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luminetti · 6 months

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Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so! also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’) ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday.

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

“What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

#bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #dynamight #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #dynamight x reader

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archieimagines · 1 year

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Imagine ranting to Din while he repairs the Razor Crest.

finally, it’s written! this request has been sat on my list for a while, so to those who requested it, thank you for your patience! requested by: @ackermanbitch and an anon! written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

this is inspired by @yournewwriter‘s gentle prompts: moving you by the waist.

If there was one thing you could do, it was talk.

At first, Din hated it. He hated how you’d walked into the Crest like it was your home when he was only offering you a lift to a nearby system, he’d hated how you’d talked the whole time… and he hated how he’d accidentally grown fond of you.

He became glad to offer you a temporary place by his side when your situation shifted and you needed a residence, but there was no way he was expecting you to stick around for this long and still have so many stories to tell.

Somehow, tuning into your rambles both passed the time and helped him focus. He could fly easily with your words taking up a different space in his brain, and all the hours felt so much shorter, like he’d been travelling the universe beside you. You somehow kept him cheerful and engaged, even in the tough times. You had a natural knack for knowing what kind of story to tell, how to echo and fix his moods with your own experiences, which gave him an outlet for his own emotions.

And that’s how it was right now, his mood utterly foul as he worked on repairing the Crest after a sticky run-in, but his scowl was placed on hold. Or at least, directed to Mr Narvo, your old, snail-esque colleague in that restaurant on Corellia.

“I swear, I hadn’t done a thing wrong. The order was correct, I did everything to match what the stupid customer had asked for, but he really just-- You know what?” You wandered by him as you talked, frustrated and pacing as all the irritation from working at that restaurant came right back. “I think he’d decided that it would be a bad day for me already. He slithered in and just knew he was gonna try and get me fired.”

You paused your pacing, facing the beskar-clad warrior as he retracted an arm from inside the ship’s panel.

“-And he just kinda blinked at me. You know that eye thing?” Your hands, which had been flapping around animatedly, lifted to hold invisible spheres above your head. “Like the antennae lean forward and just look at you and squint and- honestly it’s so annoying because I can feel how he’s judging me but like? At least my eyeballs aren’t half a metre above from my head, right?”

“Right,” came Din’s voice as he dipped into a toolbox, proceeding to reach back into the side of his ship and twist some valves. His voice was a dry monotone, but he hadn’t once told you to shut up yet, so that was all you needed to continue your spiel.

“Right! So I just- I don’t mean to be rude, but I kinda do- I couldn’t keep it in, okay?” Din halted your pacing and handed you the metal tool, reaching into the Crest again. “… I told him to go stick his eyeballs in the dishwasher.”

Din paused. He turned to look at you. You were almost sure he’d tell you that it was a low blow, or that it wasn’t worth such a threat, but his modulated voice rose with a question. “And did he?”

“Wh- No, Din. Why would he-“

He shrugged one shoulder, stepping away to rummage in the toolkit once more. “That guy was purposely villainizing you, day after day. The least he could do would be-“

“If the universe was a decent place he’d be blinking bubbles, I know,” you chattered on, wandering once again. “But unfortunately, the universe is horrible, Narvo is still out there terrorising colleagues and-“ You stopped dead, peering down at the helmeted man, busy with his tools. “He got me fired.”

Din stopped his hands, visor raised up at you. Of course you couldn’t see his expression, but you didn’t need to as his disbelief met your ears. “It worked?”

“I know!?” You toyed with the tool, the weight falling from hand to hand, gripping it with each as if to decide which hand would better suit hitting Narvo in the eyeball with it, mouth running a mile a minute all the while. “He went straight to the manager, clearly he’d been building up some bullshit case of all the things I’d apparently done wrong— which I always had a particular reason for, by the way, and they were never even against the rules—”

The irritation still buzzed in your veins, even if it was months ago. What started as your attempt to take Din’s mind off the frustration from a damaged ship had turned into a surprise therapy session that seemed to uproot some sort of inferiority complex, and now you were just airing out your issues without even being aware of Din bustling around you.

“Like, I’m a good worker, you know? I take pride in that because I actually care about what I put into the universe, I strive to make this shitty place better for the people, unlike Narvo. He was just there to feed his own-”

Gentle hands on your waist had you startled, and your gaze shot up to the visor, eyes wide and an unmistakable heat to your cheeks. He’d never touched you like this before.

You couldn’t help leaning into his hold, heart beating like crazy-

A gentle pressure from one hand had you stepping aside, and then it was gone.

He leant past you, reaching into the metal hood of the ship. You’d parked right in front of it without even noticing, far too wrapped up in the fury of your tale.

“Keep going,” he spoke, and you fumbled to find your words again, fiddling with the tool in your hands.

“Wh- What was I saying again?”

A gloved hand reached back to take the tool from your hands. “He was just feeding his ego by preying on you. It’s better to keep away from characters like that.”

Your stride finally came back to you and the story continued in your mind, but the sure flutter in your chest was going at full force. “Right, I learned that by now.”

“You want me to put a hit on him?”

You scoffed. “Din, please. …But if we stop off at Corellia, he’ll shit himself when he sees me with a Mandalorian.”

A soft breath of laughter, so quiet you almost missed it. “Then that’s our next stop.”

#mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #mando imagine #mando x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #star wars imagine #star wars #pedro pascal #written by archie

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anilovie · 5 months

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Anakin taking care of you when you’re sick.

WC: 1.5k

TW: mentions of throwing up but very brief and no descriptions.

You distinctly remember thinking to yourself — “I better not catch whatever this is” — as soon as the third youngling came into the medbay puking all over the place.

You wore gloves, washed your hands, put on a mask, even knocked on wood— yet you still woke up in the early hours of the morning to an excruciating cramping in your stomach, making you curl into yourself and roll around your bed until your dinner worked its way up your system and out into the toilet (that you thankfully reached just in time).

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so lousy. Being a medic, you knew how to take care of yourself and rarely ever got sick. Much less with a bad GI bug, one that kept you in bed and away from your duties without letting anyone know.

It was very unlike you to go radio silent; which is why Ahoksa thought it was strange that you hadn’t met her in the great hall that morning to go on your daily caf run, like you always do before the day truly begins.

She sought you out in your room, where the lights were still off and it smelled of sickness, and you were bundled in your blankets in the midst of a fitful sleep.

Too weak to get up, you croaked that you didn’t think you could get caf with her today, to which she was completely understanding of. She let you be, cracking a window open on the way out to let fresh air in.

Then promptly went straight to Anakin.

You stirred to the sound of the door opening not even an hour later, lifting your head enough to catch sight of a tall, familiar silhouette equipped with leather tabards, thick utility belt, and lightsaber hanging off the left hip. Something twisted in your stomach, a ball of nervousness rising in you as you realized Anakin had come to see you… alone.

You let your head fall back to the pillows, closing your eyes at the uncomfortable aching in your stomach. You felt the bed dip by your feet as Anakin perched on the edge, metal hand coming up to rest on your shoulder comfortingly.

“Not feeling so good, huh?” He spoke in a hushed voice, rasping in the low register. Despite the pain in your tummy, you preened at his proximity and innocent touch. You’d had the biggest crush on Anakin for quite some time now, but he didn’t know that.

You let out a disgruntled “Mmm” and curled in on yourself further, overtaken by a wave of nausea. Thankfully, you’d forced yourself into a shower after your third round of puking, which was somewhere between midnight and dawn. You were clean, but you’d also slept on wet hair, so you looked all messy.

“Ahsoka said you’ve been getting sick?” He tried to get some words out of you, thumb rubbing soothingly across your arm.

“‘Think I picked something up from the younglings,” you mumbled, face still half buried in your blankets. “You might not want to get too close.”

“How many times have you been sick?” He completely ignored your request.

You thought for a moment. “Three or four times. Haven’t had to in a couple hours though, so I think I’m getting better…”

“Show me where it hurts.”

He wasn’t asking, but his tone was so soft you couldn’t deny him. Plus, he’d come here for you.

You shifted around in bed, rolling onto your back so that you were now looking up at him, surrounded in a cocoon of blankets. You pushed them down to reveal your tummy, clad in your softest and warmest sweater.

“Just my stomach,” you refused to meet his eyes. “But it’s not so bad anymore. Just feel… icky.”

“Hm,” he hummed, eyes flicking up to your face before landing on the hands covering your stomach. You never forgot how handsome he was, but it still shocked you like a slap in the face whenever you were met with him head-on like this. Paired with that soft, raspy voice, the obvious concern in his eyes, and the fact that he’d come just for you— you wanted to melt into a puddle.

“Can I try something?” He spoke, and you lifted your gaze to his face warily. You trusted him, so you nodded your head.

He brought his hand — the flesh one this time— across your body and let it rest on your tummy gently. Just the one hand almost spanned your whole abdomen. You immediately squirmed your hips back, not expecting him to have touched you so brazenly. You and Anakin were friends… but you had yet to cross a line like this before.

You let his hand rest there, hoping he didn’t notice how squishy and bloated you were right now, and if he did, that he didn’t mind. Your hands were curled into fists, tucked under your chin as you peered down at his gentle touch on your tummy curiously, wondering what he was doing.

“Just like this,” he assured you when he saw your alarmed face. “How’s this feel?”

You focused on your stomach again, expecting to be met with that gross nauseous feeling that had been plaguing you for hours. It was still there, but now it was… dull. Muted, like he’d snuffed out the discomfort with a blanket.

Unable to help yourself, you brought your hands down to his, one hand closing over his wrist and the other fitting atop his outstretched hand, keeping him just where he was. “Feels better, Ani,” you sniffed, eyes fluttering closed as warmth from his touch seeped into your aching tummy, soothing it all away.

The corner of his lips pulled up slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept the gentle pressure over your stomach with a little look of concentration on his face. Realizing he wasn’t going anywhere, you let yourself fully relax back into your blankets.

He thought you looked so cute — and slightly pathetic — at the way you melted back into the bed. Cheeks flushed with sickness, hair all messy, oversized sweater falling off your shoulder and over the hands grabbing at his own… he’d stay with you all day if he could. But alas, he had duties to attend to.

“This should last for about half an hour,” he spoke gently after a while. You groggily opened your eyes and frowned as he pulled his hand away, shivering at the loss of warmth and contact.

“Mkay,” you couldn’t keep the whine out of your voice, though you were too proud to complain. “Thanks, Anakin. Doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

“Good,” he cooed, this time with a full smile. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, eyes probing into your face as he scanned you over. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Can’t. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down.”

“What about something bland… like toast?”

“Mmm,” you crinkled your nose up at the thought, gloriously subdued nausea making it easier to relent. “Alright. But only with a little bit of butter, not a lot.”

“Got it,” that strand of hair seemed to capture his attention, because he kept running it through his fingers, his touch tickling your cheek. “And some tea?”

“Sure,” you squeezed out a grateful, sheepish smile. “With honey, please. Thank you.”

“‘Course,” Anakin leaned over, planting a quick kiss to your forehead. Your skin tingled where his soft lips made contact, eyes blown wide at the sweet action. “Coming right up.”

He left like he’d done nothing at all. Meanwhile, you were lifting your hand to trace your fingertips over the spot he’d just kissed, the phantom touch of his lips still lingering.

You huffed lightly, flustered, and turned onto your side to curl back into a ball. You buried your lovesick smile into your pillows, clutching your favorite stuffie to your chest as you listened to the distant sounds of Anakin clinking around in your kitchen.

It didn’t take long, but you’d still fallen half-asleep again by the time he returned. With the pain in your stomach temporarily dulled and the exhaustion weighing on you from your sleepless night, it was easy to pass out again. Anakin woke you with another gentle touch to your shoulder.

“I’ll leave it here for you when you’re ready to eat something,” his tone dropped to a whisper, not wanting to disturb you anymore. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be back to check on you tonight.”

Your whole body filled with warmth at his words, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You nodded and blinked open your eyes, blearily regarding him from your blanket cocoon.

“Thank you, Ani,” you slurred sleepily, shivering as he let his flesh hand cup your cheek in an affectionate touch. He was just taking care of you. It didn’t mean what you wanted it to… but it was nice to pretend. “Have a good day. Be safe.”

He just huffed out a silent laugh and withdrew his hand. You were still smiling when you heard his bootsteps recede and your door close. You allowed yourself to fall back into a blissful slumber, head fuzzy with the remnants of his simple touches, clinging to the fact that he would be back later to see you.

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gl1tteryzebra · 1 month

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I had a very pleasant interaction with a cute blonde-headed mechanic recently, now all I can think about is mechanic!jj...

the patchy sliver of shade provided by a low hanging loblolly offered a small reprieve from the heat. jj's signature collared shirt was now hanging open as he tinkered away beneath the bonnet of your car – that was how you knew it was truly sweltering.

it was a miracle you'd been able to rummage that half torn napkin from the depths of your centre console. after your engine stuttered to a stop on the side of some desolate road you were certain you were screwed– 6pm on a sunday night, even if you did manage to coax someone out to wherever you were, the rates would surely plummet your bank account into a state of despair– and then you remembered.

a few months back when you last had car trouble, the blonde slid a crumby piece of tissue across the till at his workshop with a wink, a number scribbled in blotchy red ink.

"you should really invest in a business card." you'd said with a grimace as remnants of whatever he'd been eating drifted down like heavy snowflakes.

" uh–well actually," he reached into his breast pocket, removing a wad of neatly stacked cards bound together by an elastic band. "we're one step ahead of you, sugar."

he passed one of the sleek black cards over as well, albeit a little reluctantly."what's this for then?" you inquired with furrowed brows and he laughed at that, genuinely tickled.

"oh that— that's just in case you're ever in need of my personal assistance."

and it was almost as though today was his manifestation coming too fruition.

off in the distance, through the thicket and beyond the marsh, remnants of daylight peeked over the horizon like a fragile yolk ready to spill into darkness at any moment. you wanted nothing more than to be tucked into bed with a warm cup of tea and your favourite book, but whatever was wrong with your car seemed to not be a simple fix.

patting down the pleats of your skirt, you paced leisurely back and forth before eventually clearing your throat. "how's she looking?"

"she?" his blonde head peeked out from behind the hunk of metal, interest glistening in those pale blue orbs.

"yeah, pinkie. are you telling me you don't name your beloved vehicle?" (the vehicle in question: his beaten up honda CRF 230 which currently laid discarded in a pothole with an open tool box spilling its content onto the side of the road.)

he snickered, removing his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. "guess you got me there– that's bessie, the finest lass on the road."

you scoffed, "why bessie of all things?"

"oh-kay, there's no way I'll be judged by someone who named their car pinkie...and its not even pink."

"it wasn't available at the time!"

his lips tugged into a downward crescent, mocking your face as it contoured into an earnest pout. "now that's a true tragedy– oh, 'n you happen to go through a car wash recently?"

"uh–yeah. today actually, why?"

"welllll you got water stuck in the engine cylinders, blocking up the emission control system. it got real stinky in the cabin right?"

"yeah it did, almost as bad as a guys locker room."

"ha! sounds 'bout right," his ring clad fingers reached above his head to pull the bonnet down. your eyes naturally drifted to his exposed midriff; lean muscles stretching taut, flecks of sun damage marring his pale skin, a defined v dipping below his waistline...

snapping out of your stupor, your gaze lifted to be met with a knowing smirk– shit. you were surprised when he didn't comment on the fact that you'd so shamelessly checked him out, but even more so as he rushed to pack up his tool box almost bashfully. "uh–so fancy this, I don't actually have the tools I need to fix it on me."

"really? I thought you said you kept everything you ever need on hand."

"huh–oh yeah, well one of the boys must've stolen my shit, bloody typical."

"right...what should I do then?" he flicked his grimy hair from his forehead, regarding you with an impish grin.

"come back to the shop. I'll get my guy to tow your pinkie in tonight, get 'er fixed up bright an' early in the mornin' so you can be on your merry way."

"it's not exactly close to my house–"

he shrugged, persistent as ever, "that's cool, no worries, we've got a couch and some blankets if you wanna stay the night."

"what about you?"

"well I can't risk a thief in the night, can I? best if I stay too."

you resisted the urge to snort, what an idiot. "how am I supposed to get back to your shop now though?"

his eyes spoke for themself, gesturing to his bike as is if that was a stupid question. "oh–no, no no no no no, no way." your hands wildly gesticulated. no, absolutely not. you knew enough about jj's reckless and impulsive nature to guess how this would present itself in other areas of his life– most of a concern to you in this moment, his driving.

"hey, there's need to be scared sugar, I always drive extra careful with precious cargo." he cut himself off with a boyish chuckle as your face morphed into something deeply unimpressed. "c'mon, it's not exactly like you have any other choice...so whadd'ya say?"

you settled onto the back of his bike with a grumble, hands shooting up to adjust the helmet he loaned you (his only helmet). the engine revved to an obnoxious start and with a shriek you hurried cling onto his waist– heart thumping erratically behind your ribs.

"comfy?"

"shut up."

"holdin' me a bit tight, sweetheart. sure you're not enjoying this?"

"shut. up."

his chest rumbled with laughter as he took off into the sunset.

couldn't be bothered to get down and dirty with this one tonight, think I might just make a pt.2

🎀 @seabunni 🎀

#jj maybank drabble #jj maybank prompt #divider by @firefly-graphics #mechanic!jj #jj maybank x reader #want to write more about this #so if you have prompts send em in!!#especially smutty ones hehe #obx x reader

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heich0e · 1 year

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BEG, BORROW, & STEAL - levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT wc: 13k tags: enemies to lovers, neighbours to begrudging friends to lovers, food and wine writer!Levi, catsitter!Levi, Pancakes is the Real Star of this show, frequent and gratuitous descriptions of food and drink, frequent mention and consumption of alcohol, singular mention of loud domestic argument, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, sensory deprivation play, blindfolds, hair pulling, no mention of condoms, honestly i'm not sure if fire escapes are actually safe to hang out on so tw for that too crossposted to ao3

Nestled in a quiet corner of Mitras’ budding east end, there’s a little five-storey building.

It’s stout, brick, and decorated with ivy that creeps up along the mortar and underneath its windows. Along the side of the building not facing the two lane street, running just above a narrow back alley, there’s a labyrinthine set of old metal fire escapes—rusted and weathered but still sturdy, a standing testament to bygone craftsmanship. It all comes together in stark juxtaposition to the design of the towering structures of concrete, steel, and glass that have been steadily cropping up in the neighbourhood as of late.

The architecture feels almost out of place among these new developments, understated and old among all the shiny and new, but it certainly has a lot of character.

The residents who inhabit the apartments inside are respectful, polite people, who mostly tend to keep to themselves—though they’re as a eclectic of a bunch as any, to be sure. Most have lived in their rent-controlled units for decades, made homes for themselves that they never plan to leave.

Since moving into the little brick building two years ago, you haven’t had any notable issues with any of your neighbours.

Well, except for one.

The miserable guy in apartment 304—one unit down and slightly to the left of your own, 405. He’d nearly chewed your god damn head off for using his trash can one time when you’d first moved in. His trash can of all things. It had been an honest mistake on your part, and you’d sincerely apologized for it when he all-but cornered you in the mail room off the lobby a few days after the fact. But after the unpleasant exchange, the curmudgeon bought himself a padlock for his trashcan and has sent withering glares your way ever since.

It’s been well over a year since then, but the chill has never quite broken between the two of you.

The dark haired man, who seems to be perpetually suit-clad—or at least he has been in all the times you’ve spotted him—is easy enough to avoid given the floor’s difference between your units. But sometimes ill-fated meetings are inevitable in such close quarters.

Your building (regrettably) only has one rickety old elevator. It’s an original feature from when the complex was first built, and it’s undergone minimal maintenance and sum total zero upgrades since it was installed decades prior.

All of which is to say: it merits nothing less than being called a complete and utter death trap.

And, as though the sluggardly descent from your apartment on the fourth floor down to the lobby isn’t harrowing enough, your ill-tempered neighbour standing less than a metre away from you in a tightly confined space surely makes it worse.

The elevator is old enough that it has two doors—an automatic door that opens on each floor, as well as a manual interior door that the passengers in the elevator are responsible for opening and closing themselves. Initially you’d found the antique system charming, quaint even, but after realizing that the interior door weighs about thirty pounds and only likes to open half of the time, it quickly lost its charm. You stare pointedly at the cursed iron grate of the aforementioned interior door as the elevator makes its slow downward journey to the lobby, cursing yourself for not just taking the fucking stairs.

The lights on the side panel tell you you’re only one single floor away from your destination. If you just hold your breath and pray hard enough maybe everything will be fi—

“If you and your boyfriend plan to continue going at it like animals until four in the morning without any consideration for your neighbours, you should at least have the basic human decency to close your bedroom window.”

The elevator makes it to the ground floor just as his eviscerating remark draws to a close, the car dipping slightly upon arrival and sending your stomach sinking with it. Without missing a beat, your sour-faced neighbour pulls the confounded metal door open like it weighs nothing. You, in contrast, are frozen stock-still in shock, reeling in the wake of his words with a singeing heat flooding your cheeks. He steps off in the lobby without so much as a momentary glance in your direction, and you watch his back (in a crisp navy blue suit jacket) as he walks away.

You’re so completely stunned that you almost forget to get out too.

Oh, you hate him.

You swear that you’ll forsake the cursed elevator entirely for the rest of your life, if only to avoid ever crossing paths with that bastard again.

Or, so you may have thought.

Weeks later, you find yourself on the fire escape outside your living room with tears drying on your cheeks. You sit quietly in the wake of a long, heated argument with your boyfriend. A loud argument. A relationship ending argument.

Things have been bad for a few months. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. He’s always been a bit mean, a little careless, a little wrong—and you knew he probably wasn’t the one. But that doesn’t make the sting of yet another relationship crumbling in your hands any more bearable.

And so, not for the first time, you find yourself drowning your sorrows in a bottle of cheap, overly saccharine white wine and hiccuping in breaths of the fresh air as you try to soothe the ache while the sting of alcohol sears down your throat.

“Your boyfriend sucks.”

You jump a little, looking down the stairs to your right only to see your most loathed neighbour on his own fire escape with a glass of red wine in his hand.

You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you’re sure he heard most (if not all) of what had transpired in your living room if he had been home at the time. Your windows had been open, you realize too late to do anything about it.

“Yeah,” you scrub at your swollen eyes with the back of your knuckles, “he kinda does—”

You take a long, inelegant swig from the bottle of wine in your hand at the same time your neighbour lifts his own glass. This mouthful tastes more bitter than the last.

“—and he’s not my boyfriend anymore, in case it needs to be said.”

Your neighbour pauses with his glass at his lips. Based on the fact that your window had been open to the world at large, and your conversation with your now-ex had been less that even-toned, you doubt the point really stands to be highlighted.

“It doesn’t,” he replies, confirming your suspicions. “But sorry to hear that.”

You snort mirthlessly. “Are you really?”

The man tuts, a little click of his tongue behind his teeth. But it’s not a sound that implies that he cares, just one that says he’s been found out.

“No.”

You can’t help but laugh at his candour. It’s a nice reprieve from the tears.

And, strangely, things are almost… amicable after that.

Now in the evenings when both of you sit quietly on your fire escapes, where once you’d skitter back inside to avoid his cold glare and oppressive aura, neither of you moves to silently retreat.

Sometimes you even chat, as unlikely an occurrence as it once would have seemed to you. You talk about basically nothing—the weather, a new building that’s cropped up a few streets away, a noisy neighbour, the moon—and it’s usually just for a few minutes before you head to sleep. You tend to be early to bed and early to rise, but Apartment 304’s lights seem to be on at all hours.

Part of you wonders just how long he stays out on his balcony after you retire for the night. But, it’s sort of nice—this unlikely armistice you seem to have unspokenly signed.

You stick your head out the window one evening, a few months in to your ill-begotten amity, a little earlier than you normally would since you got home from work ahead of your usual return.

He’s already there.

“Hey—”

Your neighbour lifts his head to peer up from the pad of notebook paper he’s scribbling away on. He’s wearing glasses today. You’ve never seen those before.

“—what are you having for dinner?”

304 looks at you with a quirk of his brow.

“A 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon.”

You lean your elbows on the windowsill, angling yourself a little further out of it. “I just made a fuckload of food. If you split that red with me, I’ve got a plate for you.”

He eyes you, and seems to be considering your proposal.

“What is it?”

“Roast chicken, some vegetables. Nothing fancy.”

“This wine pairs better with red meat.”

“Yeah? Well my last bottle of wine cost me 8 dollars and a 2-day hangover. Do you want the food or not?” you ask him, rolling your eyes lightly at his comment.

There’s a long pause.

A sigh.

“Fine.”

You meet on the metal stairs halfway between your respective fire escape landings on the third and fourth floor; you're perched a few steps higher than your neighbour closer to your home, and he to his.

He pours you a serving of wine into a spotless glass that he must have retrieved while you were inside plating up the meal, having evidently tucked his eyeglasses away at the same time as they’re nowhere to be seen. He accepts the plate of food you offer him and hands you the drink in exchange. Your plates are mismatched, so is your cutlery, and they clash with the delicate wine glasses he’s brought to your unexpected soiree.

You watch cautiously as he takes his first bite, silently scrutinizing the way his brow furrows as he chews. After a moment the crease in his brow softens, and he seems content—or at the very least not repulsed. You almost laugh into the brim of your wine glass as you quietly read the expressions on his face.

You tip your glass back and take your first sip.

“Holy shit, this is great,” you say, the flavour of the wine lingering on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed it down. It’s neither too dry nor too sweet, evenly balanced, and it doesn’t have the lingering tannic bitterness of the reds that you’ve tried before. Theres something rich but not heavy in the notes that first touch your palate, fruity but on the right side of neutral. You reach a hand out for the bottle and he passes it to you—albeit hesitantly. Reading the label, all you’re able to surmise is that it’s french. “This must not be cheap.”

“It certainly cost more than eight dollars,” your third floor neighbour snorts. He catches the flat look you shoot him, and suddenly is very preoccupied with cutting into his next bite of chicken.

And so from that point on you continue your evening chats, and even eat dinner together on a semi-regular basis. Apartment 304 has yet to turn down your offer of a free meal—and he always supplies the wine.

You’re not friends per se, but you’re certainly no longer mortal nemeses either.

“Oi! 405!”

You hear your neighbour call to you late one afternoon, the sun rapidly slipping away along the city skyline outside, and rush towards your open window. You stick your head out onto the fire escape curiously.

Your neighbour is standing on his landing, staring up at you with a quirked brow.

“Did you lose something?”

That’s when you notice the bra dangling off his outstretched finger. Your eyes shoot to your laundry rack where that very bra had been previously pinned to dry, as though you really need to confirm where it had come from. There’s a clothespin resting on the grated metal deck of the fire escape beside the wire rack, having clearly blown off in the wind.

You swallow a mortified groan.

“How do you know that’s not Misses Miller’s from upstairs?” You sniff, unduly defensive. The argument is weak and you know it; Misses Miller occupies apartment 506, the unit at the top of the fire escape stairs connected to your own—she’s nearly 80 and likely requires a bit more support than what the dainty lace bra looped around your neighbour's index finger offers.

The dark-haired man’s lips quirk into something you might think vaguely reminiscent of a smirk if you believed him capable of it.

“I’m happy to go ask-“

“You’re a real jerk, y’know that, Third?” you cut him off before he can finish the thought, pulling yourself out through the window clumsily in your newfound haste.

He seems to be contemplating what you’ve said as you make your way down the fire escape stairs towards him, footfalls heavy with your indignation.

“Third?” he asks, peering up at you with his head titled inquisitively to the side.

“Third floor,” you explain, like it should be obvious.

“I don’t own the entire third floor.”

You lean down from your place on the stairs and snatch your bra from his hand. “Well you sure act like it.”

You turn and stomp your way back up the fire escape towards your own apartment, bra clutched in a tightly clenched fist.

“So, should I let Misses Miller know you’re returning that to her, or—“

You slam your window shut behind you before you can hear the end of his comment.

A few nights following The Bra Incident—or the deBRAcle as you’ve come to refer to it in your mortified inner monologue—you wake to the unpleasant sound of toppling aluminium in the back alley. Sleepily, you shuffle out into your living room and lift your window, peeking your head out into the cool night.

A quick glance to your right tells you that 304’s lights are off. It’s late, admittedly, and this should be normal—but you can’t recall a night you’ve peeked down towards his apartment and seen the window dark. It’s all a bit unusual.

What you hear next even more so.

“God fucking damn it—shit, fuck—mother of—“

“You alright down there?” You approach the railing of the fire escape and lean over the edge to peer down towards the ground.

Below you, beyond all odds or reasonable explanation, is your third floor neighbour. He’s dressed in a nice suit as usual, with his hair neatly slicked back, and he’s standing beside a knocked over garbage can with trash strewn about.

He blinks up at you owlishly.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you hold eye contact.

He speaks first.

“I forgot my house keys in my office.”

You raise a brow, propping your chin in your hand as you lean against the metal railing. “And so you picked a fight with an innocent trash can?”

304 narrows his eyes up at you, a resentful squint. The sharp line of his jaw becomes even more pronounced as he grits his teeth. “I’m trying to reach the fire escape.”

The ladder that connects the fire escape to the ground is retractable, and has to be pulled from the second floor. He’d clearly been trying to use the garbage cans as leverage to reach the lowest rung of the ladder and yank it down—a security measure that had clearly done its job.

You purse your lips, fighting back a laugh. “Are you drunk?”

Silence befalls the two of you once more, and your neighbours eyes only narrow further.

“A bit.” Reluctance weighs heavily in his monotonous words.

You push yourself off from the railing, heading back towards your window.

“Where are you going?” 304 calls indignantly after you, like now that you’ve spotted him you’re somehow obligated to come to his aid.

“I gotta grab something!” you chirp dismissively as you crawl back inside over the edge of the frame.

Something being your cellphone. Specifically to take a picture and commemorate the ordeal.

“You’re cruel,” your neighbour snarls from his place on the ground as you gleefully snap a few photos with flash, quickly turning his back to you in an attempt to preserve whatever remaining shred of pride he has left.

“And if you want me to drop this fire escape ladder then you’re at my mercy—so smile!” you cajole with a giggle as you lean precariously over the railing, pinching the screen of your cellphone to zoom in on his figure.

He flips you off over his suit-clad shoulder and it makes you laugh again.

Once you’ve had your fun, and taken (conservative estimate) 400 photos, you climb down the stairs all the way to the second floor balcony—creeping across the grated deck as to not startle your unsuspecting lower-level neighbours—and finally push down the fire escape ladder.

304 makes short work of clambering up the rungs, pulling himself onto the balcony with a heaving sigh. He stumbles slightly, and you grab him by the lapels of his suit to steady him.

“Take it easy, Third,” you say quietly, letting your hands unfurl from his suit jacket once you’re sure he’s regained his balance.

He rolls his eyes and pulls the creaky fire escape ladder up behind him once more. You both wait with bated breath, pulse spiking, to see if the lights inside the second floor apartment turn on. Mercifully the windows stay dark.

The two of you make your way back up to the third floor, and you’re just about to step onto the stairs towards your own apartment and return to the call of your bed as 304 move towards his window. He places both hands flat against the glass and pushes up.

Nothing happens.

It’s locked.

“Oh my god,” your neighbour groans miserably, letting his forehead rest against the fingerprint-smudged glass, his dark hair hanging around his eyes.

“Holy shit, did something just move in there?” You gasp in fright, spotting something streaking through the darkness of his apartment through the pane.

“Yes, the fucking beast that’s taken over my home.”

You tilt your head. “I’m lost.”

The man before you sighs, turning over so instead of resting with his forehead against the glass his shoulders are pressed to the brick just beside the window frame. He tilts his head back, and a strand of hair falls from his slicked back style and curls in front of his eyes. He breathes out frustratedly into the night. “I’m currently babysitting my acquaintance’s evil cat.”

“You have a cat?” you ask excitedly.

“No,”—he shoots you a pointed, irritated look—“it’s my acquaintance’s cat. And it’s the weirdest creature on earth. She can open windows and eats all of my bread.”

You press a hand to your mouth to try and hold back your giggles.

“Bread?” you ask him incredulously.

He nods solemnly.

“Well,”—you drag the toe of your fluffy slipper idly against the grating beneath your feet—“what’s her name?”

He stares at you blankly. Utterly unenthused. “Pancakes.”

And at that you have no choice but to openly and unreservedly laugh.

When you finally manage to get your giggles in check—exceedingly conscious of how the sound of your laughter seems to ricochet down the narrow, brick-lined alley you find yourself in—you manage to ask him a pertinent question.

“Does anyone have a spare key to your place?”

“My colleague, Erwin,” the man in front of you mumbles.

Acquaintance. Colleague. You’re starting to wonder if 304 has no friends, or just refuses to refer to them as such.

“Ok, so call him,” you encourage.

He shuts his eyes, his head still pressed back against the wall of brick behind him.

“…My phone is dead.”

You wince.

“Christ, third strike you’re out.”

Your neighbour looks ready to pitch himself clear off the edge of the fire escape.

“Get it? because you’re—“

“I got it.” 304 finally opens his eyes to shoot you a glare.

You do him the favour of not openly laughing in the face of his misfortune again, wracking your brain for something that may actually be helpful.

“Er, do you wanna come up to my place?” you ask. “I probably have a charger you can use for your phone, or you could just use mine to call. What kind do you have?”

The man in front of you rifles through the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands you the dead device.

You survey it for a moment, turning the bottom of the phone up towards you to squint at the charging port in the dim night. It’s different from yours but all hope isn’t yet lost. “I think that ex of mine you liked so much had the same one, he left a charger up there. It’s all yours if you want it.”

It’s not like he really has any other choice.

As 304 follows you up the narrow fire-escape stairs towards your window on the fourth floor, you realize it’s the first time your neighbour has ever been to your apartment. Or even crossed the halfway point on the stairs, for that matter. You turn just before you get to the window, and suddenly realize how close you are on the narrow balcony outside of your home.

You pause.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be inviting a stranger into my apartment.”

Third tuts admonishingly. “We eat dinner together once or twice a week.”

“I don’t even know your na-“

“Levi.”

You’re a little taken aback in the wake of his offering, your eyes widening slightly.

“Levi,” you test the name over in your mouth like the wine the two of you so often share, and then you shrug. “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Third, but I guess it’ll do.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he huffs.

You turn to crawl through your living room window when you feel a gentle touch on your hip calling for your attention. You look back, and Levi pulls his hand away quickly, like he’s realized what he’s done.

You can’t help but think he doesn’t need to seem so suddenly abashed.

He clears his throat a little as you look to him inquisitively.

“Your name?”

You smile a bit, your nose scrunching up at how shyly he poses the question, and you tell him.

He nods curtly, like he accepts it, and it almost makes you laugh.

You go about making two cups of tea while you wait for the phone to power back on once he’s plugged it into the charger—which you dug out of a box you keep shoved in the back of your coat closet full of things your various exes have left in your apartment over the years. Thankfully it is the right fit for the device.

A quick glance at the time on your stove clock as you’re boiling the kettle tells you it’s already well past two AM—far later than your usual bedtime, though you don’t feel particularly sleepy.

Once the tea has been prepared, you tote the steaming mugs into the living room where Levi is waiting. You sit curled in an armchair, while your unexpected guest rests perched on the very edge of your sofa closer to the outlet where his phone is plugged into the wall.

“So, what had you out so late tonight, Thir-Levi?” you ask, correcting yourself last minute from using the nickname you’re so used to. You blow over the surface of your very hot tea as you wait for his reply.

“Work thing,” he grunts dismissively, his knee jiggling impatiently while he cradles the still-dark cellphone in his hands. He picks up his own cup of tea and takes a sip. He seems pleasantly surprised by the taste.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, “and what exactly do you do for work?”

Levi looks at you over the brim of his mug, an almost skeptical expression on his face.

“I’m a writer.”

Your eyes widen. “No shit! Like a novelist?”

“Journalist,” he corrects you, his lips pursing forward like he’s contemplating whether or not to divulge any more. He decides to indulge you, evidently, when he further supplies: “I’m a food and wine writer.”

“Really?” You lean forward in your seat, suddenly very interested. “A critic?”

He looks like he wants to correct you, but doesn’t. “I write reviews among other things, yes.”

You slump back in your chair a little bit, kicking your legs up to loop over one armrest.

“Wow, a guy who writes about food and can’t even cook.”

“I can cook, I just choose not to,” Levi says defensively, his tone sharp.

“Sounds like something someone who can’t cook would say,” you say, punctuating the statement with a long sip of tea.

“I’ve eaten at some of the nicest restaurants in the world—there’s nothing I can make myself that could compare, so why try?”

“How fatalistic of you,” you say with a snuffle of a laugh against the edge of your mug. “You know, if I’d known you had such a refined palate I might have been a bit more self-conscious about serving you my cooking.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “You’re a decent cook.”

Your brows lift in surprise. A compliment?

“But you use too much salt.”

You bark out a defensive laugh. “I do not!”

You hear a subtle buzz of vibration and a soft chime as Levi’s phone, left momentarily forgotten on the arm rest of the couch, powers on. It seems to take you both by surprise.

“Well then, time to call your colleague in shining armour,” you say with an encouraging wave of your hand.

Levi leans forward to set his cup of tea down on the table in front of him.

“Coasters?” He pauses, looking around the room.

“I found this coffee table on the curb outside my dorm in college, I promise you it’s seen worse than a hot mug.”

Levi’s face pinches slightly before he sets the mug gently down atop the table’s edge.

You watch as he picks up his phone, tapping around the lit screen for a moment before holding the device up to his ear. He’s curved a little awkwardly towards the end of the sofa due to the power cord connecting the phone to the outlet, the material of his dress shirt pulling taught around his frame. His suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair at your kitchen counter, the knot of his tie is loosened at his throat.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Levi pulls his phone away from his face and ends the call.

“He’s not answering,” he says with a frustrated huff, as though not answering a phone call in the dead of night is somehow unreasonable. He dials the number again.

“Well,” you say slowly, watching as the same series of events plays out once more, “it’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans quietly, slumping back into your sofa.

“Do you think the building Super would be awake?” you ask. The Superintendent has keys to every unit, so he’s the next most viable option. He’s a nice, helpful man, and only lives down on the first floor, but you suspect a knock at the door in the dead of night would be worse than an impromptu phone call.

“No, but he’d probably wake up if I called him,” Levi mumbles. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth in irritation. “How humiliating.”

He looks miserable at the mere prospect, but still reaches for his phone.

And maybe it’s because of how late it is. Maybe it’s how warm and dozy and pliantly agreeable the tea that you’d prepared for the two of you has made you feel. Maybe it’s just because there’s something inexplicably comfortable about being around Levi that has your guard lowered.

“You could always crash on my couch,” you find yourself saying before you really think it through. He looks up at you, clearly taken aback by the offer. “Then you can call your coworker in the morning and get your spare key.”

Levi appears uncertain. “You’d let a stranger crash on your couch?”

“We eat dinner together once or twice a week, Levi,” you remind him with a little smirk, using his own words from earlier in your defence.

You bring out a pillow from your own bed covered in a fresh pillow case, and a blanket from your linen closet. You hand them to Levi, still seated in the same place on your sofa though a bit more at ease, and he dips his head in thanks while holding both items atop his lap.

“I have some clothes my ex left here that I would offer you, but he was a bit, uh…”—you make a vague gesture in roughly the same stature as your last boyfriend—“he had a different build than you.”

Levi looks at you flatly.

“You’ve already done enough,” he says, though not altogether unkindly.

“Alright, well… g’night,” you say with an awkward little wave, shuffling off in the direction of your bedroom.

Levi calls your name just as you step across the threshold, and you peek back through the doorway towards him. His face is illuminated only by the glow of the lamp atop the table next to the sofa, and he’s looking at you with an unexpectedly earnest expression as he undoes the top button of his dress shirt, his tie resting undone around his collar.

“Thank you.”

You smile, dipping your head in a little nod, and shut your bedroom door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, it takes a few languid blinks against the morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains and a couple moments more of proper consciousness to remember the events that had transpired the night before.

Well, that and the distant shuffling outside your bedroom door.

You pull on a sweatshirt, pat your hair down into something you think (hope) is a little less dishevelled, and amble sleepily out to your living room. It’s empty, but Levi’s suit jacket is still hanging on your counter stool, his tie neatly rolled up on the corner of your coffee table, and your window is open. You can see the edge of his back seated just beyond the open pane.

You poke your head out to see Levi on the fire escape. His button up shirt is undone to reveal the tight white t-shirt he wears underneath it, and his slacks are slightly creased from sleeping in them. His hair is messy—a hybrid between the loose hanging style you’re accustomed to, and the slicked back fashion he’d had it in the night before. He must hear you coming, because he turns to face you as you arrive. You look at him curiously as if to ask why he’s sitting outside.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he explains without you even vocalizing the question on your mind. His voice is still a bit hoarse from sleep, deeper and rougher than its usual smooth tone.

You crawl through the window, yawning a little as you take a seat cross-legged on the little balcony behind him. Levi turns to face you properly, shifting his whole body in your direction where he sits at the top of the stairs leading down to his own apartment.

“Any word from your spare key courier?” You blink through the tears that sprang to your eyes in your yawn, rubbing them away with your fist.

“He’ll be here in half an hour,” Levi replies.

You nod, a little tug at the corner of your mouth. “Thank God. Pancakes must be so worried all alone in there.”

Levi’s lip curls in an unhappy sneer. “I watched her eat half a loaf of three-day-old brioche through the window this morning. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”

There’s no choice but to giggle at the image of a cat ransacking your excessively type-A neighbour’s home, even if he can’t see the humour in it.

“D’ya want some coffee?” you ask, pushing yourself up towards the window again.

“I’d take another cup of that tea from last night,” Levi replies, his tone almost hopeful, and you nod before pulling yourself back inside.

You return to your place on the fire escape a few minutes later, this time with two mugs in hand.

It’s quiet while you sip your drinks, listening to the building hum of the city waking up around you.

“You always up this early?” you finally shatter the stillness with a question, but it’s not intrusive—slipping easily into the comfortable air around you.

“Yeah, usually,” Levi says, peeking over at you. He holds his mug a little strangely, you can’t help put notice—fingertips gripping the brim rather than the handle. It seems unduly precarious. “You wake up early too, huh?”

You tilt your head, wondering how he might know that.

“You sing a lot in the morning,” he explains, looking away by turning his gaze back towards the alley. “You’ve got terrible pitch.”

“Hey!” You reach out and swat at his shoulder. He’s warm to the touch, and even though it’s so basically human it still feels almost unexpected.

He huffs a little, neither a laugh nor far enough from one to discredit it; the sound is smug and indulgent.

“Yeah well you stay up too late,” you counter his observation with one of your own.

This time it’s his turn to be curious, lifting a dark brow as he peeks back at you over his shoulder.

“Your light’s always on,”—you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment down the stairs he’s seated at the top of—“and I don’t really take you for the nightlight type.”

“I don’t sleep much,” he admits.

You scoff. “What do you to with all those extra hours in the day?”

“Writing, editing, researching, emailing my editor,” he explains with a shrug.

You roll your eyes a bit, taking a sip of your coffee. “So you’re a real workaholic, huh?”

Levi drains the last mouthful of his tea, setting the mug down with a little clink as the porcelain meets metal. “There are worse things to spend your time doing.”

“There are better things too,” you counter.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, socializing? Relaxing? Going out on a date?” You gesticulate with the hand not holding your mug as though to say ‘so on and so forth.'

“You think dating in this day and age is a fun way to pass the time?” Levi remarks flatly.

“Fine,” you concede, a sudden memory of your last ex coming to mind unwelcomely. You can’t help but note he doesn’t make mention of any partners of his own. “Don’t you have hobbies?”

Levi purses his lips, and seems to be wracking his brain. It takes a while.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “When was the last time you went to a museum? An art gallery? A play? The movies? Anywhere that wasn’t work related?”

“I went to the National Gallery downtown a while ago,” he offers.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, disbelievingly. “When?”

“A class trip in ninth grade.”

Your laughter echoes through the alley as it spills from your lips.

“You know they’ve always got new exhibits on display,” you say, gathering your composure. You lean forward, knees pressing into your chest. “You should visit again, I’m sure something has changed in the past eighty years since you were there last.”

Levi watches you curiously, a little too intently to be considered casual.

His phone jingles.

He blinks, and there’s a brief delay before he looks down at the device in his hand.

“That’s my key,” he says quietly.

You nod, standing. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. You hadn’t even noticed how noisy it’s gotten in the time the two of you have been sitting together, but the city is well and truly awake now.

One at a time, you both climb back in through the window—him letting you go first—and once you make it back into your living room you take Levi’s empty cup from his hand to take it to your kitchen sink and wash while he collects his belongings.

Levi steps towards your front door as you dry your hands off on a towel hanging from the handle of your oven. You watch as he buttons up his dress shirt—though he leaves it untucked from his wrinkled trousers.

“Thanks again for… y’know”—he stops buttoning once he gets about half-way up the row and gestures vaguely—“all of this.”

You lean your hip against your kitchen counter. “I’ll slip a bill under your door for room and board.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft sort of exasperation to his expression as he does it.

“You could just knock.”

You smile, and you feel a pinch in your cheeks from how wide it spreads. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

You don’t see Levi again in the week that follows, as you’re stuck working late each night as you slog towards a project deadline.

You leave for the office in the morning when the sun has barely crested, and come home long after it’s set. You’ve been eating mainly takeout from restaurants near your work, and whatever happens to be hiding at the back of your pantry since you haven’t had the opportunity to grocery shop—all interspersed with whatever mediocre, half-stale baked goods your coworkers have brought in and left in the staff kitchen for everyone to share.

After one particularly brutal day, you shuffle in the door with nothing but a day-old donut and three coffees in your stomach, though the clock has ticked past eleven. You drop your belongings on your kitchen counter and wonder if you still have that old bag of microwave popcorn kicking around in the back of your cupboard. You ponder this question as you cross your living room to crack the window and let in a bit of fresh air.

Outside, perched unexpectedly just below the window frame on the fire escape, is a brown paper gift bag.

You glance to the right and see Levi’s lights are still on, as usual, but his window is closed.

Hm.

You pick up the bag and retreat inside, peeking at its contents as you go.

Inside you find a bottle of white wine—a nice bottle of white wine—along with a little piece of notebook paper, ripped along the edge and folded twice in half. You peel the edges of the page back to reveal neat scrawl in black ink.

This didn’t cost 8 dollars.

Thanks again for putting me up.

—3rd.

(Levi)

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, what with all the late nights you’ve been pulling at the office, and you realize that your last encounter was the morning after he spent the night at your place.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head, and tuck the note back into the bag.

The next Saturday morning, mercifully freed from the project you've been slaving away at, you have every intention of sleeping in to makeup of the overtime you've been banking. Instead, you wake to a strange rustling sound.

It takes a moment for it to register to your hazy, barely conscious mind—a sound so gentle you hardly process that it’s unusual until it’s been going on for just a few minutes too long.

“Mrrrrphm!”

Your eyes shoot open.

Now that noise, you immediately know is out of the ordinary.

You creep out into your kitchen on your tiptoes, towards where the rustling seems to be originating from.

Perched atop your kitchen counter, you see the tail end of a four-legged, ginger-furred little creature—with its head tucked into the rumpled paper bag containing the croissant you’d been planning to eat for breakfast. Its long, bushy tail sways back and forth happily as it rustles around inside.

“Hey!”

The beast—soon revealed to be a cat once it pulls its head from the bag—has the remnants of your (now mostly-shredded) croissant hanging out of its little pink mouth. One of its ears is folded unnaturally, the fur around its neck is scruffy, and you realize upon closer inspection of your half-eaten breakfast that it has a snaggletooth.

The cat seems fairly sociable though, as it makes no move to run as you slowly approach.

“I’m guessing you’re the illustrious Pancakes, huh?” you say as you reach up to scratch gently behind her ears. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The cat lets out a cheerful little chirp, your ill-fated croissant still hanging from her maw, bumping her head against your wrist. You pluck the bit of bread from her mouth and quickly scoop her up in your arms, heading towards your door as she squirms unhappily—you don’t quite trust yourself to descend the fire escape with such precious cargo in-hand.

Down on the third floor, you rap sharply against a door.

It swings open moments later to reveal Levi’s perplexed face. Glasses on.

“Your demon cat ate my croissant,” you say, holding the offender out towards him.

She meows innocently.

“Not my cat,” he replies flatly, taking Pancakes from your hands and setting her down on the floor just behind him. She hits the ground on all fours with a little thump, and trots off happily into the apartment out of sight.

“But you two look so much alike.”

Levi responds only with a narrow-eyed glare.

Then he sighs.

“Sorry… she must have crawled out through the window when I wasn’t looking,”—Levi reaches up under the lenses of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers against his shut eyes as though they’re aching—“I’ll buy you another croissant.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a little laugh, and his fingers splay under the metal frames of his eyeglasses to peek at you through the gaps. You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s my own fault for leaving my window open last night.”

“That’s a good way to be home invaded,” the dark-haired man chides you sternly, a little furrow of disapproval making itself known between his brows. His hands drop from his face, only for his arms to cross over his t-shirt clad chest.

“Yeah, well they’d have to pass your window first—and it’s not like you wouldn’t spot them Mr. Sleep-When-I’m-Dead,” you say, shooting him a bemused look. “At least you’d have a description to give the cops.”

“All you care about is the killer being caught? Not avoiding being murdered in the first place?” Levi drawls.

“Well, at least I could end up on a true crime podcast, so long as you agree to be a good samaritan and assist the authorities in their investigation,” you joke. You peek over Levi’s shoulder to where his curtain is ruffling in the morning breeze. “Hey, do you mind if I just go out through the window?”

He shrugs, pulling his apartment door open a little wider to let you through. “Be my guest.”

Levi’s apartment is tidy and sparsely decorated, but it’s nearly identical to your own in terms of general construction. Your eyes can’t help flitter around the space as you shuffle through it towards the open window, your nosiness getting the best of you. There’s a steaming mug on the edge of his kitchen counter that he must have set aside when you came knocking at his door, a closed laptop resting on the edge of his coffee table next to a notebook, and there are bookcases lining the walls as you walk through the living room. You can’t resist pausing to take a closer look as you pass by one, and find a diverse variety of cookbooks and reference books on food, as well as beer, wine and spirits on the shelves.

Your fingertip traces the gold lettering adorning the thick spine of an immense tome—V I N.

“May I?” you ask, peeking over your shoulder as you pry the book from its place on the shelf.

“You already are,” Levi replies from the kitchen where he’s retrieved his mug, taking a sip. “But sure.”

You let out a little laugh, cracking open the inordinately heavy book.

“You speak french?” you ask, your tone lilting in surprise as your eyes trail over the language on the page in front of you—foreign, but distinguishable enough thanks to a few words you recognize from classes you took back in high school. The book seems old, antique possibly, and evidently well loved.

“Only a little,” Levi says noncommittally, but judging by the notes scribbled in the margins of the pages (in the same neat script scrawled on the scrap of notebook paper tucked into the gift bag on your kitchen counter) you suspect he’s underplaying his abilities.

You close the book and slot it back into its place on the shelf.

“Thanks for the wine by the way.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“I haven’t cracked into it yet,” you admit, making the last few steps towards the open window. You tap your hand idly against the spotless frame, turning back to look at where Levi is leaning against his kitchen counter. “I had a big deadline this week at work so I’ve been staying late every day. By the time I got home it was all I could do to force myself to eat something before I’d pass out on my couch.”

Levi’s brows lift, though the rest of his body seems to untense a bit for reasons you can’t quite place.

“I’ll be sure to give you a full and comprehensive review of its bouquet—or whatever—once I finally get the chance to enjoy it,” you remark, half-teasing, and he rolls his eyes.

He takes another sip from his mug. He’s still holding it in that peculiar way he held your mug the morning after he slept on your couch. There’s something about it that you find almost endearing.

You lift your hand in a little wave, he nods in acknowledgement of the gesture, and then you crawl out through the window without another word.

You’re on the second step up the fire escape when Levi pokes his head out after you.

“Do you have breakfast plans?”

You pause, turning back to look at him.

You find him peeking up at you with an unexpectedly hopeful look on his face, if not a little guarded.

“Well, my plans are currently partially digested in your feline ward’s stomach, so... no.”

Levi blinks.

“Can I take you out for breakfast to make up for it, then?”

You tilt your head to the side, a flutter of something keen and eager tickling the pit of your empty stomach.

“Fine,” you concede, feigning as though you’re hard done by. “But I get to choose the place.”

Levi’s lips pull down in an unsubtle expression of his displeasure. “You know that it’s literally my job to—“

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, waving your hand as though batting his interjection out of the very air into which he spoke it before it has the chance to reach your ears. “I don’t want some fancy micro-meal from whatever masters of gastronomy you write about. I want waffles. A lot of ‘em.”

Levi huffs, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath before replying a single, reluctant: “Fine.”

“Meet you in the lobby in 10 minutes?” you ask, your lips stretching in a grin.

His own lips purse, and you almost think it might be halfway to a smile. “Sure.”

The two of you wind up at an old greasy spoon diner two blocks away that you’ve been going to since college, where the staff always make sure to give you an extra perfectly golden-brown waffle. Levi sits across from you in a dark green knit sweater that looks incredibly cozy and, to your utter surprise, a pair of jeans. He looks more comfortable and casual than you’ve ever seen him.

“It’s good, huh?” you ask over the table as Levi bites into his own breakfast: 2 eggs, over easy, bacon and toast. You notice he’s carefully separated all three components of the meal on his plate so none of them are touching, and has liberally applied black pepper to the semi-firm yolks of his eggs.

He swallows the bite he has in his mouth, wiping the corners with his white paper napkin. “It’s food.”

You snort a little, shoving another piece of waffle into your mouth. “Are your reviews always so inspired?”

Levi shoots you an unamused look.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you only eat at fancy fine dining places?” you say, waving your fork around demonstrably. “This is what real food’s all about; little family run joints like this.”

Levi purses his lips.

“Have you ever even been to a fine dining restaurant?” he asks you skeptically.

“No,” you admit, drowning your plate in more of the cheap table syrup. Levi’s nose crinkles in disdain at the sight. The waffles are the same as always: just the right crispiness on the outside to not grow soggy too quickly under the river of syrup you douse them in, perfectly fluffy on the inside.

Fine dining, irrespective of being well outside your budget, has just never been your style.

“So who are you to judge?”

Now it’s your turn to purse your lips.

You stab your fork through a piece of waffle and syrup drips, slow and sticky, as you hold it up above your plate. You lift a brow challengingly as you stare him down across the table. “If you want to take me out to a fancy dinner so bad, all you have to do is ask.”

Levi’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” you nearly choke, though you haven’t yet put your next bite in your mouth.

“Go out to dinner with me,” he says.

“That’s not a question,” you remark, shoving your waiting forkful into your mouth just to give yourself something else to focus on.

Levi huffs exasperatedly. “Will you go out to dinner with me?”

You take your time to chew, the syrup making everything in your mouth indistinguishably cloying, and then swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

Levi’s jaw gapes, a look of betrayal flittering across his usually impassive features.

You laugh.

“Fine, fine. But only if we can go to the national gallery first,” you say, enjoying every moment of Levi’s palpable misery, setting your fork down and reaching for your mug and taking a sip of coffee. It’s tempered down to a drinkable heat, a little bitter and burnt tasting just like it always is, and there’s something nostalgic in that.

Levi fiddles with his fork, cutting into his egg so the sunny yellow yolk runs across his white ceramic plate. “…I already went.”

“Huh?” You place your cup back down atop the table, on the edge of your paper placemat.

“I went,” Levi repeats himself, though nothing is made clearer through the repetition.

“When?”

“A couple days after you mentioned it. I was reviewing a bistro down the road—terrible by the way—“ he interjects, though you didn’t ask, “and I had some time to kill afterwards.”

“So… what was your verdict?”

“Boring.”

“Oh, come on!” you say with a warm, pealing laugh, throwing yourself back in your seat. “You’re so uncultured! Didn’t you like their new installation on expressionism?”

“It was a mess.”

“That’s the point, it’s abstract!”

“If I wanted to see a disaster on canvas I’d look at those sneakers you’ve got on,” Levi says with a click of his tongue, but his eyes are bright and mirthful.

You peek under the table at your well-loved tennis shoes, gaping but still laughing. “You are so—!”

“Can I get you two some top-ups on those coffees?” The waitress who has been serving the two of you steps up to the table, coffee pot in hand, but she seems almost apologetic for interrupting.

It’s the first time you remember you’re in public, and you settle down a bit, covering your mouth to clear your throat bashfully.

“I’m alright, thank you,” Levi declines politely with a dip of his head.

“I’ll take a little extra please,” you say, and the waitress smiles and adds another bit of steaming, bitter coffee to your cup. It darkens the last few mouthfuls left from your already milk-and-sugared first drink; the deep brown of the fresh brew swirling into the tawny room-temperature remnants of the last.

Your eyes meet Levi’s over the table, and both of you quickly look away, fighting back your smiles.

The two of you walk back home once your meal has concluded and your bills have been paid—split at your insistence, though Levi seemed prepared to physically fight you on it.

Back at your building Levi gets out on the third floor after a brief goodbye, but before the door to the elevator can slide closed behind him, and you can close the steel grate of the interior door, his hand shoots out to keep them open.

You look up in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“I’m not kidding about dinner,” Levi says, standing just beyond the threshold to the ancient elevator, staring at you with an almost unnerving sincerity.

You blink, taken aback by how serious he is.

“What’s your cell number?” he asks when you can’t seem to find anything to reply.

You relay the digits to him and he scribbles them down into a little pocket sized, softcover notebook he produces from his jacket pocket. You’ve seen him scribbling in it before out on the fire escape, and realize he must take it with him everywhere he goes. Given the shape and size of it—only a little larger than the palm of his hand—you don’t doubt it’s the very book that the note he’d left with your bottle of wine had been torn from.

“I’ll send you a message and we can make a plan,” Levi says, tucking the notebook back into his pocket.

“Alright,” you agree and finally Levi lets his hand fall from where he’s keeping the doors open.

He steps away in the direction of his apartment.

“Be careful, Levi,” you say to his retreating back as you pull the grated metal door on the inside of the elevator car closed, “or I might think this is a date.”

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. Your eyes meet through the gaps in the metal, and in spite of the distance you can see the mirth in his gaze. “That’s exactly what it is, and it’s what breakfast was too.”

And with that, the door slides shut between you.

One week to the day later, you find yourself sitting across from Levi in a restaurant that feels almost too nice for you to be patronizing. Levi is dressed in a nice suit, as ever, and you’re wearing in the only truly nice dress you own—one you’d bought for a friend’s wedding a few years prior and never had the occasion to wear again.

Until now.

It’s nothing like the meals you’ve shared on your fire escape, or the boisterous breakfast at the diner on that Saturday morning. There’s no bitter coffee or table syrup to be seen, no mismatched plates and cutlery. It’s quiet, ambient even. All hushed conversation and warm candle light.

But you still enjoy yourself all the same.

And the food is really fucking good.

“I’m devastated,” you breathe out miserably into the cool night air as the two of you walk side-by-side along the quiet sidewalk in the direction of your little brick building.

Levi had offered to flag the two of you down a cab, but the evening weather was actually quite nice and the restaurant wasn’t far from home so you’d instead suggested to walk. Your heels are starting to hurt your feet a little bit, a pinch in your toes and the early-makings of a blister forming at the back of your ankle where the strap of your shoe rubs against your skin, but you still can’t quite bring yourself to regret anything about the evening.

Not the walk, not the dinner, not the company.

“You didn’t like it?” Levi asks, a lilt of concern in his voice.

You shake your head emphatically, turning to look at him with a grave expression. “It was too good.”

“That’s a new complaint,” he muses, his mouth pulling at the corner in thinly-veiled triumph.

“How am I ever supposed to enjoy any food again now that I know it can taste like that?” you complain, tossing your head back to look up at the night sky and passing streetlights overhead. Your shoes click against the pavement with every step, but otherwise it’s refreshingly quiet.

Levi laughs into his closed fist. “Now you see my problem.”

“Hey,” you say suddenly, bringing your chin back down so you can look at him, “can you bring me home your leftovers when you go write your little reviews for places like that?”

“No,” Levi replies immediately, decisively shaking his head.

You pout, sucking in a sharp breath as you prepare to plead your case.

“But I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll let me.”

He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed ahead on the pavement as the two of you walk side by side, but you can tell he’s anxiously awaiting your reply with the way his hand is flexing and unflexing at his side.

You feel heat climb in your cheeks.

“Well, if it’s the only way to keep access to that kind of food, I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

Levi hums, his gaze sliding to meet yours from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

The elevator ride up to the third floor is quiet but not uncomfortable, though you both seem to be keeping your distance in the confined space—relegated to opposite sides, not dissimilarly to so many months ago when he was calling you out for fucking your atrocious ex-boyfriend too loudly. You could almost laugh at how much things have changed since then.

He says goodnight as he pulls open the grated door, sending you a brief look as he steps out.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you return the sentiment, hesitating to close the inside door between the two of you once more. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, and there’s an almost disappointing finality to his words, though you don’t dwell too long on it.

And then he’s gone.

Upstairs in your apartment, you kick off your heels as soon as you step through the door. You stretch your toes against the cool hardwood floor to let the blood flow back into them before padding into your kitchen. You drape your coat across the back of a barstool, and drop your purse on counter, pausing momentarily to eye the gift bag with the wine Levi had given you tucked away in the corner.

Maybe it’s time to crack it open—if for no other reason than to try and drown the niggling feeling of dissatisfaction you have squirming in your chest.

But first, you pad across your living room to open up your window.

At the very same time that Levi opens his, a floor away.

You pull yourself through without thinking, shivering a little bit against the cool breeze as it meets your exposed skin. Levi—his suit jacket shed, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned—does the same.

You kneel at the top of the stairs, the metal of the fire-escape digging into your knees, and peer down at him.

“Y’know, I still haven’t opened that bottle of white wine.”

Your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress—it’s crept a bit further up your thighs thanks to the way you’re sitting. Levi’s eyes have caught the subtle rise, and through you see his gaze on your exposed skin, it soon flickers up to meet yours.

“It’s not really a nightcap,” he says quietly.

You huff, half frustrated and half amused, but the sound is entirely too fond.

“Are you coming up here or not?”

Levi climbs the stairs slowly towards where you’re seated at the top. That same feeling underneath your ribs that had once been dissatisfied blooms into something else entirely, crackling like a flame inside your chest as you catch his tie between your fingers.

You pull him down with your grip on the dark green silk—slowly, slowly, slowly—to press your mouths together.

The kiss is sweet. Unhurried. Decadent.

Levi cranes down a little further, his hands settling on the landing behind you, caging you underneath him. His proximity is more intoxicating than any of the wine you’ve ever shared. The feeling of his lips parting against yours and the gentle imploring sweep of his tongue is more satisfying than any food on earth could hope to be.

One of his hands trails up along your thigh, across that same skin you’d caught him eyeing moments prior. His touch is cold but still it burns. He gives your flesh a firm squeeze.

“Inside now,” he murmurs insistently against your mouth, “unless you want the neighbourhood to hear this.”

You pull away, peeking up at him through your lashes innocently.

“And what if I do?”

He swallows visibly, his tongue darting out to lave across his rosy lips before it disappears once more to click behind his teeth.

“Knew you were an exhibitionist.”

There’s a graceless, frenetic climb back through the window—with Levi’s hand cradling the top of your head all the while so you don’t knock it against the frame—and then the two of you are toppling down onto the soft cushions of your couch.

Levi’s body weight presses into yours as he hovers over you, mouths rapacious, your hips flush and hands greedy. You’re grabbing anything and everything that falls within your reaches: his hands on your waist, your thighs, your heaving chest; your own hands in his hair, cupping his jaw, fisting the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Your dress has rucked up around your waist in the excitement, and after a few moments of exploration Levi slowly breaks your kiss.

He sinks to the floor on his knees, and your thighs part for him without thinking.

His eyes trace the dark spot on the centre of the delicate lace over your aching cunt, his thumb soon stroking against it with the exact same eagerness as his eyes.

“Levi,” you say his name pleadingly as your hips wriggle to get closer to his touch, squirming further down the couch cushion towards him. “Please… more.”

Levi huffs a little; not a laugh, but something a little more chiding—a little more mocking. He leans forward so you feel every hot breath break against your skin on his exhales, his eyes still fixed to that little patch of wetness that’s caught his attention, the spot only growing larger the longer he toys with you. “Let me savour this.”

“Like a nightcap?” you ask him, aiming for levity but toeing the wrong side of breathless as his fingers follow the lace trim of your panties up along the curve of your thigh.

“An aperitif,” he rasps as he snaps the elasticated band against your hip, a sharp crack as it hits your tender skin, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours when you hiss. He smirks. “It makes you hungrier.”

Not once in all the time you’ve known him would you have denied the truth that Levi’s tongue is quick and vicious, but never would you have imagined its sedulity between your legs.

The flimsy material of your panties tugged swiftly down and kicked away, it’s as though the meal the two of you had shared that evening has been forgotten, a thing of the past.

Levi devours you like he’s been starved.

“Fuck, oh—“

Your hips jump on the sofa but his strong forearm slings across your lower abdomen to pin them down and keep you at his mercy. Levi glances up at you from his position on his knees, his head bracketed by your thighs, his eyelids hanging low over his hungry gaze. The tip of his tongue flicks against your twitching entrance, laving back up to your clit. The cycle repeats. It’s filthy and fascinating to watch.

“—Levi, nggh—oh my god.”

You grab for anything, borderline delirious. Your nails on one hand dig into the throw pillow at the end of your sofa while the other knots itself through Levi’s dark hair. You grip both with an equal roughness, but Levi doesn’t seem to mind—suckling with a renewed insistence at the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips.

He reaches up and pries your hand away from the strands of his hair, twining your fingers with his own as he pins it down to the sofa beside your hip. Levi pulls away from your pussy with a string of saliva keeping you connected, slick smeared along his mouth catching in the light of the lamp.

“Be gentle, would you?” he rasps, “I’d like to keep my hair for the foreseeable future.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, your chest heaving from the way your breaths come ragged. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, slipping two fingers into his mouth. They shine with his spit when he pulls them from between his swollen lips. He leans back down towards your cunt. “How good?”

“So good,” you whine, his two saliva-slicked fingers slipping inside of you at the same time.

“God,” you toss your head back and gasp, those two fingers inside of you crooking in a way that makes you feel so good.

“You’re close,” Levi hums, not a question but rather a factual observation, before dragging his tongue up towards your clit again. His fingers keep curling against your walls with an almost unfair degree of skill, leaving you shaking and breathless.

“Y-yeah, gonna cum,” you whimper.

“You’re gonna cum for me?” he mumbles against your clit, goading you as he carefully watches the expressions on your face.

It's not as though you have any other choice with the way he’s playing you like an instrument he’s long-mastered.

“Yes, fuck Levi, there.”

One last gasp and the lewd, pointed suck with his lips wrapped around your clit has you melting, your thighs clamping against his ears as your back bows up off the sofa. A strangled, desperate little sound tears out of the back of your throat, and your fingers tighten around his own—still entwined beside you on the sofa.

As you come down from your high, you drag his hand up with yours to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your sternum so he can feel how fast your heart is knocking against your ribs underneath the fabric of your dress.

Your heart rate has nowhere near returned to normal when Levi stands from his place on the ground, wiping at his wet mouth with the back of his hand as he takes in your spent, trembling state. In one fell—impossibly deft—swoop, he picks you up and carries you off towards your bedroom.

“How the fuck are you so strong?” you gasp as you wriggle in his hold—but his grip is tight and he doesn’t waver.

He drops you down onto your bed, and you bounce lightly as you come in contact with the springy surface. You fall back, staring up at him as he peers at you with affront.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You giggle a little as he crawls over your splayed form, his body warm as his lips find their way back to yours.

He kisses you again. And again. And again.

Your pretty dress comes off, finally—left discarded in a hapless puddle on your bedroom floor to be dealt with later. It's an end unbefitting of the nicest garment you own, though you can’t begin to bring yourself to care.

Levi’s fingers trace along the delicate lace of your newly revealed bra and you feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your own. He inches away, peeking down at your chest.

He dips down to mouth along the swell of your breast, his eyes still impossibly trained on yours, and your fingers tangle into the soft strands at his crown as you moan lightly at the gentle touch.

He sucks against the soft flesh, before pulling off with a little pop!

“Does poor Misses Miller know you kept her bra?”

You laugh in response to his teasing words, a reference to the early days of what you’d now call a friendship (if not something else entirely), tugging him away from your chest by your grip on his hair.

He quirks a brow at you with his head tilted back in your hold.

You pout playfully, slackening your grip on his hair and letting your hand slip down along the front of his dress shirt, petting over his chest. “You know, I think I liked you better with your mouth full.”

Levi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, watching raptly at the flash of pink as your own tongue peeks out to moisten your swollen lips. Something shifts behind his gaze, and he leans back on his haunches beside you, reaching up and fingering the loosened knot of his tie.

“Do you trust me?”

The question is a little bit out of the blue, and relatively unwarranted considering only moments prior he’d been three knuckles deep inside of you, but you entertain it nonetheless.

Your head lolls to the side on your bedspread as you look at him curiously. “I let you spend the night on my couch when we barely knew each other.”

He rolls his eyes at your intentionally indirect response, leaning forward until your entire field of vision is filled with nothing but him once more.

“Do you,”—Levi pauses with his lips ghosting over yours, soft as they brush—“trust me?”

A beat of tense silence stretches between you.

“Yeah.” You swallow lightly after murmuring the word. “I do.”

Levi pulls back again, and reaches up and tugs on the knot of his tie until it comes completely undone, hanging in two separated halves against his chest. Slowly he draws it out from under the fold of his collar.

“There was a trend in food criticism years ago,” he says, his grey eyes tracking up, up, up along your exposed body while you wait like eager prey beneath his gaze, “where critics used to think that you could taste better in the dark. Like the dulling of one sense would somehow improve the others.”

You swallow hard as he leans forward, moving slowly up the mattress towards you.

His tie is still in his hand.

He dips down and kisses you.

Brief. Teasing.

“They thought you could taste more…”

Levi loops his tie around your eyes, and your breath hitches. You feel the soft slip of silk against your skin, the pressure tightening (though not unpleasantly) as he knots it at the crown of your head to keep it in place. You see only darkness.

“…hear more…” Levi’s lips are right next to your ear; just a ghost of warm breath and his rich, deep voice that seems a little more strained than it had before.

You’re breathing heavier now, or maybe you’re just more painfully aware of the rhythm of your own respiration.

“…feel more.”

Warm fingers dance up along your ribs and you gasp aloud, not expecting the sensation. But as quickly as it appears, that feeling of his skin on yours, it’s gone again. You swallow. His touch continues in much the same way, fingers disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else, leaving you guessing. Leaving you wanting.

You feel goosebumps prickle up along your skin.

“Is that true?” you whisper as you push yourself upright and reach out blindly in search of Levi, though you aren’t quite sure where to find him.

“I don’t know—” Levi admits airily from somewhere before you, both nearer and further than you expect him to be. He takes your outstretched hand in his, pressing it to his cheek. It’s warm to the touch, and he turns his face towards your palm, pressing a barely there kiss to it.

Unexpectedly your bra falls forward, cool air kissing heated skin as the straps fall down your shoulders, thanks to a talented hand that had slipped behind your back unnoticed. You feel Levi’s lips curl into a smirk against your palm.

“—but let’s find out.”

Next is an obscured, indecipherable blur of hot, open mouthed kisses; of gentle grazes and rougher gropes; of moans, and groans, and needy whines that you aren’t sure are even yours anymore. Your pussy’s left a wet patch on the thigh of Levi’s slacks that you can’t see but that you can feel as the sticky fabric ruts against your clit, your hips grinding desperately against it as he consumes you and whatever senses he’s left you.

It’s infuriating.

It’s immolating.

It’s divine.

“Are you ready for me?” Levi pants against your stinging lips, his hand cupping your chin to keep your face tilted towards his even if you can’t see him.

“Yes,” you mewl debauchedly, rolling your hips against that same crease in his pant leg that’s been tantalizing you for what feels like hours. You should be ashamed—of your words, of your tone, of your actions—but you aren’t.

You feel every second of the stretch as the head of his cock presses inside.

You wonder what it looks like, what he must look like right now, but you’re left only to feel.

“Oh,” he groans, the deep sound sodden and drunk with pleasure. “Amazing. Fuck, you’re taking me so well. You’re perfect.”

The first proper thrust—the in and the out—almost pulls you under like the currents of a tide. You’re fighting a losing battle to keep your head above water, to keep air in your lungs.

The springs of your mattress creak as Levi picks up the pace and mercilessly fucks you down into it, your breaths coming in pants broken by moans. You feel your sheets against your sticky skin, his hands twining with yours, his breath against your lips.

“Is it good?” he asks, mouthing clumsily along your jaw as his hips rail down against yours.

“So good,” you babble in agreement, nodding dumbly as much as you can with such little control over your own body. “Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Levi rasps, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and letting his teeth graze over your racing pulse. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of it."

He groans as you clamp down on him involuntarily.

You’re close, and think he must be too when you feel the way his cock throbs inside of you.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breaking pathetically as you beg. It sounds like you’re near tears but with the silk still covering your eyes it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’s true. “I wanna see you.”

“Make a deal with me,” Levi grunts, his pace suddenly slowing to a torturous grind. You’re sure that you must be crying now with how devastating the change in pace is—still deep, but just languid enough that the cresting pleasure in the pit of your stomach threatens to recede.

“A deal?” you ask, gasping as your nails drag along the musculature of his back.

“I’ll take it off,”—Levi’s touch trails up to your face, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your spit-slicked chin and searing cheeks—“but only if you let me take you out to breakfast.”

You’re in no position to be making counter-demands, or returning repartee.

“Anything,” you sob, clinging to him desperately. Your hips tilt up in a fruitless search for friction, your nails scrabble along his skin. “I’ll do anything. Please, Levi.”

He tugs the tie down, and your bleary eyes sting as they adjust to the light.

Finally, you see him.

Levi is practically glowing, bathed in a sheen of perspiration that you can feel when your skin slips against his own. His dark hair is pushed back, away from the lines of his devastatingly handsome face; his strong cheekbones and the sharp line of his tensed jaw. His abs flex as he carves his way inside of you in that impossibly slow grind, a little trail of dark, coarse hair spanning from his navel to his cock, where you see a glossy ring around the base from you.

He’s a feast to behold. To taste. To feel.

“S-so?” he stutters, half-hissing from how viciously your core has tightened around him. His eyes search yours, avaricious and wild. “How does it compare?”

“Better,” you moan, a tear tracking back towards your hairline as you throwing your head back into your pillows, fighting as much as you can to keep your eyes open, “this is better.”

Levi laughs, breathy and wanton as the sound might be, and his hands grip behind your knees before peeling them away from their vice against his waist and pressing them back into your chest.

He kisses you again—your mouths meeting desperately though they haven't long been parted—first chaste but then sloppily, bullying his way into your mouth like he wants to taste how sweet the words you’ve just said are off your own tongue.

He pulls back, a string of saliva stitching from his mouth to yours.

The corner of his lip ticks up in a smirk as his hips draw back, not in punishment but in preparation.

“Good.”

You wake the next morning with an ache humming in your bones and an effervescence sizzling in your chest. It takes you a moment to rouse, properly anyway, but when you do you feel the unmistakable weight of an arm curled around your bare waist, and a warm pressure perched atop your feet.

You open your eyes, blinking against the light that streams in through the curtains over your bedroom window—billowing gently in the morning breeze. You peek down towards the end of your bed, and see a little fluff of ginger fur sprawled out across your ankles. When you listen closely you can hear the little rumble of a purr.

Finally, you glance over to your side, and find Levi blinking back at you.

He looks sleepy and dishevelled, a sort of pleasant exhaustion in the rings beneath his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in the shadows of your own skin. His hair is sticking up unkemptly at his temple, and there’s a line imprinted into his cheek from where it's been resting against your pillow. It’s a version of himself that you suspect Levi rarely shows to anyone, and right now it’s all deliriously, deliciously yours.

“Good morning,” your voice is so quiet when you finally risk shattering the stillness of your bedroom with a greeting.

“Good morning,” Levi rasps with a commensurate tenderness, even through the hoarseness of his groggy morning voice.

The city is waking up outside your window, the steady build of noise that will crescendo to a dull hum once the world gets underway. But for now it’s still quiet. For now you can still hear Pancakes’ slightly-wheezy purr.

Levi’s arm around your waist tightens, shifting you a little bit closer to him under the soft cover of your blankets. The gesture is hesitant. Half-committed. Like he’s still leaving himself open to be rebuked.

You smile, and close the rest of the distance yourself like crossing that final step along the fire escape. Traversing that halfway point. You curl into him and tuck your head underneath his chin as you rest your cheek against his chest.

Levi seems to soften slightly. To ease. To welcome your intrusion.

If it was ever that at all.

“So… breakfast?”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #aot fic #aot writing

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lavykitty · 7 months

Text

Good Vibrations

I think you already know what this kinktober fic will include 😏😏

Music in the club blares as the light strobes around. The air smells of sex and arousal. Countless bodies dancing together.

Alcohol is coursing through your system, making you feel braver than usual. More adventurous. You go looking for your husband.

Arousal starts to pool in the delicate material that clads your throbbing core. The thin material dampening as you look around. You then spot him.

Bucky sits on one of the couches in the club. His leather clad legs spread across the cushions. You saunter over to him and sit on one of his thighs, your clothed core on his thigh. Your legs on either side.

Bucky smirks as he looks at you, “baby, you’re getting my thigh all wet”

Your face flushed when he says this but you lean forward and press a kiss to his neck. “I’m sorry, but I’m so desperately horny for you.”

You start to grind against his leg, the material feeling fantastic. He chuckles as he sees you start to pleasure yourself.

He leans forward bringing his lips to your ear, “babygirl, I have a surprise for you. Now can you be good for Daddy?”

You nod causing him to smirk. He starts to nibble at your neck. He sucks a hickey into your skin.

You moan and lean your head back to give him better access. He finds your sweet spot and begins to suck even harder.

He begins to peel the leather glove off of his metal hand. His fingers reflecting the light. The soft clinking sound being heard as he moves his fingers.

The cold metal traces up your thigh to under your skirt. He begins to move your panties aside, chuckling at the arousal that has pooled in your underwear.

“Already so eager for Daddy” he muses.

His metal fingers going across your folds. A low moan escapes your throat as he begins to finger your eager hole.

He starts to thrust his fingers inside, the cold feeling delicious. His thumb starts to circle your clit. You buck your hips up at the contact. Intense pleasure starts to go through your body.

Bucky smirks against your neck, then the vibrations start.

His metal fingers start to vibrate within you. Your eyes roll back, in awe and pleasure.

“Oh Bucky, I didn’t know you could do that”

Bucky chuckles “it’s a new upgrade, thought you’d like it”

He presses his vibrating thumb to your clit before circling it. He quickens the spread of the circling and the thrusts of his fingers.

Your legs start to shake. Your chest heaving as you fall forward, resting your face in the crook of his neck.

Your body going limp as the vibrations increase. Your hips grinding down against his hand.

Your orgasm fast approaching as your clit is played with. The puffy nub providing a sense of ecstasy.

Your legs start to shake violently as a moan leaves your lips. Bucky smirks as the pornographic sounds leave your mouth.

“That’s it baby. You’re being such a good girl for Daddy. Now let go”

You do as he says letting the orgasm take over. A feeling of warmth overcoming your whole body as the orgasm goes through you. A feeling of ecstasy making you cry out,

“Oh Bucky”

He smirks as he sits back and watches you cum over his fingers. “Good girl”

#marvel smut #marvel x reader #kinktober #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #smut #marvel

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rising-shellshock · 2 years

Text

"Softie" (Rise!Donnie X Gender-neutral Reader)

(Sorry that writing block hit me so hard as of late. I still have the requests and y'all have fantastic and even FUNNY (/pos) ideas. I WILL DO THEM MARK MY WORDS.

Iiiiiin the meantime however, I found a fic I made a bit ago that I haven't shared so I thought I would now while y'all are waiting. Thank you all so much for the love and patience!)

Genre: Fluff with Established Relationship.

Character count: 7,790

<(Hey, are you up, (Y/N)? If you're up, say something so I can come over.)

The message pinged and awoke you with a stir. How it woke you up, you may never know, but something in your brain deemed it important enough to wake up to. You squinted slowly, adjusting to the new light, and read the time. 3am. You saw who texted was your genius boyfriend Donatello. It wasn't unusual to hear from him this late. You started to type.

(Donnie, Baby, Love of my life, politely?)>

(You woke me up. Go to bed.)>

<(...That just means I can come over.)

(DONNIE NO.)>

You were very quickly typing that and off it sent, and... Not even read. Great. You groaned, just wanting to tell your partner to get his shell to sleep, but no, he wanted to come to your side at an ungodly hour.

~~~

You opened the window to a very eager purple clad turtle, hovering just over the city below with his tech shell. You lightly shook your head, not having the heart to turn him away at your own window, besides, he would persist on coming in anyways, probably alerting people below on the streets. You sighed in defeat as you moved out of his way, to which he then got inside to your room.

Donnie - 1, (Y/N) - 0

"Hello, my love." He smiled his dorky wide smile, softening the blow of him being here so late. Almost anyways.

"Why are you here at this hour, Don?" You slightly whine, tired from being up already.

"Well I just wanted to show you the latest version of the shell!" He proudly spun around, pointing and showing you his back. "Feast your eyes my dear! It's got a more efficient cooling system for when I'm in the air for those hotter New York days-" and off he goes, rambling and going on and on. Normally you love hearing all about his work, but you can't help but stare at his face, bags evident even with his mask. You very quietly approached your lover boy to his front side, and he FINALLY took notice of the concern on your face.

"And... It... (Y/N?)" Donnie cocked his head as you looked at him. You reached up, cupped his face, and silently rubbed under his eyes. "W-What? Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah. Bags." You sarcastically mused, making Donnie sigh.

"I'm fine, my dear. Really!"

"Adding 'Really' at the end doesn't make me believe you more, D." You raise a brow and Donnie leans into your hands, pouting. You couldn't help but giggle, even with you shaking your head again. "C'mon, you're tired. Let's go to bed."

"But I don't- Wait did you say 'Let's?'" He reeled back, looking at you in surprise. You sit on the edge of your bed and pat your side. Donnie blushed, turning red, before he leaned his head down and went to your side, obediently.

Donnie - 1 (Y/N) - 1

Donnie slightly flinched at the slight touch of your fingers trying to touch the skin of his arm, but he quickly tried to relax, he was fine with the touch, just nervous. You smiled as your hand made its way up to rub his shoulder. He sighed contently as you basically massaged any stiff spots from working tonight.

He was cute in moments like these. He didn't often throw away the 'cool guy' act, and often tried to pretend not to feel anything, even when he did. Very deeply. You were very much living evidence that he wasn't all cold as the metal surrounding him could be. Well... Not emotionally anyways.

Donnie let himself melt backwards into your bed as you lightly placed yourself in front of him and rubbed his other shoulder. You lightly kissed around and on his eyes, encouraging him to shut them, which he did without a second thought.

Your hand soon hit the metal of his fake shell, and you went to look, making you pull away from him, and then in turn making Donnie whine as you backed away from giving him affection. You warmly smiled at how needy he can be, as you lightly traced around the square patterns on his skin.

Something hissed under you though, nearly making you jump out of your own skin, and then Donnie lightly flipped you onto your back, as he got up, and moved his shell- wait what?

You blinked in surprise as you sat up to your boyfriend. Donnie being without his tech on his person was unheard of to you until now, and as he took off his goggles and gear and half heartedly tossed it to where he put his shell, He looked to you just as he was reaching up to undo his bandana.

"I-Is something wrong?" Don genuinely asked. You shook your head.

"I just haven't seen you without your tech and gear before..."

"A-Ah... That's- Uhm- That's right, you haven't... I-I-I can put it back on if that makes you more comfort-"

"No! No." You coughed. "It's OK. You're OK. This is just new is all. Relax." You gave a smile to emphasize that Donnie could take his things off and rest. Donnie looked worried for a moment more, but then he nodded, untying his purple bandanna, and setting it folded up on a nearby table. You scotched over to one side of the bed, opposite of where Donnie was standing, and patted your bed for the second time tonight. Donnie gave a soft smile and climbed on that side, and as he did, you got to see his soft shell.

"Hey Donnie, could I touch your shell-?" Your hands flew to your mouth as it asked the question you wanted to word better in your head first. Meanwhile, Donnie nearly fell back out of the bed in shock at your sudden question. You both looked at each other, warm in the face. "-Sorry"

"-Of course (Y/N)"

You both blurted out at the same time, surprising you both, Donnie was the first to laugh a little at the mess you two were tonight. You followed suit the second you heard a chuckle from him.

"U-Uh... Like I said..." Donnie coughed, laying down on his plastron. "Go right ahead, my love." And the way he looked at you, with such love and trust, sent butterflies to go crazy in your stomach. You slowly moved closer to him, and reached for his shell, immediately rubbing at it.

As you did, you heard a weird guttural... Purr from him? You looked down and his eyes were shut, skin pinched right above his eyes, but it somehow looked relaxed, especially with the wide smile that pulled at his lips. Huh. You didn't ask about it right now, not while he was clearly content. For now, you worked your digits into lightly pushing, and even more lightly raking, the texture of his shell.

Somehow your thoughts wandered to all the nicknames Donnie called you over the time you had been dating, and how tender they were. You had just stayed true to his name, with maybe the occasional common pet name, but something clicked in your mind.

"...Softie."

"Heyyyyy..." Donnie whined, opening one eye to look up to pout at you.

"No no no no no!" You waved off. "I was just thinking about... A general new nickname? Ahhh, maybe it's stupid..." You began to trail off, but Donnie immediately stepped in.

"Hold on, talk to me, Dearest." He pressed. You nodded.

"I was thinking that you know it would be kinda clever since you were a soft shell? Plus... You treat me so well, and... So kindly... You're a little tiny bit of a softie, Don. I get to see you without your walls up and without your shell on now and... I love seeing that side of you...-oh! Donnie!" You cupped his face as his lips shook in his semi pout, and he was very VERY close to crying.

"My looooooveee..." He turned around, the idea of his shell being pet forgotten as he hugged you, laying on top of you. He made sure to shift his weight enough to not crush you, but more so comfortably weighing you down to keep his clinging snuggle grip on you. You giggled. "I love you so much...!"

"Love you too... Softie." You replied coyly, and he squeaked upon you reaching around to pet him again. And then he purred, shutting his eyes.

...Donnie - 1 (Y/N) - 2

Bonus:

"...(Y/N), you're not planning on calling me that in front-"

"I promise I won't call you Softie in front of your brothers."

"Thank you."

"Of course, Don. Now for the love of god, sleep."

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #tmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

Text

Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 17 - Why do you run, only to let me catch you? Din Djarin x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.

Graphics made by me Thank you again to @beefrobeefcal @clawdee and @pastelnap for beta-ing! Read on AO3 Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Why do you run, only to let me catch you?

Your relationship – if you could even call it that – with Din Djarin is a complex one, and one you love to hate, or hate to love. It’s been too long now that those lines don’t really exist anymore. There’s a passion in your chest reserved only for him, but to call it love would be a disservice, what you shared with the most feared bounty hunter in the system is something much more than that.

But it’s been at least a Standard Year since you last caught a glimpse of polished Beskar, a sight that set your heart racing like a jump to light speed. You’d heard of his exploits alongside Bo-Katan , and that of his adopted son Din Grogu, and how the three of them took down Moff Gideon and reunited the Mandalorian people.

But, as much as hearing those feats make you somewhat proud of the Beskar clad menace, it only makes you yearn for him more. You’re lost in thought when the droid in front of you snaps you out of it.

“Miss?”

The chaotic roar of the casino comes back to you in a flash, you’d been deep in your own thought spiral you had cut out everything but the image of a silver-clad predator from your mind as you yearned for the thrill of the chase.

The table is looking at you expectantly as you realize you’d slipped off into a daydream, it was your hand. You study the purple skinned Twi’lek opposite you with a smirk, he’s hiding it well, but he’s panicking. You look back to your hand. You’re currently holding eight cards, between the minus 6 modifier and the rest, you’re sitting pretty at seventeen.

You could stand, and hope that your opponent goes bust but there’s no fun in playing this game safe. Especially when this is all the thrill you live for now that your cat and mouse days with Din Djarin are over.

You let your fingertips hover over your side deck, drawing out the moment as you eye up the ten-thousand credit pot on the table. You close your eyes, snatching the card from the deck and you can’t keep your poker face up when you draw a three.

The Twi’lek across from you swears and stands with such force it spills his Spotchka cocktail over the table and you quickly scoop up the credits, protecting your winnings from the hazy blue liquid. The casino hushes around you and you look up from your pile of riches to see what has everyone on edge.

Then you see him.

Shining Beskar, tattered, flowing black cloak, blaster on his hip as the lacquered black T of his visor bores into you. Your blood runs cold, then burns hotter than the binary suns when you see him. A broad smile stretches across your lips. You’re not dressed for a fight, nor a chase, with ridiculously high heels and a tight sequined, green bodycon dress that was not meant for running. Time seems to still as you drop the credits back on the table. The clink of metal-on-metal deafening in the otherwise silent casino.

Mando tilts his head to the side, just enough to issue the challenge. You take a deep breath, formulating your escape as you see him reach for his blaster.

I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.

Those first few words uttered to you as he had you pinned over the bar of a cantina on Tatooine replay in your head as you wink at the Beskar-clad menace. Heat pools in your core as you remember how it felt to be pinned by such a strong, confident man.

You kick off your heels, snatching them up before diving through the crowd. You’re sprinting through the main hall, bare feet slapping against the smooth flooring, making you slip and slide as you hear the unmistakable spur-like clink of metal on metal as Mando gives chase.

You barge through the chaos of Canto Bight, drinks fly as you blindly frisbee a tray at Mando, he bats it away with ease as he breaks into a run, forgoing the initial long, loping strides. You dash through the service entrance, following a waitress before the security door closes. The sound of Beskar pounding against Durasteel as Mando collides with the door has you grinning in premature triumph.

You slip through the halls, ducking confused looking waiters, a Bothan swearing at you as you make your way through to the back door. You break out into the neon-glare of the city and immediately slow your pace. You slip your heels back on and try to blend in with the denizens of Canto Bight.

The streets are packed, holographic screens of kids racing on Fathiers illuminate the facades of the various casinos and hotels. It’s a big race, you should know, you’ve got a lot of money on Skystrider tonight.

Maybe I’ll get lucky a second time tonight?

You think to yourself as you lament the credits you had left behind. You just know the Twi’lek you beat would have taken the winnings in the confusion.

But there was a bigger prize at stake now, one that you were determined to win.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

Mando’s modulated voice growls from over your shoulder. You don’t react, keeping up your purposeful stride as you weave in and out of the throng of bodies. The clink of his suit loud in your ear, you can feel his presence behind you like a heavy weight on your back.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me Mando, way to make a girl feel unwanted.”

You purr as you feel a gloved hand brush the small of your back, you stop abruptly, making Mando crash into your back and you cry out. You give your best performance, letting out a terrified wail that has people turning to look at the way you cower away from the Mandalorian.

“Help he’s assaulting me, please!”

You turn on the spot, clutching at your chest as you back away from him. Mando halts as his visor scans the now antagonistic crowd around him. You wink and poke out your tongue as a man steps between you.

“Hey, tin-can, leave the lady alone.”

“She’s quarry, get out of my way.”

The man looks over his shoulder at you and you give him the waterworks, eyes pleading as you fight to keep the smile off your face.

“Heard that excuse before, just because you’re some hot shot Mando doesn’t mean you can treat a lady like that.”

The other man squares up to Din and you almost hang around to watch the pissing match, but you know you must take every advantage you can get. You take a tentative step back, Mando’s visor tilting to watch your movements as the other man keeps blustering on about honor and some other chivalrous shit. You blow Mando a kiss as you slip your heels off again.

The world blurs around you as you sprint as fast as your legs can carry you, neon lights, steam from exhaust vents, people of all races and creeds whipping by as you feel your lungs burn and you step on something sharp, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay.

You hear blaster fire behind you and wince a little at the fact you might have just got an innocent man killed.

There are no innocent partygoers on Canto Bight.

You think to yourself as you reach the spaceport. Your entire body trembles from overexertion as you stumble into the hangar that houses your X-wing. Your definitely, legitimately sourced X-Wing, and definitely not the one you won from a Sabacc game with a gullible young pilot.

You chuckle to yourself at the memory, opening the cockpit of your fighter until you look around the hangar and see a Mandalorian Class Gauntlet in the next bay over.

That wasn’t there when I landed.

Your stomach drops and you hear a soft modulated huff from the hangar door. Your head snaps up and you see the silhouette of the bounty hunter illuminated by the vibrant, neon rainbow of light bleeding in from the street.

You throw your heels onto the floor and launch yourself into the pilot’s seat, you begin your pre-flight checks but none of the lights or displays come online. You sigh, laughing breathily as you realize he’s done something to immobilize your ship. You have no idea how he knew this was yours, you’re pretty sure it’s still registered under the name Antilles.

You let yourself catch your breath for a moment as the clink of Beskar grows louder with every step. You try to think of a way out of this, some distraction, or final gambit to worm your way out of his clutches, but it’s futile. You’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, you’ve got me. If I promise to be good, could you forgo the carbonite? I break out every time.”

“I’m not stupid, you’d just find a way out of your restraints and gut me in my sleep.”

You shrug, you can’t blame him for that, you did shank him in his sleep the last time you promised to be good when he caught you on Endor. You can still hear the howl of pain as you disappeared into the undergrowth as he pulled the vibroknife – his vibroknife – out of his thigh.

“Fine, but I’m not moving, you’re dragging me onto that ship. I winded myself with all that running, and I think I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You babble as you look down at the crimson liquid pooling in your cockpit. You chuckle as you feel your head spin, fractals of light crack like shattering Transparisteel across your vision as you let your head loll back onto the headrest.

“What are you-?” Mando asks as he climbs the ladder attached to the cockpit, “Dank Farrik!” He swears as he hurries to pick you up. You laugh to yourself, bemused by the way he seems to care about whether you were hurt.

“Thought you could bring me in hot, or bring me in cold?” You slur as you wrap your arms drunkenly around Mando’s neck, leaning into the cool Beskar of his chest. You breathe in the scent of Beskar, oil, and something like citrus as your vision fades to black.

~*~

You blink awake to a brightly lit hold. You hiss as the white light burns into your eyes, the sound of air recyclers humming all around you a telltale sign you were on ship, likely out of atmosphere already.

“Kriff.”

You groan as you close your eyes, you guess you’re on Mando’s ship, the Gauntlet you saw in the hangar most likely. You take in slow, steadying breaths as you try and figure out your next move. A small gurgle from beside you has you rolling your head to the side, slowly opening your eyes to the sweet little face of the little green kid Mando drags across space with him.

“Kiddo!” You cry and the little guy lights up at the sound of your voice. His large pointy ears perk up and his mouth parts open in joy as he scurries over to you, hopping up on the cot with ease and burying himself in your side as he coos softly against your chest. You smile as you feel something thin and rectangular slip under you on the cot.

“Missed you too buddy, old man’s still dragging you around the galaxy with him?”

The kid hums in a positive affirmation as he babbles away. You get hints of intention from him, like ghosts of thoughts brushing against your mind as he “talks” away at you.

“Grogu?”

Din calls from the cockpit and you sit up in the cot, the impromptu reunion with your secret best friend cut short as you watch Din freeze in the doorway to the hold.

“Get away from him.” Din’s voice is impossibly low, even through the modulator. You’ve never heard him this pissed before.

“Hey, he was the one to instigate this mutinous friendship, not me!”

You frown at the Beskar menace and cross your arms over your chest, Grogu, as you have always known him, follows suit. He plops himself down on the cot next to you and crosses his tiny little arms across his chest before grunting unhappily at his guardian.

“What do you mean friendship?”

“How many times have you gotten me this far Mando, and left me alone in your ship while you slept or got supplies?”

“How should I-?”

“Twenty-seven times, twenty-eight if we count the time I had you tied up-.”

“Naboo doesn’t count.” Din hisses as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so that you are all in some strange, mirrored standoff.

“Fine, but my point being, kiddo’s curious, and you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“I am not.”

“So, you don’t remember when we played Don’t wake the sleeping Nerf and covered you with forty-six different pieces of junk from around the ship, including the Darksaber?”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, kriff kiddo, he really did sleep through that.”

Grogu laughs, an angelic little sound that makes your cheeks burn with how much you’re smiling at him. Mando stands there, rage rolling off him in waves as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Mando?” You ask, your tone softer this time as you realize you’re more likely to push him away if you keep teasing him.

“What?”

“You ever figure out my real name?”

“Your real name? No. Why?”

“Just curious, you got my puck on you?”

“Of course.” He grumbles, as if it’s insulting for you to have even asked, before bringing up the holographic image of you. Four statements swirl around the image, and you smile as you read them off in your head.

Whyte Phantom – Thirty Thousand Credits – Exclusive contract.

The final statement is a name.

“Wanna see my identity card?” You ask rhetorically as you pull it up from the datapad the kid had slipped you before his dad came in. Din’s head tilts at the sight of it, before turning to look at Grogu who is pointedly looking anywhere but his dad.

Din grumbles something under his breath as he steps into the hold, head dipping low to read the datapad.

“But that’s? You’re?”

“I put the bounty on myself, yup.”

“Why?”

The question catches you off-guard, you don’t really know yourself, other than you thought it would be a way to ward off the crippling despair you felt every time you walked through the streets of Coruscant. To combat the loneliness in your soul that festers in the darkness of a post-Empire-pre-utopian galaxy. The galaxy that has war veterans dying of Spice addictions while places like Canto Bight prosper as if nothing ever changed.

You could say that, but you won’t, that would require inner strength you just don’t have. So, you quip instead.

“Thought it was kinda hot, having one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy chase me?”

You flash him a practiced, perfect smile and you wait for the anger to come, bracing yourself for violence or harsh words.

“Fine.”

The Mandalorian walks over to your cot and picks up Grogu, moving wordlessly as he scoops him up and takes him up into the cockpit. You curse to yourself quietly as you rub your tired eyes. You were so close to telling him the truth, revealing yourself to the most closed-off person in this damned galaxy.

You lie back down on the cot and take a look at your foot. You smile at the smooth skin, no doubt the kid has healed you with his magic little claws. You can almost hear the conversation between them, Grogu would have insisted on using the force to heal you, Din would have argued against it, you deserved to heal slowly for being such a brat.

You feel Grogu’s mind brush against yours and you get two clear feelings flash through in your mind, his dad, and the intention to speak.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, kid.

You think back, pushing your intent towards the cockpit. Grogu simply responds with a second, stronger intention, talk to him.

You sigh to yourself as you feel his little brainwaves dim as he clearly drifts off to sleep. You rub your hands over your eyes and decide to look for the fresher, and some clean clothes.

~*~

An hour later you hover outside the cockpit door, trying to decide if you should go in or not. You’re about to press the call button when the door hisses open in front of you. Mando charges through, seemingly not noticing you until he’s crashing his chest plate against your nose.

“Son of a Wompa!” You cry out as you feel your nose pop, blood gushes down your face and onto the soft cotton shirt you’d fished out from the storage bins. You stumble backwards and feel yourself pitching backwards, your head spinning as you wait for the inevitable crash of your body on the metal grating.

But Mando saves you from the fall, pulling you up into a loose embrace as he stops you from hurting yourself further.

“Maker, you’re a menace.” He grumbles through the modulator as his hands linger on your biceps.

“Yeah, well maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

“Kriff, this was a mistake.”

Din growls as he releases you and turns to walk back into the cockpit. You curse inwardly as you catch his wrist before he can move.

“Wait,” You growl, guilt and frustration making your stomach turn, “Please, can we talk?”

Din looks over his shoulder at you, giving you the perfect view of the profile of his helmet. Not for the first time you wonder what he looks like under there.

“Fine.”

You expect him to pull out of your grip – which he does – but what you don’t expect is the way his gloved hand falls to rest between your shoulder blades, steering you back towards the cot. He expects you to sit but you gesture for him to take a seat instead. He sits up straight, broad hands splayed on his knees as he follows you with his visor as you pace in front of him.

“So, I put the bounty on my head because I needed something in my life that wasn’t death, pain, suffering, or losing my mind to the poisons of gambling, Spice, and liquor.”

“Go on.”

You pause, looking down at the crimson spill of blood on the stolen t-shirt. You drag the back of your hand across the wet smear on your top lip and let out a soft sigh.

“I ran circles around the first six bounty hunters, and it was getting boring, I was considering calling it off,” You continue pacing, wringing your hands on the hem of the t-shirt that barely covers your ass, “Then, you come along, Din kriffing Djarin, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy.”

Din is silent but you see him shift, sitting up a little straighter at your harsh words of scornful praise.

“And the chase began, you were always so close, often a step or two ahead, and it was like I was breathing fresh air after having only ever known the stale, recycled air of a space station my whole life.”

Din turns his head, the action jarring as you realize he’s avoiding your gaze, you can almost imagine him blushing under that helmet and the thought alone makes heat flutter under your skin.

“And by the fourth time, on Coruscant, you became my own personal blend of Spice.”

You stop pacing, waiting for Din to say something, anything. He sits, still looking away from you and you shake your head. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you’ve kriffed up yet another thing in your life.

But this was by far the most pain you’d ever endured, spilling your guts to a man you had no right feeling anything for. It feels like your skin is positively charged, tremors rocking you as you fight the urge to cry, your chest tight and painful as you feel the binding sting of rejection heavy and constricting.

“Look, just forget it, space me, drop me off at the nearest system, whatever. I’ll get your credits transferred now. You won’t have to see me again.”

You pull up your datapad and through blurry eyes you close the contract, the credits transferring instantly. You turn away, making for the fresher once more, you need to set your nose and clean up. You also need to cry, and you weren’t going to make yourself look any more pathetic in front of him than you already had.

Your skin is on fire, nervous sweat beading on your brow as your skin itches and tingles. Pain rocks through your body as you force the sobs down, just a few more steps and you can cry before wresting your bleeding and broken heart – or whatever is left of it – back into submission.

A Spice addiction can’t be that bad surely?

You joke morbidly to yourself as you reach the fresher door, it slides open just as you hear the spur-like clink of Beskar behind you.

“Wait.”

You halt in your tracks, heart threatening to burst from your chest as you feel him looming behind you. Two armor-clad arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against him, the cool press of Beskar on your flushed skin is blissful.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper that you almost miss it through the modulator.

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose, then we should talk, for real this time.”

You turn in his grip and look up into the glossy black “T” of his visor. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his arms are wrapping around you like the moment he loosens off you’ll disappear.

Can you blame him?

You think to yourself as you realize that every time you managed to escape, it was harder and harder for you to leave. Not because you had grown bored of the chase – no quite the opposite – you were afraid that with every time you left the chances of him giving up on you grew. One day he was going to stop coming for you.

And for a year he did.

“Ok.” You say softly as you let him steer you into the fresher, he hoists you up before setting you down on the edge of the Durasteel sink. He removes his gloves, stuffing them in the back of his belt before readying himself.

“This’ll hurt.”

Din warns you as he lines himself up in front of you. He slots between your thighs without hesitation, and you regret not stealing a pair of his boxer briefs to slip on under the t-shirt. You had thought that was crossing a line into his privacy. But now, as your bare, embarrassingly wet core is but millimeters from his crotch, you really wish you had.

“Ready?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Din braces himself a little closer again and you hiss through your teeth as his strong, warm fingers snap your broken nose back into place.

“There you go,” his modulated voice is soft as he cups your cheeks with his impossibly broad hands, his fingertips ghosting your hairline as he turns your head back and forth with meticulous care for his handiwork, “Should heal up just fine.”

He starts to pulls away from your face, but you capture his wrists in your hands. You gently pull on his wrists and guide them to your hips. His chest heaves as you hear his breathing speed up through the modulator and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel the heat prickle over your skin as your drenched core presses against his crotch. You gasp as you feel him twitch in his flight suit against you.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done on Naboo.” You breathe as you gently unclasp his cloak, fingers trembling as you pull down the neck of his flight suit, baring a thin strip of tan skin. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and press a delicate, feather-light kiss to his exposed skin.

You don’t know what to expect, but the soft, whimpering moan that crackles through his modulator is more than you bargained for. You arch up into him, nipples pebbling as the thin fabric of his blood-soaked shirt does little to mute the cold press of Beskar against your skin.

“Maker.” Din whines again as you latch onto his skin, laving your tongue over his pulse point as you pull the collar down further, you nip lightly at his skin as you grind your core against him. He slowly pushes up the hem of the oversized t-shirt and as his fingertips reach the swell of your ass. He grinds forward aggressively, and you can tell he’s fully hard now. He leans back and tilts his helmet to the side in a silent question.

“Didn’t think stealing your underwear was the right thing to do.”

“So, you just decided to go commando?”

“What can I say? I like the freedom, besides the synthetic silk of my thong was starting to chafe.”

Din swears in another language, you assume Mando’a, before laughing softly, he presses the side of his helmet against your cheek, and you are reminded of the way Lothcats headbutt to show affection.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You say softly as you slowly pull away, moving the collar back up to cover his tantalizing skin, “I just needed to touch you, just once.”

“I want you.”

You pull back and look into the deep depths of his visor and you nod slowly, you place your hands on either side of his helmet, nestling in the concave cheeks. He flinches and you feel his hands twitch on your thighs, but you shake your head slowly before leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss over where you guess his lips are.

“Bed. Now.”

Din barks as he picks you up with ease, one arm wrapped around your waist as he strides through into the crew quarters. He uses his free hand to turn off the lights on the control panel next to the fresher door. The cavernous space is pitch black as Din lays you back down on the cot.

“Din what are you doing?” You giggle softly, anticipation making you giddy.

“Want to taste you,” Din murmurs as you hear the sound of Beskar buckles and plates sliding over one another. He sets them down gently somewhere near the bottom of the cot, followed by the soft sound of his flight suit dropping to the floor, “Need you.”

“Din, you have me.”

You feel him settle between your knees and Maker is he broad. Then you hear the soft hiss-click of his helmet coming off. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing the significance of him taking his helmet off in your presence.

“I won’t look, I promise,” You whisper as you feel him covering over you, his strong hands roam your body, mapping out your dips and curves.

“I trust you. You could have taken my helmet off many times over the years, and yet, you did not.”

His voice hits you like a long-lost melody, silken and sweet with a burning richness to it that makes you whine and keen up into him. Your hips roll against his length, and you gasp as his tip glides through your folds.

“Can I taste you, please?” You ask, suddenly feeling bold in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.” Din suddenly sounds bashful, and you smile to yourself as he shows you the side of him you’ve only caught in glimpses when he thought you were out of earshot. The softness he shows Grogu, the care for his adopted son. This is different, unlike those interactions entirely, but the man beneath the Beskar is finally laid bare, for you.

“I want to Din, please.”

“Anything, take anything you want.”

Your heart swells and your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. You blindly reposition, careful to keep your eyes shut, until you’re kneeling between Din’s knees. You run your hands over the thick expanse of his muscular thighs as you gently, teasingly move towards his cock.

Your hands brush over neatly kept curls at the base of it, and you smile to yourself as you use your hands to blindly size it up.

“Interesting.” You hum to yourself and you feel Din shift under you.

“What? Do you not like it? Is it too small?”

“Din, shh,” You coo as you cup his balls with one hand, making your way to the base of his shaft with your lips, “Just expected you to be painfully large, you give off some serious big dick energy strutting around in your Beskar like you own the entire Maker-be-damned galaxy.”

“So, you like it?” He huffs out, squirming at your praise as you flatten your tip against his soft foreskin, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“I think it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, pressing your tongue against his slit, circling around his tip, lapping up the pre-come before sinking down his length.

He pants and whines under you as you feel him shift under you, he cups your jaw with one hand as he props himself up on his elbow with the other. You feel his eyes on you, you expect his night vision to be pretty good at this point, but you keep your eyes clamped shut.

“You’re beautiful.”

You groan at his praise and wish you could open your eyes, to look up at him as you choke on his cock. You sink all the way down, you breathe through your nose, inhaling the musky scent of his cock and you let out a soft whine as he nudges against the back of your throat.

“Kriff.” Din grunts as he trembles underneath you, his breathing is shallow as he twitches and whines at every particularly deep bob of our dead.

“Stop.”

He growls aggressively as he sits up, moving you off his cock before pushing you onto your back. He settles between your legs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he buries his mouth in your dripping folds.

“So sweet.” He murmurs into your skin as you feel the coarse rake of facial hair on your outer folds. His lips find your clit and you cry out when his tongue licks a stripe up from your core to your clit. Everything about him is broad, his tongue laves over your swollen bundle of nerves and you near lose it.

“Din, kriff your mouth feels so good.” You pant as your hips cant up, you glide your fingertips in his hair, not thinking to check if he even had hair. You’re met with soft, damp curls that you immediately twist into your grip. You pull him closer, letting him devour you with abandon. His tongue is unrelenting as two thick fingers come to press against your core.

“Please.”

Is all you can say as you need him inside you, you’re already so close and you want to feel him inside you however possible.

“So kriffing tight.”

Din breathes incredulously as he buries his fingers to the knuckle, his lips find your clit once more and he sucks. You bite down hard on your lip as you fight the urge to scream. Pleasure assaults you like a solar flare, permeating every cell of your body in violent waves as you come hard around his fingers. You’re delirious as you sob through your aftershocks, his thick fingers finally stilling as you tremble from overstimulation.

“Can I have you, please?”

“Yes.”

You hear the lewd sound of him sucking his fingers clean before he crawls back over your body, wet fingers trail over your left nipple and you chase the touch, arching up off the cot.

“So pretty like this.”

Din hums softly as he rolls your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, making you squeal in overstimulated pain and pleasure as he lines up his tip at your core with the other hand. He eases in and you pant at the delicious stretch. He enters you with ease, yet makes your walls flutter and clamp around him as he fits you snugly.

“Kiss me.”

You plead. His lips crash into yours without hesitation and you moan into his mouth as he starts to move, rolling his hips into you like he knows exactly how you like it. You tease your tongue over his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to meet yours.

Your tongues meet outside of your mouths, sliding over one another in a lewd dance as his thrusts pick up speed. You’re both panting hard when Din seals his lips over yours. His tongue presses into your mouth as you dig your nails into his back. You press together, skin to skin, nails digging little crescent circles in the broad expanse of his back.

Your lips part only to gasp for air before you both dive back in for more, more, more. One of your hand moves to fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, the other drops to your clit. You want to come for him one more time, you want him to feel you squeeze him tight.

“Din, going to come.” You pant against his lips and he groans as he picks up the pace, railing you like it’s the last time.

“Come for me Cyar’ika, let me feel you.”

You do as your told, for the first time in your life, and you come hard. Pleasure seeps into your very bones as fire dances down your spine. Your clit throbs as you press hard circles into it. You feel Din stutter inside you and you feel him start to pull out but you hook your ankles around the small of his back.

“Come inside me.”

You whisper into the crook of his ear as you pull him deep into you.

“Maker!”

Din roars, no longer caring about noise it seems, as he pounds into you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You’re whimpering in his ear as his desperate grunts and moans fill your own. He stills inside you, buried to the hilt as he twitches inside you, his spend coating your walls as you pant in his ear.

“Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?”

Din’s voice is heavy with concern, his breath fanning over your slick skin in soft puffs and you wrap yourself around him like an Ewok.

“No, no you’ve never hurt me, Din.”

You breathe as you nuzzle into his neck, you leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. You never want this moment to end.

“Come on, we need to shower.”

“Nooooo,” You whine, “Just a few more minutes, don’t want to lose you.”

The words escape from your lips before you can stop them; and Din huffs a short, barking laugh against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple as he pulls out.

“You can’t lose me, I’ve been tracking you for too long, I know you.”

“And I know you. Forever.”

You say, knowing those words in Mando’a means much more than in Galactic Basic. Din presses a soft kiss to your lips, neither acknowledging them nor refuting them. But there’s no rejection in his silence, just a mutual understanding that you are both in this for real.

“Five more minutes.”

Din grunts in submission as he settles on the small cot, pulling you against his bare chest as he places soft kisses to your hairline as you both drift off into the best sleep either of you could ever remember.

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ayautjaslover · 6 months

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hii could you write about s/o who was training with her elder yautja bf and they are very tired so the yautja gives them massages on the bed please and ty!

Training With An Elder

OH MY LAWD YES I CAN I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! (Also first ask ahhhhsjjdjdjd thank you!)

Attaching the final part of your armour, you fitted the large helmet to your head, the custom padding providing a soft layer for comfort and breathability. Finally being lowered into the pit after multiple months of training ,you felt nervous, almost giddy. Knowing that your elder mate had finally deemed you capable of fighting and beating the serpents that they use to test and train.

Your devout mate had spent hours schooling and testing you on how the weaponries, helmets and general armour work. Along with hand to hand combat and techniques you use to scan for and hunt down prey with the utmost efficiency.

I mean who would be better to teach you then an elder yautja themselves? Not only are they your mate, they know your body and how your mind works, enabling them to tailor your training to you specially.

Before you began your descent down to the pit your mate had given you a small overview of what was going to happen. Though they'd be coaching you through the auditory systems they thought it would be best to remind you. Though the look of pure pride they held when they saw you clad in the armour was all the encouragement you needed.

Bringing you out of your thoughts you felt the hard metal stage you were on halt and cement itself into the ground beneath. Upon this a loud click sounded throughout the area followed by your mates gravelly voice.

"Situate yourself then scan your surroundings, a skilled yautja hunter never lets any detail slip and you are no different my little ooman."

Helmet activated, you scan the area, noticing the distinct heat signals the serpents were giving off and the subtle outlines of two yautja hunters above. Definitely there to keep watch and jump in if need be, though you deflated a little at this you knew better then to question it. Your mate was only looking out for you.

"Now, the serpents are going to be released soon so stay on guard and be vigilant. I have faith in you."

And with that came silence, assuming they were using the element of surprise to keep you on your toes you continued taking in what was around you and kept an eye on the heat signals from above.

A few seconds later there was a sharp hiss to your right, you trudged forwards and slashed at the serpent's throat. It put up a fight by lunging at you in a weak attempt to get a hold of your arm but you swiftly blocked it. Enclosing your hand around its neck you snapped the windpipe before letting it fall to the floor.

You continued in a similar fashion beating down each Lythe serpent that dared to strike in your direction. Soon enough you had completed the task at hand. Choosing not to relax just yet you scanned the surrounding location once more checking for any remaining serpent heat signals.

"You have completed the task dear ooman, please step back on the stage and we'll bring you up."

Your mate's voice rang through the system instilling a sense of comfort in you. Your muscles were beginning to ache and eyes droop, no matter how many times you wore this goddamn armour you never got used to the way it seemed to drag you down once you'd completed a fight.

You stood there on the stage waiting and wanting for nothing more than to curl up into the soft pelts of your bed and succumb to the hands of your mate as he gives you a massage. He'd done it for you previously and the way his strong hands effortlessly soothed and unravelled the tight muscles of your back and shoulders was nothing short of heavenly.

Without delay the stage cracked to life and started ascending up to the large waiting room. Stepping off and moving towards the bench you began stripping off your armour and stretching.

Hearing the distinct sound of your mate's loud steps which could be likened to that of small bombs you turned to the door as it opened. Stepping forward you smiled up at your mate before wrapping both of your arms around his sturdy torso, sighing Into the fabric of his sheer clothing.

"How did I do? Is there anything I should improve on?" You speak tiredly tracing patterns on his skin.

"Well we're going to have to do more training for your first hunt. I've decided that you'll be coming with me and hunting alongside some of the youngbloods I've been training."

At his words you instantly perk up all the previous tiredness your eyes held before gone.

"My first hunt? I'm going to be accompanying you?"

"Yes little one" your mate says with a look of adoration in his eyes.

Pulling you back into him he wraps his arms around your much smaller frame before bending down to give his version of a "kiss" which includes softly moving his mandibles against your skin.

"Let's get you back to our room, little one, clean you up and relax those muscles of yours." And with a few loving clicks he's already leading you there with large clawed fingers intertwined with your own.

Upon arrival your mate drew you a bath adding in a few soaps here and there and arranging the various shampoos and oils you've collected before calling you in.

Stripping you of your clothing, your mate tied your hair up and out of your face before placing a few light kisses to your cheek and shoulders. Running a clawed hand down your back and snaking their arms around your waist.

"I'm very proud of you little ooman. You've brought honour to me, yourself and our relationship by your actions today. Showing your strengths has gained you respect amongst my kind." They spoke fondly.

Unwrapping their arms they picked you up bridal style before placing you in the large tub. Cupping their hands they began to drench your hair before applying your shampoo, taking special care when lathering the soapy substance and massaging it in.

Letting their claws graze your scalp they wash it out with the shower head then add some conditioner. Pinning the slick hair up to let it set your mate turns their attention to your body, taking a natural rose soap bar and lathering it between their hands before gently gliding the bubbles across your skin, cleaning away any sweat or blood from serpents and leaving your skin hydrated and soft.

Returning their attention back to your hair after washing the suds off your body they begin to repeat their previous actions, raking their hands through the now silky hair your mate continued to wash off and massage the delicate strands. Finally finished they told you to wait before walking out of the room.

"I'll be back in a second little one, you just relax."

Re-entering the large bathroom you see that your lovely mate is holding a board full of what looks to be juicy fruit and a small glass of C'ntlip with clips on the edges to attach to the bath. Setting down the board your mate speaks.

"You must be at least a little hungry ooman. Eat some, we'll make a full feast later."

"Oh what did I do to deserve you." You said picking up a soft and squishy orange fruit and taking a bite.

"Being yourself" your mate spoke softly, admiring your small bites and facial expressions with a silent admiration.

Taking a sip of the C'ntlip the fruit your lover gave you was long gone. It was the most deliciously refreshing thing you'd ever tasted. Your mate had introduced you to a lot of things over the years you two had spent together but this and himself were by far your favourites.

"Ready to get out? You'll turn into- what do humans call it. Prunes?" Your mate said, sounding strange mixing yautja with the foreign word.

Giving him a giggle you said yes before placing your C'ntlip down and getting out of the tub beginning to dry and moisturise your body.

Deciding against clothes you slowly walked into the room, lying down on the soft pelts and letting out an exhale. By the gods, your mate really does spoil you. Turning onto your back you buried your face further into the pelts.

Hearing your mate walk back In from the kitchen you stuck your hand out reaching for their own before attempting to pull them onto the bed with you.

"I'm so tired" you yawned through your words.

Softly taking your hand off of their own, your mate positioned themselves above you sitting on your legs to ground themselves. Not enough to crush you, just a comfortable weight.

"Let me massage some of your muscles, you're still tense. I can feel it."

Not waiting for a reply, your mate got to work. Smoothing their hands over your moisturised skin. Applying a pleasant amount of pressure onto each muscle and moving in a soothing motion. This feeling mixed with the C'ntlip was enough for you to let out a few mewls here and there.

"Enjoying yourself little ooman?" Your mate let out a few fast and high pitched clicks lovingly laughing at your little sighs.

You only let out a groan in response, your mates hands seemingly rendering you speechless.

Finishing up the unravelling of your muscles your mate pushed himself off of your legs and lay himself down besides you, taking your plush body into his arms once again and nuzzling your hair clicking in contentment.

"I love you" you spoke softly, his body warmth lulling you to sleep.

"I love you too dear ooman"

The sound of your mate's deep voice was the last thing you heard before falling into a deep slumber.

-------------------------------------------------------

This was so fun to write and the fluff in it is absoloutley teethrotting. I LOVE IT! thank you sm to the individual who requested this!!!

(And as always, my requests are open!)

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lalal-99 · 1 year

Text

My Favourite Workout {s.c.}

Changbin x afab!reader | trope: established relationship, shower sex | smut | wordcount: 6.2k

Synopsis: Your boyfriend has been working his butt off the past few weeks. It's only fair of you to offer some of your time up so you can spend it together, doing something you love. Or he does anyways. You're not really a fan of gyms in general, but the private gym at his workplace sure has its perks.

Warnings: explicit content | dni if your under 18

Note: This sat in my drafts for over a year, but it turned out pretty good in the end. Gym-Changbin got a strong grip on me...

Taglist: @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig@itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @joonghands@changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @babybabydoll

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Please don't flag as mature - Thank You!

This was so not what you had expected from a gym. Crowds of bulked-up people, sweaty seats, and overpriced protein shakes – that’s what you were used to. You hadn’t been to that many gyms, but you had seen a fair share of them in your lifetime. And this was so far from anything you had witnessed before.

Instead of bad music and half-naked people you wanted to know nothing about, there was silence. And him.

The man sitting a few metres ahead – toned upper body clad in a tight muscle shirt, thick thighs in a pair of loose hanging shorts – was a feast for the eyes. With every pull he did on the exercising machine, dragging the black metal bar lower before bringing the weights to the ground again, his arms flexed. Every contraction of his muscles below his thin shirt was palpable, so deliciously inviting you to bury your teeth in them.

Had you known before, it was gonna be just the two of you in this one-roomed, private gym, you probably wouldn’t have gone. You barely moved anyway as the cross-trainer you had previously used rested quietly below you, your eyes focused on the beautiful man in front of you. How could you have done anything with him right in your eyesight, distracting you from what you usually did in a gym? An hour-long basic workout before swearing never to do one again.

It took Changbin a minute to notice your glances, but when he did, he casually got up, a smirk plastered on his face as he made his way towards you. He took one of his earphones out, his eyes meeting yours as she placed his muscular arms on the handles of your cross-trainer.

“You know this won’t move by itself, right?” Changbin asked, pointing at the machine below you. You rolled your eyes at his comment, stepping down from the trainer.

“I know, but this is so boring,” you told him honestly as you dried the non-existent sweat from your forehead with the towel you had brought. “I only came here with you today, anyways, because we haven’t spent an hour of quality time in two weeks.”

With your boyfriend working overtime at the studio so close to the release of their newest album, you had barely seen him, let alone spent time with him. For the past two weeks, he had left for work before you got up and only came home after his daily workout when you were already half-asleep on the couch.

Obviously, you didn’t blame Changbin. He loved his work, and being one of the producers for his very own band, he usually had to walk the extra mile. You knew and had always known it wouldn’t be easy. Your relationship needed constant work so you wouldn’t forget about each other in the haste of each day.

This was the exact reason why you had decided to join your boyfriend in the gym tonight. It was your way of showing him you weren’t just complaining but doing something to make it work. And you knew he appreciated your extra effort whenever he couldn’t give a hundred percent.

“We’re spending time right now, aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t call us working out in different corners of this room ‘spending time together’,” you replied with a huff.

Changbin had been listening to music since you had stepped into JYPE’s private gym just a few floors below his studio. You knew he replayed whatever song they had produced that day while working out afterwards. It was Changbin’s way of clearing his head while also thinking of changes they needed to make in the melody or rhythm.

Still, you wouldn’t have complained about him talking to you or at least not ignoring you, caught up in his daily routine. Your relationship shouldn’t be routine anyways.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Changbin finally agreed as he took the second earplug out. With a swift motion, he put them into the little container, storing them in his pocket. “How about we finish the rest of the workout with no distractions, alright?”

“The rest of the workout?” you questioned in disbelief. “You mean you’re not finished?”

After an hour in the gym, you were convinced Changbin must have been as tired of it as you were. Even if you hadn’t done much actual working out, you could still tell you’d feel the effect of it tomorrow.

“Just another 30 minutes. Tops,” Changbin promised with a smile as he pointed at one machine behind him. “You wanna try something less boring?”

“Fine,” you gave in as you followed him to the device. You would already be sore the next day, so why not give yourself an extra push. “How does this work?”

“You sit on here,” your boyfriend guided you to the seat of the training equipment, “and you place your legs on either side of these pads.”

You followed his instructions one by one, placing your legs outside of two cushions attached to metal bars, eventually leading to the main body of the machine.

“And now what?” you questioned as you looked up at Changbin.

“Well, you’re gonna press your thighs together. But first, you put weight onto them. How much do you want? Like 5 kilos?” The teasing smile on his lips earned him an eye roll as it told you 5 kilos weren’t much.

“Funny.” The sarcasm was evident in your voice as you looked back at the weights variety the machine offered. It went from 5 to 90 kilos in steps of five. You were aware you shouldn’t start with the highest setting, though you didn’t want to start with the lowest either. “Give me like 20.”

“I don’t know, babe. You think you can handle that?”

Honestly, you didn’t believe that to be a lot of weight. 20 kilos? That’s like a dog or a five-year-old child. Although Changbin’s expression told you differently, you were sure you could take that much.

“I know you think I’m just your weak girlfriend. But I’m very capable of making those sorts of decisions for myself.” You didn’t intend it to come out as harsh as it did, seeing your boyfriend was merely trying to help you. Still, you didn’t appreciate him suggesting, you weren’t strong enough.

“Fine, don’t listen to me. But don’t you complain about your legs tomorrow. I won’t carry you around the house just because you didn’t believe me,” Changbin eventually agreed, setting the weight to your wishes. “Is this good?”

As you pressed your knees towards each other, effectively lifting the weight you had chosen, you realised you had messed up. You hadn’t known 20 kilos to put that much pressure onto your untrained legs when you could easily carry them with your arms. One of your nephews weighed about that much, and he was no difficulty for you.

Obviously, you couldn’t let Changbin know he had been right. After the scene you had just caused, you couldn’t acknowledge you were wrong, and actually weren’t capable of making those decisions for yourself.

“Yup.” You forced a smile onto your lips as you felt your abdominal muscles clench at the pain. It was almost impossible to control your facial expressions when you wanted to scream and curl into a ball instead. “Get back to your workout, babe. I’m fine, really.”

With a shake of his head, and a chuckle leaving his lips, Changbin turned around to head back to his previous workout. The second you were out of his sight, you stopped moving, feeling the burn in your every fibre already. Your legs were shaking as you silently breathed through the sting, picking the movement back up the second Changbin sat down. Unfortunately, he was facing you, so you couldn’t have merely pretended to be doing the exercise.

Your boyfriend picked up his previous routine, his arms finding the metal bar above his head as he started pulling it towards himself. You didn’t know exactly how much weight he had put onto his machine, but you guessed it was about 60 kilos. It was around three times what you were currently pressing between your legs, and still, he looked almost calm doing it. Obviously, you knew your boyfriend was fit – you saw him naked every day – but this was impressive, nevertheless.

You tried your best to concentrate on anything but your thighs, your eyes finding him after a few more squeezes. Changbin threw you a sweet smile as your teeth caught your lower lip. Looking at his buff arms only distracted you for so long, and you already felt you wouldn’t last much longer. Still, you didn’t think about giving up.

As you kept pushing yourself through the pain, you silently counted every press your legs did. Reaching ten presses after a minute, you decided it to be good enough for your first round. The second your legs stopped squeezing, an unintentional sigh left your lips as you felt your muscles relax. So far, so good.

With your head thrown back and your eyes pressed shut, you tried regaining your composure. You were so occupied with catching a grip on reality you didn’t even recognise Changbin was staring at you. You looked up at him only when you heard his weights hit the ground. He had barely gotten to 15 pulls, and you knew for a fact that this couldn’t be it. He must have had a lot more in him than just that.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned your boyfriend in confusion. Your hands came from the handles at your sides to your face as you dragged them across your skin. That you were already sweating after just a minute of actual working out couldn’t have been a good sign.

“You have got to be kidding me.” As Changbin shook his head in disbelief, your eyes wandered down his body to his hand positioned in his lap. You were trying to find the reason for his sudden reaction, and it took you a few seconds to realise how his hand wasn’t simply resting in his crotch. It pressed against it, trying to control the growing bulge under the thin fabric.

“Do you…” Your voice trailed off as a smile appeared on your face. With your hand covering your mouth, you tried hiding it, though you weren’t doing a good job. “Do you have a boner?”

“It’s not my fault,” Changbin reasoned as his eyes slid over your exposed legs towards your face. “It’s you!”

“What did I do? I’m just sitting here,” you explained as-a-matter-of-factly. You hadn’t done anything to turn him on, at least not intentionally.

“Yeah. Legs spread, making your sex noises.”

Your mouth opened at his accusation, your legs swinging over the cushions so you could close them. They were still quivering from the previous weighted movement, so you ran your hands over them, massaging the muscle.

“I’m not making sex noises,” you exclaimed, somewhat offended. No way in hell were the sounds you had made while pressing 20 kilos with your legs were the same ones you made when the two of you were together.

“You sure are. You’ve been moaning the whole time. And now you’re touching yourself, which isn’t any better,” Changbin pointed out, his eyes pinned on your hand running over your thigh. His words made you stop as you tried to terminate anything that might have caused his discomfort. It made you proud how it hadn’t taken much work to get him aroused, though you wouldn’t have disclosed that to him under any circumstance. “Also, we haven’t had sex in about three weeks.”

“And that’s my fault? How, exactly?”

With Changbin in the studio and you working all day, there had only been a few chances for the two of you to get some sexy time. And when such rare opportunities occurred, either you had been too tired, or he had been too sore. If he really wanted to blame you for the lack of intimacy, he couldn’t take himself out of the equation.

“It’s not.” A sigh left Changbin’s lips as she took the towel from beside him to put it over his crotch. “Let’s just get back to the workout, okay? I’m sure it will be gone in a few minutes.”

As your boyfriend stretched his arms to get a hold on the handles of the exercising machine above him, his tight shirt rid up his body a bit. It revealed his stomach below it for only a second, but you caught it anyway. Once he dragged the bar down the first time, your eyes immediately came to his bulky arms.

When you had met Changbin a few years earlier, he hadn’t yet achieved those as he hadn’t started working out as much.

You hadn’t fallen for him because of the way he could pick you up or spin you around as though you were a mannequin rather than a human being. You had fallen for Changbin because of his character, the way he could make you smile or laugh with only a few words. That he had gotten so muscular over the past two years was merely an extra which you didn’t mind. Frankly, you would have loved him with or without the few kilos of extra beef.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself wanting to touch him, lick him, or anything really. Nothing was off the table with the two of you, and even though your boyfriend was sweaty at the moment, you couldn’t help wanting to be closer to him. It became apparent at that moment that he wasn’t the only one riled up by the lack of sexual activity over the past few weeks.

“You know, there are quicker ways to get rid of an erection than waiting.” The words had left your mouth before you could think again about offering to help him out.

Changbin swiftly set the weights down again, his hands resting on his thick thighs as he looked at you with a smirk. Obviously, he understood what you were trying to say immediately.

“Are you serious? Here? A public place?”

Frankly, you hadn’t done many spicy things outside your own four walls, but there were first times for everything. Also, you weren’t sure you could wait to get home, wanting to pull those clothes off your boyfriend asap.

It was late anyway, and when you had come to pick him up from the studio, the whole building was pretty much empty. Right now, you thanked the lord that Chan had a dinner scheduled with his girlfriend. It gave you the perfect opportunity for some one-on-one time with your boyfriend.

“Sure. I mean, who’s gonna catch us? JYP?”

When Changbin realised you were right, that no one was there to catch you, he instantly lifted himself up. With a hurried sweep, he grabbed his towel and water bottle before making his way to you, his hand casually catching yours.

“Why are we still here then? Let’s go!”

A giggle left your lips at your boyfriend’s eagerness, the kiss he planted on your lips in excitement lasting only a second or two.

“Wait, my water bottle!” It still sat by the cross-trainer, long forgotten. There would have been plenty time to get it, but apparently, Changbin had other plans.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

As Changbin dragged you from the gym to the changing rooms just a few doors down, you checked the halls one last time, making sure no one was around. When you realised everything was quiet, you bit your lip in anticipation.

The second you had reached the room, Changbin opened the door impatiently, pulling you inside. He closed the door behind you with a loud thud, and you found yourself pressed against the cold material instantly.

“This is so exciting,” your boyfriend pointed out before his lips met yours in an eager kiss. You could taste the sweat on his upper lip, though you couldn’t have cared less. Changbin’s strong hands instantly came to your waist, keeping you in place as his hip pressed into yours hungrily. “Let’s take this off, shall we?” A second later, your shirt was off you as Changbin’s hands came up to cup your breasts over the fabric of your sports bra.

“Do you like it? I bought it last week,” you questioned as Changbin eyed the white material.

“I do. I’d like it more if you took it off, though.”

“Sure. You first.”

With a smirk still plastered on his face, your boyfriend’s hands came to the hem of his shirt as he pulled it over his head. You bit your lip at the view, your mouth watering at the sight of his delicious peck muscles. Apart from his arms, they were probably your favourite extra.

“Your turn!” Changbin said before you could even think about touching him. You could get to that later, anyway. “And take off the shoes.”

Without as much as a hint of hesitation, you slipped out of your new clothing item and your sneakers, leaving you in only your pants and panties. Changbin followed suit, kicking his shoes and socks away as he came closer to you again.

His hands found yours as he pressed them against the door beside your head so you couldn’t move them. His body flushed against you was enough to declare you officially trapped.

When Changbin’s lips found yours again, his tongue instantly connecting with yours, he ground his hips into you, effectively making you sigh into him. You could feel him grinning against your mouth.

“I might have been wrong before. Your sex noises are way better than your workout noises,” Changbin pointed out. “They’re like music to my ears.”

“Maybe you should make a song out of them. This way, you can listen to me while working out.”

“Tempting- but I’d rather not get a boner while working out with Chan. This-” Rutting his hips into yours, you felt his erection more prominent than before. “This is for you and for you only.”

“Good.”

Your boyfriend’s lips met yours again, this time slightly rougher as he evidently attempted to move things along. Soon enough, his tongue met your neck as he sucked on the skin, causing another whimper to leave you. After years of being together, he clearly knew all your buttons by heart.

As Changbin reached your breast, your moaning turned into groaning, the frustration reaching a new high. His mouth engulfed your nipple, lightly grazing it with his teeth before he let his tongue run over it. The arching of your back was the only indication he needed to know his advances caused the wanted impact on you.

When his hands ran down your arms and to your waist, you felt goosebumps rise all over your body as a rush of blood went to your core. You had always loved how your boyfriend could turn you to mush at his hands, especially now that you had seen him work out. All the strength in his arms didn’t change how carefully he handled you; as though you’d break under too much pressure.

Your hands came to Changbin’s hair as he kissed all over your chest, entangling with the bundle as you closed your eyes and threw your head back at the pleasure. Only when he went further down, eventually landing on his knees – like you weren’t turned on enough already, making your heart skip a few beats – did you look down at him.

A smile spread on your lips as you knew what was coming.

“These,” Changbin’s hands came around your thighs as she slapped one of them hungrily, “make me go crazy. I couldn’t stop thinking about burying my head between them when you were doing that exercise earlier. And I do think we should get one of those exercise machines for our house. Just so we can misuse it. Every. Single. Day.”

With those words, Changbin started dragging your shorts down your legs, effectively taking your panties off with them. You quickly swiped them away with your foot so they wouldn’t get in the way of things.

“I think there are machines for that exact use. Why don’t we get one of those?” You couldn’t deny the thought exciting you. Smaller toys had been part of your love life since the beginning, but never something as massive as this.

“And I think I absolutely fucking love you.”

Without another second of hesitation, Changbin buried his head between your thighs, his tongue licking a rough strip up your folds. It made your legs quiver as you pulled at his hair. You were still pretty beat from your previous workout so that your legs were almost giving out beneath you was no surprise. Especially when your boyfriend made you feel so good on top of everything.

One of his arms kept you spread for him as his other came around your thigh, lifting it up and over his shoulder. It gave him much better access so his second hand could wander around your body, keeping you in place at your spine.

Changbin’s tongue ran along your entrance a couple times, dipping in only slightly before precisely meeting your nub. It sent shock waves down your back as he knew exactly how you liked it. He soon tilted his head, eyes closing as he seemed to enjoy this as much as you did. Perhaps even more.

The way he ate you out, fast – almost maliciously so – you knew you wouldn’t last for too long. That, paired with the excitement about someone possibly walking in on you at any given time, took you straight to cloud nine. Sure, you hadn’t noticed anyone before, but that didn’t mean no one was actually around.

When Changbin’s teeth came into play, lightly running over your nub every few licks, a loud cry escaped your throat. You bucked your hips into him involuntarily, the knee currently not resting on his shoulder quivering heavily. Had he not held you by your leg, you would have fallen to your knees at the pleasure running through your system. Changbin seemed to notice how difficult it was for you to concentrate on anything but the pain in your leg, quickly deciding to help you out.

You were used to having one of your legs positioned over your boyfriend’s shoulder, opening up possibilities for him to reach deeper – better. So, when Changbin pulled your second leg up, pulling it over his other shoulder, you were more than just stunned. In the new position, one you had never tried before – you fully sitting on his shoulders – a whole different set of possibilities opened up.

That Changbin could even carry you like this, all your weight pressing onto him, was a miracle. Sure, he benched more than your weight and probably pulled just as much, but this was still different. You weren’t dead weight like the metal sitting only rooms away; you’re a human. It was you and every kilo you brought to the table.

Your surprise and fear for your boyfriend’s well-being were swiftly overshadowed when you noticed just how much he enjoyed this new position. It gave him total control over your body, where to put you and how to bend you. And that control, he used to both your advantages.

As your back was pressed against the cold metal of the door, your hands automatically came to Changbin’s hair, pulling on it as he dove in deeper. His hands by your spine pushed you closer against him as you feared he might suffocate. He couldn’t have possibly gotten the necessary oxygen in this seemingly uncomfortable position. And, still, it didn’t impact his action as much as you had anticipated. It might have even spurred him on further.

His humming vibrated through your whole body, sending shock waves to every fibre of your being. You couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling, noticing the smirk against your core once he heard. One of his hands left your spine to slap your butt as he started massaging it, only encouraging you to be less cautious of the noise leaving your body.

Changbin’s second hand snuck around your body, running up your stomach and towards your breast, stroking it roughly as his fingers ran over your nipple. This, paired with his second hand on your butt and his mouth on your core, made you shiver and twitch against him. His tongue lapping at your juices, so precisely meeting every tiny spot between your legs, brought you close as fast as barely before.

“Fuck,” you sobbed once the tip of his muscle ran down to your hole, fucking inside hastily. It certainly wasn’t long enough to reach every spot within you, but it felt great, nonetheless. So much so that you could have stayed like this forever.

For all you cared, Changbin could have eaten you out like this the whole night. Though you doubted it would be enough to finish either of you.

So, when Changbin slowly and ever-so-carefully set your legs back onto the ground, his mouth leaving your heat, you weren’t mad. As your legs quivered on either side of him, he came up from the floor, standing right in front of you as he leaned in for a long, somewhat innocent kiss.

“We’re so gonna do that more often,” Changbin breathed against your lips as a smirk spread on his. “I’ll get undressed. Meet you in the shower?”

All you could muster was a nod as you shakily started making your way towards the shower cubicles. Finding your ass in a slap as you moved, you jerked forward in unexpectedness.

“Sorry, my hand slipped.” The smirk on his face told you otherwise, though you naturally ignored the comment as you continued your path further back.

The moment you found yourself under the warm water, the liquid running through your hair and down your body, you felt yourself relax. The jets softly massaged your back and the muscles which had gotten so tense from leaning against the metal door for too long, causing a few moans to slip out of your mouth.

It wasn’t until you felt a presence behind you that you came back from your trance, the thick fingers around your waist causing a smile to spread on your face.

“I hope the shower isn’t making you feel better than I do...” Voice trailing off, Changbin’s lips came to your neck, running along the vein at the side. You moaned at the feeling, even more relaxing than the shower itself, a smile spreading on his lips. “I take that as a ‘no’.”

With his hands running up your body, fingering over your perked nipples, you arched your back against his front. His arousal became unmistakably clear to you when you felt him poke one of your ass cheeks. You bit your lip at the sensation, proud of your effect on his body.

His tongue ran over your neck, down your left shoulder and over to your right as his hands softly massaged your breast. The shower jets only added to the sensation, your head soon thrown to the side to give Changbin better access to your earlobe. He twirled it between his teeth, growling in your ear as you continuously pushed your ass against him.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this.” Smiling at your words, you tried turning around to kiss him, though his strong arms prevented any unapproved movement. “Stay like this. Perfectly still for me to touch and do as I please. You like that, don’t you?”

Humming in answer, Changbin ran one hand down your spine, thumb pressing into your muscles on either side. When he reached your butt, he grabbed one of your cheeks, pulling it to the side before letting it slap back against the other. He did the same thing to the other, his hand reaching even deeper, running two fingers through your folds to test your wetness. It made you moan loudly, the sound echoing from the tiled walls. To neither of your surprise, you were drenched.

“Ready, baby?”

You merely nodded, forming words impossible at this point. Not with how much need was radiating from your every pore.

Putting your hands against the wall in front of you, you leaned forward to give him better access. With one of his hands pressing against your lower back, the other guiding him towards your entrance, it took him less than 5 seconds to enter you, bottoming inside you.

“Mhm…”

“Feel good, baby?” Changbin pulled you back against his chest, slipping out just a tad at the movement. You agreed with a nod, hands reaching back to touch his hips.

“Move- please.”

Chuckling at your attempt to talk, Changbin tilted your head to the side with two fingers, kissing the corner of your mouth before slowly pulling out and plunging himself back in. “I fucking love you. Did I tell you that?”

His length dragged deliciously against your swollen walls in this position, meeting that spot inside you every time. It took him a few seconds to find a rhythm before his hips settled at snapping against yours in perfect timing with your breathing. At first, at least.

A few minutes into it, Changbin sped up, your hands coming from your side – holding onto his at your waist – to the wall in front of you. You needed to stabilise yourself in some way, his forceful thrusts sending you straight to heaven. He took a step forward to keep reaching deep inside, your back arching for comfort. It also helped you focus on not coming already.

“Fuck, if you keep clenching like this...”

Changbin didn’t end his sentence, but you understood him perfectly anyway. Knowing he wasn’t doing any better than you calmed you down, your walls relaxing slightly. It sent you closer quicker, but you knew he wasn’t far behind, so it was alright.

Soon enough, one of his hands reached around your body again, twisting your nipples once before travelling down your front. How he even had a head for helping you out when he was so close himself was beyond you. Your head started spinning when two of his fingers met your nub, roughly circling the flesh.

Letting your head hang slack in front of you, you squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation, the water running down your back only adding to it. You started twitching against him, your body leaving your control at his skilled technique. All you could do was hold onto the wall, trying to relieve some tension by dragging your fingers against the tiles. Your knuckles soon turned white, your head dizzy, and your sight blurry once Changbin angled his hips to reach your spot.

“Fuck-”

Your body started shaking at the approach of your inevitable release, Changbin pulling you flash against him. His arm wrapped around your front, keeping you stable against him as your hands reached back to grab him. With his head back at the side of your head, kissing your skin and attempting to give some momentum to the moment, you grabbed his hair, pulling lightly as the high came crashing over you.

Spasming against him, loud moans escaping your mouth like a waterfall, Changbin held you as close as possible, guiding you through it. He slowed down his thrusts for a few seconds, fingers circling your nub at a less demanding pace. His touch never stopped, simply helping you through the high but not letting you calm down just yet.

“That was so hot, baby,” Changbin whispered in your ear before picking up the pace of his hips and fingers. It sent you right back to the white-gazed, world-spinning high you hadn’t had the chance to come down from. “You think you can do it again?”

“I don’t-” your words were cut off when he sped up, going even harder and faster than he did earlier. The overstimulation set in soon enough, your mouth hanging slack as whimpers tumbled over your tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Just like that, baby. Come for me again!”

How you did it, you wouldn’t have been able to tell with a gun to your head. You had never come a second time this quick after your first time. Until now, that was.

Maybe it was how well Changbin knew your body, being able to coax orgasm after orgasm out of you at a speed that could have been world record worthy. Maybe, it was the whole ‘people might walk in on you any second’-situation. You didn’t have the head to care as you kept spasming against his front, feeling him release with a groan in your ear.

You rode out both your highs in about a minute, his movement never stopping but calming down with every second until he finally stopped. Changbin didn’t withdraw just yet, though he took the opportunity of complete calmness to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

Still catching your breath after two back-to-back orgasms, you merely smiled at his sweet action, hands holding onto him behind you.

“That-” Changbin cut himself off, also trying to get his breathing under control. It took him a few moments, but then he pulled out of you, spinning you around on wobbly legs. Kissing you for the first time in what felt like hours, you felt yourself reaching earth again after being sent to heaven twice in a matter of seconds. “The single, most hottest thing you ever did.”

“‘t wasn’t me. All you.”

That you still couldn’t speak properly further proved just how high up he had brought you. Changbin chuckled at your attempt to talk, forehead pressing against yours as you started feeling his release dribble down your leg. Good thing you were already in the shower, or else it would have made a complete mess.

“Let’s settle on team effort.” You giggled at his words, feeling your eyes and legs giving out on you. Had it not been for Changbin’s hands at your sides, you would have collapsed already. “You tired, baby?”

You didn’t need to answer that question as your boyfriend slowly guided you to the floor, helping you settle against the wall. The water was still running over your body as he disappeared for a few seconds. When he came back, he had shower gel, shampoo, and your sports bra with you, so you wouldn’t have to sit on the cold floor and risk catching a UTI. After that workout, you wouldn’t be needing it tonight anyway.

Turning your back to him, Changbin squeezed some of the shampoo onto his fingers before bringing them to your hair, softly spreading it over your scalp. The touch felt like magic, pumping energy back into your body. Same with the shower gel, which Changbin massaged into your back once he was done with your hair. You moaned at the feeling, your muscles relaxing at his perfectly calm touch.

Changbin always found ways to take ‘aftercare’ to a whole nother level.

“You good to walk? Or do you want me to carry you?”

“I can walk,” you told him, getting off the floor. Your legs were still pretty unstable, shaking under your weight. As though you hadn’t learned to walk yet.

“Okay, Bambi. Let me help you.” Swept off your feet, Changbin carried you out of the shower stalls and back into the changing area. You giggled in his arms, time and time again surprised by his strength. He almost made it look like you weighed nothing.

Wrapping you in a towel, Changbin left you for maybe a minute to clean himself. It gave you time to calm down further, your head and body almost completely back to normal once he came back into the room. As he dried himself off, you couldn’t help your wandering eyes running over his body. A real sight for the Gods, your boyfriend was.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, much to Changbin’s surprise. His eyebrows drew together, confusion taking over his face as he came closer, the towel hanging dangerously loose around his waist.

“What for?”

“You couldn’t finish your workout because of me.”

In your head, you knew he didn’t mind. Still, you felt bad you hadn’t let him finish off his routine because of your arousal. And, frankly, your unwillingness to work out even a minute longer.

“You’re a little stupid-head, you know that?” Changbin asked in amusement, playfully shoving your head as he seated himself next to you. “I’d do you over a workout anytime.” He kissed you lightly, tongue brushing against your lower lip for only a second before he pulled away. “Now, turn around, so I can get changed.”

You laughed at his demand, putting your hands over your eyes, fingers spread apart as far as possible.

“Eyes are closed. Go ahead!”

Changbin laughed at your action, a few emotions written on his face simultaneously. Though, it didn’t take much of you to recognise the main one. “Fuck, I don’t think I can love you more than right now.”

And he meant it.

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weixuldo · 4 months

Text

Allow me// ch 14

Vader x Reader

a/n: so sorry for the delayyy rahhh i’ve been traveling for the holidays!! i’ve been cranking stuff out tho so dw!!! i’ve been working on enigma, allow me, and line cook ani pt 2 heheh also unconditionally epilogue// also words in font like this means vader is using the force to speak- not his normal voice

How much longer will it be before you hear from Lord Vader again? is he safe? is he alright?

warnings: cursing, angst, harm, medical procedures, cannon typical violence

_____________________

After what seemed like days of stumbling around fighting off any enemy he came against, Vader finally obtained a ship. It wasn’t much, but at least he was able to jump start it. As soon as he got the engine going- he set in coordinates for Hoth.

He was absolutely exhausted in every way someone could be; mentally, physically, emotionally… Not only did his broken body ache, but his mind raced with thoughts of what his master would do next if he were to defy him. Would he really be replaced?

As he flew the small ship towards the icy system, the failure of his suit became increasingly evident. After using so much energy and power from the force to fend off bounty hunters and fight opponents (all while his suit was damaged and with makeshift limbs), he was so completely exhausted that he could barely stay conscious as he drifted through space.

The flesh parts of his legs throbbed uncomfortably- the makeshift prosthetics weren't made to cushion his walk so he was putting too much pressure on his poor stumps. He desperately wanted to put the ship on auto pilot but sadly, it did not have that feature.

So he begrudgingly adjusted himself in the pilot seat and desperately tried to stay awake.

___________________________________

Your anxiety was through the roof the past few days; not only had you heard nothing from Vader or when he would return, but the Emperor seemed as if he were observing you much more closely now.

Thankfully you had finished your main tasks for the day and retired to your quarters earlier than normal (not that that really meant anything special. You were still just going to overthink).

You laid down and observed the same ceiling you had been looking at for months, only this time you were worried about Vader.

You pleaded with the force that he was ok and would return safely. You would rejoice once you knew he was safe and finally with you again. Would he feel the same about you?

____________________________________

The sight of his docked ship took an enormous weight off of Vader’s chest; he was back. He would no longer have to wonder how he’d get back or have to worry about conserving his energy.

He landed the ship as best as he could, but it was a rough landing; he had to opt for a landing in the snow. Once the ship was powered off, he slowly pulled himself out of the cockpit.

The freezing temperatures of the frigid planet whipped at his exposed skin and made his metal joints creaky. He was shutting down. His legs were barely able to hold his weight anymore- he was completely drained.

Even though he wanted so desperately to call to you through the force, he just couldn’t muster the energy.

Before he knew it, his world went black and he was left lying, face down, in the thick layers of snow.

Thankfully some stormtroopers saw his bumpy landing and came to check out the commotion. Without them he would not have made it back.

“Uhhh- You might wanna take a look at this” one of the white armor clad men said to the other.

“Lord Vader?!”

“Yea…. we should probably get him inside” another chimed in.

“Right away! We need to get him to the med chamber”

_______________________________________

You had taken a stroll around the living quarters to try to get your mind off of things (it wasn’t working), sadly everything in the damn ship just screamed Vader- it was his ship, after all.

As you walked the halls, a large group of troopers marched down the hall opposite to you.

They seemed rushed- their matters must have been important.

You thought nothing of it initially (There was always some drill or task they were running around to complete), but you froze when you heard it.

“Lord Vader is back”

“Really? Where is he?” a second asked.

“We’re pretty sure he's in the med bay- probably being checked for wounds” the first added.

You didn’t need to hear anymore, before you were off.

You rushed to the med bay where he was being held for assessment by the medical droids and Vanee.

You punched in the security code and swiped your card quicker than you ever had before and breathlessly entered the dark room.

You didn’t expect to see a pillar of light in the middle of the pitch black room; once your eyes adjusted you realized the pillar was actually a large bacta tank… with a limbless figure strung up in the middle, a sight you had never seen.

As you squinted you realized you recognized that face- it was Vader in there.

Was he injured so badly as to lose the rest of his limbs? No- you looked closer and his amputations seemed to be old wounds- you knew he had some prosthetics, but you didn’t realize he had lost all of them.

He floated in the healing liquid, only suspended by a black harness. The slight movement of the water softly carried his body up and down.

You observed more and noticed how muscular he was, his shoulders were just as broad even outside the suit. As much as you wanted to linger your gaze on his body, you felt that it was not the time to marvel at his impressive physique.

You began to walk forward to get a better look at his injuries when a pale faced man ran at you; “Get out! Do not dare disturb the Lord as he heals!” the elder screamed at you, which caused Vader to weakly open an eye.

Once he saw that it was you he panicked for a moment- he didn’t want you to see him like this… he wasn’t ready.

Surely you were frightened of him now, surely you couldn’t hold him in the same regard as you did before.

A look of worry found itself onto your face as you saw Vader’s scared face, but soon the pale man started getting violent with you.

He pulled, pushed, and even began to scratch you with his long nails but you wouldn’t budge, you needed to make sure Vader was ok.

Vanee, Stop.

What was that?

The pale man ceased his attack and stepped aside, “but my lord, she is-”

Let her be and leave us.

Vader was speaking through the force.

Vanee nodded and scurried out of the dark room.

Once it was just you and Vader left, you walked towards the glass tube and rested your palms against the cool surface.

“V? Are you going to be ok?” you asked with a small voice.

I will be, i’m so sorry

both of his eyes were open now.

“Sorry for what V?” What was he talking about?

I didn’t want you to see me like this

You were no medic so all you could offer Vader was your company and support as he endured a painful recovery process.

“Oh, Vader… please do not worry about that- I want you to focus on healing” you said softly as you pressed a gentle hand on the glass of the tank.

You felt a warm sensation wash over you and embraced the familiar force signature of the Sith; he was connecting with you the only way he could.

Thank you

_____________________________

You stayed by Vader’s side until he was done with his soak; the two of you were silent for the most part- for you it was just comforting to be in his presence once more.

Near the end he opened up about the past few days in small bits (you probably wouldn’t ever get the full story).

He briefly explained why his master sought to punish him and to you, it was an impossibly stupid reason.

You were disgusted by the Emperor- he tortured Vader for teaming with someone he thought fit to be an ally. Then Palpatine went so far as to destroy Vader’s prosthetics and dump him back onto the shores that once scarred him all those years ago.

If Vader weren’t as strong as he is… he surely would have died.

Palpatine is a cruel man.

W-would you help me lie down?

“I would rather you help me than the droids,” he admitted in his modulated voice.

You nodded and walked closer to the glass.

“Press that button and lift that switch” he guided you towards an operating panel that would drain his tank.

Once you had that done you went to search for some towels to dry him off with. He was left hanging from his harness with an embarrassed feeling.

The glass tube retreated below the floor and he was gently lowered to the platform; you laid a soft towel down and had another in your hands as you received his tired body.

You guided his body into your lap and held him in your arms once he was finally released from the suspending cords that attached to the harness around his torso.

He was so light in your arms compared to what you had expected; he was muscular, but the more you thought about it, he only had a torso, a head, and four stumps.

He allowed you to assist him to the steel examination table in the next room over. You could tell he was ashamed of his body and inability to do basic tasks in his state, but you quietly reminded him that you only wanted to help.

“Would you like me to unbuckle your harness? Or do you just want to keep it on, I assume you’ll be going back in the tank soon” You offered softly.

To your surprise, he shook his head- “No, my master won't allow me to soak again today until much later. Are you sure you would be comfortable touching… me?” He added the last part in pity.

You scowled at his master’s instructions, but your eyes softened when you answered him, “Vader, I have pledged myself to you, have I not?”.

“Y-yes?” he replied softly.

“Then you have nothing to worry about- You have nothing to be ashamed of,” you said.

Your words seemed to relax him slightly and he exhaled shakily before shutting his eyes.

You stayed by his calming him, helping apply cooling creams to his new burns, and helping him with the oxygen mask.

It hurt to see the one you loved in such a crestfallen state, but at least he was alive.

Once he was a bit more stable he spoke again.

“thank you, proceed”.

The ends of his limbs had metal ports that looked warped; to your best knowledge they must have been welded to another type of metal and then had to be cut off.

You jumped a little when you saw Vader begin to move his scarred legs from you; he refused to meet your gaze.

“It’s alright- I’m just examining your ports- I may be able to design new ones for you since these ones definitely won’t be able to connect to your new legs” you said in an attempt to quell his worries.

His eyes relaxed and he began to blink slowly again.

Thank you

He was speaking through the force again; his energy must have been depleting.

“No need to thank me V. I would do anything for you” you smiled softly before leaning in to kiss his temple.

_______________________

You worked on crafting new ports for Vader’s prosthetics to attach as he rested; you offered to leave and work in the workshop, but he insisted (more like begged) you to stay with him.

You had the transport droid he gifted you, bringing up the materials and your toolkit so you could start working as you sat with him.

Though, Vader did sense the surrounding area first to make sure Palpatine wouldn’t make a surprise visit- having you in his chambers would not be a good scene for the emperor to see.

You knew if Palpatine was so cruel as to make Vader relive his past trauma and suffering, he would definitely have no problems involving you in a nefarious scheme to get Vader to react in a certain way. It was beyond fucked up.

Soon you had finished his arm’s ports and walked over to the bed you laid him on.

His eyes were closed and a few tubes carrying nutrients and oxygen peeked from under the covers you placed over him.

You could hear his damaged throat rasping with every breath he took; you wanted nothing more than to take all of his pain away.

This was the longest you had ever seen him out of his suit and the only time you had ever seen his whole body.

He was covered head to thigh in poorly healed scars and new burns from his most recent brush with the unforgiving lava planet.

His chest and back had a few unnatural ports for his suit to connect his life support to, but other than that he was flesh (except for his organs, of course).

But sadly you would have to wake him from his slumber soon since he was supposed to be back to his duties in two days ...The Emperor heartlessly expected an impossibly speedy recovery- obviously that was just an outrageous request, but Vader couldn’t protest.

You knew the wounds that littered his face had been “healed” for years, but as you went to brush his forehead you hesitated.

Should you be touching him without his permission?

Seeing him outside of his suit seemed like you were gazing upon something sacred. Something you shouldn't.

Gently you placed a gentle hand on his cheek and waited for him to open his eyes. You bit your lip before placing your other hand on his other cheek.

“Vader,” you whispered.

Still nothing.

Slowly and carefully, you leaned down to place a tender kiss on his scarred forehead- that woke him up.

His yellow eyes opened abruptly-but when he felt it was you, he closed them once more. The next time he opened them, his eyes were the cerulean blue you had been chasing since the first time you saw them.

He let his guard down when he was with you.

You smiled at the man and gave him another peck. You pressurized the chamber so that he could be without the uncomfortable mask.

Gently you lifted his head and took the hard device off of his face.

“Vader, I have your arm ports and arms ready for you- The arm’s are just temporary, but I assumed you’d rather have some for now instead of none at all,” you explained softly.

He gave you a long blink to indicate his agreement before his brow bone furrowed and looked towards the cold table that stood in the harsh lighting only a few feet away.

“We do have to go there so that the doids can remove your warped ports” you said solemnly.

You knew he hated procedures, but he also knew they were a necessity. His chest rose and fell before he indicated he was ready.

“I could carry you over- or I can get the transpor-”

“Transport” his voice rang through the force.

You figured so.

He wasn’t quite comfortable being that vulnerable and you could understand that. You nodded, started up the pod, and left the room so he could complete the transfer in peace.

You felt the vibrations when he called for your return and promptly entered once more.

Vader was now lying uncomfortably on the sterile silver table; only his boxers covered his lower half. You stepped into the light and took out the tools that would be used to remove his broken ports.

This too had two options; you could take them off of him quicker than a droid could, but then you would be the one causing him pain- or it could take longer and hurt more, but a droid would be doing it.

Vader also knew this and could sense your dilemma.

You.

You sucked in a breath- you really didn’t want to do this, but it would cause him less pain (even if it didn’t seem to).

You shakily nodded and picked up the instrument that would be used to pry off his damaged port.

The process was simple, use a small beam to cut around the port to loosen it up and then use an instrument to pry the warped metal off.

The beam would be painful without numbing medicine (which Palpatine removed all of…), so Vader would have to endure the pain full throttle. Once again you cursed the pale man.

Thankfully you had a spur of the moment idea- you called for a small droid to collect some snow and ice from the banks of Hoth (where you were still stationed).

Vader looked at you curiously.

“There’s no numbing cream here and I don’t want you to feel the sting so I’m going to numb your arm with ice water”.

His eyes widened and he managed a small smile, “Thank you”

You nodded, “Of course, but it will be uncomfortable to put your arm in the water” you explained to which he simply nodded.

Once the droid returned and you prepared the ice bath, you helped Vader to the edge of the table so that you could submerge his stump.

“On three; one, two, three…” you counted before pushing his warped ligament into the freezing water.

His body lurched and he gasped as the frigid sensation coarse through his arm. You bit your lip to steady yourself, his arm needed to stay completely submerged for the numbing to work.

“I’m sorry V” you said as his muscles twitched all over his scarred body.

Soon time was up and you quickly pulled out his arm, dried it off, and grabbed the precision laser. You put on some goggles and began to outline the end of his stump. As you rounded the port you could smell a mix of heated metal and flesh.

Even so often you glanced up to see his face, thankfully he really had no reaction and nothing in his force signature indicated pain- your method was working.

The port was completely cut and you began to pry it off. You hated the feeling of his skin being used as leverage to pull his cybernetic part off.

Once the metallic connector was off, his stump was simply irritated, scarred flesh with screw slots to hold his ports in place.

His stump was warm to the touch so you decided to cool him in water once more (just to be safe).

In only a few more minutes his new port was secured and you helped put his temporary prosthetic on.

He tested the limb with great relief.

“Was that ok?” you asked worriedly.

He nodded and caressed your cheek with his new arm; to which you leaned over the table to kiss him.

________________________

You finished up the other arm before you stopped for the day- he didn’t really need his legs done until tomorrow and you weren’t going to be able to do those since they were literally welded into his flesh from how close he was to the lava.

So once you cleaned everything up, and got him back into bed, you took your seat once more. Your eyes felt heavy as you sat back in the stiff chair; just as you were drifting off to sleep you heard a weak voice.

Was that Vader?

No- it wasn’t the normal modulated voice you had come to love, but it also wasn’t the familiar voice of his force signature.

“W-wil you…”

There it was again! You promptly rose to your feet and surveyed the dark room.

“Who’s there?” you demanded.

Soon you felt a weak pull towards Vader’s bed… it was him- it was his voice.

You knelt by his bedside and took a metallic hand in yours. Never had he sounded so weak.

His vocal chords were completely damaged, he could barely speak above a whisper, and it sounded painful to speak.

“P-please..” he attempted before a coughing fit attacked him.

You brushed his face and cooed, “shh-shh, Don’t speak- I’m right here. It’s ok”.

He swallowed with great effort before conveying his request, “Lie with m-me… Please-”.

“Are you sure, I don’t wanna worsen your injuries-”

He shook his head and beckoned you once more. Looking at his desperate face, how could you refuse. Carefully you lifted the covers and entered the bed with caution; once you were under the covers he quickly pulled you closer to him, making you gasp.

Once the shock wore off, you relaxed in his arms and began to drift off.

_________________________

Vader’s burns stung with every movement, but nothing could stop him from hugging you close.

He wanted nothing more than to stay with you like this forever.

He was exhausted, but somehow having you here kept him invigorated.

He found himself pressing his scarred lips to your temple as you dozed off in his mechanical arms. Once you were fast asleep, he couldn’t pull his gaze away from your beautiful face.

Maker… What were you doing to him?

He was falling in love-

No, he was in love.

Everything about you lit up his world; your smile, your sweet voice, your soft touch, your intelligence, your passion… just you.

He could imagine a future where you and him ruled the galaxy, side by side.

One where the two of you left everything behind and completely started over.

Either way he knew he would be happy because he knew that as long as he was with you, everything would be alright.

***

a/n: i love love love whump :) as u can see hahah- i hope this chapter was good and sorry again for the delay 😭 thanks for the support:)

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger r @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry

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