. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He swallows, hard, before answering you.

“Tooka,” he says clearly. You repeat the word, and he nods at you.

“Very well then,” you say, your voice smoothly changing into a purr again.

Back to business, you lean down and push his arms behind his back, clicking the binders into place. You pause to check on him, and he nods. “So,” you say, retrieving the small box and opening it, “disobedience must be punished.” He whines again, but you pay it no mind.

“You did this to yourself, you know,” you say, holding the box’s contents, a fingertip vibrator, up where he can see it. He moans and shifts desperately toward you, but you back away.

“Since you can’t keep your hands off yourself,” you say, “we’re going to see how long my hands can stay on.” You see the ‘how’ on Crosshair's face, but he doesn't get the chance to ask out loud before you’re nudging his legs apart. You look up at him through your lashes, silently waiting for permission. He nods and then practically shrieks when you, lightning quick, take all of his cock into your mouth at once.

You close your eyes for the first few seconds, savoring the musky taste of him, the velvety texture of his cock head against your throat. You open your jaw a little more, taking more of him until your nose meets his pelvis. You open your eyes and look directly into his; Crosshair moans, his hips involuntarily thrusting, pushing his cock even further down your throat. You fight off your gag reflex, eyes filling with tears, and swallow around him. He keens, folding in half at the waist, his erratic breaths puffing hotly against your ear.

“P-please my lady, I’m so close, I’m gonna,” he says, starting to beg. He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before you abruptly pull back, his length sliding out of your mouth.

He whines at the sudden loss of contact, cock weeping. You pause, giving him the opportunity to stop this, but he nods again. With that, you move up onto the bed, settling behind him in a kneeling position.

“Oh, I’m just getting started with you, baby,” you purr into his ear. You snake your arms around his waist, tentatively pawing at the taut muscles of Crosshair's thighs, touching him everywhere but where he wants it. You rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing softly into his ear. You slip the fingertip vibrator you had almost forgotten about onto your right index finger and activate it. A soft buzzing fills the space as you ask “Are you ready baby?” His cock twitches upward, and he responds with

“Yes, yes my lady, please, I” before you cut him off by ghosting your equipped finger up his shaft towards the head.

He groans, and you can feel it in your chest, pressed tightly against his back.

“You’re so tense,” you muse, starting to plant open mouthed kisses to his neck, shoulders, wherever you could reach without moving too far. He moans in response, and you drag the vibrator up and down his cock at a consistent pace and pressure, always pulling your hands away at the very last second before you send Crosshair over the edge. He’s nearly sobbing at this point, but still hasn’t given you any indication to stop. Just to be safe, you pause and ask if he wants to continue.

“Fuck, yes, please!” He shouts. You slowly bring your hands to his groin as you say “I think you’ve forgotten something,” softly into his ear.

“My lady!” He hollers. “Please my lady, please let me cum!”

You plant a soft kiss on his cheek and say “That’s my good boy,” while running your finger with the vibrator along the underside of his dick.

That’s all it took. A second later, you feel his cock spasming as he cries out, painting the bunk and his chest with the thick white ropes of his release. You coo and praise him the entire time, making absolutely sure he knows how pleased you are. Crosshair eventually falls to his side on the mattress, then turns to lie on his back, albeit somewhat awkwardly, as his wrists are still bound. You make a soothing, ‘hush’ type of sound as you maneuver in the small space to straddle his thighs. You look down at the thoroughly debauched soldier beneath you and speak without realizing, saying “Good Maker, you're gorgeous. Such a good boy for me.”

He whines again, and you take that opportunity to lean forward. Crosshair lifts his head to meet you. You give him a soft kiss, barely touching his lips, before looking him in the eye, bending down, and licking up the streaks of cum from his chest. You feel him shiver as you glide your tongue across his nipples, before making your way back up to his neck. Leaning forward, almost laying on top of him, you’re amazed when you feel him getting hard beneath you again. Deciding he’s had enough, you click the vibrator off and carelessly toss it over your shoulder before taking his cock into your hand, making him gasp.

“You’ve been so good tonight for me baby, do you need anything?” You ask, keeping your voice soft. Still not quite in control of his breathing, it takes a moment or two before Crosshair can answer you verbally.

“You,” he says, so quietly you had to ask him to say it again. “You my lady, please, I want to taste you so badly,” he says, his cheeks flushing again. You’re taken aback, not expecting that answer. You release his dick and run a hand up his sternum while the other cups his cheek, saying “anything for you baby, you’ve earned it. Such a good boy for me.”

You feel his cock twitch again and stifle a giggle. Clearly, he liked being called that. You help him sit upright, then attempt to remove the complicated mess of straps and clasps across your front. Getting nowhere, you huff and simply tear it away from your body, throwing the remains onto the floor. It wasn’t that expensive anyway, you reason with yourself. Besides, this night was worth every single credit you had.

You remember that Crosshair's wrists are still bound, but when you ask, he insists that he's okay before quietly begging to taste you again. With a hum, you stretch and arch your back so that your breasts are level with his face. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he looks, pleading, at you. As soon as you nod, he dips forward and latches on to your left nipple. His hot tongue on your cool flesh is heavenly, and you moan when he takes the soft bud into his teeth and bites enough for you to feel pressure, but no real pain. If you were wet before, you’re positively -dripping- now, and you can feel your slick smearing across your inner thighs.

With a gasp, you pull away, Crosshairs mouth leaving your skin with a soft ‘pop’. He looks concerned, as if he's done something wrong, but relaxes when you cup his face with both hands and peck his lips. With little preamble, you sit back and eventually lie down, legs spreading to reveal that the panties had no crotch. You slide a finger up and down your folds, gasping at just how wet you are. Crosshair gapes at you, eyes darkening with renewed arousal. You give the go-ahead and he dives into you, eating you out like a man starved.

Your back arches, your legs quiver, and you moan unrestrained as his strong tongue pushes into you, his nose bumping your swollen clit as he does so. He must have noted how you responded to him nipping at you moments ago, now withdrawing his tongue and moving to focus solely on your clit. He wraps his lips around it and just barely nips at the head, and your world goes completely white. You can barely register that someone is screaming, then realize that it's you as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life, squirting and soaking Crosshairs face and the sheets below you. You take a moment to return to reality, then pause, looking at the wreck of a man before you.

His face is dripping with your juices, his breathing labored, and an intense desperation in his eyes. He whines a little before eventually saying, “M-my lady, please, I,” he pauses to curse before continuing. “I need you, I need to feel you, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll never disobey again!” he begs. You hum in thought, pretending to think it over as if the decision wasn’t made as soon as he spoke. Dragging it out just a little longer you sit up, take his face into your hands, and kiss him deeply. You swallow up his moans and pleas as your tongues dance. You taste your own sweet tang on his lips and you feel dizzy.

You pull away, noting how your lipstick has smeared across his mouth. “Have you learned your lesson?” you ask.

“Yes my lady, I have. Ill, I’ll be,” he stops for a second to catch his breath. “I’ll be your good boy, I promise,” he eventually says in a whisper. The way he says those words sends a rocket of heat back into your cunt, and you feel yourself throb. You clench your thighs together for a moment before suddenly pushing him backwards and straddling him.

Without hesitating, you grasp his cock, warm enough to almost feel like a burn, guide him to you, and sink down onto him in one fluid motion. Sheathed completely inside you, you both moan at the same time. You pull him up into a sitting position, wrap your legs around his waist, and begin to move, grinding your hips against his. It’s slow at first, the both of you savoring the new sensations, before you pick up speed. You grip his shoulders and pull Crosshair in for another frenzied kiss. As you do, you slip your hands behind his back and finally unlock the binders on his wrists. The next thing you know, you are flat on your back, fingernails digging into his back deep enough to leave marks, and holding on for dear life as he fucks you into your second orgasm.

You practically scream his name, clenching as hard as you can. You don’t think it could possibly be better than this, but he proves you wrong, lunging at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and biting hard as he cums, filling you up entirely and intensifying your own climax exponentially. He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, not as desperate, but just as intensely as you milk every last drop out of him. He pulls out and collapses on top of you, gasping for air, clutching onto your body like a lifeline. After the world stops spinning, you sit up just enough for Crosshair to lie his head onto your chest, still out of breath as he clings to you.

You hold one hand to the back of his head while the other trails up and down his sweat-soaked body in a soothing motion. Breathless, it takes a few tries for you to find your voice again. Once you do, you whisper soft praises to him, telling him how well he did and how proud of him you are. He shuffles up toward you, resting his head in the hollow of your shoulder as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair with one hand, holding him close with the other. After a shudder, Crosshair looks up at you, his face completely vulnerable and unguarded, making your heart swell. “I,” he starts to say, between breaths, “I’m your good boy, right?”

“Of course baby,” you say, softly kissing his forehead. “You were so good for me, I’m so proud of you.”

Crosshair drops his head back down with a soft “thank you. Thank you my lady,” and you can’t help the urge to hold him even closer.

After a minute or so, once the two of you catch your breath, you cup his face in one of your hands and look softly into his eyes. “Do you need anything? Should I get you something?” you ask. He swallows, his dry throat making an odd clicking sound.

“I’d do unspeakable things for water,” he says. You nod and move to stand, but he still clings to you. His head is now in your lap, and you smile softly down at him.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his temple before standing. Your legs are like jelly and barely functioning, you feel Crosshairs release running down your thighs, but you're somehow able to grab a canteen and fill it from the sink in the refresher. You take a long pull from the canteen and fill it again, then stop to look at yourself.

You’ve never looked so disheveled in your life; your hair is sticking out in random directions, there’s red lipstick smeared all across your lower jaw, and, most noticeably, a deep, dark bruise blooming on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh a little at how fucked-out you look. You take a moment to smooth out your hair and wash your face, wipe your thighs clean, then grab the full canteen and return to the bunks with it and a cool, damp towel. As you return, you bump into Crosshair, who had followed you. You squeeze past him and realize, oh shit, that’s not your bunk you’ve made a mess of. Still coming down from your high, you decide to worry about it later. Crosshair is now in the bunk opposite the one you’ve soiled, staring up at you. You shrug and softly push his arm, and he scoots over against the wall to make room for you.

Once you join him, Crosshair takes the canteen from you gratefully, taking small sips as you pat away the sweat and lipstick on his face and back. He sets the canteen aside, and you both lay flat. He has his head on your shoulder again, and falls asleep after only a few minutes. You tenderly kiss his forehead before drawing the bunks privacy curtain, not far from sleep yourself.

—

You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but it’s still dark outside when the two of you are startled awake by Hunter, who yells“ Damn those two, I knew it!” And at that moment you realize that the ship must absolutely -reek- of sex. Still hidden behind the bunks privacy curtain, you and Crosshair make eye contact and both stifle a laugh when Hunter yells again; “And all over MY karking bed?!” You hold a finger to your lips, the universal signal to be quiet, and he rolls his eyes with a smirk. Cursing, Hunter storms back out of the ship while the others laugh at him.

Quietly, so only the two of you can hear, Crosshair whispers your name, getting your attention. “I know they’re going to ask, but when they do, can you um,” he starts. You chuckle softly.

“I’ll spare the details and your pride,” you say.

In a low growl, he says “You’d better.”

You giggle and kiss him again before saying “is that an order?” He simply shakes his head in disbelief before settling back down and you both pretend to be asleep to delay facing the Sargents wrath a little while longer.

#my fics #cross #series #crosshair/reader #tbb crosshair #crosshair/you #tbb #Crosshair

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metalbuckaroo · 3 years

Text

Birthday

Summary: Toby invites Bucky to his 11th birthday party.

Warnings: good bit of sexual tension, rude ass parent, cursing, I think that's it???

AU: Babysitter!Bucky x Fem!Reader

AN: I waited soo long to finish this that I couldn't remember exactly what I'd planned for it, so I winged half of it.

THE FILL IN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @bucksdolll

"Toby seems to be warming up to the temporary pretty well." One of the Moms whispered to yours. "Bucky? He's a sweetheart. Isn't he, dear?"

You looked away from where Bucky was being swarmed by the younger kids and a couple of their older sisters you'd went to high school with; your mom giving you a sweet smile. "A big softie."

"He's great with Toby, and is sweet on a little miss someone." She grinned, poking your side as you got two bottles of water from the cooler. "Well, aren't you lucky." One of the other mom's chided. "Extremely."

"Go save him, poor boy looks like he's ready to combust." Your mom sighed, fixing a few things on the table that held cake and various types of snacks.

Turning on your heels, you went to where he was stood letting Toby babble on about his arm. "Can I borrow you for a sec?"

Bucky gave a bright smile and nodded, letting you guide him to the open back door. "I think he's have a good time showing off his super cool babysitter." You teased, handing him some extra drinks for the cooler. "Does he ever run out of energy?"

Shaking your head, you looked over the way the dark blue t-shirt clung to his skin, the dips of his muscular torso visible even through the wet fabric. "You're not gonna take that off are ya." You said, tugging the hem.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. "Nothing wrong with being a little modest, Buck." You smiled, noticing how he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Don't wanna, uh, scare a bunch of kids."

"Or have their dads chasing you down because, the wives are gawking at you." You said, scrunching your nose up at him. He breathed a laugh and shook his head again, leaning down to peck a simple kiss to your lips. "Yeah. I don't think that's gonna happen."

After presents were opened and cake was ate, you and Bucky hid away in the kitchen again for a few moments away from the crowd of kids and parents. "You look beautiful, sunshine." He said, adjusting the thin strap of your dress. "Don't look too bad yourself, Buck."

Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal of his dog tags, tugging them so he'd lean down; his lips ghosting across yours when he turned his head to the opening back door.

"James! There you are." Your mom breathed, pulling the door shut behind her. "Mallory just extended her vacation for another 3 weeks. Please, tell me you're available?" She clasped her hands together and gave him pleading eyes.

"Yeah, of course." Bucky smiled, nodding his head. "Great, perfect. A few of Toby's friends are staying, so I hope they don't bother you too much." She said, looking to you.

"I'm sure Bucky wouldn't mind staying to help, right?" You looked up at him, patting his chest lightly. His eyebrows raised and he nodded, swallowing thickly. "I'll stay."

"Miranda, I've been looking for you." Darlene, one of the most judgemental moms, said, Toby and her son following in behind her. "I've been meaning to ask you- where's Matthew? Shouldn't he be here instead of-" She stopped when she saw Bucky, still standing very close to you.

"He had work." Your mom said with a forced smile. "No wonder it didn't work out, that's all he thinks about." Darlene said clicking her tongue. "Now, you're stuck having to pay a babysitter who-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stop you right there. Toby, go play outside." Bucky looked down at your hard expression, putting his hand on Toby's shoulder to walk with him into the backyard. "That's not an appropriate thing to talk about at a kid's birthday party. He is eleven, he doesn't need to know why his dad didn't show up."

"It's just- this new babysitter of yours is so-"

"Sweet? Shy, handsome, good with kids? If none of those are what you are about to say, then don't say it." She looked at you dumbfounded, glancing at your mom. "You're not gonna let her talk like this are you?"

Your mom shrugged, leaning against the kitchen counter. "She's grown. I don't dictate what she says. Besides, she's right."

"Unbelievable."

As the families dispersed, going home once the sun started to set, your mom looking exhausted as she cleaned the kitchen. "I've got it, go on to bed. You've had your stress fill for the day."

She gave you a soft thank you before shuffling away to the hallway, Bucky walking in from the chaos filled living room. "Make it out alive?" You teased, picking up the trash that littered the counter. "Barely. Need help?"

His hand rested on the small of your back, pink tinting his cheeks. "You could move the couch for me? Put this to use." You teased, fingertips running up the dark metal of his left arm before wrapping around his wrist.

You finished cleaning the kitchen and went to check on the state of the living room; Bucky laying out the blankets and pillows on the floor for the kids.

"Can we watch Nightmare on Elm Street?" Toby asked, looking up at you with hopeful eyes as you picked up the remote. "No, it's too scary for you." You said, clicking through the movie selections. "Please?"

Bucky chuckled when you rolled your eyes and nodded. "One scream out of any of you and I'm switching it to lullabies."

It didn't take long.

Not even 30 minutes into the movie you were switching it to Toy Story, ignoring the protests that sounded from them.

Another 30 minutes and they were all passed out, sprawled out on the blankets and snoring as you tugged Bucky with you to the kitchen.

"Knew that was gonna happen." You said, breathing a laugh and lifting yourself onto the counter.

Bucky moved to stand in front of you, your knees parting on instinct to let him stand between them. "Steve said he'll have your car done in a couple days. Want me to take you back to your apartment tomorrow? So, you don't have to take the train."

Nodding, you wrapped your arms around his neck loosely; pulling his lips to yours. You all but melted completely in his touch, cool, smooth metal on your right thigh a beautiful contrast to the warm skin on your left.

"I'm so fucking lucky..." He muttered against your lips before pressing his tongue against yours.

"Ew, stop eating my sisters face." You breathed a laugh at Toby's tired voice, looking over your shoulder at him. "Whst are you doing up?" You teased, turning slightly to see him better. "You know I don't like to admit when you're right..."

You were getting restless. Wanting more every time you'd get near Bucky; more of the sweetness of his kiss and gentle, adoring touches.

But hwahented things taken slow. Which you fully understood; and with the group of kids in the front room, it wasn't going to go far anyways.

"Scared?" He nodded softly and you slid off of the counter. "Calm that down and come watch some tv." You smiled at Bucky, gesturing to the strain against his athletic shorts.

Bucky's face burned as he watched you usher Toby back into the living room, staying back for a moment before following.

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this." Toby said, pointing a finger at Bucky that made him look to where you were holding the boy's hand from your spot, laid on the loveseat. "You're about as threatening as the neighbors ankle biter." Bucky retorted, sitting in the recliner.

You had turned some random TV show on, suddenly becoming extra quiet within an hour.

Bucky glanced from the screen to see you sleeping peacefully, Toby's hand barely hanging onto yours as Bucky stepped over one of the kids to grab the blanket from the back of the loveseat.

Gently laying it over you, he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek; biting back a smile when you subconsciously tilted your head to follow his lips.

There's always tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @marvel-3407 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @preferredrealty @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #babysitter!bucky fluff #babysitter!bucky

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grogu-pascal · 3 years

Text

Tension | Din Djarin x Reader

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN // ALL WORKS

Excerpt: As he watches you beneath him, he finds himself grappling for sympathy. Guilt tickles at his nape, but then he remembers how you two got here: with your tongue hot on ingratitude and his patience wearing; tension thick and building within the confines of the ship. Skirts too short and gazes too long.

Explicit | Din Djarin x Reader | 1.7k words | Read tags carefully

Tags: rough sex, cult member!din, yandere!din misogyny kink, breeding kink, wife kink, implied age gap, breaking celibacy vows (not our reader), shame, dom/sub undertones, non-con element at end of fic, unhealthy relationships, not beta’d, comma-indulgent

A bead of sweat trickles down the stretch of your shoulder as you struggle to keep pace. Din is pumping and pumping and pumping and each meeting of his hip against the flesh of your ass provokes your mind further into thoughtlessness. His skin is scorching against yours and his mouth is just as fiery: mumbling curses against your skin; muttering praises into your hair.

You fumble to remember exactly what had gotten you in this position: panting like a whore on all fours, tears of mascara hot on your cheeks. The two of you had been at this since the mandalorian returned to the Crest earlier, silent and sweaty and trailing in mud. Maybe you had mumbled something about keeping the floors clean. Maybe he had lowered his voice in return; warned you about watching that smart mouth of yours.

But deep down you knew that this flame had been lit weeks ago. You had been poking and prodding at his fire, leaving sparks in your wake. You wanted him to engulf you. To have him burn him down with it. And here you are, teetering on the edge of orgasm and exhaustion, littered with bruises and love bites, desire blushing red on your skin.

An ill-timed thrust makes you grapple forward, sliding your knees away from him. You can feel the way he stills at the sudden removal of your warmth from his length, but pay no mind, taking the lapse in fucking to lazily brush your fingers across your swollen lips, massaging away the dull pain his stretching has given you.

Din notes how pretty you look like this: all fucked out and on display. Absentmindedly wonders if you've ever looked this pretty for anyone else. As he watches you steady your breath, he finds himself grappling for sympathy. Guilt tickles at his nape, tries to swallow his psyche whole, but then he remembers how you two got here: with your tongue hot on ingratitude and his patience wearing; tension thick and building within the confines of the ship. Skirts too short and gazes too long.

And so he lines himself up at your entrance, selfishly plunging his cock back into your slick. An intelligible cry falls from your lips. Something about behaving. About speaking respectfully and lowering your voice. But the mandalorian is past pleas. He knows he'll regret how rough he's been: pulling your jaw forward to work his cock down your throat, ghosting gloved fingers over your clit until you beg him for release, gripping your hips so hard he kneads the bones beneath.

Despite himself, he excuses his actions and blames you instead. If you wore less skimpy tunics and said thank you every now and then, maybe he could gather the restraint to be a more decent man right now.

But his pity for you has worn too thin, and he's too enthralled in the clench of your cunt around him to let up.

You're begging his name now, promising how good you'll be for him—how you'll shut up and listen when he speaks; how dinner will be ready when he gets home; how you'll never curse at him again and it's all a fucking lie and you know it and he knows it but maker you'll say anything to feel his fingers dance around your clit again.

Pain needles its way across your scalp as Din winds the silk of your hair into a ponytail around his fist, sending your body forward with a thrust. Your arms are flat in front of you now and the cool metal of the ship presses against your tits, hardening you nippes through your tunic.

Two of his fingers jett in front of your face expectantly. "Suck," he says. You obey, lips slobbering over his digits, coating them with saliva all the way down to the rough of his knuckle. It's difficult to even keep them in your mouth. With each thrust they fumble around, pressing against your teeth, tempting a gag from your throat. You don’t know how much longer you can keep it up until he removes them without a word, trailing them down the lips of your pussy. He circles them slowly once they reach your bead and the pressure excites you enough to force your hips back down onto him, moaning loudly. You hear the wetness of your pussy sob against the air as he alternates speeds. You are dizzy with desire.

“Din," you moan through gritted teeth, "please."

"Can't you"—his voice cracks—"take it?"

"Nng," you manage, shaking your head. "Can't. Need to cum." Din is too much and not enough right now. Pain begins to seep into your pleasure as you him ride indelicately. You are stretched beyond belief and it's beginning to feel like too much.

"Be patient," he replies cooly, voice taut and clipped.

His tone brings a fire to your chest. Who is he to tell you to be patient? Acting like he hasn't been fucking into you for 30 minutes. Like it wasn't he who stripped you bare with hands full of urgency in the first place. You have been patient but he is pushing you to wits end.

You speak before the words can be bitten back into your chest. "M-me?" you say incredulously. "I'm not the one who c-couldn't wait 'til marriage."

Din fumes under his helmet at your provocation. He releases his tight grip on your hair and brings a hand to your jaw. "That mouth," he sheaths inside you fully, "is what got you here in the first place."

Secretly, he hates that you're right. But hates you a little more for it. Despite your ways, the mandalorian had been planning on bringing you back home with him soon. You were young and smart and quick to learn, he reasoned, and the attitude you constantly found yourself with could be trained out of you. You could be a good wife: cooking and cleaning and flittering about with his younglings. Unbeknownst to you, the two of you were scheduled to meet with the armorer during your visit. Maybe once she saw the value you held: all plush and young and fertile, the armorer would grant his request for an aruetii-mandalorian marriage.

But, as he was balls deep in you at this moment—things had changed.

In consummating you before marriage, he had broken a tenant of his creed. Pending this lapse in celibacy, he would need to wait to bring you back with him. Maybe, he pondered, 8 months or so. It was one thing to return with a non-Mandalorian, but one that already been used? Fucked open before the ceremony? That wouldn't do. Unless there were extenuating circumstances. Like a youngling, growing inside of you.

"Please, Din," you say, snapping him from his thoughts. He slows his pace to hear you over the percussion his hips make against your ass. "I'll be good for—aghh—good for you Din."

Two beats pass before he answers, "I know you will."

There it is again, that cool fucking attitude. You'd turn around and maul him for it if you weren't so wrecked. You're trying so hard to be good for him and just take it, but your tits are freezing against the metal floor, and your hips are stretched past reason with your back arched so deeply. Your mind fumbles for a sentence that will make him let up on you, and fails. "S-so much—” you manage, slurring through your arousal "—so full." You release a shoulder from the ground and tuck a hand to feel at your stomach. The rumble of his cock jostles through your body, resonating against your palm as he ruts in and out and in and out of your pussy.

Din watches the scene closely. His cock jumps at the thought of ruining you for anyone else. He lowers his chest to your back as he pumps and fuck, the sound of your slick mingles with the curses that fumble out of your mouth and he could come buried inside of you like this.

"Y-you need this," he says, thoughts breaking free into speech. Electricity bundles up in his limbs and a groan, higher than you've ever heard him speak, escapes his helmet. "Need me to fill you up. Fuck my come into your l-little..." his voice trails off and he clenches his eyes shut with pleasure, head tilted back and jaw tight. His voice strains and it all sounds like a prayer to you, hearing how perfect you are at taking his cock.

His hands are desperate now, clawing at the flesh of your tits. You yelp as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers harshly. With a moan, he starts again. "You know," a pause, "you're made for this." The cool of his helmet presses into your ear as his voice deepens. "Made for spilling my seed inside. M-made to be taken care of. That's the way things are supposed to be." Your eyes widen beneath him as your arousal wears away at his suggestion. Your last monthly had been a week ago and Din had promised he would get you a refill on Kashyyyk.

A promise that had not yet been kept. "

Wait Din," you say, neck contorting over your shoulder to look at him. "I'm not on my birth control."

He doesn't slow.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he groans, eyes searching into yours as his balls tighten. He's sorry, sorry, sorry, somewhere deep down, and yet, he can't stop. "J-just gonna have to fuck a baby into you." Newfound adrenaline fills you, helps as you try to scramble out from under him but it's not enough to stop him as he bottoms out, cock stuffing into you. Your fighting sends him over, groans quieting into whimpers as he holds you pinned beneath him. His orgasm coats your insides, cock flexing against your tightness.

You stay there for some time, flooded with exhaustion and something that feels like worry until he rustles above you, turning your whole body to face him. His spend leaks out of you at the sudden movement. His touch is gentler now as he caresses your waist. His face is obscured by beskar, and yet, you hear his grin as his fingers run over your belly. "Can't wait to get you back to the Tribe."

#tommywrites

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

hey babe you’re the best ily very much, not to be wild but ah ha ha... may i make i request please? 🥺🥺 i’m feeling extra self indulgent so maybe just a bit of fluff? (with whatever pedro boy you’re feelin) where like, fem! rc is rlly insecure about her laugh (like i snort and laugh so loud it’s not even funny i get so nervous laughing around people skdjdjjd) so because of that he’s never really seen her let go so he’s like “no i really wanna make you laugh” and yes. stay hydrated and you’re wonderful :D

Mesh’la Kaab (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: You confide to your Mandalorian that you hate your laugh. That sets Din on a mission to hear your real, true laugh.

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of food, but that’s all. let me know if I missed any or you’d like me to tag anything in here. Reader is called “mama” in reference to Grogu, din is called “daddy” but in reference to being Grogu’s dad.

A/N: you guys, this is the cutest fluff ever. I love Din with my entire soul. Sunny and I worked together a little to add a few things unique to her but it should be relevant to anyone! I hope u guys like it :))

mesh’la kaab- beautiful sound

A giggle rings out throughout the Razor Crest, pinging off the walls and making its way into the cockpit.

There was a lot of other noise going on down there, Mando could tell, but it’s your laugh that makes his face warm under his helmet. He listens more carefully, trying to tell exactly what’s going on.

What was going on, exactly, was chaos. Mando’s little green son had gotten hold of your ukulele and was deciding to mimic his mama, you. You often sang and played the ukulele around the ship, bringing music and light into the cold, metallic space. It was part of what Mando loved most about you, what brought him comfort when you thought he couldn’t hear you.

Mando had brought you on board a few months ago, and your soft and warming nature caused him to let his guard down almost immediately. He’d never been a touchy man, never one to cuddle or give keldabe kisses, but you stole his heart the moment he saw your smile.

Over time, your relationship with Mando had warmed. He’d press his hand to the small of your back as he walked past, let his ungloved fingertips brush over your hands. You were soft and kind and all he wanted.

He gave in a few weeks into your stay. He told you he cared for you, that he liked you, and a relationship had blossomed. He’d wrap his arms around you when he returned from a job, pressing his forehead to yours. He’d turn off all of the lights in the ship and press soft kisses to your lips and forehead and the tip of your nose. He’d sleep in your bunk with you and the child, pulling you to his chest and murmuring how much you meant to him. Helmetless, shirtless. Human again.

You’d learned his name late one night, his lips next to your ear- Din. It was one simple syllable, soft yet strong, a beautiful sound when his raspy voice was unmodulated. The child cooed, waking from his slumber, crawling between the two of you and nestling in. “That’s right, baby boy. Your daddy’s name is Din,” you’d hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s head and stroking his large green ears. The three of you were family now.

Din was a romantic at heart, bringing you gifts from missions and holding you gently as he traces his fingertips across your collarbones and neck while you slept. One thing he didn’t have, you had come to realize, was a sense of humor- at least, not one you understood. It was there, you supposed, but dry. Sarcastic quips. Words with double-meanings. A joke that had to be explained after he said it. You were happy, he knew that, but you rarely laughed.

That’s part of what transfixes him as he hears your giggle for the first time. It’s not a hard, tear-wrenching, gut-bursting laugh, but it’s a beautiful sound. Just as melodic as your beautiful voice when you sing along with your ukulele.

Din climbs down from the cockpit. You can’t see his face but his body is relaxed- he’s happy. You look up at him with a grin. “Your son thinks he wants to be a musician,” you tease, holding the ukulele above your head, sitting cross-legged on an old cape of his.

The baby is trying to climb up on you, little green hands grabbing at your shirt in an attempt to reach the ukulele again. It makes Din’s heart warm, the way the son he had come to love is playing with the woman who makes his heart soar. “Really?” He asks, sitting down across from you and tilting his head.

“Really. And I must say, he’s not a very good one,” you tease the child, setting the ukulele down next to you and scooping your baby up in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his head and squeeze him against your chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Maybe the two of you would perform for me. I’ve been told I’m a good judge of talent,” he offers in that tone where you can tell he’s teasing, but it’s with all of the love in his heart.

You look down at the baby and raise an eyebrow. “Well, baby boy? Should we show your daddy how wonderful you are?” you ask with excitement in your tone. The baby coos excitedly and nods. He’s starting to pick up on the human mannerisms that you and his father display. “Okay, let’s show him.” You set the ukulele in your lap, one hand on the fretboard. You set the child in front of you. “I’ll do the part up here, you play with the strings and sing for him, okay?” You instruct the baby, who giggles excitedly.

You look up at Din with a smile, and you can tell he’s smiling back. “Go for it, ad’ika,” Din tells the child.

His son agrees. He randomly plucks at the strings and squeals loudly. It’s utter cacophony, the farthest thing from music, but the little green baby seems to think it’s a masterpiece. He coos and shouts, little hands grabbing at the strings with no particular rhyme or reason.

You giggle but play around with the frets, letting the child choose his strings. He ends his song with a final shriek and you bite your lip to hold back from bursting into honest-to-god laughter. “Good job, bean!” You coo happily, clapping your hands.

Din claps too, leather-covered hands muffling the noise. “You’re a fantastic musician, kid,” he tells the little green child, who runs and jumps into his father’s lap, cuddling against his chest. “You have a beautiful laugh,” he tells you honestly, looking up at you and stroking the kid’s head.

You shake your head and look down at the ukulele, playing a few chords that come to mind. “That’s not my real laugh,” you admit, staring down at the instrument. “My laugh is really ugly. It sounds like a blurrg in labor.”

Din shakes his head, chuckling softly at the comparison. “I can’t possibly think you’d have an ugly laugh, ner mesh’la,” he tells you, resting a hand on your knee.

“Oh, it is. And you don’t wanna hear it,” you inform him, looking up at him.

“There’s not a thing about you that could be ugly,” he tells you, his voice sincere and solid. “I want to hear your laugh.”

“Then you’ll have to be funny for once, Din,” you tease, a small smile growing on your face. You stand, pressing a kiss to the top of his helmet and moving away to put your ukulele back in its case.

That’s the moment Din decides he’s going to make you laugh, in a way that you can’t possibly hold back. It’s a mission.

Later that night, you cook dinner for your little family. It’s makeshift at best, a tiny portable flame that you had found in a junk shop on Nevarro, but you have to admit it’s charming. You sauté some vegetables, native from your current planet, that you picked up today. The smell wafts to the cockpit, where Din is fiddling with an electrical wiring problem. He can’t smell it, not with the helmet, but the child can.

The baby coos at his father and tugs on his pant leg, gesturing towards the ladder. He wants to get down. “What is it, ad’ika?” He asks gruffly, nodding once he sees where the child points.

Din climbs down the ladder with the baby in tow, smiling as he sees you lost in your own little world.

You’re surprisingly good with electronics, Din discovered after he took you on board, and you’d found that the Razor Crest has a stereo system. It had become your pet project, and now some music was drifting through the hull of the ship. He stands there for a second and smiles at the way you dance around and cook the food, the pan sizzling. It’s a beautiful sight.

This is the perfect moment, Din thinks. Someone as caring and unguarded as you must be ticklish. Setting down the child and making a gesture for him to be quiet, Din quietly creeps behind you. He has no armor on except his helmet now, allowing him to be stealthy.

He creeps up behind you, fingers wiggling along your sides. Nothing happens except you squealing in surprise and whipping around in his arms. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You exclaim as you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Just, uh… wanted to see if you were ticklish,” he admits, wrapping his arms around you fully now.

“Well, I’m not,” you roll your eyes, tossing your arms around his neck and looking up at him.

“You’re trying to hear my witch’s cackle, aren’t you?” You ask teasingly, smiling contently at the man holding you.

He shrugs lightly. “Maybe.”

“Din,” you coo and press a kiss to his cold beskar cheek. “Well, I’m almost done cooking. You might as well stay down here,” you tell him and start swaying him along to the music playing. It’s nice; he dances along with you. “You can come out, green bean,” you call to the child.

The child squeals as he jumps out from around a corner, and you mock surprise, jumping. “Oh my Maker, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you cry out to the child, who giggles excitedly. “C’mere, baby,” you laugh and pick him up, holding him between you and Din as you sway along to the music. “You and your daddy are a handful,” you coo to him and press a kiss to the baby’s head.

“I’m going to get it out of you,” Din declares.

“Sure you are, Djarin,” you roll your eyes and smile softly, pressing your forehead to his in a keldabe kiss. “You know I’m happy here, right? I really couldn’t be any happier. I have you and the kid and I get to travel the galaxy with my two favorite boys.”

He nods. “Of course I do. It’s just… happy people laugh more.”

“I laugh plenty. When you tell me a bad joke, when the kid does something stupid.”

“You giggle or you chuckle. You never laugh.

“Neither do you.”

Din thinks on it for a second. “I suppose that’s true,” he nods in acknowledgment.

“Then you don’t need to make it such a mission, ner verd,” you tease, a loving smile on your face. You break away, keeping the child in your arms as you walk back to the vegetables. “Looks like the food is ready.”

It doesn’t come the way he wants it to, but Din finally makes you laugh.

Two days later, you’re dancing around with the baby in the hull of the ship, singing to the child’s favorite song. He squeals along, waving his little hands in the air and spinning in circles. “Din, come down here,” you call out happily.

“Little busy,” a gruff voice shouts back from the cockpit.

“Din Djarin, you get your tin-can head down here!”

“Later, ner kar’ta.”

You pout and pick up the baby, heading off to the refresher with the child. You suppose it’s time for a bath for the green bean anyway. You change the song and hum along, undressing the child from his tiny brown robes and filling the sink with warm water. You drizzle some of your shampoo into the water, making the top fill with bubbles.

The child giggles excitedly as you place a rubber ewok in the water. “I know! Isn’t it exciting?” You coo to him, nuzzling your face into his fuzzy little green head. “Oh, you’re going to smell so nice for your buir. Even if he can’t smell you with that tin can on his head. When we cuddle tonight, he’ll just want to eat you up,” you tease, your nose scrunching with a smile.

When the sink is properly filled, you place the child in it. It’s deep enough to reach just below his armpits, and he splashes around tranquilly. “I know, isn’t it fun?” you laugh softly, scrubbing him down with a bright green sponge in the shape of a frog.

Getting the baby’s head wet is a challenge. He doesn’t like the feeling, so you know you have to get creative. You grab the little rubber ewok and hold it up. “You want it?” You ask, and he nods. You drag it around beneath the water and he tries to grab it, dunking his head under. Perfect. He takes it from your hand and pops back up giggling. “Good job, squirt!” you coo and rub his head with the sponge.

You dry him with a fluffy towel when you’re done and redress him in a new set of clothing, smiling. “You’re such a cutie,” you murmur and press a kiss to his head. “I love you, you know that?”

And somehow, you know he knows. He can tell, and you can tell he loves you too.

My mama, my protector, she plays with me and feeds me and snuggles with me. Love. Love love love my mama and my buir. Buir is shiny and quiet but he loves me and sneaks me snacks after bedtime when mama’s sleeping and boops me on the nose and wraps me up in his cape when it’s cold.

You’re taken aback by the sensation before Din descends down the ladder from the cockpit. He walks over to the two of you, giving you a keldabe kiss before heading to the ‘fresher. Clearing your throat, you clear the thought from your mind. You must’ve imagined it. “Well, let’s get ready for bed,” you tell the child. The water runs in the ‘fresher- Din must be showering. You change into a pair of comfortable clothes then turn off the lights and get into the bunk with the child.

“Are the lights off?” He calls.

“Yes, love,” you shout back. Din emerges from the refresher and snuggles into bed with you and your son. His hair is damp and his face is clean-shaven, you can feel both when you reach for him as the bed dips with his weight. “Hi there,” you smile and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Hi,” he chuckles and kisses you a little deeper for a moment. Your hand drifts to his side- he’s shirtless, leaving him only in pants- and his finds your chest, pressing a hand over your heart. The moment is disrupted as one three-fingered hand finds each of your faces and pushes you apart. “Hello, ad’ika,” Din laughs, grabbing the child and snuggling him between the two of you. He presses a soft kiss to the baby’s head, you can hear it, and breathes in deeply. “Mm, your mama gave you a bath.”

“Sure did,” you chuckle. You know Din loves the smell of your shampoo; it reminds him of when you first showered in the Crest, and his helmet was off when he went to the ‘fresher next and it smelled clean and soft and feminine and beautiful.

“Maybe your mama will have to give me a bath sometime,” he murmurs as he kisses your face.

It’s the single most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard the man say. Before you can help yourself, a genuine laugh bursts forth from your throat. It’s loud and obnoxious, making you wiggle and wheeze and even snort. It’s a cackle, almost, but it’s the most beautiful noise Din Djarin has ever heard. He starts laughing along too, burying his face in your chest, chest heaving. Even the child joins in on the giggles, even though he doesn’t know why.

The three of you lie like that for a minute, wheezing hard and breathing heavily. The laughter ends and you find yourself catching your breath, Din’s face still buried in your chest. His nose nudges between your breasts and you stroke the back of his head, giving a soft giggle. You feel yourself flood with the warmth of embarrassment as you realize you just let loose such an ugly sound. “Din-”

“Don’t even try to apologize, ner mesh’la,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss over your breast, where your heart lies. “That was the most beautiful noise I’ve ever heard.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “It’s you being happy, the sound of me making you smile. What could be better than that?” He asks before capturing your lips in a slow kiss. “I’m never going a day without making you laugh again.”

Mando’a translations:

ner kar’ta- my heart

ner verd- my warrior

buir- parent (gender neutral word)

ner mesh’la- beautiful

ad’ika- little one

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #din and grogu #grogu #baby yoda

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

Text

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of “what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby.

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral.

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before.

***

Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right.

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.”

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s.

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers.

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight.

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment. The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it.

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time.

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles, @kaermorons @winter-rxn @carlygrayson @naturalswifty89 @Curiouskeyboard @idjitdestiel @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias, @altarsw , @nikkixostan , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel, @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar, @akatasukilove , @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan, @Sporadicshoebailifffish, @coldlilheart, @starsvck, @agirlinherhead, @lokismidnight, @expellopatronum, @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey, @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal, @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters, @i-ship-it-ironically

@dinsbeskar

#din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolarian #the mandolorian imagine #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

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hongism · 3 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 37.5

➻ characters: yeosang, wooyoung, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 3.6k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: past abuse and dubious consent are discussed - no graphic depictions of any of the above, depictions of piercings and needles. this interim deals with heavy topics relating to a whorehouse and it is not required to read this interim to understand the rest of the story. it is an optional chapter as all interims are, so please skip over this one if you are not comfortable with the warnings tagged ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part 4.5

“I’d like you to give me more piercings.”

“I—”

The blunt statement catches Yunho a bit off-guard, moreso than he would like to admit, and as much as he tries to hide that shock, it still slips through nonetheless. He blinks back at Wooyoung with some wonder in his eyes, enough to make the other man tilt his head in question. Yeosang stands beside him as well though the Elitist’s eyes remain unfocused and noncommittal. It’s been quite some time since Yunho gave Wooyoung any piercings — god, how long has it been? Two years? Maybe three? Surely that can’t be right… — and the doctor is absolutely no stranger to the reasons why Wooyoung would be asking for such a thing now. However, because he tries to be a good and fair doctor, Yunho never goes through with the piercings unless he and Wooyoung have talked things through.

And by that, he means therapy, basically. Checking in on where Wooyoung is at mentally and emotionally before doing anything drastic. Yet that also brings more challenges than anything else because out of everyone Yunho has ever treated in his years being a doctor, Wooyoung is by far the more difficult. He doesn’t like talking about himself, his experiences, his feelings; he despises the thought of sharing intimate and vulnerable parts of himself outside of Yeosang, but according to the Elitist, it’s near impossible to get Wooyoung to speak even when it’s just the two of them together.

Yunho would call it a phenomenon of trauma but frankly, it makes a perfect amount of sense.

Given what Wooyoung has been through and experienced — between being a slave and suffering at the hands of not one but two cruel masters — Yunho truly cannot blame the young man for being so hesitant to talk about his feelings. But, as he said, he knows vaguely how Wooyoung must be feeling if he is coming to Yunho for more piercings now.

“You hardly have any room left on those ears for more piercings, Woo,” Yunho comments through a slightly strained smile. Wooyoung opts to simply wave a hand through the air in response. Yeosang glares at the floor. “Take a seat.”

There is a large amount of struggle in this for Yunho. On one hand, he wants to be firm, stand his ground, and say absolutely not until Wooyoung opens up a little. On the other side of things, Yunho understands that this is what Wooyoung needs to cope with whatever trauma he experienced while being held captive. Yunho doesn’t know all the details, of course, he merely knows that Wooyoung was held in a cell on a ship with San and Mingi for several days before being sold to a whorehouse in Lynder. Then he stayed a few days in that whorehouse. He no doubt had to work against his will, no doubt gave in and didn’t fight what he was told to do even though he didn’t want it, and it no doubt brought back horrid memories from his time as a slave. Yunho isn’t stupid. Such a thing would be taxing for anyone.

The other thing Yunho is grossly over aware of is the fact that pain, to Wooyoung, is nothing. He still has a hard time wrapping his brain around that. Wooyoung… feels pain to a certain degree like any other person would but he has conditioned himself into not feeling it the way others might. The slice of a knife against his arm would be nothing but a pinch of a needle on his skin and wouldn’t bother him one bit; all it is to him is a small pinprick. He asks people to go harder on him when sparring. He punches closed fists against his thighs when he’s upset. He enjoys getting piercings after going through something that would otherwise be traumatic for others. Because it doesn’t hurt. Yunho recalls asking once about it because at the time he didn’t understand that either.

“Why do you ask for piercings as though you want to be hurt? If you don’t really feel that pain? What do you gain from it in that case?”

“Because it’s a pain that I get to choose. All my life I’ve been subjected to pains that are not my own doing or that I didn’t ask for. But in asking for a piercing and choosing where it will go and when it will happen… I get to choose that pain. Getting to have that after suffering pains I didn’t want feels liberating in a way. I enjoy it, as bad as that sounds. It helps me cope with what I’ve been through. Like, for every pain they force on me, I choose a new piercing. Eye for an eye but… on myself, I suppose?”

“Where would you like them?” Yunho inquires, shifting over to shuffle through his cabinets in search of his needles and barbells. “Just one or are we doing more than that?”

“Two this time, I think,” Wooyoung hums as he sits down on the edge of the first bed in his vicinity. Yeosang falls down on the bed next to him without a noise, still staying silent even though Yunho can clearly see how much this bothers him. Which part of it bothers him exactly is a mystery to Yunho because it could be any combination of things. The doctor wants to ask Yeosang if he’s okay with this but that would be a tragic mistake on his part so he bites his tongue instead. It would seem too much like giving Yeosang all the power in Wooyoung’s decisions, and doing such a thing to a former slave would only be detrimental to long-term progress. Besides, he doesn’t need the verbal confirmation when he can clearly see how much Yeosang does not want Wooyoung to do this.

Yunho’s hand hesitates over his growing collection of piercing rods, and he glances back at Wooyoung once more.

“Where are you wanting them?”

“Nipples!” The combination of Wooyoung’s blatant enthusiasm as well as Yeosang’s far too deadpan expression sends Yunho reeling, and he chokes around nothing but air before truly processing Wooyoung’s request.

“A-Ah, I see, of course. One moment,” Yunho murmurs, blinking down at his collection with a bit of bewilderment before picking out what he thinks to be the right size barbells. He’s not unfamiliar with these sorts of piercings — ones on the body that is — and he has found himself well acquainted with certain body parts of the crew to a point where he is no longer uncomfortable with doing things like this for them. Wooyoung is one of the few (the others being Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Y/N) who Yunho is not well acquainted with in that way, however, so this does come as a bit of a surprise. “Your shirt… would you mind taking it off?” Wooyoung strips himself of his top in the next second, and Yunho watches the way the fabric catches on his metal collar before springing loose. Then his eyes settle on the expanse of freshly exposed skin. It elicits a sharp gasp from Yeosang as well, one that Yunho matches in intensity because… well. Yeah. Yunho isn’t sure how to phrase what comes to his mind then.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang exhales as he balls his fists around the sheets. Wooyoung stares forward at Yunho with a certain expectancy, like he’s challenging the doctor to not breathe a word about the sight before him, but Yunho would rather lose that challenge right now.

There are… bruises against Wooyoung’s waist. Vaguely shaped like large, manly hands that press the outlines of fingers into his tanned skin. They wrap about the young man’s lithe waist and leave little to the imagination about what sort of scenario and position Wooyoung must have been in when receiving such bruises. The sweeping sensation in Yunho’s gut is so strong that it nearly makes him sick on the spot. Yeosang just looks angry at this point, and Yunho cannot blame him all too much for that. With a sigh, the doctor sinks onto his stool and presses closer to the bed until his knees bump against Wooyoung’s.

“Wooyoung, we need to talk about… this.” Yunho motions to the other’s torso, unable to peel his gaze off the ugly marks.

“What is there to talk about?” Wooyoung sounds almost genuine when asking the question. “We all know the nature of working in a whorehouse. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“That’s not — you didn’t — Wooyoung.” Yunho may or may not be bordering on desperation when he exhales this time. He has dealt with a lot of different scenarios and situations as a doctor, but something of this degree is far out of his wheelhouse.

“I asked them to be rough,” Wooyoung admits through a whisper so quiet that Yunho at first thinks he misheard what the man said.

“W-What was that?”

“I said I asked them to be rough.” Wooyoung’s repetition doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Almost worse. Definitely worse. “I told them to rough me up a little, make me hurt some, I asked them to treat me that way.”

Yunho spares a pleading glance in Yeosang’s direction, hoping that the man will have some insight on this part of Wooyoung since that is far from Yunho’s specialty. He doesn’t know… intimate details about Yeosang and Wooyoung’s more physical relationship, but Yeosang would surely be the person to ask for confirmation about this side of the man. Instead of a small nod of approval or some sign that this is normal, all Yunho sees is a horrid scowl.

“You — did you want them to be this rough with you?” Yunho asks, tone falling into a more quiet one now.

“I asked them to make me hurt, Yunho.”

“That wasn’t the question, Wooyoung. Did you want them to do that?”

“I came here to get my fucking nipples pierced, not to be interrogated pointlessly,” Wooyoung snaps back. This time he pushes some venom into his tone but it rolls off Yunho’s shoulders without sticking one bit. “I like pain during sex. I like when Yeosang pushes me around and hits me some even when I’m fully in control. I barely feel it anyways so why should it matter at all? Now are you gonna do this or not because I’m sure I can do it myse—”

Wooyoung moves to push up off the bed and make for the door but Yeosang is quicker to wrap his hand around Wooyoung’s wrist and pull him back without a word.

“Did they do anything you didn’t want?” The Elitist asks through tightly gritted teeth.

The hesitation and silence speak volumes, Yunho is hurdling towards a conclusion he does not want to hear, and he is ready to cry by the time Wooyoung finally opens his mouth and answers the question.

“No, they didn’t. I got lucky. I got fucking lucky, Yeosang. All my clients in those days were fucking kind and only did what I told them they could because the workers knew I was fresh meat. They knew people like me needed to be treated gently for the first few weeks so they only sent clients with good and safe track records to my room. Those clients only ever did what I told them to, only did what I said was okay, didn’t touch me if I said no. I got lucky.” Wooyoung spits the words like he hates himself for speaking them, and Yunho thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that the man was not as lucky as he says he was. He should be relieved, grateful even that he got lucky, but he only sounds enraged.

“Were there…” Yunho starts but his question dies a bit early on his tongue. He swallows around nothing, pulling a pair of latex gloves off his workstation and working his fingers into them as he mulls over his next words. When the last of the latex snaps around his wrist, he finally speaks again. “Were there ones who weren’t lucky?”

“Every fucking night after my clients left, I got to listen to the prostitute next door sob alone in a room with no one to help him. And the very first night I tried to talk to him through the fucking wall and ask him if he was okay and if he was hurt, and he told me I was lucky to be fresh meat. That they would listen to me because I was new and still had some hope left in my eyes. While he didn’t get that chance, he didn’t get to dictate what he wanted or didn’t want because people just took it from him for so long that he lost the will to ask. So yeah, there were ones who didn’t get lucky. There always are.”

Yunho opens his mouth but closes it just as quick, expression a cross between blank and just flat out dumb because he doesn’t know what to say if there even is something to say.

“That’s not your fault, Wooyoung,” Yeosang says instead, but his grip on the other’s wrist releases. “What happened to him is not your fault.”

“What was it that your mother said when you picked me out of a line of slaves? That I was lucky to be picked? But why did I get to be lucky while others suffered? Why did I get to choose not to be hurt or in pain while that prostitute was stripped of that choice? We were all whores for sale in that place so what did I do to deserve being treated better than him? What did he do to deserve being treated worse?”

“Woo…” Somehow the Elitist manages to sound genuinely saddened by the words.

“The very least I could do was ask to be treated the same as him, was it not? But I couldn’t even have the courage to ask for that? The only thing I could do was ask them to hurt me even though I knew it wouldn’t really hurt. How lucky I was, right? If I’m not hurt, then it doesn’t matter who else gets hurt in the process, does it?”

“Wooyoung.” The edge in Yeosang’s tone pushes forward, bordering on threatening, but Wooyoung is hellbent on speaking his mind right now and any threat from Yeosang won’t stop him. Yunho has the thought to intervene and stop them but he knows — he knows how badly Wooyoung needs this right now. If this will help him cope with what he had to go through then Yunho is in no place to stop him.

If this is what he needs to make Yeosang cope with it too, then Yunho again is in no place to stop him.

“How does it feel, Yeosang? Knowing that the only reason I was hurt in there is because I asked for it? Do you still think we got lucky?”

“Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“No, because if it had been you in there, things would have been different. Because you — you are lucky, Yeosang. You always have been and you always will be. Yet no matter how many times I tell you that, you still refuse it. You—” Wooyoung stabs his index finger hard against Yeosang’s chest, voice coming out a bit choked and wet now “—could have sat there for weeks and listened to that boy next door cry and sob without an ounce of sympathy. Because that’s what an Elitist would do. That what you were raised to do, that’s in your blood, how your brain works. But it’s not how mine works. So you don’t get to sit there and tell me that I made the wrong decision.”

Perhaps Yunho is too used to conflict and gross distortions of communication because when Yeosang stands down rather than fighting back against Wooyoung’s words, he’s overwhelmed. Simply put, he is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know how else to describe the swell of emotions in his chest. But Yeosang just lets his shoulders sag and his face falls flat once more, anger ebbing out of his expression like Wooyoung has a tight grip of control over him. Yeosang isn’t a person to stand down so easily; he’s stubborn, has a short fuse and even shorter patience that causes issues more often than not, and he hates when things don’t go his way. Yunho merely assumed the same would apply to his relationship with Wooyoung.

It doesn’t, as it seems.

“Then what would you have me do, Wooyoung? Let you bend until you break without batting an eye? Watch as you blame yourself for something that happened to a person you didn’t even know? Who had been there well before you? Letting you torture yourself for things that are out of your control is not logical or fair; I don’t need to be an Elitist to realize that.”

“You can be as upset as you want, I don’t mind if you’re upset, that’s not what this is about!” Wooyoung argues back, voice climbing in volume a bit. Yunho takes it upon himself to lean away from the bed a bit, and he does his best to make himself seem as insignificant as possible while prepping his clamps and needles. “It doesn’t matter if it was my fault or not. What matters is that he suffered while I did not. And even asking to be hit and pushed around and bruised wasn’t enough because I was still asking for it. I’m… I’m not saying that I wanted my choice taken away — I would never ever ask for that or want that in any capacity. That’s the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a person. No one deserves that. No one. It just didn’t feel fair enough even though it was all I could do to make it feel fair. So yeah, I got fucking lucky, I guess. But he didn’t do anything to deserve to be unlucky.”

“I’m not saying that he did, Woo,” Yeosang whispers to the space between them. “I’m certain that he was a good person who got a bad hand in life, and I’m sure he deserved much better than what he was given. You always ask me to consider your thoughts and feelings on matters. You tell me that it’s because I’m an Elitist that I can’t understand you. You say I just have to accept things and move on, but you don’t — I’m not some emotionless husk, Wooyoung. Being an Elitist doesn’t make me not feel anything. Just because I think with logic more than emotion doesn’t mean that I can’t have emotions. For every fucking night you were gone from my side, I suffered too. It felt like I was losing you to the fate you wanted to fight together, and there was nothing I could do except wait. I was lucky too. Lucky that I didn’t have to wait longer or fight harder to get you back. Lucky that we got you on the first try. Lucky to have you even sitting before me now. It’s not… the reason I keep saying that we got lucky isn’t because I think everyone else in that whorehouse deserves the fate they were given. It’s because we had the chance to fight what fate gave us and took it.”

Yeosang manages a shaky exhale. He blinks down at his hands without saying anything for several moments, but doesn’t look back up at Wooyoung even when he decides to talk again.

“For the first time in over fourteen years, I didn’t get to be your shield. I wasn’t at your side. It wasn’t as simple as coming home from a mission and having you by my side, in my bed, or being in your arms. None of that was even an option because it wasn’t a mission and there was no guarantee of if you would ever come back. I have dedicated my whole life to protecting you because I promised to never let you be hurt again. So you want the answer to that question? How does it feel knowing that the only reason you were hurt in there was because you asked for it? It feels like you’re fucking spitting in my face, Wooyoung, and taunting me for my failures because I wasn’t there to stop you.”

That causes Wooyoung to backtrack in an instant. Realization sinks through his skin, and Yunho doesn’t doubt that it hurts more than any pain that he could inflict on himself. Because that’s the thing about love — it can simultaneously bring you the greatest joys in life as well as the deepest ruin.

And right now?

Yunho can clearly see the ruin in Wooyoung’s features as much as he tries to contain the emotions. Yeosang doesn’t stop there, and it’s with a small shake of his head that he lifts his chin to look Wooyoung in the eye again.

“I’m not blaming you, Wooyoung. I know the kind of person you are, I know how deeply and strongly you feel, especially towards injustices and unfairness like what that boy experienced in there. I know you did what you thought you had to, and I’m not blaming you for making those decisions. But do not ask me to love you even a fragment less than I do now. I knew a boy who was in that very same position once too. Who didn’t have a choice, who couldn’t make any decisions for himself, who didn’t get to choose his pain. I knew a boy who sat on the other side of a metal divider in a bed too small for his body and cried because of how unfair life was to him. And I promised that boy I would get him out and save him and keep him safe from harm at any and all costs. I can’t keep that promise if you won’t let me.”

The breath of silence that ensues after Yeosang speaks is thick enough to choke Yunho, and he pauses his movements in the wake of that quiet because it just feels utterly wrong to even move right now. Wooyoung is dangerously still, perhaps more still than Yunho has ever seen him before. Then a tear escapes the corner of his eye and rolls down the ball of his cheek to pool at his jawline before dropping to the bed. It breaks the dam of the frozen atmosphere, and Wooyoung careens forward to smack his fist against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“You stupid little — how can you say cute shit with that stupid lovesick look on your face? And I’m supposed to be okay? God, I’m gonna suck the soul out of you later for that, you absolute sap. Then ride you until you cry for good mea—”

“Um, too much information, hello!” Yunho intervenes before Wooyoung can even think about finishing the thought in front of him. “Listen, I’m all for sex but I do not need to hear those kinds of details. Just… practice safe sex and wear protection. That’s all I need to know about your sex lives, please!”

“I’m just trying to show my appreciation here,” Wooyoung argues through a wet sniff, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Yes, well, save the appreciation for later. I’m still piercing you, am I not?”

“Was that enough talking for you then?” Wooyoung offers a small laugh that sounds more pitiful than anything else, but Yunho isn’t about to call him out on such a thing.

“You tell me, Wooyoung.” Yunho shrugs a bit and glances over to where Yeosang is sitting, watching the way the Elitist folds a hand over Wooyoung’s without hesitation. “This is about how you’re feeling and where you’re at mentally and emotionally. I’m not the person who gets to determine whether it’s enough or not.”

“No, i-its — I feel… better getting to tell someone that. And getting to reassure you guys that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Even if I still feel a bit of guilt about it, I know I couldn’t change it even if I tried. But yeah, talking about it — that helped.”

“I’m glad,” Yunho hums through a smile of his own. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say it over and over, but my door is always open if you’d like to talk more about it. That goes for both of you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Yun, don’t worry! But right now I’d like for you to put that needle through my nipples so I can get on with choking on Yeos—”

“Nope, okay! I’ll put this needle through your tongue to shut you up instead, how about that?”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay so!! i felt like this chapter was kinda necessary? considering what we saw wooyoung go through and i didn’t want to bury what he went through or act like it didn’t happen but bec of the heavy nature of the topics i wanted to make sure that it wasn’t absolutely crucial for anyone to read this and feel like they were missing out. these are serious things, they are important things, and as always i tried my best to represent those things as best i could and as realistically as possible to avoid any romanticizing of these topics so i hope i was able to convey that and the feelings the characters had well. please please please take care i love u all as always be safe and stay healthy !! i’ll see you guys soon with another chapter!

also it’s been a minute but this survey is always open for you guys to take whenever you like!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @eggteez @bangtanxberm @uglychildd @lucymultistan @revehosh @choistan @vampyrejimin

#mists of celeste #abuse tw #blood tw #interim #not tagging as usual bc of the heavy nature of the chapter!

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

Stranded Part 4

Savage x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

WARNINGS: Gore, Blood, Death, All around violence, Oof fucking angst. Don’t read if you have a weak stomach.

A/N: So I haven’t written anything this graphic before and I’m positive there’s A LOT worse out there but I did push my personal limits. I kept this chapter short so if anyone needs to skip it, they can. It’s probably not as bad as I’m hyping it up to be but if gore bothers you badly you can absolutely skip this chapter and it won’t hurt the overall story. I’ll be sure to mention the important parts in the next chapter so if you do skip you won’t miss anything too important.

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

NO!

Savage watched through moonlit woods, aided by his night vision. The gangly creatures dragged his princess away by her legs. She clawed at the dirt, tearing at anything she could grasp, raking at roots and soil as she was pulled deeper. Overwhelmed with terror, she let out a scream, “Savage!” Giving chase immediately with his saber-staff in an iron grip; his body tore through the underbrush. Running as quickly as his feet would carry him. These beasts were fast; their bodies whipped through the air around over growth and thick tree trunks. He lost sight of them but could still hear the guttural shrieks of the monsters and the terrified howls of his princess rip through the freezing night air.

Why now? Why had they breached the bounds of their territory tonight after all these years? What changed?

He could feel them through the force. Cold, slippery signatures surrounded her bright flourishing light, attempting to violate what was pure. As he pushed forward, ignoring the branches and thorns scraping his flesh, their numbers grew. His mind wasn’t working fast enough to realize he was running into an ambush. Even if he did realize it, he would continue towards her anyway. Glowing putrid green eyes shone through dead branches, the occasional snarl tearing through the atmosphere.

Her signature was fading into the distance.

He had fallen too far behind.

Her screams had stopped.

He regretted leaving her alone in the first place.

Panic began flaring in his chest, lighting his nerves on fire and boiling his blood.

But he was a hunter; as was his brother and his father before him.

This is what he had been bred for.

Fight for and protect the woman that had not only chosen him, but he had also chosen.

He stopped and closed his eyes, focusing on her scent and her fluttering force signature.

There.

He knew what path to follow.

He lit his saber and spun on the ball of his foot, cutting down one of the creatures that dared to leap out at him from the canopy. When its body dropped limply into a smoking heap the seal had been broken and chaos rained down on the golden Zabrak.

Dozens of the snarling beings dropped out of the branches swiping sharpened claws at his throat and his legs. He was born, lived and hunted in the night on Dathomir. Growing and training until he was the most fearsome thing that stalked through the forests once the sun had set. His roar tore from his throat as the red of his blade cut down any living nightmare that dared to stand in the way of his princess.

One of the creatures latched onto his back and before he could bite into Savage’s throat the Zabrak reached behind him, sank his claws into his shoulder blades and swung the monster over his head onto the rocky ground below him. An almost deafening crack of the monster’s spine rang out, killing it instantly. Igniting both sides of his saber-staff he twirled it in his hands and turned, gutting the three closest to him. The cauterization not stopping their entrails from dropping out of their now hollow bellies.

Savage leapt at the next one nearest him and tore out its esophagus with his fangs, blackened blood dripped down his chin as he stretched his arms out and gripped two more in a steely force choke. He squeezed until their heads sprang from their necks. He kicked another in its sunken chest, propelling it into the trunk of a tree. He made quick work of the remaining creatures with his saber in a barrage of quick and brutal moves.

Just before her signature gave out the last of the beasts dropped into a crumpled heap at his feet hissing out the last of their breaths. Taking off towards the flickering light he ran; ignoring the blood that seeped from the deep lacerations from the beasts’ claws.

He came upon a break in the tree line that opened into a large circular clearing. Moonlight shone on a tree that towered higher than any of the others growing in the center of the clearing. Its trunk thicker than the ship he had crashed here on. He could feel the dark side of the force ebbing and flowing from deep within it. He could smell her blood on the breeze. He could see her claw marks in the soil leading to a hollow within the trunk; sparse bloodied handprints dragged across the dead bark of the great tree. Her light was slowly being snuffed out by darkness.

He stepped inside and nearly stumbled over broken roots. With no moonlight to reflect off of his surroundings for his eyes to pick up he had to see by the light of his saber. His stomach lurched at the sight before him.

Bathed in a red glow, her body lay in the center of the hollow, barely moving. Her eyes were foggy and her chest was hardly rising or falling as they tore into her legs, her arms and her stomach.

One lifted its gaunt face from her neck, pulling a chunk of flesh away with its teeth, to shriek a warning at him. Grabbing it by its throat, he smashed its head into the ground, skull crashing under his palm and spurting black blood across the floor. He reached out with the force and pulled the other three off of her and sheathed his saber inside their chests in succession.

He looked upon his princess, bitten, bloodied, broken.

Her limbs were bent incorrectly, chunks of missing flesh revealed the muscles and tendons that lay beneath the skin.

She lay limp on the earth.

Wet tear tracks ran from her eyes down her cheeks and pooled on the soil below, mixing with the blood that had poured out of her neck wound.

Her breath came out in rasping wheezes as she raised a trembling hand out to his face.

She didn’t have the strength to close the distance between them and when her conviction ran out, her hand fell to the earth.

He dropped to his knees beside her and lifted her into his arms, pulling her into his chest as tears pricked at his eyes. She opened her mouth and tried to speak but only a quiet gurgling left her lips, followed by droplets of blood that leaked out of the corners of her mouth. He watched her eyes cloud over as her pupils dilated from the loss of blood and she lost consciousness, going limp in his embrace.

Her pulse fluttered sporadically, weakly in his ears.

A sob escaped him as he lay her back down on the ground and gently as he could, placed one hand on her chest and the other on her legs. Letting out one last wavering breath he closed his eyes and imagined his life force flowing from his hearts, through his arms and into her. Through the force he reached out to her, pleading for her not to leave him. Begging the gods for the strength to heal the only other love he has ever known, to allow him to repent for his brother’s murder.

He could feel his body weakening as hers started to mend itself. Flesh regrew over wounds before his very eyes, her pulse beat stronger with each passing second. Just before it became too much for him her eyes snapped open and a loud gasp left her lips. She force pushed herself away from the center of the hollow until her back thud agianst the inner wall of the tree. Glancing around the small space frantically before realizing that she and Savage were the only living beings in proximity.

“P-princess. I’m sorry I.. wasn’t… fast enough..” Savage toppled over from his knees onto his back and lost consciousness.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was the familiar wooden ceiling of their small cabin. He groaned and raised his hand to rub his throbbing head. He had tried to sit up but two small warm hands pressed lightly agianst his chest, softly pushing him back to a laying down position.

“You must rest my love.”

He turned his head to look into your eyes and a thankful smile graced his lips before turning into a grimace.

“I did not fail…” he whispered.

“No, my sweet darling,” you cupped his cheeks in your hands and placed a lingering kiss on his lips, “you saved my life. I owe you for every breath I take now.”

“You owe me.. nothing,” his brows creased in effort, “I only returned what you have given me,” he allowed his eyes to close as you peppered his face in kisses and massaged his scalp; eliciting a rumbling purr.

“H-how did we get back here..?”

“Mira found us. You killed them all. There are no more beasts in the trees, the valley is free of them. She must have sensed it and came to our aid.”

“Mmm, remind me to save the best cuts of my next few hunts for her.”

You smiled, utterly grateful for the brave warrior that both saved your life and survived the ordeal himself.

“Please my love, rest now. You expelled much of your life force into me when you healed me. The sun will return soon, sleep.”

And so he did. Safe back home with the love of his life, he slept for days. Thanking the gods every minute for granting him what he required to vanquish the monsters that had haunted your nightmares and feasted upon your body.

While your love rested you rubbed the muscles in your arms. The creatures; bite must have been venomous. The veins in your arms and legs had blacked just under your skin and you could feel the subtle burn. Right now, all you wanted was to lay and rest with your Zabrak. Force healing could cure infections, mend bone and flesh, but toxins had to be treated appropriately. Not now, now you needed rest as much as Savage.

Taglist :) let me know if you’d like to be tagged

@thundersheild

#savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage opress fluff #savage opress angst #tw: gore #tw: injury #SWTCW #SWTCW au #Zabrak #nightbrother #night brother #savage x reader #nightbrother x reader #night brother x reader

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samanddeaninpanties · 3 years

Text

Title: Lion’s Share

AO3 Link

Square Filled: Claiming

Ship: Dean/Jack

Rating: E

Written for the @winklinebingo

Tags: Dubious Consent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Jack Kline, Alpha/Alpha, Omega Sam Winchester (mentioned), Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Knotting, Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Jack Kline, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Jealous Dean Winchester, First Time, First Kiss, Banter, Arguing, Violence, the violence is fairly mild it’s mainly just the set-up for the sex, Wall Sex, Age Difference, Barebacking, Mentioned Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Mentioned Jack Kline/Sam Winchester, Come as Lube, Porn, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Heart-to-Heart, Manhandling, Claiming, Mating Bites, Loss of Control, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, POV Jack Kline

Summary: Jack is drawn to unmated omega Sam. His asshole alpha brother Dean is having none of it.

(A.k.a "Knot the omega you are looking for")

“What the fuck is this?" Dean snapped, throwing a bouquet of wildflowers at Jack as he stormed into the man-cave.

Jack caught it but his bowl of Reese’s Puffs cereal spilled and tumbled to the floor. He scowled at Dean and placed the flowers on the arm of the La-Z-Boy recliner. "Don’t tell me you don’t know what flowers are.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why were they in Sam's room?"

"Because I gave them to Sam. Why were you in his room?"

"Putting his laundry in there. That's not the point. I'm pretty fucking tired of you constantly putting moves on him."

Jack raised an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the TV. "Sam's an unmated omega.”

"And you just conveniently didn't notice my scent marking?"

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Your scent is inescapable, Dean. It’s everywhere.”

Dean snarled and grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and heaved him up out of the chair. "You’re too smart to be so fucking stupid. I meant on Sam."

Jack's breath hitched at Dean's fury but he raised his chin, stomping out any hint of weakness. "No, I didn’t notice."

"Well you should, Jack. Because it’s my knot that gets him through his heats. So I'm gonna tell you straight up: fuck off," Dean said.

Jack swallowed a groan and tried to extricate himself from Dean’s grasp. "No. Your agreement is out of convenience, not love. Maybe Sam wants to explore his options."

Dean forced Jack backward and slammed Jack against the brick wall by the open door. Sam could come back from the supply run any second and -

“Get off me," Jack panted and shoved Dean’s chest, hard.

The push sent Dean off balance but he didn't let go of Jack. He thrust Jack back into the wall and pinned him there. "I don't care what you think you have going on with my brother. He's not available."

Jack’s insides turned into liquid. "How do you know? Have you asked him what he wants?"

"Sam is mine. My brother, my omega, mine." There was a pounding in Jack’s blood, a click in his head. Dean’s lips were rosy; fuckable. Maddeningly distracting. Really, Dean’s whole face screamed omega at first blush but Dean had been quick to put those thoughts to bed.

"He’s never stated that. Can you blame me for trying? Sam's so pretty." Jack sounded needy and mindless rather than confident and in control.

"I don't blame you. I'm just telling you enough is enough.”

Jack quit trying to escape. It was fruitless. Dean was bigger and stronger and he just couldn’t. "Did you really think that if you ordered me to stop I’d obey?"

"Maybe I should put you in your place then."

Jack jolted, dick straining. Disgusting. Shameful. And so hot. His eyes wandered to the Foosball table, the unfinished bar, Dean’s toys, his whole domain. He was just another thing in Dean’s den to be used as Dean saw fit. "If you're trying to scare me it’s not going to work.”

Dean snickered. "Thought so. You dirty boy. Moaning and whining like a bitch in heat while I touch you."

Jack was dripping inside his pants. It didn't even matter that Dean was laughing at him, his dick, his knot, knew what it wanted. "You’re not my type,” Jack lied because he wasn’t ready to inflate Dean’s overblown ego just yet.

"Your type seems to be oversized omegas but we're going to fix that, aren't we?" Dean maneuvered Jack so he was facing the wall. “You want me to fuck you, Jack? Claim you?"

"Dean," Jack keened, canting his hips. His mind was stuck on claim claim claim. Such a derogatory word to use when playing with another alpha.

Dean dragged his teeth over the nape of Jack's neck. A threat, a tease. So unfair. "Bet you wish you could get wet for me." He snaked an arm around Jack's body, found his cock. Squeezed it. "I should keep you both.”

Jack groaned, rocking against Dean’s hand. Dean’s hand was fire, it was a brand. "You don't even like me."

"Who said I don't like you?"

"You did with your attitude. All the glaring and baring of teeth," Jack rasped and looked over his shoulder so he could gaze into Dean’s piercing eyes.

"Yeah, well. Maybe if you didn't choose to sniff around Sam... “ Dean pushed Jack's shirt up and over his head and threw it on the floor.

Jack drifted away from the wall, facing Dean to give him better access. "It was like that before I 'sniffed around Sam.'"

"Whatever." Dean started on Jack's pants. Once Jack was naked, Dean roughly grabbed Jack’s chin and consumed him with a heated kiss. His free hand stroked Jack. Slow. Torturous.

Until it wasn’t.

Dean let out a growl that shook Jack down to his bones, his innermost parts. He manhandled Jack back into position, nose facing the wall like he was a naughty child in time-out. And then Dean was sinking to his knees.

“What are you - oh!” Jack’s body threatened to collapse when Dean pulled his cheeks apart and buried his face between them, forcing his tongue into Jack’s hole. A place he’d never let anyone. A place that was only Jack’s.

Dean was deadset on barreling through any boundary Jack had ever had without bothering to ask him if it was okay. And Jack couldn’t even be mad, no one had ever made him feel this wanted, this desirable.

“Two little omegas,” Dean purred against hot flesh. His tongue was slippery-wet, fucking in and out, making Jack’s toes curl. Too much, not enough. “All for me.”

“Not an omega.”

“You will be when I’m finished with you.”

Jack wanted to laugh at the sheer idiocy of Dean’s statement. The certainty. Dean was letting his inner alpha run wild and dominate every part of their interaction and it showed. “You’re delusional.”

“Nah. I just know a knot-slut when I smell one,” Dean said and went right back to destroying Jack with that wicked tongue. Dean’s hand found Jack’s cock again and pumped him expertly as he ate Jack out. “Come on, baby. Give up the goods, make a mess in my hand. You know I need it, we need it,” Dean said, using his alpha voice.

Jack’s window of opportunity, his chance to fight tooth and nail, was long gone - not that it ever would’ve ended differently. Dean was too strong and Jack didn’t really want to get away, even if it meant the humiliation of being taken and claimed rather than being the one doing the claiming.

Dean wanted him, a turn of events he wouldn’t have expected a few short weeks ago. Actually, he wouldn’t have thought it possible twelve hours ago -

“Jack,” Dean said, nipping Jack’s ass cheek. Jack came with a soft whine into Dean’s hand, his sloppy, tongue-fucked hole clenching greedily.

“Oh, baby. You can do better than that,” Dean purred. Dean waited a few beats before pressing two come-slick fingers into Jack.

“I don’t understand.”

“Gotta scream for me, Jack. Gotta beg me real sweet.”

“Dean, no,” Jack said, his voice wavering as he fucked himself on Dean’s hand.

“Nuh-uh, try again. Dean, yes.” Dean added another finger and Jack was afraid he’d break, that he was being pushed beyond his limit, beyond what his body could take. His hole felt so small with Dean inside him, how on earth was an alpha cock supposed to fit?

“Can’t -”

“Yeah, you can, baby. And you will. And you want it.” When Dean started to withdraw his fingers Jack tried to turn and see - but Dean was prepared for that. “No moving. Not yet.”

Jack huffed and settled. “You’re really starting to get on my nerves, Dean.”

“Welcome to the club,” Dean said, his giant hands using Jack for support as he returned to his feet. He only removed his hands long enough to rid himself of his clothes, tossing them into a messy pile, and then he was back to crowding Jack against the wall. And oh, Dean’s cock burned even hotter than his hands. He humped between Jack’s cheeks, making his home near Jack’s hole. Ready to claim it properly any second. “That’s how you make me feel all the time.”

“So, I was right! You can’t stand me,” Jack said, trying to avoid the sting, trying to ignore the ache and embarrassment. He’d been told more than once he was too sensitive for his own good. His hurt was confirmation, proof the criticisms were correct.

Dean kissed the nape of Jack’s neck, dragged his lips along it. Jack’s body was a treacherous thing because he arched into the contact like the slut Dean had proven him to be. “It’s complicated. C’mon Jack, don’t act like you don’t get it. Sometimes love can be hateful. We hurt people we love more than we hurt people we couldn’t give a damn about.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Aw, baby. I have what you need,” Dean crooned and began pressing his cock into Jack’s ass.

The impossible stretch made Jack’s eyes water. “I can’t,” Jack choked out. He squirmed as Dean sank deeper and Jack’s inner alpha screamed at Jack to fight. To push Dean away. Out. “You have to -”

“Relax.” Dean soothed his big, callused hand over Jack’s lower back. “You’ll work yourself into a panic if you don’t.”

“No, Dean, you don’t understand. We were wrong to try. Alphas aren’t made to fit a knot,” Jack said, his last words breaking and twisting into a moan.

“Feels right to me. Looks awesome, too.” Dean grabbed the meat of Jack’s ass. Spread Jack’s cheeks as he continued to glide in, punching the air out of him with each thrust. Jack could only ride the waves of discomfort in hopes he came out the other side relatively unscathed. “Your hole is doing the work it needs to do. I’ve got you.”

“Okay, Dean,” Jack groaned. Nodded. He ached more than anything but Dean believed Jack could handle Dean’s cock - so Jack could trust him.

“I wanna take you hard,” Dean panted, licking a hot stripe along Jack’s neck.

“You really wanna mess me up, don’t you?”

Dean laughed and shoved in brutally, cock pulsing with the need to knot. “Only in the best ways.”

“Please shut up.” The pace was quick. Bruising. There was a choking relief at being fucked.

“Oh, I got a ‘please’ this time? Gotta mark this on my calendar, write it down in my diary. ‘I dicked Jack so good he said please. Can’t wait to do it again.’”

“You really are an asshole,” Jack said, face flaming from humiliation as Dean cackled like a lunatic. Dean was teasing Jack and it wasn’t nice - but he’d said something very important, too. Something Jack needed clarification on. “Do you wanna fuck me again, though?”

Dean hummed. Kissed the lobe of his ear. Breathed into it. “Hell yeah.”

Jack whined and yelped as Dean’s next shove hit just right. “Dean, you’re killing me.”

“Better start working on your stamina, kid, because I have no interest in going easy on you. Ever,” Dean promised as he plunged deep into Jack.

Jack came unexpectedly with a sob, lost as Dean fucked him through the aftershocks. “Dean - please. Please can we -” his voice cut off, moaning as Dean pulled out of him. His ruined hole clenched on nothing. An eager, hungry thing.

“C’mon,” Dean ordered, tugging Jack away from the wall and over to the recliner. Dean sat first, patting his lap expectantly. “Sit on me, baby.”

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. His legs were desperate for a break. He scrambled onto Dean’s cock as fast as his body would let him, moaning as he sank down, taking everything. His puffy, abused hole so happy to be filled with Dean’s giant cock. “You have to come, too, don’t leave me alone,” Jack finally rasped, rolling his hips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Dean purred. Squeezing the globes of Jack’s ass.

When Dean’s knot started to inflate it was bigger than anything Jack had imagined, it filled up every empty space and then some, and Jack thought he’d scream or stop breathing altogether when Dean’s knot almost popped out and he dragged Jack closer to him, making sure his knot and come stayed in. “Told you. I’m too small,” Jack said faintly as more of Dean’s come shot inside.

“I disagree,” Dean said in his smug alpha tone then bit down on Jack’s neck, leaving a raw, tender wound. A claiming mark. “Mine.”

“Dean. I didn’t say you could do that.” There was a not-so-secret part of him that liked it, that just needed to be forced. Playing with Dean made him feel insane.

“You didn’t have to.” Jack smacked Dean’s chest and he caught Jack’s wrist in his tight grip.

“Need more training, huh? Maybe when my knot goes down I should tie your feisty little ass up in my room, keep you near me always.”

Jack bared his teeth. “Dean, you can tease me all you want, it doesn’t change anything. I’m an alpha. Not an omega. I’m going to keep wanting what I want.”

“You still want Sam.” Relief trickled into Jack. It wasn’t a question. Maybe they were getting somewhere, maybe there was hope this could end without too much drama or tears. “I get it. Anyone with half a brain does.” Dean faltered, fell silent again. Jack tried to give Dean room to think, tried to wait. For a few seconds, anyway. He wracked his brain for a solution. Couldn’t leave Dean alone. Coax it out of him. Jack tossed his head, gazed at Dean through his lashes, and milked Dean’s knot. Come on, Dean. You can do it. And then - success. Dean’s eyes softened and he let go of Jack’s wrist. “You got under my skin in a way others didn’t. Hasn’t done great things for me. I know Sammy loves me. But I could just stick with him the rest of my life and be happy - I don’t think the same could be said about him. So, yeah, maybe I was feeling a little, uh, threatened by you or whatever.”

For a heartbeat, Dean looked so damned sad. Little boy lost. It was gone in a blink but Jack had seen it. Dean’s insecurities, his fears, laid bare for Jack. “You know he doesn’t need to choose, right? If Sam needs more than just you… he could have it all? We could share?” Jack placed a hand on Dean’s cheek. “I won’t try to replace you, Dean.”

Dean hummed. His gaze roamed over Jack, making Jack’s heart jump. “Maybe you could have a supervised session. If you can earn it. I want you all to myself right now, though.” Dean didn’t give Jack a chance to pout, pulling him into another life-changing kiss.

“If you want me all to yourself, fucking me with the door wide open was a bad idea. What if Sam sees?” Jack croaked when the kiss broke. Dean tweaked Jack’s nipples, growling playfully. Even if Jack wasn’t full of Dean’s knot, he had a feeling Dean wouldn’t bother locking them away somewhere safe and private.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Jack let himself melt into Dean and drifted off on his knot.

#winklinebingo #winkline #deanjack #dubious consent #alpha!dean #alpha!jack #alpha/alpha #claiming #this was posted on ao3 last month but i forgot to make an official post so here it is now #writing #tori writes

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smarchit · 3 years

Text

Look Around, Look Around pt 7

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 4k (apparently)

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse, blood/gore, violence, labor, childbirth, ask to tag for anything else!

Notes: This is definitely the longest part of this story so far. When I first published this on Ao3, it was originally titled “The Mother.” Enjoy!

Your water had broken. It ran down your legs and created a dark spot on the floor below your feet. The wet mark bloomed across the floor and fear rose in your throat. Kriff.

Two weeks early. Two whole kriffing weeks early. Almost three! You remembered what the doctor on Nevarro had said about potential birth complications and tried not to think about it too much as you tried to prepare the little home as much as you could in the short amount of time you knew you had.

You had been walking around the largest room in the house for a few hours since then, trying to stop the unbearable pain in your back. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

You let out a sharp cry and clung to a support beam so you wouldn't drop to your knees in fucking agony as another contraction hit. They were still far enough apart that you still had a bit of time, but you knew that this baby was coming. Today. With or without the Mandalorian there to assist. He kriffing promised.

The sun finally came up and still no sign of the Mandalorian. You were beyond worried - both for him, and at the very real possibility that you had to do this by yourself. In the middle of a desert.

You had decided that sitting in the nest of soft blankets and bedding would be the best option for you right now. Gods, what you wouldn't give for Mando's strong hands to grip onto right now.

Between the contractions and over the beeping from the timer you had rigged, you heard voices outside. Your heart jumped, thinking the Mandalorian had finally returned, maybe with help. It didn't sound like Mando, though. Neighbors, perhaps? Though you hadn't seen any other houses when you arrived. Fear began to bubble in your throat.

"There's his ship," a voice growled from outside. It sounded vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it.

"Think he's in here?" asked a second voice.

"Nah," replied the first. "He would be waiting for us if he were. His girl's here though."

"How do you know?"

"I heard her crying."

You gasped, both in fear and in pain and carefully got to your knees. If you moved quick enough, you could make it to the ship and lock the door, like Mando had told you to do.

No luck.

You had almost made it to the back door when it slammed open. There was a scrawny man with sandy hair standing there, a dagger in his hand. He smiled at you and as you tried to scramble away backwards, he reached down and grabbed you by the hair.

"Oh, he's gonna love to see you," he chuckled.

You screamed and brought your foot down onto the arch of his boot. Hard. He let out a scream of pain. As he dropped you, you ran to the table and grabbed the blaster Mando had left you.

One shot to his head and he crumbled to the ground. You had an uneasy feeling that his partner wouldn't be felled so quickly.

Adrenaline coursed through you as you staggered to the back door again. All you needed to do was get to the ship...

"There you are," the first voice hissed. It was deep and grating and chilled you to your core.

Your eyes went wide with sheer terror as you recognized the man that filled the doorway that you currently were trying to make your escape through. Dern. The Devaronian innkeeper.

"Where is the Mandalorian?" he shouted, crossing the room to you in two massive steps. You backed up, trying to keep as much distance between you and him as you could.

"I don't know!" you shouted, crying out as a contraction hit. As you gripped your stomach and doubled over, you took a few breaths and tried to stay calm.

"Oho, now what is this?" he roared with laughter. "What's the matter, little girl? Do you need some assistance?"

"Get away!" you cried as he came closer to him. "I'll -- I'll shoot! I'll -- Ah, kriff!"

He just kept laughing despite your gasps and huffs of pain. Dern gripped your arm as you tried to keep it steady to shoot. He crushed your wrist and yanked the blaster from your hand.

"Please, please no!" you shouted as he drew you closer.

"Tell me where Mando is and I won't shoot," he said, aiming the blaster at your head.

"I don't know!" you sobbed. He still had a grip on your wrist and you could feel the bones creak as they threatened to shatter in his grasp.

Dern scowled and then in an instant, he had the blaster pressed against your belly, one finger resting on the trigger. When you let out a scream of horror, he gave a cruel chuckle.

"Tell. Me. Where. He. Is." Each word was punctuated with a jab to your belly with the blaster barrel.

You groaned and screwed up your face as the wave of contractions continued. Closer. Not long now.

"Please," you begged. "Let me go. I don't know where he is! He left two days ago! Please, I'm telling you the truth."

Dern scoffed and let you drop to the ground. He shook his head as you scrambled backwards, trying to get yourself to the small nest of blankets you had left on the floor. The palms of your hands were cut up with dust and gravel.

Your thigh brushed something buried in between the pillows and blankets and when you glanced down, there was a little glint in the low light. The knife. There was a chance after all. But you had to think fast. You only got one chance to hit, otherwise you and your baby were both dead.

The Devaronian took a seat close by you and kept the gun trained on you. He leaned forward so he could get a better look as you braced yourself against the wall as a powerful contraction hit. My moon, I will not let him take you from me.

Dern kept the gun on you for the better part of the early morning, waiting for you to talk. He drank the last of your water from the skin, leaving you parched and sweating as the sun beat down on the house.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Dern," you gasped, hand clutching your belly. You pulled your shirt from the waistband of your skirt, exposing stretched flesh to the dry air. "I... I need help. Please help me. This baby is coming."

Gods, you hoped that Devaronians weren't known for their obstetrical prowess. It was the worst lie you ever thought of.

He laughed as he stalked over to you, stuffing the blaster in his pocket. One giant fist tangled in your hair and yanked you to your knees. "You finally decided you need my help, huh?"

You gritted your teeth as he leaned down to get closer, pulling you up to meet his face. He smelled like blaster smoke and oil. And something beneath that. Something that caused a deep rage to boil inside you, something that caused your maternal instinct to go into hyperdrive as you gripped the hilt of the knife Mando had left for you. Sour Bantha milk.

"Think I'll keep you," he said with a chuckle, "Wonder how soon I can put another baby back in you? You look so good like this. Wonder how good you'd look with a Devaronian inside of you." Dern trailed his fingers down your neck and cupped his hand over one of your breasts, travelling lower until it reached your exposed belly. He dug his nails into your skin.

You screamed and drove the blade of the knife into the side of his neck as hard as you could. When you jerked it forward, he gave a roar of pain as his blood sprayed over you.

He tried to reach up to grab your arm to subdue you, to try and make you drop the knife. Dern swore and tried to snap your wrist as you brought the blade down again and again with your other hand.

When he fell, you gave another scream and shoved him away. As he landed in a heap on the floor, you drove the knife into his temple. His blood soaked through your clothes, the blankets, the dirt floor of the house turning the sand red and wet as he bled out. It was on your face. You could feel it. You tried to wipe all the blood off your hands on a nearby blanket. Shaking. Your vision blurred. You just killed someone. Two someones. There's so much blood.

"Maker," you gasped.

You had to get out of here as soon as you could. As quickly as possible, you staggered to your feet, biting your lip bloody through the pain. You had to get to the ship. Send an emergency signal to someone. Anyone. Maybe someone would pick up on it and rescue you. Maker, you would even take your chances with the remnants of the kriffing Empire right now.

Something must have happened to the Mandalorian to keep him away like this, especially when he promised you he would be back. You shuddered to think.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as you walked, no, waddled through the blood on the floor and out towards the ship. As you entered the hold, you realized you would have to go up to the cockpit to send a message. You tried to climb the ladder, but you didn't get past the first rung before you dropped to the floor. You hissed at the pain in your knees.

Blood pounded in your ears as you crawled back the hallway towards the bedroom you had slept in for the past few months. You were running on pure instinct and adrenaline right now.

Like a scared animal.

As you tried to pull yourself onto the bed, you heard loud footsteps clanging up the ramp. Someone called your name. They sounded frantic as they searched for you.

"Mando?" you called, your voice hoarse as you tried to get his attention.

He must've heard you. His footsteps grew louder and closer as he neared, and you turned your head as best you could to see him there in the doorway, shiny beskar armor catching the light and looking every single bit like a kriffing hero.

You tried to turn around to face him, but the worst of the contractions finally hit. In an attempt to alleviate some of the pain, you sat against the wall of the bedroom, unable to make it onto the cot.

Mando was already at your side on his knees. He yanked his gauntlets off and threw them off to the side. You heard them land somewhere with a clang. His gloves came next. Here in the low light of the ship's interior, you couldn't get a good look at hands, but they were warm and solid when they pulled you against him.

"Gonna need to take this off," he said quickly. He helped you lift your hips and gently pulled off your skirt and underclothes, ruined and soiled with fluid and blood.

"Where-- where were you?!" you cried as your body finally gave you the signal to start to push. Talk about close calls, Mando.

"Tell you later, okay?" he replied, looping your arm through his. "Focus on this - brace yourself on me. You need to push."

You pressed your whole weight against him as you focused all your strength into pushing downwards.

Mando gripped your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed to get through this. He held one of your thighs open with his elbow resting against your knee while you kept your free hand on your other knee. Blood streaked along your inner thighs and Mando set your balled-up skirt on the floor beneath you to try and catch some of the fluid.

You threw your head back and fucking howled. The sound was absolutely primal and it rang in your ears as you bore down. It echoed through the ship and reverberated back to you.

You really didn't even hear Mando's strong words of encouragement as he tried his best to talk you through it. You weren't sure, but you may have told him to shut the fuck up at one point.

It seemed like it was never going to end. The pain tore through you like fire.

A sharp cry that was not your own flooded your ears. A rush of endorphins came over you as your child finally made their entrance into the galaxy.

"You did it!" Mando cried. He sounded like he was laughing with relief. "Me'suum, you did it!"

Hands shaking from exertion, you let go of Mando to help the screaming baby out of you.

"Oh, my moon," you whispered as your eyes filled with tears. "My little moon."

You gently lifted them and held them against your chest, wanting nothing more than to have this baby now be as close to you as physically possible. You shushed the baby gently, your own cheeks now wet as well.

"You did it," he murmured. He pushed sweaty hair from your forehead and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against him. His cool helmet rested on your temple as he looked down at the still restless newborn baby in your arms. "It's a girl, me'suum."

"I did... Did it." you breathed, resting your hand on the baby's back. You were suddenly exhausted and you sagged against him heavily. Your words slurred together slightly. "'s a girl, Mando. A lil' girl?"

"Hey," he murmured, jostling you a bit in an attempt to rouse you. He sat up a bit straighter. "Hey. I need to get you cleaned up, okay? We gotta get you clean."

You nodded and let your eyes flutter shut. You were so tired...

"Maker. Me'suum," he said, trying to get your attention. His tone was urgent. "I will be right back. The medpak is in the fresher. Don't fall asleep. You lost -- Maker, there's a lot of blood."

Mando stood and exited the room, being sure to side-step the blood. He grabbed the medpak and an extra shot of bacta before he returned to you. He knelt back down in front of you, administered the shot and sighed in relief when the color returned to your cheeks after a moment.

You felt better instantly. No pain, no fatigue. Only slightly weak, but you had expected that from the beginning.

"Mando," you whispered as he took his place at your side once more. You looked up at him through heavy, sleepy eyes. When he responded with a grunt, you looked down at the baby, now finally calmed and gurgling slightly, and stroked your finger over her faint hairline. "I need you to cut her cord for me... Please?"

He sucked in a breath. The sound crackled through the modulator and he stood, frozen in place.

"Hey," you said, lifting your head. He looked so distant, even though you couldn't see his face. "Can you do that? Please?"

Mando shook whatever he was thinking about from his head and turned his attention back to you and the baby.

"Right, yeah," he murmured. He pulled out a pair of wound care scissors from the medpak and carefully cut your baby's cord. He tied it off with a strip of gauze from the kit.

While Mando did his best to clean you up, you used a clean edge of your shirt to gently clean your baby's face, noting that she blessedly had most of your features.

Mando disappeared for a moment, returning with an armful of blankets and cushions from the house. Many of the cleaner ones were from the festival that now seemed like a lifetime ago.

After sitting there with you for a while, he helped you into the bed and made sure you were as comfortable as possible.

He wrapped your daughter in one of his old scarves and returned her to your arms. You slid your arms out of your shirt and pressed her to you, hoping that the contact would soothe her.

"Gonna... Go check on the kid," he said softly. "You gonna be okay?"

"You gonna bring him down?"

"In a bit... Give him a little talking to," he murmured. "A heads up. I don't think he knows what's going on."

You gingerly moved your baby to the other arm and held your hand out to him. "He might be asleep."

Mando looked up at the ceiling as if listening for any sort of disturbance upstairs.

He stood by your side and laced his fingers through yours. His hands were still bared to you and you noted his skin was a beautiful golden copper.

"Why didn't you come?" you whispered, looking up at him. "You said you'd be back by morning."

"Remember how I said it looked like Jawas scavved the parts of the tanks?"

You nodded.

"So I headed towards a settlement I saw on the way in, hoping someone would have a bit of sympathy if I explained the situation," he murmured. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "It ended up as an ambush. Some people I used to work with."

You looked up at him and he gave your hand a squeeze.

"They wanted you," he continued. "Said they were gonna take you to your husband for the money. I had to fight them off - they wounded me and ran. Another moisture farmer took me in. Lent me her speeder so I could get back here."

"You almost didn't make it," you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the baby's forehead.

"When I saw those bodies in there... I didn't know what to think," he said softly, "I thought that you were... I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry about your friend," you said, though you were beginning to think that their relationship was purely one-sided at the beginning, foggy in the middle and hatred on both sides at the end.

He gave a half hearted shrug and ran a calloused thumb over your knuckles.

You wanted to say something so bad. But what words could you say? Thank you wasn't enough and I think I love you felt like it was both too much and not enough. Both were true. You had never felt so grateful for another person in your whole life.

A banging noise from upstairs startled you both. You jumped enough to wake your daughter who had fallen asleep, her little head nestled against your breast as she began to cry. You lightly rocked and shushed her as Mando went to investigate.

He returned not a minute later with his own child under his arm. The baby looked incredibly pleased with himself and the way Mando's shoulders sagged made it look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders by holding his adopted child.

You couldn't help but laugh tiredly at the picture the four of you must make. It filled your heart with an emotion you hadn't felt in so long. Joy.

The child babbled excitedly in Mando's arms when he saw the bundle against your bare chest.

You nodded and gently lowered your arms down when Mando set him in your lap. When you pulled the makeshift swaddle down to expose her face, the child cooed and blinked at her. He peered over the edge of her blanket and cocked his head to one side.

"See?" you murmured, rubbing your fingers over one of his oversized ears. "Gentle." You pressed a kiss to your daughter's forehead and then leaned forward to kiss the child on his.

Mando made a soft noise and you looked up at him. He was leaning against the wall, watching the three of you. You wished you could see his face. To know what he was thinking right now would complete you.

***

The next day, Mando set a course for Sorgan. He sent a message to Greef Karga, advising him he was taking a short leave of absence from the Guild.

He let you sleep for as long as you needed to. He figured you had been through enough and deserved to rest.

You woke suddenly and immediately panicked when the small bundle beside you was empty.

"Mando?" you cried, jumping from the cot. You threw on a robe, ignoring the pain screaming between your legs as you tore open the bedroom door.

There was the sound of water running from the fresher and you gently knocked on the door.

"Mando?" you repeated, not caring that you sounded frantic.

The water shut off and the door slowly opened with a hiss.

The Mandalorian stood before you in just his thick canvas pants, a high-collar shirt, and his helmet. Your daughter was nestled in his arms in a clean blanket, clean, dry, and sleeping soundly.

The child cooed at you from the small sink in the fresher. He too, was clean, but had not yet been dried, though he didn't seem to mind.

"You should still be asleep," Mando said softly as he let you take your daughter in your arms. "You just did an amazing thing."

"I need to feed her," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose.

Before you turned to head to the cockpit, you looked up at him.

"You bathed her?" you asked, feeling the telltale sign of tears in your eyes.

"She still had blood on her," he murmured. "She slept the whole time."

You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He looked down where your hand fit against his. You stood on your tip toes and pressed your forehead to his.

Before he could respond, you pulled away and ascended to the cockpit to feed your baby.

***

As you approached the lush planet of Sorgan, you watched both children as they slept. The child was in his pod, your daughter in Mando's arms. He was so gentle with her. You had watched those hands snap necks without a second thought, and yet you trusted them completely to hold something so fragile and new.

"Did you name her?" he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

"You have to think of one," he said as he looked up from her face. "I mean, you can't really call her your moon for the rest of her life."

"What do you call the child, then?"

Mando was silent for a moment.

"Thought so," you teased. "Besides, what was it you called her earlier? When I was feeding her?"

He gave a huff of soft laughter. "Me'suum'ika?"

"And what does that mean?" you asked. "I assume it's Mandalorian, but what does it mean?"

"Moon," he said quietly as he touched her nose.

"Then that means..." You gasped as you came to the realization. "Mando! Have you been calling me a planet for the last three months?!"

Mando laughed loud enough to wake both babies as you felt the ship begin deceleration to Sorgan.

"What did you think it meant?" he wheezed as he turned his chair around to land on a patch of flat ground.

"I'm not sure," you said softly. "My darling? Maybe that?"

He was silent as the he pressed a button to power down. He patted your daughter on the bottom to lull her back to sleep as he stood to face you.

"Cyar'ika," he replied, his gloved hand cupping your cheek.

This time, it was he who left before you could respond.

You turned to look out the front window of the Razor Crest. Already, you could see the villagers coming towards the ship, led by Winta, who seemed much taller now than she had six months ago when you first met her.

As you joined Mando outside, you spotted Cara Dune, gun slung over her shoulder walking beside Omera at the rear of the crowd.

Mando put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer as everyone came to get a look at the star system's newest moon.

***

TAGLIST (Let me know if you’d like to be added!):

@miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @poeticparker @blackbird337 @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell @qhbr2013 @bookszazzy @marvelbros-oneshots @cuteboyking @boomtownboy @connor-challoner @fandom-lover-4 @itsmysticalmystery @love-struck-aries @lifeisapitch15 @cosmicwhisper @hybrid-huntress

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #no use of y/n #look around fic

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bunny-hoodlum · 3 years

Text

Asynchronous With You: Ch 6

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (quite possibly mature or explicit later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication, Missed Opportunities

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

"I think everyone should know," she said.

They were walking the usual route to their high school, the train station coming up ahead. Naruto kept a protective though furtive gaze on Hinata as he walked behind her on the steps.

He swore she's never modified her skirt. It would be against the dress code she's forced to protect. So he has no idea why it feels like he's seeing more of her than usual.

"Know what?"

Usually he's already doing this, because he's worried about perverts. Even in grade school, he was worried. If it weren't for their teachers educating them on Stranger Danger, he probably would have had to do it himself.

He had to learn it the hard way before Kurenai-obasan took him in, but so did Neji apparently. That's why he's gotten good at being less obvious with his suspicion, and also why he can better tell apart intent based on their body language.

He used to perceive everything around him to be potentially malicious. He never realized the toll that had been taking on him until Neji taught him how to really see.

He stood close behind her on the platform as they waited.

"That we're fosters."

A burst of wind shot through the platform, ruffling overcoats and business suits and whipping pleated skirts and loose hair in a sudden frenzy.

The PA announced the train's arrival, and it wheezed to a stop soon after.

He observed Hinata as she flattened her skirt down and smoothed her bangs, but none of it registered in his brain.

It was simply auto-pilot for him to follow her onto the train, then using his larger frame to block the other passengers from nearing his little sister.

Right. His foster sister.

In all of their nine years together, they've never told anyone. It wasn't that it seemed weird, it just… never occurred to them?

But now it did seem pretty weird.

"Why, though? In a couple years, it's not going to matter anymore."

She turned her face against her shoulder to look at him, but he didn't know what she was thinking. It was the same schooled features she put on last night when visiting Neji, like there was a one-way mirror and only she could see through him.

Then she looked away.

"You're not going to introduce a girlfriend to Kurenai one of these days?"

"Hmm?" The suggestion bloomed in his mind and quickly withered. The idea wasn't… very appealing. Something about inviting judgment onto his life and stuff. He defends himself in every aspect but at home, and he'd rather keep coasting on the good thing he's got. "Dunno. Hadn't ever thought about it."

He certainly wasn't going to introduce any of the one's he's taken to bed when the apartment was empty. He's rarely done it with the same girl twice, mainly because he can't help but lose interest.

He blames it on sexual incompatibility.

"Well, I know I will."

He misses the melancholy hedging around her words, and latches onto the opportunity for an easy ribbing.

"You're gonna bring a girlfriend over?" he's happy she shoots him a look so that she can see his corny grin, otherwise he worried she might've mistaken him for serious.

He's nonplussed by the severity of her glare, but then she says "Maybe when you're not around," and he no longer knows what to think.

"Wait, what? Hinata?" He's craning left and right in hopes of catching a smirk or a giggle from her, but she's evasive. Has she? "Hinata, are you--?" And since third grade she said? "Also, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'? Huh? Hey, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'?? Hinata???"

"We're getting off topic--"

"Bullshit! I have questions!"

She ignored him.

"I vote to tell our friends that we're fosters. And I'd like to have it taken care of during Lunch. What's your vote?"

Is this what she sounds like during her Public Morals Committee meetings? Because it was doing something to him.

Oh, right. She wanted an honest answer.

But… "What do you get out of announcing this? I mean, aside from knowing how to introduce me in the future or whatever. Have you thought this through at all?"

What's the rest of the school going to say?

The guys who share their skin mags with him might get wary and reject him. The girls he's dumped might try to get to him through her. Teachers might give up on disciplining him, essentially offloading their responsibilities onto her as both Public Morals Committee and his sister. And he wasn't having any of that shit again.

All kinds of things could bite them in the ass one way or another.

She hasn't replied to him at all, and he thinks she's upset again, but he has to make his point.

"Hinata, the way things are now isn't broken, so what are you trying to fix?"

"It would help me."

"Huh? How? With what?" He waited, and she was silent. A drop of dread sank in his chest for her. "So something is wrong," He leaned in closer, causing her to shrink. He sighed. "Hinata, for someone who wants the world to know we're fosters, you sure don't seem willing to rely on me like a sibling."

"I don't favor Neji-niisan over you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Tension clutched at their throats. "People always have more history with their blood. I can't really compete, y'know?"

He can't compete at all, actually.

Sometimes he thinks his only true brother is Sasuke, but he still wants to work at this. She just has to let him.

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be less lonely if we could talk to each other normally again. And we only see each other at school these days, so…"

He envisioned her waving to him in the halls between periods, or her having a reason to cheer him on during a deadlift tournament. It would prevent people from making the wrong idea about them.

Damn, he felt stupid now.

"Fine!" He intoned with mock-annoyance. "If it'll make you happy."

She looked over her shoulder again, and what she found was his warm, supportive smile.

________________________

Hinata gathered her friends, Kiba, Shino, Ino and Sakura.

And he gathered his friends, Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Chouji.

Ino had tsked in distaste when she saw Sasuke, had gone as far as to drag Sakura away so that the others sat in-between them. He caught some sort of nickname from her lips, but wasn't sure what she had really said.

As Naruto stood before them alongside Hinata, his gaze fell on the skinny lad scribbling away at his sketchbook, and immediately his fight instinct was switched on.

"What's your monochromatic ass doing here??! Did anyone invite him?!" He jabbed a finger in Sai's direction.

The monotone, softboy, little creep didn't even look up.

"I'm making a record of these proceedings for posterity," he lifted the sketchpad and flipped it around.

Inkified Naruto was pointing right back at him with an agape snarl. Sai then proceeded to show everyone else individually, and they all cracked up, one by one.

Ino was absolutely dying. Stomach-clutching and tears rolling, the whole nine yards. She snatched the sketchpad from Sai and begged if she could keep it.

"Whaddya want that for??" Naruto interrogated. He was so about to punch Sai and throw his art supplies in the pool. This was Hinata's announcement and the softboy was ruining it.

Ino mockingly tilted the sketchbook side to side. "Something to keep your ego in check, Charato."

Hinata faintly snorted. He wasn't sure until he saw how she had her face turned around and her shoulders were lightly trembling.

He frowned at her, feeling betrayed.

"Ahhhh, alright, enough! Me and Hinata have gathered you all here for a reason! So shut up and listen! Hinata, tell them!"

Hinata jolted out of her humor, her face flushing as though this were the first time she's done public speaking.

"Uh, Uhm… Naruto-kun and I… we're foster siblings. We, uh… we live together," Hinata froze up under their collective stares. With a stiff smile, she half-heartedly sang "Ta-da," and punctuated it with rather embarrassed jazz hands.

"And as our friends, you're the first to know," Naruto added. "Also we don't care if the whole school finds out. So don't worry, we're not sharing this out of confidentiality."

Their collective shock evaporated rather quickly.

Sakura was the first to speak. "Well, that answers a lot of questions. And raises plenty more." She ended it with a growl and a glare. That accusatory look irked him.

"Feel free to ask away! I've got nothin' to hide!"

Sakura flattened the back of her skirt as she rose up like a dignitary representing The House of Hyuuga. And then like a certain video game attorney, she pointed at him.

"I always wondered why you obsessively protected Hinata in the past, but never showed any romantic initiative towards her. Now I have to ask, knowing the sex maniac that you are: Do you ever sneak into her bedroom?"

"No," He answered unconvincingly. He looked at the jury one by one, unsure how much of their scrutiny was sincere or misperceived. Sasuke was leaning forward, arms circling around his knees. He looked a little too interested in the idea of him and Hinata… doing things… "I-I've never done that! I would never do that! Hinata's special to me, okay?! You've got a filthy fuckin' mind, Haruno!"

"Me?! You've tried to sneak into the female locker rooms!" Sakura took off her shoe and slugged it at him. "Multiple times!"

Naruto hunched up and twisted away as the shoe smacked his shoulder and bounced away.

Hinata moved in between him and the one-woman mob. "Okay, this is getting out of hand--"

"I will never fucking do that to Hinata. I was in an orphanage for six years. And they're not all run by saints."

Dammit.

This was way more than he ever wanted to share.

He took a few steps back before turning tail. He jogged downhill as fast as he could.

What was he doing?

Uzumaki Naruto doesn't run away.

But it was either that, or… have them watch him cry.

________________________

AN: So this is missing a scene cuz I cut it. I might not use it anymore, and instead I'll see if the backstory I had expanded upon will be worked in later on in the plot. Because before I started writing this, I had anticipated that things would actually get cuter from here on out. (Also anticipating that I may work in at least one smutty chapter in the future. Yeah, it's totally diverging from this fic's original concept when I posted it for Secret Santa, but that's okay!) And the total Ego Death I unexpectedly wrote just feels kind of Deus Ex Machina in a way to Naruto's vices. I just can't have him maturing right now. That's a plot route I don't have any material for, and I don't quite see it as not defeating the other stuff I had planned to write. (I'm also happy to state that I'm starting to get a better picture of how to condense this content on AO3, because I honestly feel like this could be Ch. 2 now. :B I mean, it's too short on its own if I do, but it kinda has that hook for the rest of the story.)

I hope you enjoyed this update! 😘💕💕💕

#asynchronous with you fanfiction #chapter 6 #naruhina fanfiction #naruhina #naruto x hinata #modern au

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ohnopoe · 4 years

Text

Do I Wanna Know? | Chapter .02

Ship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader Word Count: 4.4k+ Tagging: @hawkerz12 & @slowlywithfreedom & @itsjammin Warnings: SMUT. Author’s Notes: If you’re under 18, stay away from this fic. This is not a suggestion. It is against the law for you to be reading this if you are under 18.

Part One was originally titled ‘Daydreaming’ but then it became a series, so I figured it needed a name change. Sorry for any confusion!

Kinktober Prompt: Anonymous Sex & Blindfolds

Part One | Part Two | Part Three (coming soon!)

The rules were simple. Your blindfold had to remain on at all times even in the dim light of the room, and you couldn’t tell them who you were. In all honesty, most avoided talking as much as possible, desperate to fulfil fantasies without reality crashing down around them, and you were more than willing to go along with the unspoken additional rule.

The lights were already dimmed as you entered the room, cold and emotionless blue that only skimmed along where the wall met the floor. It was too dark for even shadows to form, giving you peace of mind. Whoever this stranger might be, they had no chance of knowing your face, nor you theirs. You could barely make out the shape of your own hand before your face as you took in what you could tell of the odd room. There was a bed, neither gaudy nor shabby, and what looked like they could be ropes tied to the solid frame. Well, that was certainly something to keep in mind if this went well.

But you didn’t have long, you knew that. Your fellow anonymous patron would be joining you shortly, and the instructions the helpful desk clerk had given you had been clear and comforting as your anxiety had risen upon your arrival in the odd club.

If it had been anyone other than Shaak Ti that had recommended the place, you would have seriously questioned their sanity, but those few words the Togrutan had offered had been reassuring. This was a place for those who needed a release, whether they couldn’t have the person they were after, or whether they didn’t have someone in mind at all. It was the perfect thing for a jedi like yourself, with no way of somehow falling into an emotional connection and attachment that came with an actual relationship. From the look in her eye, she was certainly speaking from experience, and that fact alone gave an awful lot of comfort.

You removed your clothes carefully, hesitating slightly as your finger danced over the strap of your bra. But it was dark, there was no need for modesty, and having your stranger try to remove the clothing in the minimal light might only cause further problems, and so your underwear joined your robes. With your clothes folded in a careful pile on the small shelves near the door, you shuddered a breath, attempting to remain calm and ignore the cold bite of air against your bared skin.

This was so different from anything you had ever tried before, so void of emotion and care and all the things that had drawn you into the horny mess you had found yourself in earlier. But this wasn’t romance, this was about release, about letting yourself give in to what was only natural, without the consequences that could bring you so much trouble in the real world.

Still, your mind could run free here. You could pretend the man you would spend time with was the Jedi your heart craved, you could pretend for just a moment, that he wanted you as you wanted him.

The strip of black silk sat awkward in your hand, the final act you would need to perform before going into this. With half your face covered you would be shrouded in anonymity, and with your sight gone, so would he. You stared at the fabric, as if it might hold the mysteries of the galaxy, the answers to solve the war, and tell you what to do, all in one.

Closing your eyes, you felt the smooth blindfold, running it between your fingers as it draped over your wrist. In another time, another life, you could almost imagine the feel of it wrapped tightly around your wrist, holding you still against your bed, leaving you to the mercy of the man you craved. He could be so teasing at times, would he be teasing then? Would he lavish your body as you desired, or leave you wanting, drawing out your desire until you could take no more?

Well, you certainly weren’t worried about being worked up for what was to come with thoughts like that. With a gulp, you sat at the edge of the bed, eyeing the small button that lay at the wall that would tell them you were ready. Yes, you thought resolutely, you could do this.

You fit the blindfold tightly, ensuring it would not slip from your eyes before you lay back against the silken sheets. It was soft and cold against your skin, prickling your nerves into attention as you settled yourself before reaching up and pressing the button.

The door opened only moments later, a swoosh of machinery and then footsteps, soft and gentle. You couldn’t hear boots or shoes of any kind against the cold floor, and it made you intrigued. Was he already undressed? Was that the norm? The sound of the door shutting once more startled you.

He moved slowly into the room, with an air of uncertainty you could almost feel rolling off him. Perhaps this was a bad idea, perhaps the clerk had been wrong, had found you someone that was not as compatible as you had hoped. But then, in the darkness, what could he even see to reject?

But he didn’t stop, not entirely, making his way towards you in the darkness, slowly. Perhaps it was hesitation that held back his movements, perhaps it was something more primal. You could give into your imaginations here, could pretend it was Obi-Wan stepping into the room, his gaze hungry as he drank in the sight of you laying there just for him, primal and fierce as he held back from ravaging you.

You could feel the shift of the bed as he found his way to you, the way the soft fabric pulled taut beneath you with the movement of his knee coming to kneel beside you in the silence. Your breath caught in anticipation, feeling the warmth from the man at your side seeping into your waist, but he did not touch you.

With your bottom lip drawn in-between your teeth you lay there waiting, unsure whether you ought to be making the first move, but it was hard to initiate anything when you were the one with your eyes covered behind a silken mask. Still, your hand moved from where it lay at your side, seeking out the man and following his warmth to find his thigh. A jolt of surprise seemed to come from the man at the slightest touch, but he didn’t push your hand away as you traced lightly over bare skin. Well, at least you weren’t the only one naked.

Hands found yours, holding them for the slightest moment in such an innocent manner, before he gently lead them up to the bars of the bed. His hold was careful, almost tender, and oddly reassuring, and he squeezed your hands once before leaving them to hold the bars.

Fingers, light and careful traced down your bare arms, tickling the skin with the airy touch as he explored his way slowly in the dark. And then it was gone, teasing you forwards, searching for some kind of contact. But before you could lift your hands from their spot, he was back, shifting over you, bracing his weight with one hand by your head as he leant forwards.

His lips seemed to hover over your wrists, pressing against your pulse point tenderly, but leaving no question that he was asking they remain where they were. And so began their journey. He seemed to take a delight in the softest of kisses against your arms as he travelled lower, the lightness of his touch making you crave something more. And was that the feel of hair surrounding those lips, or were you simply imagining it, desperate for his lips to be those of the jedi you craved?

His mouth found your neck in your distracted thinking, nuzzling there for a moment before descending with more vigour. He seemed to home in just above your collarbone, dragging his teeth over the skin before licking at it quickly. The rough feel of his beard and teeth followed by the quick warm wetness of his tongue had you offering an unearthly moan, diminishing any fears that this might not be as good as you needed it to be.

But then he was moving once more, sooner than you would have liked, his touch light once more as he ran a single finger down between the valley of your breasts. He only seemed to come to a stop when he reached your navel, and you could have easily thought he was in a hurry had he not paused there, hands dancing over skin lightly, exploring you with his touch.

It was only when his breath danced across your torso, warm and shuddering before placing the lightest of kisses against your heated skin that you realised what had felt so odd about the situation. You had expected a certain lack of intimacy, after all, this stranger was seeking out something he couldn’t find otherwise, just as you were. But, somehow, you hadn’t expected him to avoid your lips so determinedly.

You could feel the rough hair of his beard as he grew more confident, his lips replacing those nimble fingers as he sucked your nipple into perfect pertness, drawing you achingly forwards with a sigh as his hand settled on your waist. He ran his tongue over the pert bud, lapping at it with such skill that you couldn’t help but marvel at the sensation. If he was this good with your tit, you could only imagine what it would feel like to have that marvellous tongue tracing over your clit.

It seemed you weren’t the only one with such a line of thought as he began to draw away from your breast, placing a gentle teasing kiss against your suddenly neglected other nipple before descending down. His lips and tongue made an expedition as they traversed your body, darting out to place the lightest of kisses against your skin, to lick at the flesh that felt so heated.

He found your folds with determination, placing an irritatingly soft kiss against you before running a finger along your slit. You were already so wet, a mixture of the man’s actions and your own imagination building within you. It was easy for him to move amongst your slickness, to trace over your clit so lightly that you were jolting your hips forwards in surprise. A deep chuckle reverberated against your skin at the action, and you could so easily imagine it was Obi-Wan worshiping your body. And just like that he found you, his lips pressing a kiss, more firm this time, against your aching clit as his finger traced idly between the swollen bud and your opening.

You couldn’t help but sigh in relief. It wasn’t much, but it was pressure, friction, and you craved it desperately. He took no hesitation in working your body, darting his tongue out to run over your sensitive bundle of nerves as his finger entered you slowly. It was almost torturously slow, as if testing the limits, and it made it so very easy to imagine it was a fair beard that sat between your thighs when you felt the trepidation of his touch against you. Yes, Obi-Wan would be careful, he wouldn’t want to push you, he would look up at you with such wonder- you had to bite your lip at the thought, hands racing down to find the man’s hair, eagerly egging him on.

He certainly seemed to get the hint as his finger began to move in and out slowly, still wary until a moan escaped you. It was too slow, too little, you needed more. With a light tug of his hair, you silently pleaded for more.

His beard rubbed roughly against the inside of your thigh as he placed a kiss there, slow and open mouthed before he returned those glorious lips to your clit, a second finger joining the first with a curl, before he was moving once more, finding a faster pace within you.

The pressure was perfect, rough pads of his fingertips running against your inner walls as he worked your body. And then he was moving again, just as you felt tension begin to rise in your body. With a frustrated sigh, you felt his weight shift down the bed, and then his finger, wet with your slick, moved to your clit, and oh kriff was that his tongue against your cunt?

Thoughts were jumbled in your mind as he curled his tongue against you, entering you slowly. It was shallow and did little to fill you, but his tongue was warm and wet and in that moment of bliss you were determined to do whatever you could to give him just as much pleasure as he was giving you in the moment.

You could feel the tension building within you, every swipe of his tongue, every time he ran that rough finger over your sensitive clit, bringing you ever closer.

You were so close.

Would he feel like this? Would he pleasure and worship your body? Would he roll his tongue against you again and again- your hips jutted forwards of their own accord, hand tightening in his hair as your imagination drew on reality for inspiration.

He was above you, hovering above you with those marvellous arms that you had gazed at far more than you ought to have holding his weight. Fair hair and a mischievous grin as he would look up at you, catching your gaze with that infamous smug smirk playing on his lips, those same lips that moved against you…

Your orgasm came suddenly, violently taking over your body as you seized against him. Muscles clenched, and it was all you could do to only let out the moan that ripped from you without drawing out a string of words along with it. Yes, yes! your mind screamed, uttering a string of profanities and praise that you wouldn’t dare let fall from your mouth.

Still, he stayed with you throughout your orgasm, lapping up your juices in gentle movements, careful not to startle your sensitive clit as he cleaned you up with his tongue.

It wasn’t until your hand, forgotten in his hair, tugged lightly against him that he moved from you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as your breath evened out as you came down from your high.

He didn’t make a move against you, didn’t rush to find his own release, or hurry you in any form. You could feel the solid weight of him above you, watching as you relaxed before him, marvelling in the sight as his own imagination played over the sound of your release over and over in his mind.

You were slow to move, rolling him off you with a hand to his shoulder as you began to sit up, still revelling in the feeling of bliss that had taken over your body. But you were determined nonetheless, a tongue like that… you couldn’t hope to compare, but you would do your damnedest to try.

With your hand on his shoulders still, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, determined not to lose him to the pitch black of your blindfolded gaze. Your feet felt unsettled as they met that cold ground once more, still weak from the feeling he had brought from his tongue, but you wouldn’t be on them for long. Your hand reached out in the darkness, running down his arm until you found his grasp and could lead him off the bed with you.

You could practically feel his curiosity radiating off him, but you quickly closed your mind to the feeling. It wasn’t a stranger’s curiosity that you wanted to have in your mind in this moment, you needed your imagination to remain in tact, to keep those images coming of the fair haired jedi master you longed for.

Standing before him, your hands slowly tracing over his waist with a light touch that mimicked his own. The feel of muscles, taut but not overdone lingered beneath your touch, only helping tempt your mind into images you could not see.

Those bright eyes would be shining down on you, watching with intrigue as you discovered his body, memorising the feel of one another in soft, slow movements. Those beautiful lips, pulled between his teeth in an effort to hold back a moan as your fingertips traced lower, finding that trail of hair that lead to where you both wanted your touch to be.

With one hand taking its place on his hip, the other ran down his thigh, marvelling at the feel of his toned leg beneath your touch. It was just as you had imagined the Jedi master would feel, muscular without being overdone, all that physical training shining through, just as they did through his khaki cotton trousers.

You had to use him to steady yourself as you lowered yourself to your knees, hearing a shuddering sigh at the action. Well, he certainly didn’t seem against your plan if that was any indicator.

Your fingertips traced over warm skin, drawing patterns as you explored further, inching towards your goal at an excruciatingly slow pace. Until you found him, hard as can be, practically laying against his toned stomach, aching to be touched.

With your hands lightly running over his straining cock, you could feel him thrusting forwards at the slightest contact before he rocked back on his feet, almost apologetically. A smile played on your face at the feel. If the strain of his cock hadn’t shown how eager he was, the way he couldn’t control his movements certainly did. You tightened your grip around him, allowing some pressure as you ran your hand up and down his length, creating a picture in your mind from the feel of him.

He was long and thick and utterly perfect, from what you could tell. You could practically imagine that pleasant feel of him stretching you out, slow and steady as he settled within you, and it was all you could do to not let your hand fall between your legs to relieve the already growing pressure there.

With your thumb tracing over his head, feeling the precum that settled beneath the pad of your thumb, you couldn’t help but smirk into the darkness. With your other hand moving gently along his length, you brought your thumb to your lips, tasting the salty sweetness he already had for you. You wanted more, and if the shuddering sigh that fell from his lips was any indicator, he wasn’t complaining about the idea either.

Slowly you edged your way forwards in the dark, hollowing your cheeks as your lips circled his cock. You moved gently, taking what you could inch by inch, allowing him to succumb to the feeling of your warm wet mouth wrapped around him.

“Maker,” the word was quiet, an uttered sigh as the man above you fell forwards into the sensation of your lips around him, but it was enough to have you startling backwards. That voice, it was familiar, too familiar.

You rocked back, mouth falling from his cock as you sat on the back of your heels, tilting your head up towards where you assumed he must be. Oh, how you wished that damned blindfold was gone, how you wished you could see the man before you, to confirm or damn the suspicions that his single word had brought nagging to your mind.

But the rules were clear. You weren’t to say who you were, just as he wasn’t to say anything that could help identify him either. And you were clinging to that rule, the only thing keeping you from crashing in the moment.

It couldn’t be him, you thought with determination, torn between desperately wanting to rid the thought from your mind, and the excitement you felt at the sheer possibility. Perhaps you didn’t really want to know, perhaps you could simply use that single word to help paint a picture that matched your imaginings, that helped you pretend it really was the man you dreamt of. Perhaps that was enough.

But you had been still too long, having pulled away from the throbbing of his cock as quickly as you had descended upon it, and he clearly realised his mistake. A sigh, one that did nothing to rid your thoughts of the jedi master who held your thoughts, fell from his lips as his hand reached down, comfortingly stroking along the side of your face, slowly drifting down your jaw almost apologetically. And then he did the one thing you could never forgive, he spoke again.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you startled back at the sound once more, pushing away from him further in shock. Another sigh came from the man, but it was barely heard over your own thumping heartbeat in your ears. “I haven’t done this before,” he continued, and there was no longer any room for question. You knew that voice too well, you had spent so much of your free time replaying it in your head, you could practically conjure the sound in your mind, hearing words he would never say to you in your mind, helping you when you had only your hand for company.

You couldn’t decide what to do. If you stopped he might grow suspicious, might seek you out with the force, may find out just who it was he had been delving into with his tongue only moments earlier. You couldn’t have that, you didn’t want to deal with the shame, with the rejection as he learnt it was you. But then, was it right to continue when you now knew who he was? When the mystery was lost for only one of you, and anonymity failed. Was it a breach of his privacy to know him so intimately when he didn’t even know it was you?

Heartache and guilt, it was a tough combination. You could either give yourself up and face the harsh heartbreak of the man you loved turning you away, or you could never meet his gaze again for the shame of it. You knew it was no real question, you had to do what was right, and perhaps one day you may be able to laugh over the situation, but never tell him that he was the very being that had brought you there in the first place.

You pushed yourself off the floor, moving slowly in the darkness, not daring to touch him as you raised yourself up. If you took off the blindfold would you see his eyes? What would they convey? How would he react to your reveal? You couldn’t muster the courage to meet his gaze, keeping the silky material firmly in place as your head hung low before him.

You had to say something, something that would reveal you to him as he had unintentionally done to you, but words seemed lost to you. How could you tell him it was no longer anonymous, that it wasn’t simply some stranger who had their mouth around his thick cock moments earlier, but a colleague, a friend.

“I’m so sorry,” your words echoed his, but the tone was so very different. Where he had been apologetic, you were sympathetic, soft and simply sad, as if you didn’t truly want him to hear your voice, as if you simply couldn’t bare what was to come.

You could feel him stumble backwards, the heat of his naked body falling away from you as he struggled to make sense of what he had heard. He couldn’t be hearing right, he must have been too far in his own mind, mixing reality with fantasy. He needed to be certain of what he had heard, of who he had heard.

The feel of his hand gently cupping your face shocked you, having expected him to practically run from you at your soft words. But instead he ran his thumb over your cheek, curious and timid, trying to make sense of what he had heard.

“Is it really-”

“Don’t,” you cut off his question, your tone almost begging, as you clung to that rule the establishment held in place as if it were the only thing keeping you from drowning in despair. You couldn’t tell him, couldn’t say the words, nor your name. Instead, you simply hung your head low, your resignation answering what your voice could not.

Silence seeped its way into the room, thick and awkward as you let the realisation sink in for him as it had done for you. But even as the moment drew on, he remained there, hand still hovering against your cheek as if frozen in place by that one damning word.

“Do you want to stop?” you had to ask, someone had to take control of the situation, and judging by the tone of his voice he was in no position to do so. You were almost thankful he was distracted, barely hearing your words and missing the way your tone gave you away in disappointment at the very thought.

“I- well-” Obi-Wan stumbled over his words, and you could almost feel his gaze flittering over your naked form, but whether it was in surprise or something else you could not tell.

“I-” you started once more, voice small and insecure as you gave in, giving him an out despite yourself. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to do this- if you don’t want to do this with me.”

But it was a lie, one you were putting your all into hiding. The truth was you would be hurt, far more hurt than you could ever imagine being, the word heartbroken rang in your mind, no matter how much you tried to push it away. If he didn’t want you, especially after how eagerly his body had seemed to react to yours, well, your dreams were at an end.

But you remained resolute, raising your head as if you could see him, as if you were as strong as you pretended to be. This would not break you. His rejection would not break you. No, if any of this was going to break you, it would be in the comfort of your room, where no one could see your tears.

“Perhaps,” he sounded uncertain, as if he were torn even as he spoke. He cleared his throat, that harsh sound of discomfort seeping into your bones as you waited for the rejection you knew was coming. “Perhaps, it would be for the best.”

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars reader insert #my fic #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #kinktober2020 #smut #damned if you queue damned if you don't

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elizabeethan · 3 years

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Forget What I Said (It’s Not What I Meant) 2/3

She continues to do what she does best. She ignores her feelings until she can’t anymore, and she deals with them by replacing them with the pleasure he brings her. A part of her tells her that she can’t continue doing this, but a bigger part of her tells her that it’s okay, because once they get back to Storybrooke, he’ll leave in favor of the sea or of finding another realm to pillage and plunder. Once he’s gone, she can forget any of this ever happened and move on.

It’s a perfect plan, except it doesn’t work. Because he stays.

Hello! @kmomof4 requested Monday morning smut and I am here to deliver. But remember, with great smut comes great angst. That is the way of CS fic. And so I give you part 2 of my @neverlandnewyear fic.

Also, @donteattheappleshook and I are aware that we’re basically writing the same fic. That’s how this all started. so enjoy a double dose of Neverland nonsense.

finally, thank you to @the-darkdragonfly for being my beta and my friend

rated E for smut and language

~3600 words

Part 1

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

She’s got to stop doing this. She told herself it would end after they got home to Storybrooke. Once they got home and he went off to his pirate life, things would go back to normal for her and she could work on getting her life back together. She didn’t expect the bastard to stick around.

She certainly didn’t expect him to tell Neal that he was backing off.

“I thought you were going to leave,” she shouts angrily as she boards his stupid ship. He pops up from below deck, holding his hand over his eyes to block the harsh afternoon sun.

“Come again, Swan?”

She rolls her eyes and walks closer to him, approaching the steps to below deck with forceful pressure. “It’s been two weeks and you're still here. I thought you were leaving after we got home.”

He shrugs, leaning his propped-up elbow against the archway he stands in. “Sorry to disappoint, love.”

Huffing angrily, she turns from him and rolls her eyes once more. “So what, you're just gonna hang around now?”

“It’s quite a quaint little town,” he reasons.

“And where do you get off telling Neal you're backing off? You realize he’s not going to let it go now, right?”

He hums in a way that makes her so much angrier. “And that upsets you?”

“Yes it upsets me!” she shouts, throwing her arms up and letting them slap against her thighs as she spins to face him again. He straightens and raises a brow, stepping onto the main deck with her and getting just a bit too close.

“Is there anything to be done to rectify that, Swan?” he asks, his voice husky and rough and his eyes sparkling too much in the bright sun.

“No.”

“Nothing?”

She laughs breathily, angrily, and says, “shut up,” before grabbing onto his lapels and forcing their lips together in a heated kiss.

He chuckles against her, pulling her towards the ladder that leads below, to his quarters and out of the line of sight of anyone who may be walking by.

“We have to stop doing this,” she mumbles as he presses her against the steps once they get to the bottom. His lips find the sensitive skin of her neck as his body grinds into her’s, making her moan.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks breathily as he licks along her throat.

“No.”

Lifting her shirt above her head, his lips find her hardened nipple once he pushes the fabric of her bra away, licking and sucking in a way that makes her moan again. “Neither do I,” he says against her, the hot air blowing against her moistened skin making her shiver.

He trails his mouth down her torso, biting her flesh and soothing it with his tongue before he reaches the button of her jeans and pops it open. Sliding the fabric down her legs slowly, she feels the sharp, cool metal of his hook gliding along her skin and she shivers again, breath stuttering when she feels it brushing over the curls between her legs.

With a smirk, he lifts one of her legs above his shoulder, granting himself the access he needs as she sits on the edge of one of the steps. “I must say, I’m glad that we’re continuing our little tryst,” he says, his mouth so close to her core that she can feel his hot breath over her. “As much fun as we had amidst the trees, having you on my ship is something else entirely.”

She wants to tell him to stop talking so much, because she can’t stand to think about the fact that she’s allowing this to continue, but her words fall flat when he drags his tongue along her core, gathering her arousal and latching his lips to her clit. She lets out a breathy moan as he artfully traces her skin with his tongue before swirling a finger around her opening. He alternates the pressure and speed of his tongue against her before sliding his middle finger inside, curling it slightly and making her stomach flip as she moans again.

The way he touches her is addictive. She can’t stop herself from thrusting her hips into him slightly, longing for more from him and nearly slipping off the ladder as she does so. He chuckles against her and the reverberations makes her whimper pathetically before he slips a second finger inside. “Fuck,” she groans.

“That’s the idea, love. But not until you come for me first.”

A third finger finds its way into her and she cries out, squeezing around them as he speeds up his ministrations on her clip. He always knows exactly what she needs, and it’s something she tries, and fails, not to think about constantly. Perhaps if she had any semblance of self-control, she wouldn’t keep coming to him. But the way he touches her like he’s known her for centuries and the way he talks to her in exactly the right way is too good to pass up.

She comes hard around him, squeezing her walls on his fingers and her thighs on his head as she falls with a shout. He gives her almost no time to recover before he drops her leg and stands, holding the back of her knee with his hook and wrestling with the laces of his trousers before he’s thrusting himself inside her. Finally.

There’s nothing like the feeling of him buried in her. She can try and deny it all she wants, but she can’t ignore the fact that she’s never felt this good in her entire life. She likely never will again, once she finally puts a stop to this. She puts away the thoughts of ending this… thing between them in favor of focusing on the way he slides in and out of her effortlessly at the most perfect pace. She cries out when he flicks his fingers against her clit again. Her last orgasm was so powerful and so recent that she finds herself falling off the edge again in record time. “Don’t stop,” she begs, as she does every time, but he never does.

“Come on, love,” he encourages, thrusting a bit harder into her. “I can feel how close you are; come for me again.”

She listens to his commanding voice, because what choice does she have, really? He knows her body too well, and she can feel his smirk against her neck as she lets herself fall off the cliff’s edge once again before he follows suit. His own moans are muffled against her skin as he holds her tightly to himself. It’s too tight, they’re too close, but she can’t help herself from tightening her own hold around his shoulders as she catches her breath.

She realizes herself and loosens her grip, pushing on the front of his shoulders until he releases her leg and backs away from her. His chuckle is self-deprecating as he tosses her a small cloth. “Aloof as always, aye Swan?”

She rolls her eyes as she cleans herself up and hops back into her jeans. “We really have to stop doing this.”

“Why?”

She laughs, but it comes out as more of a scoff. “Because it’s a bad idea. We’re not… doing this,” she says, gesturing her hand towards him and shrugging.

“Well,” he says as he ties his laces back up. “It appears as if we are doing this. If you want to put a stop to it, I suppose you’ll need to discontinue your visits.”

She clears her throat, adjusting her top and trying to fix her hair. “I suppose I will,” she agrees.

“Of course,” he starts slowly, coyly, “no one said we have to stop.”

“We do,” she says immediately, shutting down any suggestions he may be considering making. “I have responsibilities; I can’t keep sneaking off like a teenager. I have to put my family first.”

“Ah,” he says, looking down at his feet and looking as insecure as she’s ever seen him. “So I can assume you’ve made your choice, then?” Stilling, she sighs and turns away from the ladder she was about to climb. “You do know that having feelings is not a bad thing.”

“I don’t…” She doesn't have anything to say.

It’s his turn to sigh. “Aye, love, I know. If you’d prefer we stop here, then that’s what we shall do.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that he isn’t putting up a fight. He’s a man of honor, as he often claims. The fact that he’s putting her needs above his own desires shouldn’t leave her speechless. But in reality, all she can think of is how hard Neal has been fighting to be with her, and how unwilling he has been to take no for an answer.

~~~~

“Emma!” Mary Margaret calls once she walks through the door. She probably should have checked on the appearance of her hair and clothes before she walked home, but she’s hopeful that no one will know what she was up to in the middle of the afternoon.

“Hi,” she says back as she shuts the door.

“Where were you? We missed you after breakfast.”

“Uh,” she starts, her cheeks flaming and her steps towards the fridge halting. “I was, um—”

“Oooh,” her mother responds with a smirk. “I see.”

“What?” Emma demands as she takes a few more steps and grabs a water bottle from the fridge.

With a coy chuckle, her mother says, “Emma, you’re blushing, and your shirt is… well,” as she nods downwards. When Emma looks that way, she sees a bit of her bra uncovered before scrambling to straighten out her shirt. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me what you were up to. I think I can put the pieces together.”

She hopes beyond hope that that isn’t true. “Well, whatever you’re assuming, don’t worry. I already put a stop to it.”

“Oh, honey, no,” she responds, much to Emma’s surprise. “I can tell that you’ve been a bit torn lately, but it’s clear that you’ve been happier.”

She takes a sip of water, unsure if she can handle a hope speech right now, and shrugs. “It’s not worth it,” she says. “Everyone I’ve ever been with… it’s just not worth it.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret says firmly as she walks over to her daughter and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Never say that. You’re right, it is a risk. But it’s one you need to take knowing that there are uncertainties. It’s scary, and there’s the chance that you can be hurt, but Emma, the pros so outweigh the cons. Trust me, some things are worth it. Love is worth it.”

“Woah,” Emma says, “no one said anything about love. I don’t have any feelings for—”

She laughs and places a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I know a woman in love when I see one. And you said it in Neverland yourself! He is the father of your child. He’s your first love. There’s nothing wrong with still having those feelings, especially if things between you are… physical.”

She chokes on her water, placing it down and coughing, hitting her chest, hoping to not expose one of the many bites hidden under her hair. “Mary Margaret,” she stutters, “it’s not like that.”

“I realize this is awkward. We aren't exactly roommates anymore, so maybe girl-talk is off the table. But, Emma... if there’s one thing I would tell you, it’s to listen to your heart.”

She scoffs. Her heart has certainly led her astray in the past, and she’s unsure why she should trust it now. The first time she did, she ended up alone in prison and pregnant at 17. The last time she did, he died in her arms. Her heart has never had her best interests in mind, she thinks. Perhaps that’s why she started things with the pirate; because he could never be someone her heart would fall for. Perhaps that’s why she feels so betrayed now that she knows that isn’t working.

He’s made it impossible for her to ignore her feelings. To ignore the fact that she even has feelings. She wishes so desperately that she could put these to the back of her mind and ignore them as she has always done. She wishes she could ignore the way he knows her so intimately without trying. The way he can read her immediately and invariably. The way he knows exactly what she needs, and not just sexually. The way he cradles her when they’ve finished and the way he lets her go when she asks.

It’s too much, so she ignores it.

~~~~

She swore she wouldn’t wind up here.

She promised herself she would move on, and that her yellow bug would not find its way to the port on that or any night.

She vowed that her feelings, which she continues to stubbornly ignore, would not interfere with her plans.

But now here she is, watching him happily and fancifully stroke his stupid hook through her hair, tucking her flyaways back into her bun.

She hates herself for sitting here in her car, under the pretense of patrol, watching them flirt with each other and wishing it were her.

Tink laughs, Hook does too, and Emma nearly retches.

~~~~

“Emma!” She hears from the diner door days later, and when she turns she’s met with exactly what she was expecting: disappointment.

“Hi,” she mumbles once he sits across from her.

“Hey,” he says happily, giving her a smile she once trusted. The one that convinced her to do what she would never do now— now that she’s an adult with the experience and knowledge needed to make decisions. “How’s it going,” he asks causally.

“Fine,” she grumbles, noting her near-empty mug and the fact that he doesn’t notice her need for a refill.

“Cool.”

Things between them are far too awkward, and she wishes she weren’t in this diner. She wishes Henry hadn’t just left for school and that she had a bit of a buffer between herself and the threat before her.

She wishes she didn’t see him as a threat.

“Ems” he starts, leaning across the table at her. As he does so, she sees the Neal she knew twelve years ago and lets her guard down faster than she thought possible. “Go out with me,” he says in a tone that demands an affirmative response.

She clears her throat, hoping to remain strong and to consider what he put her through the last time they were involved with each other. “I don’t know,” she responds.

He smiles at her, that crooked smile she recognizes as the one her 17 year old self fell in love with, and takes a sip from his drink. “Come on,” he says. “You already stood me up once. I don’t have to ask you out again, but I am.”

She blushes at his mention of the last time they were here— when he waited for her to show up and she didn’t. “I’m sorry,” she says, without thinking about it and without truly meaning it.

“Hey, I get it. We went through a lot together, the whole Bonnie and Clyde act. But we’ve both grown up. And Henry thinks it’s a good idea.”

With a roll of her eyes she says, “of course he does. He’s eleven, why wouldn’t he want his parents to be together.”

“Why shouldn’t they be?”

“Neal,” she starts, but she isn't sure where she should go from here.

Before she can decide, he’s standing from the booth and she almost feels relief at the thought of him leaving. She’s almost able to take in another breath, let go of the one she’s been holding, but before she can, he’s sitting beside her and pushing her down to the end of the bench, encasing her in the booth and making it impossible for her to run. “Come on,” he says softly, leaning his face towards her.

The confusion she feels is overwhelming as he leans towards her, the warmth of his breath washing over her mouth and the scent of his cologne taking over her senses. She hasn’t been in this position in twelve years, and now that she’s back, she isn’t sure what to do. If he had found her here a year or two ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity to be with him again. But now, something has changed. Now, she realizes what life is like without him. Not only without him, but with someone else.

When his lips press to hers, the only thought she has is how chapped they are and how greasy his nose is as it glides against her own. The only coherent thought she has is how she almost raises her fingers to slide through his hair, but stops herself. She thinks about how wrong his goatee feels against her chin. She thinks about how unpleasurable it is when he bites her bottom lip lightly.

Breaking away from him, she wipes the back of her hand against her mouth to remove any evidence of him being there and pinches her brows together. “I don’t,” she says, but again, she’s unable to form a thought.

“So good it left you speechless?” he asks, and she scoffs.

“I have to go,” she says to him promptly, pushing on his shoulders and hoping that he backs off of the bench enough for her to exit.

“What do you mean?” he asks her forcefully.

“I mean I have to go. There’s something I have to…” She can’t continue, can’t finish her thought. She knows she can’t tell him what she’s about to do. Knows she can’t explain to him that, despite ending things between herself and Hook, she needs him more than she needs to breathe right now.

“Seriously?” His voice is vapid as she stands. “I’m Henry’s father. You can’t seriously be telling me that there’s someone out there who’s a better match for you.”

With another scoff and a shake to her head, she grabs her jacket and heads out the door.

~~~~

The ship is silent when she arrives, trying her hardest to sneak across the deck without the heels of her boots clicking too loudly against the aged wood. The problem is that her adrenaline is absolutely spiking and she’s finding it difficult to slow herself down. What she needs is the release that he’s guaranteed to bring her.

“Swan,” he says once he arrives on the main deck she’s trying to sneak across.

“Oh,” she exclaims in surprise. “Hi.”

“It’s the middle of the morning, love, is something wrong?”

“No,” she lies.

“Shouldn’t you be at the station?”

With a shrug and a few steps closer to him, she says, “something came up.”

He sighs. His nod and the purse of his lips tell her that he understands her meaning and why she’s here, so she proceeds towards him until her hands find his shoulders. “We can’t,” he says, much to her surprise.

She draws in her brows in confusion and leans towards him, saying, “of course we can.”

“No,” he says forcefully, pushing her back with gentle conviction. “We can’t. You said you wanted to end things.”

“Tomorrow,” she tries to reason. Then, “I want you now,” as she pushes forward again.

But he’s faster and stronger and he pulls away from her and grabs her wrist, keeping her from grabbing his lapel as she normally would do. “No.”

With an angry, childish scoff, she says, “come on, seriously?”

“Do you want me, or do you want a distraction?”

“A distraction from what?” she demands, practically shoving herself away from him.

“You tell me. I’m willing to bet something happened that’s making you come here. Something with Baelfire, perhaps?”

With an indignant laugh, she turns away from him. “Please. You think you know me so well?”

“Aye, I do. I think something happened that made you think and you couldn’t handle it. So you’ve come here to use me again.”

“Again!”

“You’re telling me, honestly, that you coming here every other night isn’t because of Baelfire, or because your mother pushes you to be with him, or because Henry wants his parents to be together? Are you honestly trying to tell me that you don’t come here as a distraction from all of this?”

“Hook,” she tries, but again, she has nothing to say.

“I have feelings for you, Emma. I want to be with you. With you.” His tone is so real and his eye contact with her so deep and intense that she has to look away.

“I could’ve sworn you wanted to be with Tink from the way you two were ogling each other the other night,” she says accidentally, slapping her palm against her mouth as she lets slip that she was here.

His laugh is self deprecating. It’s almost hateful as he shakes his head and turns away from her. “I want you, love, more than anything. But I don’t want to be your secret. I’m not willing to sit around and wait for you to come to your senses. If you don’t have feelings for me as I do you, then I think you should go.”

“Hook,” she tries again uselessly.

“Please,” he begs, refusing to look her way for the first time. “I’ve known enough heartbreak in my life. I’ve learned to prevent it where I can.”

With that, with his words hanging heavy between them and her eyes glassing over in response, she turns away and stalks towards the gangplank, careful not to let the tears fall and the sobs break loose until she’s locked away in her bug.

~~~~

#CSNLNY #neverland smut #season 3 au #canon divergence au #no curse au #captain swan #cs ff #ouat ff #cs smut #captain swan smut #yes I did steal that scene from bridgerton

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