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daisychainsandbowties · 10 months

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thinking a normal amount about a treasure planet au. Beatrice on her solar kiteboard, doing the daredevil flip sequence framed against the setting sun and then getting hauled kicking and screaming back to her parents’ house in manacles with a defiant expression on her perpetually dirt-smudged face.

climbing out the window at the first opportunity to go down to the dockside inn, making nebulous plans to steal her kiteboard back but ending up down at the edge of the dock staring past her boots and into the mists. gripping tight to the wood beneath her as she looks up at the sky and dreams of anywhere but here, of stealing a skiff to get off this planet. a reluctant twinge at the thought of going alone.

Bea with all her star maps and her intricate knowledge of spaceships and their solar sails and how to navigate out there where the artigrav net is all that stands between you and floating through nothing, forever.

startling when she hears the familiar sound of someone booking it down the pier on wooden crutches. night has already started to speckle the sky above, and as she listens to the thunk of the crutches on the pier, Bea thinks of the complicated metallic lattice she has on her desk at home, partly disassembled because she’s still trying to work out parts of the engineering. Ava’s birthday is in a month.

she has to stay that long, and then she’ll leave. she will.

turning to watch as Ava races towards her with soup stains on her shirt and messy hair jammed flat beneath a ‘pirate’ hat she bought off of a traveling salesman last year. the tricorn wobbles precariously on her head as she moves. Beatrice just waits, a slight smile on her face.

there are bruises high on each of her arms, from the pincer-like grip of the police bots, manhandling her away from her kiteboard to snap manacles around each wrist.

she rubs at the skin there, but ignores the bruises.

when Ava arrives, a little out of breath, Beatrice holds up a hand so she can help herself down onto the pier. there’s no water beneath them, only a few hundred meters of empty air and curling mist.

Ava keeps one hand on Bea’s and the other on her shoulder, letting the crutches clatter down between them as she sits.

“Mom says you got arrested again,” Ava says cheerfully. “She says they’re threatening to send you to prison.”

Beatrice shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind it, so long as my parents did not visit.”

Ava’s fingers are covered in bright red band-aids, from chopping vegetables all day with her poor hand dexterity. Beatrice watches the colours blur as Ava punches her in the arm, right on the bruises. “Liar, I know you’d miss me.”

her arm throbs painfully, but Beatrice’s expression is carefully neutral as she responds.

“I might.”

she stays with Ava that night, both of them reading her old book with its floating images of ships and canons and pirates leaping from vessel to vessel. Captain Flint, materialising out of empty space to steal away gems and gold, “the loot of a thousand worlds.” Ava traces the projected lines of the solar sails with her fingers as they flicker into being.

Beatrice has repaired the book over and over, making the colours brighter and sharper. the tiny shapes of pirates all made up of light. Ava has the book open on Bea’s chest as she lies next to her, legs all entangled in the sheets they’ve kicked off because the night is so warm.

she seems oblivious to how Beatrice’s breath hitches at almost every touch.

they’re almost asleep when they hear the explosion, a ship crashing into the cliff-side, tumbling over and over before they hear the pop and hiss of heated metal. a bloom of smoke outside the window.

Beatrice gives Ava a piggyback ride down the stairs just before Ava’s ‘mom’, Suzanne, emerges with her pulse-rifle primed, hair loose around her shoulders.

they stumble into the yard and discover a pirate, a robot, still bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, crawling from the wreck of his ship. Beatrice heaves a shard of twisted metal away from him and finds the surface slippery with blood.

behind her, Ava sways a little, shivers in the cold air, but she’s still standing when Beatrice turns back to her.

the dying pirate tells them almost nothing useful. he’s half-mad, cluching at Beatrice’s shirt until the seams tear at the collar, then turning to Ava. he fetches out a lockbox from his ship, blood spilling onto the ground at the movement. unlocks it and takes odd sphere from inside.

it drops into Ava’s palm as he rasps, “Whatever you do, don’t let them find it.”

then he wheezes, shudders, stills.

they stare at him, Ava’s free hand finding Bea’s, holding tight.

“Is he… dead?” Ava’s voice in the silence and the dark.

“I think so.”

then, in a burst of light and sound, in a shockwave of displaced air, a ship plummets down out of the clouds, pulling up an instant from the ground.

this second ship looms down out of the sky, pirates dropping from it and suddenly Suzanne is screaming at them to “GET INSIDE” from an upstairs window as she takes potshots at the misshapen shapes swarming down lines of hempen rope.

the air lights up with orange and yellow as explosions ripple down towards the crashed ship, towards the inn. Bea flings one of Ava’s arms around her neck and sprints for the door, Ava holding the sphere (or map?) tightly against her chest.

she sets Ava down gently onto one of the bar stools, runs back to barricade the door. her face is flushed, streaked somehow with engine grease and robot blood, which is black and slightly acidic.

they exchange a wide-eyed look, too much meaning in it to parse as explosions rock the floor. Ava has both hands clutched around the sphere.

they both almost scream as Suzanne runs down the stairs in a blur of dressing gown and gun. she has Ava’s crutches in one hand and her rifle in the other. she kisses Ava quickly on the forehead, “Thank the tides you’re safe.” leaves her with the crutches and then goes to fetch an ancient-looking blaster pistol out from behind the bar, presses it into Beatrice’s hands. “You know how to use this?”

“No!”

“Aim it away from your own face.”

and then there are pirates all around the house, glass breaking and fire crackling. Beatrice takes up the rear, pistol pointed at the front door as it bulges under the pressure of pirates flinging their bulk into it again and again.

they climb out of a window, Suzanne producing a kitchen knife and jamming it into the neck of a pirate loitering uncertainly outside the bolted shutters. there, covered by a tarp, is Suzanne’s old motorcycle with a sidecar attached. lantern-bugs scatter out from under it as Suzanne throws the old tarp away, gestures for Beatrice and Ava to climb in as she covers them with her rifle.

there’s a roar from somewhere in the dark and Suzanne fires a shot, hops onto the motorcycle and revs the engine. then they’re moving, pirates parting before them like the ocean neither of them have ever seen, the vast bodies of water that don’t even exist on this planet.

they seek refuge with Jillian, an archaeologist who frequents the old inn, claiming that she can’t make her coffee taste of anything but soap. she examines the orb, reluctantly passed into her hands by Ava, her and Bea wrapped in an old blanket, sitting by the fire in Jillian’s immense study.

Jillian fiddles with it for an age before sighing, looking almost angry with herself.

“I can’t… seem to make this work.”

Ava holds out her hand, silent. “let me try,” and Beatrice makes a face at Jillian when she hesitates.

the pirate gave the sphere to Ava; it’s hers.

it seems much larger in Ava’s small grip. she looks down at it for a while before her fingers start to move, slow but gathering momentum as she presses the little grooves and switches and indents on the sphere.

until it lights up, showing a map of the known universe, and parts of it that are unknown.

“Is that-” Beatrice feels her words drop away, like the ground beneath the pier where she has passed so many hours sitting with Ava’s hand in hers.

Ava turns to Beatrice, eyes bright as a pair of stars, “It’s treasure planet.”

#treasure planet au #warrior nun #avatrice #and yeah what about cyborg shannon & mary her first mate and their (pirate) spaceship/ literally just an 18th century frigate #thinking of shannon growing increasingly fond of beatrice who helps her with her star charts and the calculations for navigating space #both of them of course planning their betrayal but looking at these two girls slowly realising they're in love #furious conversations in the captain's cabin and lilith up in the crows nest half the time. cam pestering her with tea #🥹🥹 ava with morph the little pink blob who sure yeah belongs to shannon but hangs out 'spying' on mary in the kitchen #i just think ava and bea should run away and accidentally join a pirate crew together #it'll be fun (i say remembering the Black Hole Incident)#anyway maybe i will write this idk

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quitealotofsodapop · 8 months

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[SWK's Lawyer manifests with the reciepts to prove it.]

You probs meant that magically, but I imagined him rolling up in his car, hanging halfway out the window with the papers.

Bonus, it is his new car since his old one, an 1920s original, finally gave up the ghost and he's still getting used to the controls.

Which means he accidentally drove over Li Jing before popping out the the reciepts, "So by law- hey, where did he go?" *Groans from underneath the car are heard* "Crap, there go my premiums on insurance..."

Oh my gods XD

Li Jing has this whole boss fight-esque introduction; only to get One-Hit KO'd by SWK's Lawyer's car. Which I imagine is a either an old fashioned packard with the manual horn, or a fancy souped up 80s convertible.

Li Jing: "Prepare to meet your end monkey!"

*La Chucaracha car horn!*

*Thunk!*

Fire Star, gets out of car in a hurry: "Mr Li! On the day of... wait where is he? I was just summoned by a legal paradox." *looks under car* "Whoops."

SWK, trying not to laugh: "See, this is why you're my lawyer."

Nezha & Macaque: *both laughing hysterically*

Its the shortest fight they have that story line. Fire Star accidentally backs over Li Jing as he leaves.

#the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #lmk shadowpeach au #shadowpeach being parents #lmk nezha #lmk skw's lawyer #car crash tw

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

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Soft Fires

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve learned much about the Mandalorian, but his tiny green companion is still a mystery.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering (f receiving), fingers in mouths, semi-unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool, even if you have space birth control), the Creed gets in the way, Mando hops on the struggle bus for a second, FEELINGS.

Notes: FINALLY. Finally. That’s all I’m going to say about this. I was planning to post this as a two shot but screw it, I’ve been sitting on it long enough. It’s time.

I cannot take credit for the idea of teaching Grogu Tusken Sign Language. The inspiration came from this post and I just love it so much it’s becoming canon in this universe.

Takes place over about three weeks, after the events of Both Sides of the Door.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

So the kid is great - cute, energetic, curious, kind (when he’s not too cranky), sassy (which brings much joy to your day, especially when it’s directed at Mando), and all-around better company than most children you’ve met.

He’s got some quirks too, many of which you learn on the fly. First of all being his age.

“He’s fifty?” you say when Mando brings it up, the child sitting on the floor of the Crest and looking up at you with unconcerned eyes. Mando chuckles at the incredulity in your voice as you crouch down to look your favorite gremlin in the face. “I guess I can kinda see it, what with the white hair and all. You do look like a little old man.” The child coos curiously as you stick your tongue out at him. That always gets a giggle.

“His kind ages differently. At least I assume they do,” Mando says.

“Well now there’s no question as to who had seniority on the ship,” you say in a sing-song voice, sitting down on the floor with a thump. Mando’s head whips around as you wink at him.

“How do you know I’m not older than fifty?” he says back, an edge of teasing eked out through the vocoder.

(he’s surprisingly funny when he gets the chance)

“Oh Maker, you’re right, better compare birthdays,” you huff out, this playful ribbing growing since you’d found a place in each other’s lives. It makes the child brighten, watching you enjoy each other’s company.

Then there’s the wizard magic that scared the shit out of you one day. You were prepping some fish stew in the ration-storage-now-kitchen, stirring the pot on the nanowave stove mindlessly. A clang echoed in your ears, followed by a baby wail that made you abandon the soup and rush to the hold.

Upon inspection, you found the child looking into an open electrical panel on the wall, ears drooping in a forlorn manner. You peered over his head, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“What’s wrong Bean?” you asked, putting a hand on his back. He chirped a couple times and pointed into the space crammed with wires, his face contorting. “Sorry buddy, I’m not sure what’s going on here. Care to suddenly learn Basic? Or Huttese? I know a couple of hand signals in Tusken.” You paused mid-thought at this. Teaching the child Tusken sign language to communicate could be useful. You don’t know a ton, but maybe Mando could get you a book or holovid next time you land.

(then you could learn his name, his past, what he wants and thinks)

(you could talk to him and know he understands)

Wrapped up in your train of thought, you didn’t notice the kid’s face scrunch up, eyes closing as he practically vibrated. When you did see it, worry cracked through your chest.

“Hey Bean, what’s going on?” You tried to snap him out of it but whatever was happening had his full focus. Suddenly something flew out of the panel’s guts and thwapped into his hands, knocking him over and onto your feet.

“Dank farrik!” you swore, grabbing the child and inspecting him all over for damage. On the periphery of earshot the thunks of footsteps approached.

(no no no no no what did the kid do?)

“What happened?” Mando's voice boomed in the space, whipping you around. Hands dropping to the child, he inspected him just as you did.

“I have no idea, he was making a face and shaking and then something…” Your words fell off as you both find a dirty metal nut in his hands, him turning it over with delight, if not a little sleepily. You looked at the child, then at Mando trying to piece together what just happened.

“Kid, that’s…that’s not a toy,” Mando sighed, but didn't attempt to pull it away. He patted the child a couple times before the visor landed on your confused face. “There’s…something you should know about him.”

Almost an hour later with several backtracks, questions and exasperated moments on either side, Mando finished recounting the tale of his history with the child, and the mission that brought him to Tatooine, to the Lively Bantha, and to you. You absorbed everything as best as you can, not familiar with the Jedi beyond how their influence shaped the world around you. Seeing the Force used by a child still felt like magic, and when you asked if he had any control over it Mando shrugged.

“I’m supposed to find a teacher for him, another Jedi to help him train.”

You hummed at this, looking at the oblivious child that was more the center of your world than you imagined. A holy mission fraught with dead ends and, from the hint of resentment you catch, one Din might like to fail.

(he’s taken well to being a father)

(and when you stop lying to yourself, you do kind of enjoy being his other caretaker)

Big surprises aside, you’ve adapted to having a child ever-present during your days. It’s not a life you thought you'd be living, but neither is being on a bounty hunter’s ship hurtling through the galaxy. You’re getting better at taking things in stride. And the child’s decently predictable now that you have him on a schedule. Mando had tilted his helmet at you when you asked about meal times and sleep.

“He eats when he eats and sleeps when he sleeps,” was his answer, to which you rolled your eyes.

“Maker, no wonder why he’s wired half the night. You gotta keep him on a schedule, he’s not a bounty hunter.”

“Could be if I taught him how to use a blaster.”

The silence stretched before you burst into laughter, bent in half at the idea of the kid holding an IB-94 as big as him, Mando leaning against the wall as his shoulders shook and static crackled out. The child looked nonplussed at the exchange, maybe happy as his eyes passed between the two of you.

The only thing that annoys you, that makes you want to whack your forehead against the wall and scream out the airlock, is that you have little to no privacy with the little bogwing. He sleeps with you or Mando, is up with him when he wakes early. He’s present for all meals, awake until late in the evening, and when Mando has to leave it's just the two of you constantly. It’s not that you dislike the little guy’s company.

The real problem stems from how badly you want to bang his dad.

(like SO KARKING BADLY)

You still feel the heft of his cock pressing between your thighs, how close you came to having him inside you again. Mando’s become more tactile with you since Nevarro, and you fear that you’re going to melt through your clothing with how aroused you are all the time. A hand against your lower back when you’re cooking and he needs something. Fingers rubbing grease or dirt or nothing at all from your skin. His new act of placing a hand on your knee as he passes you in the jump seat, hot thick fingers pushing gently into the flesh.

(and a few times when he put his hands on you just to see you react, a smug hum following.)

The child is your last (small) obstacle, one you maybe use as an excuse more than you should. You still have some light trepidation about that final step, mostly overwhelmed by the need growing between you. If you could just get the child to rest for an hour or so in the afternoon you could climb into the cockpit, straddle Mando with his hands on your hips, and ride him until you’re both spent and sated. You could finally take that step to land you back where you started all those years ago. But whenever you think of the child’s big black orbs catching you in the act it makes you want to gag.

(please don’t make me scar the kid for life)

So you wait for some of your gentle (sexually frustrated) coaching to sink in so that the (kriffing cock-blocking) child can start building up the habit. Until then your moments alone are filled with frantic fingers in the ‘fresher shower or grids against the heel of your hand so you can think straight for the next few hours.

(it will all be worth it to take your time with Mando)

You hold your breath, trying to remain calm and bored as you watch the child’s eyes blink heavily.

(holy shit this might actually be it)

You’d worked and suffered through tantrums and fussing and stubbornness over three days while Mando brought back his latest bounty. Practically crying twice when he called over the comms to check in, his voice soothed you when you felt your last nerve tear.

(I will never tease him for his patience ever again)

But the hard work is paying off. No more late night wakeups that demanded stimulation, no more unpredictable meals, you think you might have cracked it. Sometimes it's a fake-out, which dangles you over the edge of sanity, but this would be the second instance of the child napping without argument and staying down. The last time it was for a blissful hour, which you spent monitoring him as you made a resupply list resplendent with his favorite things. He could have an army of amphibians to torture if it meant you succeeded at your task.

The telltale signs are there: the drooping eyes, the ears relaxing, the settling into the curve of the hammock. You wait a long few minutes for his breathing to even out before closing the cot door.

Heart hammering, you stand up and wipe your sweaty palms on your pants. Kriff, you hadn’t thought ahead to what you would do next. Mando’s been back from his last hunt for a full day, rested and clean. This is the best chance you’re going to get to be alone with him.

(fuck, are you wet already?)

You ascend the ladder into the cockpit, nerves making your hands shake as Mando’s frame glimmers the cockpit.

(Maker, he’s still so beautiful)

Your cunt throbs at the possibilities as you move to stand beside him.

“Everything okay?” he asks. You hum, the energy in your body threatening to make your voice shake. Mando turns his head to you, tipping it slightly.

“The kid?” he asks, and you let out a louder breath than you intend.

“Sleeping.”

Mando’s visor traces your face, and you meet the darkness of it.

“You got him to sleep? During the day?”

A lopsided smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“Finally.”

Mando turns in the chair, knees knocking against yours as he frames you with them. He reaches for your hands, thumbs firm in your palms.

“How long will he sleep?” Mando’s voice drops lower, a thrum of build-up coming to a high point.

“Last time it was an hour.”

His hands are on your waist, pushing you back as he crowds you up against the console. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying out at his touch.

(Maker, I might shatter if he breathes on me)

Mando lifts you to sit on the edge of the console, pulling himself up flush between your legs. His hands go to your face, cradling you with a tenderness that contrasts the neediness he just displayed.

“I want to fuck you at least twice if we have the time,” he says, and your eyes roll back into your head.

“Stars Mando, I could cum just hearing you talk about it,” you moan, keeping your voice low. You were not going to ruin this moment for anything.

“Me too, Mesh’la,” he murmurs in your ear, hands at your waist and unbuttoning your pants. You run your fingers over every part of him you can touch, favoring the spaces between the beskar where blood pumps and muscles flex.

He shucks your pants and underwear down your legs, tugging off your shoes and socks all in one messy bundle. The helmet locks on the vision of you he has on his knees, hands stroking your thighs in slow patterns.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” Mando says, the words falling from his mouth like he couldn’t bear to keep them in. You whine, fingers digging into the fabric of his cowl, pleading for his touch. “I’ve got you Mesh’la,” he says, standing up to his full height. He strips his gloves, glorious tan thick-fingered hands taking hold of your body. One goes to your mouth, dipping two fingers in and stroking them gently against your tongue. You close your lips around him, pressing hot and wet as he lets out a broken moan. Withdrawing them, he strokes your clit in slick circles before sliding down achingly slow and burying two fingers inside you. The process is so smooth, aided by your heavy arousal, that he’s halfway inside before you can moan around him.

“That’s it, perfect girl. Fuck, you feel so good. I’m sorry Mesh’la, I’m going to have to fuck you hard and fast and cum once before I can give you what you deserve.” His diatribe is tearing whimpers and gasps from your throat as he opens you up, thumb swiping across your clit to keep your arousal high. It shudders to a stop when Mando pulls his fingers out of you, both hands curling around your waist.

“Fuck, can’t wait Mesh’la, can I fuck you now? Please,” he begs, and you wrap your legs around him to urge him on. He’s tearing his pants open, his cock painfully hard and deeply flushed. You sigh at the sight, still as thick and heavy and gorgeous as you remember. Maybe even more so, now that you can have it. He slicks his cock with your arousal, lining himself up with a shaking hand.

(Maker, the number of times I made myself cum thinking of that cock)

“Yes, Mando, please, please,” you whisper as he pushes into your tight heat. The moan he holds as he enters you starts low and quiet and builds to a desperate groan as he seats himself fully. He’s a heady stretch, forcing you to widen your thighs around him, but you’re already settling into his thickness as you tilt to pull him deeper.

“Kriff, Maker, I’m not going to…” Mando stutters as he pulls out just enough to swiftly push back into you. He hits the perfect spot at this angle, deep inside you, and the friction of the curls at the base of his cock teases your sensitive clit. You’re already trembling on the edge of your orgasm as Mando slides halfway out just to slam home again, gasping behind the helmet.

It only takes two more precise and powerful strokes for you to cum around his cock, the build up of so many weeks making you bury your face in Mando’s shoulder, shouting as your cunt grips him impossibly tight. He grunts in surprise as he falls over the edge with you, ripping his cock out and splattering his cum on the floor as you hold each other and gasp.

“Fuck, Mesh’la, I’m sorry, I should have put a seal on, I’m…” Mando is panting heavily so you cup the back of his neck, barely back from your own trip to the end of the galaxy.

“Implant,” is all you can manage, but it eases the tension in his shoulders. He strokes your hair, his softening cock slick with you against the inside of your leg. You huff out a little laugh.

“Guess we both were a little pent up.”

Mando hums with a chuckle at the end, bare hands wandering up the back of your shirt and across the outside of your thighs. You move to unwrap yourself but Mando stops you with two firm hands under your knees.

“That wasn’t good enough for you. I’m going to fuck you one more time,” he says, and there is no room for doubt in his voice. You nod, tongue swiping over your lower lip. “Don’t have the same stamina as I used to, but I can definitely get it up twice.” You’re sure he’s smirking behind the helmet. His fingers return to your cunt and drag slowly through the remains of your slick, exploring your folds with soft even touches. You run your fingers down his arms, resting on the cool metal vambraces wrapped around his forearms.

(hard and cold and practical)

“Could you take these off?” you ask, and his hand stills, helmet turning to look down at the gauntlets. “Want to feel you,” you add playfully, a finger teasing along the edge where the metal meets the fabric and flesh of the man underneath. When he doesn’t respond you look up to find Mando frozen like you asked him to remove his arm.

“I can’t,” he says, and there’s a pain in his voice that knocks the wind out of you. Alarm bells blare in your mind.

(mistake mistake mistake)

“I thought it was only the helmet…”

“I can’t,” Mando says again, and there’s more grit this time, teeth clenched as the words drag through. He’s starting to step away and your hands shoot out to grab his shoulders.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you coo, his muscles tense and ready to flee beneath your hands. “I’m sorry, I didn't realize…I don’t know much about this,” you nod at him, all that he is and encompasses, “your Creed. We can stop, I’m sorry, we can stop.”

Mando stands his ground, your hands fisting his cowl and eyes imploring the black T that hides so much from you.

(please don’t shut me out again)

He takes a deep breath and plants his bare hands on either side of your thighs, head coming down to rest on your shoulder. Stroking your palms down his back, you treat flesh and metal as the same beneath your fingers.

(You care for everything that makes him your Mandalorian)

You both sit there in silence, your hands slowing as you let Mando take his time. He finally lifts his head and steps back into the V of your legs, hand coming up to wrap around the back of your neck. You cover his with your own, his fingers twitching below yours, as you put every ounce of empathy into your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the bend of your brows.

“When I took my vow as a Mandalorian, I swore to never remove my helmet in front of another, or to let it be removed.” He speaks like praying, his voice reverent and low. You let it wash over you, trying to convert your desires to his rules.

“A Mandalorian is supposed to be faceless, nameless. A symbol more than a man. Our Creed proves our devotion.” You nod up at the shining helmet.

(How can anyone see it and not think of glory?)

“I have allowed myself some concessions - my hands, my cock - to keep me sharp so I can provide. I’ve never removed the armor for another person.” This is almost whispered, a confession to your altar. You stroke your thumb across his knuckles and the way he responds to that small touch makes you confident.

(This is all you need)

“We don’t have to do anything Mando, nothing beyond what you're comfortable doing. I don’t want your body.” You interject when he tilts his head, a saucy smile tugging at your lips, “Well, not only your body. I want you, Mando, however I can have you. And if that means the armor stays on, then the armor stays on. I just want you.”

Mando’s forehead drops to yours, and he presses it to your skin. You smile at the secret kiss, hoping it’s enough for him to feel at ease again.

“But that’s the problem, Mesh’la,” Mando says, and now it’s sin in his voice, a dirty secret he needs to atone for, a true confession. “I want to take it off.”

Your mouth dries out.

(wants you wants you wants to break rules with you)

“I want to know what it feels like,” he says, and he wraps his arms around your back. “Even though I shouldn’t.” You hear a series of clicks, then a metallic thud. More clicks, followed by another. Then silence.

You hold your breath, waiting for Mando’s next step. You don’t want to rush him, don’t want him to regret making this choice in this moment, moments after being buried in each other’s bodies on the cockpit console. It’s not the most romantic setting, but to be vulnerable under the dome of stars feels more like an offering to the galaxy.

(let his trust in you be rewarded)

Mando’s bare hands come to lay on the tops of your thighs as he takes a half step back. You hold your eyes on his visor, feeling the calluses of his fingers scrape along your skin.

“What would you like me to do?” you ask. Mando’s helmet wanders over your body before it settles on your lap. Looking down you find large golden hands splayed wide, the sharp cut of his sleeves at the wrist, then darkness creeping up thick forearms to the dip at his elbow. His arms aren’t as bulky without the vambraces, but the bulge of muscle is still clear beneath the fabric. Strong hands, capable hands.

(he’s placing himself in your hands)

“Touch me,” he whispers, “please.”

You circle his wrist with your hand, feeling the heat and smoothness of the more delicate skin there. Mando’s breathing picks up as you let him acclimate to the sensation, the visor glued to the path you’re taking.

Carefully, you hook both thumbs under his sleeve, letting your fingers lay lightly on his forearms. Looking up at him, the visor snapping to your face, you ask silent permission. He nods, and you begin inching the edge of his sleeve up his arms.

Mouthwatering skin and a smattering of dark hair is revealed as you slowly push the fabric up to his elbow. The vista is textured with the indentations of the vambraces, few scars but an abundance of sensitivity. You begin dragging your palms back down his arm, the thick cords of muscle jumping at your touch. He's so much softer here than his hands, and you want to put your mouth on him, kiss him in a place where no one has before.

(no one has kissed his mouth either)

Mando’s breath is stuttery as you lift his hand to press against your cheek, fingers stroking along the inside of his arm.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you say, and you place a light kiss on the inside of his wrist. A rough noise comes from behind the vocoder and Mando grips the side of your head. He brings his forehead against yours and you smile, stroking the newly-revealed skin as his fingers burrow into your hair, around your neck, holding you.

“I trust you,” he breathes out, and brings his other hand to your mouth to press his thumb against your lips (every way he can show he cares).

He takes his hands off you and rolls the other sleeve up quickly, folding and scrunching the fabric so it sits comfortably at his elbows. He’s still so thick and filled out even without the armor gracing his arms, the swath of skin contrasting sharply against the darkness and shine. Your hands go to the hem of your shirt and with a moment of debate you pull it over your head, naked but for your breast band. Mando’s attention returns to you and you see his half-hard cock thicken at the sight.

“Mesh’la,” he says, and words bubble unbidden from your lips.

(It’s a time for revelations, what’s one more?)

“What does it mean?” you ask, hands gripping the edge of the console as the cool air pebbles your skin and raises your nipples. Mando settles back between your legs, and you watch how the muscles in his arm move under his skin, the twist of the finer bones in his wrist as he jerks his cock to full hardness. Lining himself up to enter you again, he slides warm palms around your back and embraces you.

This is more skin than you’ve ever had of Mando’s against your own. The glide of his arms as he feels you underneath him is strong and euphoric. It’s the softest caress you’ve ever experienced, wrapped in half of a myth and all of a man.

“Beautiful,” Mando murmurs, the helmet pressed against your temple. You can almost feel the warmth of his breath, impossible as it may be, as you put meaning to a word you held in your heart for so long. “You are beautiful…” Mando says more forcefully as he slides you onto his cock, your fingers scrabbling along his back at the sensual entrance. You can’t move, have to just take the achingly slow pace Mando is setting as his skin presses yours. “...in every sense of the word, even more.” He bottoms out, one arm pressed up your spine with a hand on the back of your head, the other wrapped around your lower back. Your legs hook behind his thighs, trying to get leverage to roll against him as he sighs into your shoulder.

"Mesh'la,” Mando moans with a strong roll of his hips. You bury your cry in his neck, bringing your hips down to meet his thrust. “You didn’t know I was saying it? All this time?” You shake your head in the cowl (too afraid to feel that desire and that pain) as he begins to snap his hips into you at a slow and powerful pace.

“I thought you knew, must have known,” Mando grunts, every plow of his cock into you long and smooth and strong. It’s more intimate, more passionate than you can bear.

“Mando…” you whine, and you feel your throat clench and your eyes water. It’s so much in such a small space, accepting his body and his words and the weight of it all. Mando pulls his head back to press against your forehead again, his hand spanning the back of your skull.

“Mesh’la, beautiful,” he says, the words punctuated with heavy breaths as he angles his hips up and into you. His pubic bone hits your clit with every thrust, the head of his cock dragging over a spot inside you that makes your body shake. Every moment is laced with pleasure, unable to pause to recover.

“Kotyc, strong,” he says, and your bleary mind grasps another Mando’a word and translation.

“Mirdala, clever.”

“Cyar'ika-”

“Mando, please, don’t…” you moan, but he won’t stop giving you everything he can.

“Fuck, Mesh’la,” Mando punches out of his lungs as he pulls you down against him, “Take it, take it all, you can do it.” He drags a hand up to your breast and thumbs your nipple, hard circles sending the final sparks to ignite. You cum suddenly at his words, limbs locking around Mando as he chants, “Yes, Mesh’la, fuck, yes, keep cumming, keep cumming, fuck, fuck.” Your head tips back and when you open your eyes they are full of stars as Mando drags himself out of you, fisting his cock to spill on the floor a second time. You clutch at one another, breath catching on the height of your gasps.

“Fuck, I need…hold…” Mando mumbles and you feel him sway in your arms. You hold him closer, slipping an arm around his side to put a grounding hand against his back. He hums into your shoulder, the curve of the helmet warming as he presses it into your skin. His hands and forearms are smoothing over you again, savoring the feeling of skin on skin.

(what a sin)

You wait until your breathing has slowed and Mando seems to be steadier on his feet, though he’s still savoring you with his fingertips.

“Thank you,” you choke out, and Mando reluctantly peels himself off your front. He brings a hand to your face and you press your lips into it over and over. His other hand drifts to yours and laces your fingers together, tightening when you sigh into his palm.

“I meant it,” Mando finally says, cupping your chin and tilting your face to him. You meet the visor’s darkness and for a moment imagine eyes staring back at you, hardened by time but still soft around the edges. “I still do. I call you Mesh’la because you are beautiful in more ways than Basic can convey.”

You smile and take a watery breath, fanning it against his pulse.

“Careful, Mando, or I might fall in love with you.”

(fuck)

You’re so blissed out and loose with your orgasm that you let those words tumble from your lips. You hold your breath, skin hot with embarrassment.

(no no no you just got everything you wanted and you’re going to fuck it up with your dumbass mouth)

Mando’s fingers stroke against your jaw, the helmet tilting at the hard switch in your demeanor. He reaches over and grabs your shirt, bunching it in his fists so he can guide it over your head. You break eye contact with him, slipping your arms through the loops before you hear his voice, so quiet through the helmet as if he hopes the whisper will hide his desires from his Creed.

“Would that be…a bad thing?”

Like home on a cold day, or a smile from the child, a full-body warmth travels from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You take the helmet in both hands, Mando flinching instinctively for a moment before relaxing.

“No, it would not.”

There may have been more words to say, but at that moment you hear a thump and a cry from the hold and you and Mando switch back to the roles you have on the Crest. Mando helps you hop off the console, careful of the mess he’s made on the floor (he’s on cleanup later) and handing you the rest of your clothes. You both redress, him reattaching the vambraces. You wonder if he’ll remove them more now, but you also know that his Creed is a comfort and a habit that doesn’t change in the course of an hour (no matter how good of an hour it was).

With a press of his forehead against yours again, he descends the ladder to tend to the child. You follow to tend to some tasks and plan your evening. You’ll teach the kid a new game, maybe see if he’ll show off his weird powers again. Then when you tuck him in to sleep (on a good schedule now thank the Maker), you’ll join Mando in the cockpit.

Maybe he will tell you more of his Creed, the importance it has in his life and how it’s shaped him.

Or maybe you’ll speak about the mission to find a Jedi for the child. It seems to pull at Mando, and you suspect there is something waiting at its completion that will test his faith. You hope you’ll be there for that, whenever it may be.

But even if you both sit in silence, letting the emotion and events of the day settle into your bones, you know it will be enough.

END

“in the afterglow of an evening rain

I lay down in the grass and think of you

my body aches like an after-kiss

breaking in soft fires and wildflowers

my dear, I will always be this tender for you.”

- Sanober Khan

Episode 9 of the I Think of You Series

The story continues in Episode 10: If the Moon Walks Out

#din x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #mando/reader #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian fan fic #mando x female reader #mando x you #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #i think of you series #prolix fics

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the12thnightproject · 2 years

Note

Can I ask the Ikemen Sengoku Warlords reaction to MC doing the Trust Fall stunt on them? Please?

Hi Anon!

Thank you for the visit and the ask... I interpreted "stunt" as her performing the stunt fall without any warning:

MC plants self in front of the warlord, says ‘catch me’ and falls backward….

Nobunaga: Easily catches MC, but wonders why she would waste time with this kind of stunt. Is this some kind of modern game that has more meaning in her time period? Upon hearing explanation that it’s about trust, is honored… but still wonders what the point was. Hasn’t he already proven he’s trustworthy?

Hideyoshi: Catches MC, then orders her to go to room and rest – clearly MC has been overworking self which caused her to faint. Brings soup.

Masamune: Catches MC, then says there are more exciting ways to do a trust fall. He carries her outside, then jumps off a cliff with her.

Mitsuhide: Teases MC by pretending he’s not going to catch her, then at the last second, kicks the futon under her to ensure she has a soft place to land.

Ieyasu: Thunk.

Mitsunari: Thunk. Thunk. Both MC and Mitsunari end up on the floor.

Ranmaru: Got distracted at the last moment. Thunk.

Keiji: Catches MC. Then turns around and does the trust fall to her. Thunk. Thunk.

Kennyo: Catches MC, then is confused about what to do with her. She’s clearly not injured or sick. Sets her on her feet and pats her head.

Motonari: Catches her, then, convinced that she has sunstroke, makes her sit in the shade and drink eight glasses of water.

Kicho: Walks away. Thunk.

Kenshin: Catches MC, then replaces floor with carpet because clearly the floor was out to injure MC.

Kanetsugu: Thunk.

Shingen: Catches MC, makes sure she isn’t sick, injured, or otherwise impaired, then carries her off to bed for a bit of afternoon delight. That’s what she wanted… right?

Yoshimoto: Catches her and praises her artistic and graceful falling.

Yukimura: Catches MC. Then puts her on the floor. “Dummy.”

Sasuke: Catches MC. Then inspired by the example, does trust fall in front of Ieyasu. Thunk.

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thychesters · 1 year

Text

“Do you like cooking?”

Sanji looks up from where he’s quartering potatoes and isn’t sure what startles him more: that Luffy is in the kitchen and hasn’t tried to swipe a snack yet, or that he hadn’t heard him come in. (His captain is a great many things; quiet is not one of them.)

He stares at him, waiting, and the knife stills against the chopping block with a quiet thunk. Sanji blinks back at him through his bangs. The quartering continues.

“I’m good at it,” is all he says. He knows he comes off as distracted, too busy carefully considering the recipe Carne whipped together one day, long before the Straw Hats were even a blip in the grand scheme of things. Usopp had been the one to make the suggestion at the inordinate amount of potatoes they had in their pantry, and he’d squawked when Sanji dove past him to dig for the rest of the fixings for baked potato soup.

The kitchen smells of cooked bacon and freshly baked sourdough, carefully crafted from the starter Patty had given him when he’d left the Baratie, a gift passed with a grumbling about something to make sure Sanji didn’t forget how to cook.

“That’s not what I asked,” Luffy says, folding his arms on the other end of the table. He rests his cheek on them, watching him sideways. Sanji cuts an eye growing out of another potato but doesn’t look at him.

Does he like cooking? Of course, he’s good at it — he’s had a decade to hone his skills; lived under the gruff tutelage of an old geezer who’d just as soon tell him his bolognese sauce needed work as he would kick him upside the head as a way of telling him he did a good job. Of course he likes it, it’s a point of pride when he watches someone take their first bite and immediately dig in for another or ask for seconds; when someone sits back, eyes half-lidded and belly full and content.

“Do you like being a pirate?” he asks, depositing the last of the potato chunks into the pot, careful not to let the water splash out onto the burner. He shifts his attention to the bacon, picking up another knife to begin crumbling it.

He can sense rather than see Luffy immediately brighten. “Yeah! It’s a lot of adventure and finding cool things. I figure I gotta see everything if I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, right?” With a glance he can see Luffy’s sat back up, though he hasn’t broken his gaze with Sanji’s back, something firm in his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense to do something if you don’t like it.”

That gives Sanji pause, and he watches the bubbles drifting around in the pot to hide his frown. Of course he likes cooking; he enjoys it and is good at it. Because he keeps his crew alive – he’s sure Nami and Usopp have a grasp on a few recipes between the two of them, and Robin, while still an enigma, might be able to handle things. Chopper he isn’t sure of, but Zoro and Luffy are lost causes.

After a beat, he goes back to chopping bacon. That’s just it, isn’t it. Luffy’s not just a pirate, he’s the one who’s going to become King of the pirates. But then no one on this crew is just one thing; each of them have their strong suits and play off of one another. Nami’s not just their navigator, she spent her childhood bleeding ink for a man who sought to use her for her own purposes and now she’s set off to quite literally chart her own course on her terms. Zoro isn’t just a swordsman, he’s a moron with no sense of direction who’s also a voice of reason. Usopp’s the bravest coward he knows, a child who told lies in the hope they would one day be true, and ingenious with even a limited supply of materials. As for Sanji …

Of course he likes cooking. He can go to bed at night knowing his crew is full and nourished and no food has gone to waste. That they know what good food actually tastes like. He can clean the kitchen and have one last cigarette, content with the knowledge none of his crew will know hunger, that they will never know the purgatory of being lost at sea with nothing but mold and rocks, the feeling of the indentations of each of their ribs, or the exhaustion of staring out into the horizon, waiting for death or rescue, whichever comes first.

Of course he’s good at it because he has to be. Because he’ll keep that starving little boy fed until he loses the ability to pick up a knife, and then he will adapt from there. Because he will endure Luffy’s complaints that he wants a snack even if he’s still bloated from breakfast because his beaming face will never be gaunt and his expression hollow. Because it gives him a sense of purpose, even if he won’t blurt that in the middle of the kitchen, no matter that it’s just the two of them and he trusts Luffy with his life. He will never see that little boy reflected in any of them.

Bacon finished, he sets down his knife and turns back toward the table, adjusting his sleeve. A watched pot never boils, after all, and he leans against the counter, folding his arms as Luffy watches him patiently – or as patiently as someone like Luffy can.

“Yeah,” he says around an exhale. Because it makes sense to him, because there’s a reason for it and he is the one to provide it, this service, care, and support. His shoulders don’t sag and Luffy grins. “Yeah, I like cooking.”

#monkey d luffy #black leg sanji #sanji #sanji one piece #one piece #starvation mention /#ask to tag /#kate writes #**#i wanted to practice sanji's voice and also have a giant bag of potatoes i want to make soup with so now we have this #also i'm still only on skypiea and only know vague things to come so please no spoilers #aside from he and zeff being castaways i don't know much of his backstory right now #i also don't know what sanji's last name is bc two tags popped up for him?#anyway this was supposed to be like 400 words max

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bethagain · 8 months

Text

Earlier today, someone in the OFMD tag was lamenting that they couldn't find any fics about the headbutt immediately after Ed wakes up.

It's been a few hours so there's probably a dozen of them by now, but I thought it would be fun to write about anyway--before we find out on Thursday how that scene really went down.

---

The thunk is followed by Ed’s first words on waking: Fuck you, Stede Bonnet.

“Ok,” says Stede, seeing stars.

Their left hands are still twined together, so Stede lifts his right hand to check the damage. The skin over his brow is tender, already going puffy.

“That was a good one,” he offers. “Well aimed.”

“Go away.”

“Ok,” Stede says again, more firmly this time. “Do you think you can sit up?” He slides his right hand behind Ed’s head, palm at the base of his neck. Ed tries for a moment to sit, then drops back again. His left hand falls open, fingers sliding away from Stede’s.

Stede straightens up. “I’ll get you some water.”

He goes to stand, but a startlingly strong grip yanks him back again. “I hate you,” Ed breathes. His fingers are crushing Stede’s.

“You need water,” Stede says. “How long have you been out? You’re going to die again if we don’t get something into you.” He draws his hand from Ed’s, whose grasp has gone weak again. “You could use some soup. I wonder if we have anything to make soup?”

Ed, eyes closed now, doesn’t reply.

Stede pauses, gazing down at him. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “Won’t be long.”

Ed struggles to speak now, and Stede leans closer. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“After you have some soup,” Stede tells him, before placing a kiss on his forehead.

#ofmd #ofmd season 2 #ofmd seasion 2 spoilers #fanfic #my fic

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miss-midnightt · 3 months

Text

Rarepair Week day 4: Near Death Experiences

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53943490

“I am going to die. I entrust—“ Genesis sniffled a bit “—All of my worldly possessions…unto you.”

Reno let out a long-suffering sigh, wringing out the soaked washcloth into the bucket beside their bed. “You’re just sick, prettyboy. Now shaddup and let me help you, yo.” He tenderly placed the cool cloth onto the sick man’s forehead, brushing his knuckles against his fever-flushed cheek comfortingly as he retracted his hand. Thinking for a second, Reno picked up his PHS and flipped it open, diverting his attention from Genesis.

Genesis let out a feeble cough and sniffled again. He made sure to look as pathetic and sickly as he could. It was most definitely not a way to drum up sympathy and regain attention. Nope. Not at all.

Once again, Reno scanned through the “How to Care for a Sick Person” article that he had Moogled. His brows furrowed slightly as he scrolled, brightness from the screen of the PHS illuminating his face in the dim room. He flipped it shut, stowing it and going over the information in his head. “So….um….chicken noodle soup….two ibuprofen—or was it three? Every six hours? Yeah, and a cool cloth, done that….what else….let’s jus’ go with it,” Reno mumbled to himself.

Genesis propped himself up against the pillows so he could better look at his boyfriend—skeptically, of course. “Who are you talking to? And can I get another tissue, mother dearest?” He requested, voice hoarse. Reno rolled his eyes, but passed a tissue into the awaiting hand. Genesis blew his nose aggressively and crumpled up the used tissue. He tried (and failed) to toss it into the wastebasket at the foot of the bed. Reno reached down and picked it up gingerly, dropping it in the bin.

Throat irritated from blowing his nose, Genesis coughed once, then twice, and suddenly his whole body was overcome with a violent fit of wheezing coughs. Reno waited for the hacking to subside, then grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand. He brought it to Genesis’ chapped lips, tilting it back slightly to allow water to trickle into the awaiting mouth.

“Thank…you,” Genesis wheezed, drinking gratefully. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Reno adjusted the pillows to better prop Genesis up. Reno set the glass back on the table with a low thunk before turning his attention back to the man huddled up under the covers. Sensing the attention being returned to him, an (attempting to be) adorable, pathetic pout came onto Genesis’ face. He burrowed deeper into the duvet, seeking warmth to stave off the chill of fever. “I’m cold, Ren. Cuddle me?”

Wordlessly, the person in question slid under the covers, curling himself around Genesis. Reno’s arms snaked around the other’s waist, pulling him close. “You’re very overdramatic, Gen. Y’know that?” Reno teased lightly. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Genesis’ head, inhaling the scent of apples that constantly lingered around his partner.

“Love you too,” Genesis grumbled, fumbling around on the side table for another tissue. Upon finding one, he used it and tossed it on the floor.

The sheets rustled as Reno shifted onto his back to lay alongside Genesis. “You should rest, yo. That’s what the article said, at least,” He suggested. Genesis turned his head and gave him a scathing look.

“You Moogled how to take care of me? Am I not worth the time it takes to come up with an authentic, original care routine for your terminally ill boyfriend?” Genesis bemoaned.

“Genesis, it’s a cold. An’ you sound like that one cat on Stumblr. Mina? Minette? Oh, yeah, Miette!”

Genesis glowered at Reno. “Jail to you for one thousand years. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Look, I dunno how to care for a sick person. When I’ve got something, I just take like six aspirin an’ call it a day,” Reno defended.

Genesis raised his eyebrows. He coughed, then settled again. “How are you even still alive?”

“Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess.” Reno winked. “Now go to sleep, darling.”

“That’s not—“ Genesis was silenced by a finger over his lips.

“Go to sleep, idiot,” Reno said.

“I still—“ Genesis started, only to be hushed once more.

“Sleep now. You’re not gonna get any better if you don’t sleep,” Reno stated once more, gentler this time. “Please.”

Genesis begrudgingly rested his head on Reno’s shoulder, settling in with a contented sigh. The pair lay awake for a while, but soon enough Genesis began to tire. His eyelids drooped and he let out a yawn, sneezing once more before falling asleep. Slumbering, Genesis shifted slightly and began letting out little snores that he would never admit to producing once awake. Reno smiled softly, looking down at his sickly love. He observed Genesis’ peacefully sleeping face, all smushed up against his shoulder.

“How’d I ever get so lucky to score a guy like you?” He mused to himself as he lay awake. Soon enough, he too succumbed to the welcoming embrace of sleep.

——

The warm glow of the morning sun seeped through the haze surrounding Midgar, filtering through the curtains to lightly dapple the faces of the two sleeping men. Their bodies were entwined, interconnected, together. They did not stir, and, by some miracle, the ailing one had not been roused by congestion or any such thing associated with illness.

A breeze from the open window tickled their cheeks. One stirred slightly. The other let out a snore.

All was good, peaceful. For now, they could rest, be loved, take comfort in each other’s presence.

Together, they could be soft.

#writing at midnight #ffviirarepairweek #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ffvii remake #ffviir #ffvii fanfiction #reno ff7 #ff7 crisis core #ff7 fic #reno sinclair #reno x genesis #renodos

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katsu28 · 2 years

Text

hideaway

pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

summary: Y/N pays Eddie a visit while he’s hiding out at Reefer Rick’s

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of death, st4 spoilers

a/n: new favorite white boy alert! i’m adding eddie and steve to my character list bc i’m obsessed

i’ll get around to adding them both to the taglist form, but in the meantime comment or shoot me an ask if you want to be added to either!

masterlist + taglist

“2121 Holland Road, 2121—there we go,” You muttered to yourself, squinting at the tiny numbers painted on chipped mailboxes in the fading Hawkins daylight. You’d been tasked with delivering food to one very whiny and very house arrested Eddie Munson, and it was just your luck that this Reefer Rick character lived in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

You knocked on the door lightly, shifting from foot to foot as you waited for Eddie to open the door. There was some shuffling from inside, but no answer.

“Eddie! Open up!” You called softly, knocking again.

Eddie’s voice was muffled through the wooden door. “Who is it? State your business!”

“State my—it’s Y/N! Y’know, the one helping you hide from the cops?” Nothing but more silence on Eddie’s end. “I got you some food, but I guess I’m just gonna have to keep this double bacon cheeseburger and ice cold six pack for myself. I’ll be on my way then, don’t—”

The door swung open, hands shooting out and pulling you inside quickly—so quickly that you stumbled over the threshold and crashed into something hard as the door slammed shut behind you.

“Did anyone follow you here?” Eddie’s hands on your shoulders were tight, nearly knocking off the sunglasses perched on top of your head as he shook you.

“No!” You exclaimed, pushing away from him frustratedly. “You think I’d be dumb enough to lead someone straight to you? I’m not stupid, Eddie!”

He nodded in defeat, backing up a few feet and linking his hands behind his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m being paranoid.”

“I’d say,” You huffed, straightening out your glasses. “Here’s your food.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up at the plastic bags in your hands, surging forward as soon as you dropped them on the table, and cracking open a beer. You watched in amusement as he chugged the whole can in record speed, then dove into the burger and fries like a starving man, despite all the wrappers and empty cans strewn about the kitchen. When he noticed you watching, he straightened up, wiping his mouth hastily before offering out a beer towards you.

“Sorry, where are my manners? You want in on this?” He asked sheepishly. You shook your head, instead opting to tidy up a bit. “You don’t have to—um, thanks. For the food. And…yeah, just thanks.”

“Of course.” You replied, tossing an empty can of soup into the trash. “How’re you holding up in here?”

“Oh, not bad. Me and my overactive imagination alone in the literal asscrack of nowhere, always a winning combination.” He said casually, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Had a gnarly game of hacky sack going before you scared the crap out of me.”

“Aw, sorry,” You snickered, to which he shrugged.

“I’ll get there again. How’s everything out there in civilization?”

“Everything’s fine.” Everything was most definitely not fine, but you didn’t want to freak Eddie out any more than he already was. “We’re working a few leads on finding Vecna, so—”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. I can take it.” He let out a wry chuckle, shaking his head. “C’mon, lay it on me. Give it to me straight.”

“Okay, well, the cops definitely still think you killed Chrissy, so they’re still looking for you. And I heard that Jason and his knucklehead friends are on the hunt for you now too,” You blurted, taking note of the way Eddie’s jaw clenched at the mention of Chrissy’s boyfriend. “But they’re total idiots, so I doubt they’ll get anywhere.”

Eddie crumpled up another empty beer can in his fist, a scowl gracing his otherwise handsome face. He let his forehead thunk against the table, huffing out a frustrated groan. “Great. That’s great. Just another one of my fuck ups coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you made your way over to slide into the seat next to him.

“Eddie, this isn’t your fault.” You said softly, reaching out to put a hand on his tense shoulder. He merely let out another groan. “I’m serious, you can’t be blaming yourself for something you had no control over, okay? This whole shitty situation, it’s not your fault. How could it be? It’s not like you woke up last week like ‘You know what sounds fun? Being accused for a murder I didn’t commit, and throwing myself into a world where monsters are really real and like to kill teenagers’! No, that’s not what happened, so just—just stop putting all that weight on your shoulders.”

It wasn’t until Eddie lifted his head that you realized just how close you’d leaned in towards him during your whole speech—so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks as his wide eyes darted around your face. For a split second, you thought you noticed his gaze flick down to your lips, but when you blinked again he just cleared his throat, rising up out of his seat and retreating over to the couch.

Maybe you were just imagining it then.

“Thanks for the, uh, the pep talk.” He replied awkwardly, fiddling with the chain on his belt. “You should make it a hobby. Y/N’s life coaching—could make some big bucks. Maybe use some of it to bail me outta the slammer when they finally nab me.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. “Obviously I’m not that good at it since you’re still being a stick in the mud. They’re not gonna throw you in jail for something you didn’t do! The truth always prevails, Eddie.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one whose ass is on the line.”

“You don’t think my ass is on the line too? All our asses?” You scoffed. “Say the police bust in here right now—I’d be arrested for aiding and abetting a murderer!”

“I didn’t murder anyone!”

“I know that. You know that. But to everyone else, you murdered Chrissy, and then you ran!” You exclaimed, making your way to stand your ground in front of him with crossed arms. “Not exactly the actions of someone innocent!”

Eddie’s eyes were dark, chest heaving as he stared down at you, and you couldn’t tell if you’d just royally pissed him off or if he was still processing what you’d said.

So when his mouth was suddenly on yours and he was kissing you fiercely, you were completely taken aback. His lips were soft, but his kiss was firm, and he tasted like weed and beer and…was that SpaghettiOs?

Honestly, you didn’t hate it.

You kissed Eddie back fervently, feeling his fingers hook into your belt loops and letting out a noise of surprise when he pulled you down on top of him as he fell back onto the couch. His hands traveled from your hips and up your sides, the cold metal of his rings leaving goosebumps in their wake as his fingers curled around the back of your neck gently.

Your breath hitched in your throat when Eddie’s mouth left yours and started moving down your neck, pressing soft kisses against the column of your throat, but it wasn’t until he brushed your hair away from your shoulder and nipped at the bare skin, then moved back up to slot his mouth against yours again, that your brain actually registered what was happening.

You managed to pull yourself away from Eddie after indulging yourself with his kiss (and before both of you started something you might not finish), your hands moving from being tangled in his hair to bracing themselves against his firm chest. His eyes fluttered open at the loss of your lips against his, head cocking in curiosity.

“Eddie,” You panted, “What are we doing?”

Eddie brought his arms up to lay over the tops of the couch cushions, a smirk playing across his kiss-swollen lips. “I thought it was pretty self-explanatory, sweetheart. You’re hot when you’re mad at me.”

“Oh wow, really?” You rolled your eyes in annoyance, climbing off his lap and straightening out your wrinkled shirt from where his fingers had bunched up the fabric. “Nice line, Munson. Where’d you learn it from?”

His eyes widened as you took a seat at the far end of the couch, shifting to face you with flushed cheeks. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean to—that’s not how I wanted it to come off.”

“Tell me then, how did you mean for it to come off?”

“I—I was just…wow, I really just fucked all this up, didn’t I?”

“All this?”

“Yeah, I mean—wait, no. Not ‘all this’ in that kind of way, I meant like—holy fuck, this is so not going well.” He sounded almost panicked now, dragging his hands through his hair as he stumbled over his words while you just watched with an amused smile on your lips that he didn’t seem to notice through his rambling. “What I meant was, I think you’re hot. Not just when you’re mad at me, but all the—all the time. Because I kinda like you. No, screw that, I really like you, and this whole thing is making me really fucking nervous if you couldn’t tell. You can probably tell, I’m not—I’m not good at this.”

“You really aren’t.” You chuckled softly, to which Eddie’s shoulders slumped in relief. You weren’t mad at him. “And…I’m not mad at you, Eddie, I just—I wish you’d stop being so hard on yourself for all this.”

“Yeah, well, the sooner we get out of this mess, the better I’ll feel.” He sighed, scooting closer to you so that his knees were pressed against yours and looking at you hopefully. “So I, um, I noticed that you didn’t mention anything about me saying that I liked you, and uh, I feel like I’m about to shit my pants, so…thoughts, comments, reactions? Anything?”

You were silent for a painfully long time, the only sound being Eddie’s uneven breath and the whistle of the wind outside, and god, would he give anything to figure out what was going on inside your head right now.

The more the minutes ticked away, the stupider he felt. Who did he think he was, dropping that bomb on you in the midst of everything happening. He couldn’t get into a relationship right now, not when he was still a fugitive wanted for murder and hiding out in his drug dealer’s dusty old house. Not when there was a likelihood that either of you could be taken by this Vecna creep at any given moment.

But by that logic, this would be the best time to act on his feelings. Live in the moment, no regrets, all that shit. Eddie had a lot of regrets, but not telling you how he felt about you was sure as hell not one of them.

Finally, you spoke, your voice impossibly soft. “I think we should have this conversation after we clear your name and get rid of the creepy, kid-killing, mind invading monster.”

Those words had his heart deflating in his chest, shoulders sagging at the realization that he’d just gotten shot down by the girl of his dreams. But then you leaned forward and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, and it confused him.

“I’m not saying I don’t like you back, because I do. I just don’t want this to be some spur of the moment thing that we both dive headfirst into because we think the world is ending.” You assured him, brushing your thumb across the rings adorning his fingers.

“I’m not—it’s not a spur of the moment thing, I promise,” He insisted. “I like you, Y/N. Always have.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm. “Really?”

“Really.” Eddie nodded. “Ever since you walked into chemistry class sophomore year, I was hooked. Didn’t think you’d ever look twice in my direction, but here we are.”

“All it took was a warrant for your arrest and a monster from another dimension to get us here.” You joked, lips quirking up into a smile. Eddie rolled his eyes playfully at your jest, bringing your intertwined hands up to kiss your knuckles softly.

“Tell me the truth—do you think we can beat Vecna?” He asked quietly a little while later, looking over at you with what you could only describe as a haunted expression. “Because I’ve seen what he does to people, what he did to Chrissy, and I…I’m scared.”

“I think that if anyone can beat Vecna, it’s us. These kids…they’re like little geniuses. You wouldn’t even believe how many times they’ve saved Hawkins and nobody’s ever known.” You let your head fall back against the couch cushions with a breathy chuckle. “Hell, I was only there for the Russians at Starcourt, and that wasn’t even the weirdest one.”

“Hang on, there were Russians at Starcourt??? I thought that was a fire!”

“Dustin didn’t tell you?”

“No, he most definitely did not.”

“Shit, man, it was insane!” You exclaimed, delving into your account of the whole Starcourt incident with Eddie hanging onto your every word.

If someone told you that you’d ever be hiding out in a drug dealer’s house with Eddie Munson while the world around you went to shit, you would’ve laughed out loud at just the thought of it. But it really was surprising how the possible end of the world (again) could change what you thought you knew.

And who knew, maybe if the both of you survived everything, you could actually, finally live a somewhat normal life—one where you could be with the complete weirdo you liked and not have to worry about monsters or the Upside Down.

#eddie munson #i love this nerdy lil metalhead so much #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #st4 spoilers #stranger things s4 #stranger things spoilers #stranger things s4 vol 1 #joseph quinn

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