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melonn-soda · 2 months

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❝GIDDY UP & GO!!... ❞

word count: 3.3k

warnings: subbot! male reader, domtop! boothill, genitals are not explicitly mentioned, grinding, no actual penetration, unnecessary descriptions how much there is of spit (sorry if ur not into that), predator/prey if u squint, nd gunplay if u squint really really hard (is implied), lots of pentnames, praise, save a horse ride a cowboy but I change a factor, cowboy hat rule because RRGHGHGRHRGHHGHGHG

prompt: boothill has made it his life mission to cash in the money he gets when he lands you behind bars. however, when it becomes apparent as to why you let him pursue you, he begins to chase you for an entirely different reason

notes: lost 50/50 to yanqing (he's still my kid nd I love him regardless YANQING HATERS LEAVE!!!!) when wishing for aventurine. now I'm pulling for boothill if I don't get my little gambler (if Sunday is playable and better than boothill then im sorry to my fav cowboy yeehaw) not beta read

fem aligned dni

“Oh, my.”

Boothill hates your guts. That’s a given.

He hates the way you carry yourself, the sly remarks you’ll make if you spot even one hint of insecurity, the slight draw on certain syllables to give a mocking tone- you, in general. Although he’s more on the bothering side than the bothered, you’re just so much more annoying than he thought even possible. Guess that’s why you’re known as a high-end bandit.

He’s been on your tail for weeks, chasing any leads (a lot of them, like you wanted the chase) he could get his hands on. He’s even seen you slinking around taverns, poker tables, run-down hotels- for fucks’ sake, even on horseback racing down a dirt path while attempting to rob a moving train. To feel the satisfaction of seeing the credits Boothill would obtain after putting you behind bars is all he wants to experience because this is just getting ridiculous.

So, why the hell now, is he bound up to the ceiling with chains thicker than his own ankle after finding your base?

The amused smile finds its way upon your lips and Boothill wants to do nothing more than to kick it right off. You were in a vulnerable position before he decided to sneak in, with your chair tipped as your feet were kicked up on a busted wooden table, a bandana resting over your eyes to block out the sunlight that dared to drift into the room. Boothill made the dumbest mistake by alerting you of his presence through triggering a well hidden trip-wire. Perking you up, you began to rise from your seat, swiftly removing the bandana from your eyes and fingers instinctively on the handle of your revolver that sat on the gun holster strapped to your thigh. The trap triggered so fast, Boothill’s sensors barely had time to react to it before the ‘snap!’s and ‘crack!’s echoed throughout the room and he was pressed against the ceiling within seconds.

Sharp glares were stabbing through your form as your hand rested on your hip as you whistled, looking up at the ranger in slight surprise and smugness. Aeons, he hated you.

“Wow, such a reckless move to jus’ prance yer way in here, no? Hey, aren't cha a Galaxy Ranger or somethin’?” You tease, swiveling your chair so that you could sit backwards on it, crossing your arms atop of the back rest so you could rest your chin on your forearms, “Surely, ya coulda suspected that I woulda set up a trap. But why waste all yer precious time on someone as measly as me? I ain’t nothin’ but a lil’ ol’ bandit.”

“You better seal yer pretty lil’ lips, doll.” Boothill hisses at you, his voicebank glitching to censor the words he so desperately wanted to say, “My bullets don’t take too kindly to sweet talkers n’ foxes.”

A laugh echoes throughout the falling apart structure then settles into a hum as you stand up and kick the chair against the wall, “Ya sure like to talk big. Kinda fits ya, though.” The chair slams right under Boothill and you slowly make your way towards it, the clinking of spurs on your boots highlighting every step you take.

Looking up at the suspended robot, your left foot raises and rests on the seat, leaning in to provoke the cyborg even further, “It’s kinda cute how ya keep pursuin’ me despite all these failed attempts. How ‘bout I give ya more of a reason to keep chasin’ me than only doin’ it for jus’ the credits?”

Boothill’s eyebrows creased in suspicion as your hand raises up to his face, contemplating just biting your fingers straight off until he hears the click of the safety and a metal barrel against the human skin of his jaw. His teeth clench in anger as you nearly laugh at his compliance, reaching above his head and snatching his hat right off.

Oh, he was going to kill you for sure-

The hat plops onto your head and you wink at him while sticking your tongue out.

What.

There wasn’t-

There was no way.

“Catch me if ya can, cowboy.” You say dismissively, briskly turning around and walking out of the rundown hideout. However, before you could get out of his line of sight, your head turned to face him and you said, “I’ll be waitin’. As always.”

Dumbfounded and a half an hour later collapsed on the floor from the wooden boards snapping- which loosened the chains, he replays that minute over and over again. He didn’t want to believe that had actually happened but his memory told him otherwise.

There was no way that you...

Whatever. He’ll think about it later. He needs to get his damn hat back.

The first time Boothill finds you, it’s in a more forest-y area. You’re on your trusty steed, talking to some other criminals with little interest. The cowboy watches the interaction, paying special attention to your reactions to see if you’ve noticed his presence. From what he could tell, you didn’t seem to see that he was watching while using the shrubbery to cover him and the horse he was on. The people you were talking to he recognized from some wanted posters, only worth some credits. Not as much as your bounty, though.

...

...You’re still wearing his hat.

“Look, partner,” Your voice dips into an exhausted, low, sigh, “I need that shipment as soon as possible, ya hear? I ain’t got too much time left before she’s reached her time. Ion care how ya get it, I need it in at least a week! Otherwise she’ll get real snappy and I’m gonna hafta put some lead in some poor person's head.”

One of the bandits flashes a worried look to another, “Boss, ya don’t understand! The Xianshou Luofu’s been havin’ sum sorta delay! We ain’t gonna get those packages ‘til some long period of time!”

Boothill’s interest peaks as you begin to snap, “Did ya not hear me? I said, ‘Ion care how ya get them!’ Find a way! Talk to that Trailblazer everyone’s been praisin’ about or somethin’! Jus’ get me my stuff before ‘m gonna start blowin’ some brains out-”

A rustle causes you to pause your sentence as you draw your weapon immediately, the barrel facing his direction and bullets fly. Boothill’s horse had begun to munch on the bush, which gave away his position, but thankfully he moved quick enough to get out of the way.

You decided to book it when you caught sight of the familiar white and black hair, spurs hitting the sides of your horse as you begin to get out of the area to leave nothing but a trail of dust. Boothill doesn’t hesitate to race after you, whipping the reins of his horse to get her going.

Branches and twigs tug at Boothill’s hair as he chases you through the forest, lowering his torso so that he could lessen the wind resistance as his horse’s hooves slam against the ground. You’re quite the distance away, mostly because your horse is pretty speedy. It’s how you get away from crime scenes so fast. However, Nellie, the horse Boothill is riding currently, is also quite fast.

Although, not fast enough because in the end, he still loses you.

The curses he spits all get censored immediately as he slows into a stop, head turning in every direction to see if you left any trail behind. Only to see none. Didn’t expect as much from a skilled criminal.

The second time he spots you is in the tavern, playing a game of poker with people that had their pockets stuffed full of cash. ‘Rich folk,’ Boothill grimaces as he could see them tilt their chin up like the world owes them something. If you rob them, he won’t feel even a sliver of remorse.

He knows that you can see him as he leans against the wall to watch the match, some of the rich getting intensively frustrated as they begin to fold after betting so high. Judging by the scheming smile on your face, he could tell you have a winning hand. Then again, when are you never smiling like you have something up your sleeve?

Finally, in the showdown, you and the person you’re going up against reveal your cards and you win with a four of a kind. Lucky.

The people at the table groan and push their chips in your direction, getting up to leave as their attitudes have just been soured over that singular match. Boothill takes the opportunity to walk over to you and remove the gun from his holster and press it right up against your lower back, hand coming up to snatch his hat that rests atop your head.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A window shatters behind him and he could hear flames begin to roar but he doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from you. Only when he feels cold metal press against the nape of his neck does his actions falter and his eyes turn to face whoever decided to draw their weapon.

He blinks in shock to see a figure completely made of water, his gaze returning to you and seeing you sitting on the edge of the table with your gun pressed against his forehead. Shit. He’s lost again.

The tavern completely surrenders to the flames as people scream at the sight of fire, swallowing up the alcohol and wood. Boothill can hear his fans whirring to prevent himself from overheating but the attempt is futile as the room begins to get unbearably hot. He’s not sure if it’s just the fire that’s causing him to overheat or it’s because you look insanely good with all this red and orange light.

...

What is he even thinking right now?

“Y’know, it’s gettin’ real fun toyin’ with ya, cowboy.” You speak, completely unbothered by all the heat in the building. He can’t even see a single drop of sweat on your face. Even so, you continue, “But I think ya can do a little better than this.”

The ranger’s lips purse in offense, glaring at you as best as he could. The gun you had pointed lazily at his forehead falls to the floor and Boothill isn’t sure how long he can last in this heat. Before his system could finally shut down because of overheating, he could feel your lips press against the area where your gun was pressed up against. Then, he falls over as his system forcibly turns him off.

The third time Boothill sees you, he’s lying on a metal workbench with cold water floating above him and fans blowing in his direction. He’s confused, obviously, and on his toes as he realizes he’s not in an area he’s not familiar with. He attempts to sit up to find a way to escape only to realize that he can’t move his arm. Now, he’s terrified.

“Relax, cowboy.” Your voice coos from behind a computer, typing away at something as you're taking a tip from a glass. Presumably water. “I’m cooling ya off. You’re welcome... You should be able to move now.”

Boothill shoots up from his spot and rips off the cables that are attached to his left arm, head darting around to look for his gun. He hears a click and once again finds himself with a gun pressed up against his jaw.

“Lookin’ for this?”

The crosshair that replaces his once human pupils flit over to your direction, noticing that you were holding his revolver in your dominant hand. Boothill swears that you must like pointing a barrel in his direction for how many times this has been done. He also sees that you’re wearing his very cropped jacket over your usual attire. ... And you’re still wearing his hat.

“That’s mine, pretty boy.” The ranger gives you a half-assed growl as his censor kicks in once more, already getting annoyed at your sly behaviour, “Ya really got a knack for takin’ stuff that’s not yours, huh? No wonder yer a criminal.”

You giggle at his words, tossing his gun on the metal workbench, “It’s not loaded, neither is your little gun hand.” You tell him, like he was going to start unloading mags into your skin. Turning around, you walk back to your computer and open up a drawer on the desk it sits on, “Well?” You ask after a momentary silence, leaning on one of your legs as you crack open a bottle of whiskey and begin to pour it into your empty glass.

“‘Well’, what?” Boothill narrows his eyes at you, picking up his revolver and shoving it back into his thigh holster. He’ll just have to go to the nearest mechant and buy more bullets.

“Ain’t ya gonna, I don’t know, take yer hat back?” You ask him, taking a sip of the alcohol that gives a slight burn down your throat, “We’re in an enclosed space, barely any room t’move around, exit’s right behind ya ‘n all. Perfect chance t’arrest me, if I dare so say m’self.”

He blinks. There’s got to be some sort of trap if the setup is this perfect. He’s not going to make the same mistake he did before, not again. So, his sensors scan the room quickly, which leaves you unamused, and he sees that there are in fact no traps in this room. Boothill almost doesn’t want to believe it.

“Are ya playin’ some sort of game with me?” Boothill’s eyes begin to squint in suspicion, carefully trying to think of a situation you might pull that puts him on the losing end of the stick, “Yer jus’ gonna let yourself get arrested? Jus’ like that?”

“What? Ya don’t wanna do it? Too scared?” You taunt him again, causing the cowboy’s circuits to boil in animosity.

“Ya know what?” Boothill smiles a tense one, taking long, menacing steps in your direction, “I’ve ‘bout had it with your attitude, pretty boy. Seems like ya didn’t have anybody ta teach ya proper manners.” All of a sudden, you felt yourself being slammed up against the wall behind you with a grunt, Boothill’s right hand keeping your wrists together and his left hand tilting your chin up to look at him, his eyes glowing a dangerous red, “I mean, after that stunt ya pulled in yer lil’ base, it seems like ya wanna be caught by me.”

“Hah.. guilty as charged.” You laugh, attempting to keep your smooth facade up, only for it to crack once you could feel his metal knee nudge between your thighs. A whine rips through your throat as he keeps his knee still, not bothering to give you the pleasure you oh so wanted from the day you saw him.

“How ‘bout it, doll?” Boothill sneers at your pathetic expression, lips getting dangerously close to yours, “I can give ya a better punishment than jail could.”

One thing’s for sure: Boothill’s mechanical body does not have any built in... pleasure devices, he’s nearly as smooth as a doll. However, there is a slightly large bump on his pelvis in the shape of an oval that if you were to grind just right up against, you’ll-

“O-oh!”

Boothill’s lips curve up into a smirk as he sees you push down hard against his metallic form, trying to settle your trembles by wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to stabilize yourself. It’s cute, he thinks, seeing you all desperate for sexual relief. The way you hopelessly cling to him like he’s the last thing keeping you alive. He can’t believe he actually thought about putting you behind bars if getting you wrapped around his finger was this satisfying.

“How’s it feel, pretty boy?” Boothill whispers in your ear, causing a shiver to rack your spine as his grip adjusts to settle on your lower waist, pushing you even further against him, “Feel like yer gonna explode yet?”

Whimpering in response, your shaky fingertips grip onto his shoulders as your forehead now presses against his. Soft pants fill the room and Boothill can practically see the hearts in your eyes as your hips continue to move against his. You both still have your clothes on but this all still feels so intimate, probably better than actual penetration.

The ranger’s hand reaches up to tug his hat that still rests on your head, fixing it back from its tilted state, “Ya look like ya wanna kiss, doll.” He teases, bringing your chin closer to the point where your noses brushed up against one another.

“Pl-please..” You say breathily, gently tugging at his hair.

“Attaboy.” Boothill snickers in response, “Looks like yer finally learning.” His freakishly long tongue slithers past his lips as soon as they press against yours, slipping into your mouth as saliva begins to spill down your chin. Aeons, you’re just so cute.

Soft moans are swallowed up by Boothill’s greedy mouth, his thumb coming up to pull against your bottom lip before he pulls away and the only thing that connects your mouths is the thin trail of spit. His robotic thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing against your tongue as drool continues to spill down your pretty lips. He could get used to this.

He notices how much faster your hips move, calculating that you were close as whines and whimpers flood the room. The smile on Boothill’s face only widens even further, bumping his hips up to catch you off guard. He knows he succeeds when he hears a shaky squeak come from your mouth.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Ya gonna bust?” The ranger sneers, the thumb in your mouth shifting so he widens your lips by pushing at the sides, “Y’know, I could easily deny ya of that relief. Ya kinda deserve it for teasin’ me this whole time.”

You shake your head violently, already too close to be pulled away now. Boothill snickers in response, “No? What makes ya think you can tell me what to do?” A pleading look flashes across your features and Boothill has half the decency to make you beg for release. He decides to have mercy on you, though, “Mmmn, I mean, I guess ya have been pretty obedient. Go on and blow yer load f’me, pretty.”

With a shudder and a slight bite on Boothill’s metal thumb, your pants get soaked in your fluids, staining the fabric. Your hips jerk a couple of times to ride out your orgasm then you started slumping onto his chest in exhaustion. Boothill’s other hand rubs at your hip to soothe you, letting you rest in place to calm the trembles that still cause your body to twitch in overstimulation.

“Good boy.” He says softly, pulling his thumb out of your mouth, watching as it dripped since it was slick with your spit. Letting you catch your breath for a moment, he waits before he decides to ask, “So, what package were ya waitin’ for?”

“Baby stuff.” You sigh, face burying into Boothill’s neck, “My sister’s expecting ‘nd her wife’s been tellin’ me to get that stuff as soon as possible. The Luofu has been delaying their packages for a bit, somethin’ about shippin’ difficulties. Can’t believe ya’d remember something like that, though.”

The cowboy huffs in response, “Bein’ a cyborg’s got some perks. The only bad part is that ion got a dick to fuck ya with. Woulda been nice to see ya unable to walk for a few days.”

You sit up and give him a weird look, hands resting on his shoulders, “Ya do know strap-ons exist, right?” The way you said that made him feel much stupider, like you were pointing out the obvious to him.

“...Oh.” Boothill’s face flushes embarrassingly hot as his fans kick in once more.

Aeons, he hated you.

#x male reader #male reader #x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #hsr x male reader #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x reader #boothill x male reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader

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snooyaki · 5 months

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이찬연 — BARISTA BOY ☂︎ CH. I

a/n: my first ever written work on tmblr wooo 🥳 if this receives good feedback i’ll be willing to turn this into a series! hope you enjoy 💗

‘DONT CRY … DONT CRY.’ anton repeated to himself, feeling the lump forming in his throat as his eyes couldn’t help but begin to grow glossy. having a full mental breakdown in the middle of brewing up a coffee for a costumer was not an option for the boy. anton sniffled, a shaky exhale releasing from his trembling lips as he finished off his cappuccino with his signature leaf art. what a sad looking leaf it was. anton took a deep exhale, placing the coffee cup down as he pushed it forwards against the counter. ‘speak… you can do it..’

“o-order for minyoung?” anton’s delicate voice cracked.

the boy mentally cussed at himself, watching in fear as the scary woman he had encountered earlier stomped her way up to the counter, anton flinching with every clack of her heels. the woman’s sharp wrinkly eyes glared daggers at the anxious boy who couldn’t help but gulp at the sight.

“finally got my order right??” the woman’s icy tone spat, as anton quickly nodded his head. “y-yes maam… i apologize again for the inconvenience…” anton managed to speak despite his heart rate going off the charts.

anton was having a shitty day.

the boy had woken up that morning and not a thing was going his way. he had slept through his alarm and missed his bus on the way to work, resulting in being scolded by his manager. he had burned himself on one of the steamers, causing a mug to fall and shatter. not to mention the rude customers. anton did not know what was going on today, as it seemed that everyone was not having a good day. especially him.

anton was an emotional boy, one who got overwhelmed easily. today was taking a toll on him. it was mentally and physically draining to contain his tears and his thoughts. he just needed to make it through the day, he kept telling himself.

“excuse me,”

anton paused, eyes widening slightly in realization. he had been staring down at the cash register lost in his thoughts as a customer was patiently waiting for him to come back to his senses. god he was embarrassed. could this day get any worse? the boy lifted his head, ready to apologize to the customer before his words got stuck in his throat at the sight before him.

“… hi,” y/n smiled warmly, gazing up at anton with kind yet curious eyes. “you’re anton lee … right?” her soft voice rang out, a bright and comforting aura radiating off the girl.

anton stared at the girl in disbelief, the tips of his ears slowly beginning to turn a deep shade of red. out of all days his crush could have shown up at his work, it just had to be today? anton shook his head as he snapped back to his senses, a soft chuckle and forced smile came from the boy.

“yeah … yeah that’s me.” he spoke, rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly, before meeting her gaze. “you’re y/n l/n … right?”

of course, anton knew who she was. everyone in their school knew who she was. y/n was a star student, known for her good grades, kind soul, and her beauty. it wasn’t a surprise that anton began crushing on y/n in the beginning of tenth grade after being in three out of the six classes a day for a whole year. it had all started the first day of school, when y/n had spoken to him for the first and the last time.

ೀ

“excuse me!” a hurried voice spoke, catching anton’s attention as the boy curiously turned around, his gaze instantly shooting down. there she was, in all her glory.

y/n gazed up at the boy with a kind smile, holding out a familiar navy-blue notebook in front of the boy. “here, your notebook. you left it in the classroom.” she hummed, as anton’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“oh …” anton muttered, slowly taking the notebook from the girl, a small smile lifting on his lips.

anton could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he stared at her pretty smile. “thanks …” he had managed to speak, before the girl had nodded her head.

“of course,” y/n smiled, before retreating to her friends. anton watched as she walked down the hallway, laughing and giggling with her friends. he watched her until she had disappeared in the large crowd of students.

“anton…?” sohee spoke, not snapping the boy out of his daydreams.

“anton… why are you so red?!”

ೀ

although of course, anton had no intentions on pursuing her. y/n was way out of his league, or that’s what he believed. he was a silent admirer and planned on keeping it that way.

well, until today.

the girl nodded her head enthusiastically at anton’s question, delighted that he had remembered her name. “mhm! i didn’t know you worked here… this is quite a famous coffee shop.” y/n chuckled softly in attempts to make small conversation with the quiet boy.

anton felt his heart skip a few beats at the sound of her melodic giggle, nibbling his lip anxiously before nodding his head. “ive been working here for a few months now…” anton spoke, his eyes not being able to trail away from the girl’s face as she scanned the menu. anton couldn’t get his eyes off her. it was like he was stuck in a trance, analyzing every feature on her face. her beauty marks, her hair, the way her eyes sparkled excitedly while deciding what she was going to drink.

“make me your favourite order here. i want to try something new.” y/n eagerly spoke, taking anton for surprise. he had never had a customer ask for that before, but he was willing to do it. especially for her.

anton finally gathered the courage to show a little smile, nodding his head in approval at her request. “sure. i’ll make you something good.” anton stated, earning an excited smile from the other.

anton didn’t know what was with him in that moment. he felt a surge of confidence rise. ‘its now or never …’.

“it’s on me,” anton added, his eyes gazing down at his crush, watching as her expression quickly falter. anton rang it through the register before she was able to protest, chuckling at the sight of her shoulders falling in defeat.

“you didn’t have to do that anton…” y/n frowned, almost as if she was glaring at him in disappointment. anton looked down at the floor, a soft blush rising over his cheeks mentally preparing himself to meet her eyes again.

“but… i wanted to.” anton managed to say, his eyes searching for a reaction from the girl.

anton swore he saw her blush. he swore by it, but the self-doubt was convincing him otherwise. he couldn’t tell if he was imagining things. “it’ll be ready at the end of the counter.” anton then added, snapping y/n out of her thoughts.

the girl then showed off her signature smile, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding in. “thank you anton.” she hummed.

anton’s day was suddenly, not so shitty anymore. he couldn’t help but smile as he made her order the whole time, silently giggling to himself as he thought. he talked to you. he had finally talked to you again. something he had been meaning to do for two years. it finally happened.

anton gazed down at the cup, focusing hard on the heart he hadn’t even realized he made on your latte, resulting in a soft blush when he came to his senses. anton grabbed a lid, placing it over the cup as he let out a soft exhale in preparation before making his way towards the end of the counter.

“order for y/n!” he called out, catching her attention.

y/n gazed up from her phone, shutting it off as she stuffed it into her jacket pocket. the girl then made her way over to anton, grabbing the cup from the shy boy. she examined the way he had written her name. ‘y/n ᵕ̈ ‘ it read in his hand writing. she felt like she could stare at it for days, as a smile began slowly spreading over her face. y/n gazed up at the boy, letting out a soft chuckle. “thank you again anton.” she beamed, as anton gazed down at his feet, flustered.

“of course, y/n.”

the two shared a soft gaze, both in a comfortable silence unable to rip their gazes away, until you had spoken up. “i’ll see you at school…” y/n spoke, not breaking eye contact with anton once before slightly hesitating her next words. “dont be a stranger.” she stated, watching as anton shook his head at the girl. “i wont.” he stated back.

anton watched as the girl then began making her way out of the coffee shop. it saddened him a bit, to see her leave, her figure slipping past the door. but after his encounter with you, he couldn’t have been happier. anton stood there, smiling like an idiot. there were hearts practically surrounding the boy in love.

maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

— nari ¨̮

#ˋ ୨୧ ˊTAGS !

#snooyaki ¨̮#anton lee #anton x reader #riize anton #riize x reader #anton lee x reader #riize #riize imagines #anton imagines #kpop #anton fluff #anton fic #anton scenarios #anton #anton x y/n

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11cupid-tarot11 · 1 month

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What would they say to you through text right now?

18+ Only Minors DNI!

1 -> 2

3 -> 4

DM me for private readings!

$5.55 per question!

Tips appreciated!

C@sh app and P@ypal payments only!

Cash tag- $minnieplant3

Love y'all!

- Cupid 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

Pile 1-

"I need to figure myself out."

"Don't treat me the way you do, I don't deserve it."

"I can't talk to you right now."

"I don't want to be who I used to be. You deserve better."

"I love your breasts."

"I want to watch you pleasure yourself."

"I want to play between your thighs."

"I want to feel you."

"I really want to fill you up, so bad right now."

"Do you remember me?"

"I love you."

Don't forget to do the poll below! Take care<3

Pile 2-

"The way I have treated you was wrong."

"I am stuck in visions of us together."

"I'm obsessed with you."

"Don't wait for me please."

"I'm afraid to lose you."

"I love how you give in to me, even when you're mad."

"I want to finger you while I'm filling you up at the same time."

"Treat you like my princess again."

"You shouldn't have to wait for me to grow up, you don't deserve that."

"I'll sit alone everyday and reflect on myself until I'm ready to love you like you should be."

"Don't hide from me."

"Don't let anyone else see what's mine, even in separation your heart only beats for me, right?"

Don't forget to do the poll below! Take care<3

Pile 3-

"The heat between us is intense.x

"Will this ever change?"

"Emotions overwhelm me."

"The passion is too much."

"I can't let go of you."

"I want to watch you ride me."

"Your ass is so cute."

"I want to watch your ass while you ride me."

"I really can't stop thinking about your ass."

(lmao?😭)

"I want to live between your thighs."

"I love watching the faces you make while I fuck you."

"I want to see my cum all over you."

"I need to see how you look beneath me, how you feel, I need you."

Don't forget to do the poll below, take care!

Pile 4-

"My life is a mess right now."

"Please do what is best for your heart."

"I am scared of rejection."

"Why do I feel so lost?"

"I really want a home with you."

"you're my future."

"I want to provide you with everything you need or want."

"I want to watch you orgasm after orgasm."

"You'll be my queen in bed. I'll spoil you sweetheart."

"You'll always come first, I care about you so much."

Don't forget to do the poll below! Take care <3

I forgot to add pile 4 🙈 comment '4' down below instead! 🩷

#18+ tarot #pac love reading #pac tarot #pick a card #spirituality #tarot cards #tarot #tarot reading #tarot love reading #tarot messages

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marvelfilth · 9 months

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Angel (18+)

Pairing: stripper!Tara Carpenter x f! lawyer!reader

Warnings: no ghostface AU, Tara is 21, R is 27, smut, lap dance, pole dance, alcohol consumption, tipsy driving (pls don't do that), fingering, a bit of degradation and praise

Summary: You need to unwind. Angel gives you more than you could have ever asked for.

Masterlist

You've had a bad month. Scratch that, you've had the worst month of your career. You've lost one of your loyal clients to a rival and your boss chewed you out over it, and, to top it off, you've lost a case you've been working on for the past four months.

You blink back the exhaustion, leaning back on the railing of your office balcony. You've been nursing your whiskey for the past hour, hoping it'll chase away your gnawing thoughts, but to no avail, you're still deep in your head, rethinking every decision that led you to this.

You check your wrist watch, the platinum glistening in the city lights, and decide to finally head home. You finally relax once you're in your car, putting the key in the ignition and driving off, leaving the day behind. You take a familiar route, driving almost on autopilot and humming along to the song on the radio, fingers drumming on the wheel.

You're almost home when you change your mind and make a sharp turn on the next intersection, heading to a place you haven't been to in months.

Two men in the front greet you with identical nods, holding the door open for you, sensual music spilling into the bustling street. Your eyes zero in on the bar, not paying any attention to the stage and the dancers, happy to see a familiar face handling alcohol tonight.

"Tough day?" Amber asks with a sympathetic smile, placing a full glass in front of you.

"Tough month," you sigh, not in the mood for a conversation.

She offers one more smile before turning to another guest, sensing your desire to be left alone. Her eyes take on a new glint, lips slightly pursed in a cute pout as she talks to a clean shaved man. You scoff in your drink and shake your head, ignoring the glare she sends you.

Leaning back against the bar you settle to simply people watch for some time, maybe get a dance or two from a pretty woman.

"You should ask for Angel," Amber says, wiping the counter. You look at her in question, your glass stopping midway to your mouth. "She's new, but she's good. You could use some unwinding and she's the best at it, trust me."

You nod slowly and ask for a refill before leaving her a tip and walking off to a secluded booth in the back of the club, settling back on the couch and trying to find a new face in the sea of dancers you already know well. Out of the corner of your eye you see Felicity, a fiery redhead with no filter. She effortlessly glides on the dancefloor in her nine inch heels, red lingerie catching eyes of gaping men with pockets full of cash. She bends in a sensual move, her thong granting a perfect view of her round ass. You hum when money starts falling in waves, making the floor disappear. She deserves that and more.

She catches your eye, brow raising suggestively, to which you shake your head no.

"Waiting for someone?" A voice whispers right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your head turns to be met with the eyes of a stranger inches away from your own, lips painted blood red and pulled into a smirk.

You swallow, feeling the swell of her breasts against your arm that's resting on the back of the couch, and shake your head tersely, not trusting your voice just yet. She bites her lower lip and pulls away to slowly walk around the couch, making sure to show off her assets.

Almost all of her body is bare, her lacy push up bra making her breasts look good enough to throw handfuls of cash at her feet. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the full globes, then lowers to a dark red triangle of fabric between her legs held by a thin string. She takes her sweet time in caging you against the leather cushions, draping herself over your lap, hands settling on your shoulders.

You take this opportunity to study her features: the slope of her small nose; the freckles dusted all over her upper cheeks; her dark and inviting eyes, eagerly drinking you up with the same vigor; her full lips, painted red and waiting to be claimed.

She takes your whiskey and sips, expertly masking the distaste behind an alluring smile, but you still catch the way her eyes momentarily squeeze in a fleeting grimace, making you bite back a chuckle.

"I'm Angel. What's your name?" She purrs, hips moving to the beat as she plays with the hair at the nape of your neck. You see some men glare at you with jealousy, their jaws grinding. Angel must be fairly popular to grant a reaction like that.

"Does it matter?" You husk, struggling to keep your hands to yourself.

"Mysterious, huh?" She chuckles, arching against your chest, her barely covered breasts almost spilling out right in your face, hips moving in circles against your crotch. "I like that."

You hum, settling back to watch her flexible body roll against your slowly relaxing one, her lower lip pulled between pearly white teeth.

"There you go," she whispers, sliding her palm down your chest, her other hand tangling in your hair, nails scratching your scalp. It feels so good you almost purr. "Tell me what got you so wound up."

You sigh and take another sip of your drink before answering. "Lost my top client."

She hums, her torso moving in a slow hypnotic circle, before leaning back into you to whisper right in your ear. "Their loss."

She pulls back to look you in the eye, the space between you almost crackling with tension.

"Hey Angel," one of the men that's been glaring at you calls out, waving a couple of twenty dollar bills in the air. "Come give me a dance."

She doesn't even look in his direction, but you silently reach for your wallet, taking out three hundred dollar bills and pushing them under the string of her thong. "Stay."

Her eyes widen and she bites her lip before nodding. She throws her head back, hands leaving your shoulder to slide up her waist to cup her breasts, pushing them together inches away from your face. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you have to grip your thighs to keep yourself from touching her. She rises on her knees and changes the position, her back now to your front, ass snugly against your crotch.

You finish your whiskey in one gulp, your breath hitching. Her wavy hair gets in your face and you breathe in the enticing scent of her perfume mixed with the essence of her. She turns her head, looking at you with half lidded eyes. "You like that?"

"I do," you reply, noting the slight blush rising on her cheeks.

"Want to move somewhere private?" She asks, her eager tone cracking the unbothered facade she's been putting on.

You nod and follow her to the other side of the club, Amber sending you thumbs up from behind the bar before going back to flirting with another drunk man, crisp bills filling her pockets.

You're led to a dark hallway that leads to private rooms, anticipation buzzing under your skin. She nods at the security guard, the man looking you up and down before he lets you through. She locks the door and you wander deeper into the room, taking a seat on the velvety couch.

Sensual music starts spilling from the speakers before she turns sharply, a devilish smirk on her lips. She saunters to the pole, hips swaying in tune with the music, eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her leg over the metal and twirls. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the dance, and grips the pole before bending, back arched, the swell of her ass right in front of your face.

You exhale, nearly biting down on your knuckles from the need to turn her around and fuck her right on the floor. "Angel," you breathe out. She faces you and drops to her knees, legs spread as her hips move up and down, arms over her head as she grips the pole. "Yes?"

You pat your lap and without a moment of hesitation she climbs on top of your thighs, taking off her bra. You bite back a moan when her breasts spill out, pinkish nipples begging for your mouth. She takes hold of your neck, her forehead pressed against yours as she rocks her hips on your lap, her breathing labored. She weaves languidly against your tense torso, her lips brushing against your cheek before she pulls away to settle her hands on your chest, nails scratching your white shirt.

"Fuck," you close your eyes, enjoy the press of lithe body, arousal coursing through your veins. She hums, her center flush against your thigh and you feel her wetness smear on the fabric of your slacks. Your fingers clench uselessly at your sides. "You're enjoying this," you state, searching her face for an answer.

"More than you can imagine," she whispers, grinding down on your thigh with intent. Her nipples brush against your chest and she moans quietly, repeating the motion. You unconsciously thrust up, your pelvis connecting with her heat just as she is rolling down, sending pleasure through her body. She grabs your shoulders and your eyes lock. You thrust again, intentionally this time, your palms planted firmly on the couch to add force. Her hips rock, her needy moans filling your ears.

You can't take your eyes off her.

Fuck that, you think, before planting your hands on her hips, directing her movements, and pulling her into a feverish kiss. Her lips are impossibly soft, and her tongue tastes like whiskey and some fruity cocktail she's probably had earlier. Your hands move from her hips to her breasts, squeezing.

"Yes," she moans, greedily pushing against you. "More, please."

You hesitate only for a moment before lowering your mouth to her nipple, sucking it in with hunger you didn't know you possessed. She bites on her knuckles, hiding a loud moan from the guards behind the door. Your fingers itch with the need to tear off her thong and plunge deep into her soaking pussy, claiming the most vulnerable part of the petite brunette.

"How does that feel?" Your teeth graze against the underside of her breast before you take the other nipple in your mouth, tongue sliding on the hardened nub.

"Like I'm about to come," she whimpers, messily humping on your thigh. "Need you inside," she pleads, taking hold of your hand.

You follow her lead, your fingers easily pushing her thong aside and dipping between her slick folds, strands of wetness clinging to your digits. She buckles against your hand in search of friction, and you teasingly circle her clit, pulling a delicious moan out of her lips. "Like that?" You tease, even though you're as affected as she is.

"Yes- fuck, just like that," she whimpers.

"What about the rules, Angel? You gonna tell your boss about this?"

She shakes her head. "No, I promise. Fuck the rules." She desperately clings to your wrist, pressing your palm against her heat.

It's all you need to finally thrust your fingers inside her cunt. She cries out, biting your shoulder to hide the sound, and starts moving her hips up and down, meeting your fingers halfway.

"Such a bad girl you are, Angel. Riding a stranger like a slut," you grunt, fastening your pace. Filthy sounds fill the room as your fingers keep disappearing in her pussy, bringing her closer to the edge. Suddenly, a misplaced spark of jealousy ignites something deep inside your chest. "Do you do this with everyone, Angel? Do you spread your legs for strangers every night?"

"No," she gasps, tilting your face up and bringing you in for a kiss. "Just you," she moans against your lips, "only you."

The fire inside your chest burns. "Good."

Her walls clench around you, mouth wide open as she moans loudly. You force her mouth shut, pressing your palm against her lips, her eyes widening before they roll to the back of her head. Your thumb slides on her clit in tight circles, fingers curling to touch her sweet spot. She bites down on your knuckles, desperately chasing her orgasm, arousal dripping down her thighs. You add a third finger, stretching her tight pussy, and spread them inside.

"Come for me, Angel," you rasp, pushing deep inside. She cries out, squeezing around your fingers as she comes. She curls into you, hiding her face in the slope of your neck. "Good girl," you praise, kissing her temple, your fingers buried inside her wet heat.

There's a loud knock and a gruff voice sounds from behind the door. "Everything alright, Angel?"

She sits up, eyes wide and alert, and looks at the clock near the door. Your private session ended ten minutes ago.

"I- I have to go," she scurries away, putting on her bra on her way to the door.

"Wait," you call out, catching her wrist before she could touch the handle. "Stay, please."

Her eyes flicker to your lips before she throws herself at you, hands around your waist, kissing you with fervor. You press her against the door, trailing kisses all over her neck, wishing you could leave marks for her to remember you by.

There's another knock and a threat to break down the door. Angel pulls away with one last peck before disappearing behind the door.

The rest of the week goes better after that night. You feel like the burden that's been sitting on your shoulders got smaller, granting you more hours of sleep and allowing you to look your boss in the eye without feeling inferior. You can't help but think back on the girl that so easily brought this change on you. Sometimes when you're caught up in paperwork in the late hours of night you catch yourself wishing you were back in that private room, looking at her instead of some boring corporate nonsense. Your fingers squeeze around the pen with need to touch her again, to unravel her, to savor her taste.

On a Friday night you decide to leave the office early and head to the club, but a phone call stops you in your tracks.

"Hey, hope I'm not interrupting."

You smile, always happy to hear from your friend. "You're not, I'm… heading home early."

"Great. Perfect, actually. I know it's a bit last minute, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm making your favorite." Sam asks, and you can hear the sound of pans hitting the stove in the background.

"What's the catch, Carpenter?"

She groans, and you can almost see her slouch against the counter. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but Tara is studying to be a lawyer, and I thought maybe you could give her some pointers over dinner?"

You blink, surprised by the question. In two years of your friendship with Sam you've never met her younger sister. Even though they're living together, she's never home when you're over, working double shifts to afford tuition, adamantly refusing Sam's offers to help. She likes to complain about it from time to time, but you can see she's proud of the younger girl.

Angel will be there tomorrow, and you're actually excited to finally meet Tara. It doesn't take long for you to decide which way to go. You make a quick stop at a grocery store on your way there, buying Sam's favorite beer and a bottle of wine, thinking about offering her sister an internship. If she's even half as brilliant as Sam you want her on your team once she graduates.

When you finally knock on the door, expecting to see Sam on the other side, you feel wind get knocked out of you when the woman you've been thinking about since you left the club opens it.

"... Angel?"

_______________

Thoughts?

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega smut #angel

2K notes · View notes

pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Note

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside.

He heard you gasp.

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room.

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing.

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

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ashwhowrites · 6 months

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Love your older Eddie!

Picturing him working somewhere with a sweet, sunshine-y younger woman. Maybe a restaurant or store? He’s got a crush on her, but she’s always getting hit on by the younger, flashier guys who work there so he never thinks he’d have a chance. To hide his feelings he’s been a standoffish grump, so he can’t believe it when she reveals she has a crush on him at the work holiday party.

Angst/fluff/smut whatever you like - I know anything you write will be amazing! Thank you ❤️

I love older Eddie! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Work crush

Working at a small restaurant that focused more on the younger crowd, wasn't the exact job Eddie pictured for himself. But after his car shop got shut down, he just needed anyway to make cash. In a way, it was like he had to start over.

He didn't enjoy how much older he was than everyone else who worked and dined there. He worked with young twenty-year-olds who needed cash throughout college and served bratty teenagers. Other than the cook, he was the oldest one there.

His older looks and charm got him good tips. Younger girls enjoyed the flirtation and teasing games. Eddie delivered that as much as he did their food.

He hated the younger guys he worked with. They were loud, annoying, and sucked at their job. Eddie had to cover their slack as they snuck out back for smoke breaks. But there was one worker that Eddie secretly adored, Y/N.

She was also young, part of a group of annoying guys. But she was polite, hard-working, and sweet. She brightened the restaurant up whenever she walked in. She made Eddie feel butterflies and he loved watching her happiness rub off on everyone. Many people requested her, she was one of the best. And she was damn beautiful. Which sadly, everyone noticed.

Eddie lost count the many times he overheard her being asked out, by customers and the employees. Eddie couldn't help but compare himself to the guys that asked her out. They were all young and looked like they'd be on the cover of a magazine. Eddie was nothing like that, he didn't stand a chance.

When she turned down Beck, even Eddie was shocked. Beck was the heartthrob of the restaurant, almost every girl signed their number with their receipts. He was tall, and fit, with blue eyes and dirty blonde curly hair. He was sweet and polite, and Eddie hated to admit he was perfect. If perfect Beck couldn't get her to say yes, Eddie knew there was no hope for him.

With that realization, he didn't tease himself with the thought. He kept his space and didn't get to know her. He knew if he learned about her, he'd fall for her even more. It was safer to not know who she was. He just admired her from afar. He smiled to himself when he heard her sweet laugh. And he tried not to punch Beck across the face when he flirted with her his whole shift.

~~~

Tonight was the holiday party and Eddie didn't plan to go. He didn't want to party with a group of kids, he felt too old for that shit. The party was at a bar, and the owner had the dumb idea of everyone wearing Christmas sweaters. Eddie didn't own anything like that and he wasn't going to spend a dime to wear the ugly thing once.

Eddie cleaned up his last few tables, the restaurant closed early for their event. He pocketed the tip, ignoring the lipstick kiss and number written on the receipt.

"Poor girl, she was probably hoping you'd call." Eddie jumped as a voice came from behind him. He quickly turned to see Y/N standing there. A teasing smile on her face.

"I think she'll be fine," Eddie said, scooting into the booth to clean the table. He watched as Y/N took a seat across from him. She silently watched as he worked. Her eyes were on his arms and hands.

"Any numbers for you today?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, but not interested." She shrugged. She patted the table, a hint for Eddie to sit down. Eddie threw the towel on the table and took a seat. He didn't want to be that rude to her face.

"Never are." He teased, she smirked and moved on.

"Are you going tonight?" Eddie tried not to roll his eyes at the question.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Why would I?" He argued back

"It's a work party, you work here and you're invited." She said, pointing out the obvious.

"Nah, it would be like a dad hanging out with college kids. It's embarrassing. And I'm not wearing an ugly Christmas sweater."

"Yeah, but it would be like the hot dad you secretly want around. The kind where you go to your friend's house every weekend just to see her dad shirtless in the morning." Y/N said, a certain look in her eye. A look Eddie got from many of his customers. She was flirting....with him. "I have a bunch of my dad's old Christmas sweaters, I'll bring you one!" She stood up excitedly. Like she declared he's going.

"You think I'm hot?" Eddie asked, he couldn't help a tiny smirk that crossed his face. Everyone flirted with her, and she picked to flirt with him.

"I do and I know you'll look hot in the sweater. See you tonight." Eddie stared at her ass as she walked off.

"I'M NOT GOING!" he yelled after her. He heard her sweet laugh and the bell on the door.

~~~

Eddie groaned as he pulled up to the bar. He was two hours late. Mostly because he was debating if he was going to come or not.

He walked into the bar and scanned the room. He found a few of his coworkers scattered around. A few at the pool table, a few at the bar top, and a few in the back booth. He walked to the bar, at least he got to drink through it.

He held his drink and looked for her. He didn't want to make it obvious, but he knew he didn't care who was there, he came for her.

"EDDIE!"

Eddie turned to see a tipsy Y/N, her hands in the air as she raced into his chest. She crushed him in a hug. Eddie slowly hugged her back.

"I knew you'd come!" She said as she pulled back. She was decked out in Christmas wear. An antler headband, that he'd hate if anyone else wore it. But of course, it looked adorable. Red eyeliner and dark lashes. Her lips were red and Eddie stared at them for too long. Her Christmas sweater was full of printed-on lights. A few real lights that flickered. She had a black skirt, tights and black boots. She was glowing.

"Did you know?" Eddie teased, smiling down at her as she leaned on the bar for support.

"Of course. I knew once you found out I wanted you to come, that you would come. " She explained. She grabbed his hand, slightly tripping on her feet.

"Woah okay. Maybe you should sit." Eddie laughed, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"No! We gotta go to my car for your sweater!" She argued, she didn't move away from his touch. She loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around her and the way she could smell his cologne. "Just help me." She said and began walking.

After a few stumbles and many laughs, they made it to her car. She unlocked it and grabbed the sweater from the seat. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it. Eddie removed his touch from her as he grabbed the sweater.

"Put it on!" She said she looked so excited and Eddie didn't have the heart to say no. He gagged on the inside but sucked it up.

"I gotta change my shirt so let's go inside." He said but she didn't move.

"don't be silly. Just change here. I'll cover my eyes." She threw her hands over her eyes, a giggly smile on her face. She was somehow even more adorable drunk.

Eddie didn't fight on it. He took off his jacket and placed it on the top of her car. He took a deep breath, preparing for his skin to hit the cold. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt with one hand and yanked it off. He let it drop to the floor as he put his arms in the sweater, as he pulled it on over his head, he heard a small squeak.

He could see Y/N's fingers split open, allowing her to see through. Eddie felt his cheeks warm at the thought of her peeking.

"Did you just squeak?" He asked, trying to hold back a smile.

"No" she mumbled, embarrassed.

"I can see that you're still peeking." Eddie laughed, she groaned and dropped her hands.

"I couldn't help it! You can't be this hot older guy that I want to ruin my life and expect me to just not stare at you." Sober her wished she'd stop talking.

"Ruin your life? That sounds like a bad thing." Eddie said confused.

"It means I have this huge crush on you. I see you flirt with those young girls and I hate that you never did it with me. I hate that everyone flirts with me, and you haven't." She pouted, she crossed her arms as she sighed sadly.

Eddie let out a small smile, moving closer. He lifted her chin with his finger and leaned down.

"I didn't flirt with you because everyone else got shot down. I didn't think I'd be different. But now that you are loose with your lips, I can admit I've been attracted to you since your first day."

Y/N felt her heart skip multiple beats. She couldn't believe the words he said, but the reality of his lips pressed against hers made her believe. She uncrossed her arms and wrapped her arms around him. Her palms were against his back as he deepened the kiss.

She wasn't sure if the alcohol or the kiss made her dizzy.

~~~

"Where the hell is Y/N? She got sat like ten minutes ago!"

"Where is Munson? His table has been waiting for the check for an hour!"

"I think we need to get back to work," Y/N whined, her hands against the door.

Eddie stood behind her, his hands gripping her hips as his cock pounded inside of her. The harder he went the more she cried. She felt her legs go weak as she tried to keep herself up.

"Not until I cum." Eddie grunted.

~~~

"Anything else I can get for you?" Y/N asked the pen smacking against the notepad. She tried not to seem annoyed with the rowdy group of male teenagers.

"You on the menu?" She tried not to roll her eyes. An unpleased look on her face.

"No, but my boyfriend serves up a delicious knuckle sandwich if you want to try it." She said with a glare.

The boy whistled, almost like her attitude made it more fun.

The second she felt the boy's hand touch her thigh, she snapped.

"EDDIE!"

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut x female reader #ashwhowrites

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year

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Level Up Your Descriptions

I learnt a tip for resume writing that I find applies pretty well to novel writing too. Essentially, you shouldn’t write on your resume that you took orders and handled cash at the till at your restaurant job because people already know what a server does. You should write the unexpected or unique things you bring to the job.

Same with writing descriptions in fiction. There are certain things that people are going to automatically assume about others, about a place, about a thing. For example, you wouldn’t say, “she grabbed out brown coffee” or “the car drove on four wheels.” Because when we think coffee, we already think brown/beans, and when we think car, we already think four wheels.

This seems obvious, until you consider that mentioning that the café is warmly decorated, cozy, and is full of writers working on manuscripts and people catching up over coffee is… exactly that. While maybe a baseline of information like this is appropriate, all you needed to say was ‘café’ and we’re already in this image. For a setting or person that doesn’t mean much to the story, this could suffice.

However, for an important element in the narrative, you’re going to want to bring your descriptions beyond that assumed/obvious baseline.

We know an elderly person is going to have grey hair, shuffle slowly, and speak in a creaky voice. We might not know that their purse seems far too heavy for them, and they have a distinct smell of gunpowder that follows them into rooms.

I’m reading a book right now by Jasper FForde called ‘Jack Spratt Investigates The Big Over Easy’ and it’s full of interesting and unexpected descriptions. Here is one of my favourites:

“The years had been charitable to Mrs. Spratt, and despite her age she was as bright as a button and had certainly not lost any of her youthful zest. Jack put it down to quantity of children. It had either made her tough in old age or worn her out—if the latter, then without Jack and his nine elder siblings, she might have lived to one hundred ninety-six. She painted people’s pets in oils because ‘someone has to,’ collected small pottery animals, Blue Baboon LPs and Jellyman commemorative plates. She had been widowed seventeen years.”

Think of what things make a person or space you know well unique, and try to imbue those details into your work. What makes a place look lived in? What sort of objects or feel or smell does it have? What distinguishes your best friend from others in a crowd?

Feel free to share a description that's really stuck with you!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #descriptions #character description #level up your descriptions

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beneathashadytree · 4 months

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ALL YOURS - VINSMOKE SANJI X READER

Warnings : making out, implied grinding, implied NSFW, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : spicy fluff for my love <3

Word count : 1.1K words

Additional notes : Sanji brainrot go brrrr. Love this man infinitely 🫶🏽

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

“Mon dieu…”

The breathless whimper that left Sanji would’ve been inaudible, had they not been greedily soaking up every single noise that escaped his kiss-swollen lips. Pulling back just half an inch, they looked at him through their eyelashes, trembling with effort and loaded emotions as they did.

He looked perfectly ravished, with hooded eyes and mussed tresses of blonde hair. The faint dusting of freckles of his was almost invisible underneath the blush on his flaming cheeks. His glossy lips were parted, breathing out heavy puffs of air as his chest heaved with the exertion. It was true that he always made it a point to say just how badly they’d ruined him, but seeing the results of said ruination always had pleasure shooting down their spine.

Maybe he’d gotten a little greedier over time, because now his hands were desperately clinging to the fat of their hips, tugging them even closer to him. “Easy there,” they languidly chuckled against his mouth, a sound he quickly swallowed into another open-mouthed kiss, kneading their soft skin as he did. Their teasing was all for naught, as they both knew that more was what they truly wanted.

Time was a concept lost to them. After all, this had all started when Sanji had called them to the aquarium bar, with the excuse of wanting them to taste-test a new mocktail he’d made while staying up at night. Since it was alcohol-free, they couldn’t really blame their impulsiveness on intoxication. In fact, even the mocktail was mostly untouched on the countertop, long-forgotten.

But really, were either of them surprised? When it came to their little midnight rendezvous, they never knew if it was going to be ten minutes or a few hours lost in each other’s eyes and entwined with each other’s bodies. Sanji was all lithe muscle and sharp edges and rough stubble, but he somehow carried all the world’s softness and warmth in him. It was no wonder they could barely think of anything else when tangled together.

His tongue was warm sliding against theirs, and his chest was solid underneath their palms. The lingering scent of cigarettes, musky perfume, and expensive aftershave chased after him. Every kiss felt like it would consume them whole; burn them alive down to the tips of their fingers and burrow deep into their chest. Every time their mouths met in a searing chase, he’d push up into their core, their back arching a little despite themself.

It took all the mental fortitude and strength they had to pull away with a gasp, earning a groan from Sanji who looked desperate enough to keen. “You’re cruel,” he somehow managed to whine out, “Mon amour, I’ve not yet had my fill of you—“

Pressing a single index finger to his lips was all it took to silence him. Perhaps as a sort of punishment, they even leaned in to nip at his jutted lower lip, teasing his pout. “Just a second,” they promised him, clambering off his lap before he could protest too much. “I promise I have a surprise for you.”

Smothering a laugh behind their hand knowing the disheveled state they’d left him in, clothes all messed up and so clearly aching for them that he couldn’t even bother to adjust himself, they pranced away to their room to get the box they’d hidden in their set of drawers.

It had been a hassle hiding it from any possible interlopers. After all, you never knew when Nami was about to sell off half their possessions for more cash, or if Luffy was feeling particularly curious that day and wondered if it would sink in the ocean, consequently jumping after it and nearly drowning.

At the very least, they were glad that they had the chance to get back to their sweet man, a forlorn look on his flushed face from having waited for them (what was, in his opinion) for too long. That needy expression of his could melt them with uncontrollable need. They just wish he’d never ever come to know that, or else he’d become insufferable.

Settled back in his lap, Sanji was all too eager to have them ontop of him, a curious look now on his face. “What’ve you got behind your back, my love?”

“A little gift,” they vaguely said, before thinking for a few moments. “You know how you like to wear rings?”

“Not when I’m cooking, but generally speaking, yes.” He hummed, eyes lighting up as he tried to take a peek behind them. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have, ma chéri—“

Interrupting his little rant with a kiss, that shut him up enough for them to wag a finger at him. “I’m not finished yet, you impatient man.” At that, they shifted a little in his lap. “I’d noticed that you always kept your ring finger bare. Knowing you as well as I believe I do, I think I know why that is.” Carefully, as steadily as they could manage, they pulled that small box from behind their back, popping it open with one hand while the other rested over his shirt. “But would you consider changing that now?”

A choked gasp left Sanji’s parted lips, and his eyes had turned large and glassy. The sparkling ring set into the velvet was not just impossibly gorgeous, but looked ludicrously expensive as well. He was certainly taken aback, though they hoped that it was because of him having not seen this somewhat-impromptu proposal coming, and not as a precedent to being rejected.

All that he could do was stumble over his words, his thoughts getting all jumbled up and his heart pounding furiously against their palm. “Is this… are you asking me to—?”

“Marry me, Sanji, yes.” Their laugh came out a little strained, nerves finally getting to them a little. “If you’ll have me.”

“You say this as if I’m not currently and always painfully wanting you,” he breathed out, briefly closing his eyes, before tugging them into his chest. Collapsing against him, they pretended not to know the reason why he’d hid his face into their neck, and pretended not to notice his half-sniffles. “Yes. Fuck, of course, yes.”

“That’s settled then,” they quietly said, surprised to find a lump in their throat themself. All they could do was just squeeze him back twice as tightly, their hands patting his back fondly as the embrace filled every single nook and cranny in their heart with love.

And if they happened to waste a few more hours holding each other so tight lest they break, locking the door to the aquarium bar behind them as they shared tender touches and pleasured sighs that were lost to the quiet night, then no one was to blame.

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro

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madnessr · 1 year

Text

Last Night

Poly Lost Boys + Michael x Reader

Synopsis: You remembered the day you died vividly, and what had started as one of the best nights of your life quickly turned sour.

Summary: Micheals Ex-Girlfriend received a concerning phone call from Lucy begging her to come and check up on a now distant and unrecognizable Micheal. But what was meant to be a simple reunion and check-in, instead leads to four very rambunctious bikers and an old lover, to be extremely opposed to letting you leave again.

Warning: Suggestive moments, cursing, nonconsensual turning.

Word Count: 6.9k

Part two

The bustling chatter filled the packed room like music, unrelenting as some patrons laughed louder while others cheered softer. Every customer that walked in was rambunctious and different in their own unique way. Although becoming a bartender differed from how you had always pictured your future, ditching your home life was worth every tip and penny you earned throughout the night.

You were a good actor; that's one noteworthy little fact you learned about yourself after a few weeks. Wiping dry a martini glass, your chuckles, greetings, and mischievous remarks almost felt unfamiliar to you as you entertained the customers.

But when the lights dimmed, casting a gentle orange hue against every surface of the bar. The acting, the gestures, and the remarks all began feeling natural.

It left you with a sweet sense of satisfaction, like pushing in the last puzzle piece. But, although the usuals felt more comfortable, you still weren’t to open to the idea of becoming closer to anyone. For all you knew, these people were just here for a drink.

One visit turned into two, then three, until you could recite everyone's orders and names. Your life gradually followed the same schedule as clockwork, checking in either during the morning shifts like Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday instead of staying for the wild nightlife like Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday. A small bell was hanging above the door, giving you and your occasional coworker a heads-up whenever a new patron entered the bar. It was easy to get overwhelmed, the loud bumbling chatter nearly drowning out the music playing. Drunks laughed and cheered with rosy-cheeked grins; others decided to rough-house until Pablo kicked them out.

Filling a pint of beer for your usual customer, you nearly missed the soft chin of bells as someone new entered. The door swung open, and in came a blonde biker who took your breath away. Pulling at your strings as if he was some violinist, plucking at the cords until your chatter turned utterly harmonious. It was like a strange pull, a tugging, nudging aching within your racing heart that simply needed him there. It both excited you and disturbed you. Your banter with the biker didn't last long; he ordered four bottled beers, his gaze never wavering as you shuffled past your coworker making some margaritas for a group of girls as you grabbed the beers out of the freezer and handing them over before grabbing his cash. "You new here?" You finally asked, and you weren't exactly sure what to expect, but his voice matched his looks perfectly.

You snickered, leaning over the bar. Phoenix had some exciting faces to offer, all styles and types. But it was rare you found one that was this attractive.

The biker shrugged; a type of smugness hung across his features. A simple look in his eyes gave you another clue, the man was higher than a kite. "Just haven't seen such a pretty face around in a while." He tapped his hand on the counter with a slight chuckle, stepping back as he waved before walking out the door. You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement as you focused on the other customers. Though, you couldn't quite keep the blonde out of your head.

Not even when your shift ended, wiping a gray-soaked washcloth across the counters and tables. Your coworker cleaned and mopped the floors before you both clocked out. You entered the employee's room, grabbing your belongings before exiting through the back door. You hopped in your car, the streets still thriving, but you only lived several blocks away from the teenage hotspot when things began to gradually cool down. Luckily that's where your shabby little hut came into view.

It wasn't perfect, but decent, and the rent was cheap, so you weren't gonna complain. Parking your bike, you walked up your porch. The old wood creaking underneath your steps, shuffling to grab your keys, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Turning to glance around, you rushed to open the door before entering your safe and humble abode. You locked the door, kicking off your shoes with a sigh as you walked towards your bedroom. You felt a little sluggish now that you were free to be, removing your clothes and hopping in the shower. The piping hot water felt heavenly across your skin, and if you weren't so damn hungry, you would've stayed longer. Loose pajamas, some fluffy socks, and you walked back into the kitchen, heating up some leftovers from the previous night and popping open a can of beer.

You were a rather heavy drinker, one bottle often turned to three, and three would often multiply sooner rather than later. Some people might have called you an alcoholic, but you didn't really mind. Alcohol was your ambrosia, and god fucking dammit, were you willing to die for that nectar. You were on your way to grab the third beer of the night when you heard a small thump against the window.

You found it odd that a bird would hit your window, especially since they weren't nocturnal. But as you wandered over and slid open the window, you watched as a bat squeaked at you. Blonde fluffy fur as it flew away in a rush. You didn't necessarily like bats, but you didn't hate the critters, either. This was your first time seeing one in real life, your eyes flicking to the tree a few feet away from your window. There on the bottom branch, hung the monster, making you laugh. "Sorry, Dracula, the bar closed two hours ago." You were about to close the window wanting to grab your last beer and finish up your movie before heading to bed.

But you halted as you watched the bat struggle on its branch, sloppily falling off and hitting the floor with a small thud. You frowned; you might not know much about bats, but they sure as hell avoided being on the ground. You hesitated before grabbing a towel and an empty shoe box; perhaps, if you were lucky enough, the bat would have flown away by the time you got to it. But unfortunately, the small little bundle of blonde fur still lay frozen on the ground. Sighing, you carefully scoop it up with the towel and lay it in the box before heading back inside.

You sat the box on the kitchen table, sitting down and taking a proper look at the thing. "You must've hit your little head when banging into the window.." You muttered, watching it stare back at you lazily. Whenever it tried to waddle its way out of the box, its little body swayed before eventually tumbling back into the fluffy fabric.

"Looks like you're stuck with me for the night, little guy." You cooed, a small smile tugging at your lips. It let out a small squeak. If you didn't know any better, you would say the bat understood you, turning around and grabbing an apple and a simple cutting knife. You sliced off a small piece, laying it in the box. You didn't know what the hell bats ate, and you weren't going to go out of your way to try and find some insect in your yard, so an apple slice will have to do for now.

Grabbing the box once more, you moved to your bedroom, entering the bathroom through a joined door. You set the box down, waving at the small bat before turning off the lights and closing the door. You got yourself settled and lay down, turning off your bedside lamp and letting out a content sigh. But then you heard it, the muffle whining and whimpers of the small creature in your bathroom. Letting out a groan, you tried covering your face with a pillow to try and drown out the noise, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Getting up with a huff, you turned on the light once more before moving over. You opened the door, flicking on the light as you watched it try and waddle towards you. "Can't you be quiet?" You groan, rubbing your temples.

However, you couldn't help but notice the silence once you had actually acknowledged the bat again, rolling your eyes at its strange antics. "Look, I can't give you attention all night. I need to sleep." You argue, watching the little creature climb up your foot and use its little claws and wings to crawl up your body.

Perhaps it was the previous drink, or your clear disregard for your own sense of self preservation, but you walked back to your bedroom with a shrug. If the little guy just had to sleep with you, then so be it. Sure, the thing could have rabies for all you new but the moment your aching feet lifted themselves onto your soft mattress; you no longer cared.

"Night night, Dracula." You snickered, closing your eyes and falling into a hollow state of peace.

Walking up, once again alone, fills you with a familiar sense of loneliness. You look around for your little companion, but you simply couldn't find him. You opened all of your windows in case you missed the little guy hiding somewhere before walking down into your kitchen for breakfast. You'd never admit it out loud, but having broken up with your long-term boyfriend, Michael, was rough on you. Half the time, you wallow in alcohol and self-loathing, spending any free time working and trying your damn hardest to move on. The relationship's end wasn't anyone's fault, really; when his father's divorce was finally settled, Michael needed to be with his mom, she needed him during this time, and you couldn't blame him for leaving with you. Looking back on it, you both could've made it work somehow, the long distance, but neither of you two found yourself to really fight for that option.

Sipping on your morning coffee was your ritual, reminiscing about your short past, a daily activity. But today, you were interrupted by the obnoxious sound of your phone ringing. Getting up and plucking the phone from the wall, your body tensed at the sweet sound of Lucy, Michaels's mother. She was the kindest person you knew, a relaxed parent that focused on a kid's trust rather than forcing the truth out from your experience.

"Hey honey, how have you been?" Her familiar, parental tone hummed over the phone. The sound tugged a smile across your lips. "Dandy, what about you, Lucy?" You knew better than to know Lucy wasn't just calling to check in with you, and although every fiber of your being wanted to cut to the chase, you managed to stay polite. Lucy let out a hum, happy with your answer. "I'm good—we're all good. But, listen, I'm sorry to call you for this, but it's about Michael." You nodded, although you knew she couldn't see you; you stayed silent, asking her to continue. "He's changed, distant. He hasn't been the same, and Sam says he's been involved with some worrisome people. I know it's a lot, but I can't help but worry. He won't talk to me, but he'll talk to you. I'll provide you with a room and everything; just please check in for me."

You could tell she was pleading; her tone was very clear with that. But could you really do this? You and Michael broke up, but you've been together since freshman year. You knew his family, and he knew yours; even if you weren't together anymore, you were still friends. With a long sigh, you rubbed your temples.

"Alright, I'll be there."

You don't plan on staying long, glancing at the backseat of your car where a small suitcase sits. You brought the essentials, but since it was summer regardless, you wanted to consider this a short beach-side vacation for yourself as well. It made coming to Santa Carla more reasonable.

Following the address Lucy promptly gave you afterward, you drove up the narrow driveway to an old-looking house. It must've been a generational home bought in the 40s if you had to guess. The sun was already setting by the time you arrived; stepping out of the car, you were greeted by an excited Lucy. However, you knew her better than that. The small stress wrinkles give away how worried she must've actually been.

She embraced you in a big bear-like hug, making you chuckle as she brought you in for some coffee. You sat inside, shielded by the hot California sun, as you stirred some creamer into your coffee. You two sat in the kitchen, a small desk separate from the main dining table.

"So, care to tell me a little more about what's been happening?" You ask, knowing that if you avoided the subject, so would Lucy. She let out a sigh, rubbing her temples as she nearly deflated before you.

"You know it's been hard for them—the divorce. Sam wasn't that close with his father; I'm afraid he experienced a more absent father figure than Micheal did. No, Micheal grew up with everything being perfect; I had a good marriage, and he had a good father and a stable home life." Lucy hummed, taking a long sip of her coffee.

"I know it wasn't easy for them. For any of us, really, but as a parent, I can't help but wonder. Did I do the right thing? Was Santa Carla really what the boys needed?"

You weren't exactly sure what to say; both you and Michael were adults at this point and were mature enough to have a conversation like this. But before Lucy was your friend, she had been more of a mother figure for you. Seeing her struggle so much makes you frown, a heaviness tugging at your lips. People really could be awful sometimes. You grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as you smiled at her.

"Listen, I know being a parent is hard. But you're a good mom, okay? You have been since the start. But you need to listen; this move wasn't just for them. It was for you as well. You suffered a shitty divorce and dealt with an even worse ex-husband. You deserve this new start; let me handle Michael; I'm sure he'll come around." You watched as small tears seemed to prickle at her eyes, "Oh you!" She sang before pulling you into a hug. "I've missed you." She added, rubbing small circles on your back. You couldn't help but smile, not saying it but letting the small squeeze you returned to the hug speak for you.

The sun had already set as you managed to unpack your things in the guest room, tackling Sam in a big-old sibling-like hug before heading to the boardwalk with him. Lucy had left a few hours earlier for work, which is where you were headed now. Sam led the way as he filled you in on Micheals's behavior. To say you were concerned now was an understatement; nothing Micheal did now made sense. This wasn't like him.

You walked over to the Videotape store and found Lucy glancing at the videotapes decorating the walls. You walked around, glancing at the movies that might interest you. You eventually ended up in the same aisle as a brown biker, someone who vaguely reminded you of the blonde one you met days ago. You were about to pick up The Shining when the man interrupted.

"You new here?" He eventually asked, his gaze lingering for an unusually long time. You struggled, letting out a dry chuckle. "That obvious, huh?" You hummed, feeling more at ease. The man was more stoic than you were used to, but the moment you heard his own amused chuckling, your tense shoulders gradually dropped. The man was mesmerizing, a special charm in every little trinket and clothes covering him. You felt an annoying sense of deja vu, feeling your heart push and pull your subconscious self towards this man. To gush about his leather jacket or talk about anything else for hours. He seemed to smile, catching your lingering gaze before clearing his throat and pointing towards one of the videotapes. "The Shining's good, but if you're into that, I'd recommend The Thing and Nightmare on Elms Street too." All you could do was nod, spinning around when you saw Lucy. She smiled at the brunette, handing you something as you rushed out of the shop. Any tapes and movies are utterly forgotten, and you search for space. You made brief eye contact with the man Lucy had been talking, feeling unsettled by him.

You walked along the patios of the shops lining the boardwalk; they were lightly covered in sand. A grainy texture underneath your shoes. You sat there for a moment before your eyes caught the sight of a familiar head of messy brown hair.

Jumping to your feet, you were off. Not sparing anyone a second glance, not until you were about to reach Micheal. You could feel it, that nostalgic giddiness you usually felt whenever you and Micheal met, but during that time, you were still together. You could jump into his arms and kiss his dimpled cheek; the sudden realization that you hadn't actually seen the brunette since you broke up made your heart squeeze. Seeing him felt more real, and the growing realization that nothing would ever be the same again made the air feel heavy.

You paused as you saw a girl with bouncy curls rush over to him, a small boy close behind as she linked their arms. You hadn't realized until then that a part of you was still clinging onto a foolish, utterly bitter sense of hope that things could return to the way they were. You couldn't have been more foolish, the excitement within you replaced with a heavy knot in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to turn around, run away, and drink until you cough your lungs out on some empty street bench. But you couldn't; you weren't here for Michael or yourself; you were here for Lucy's sake.

Taking in a deep breath, you walked over and cleared your throat. Michael had walked up to a group of guys, two of whom you recognized. They turned to you, four eyes curiously staring at one, another pair looking upset, and lastly, Michaels were surprised.

“Y/N?”

"The one and only." You rolled your eyes, trying to retain a sense of normality despite your emotional turmoil. The hippy-look-alike glanced between you two, taking an almost protective step in front of Micheal. "Who are you?"

Before Micheal could answer, you beat him to it. "A friend." You mused, shaking her hand. "I'm Y/N, an old childhood friend from Phoenix." She seemed to relax at the information, nodding with a gentle smile. "I'm Star, Micheal's girlfriend."

Hiding your soft grimace, you nodded with a strained smile.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?"

"Not going to introduce us first, Mikey?" The smooth voice hummed out, but the tone was laced with something else. You couldn't place it, but it almost sounded dissatisfied. You couldn't really answer before Micheal grabbed your arm, a bit too tight for your liking. "Stay out of it, David."

Micheal dragged you away, taking advantage of your stunned state. You suddenly understood what Sam and Lucy had been worrying about. Micheal didn't act like that, at least not for the past few years you've known him. He shoved and pushed his way through the crowd, though that wasn't very hard considering how the people practically split just to avoid you two. He didn't look back at you, nor did his grip loosen until you two were somewhere at the end of the boardwalk; the crowd lessened with every meter.

When you finally came to a stop, you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug. One of his arms snaked around your waist, a grip firm but gentle. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair, practically cradling your head as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

If you didn't have whiplash from the sudden rushing, you definitely had some now from the abrupt affection. He seemed to be, inhaling you? "Micheal." You nudged his chest, finally able to separate yourself from a very unwilling brunette.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" His voice was gentle, careful even. As if you'd run away again, which was odd since you weren't the one who left.

"I came to visit you; I see you've made some new friends.." You wandered over to the railing, hopping on carefully.

"Yeah, a lot's happened." He murmured, rubbing his neck to relieve his phantom discomfort. You nodded, silently asking him to go on. "Your family's worried about you; what's been going on, Mikey?" You nudged further, wanting to get to the core of the problem. You couldn't try and help if you didn't know what the hell was going on, but your prodding seemingly did the opposite as Michael became visibly more uncomfortable. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, rubbed his neck and brushed his fingers through his hair.

"I know, I know—a lot has been going on. I just can't tell you about it." He settled on that answer, getting closer before resting beside you. He leaned his forearms against the railing, glancing at the ocean.

"Will you be staying here for long?" You could tell he was trying to change the subject but ultimately decided that patience was the key in this situation. But apart, small and subtle, I enjoyed the way his question almost sounded pleading.

"Mhm, took a few weeks off for vacation. Lucy's giving me her spare room; I hope you don't mind." He shook his head, his signature crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Nah, I'm glad. Haven't spent any time with my girl in a while."

"Your girl?"

He stuttered at that, "I mean—you know, guess that kinda just slipped." He seemed embarrassed, but you weren't gonna have it. What about Star?

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"Star? No, she isn't my girlfriend. It's complicated, but we haven't ever really gotten official." He explained, rubbing his temples at the thought.

You nodded, "Then don't call me your girl Micheal. We broke up; I'm your friend. Please remember that." You reminded him as gently as you could, noticing the subtle flash of pain across his features before he nodded.

Feeling the sudden heaviness in the air, you frowned, looking around as you thought of a way to change the subject. "So, who exactly are your friends?"

"Allow me to take charge of this one, Micheal." A deep, familiar voice mused. The blonde mullet-wearing dude always seemed like a cat, sneaky and quiet but always in the mood to toy with something, in this case, someone.

"Since our Mikey seemed to hide you from us, which is awfully rude of you. I'll take charge from here." He stepped closer, glancing you over. He had an odd look in his eyes and almost seemed angry with Michael for taking you away. However, before the blonde could talk, a rocker look-like, the man you had sworn you saw in your bar prior bounced up beside you and slung his arm around your shoulder.

You ignored the tingles you felt when your bare skin met his but instead chucked it up to your lack of action recently. "I'm Paul, sweetheart!" He stared at you for a bit too long for comfort before moving on. "That's Marko, David, and the brooding guy over there is little ol' Dwayne."

"Why did Dwayne get an extra introduction, and I'm just Marko?" You couldn't help but chuckle at the banter, feeling like the group was awfully playful. So what was the problem? You could see Micheal having a good time with them, so why the sudden change.

"Well, I'm Y/N. Michael's, old friend." You formally introduced, not expecting much, but Dwayne nodded. All of them seemed to be in their own world, Dwayne appearing the most interested. Had you known how focused they actually were on you, analyzing your heart beat, body language, anything they could grasp onto you would've run.

"What brings you to Santa Carla Y/N." David leaned against the railing, his cold gaze curious. "Seems like a pretty far distance to go for just a friend." He added, and at that moment, you got the sense that you just couldn't lie to David. That cold, icy gaze practically looked through you. As if he's had years of experience understanding human behavior, it unnerved you.

"Well, I'm also here for a vacation." You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck.

He gave you a look that simply screamed that he didn't believe you before moving on. "Are you gonna be staying here for long, sugar?" Marko took you out of that uncomfortable situation, making you nod with a hum. "Depends on what you consider long, but I'll be here for a few weeks."

"Well, we ought' to show you around here then. Show you all Santa Carla's got to offer!" Marko hollered, which received agreeing gazes from everyone except Micheal, who appeared rather upset. But you were here, and what better way to understand Micheal than by meeting his friends. "The hell with it." You mused, a grin tugging at your lips at the cheers and eager looks around you.

So, you explored Santa Carla just like Marko had said. Practically losing your soul during the fast carnival rides, winning petty prizes, eating greasy food, fucking with surfer nazis, and stealing some things here and there. So now you were here, surrounded by the starry sky and the roaring ocean. A campfire crackling on the sand as you were sitting in between Michael and Dwayne. With a beer bottle in hand, everyone seemed relaxed despite the playful fighting happening between Paul and Marko.

"So, tell me a little about yourself. How'd you come to know our boy Mikey here?" David had been on your ass since you met; he didn't let your lie slide earlier, even if he hadn't acknowledged it. He was so eager to know about the true nature between you and Micheal, and at the question, you couldn't help but notice Star perk up beside Micheal.

"Nothin' much to tell, I'm afraid. I met Michael when he was interning at his father's mechanics shop when I finally got a car from my old man, only to have it break down on me several weeks later. That is where we met." You glanced at Michael, seeing a faint smile tug on his lips as he seemingly played with the sand.

"I was new, and he offered me a tour around town. One thing led to another, and we became friends. Didn't get together until what, junior year? Yeah, around that time." You add, watching as Paul and Marko suddenly stop rough-housing. "Wait, you two were together?" Paul asked, staring between your two. "You said you were just friends," Marko added, an odd glint in his eyes. You shrugged, taking a quick swig of your beer.

"We are just friends, Mikey and I broke up when he left for Santa Carla." You glanced at the brunette, seeing the way his smile had dissolved. There was a glaze to his eyes as if he was somewhere else completely. You understood; perhaps that's why you guys got together in the first place. You simply understood Michael, the way he was currently dancing with you again in his memories. It was apparent to you.

"Ah." The sound of David's stern hum of acknowledgment made you turn your attention back to the group of boys. They all seemed to be in thought, but none looked too pleased with your previous relationship. "Been happily single ever since—well, I haven't really been looking, to be honest." You added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, you hear that, boys?" Paul grinned, getting up and moving behind you. He rested his hands on your shoulder, leaning down to rest his chin on the top of your head. "She's open for the taking!"

"That is not what I meant—"Before you could finish your sentence, Paul and Marko picked you up. They cheered as they ran towards the inky black ocean water, grinning to themselves as Paul held your hands and Marko your feet. They swung you threateningly over the water's edge. Your screams were filled with laughter as they grinned.

"What do you say, Paul? Should our little sunflower get a drop in the ocean for lying to us?" Paul grinned a mischievous cat-like grin. Glancing at Marko, the expression was practically mirrored. "I don't know, Paulie; maybe she should. Wash off all of that Michael stench off of her."

"Don't drop me! Fuck you, seriously. Don't you dare!" You warned, trying to wiggle yourself out of their death grip.

"Nah, threats won't work on us, honey. Maybe a reward will work, hmm. What do you think, Paul?"

"I think a kiss ought' to do it," Paul answered, glancing between you and his devil-like companion. "Couldn't agree more."

"Fine, fine, have your stupid kiss but let me down!"

As if on cue, they synced up. "If you say so!" Marko cheered as, with a powerful swing, they threw you over and into the water. You let out a shrill screech, landing in the water ungraciously. Once you popped back up, you glared at the two.

Wincing as you tried to get up, you promptly plopped back into the water with a splash. They heard you loud and clear, and Michael was already by Marko and Paul's side. David and Dwayne followed, but not as quickly.

"You okay, sugar?" Paul asked, frowning as you shook your head. You held out a hand to him, silently asking for help to get up. When he walked over to you, not minding his now wet boots. He grabbed your hand, not expecting you to harshly tug him down and into the water with you.

You cackled, wanting to commit the blonde's dumbfounded expression to memory. "Damn girl, you made me worried!" He explained, and Marko nearly doubled over laughing. He splashed you, wrapping his arm around your waist under the water. You froze, not expecting the contact. "That was rather evil of you, sunflower," he mused, in a tone far too low and husky than you had expected coming from the rocker-wannabe.

"And throwing me into the water, wasn't?" You mimicked, turning to glance at him. He laughed, pulling you closer. You could feel his breath taunting your skin; his gaze was all too narrow and lustful for your liking. He looked hungry, practically starved, as he grinned at you. "But I am evil, sunflower, and the one thing you can trust in a bad guy is that he'll always do something awful. It's the good ones you gotta be careful about," He hummed, his gaze shifting to your lips. He lifted his hand, cupping your jaw as he traced his thumb against your lip. "The good ones are a wild card, baby; you never know when they're finally gonna give in." He whispered, and at that moment, you knew he wasn't just talking about petty, mean deeds.

He was referring to you if the position you weren't in wasn't clear enough. However, before you could respond, Michael broke you two up. Unable to form a proper response, you followed your old friend, watching as he returned you to the rest of the group.

"What were they thinking? You'll catch your death being wet this late at night!" Micheal murmured as he complained, making you roll your eyes. "I'm fine; we were just having some fun." You defended, watching as Marko slung his arm around your shoulder. "Yeah, chill out, Mikey."

Dwanye seemed to agree with Micheal instead as he grabbed your hand and gently led you back to the campfire to warm up again. He didn't mind the sudden chill now; your body was still fired up from your earlier encounter with Paul. You felt a heavy cloth drape over your shoulders, glancing to see David's coat loosely set over you. He sat down beside you, handing you your previously abandoned beer bottle.

"Thanks," you smiled.

"It's already so late, yet you don't seem even the slightest bit tired. Do you usually stay up this late?" He asked though he didn't look at you at first. One of his hands loosely held a cigarette, letting a puff of smoke escape through his lips. His eyes focused on the blazing fire in front of you before gradually looking into your eyes. Once again, you could feel your ability to lie fade, not with such a dominating gaze practically reading you.

"I work at a bar most days of the week; you get used to late nights." You explained, being honest for once. He nodded, seemingly appreciating your bluntness.

"Doesn't sound like that's the safest job." Dwayne chimed in, an odd look of concern across his features. You weren't sure what to make of that look; you weren't close enough to garner that concern. But couldn't deny the fluttering in your stomach, fuck, how starved were you for affection?

"Neither is staying in Santa Carla, but here we are." You murmured, a little embarrassed at yourself for being so desperate. You couldn't really describe it, but being around them felt right. Having their attention felt right, and a part of you wanted to keep it. David chuckled at your answer, subtly resting his hand on your thigh.

"Yet here we are." He repeated, his deep voice sending shivers down your back.

"Fuck." You heard someone hiss loudly, everyone's gaze turning to Micheal, who was staring at his watch. "David, it's nearly sunrise." He cursed sternly, sending panicked looks across everyone except the leader. You were surprised yourself, having completely lost track of time. But you were a little confused as all the guys got up and guided you back to the pier.

"You guys got a curfew or something?" You asked, biting the inside of your cheek. Dwanye chuckled as he and the others walked over to their bikes. "Miss us already, sugar?" Paul hummed, getting on his bike. Micheal shook his head, taking your hand gently in his. He caressed the chilled hand with his thumb, and you couldn't help but notice that Micheals's hand was just as cold as yours. "We just have something we need to do; see you tomorrow?"

"You're not going home?" You asked, slightly surprised at the sudden change in atmosphere. "No, like I said, we have something planned." He seemed more nervous, rubbing his neck. A nervous tick he developed when Michael was lying. But you didn't feel like pushing, so you let go of his hand with a sigh.

He walked to his bike, the five starting their engines with a powerful roar. Paul and Marko wave as they drive off, Dwayne following. Michael stared longingly at you, starting his back before driving off too. David moved but promptly stopped before you. One of his feet resting on the floor. He caressed your cheek with his gloved hand, watching you carefully. You felt pulled as if the boy's leaving was pulling your heart along with them. "You think to much." David hummed teasingly, staring into your eyes. "Come back to the boardwalk tomorrow; I'll come and find you," he instructed, not leaving any room for debate.

"How'll you manage that?" You taunted, your breath hitching as he promptly leaned closer.

But instead of a snarky remark, his hand that rested on your cheek slid back. Tangling his fingers in your hair, keeping a firm grip on the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a searing kiss. Sparks flew, and you were sure you could have burnt yourself at the searing heat of the kiss. David wasn't gentle, and there was a dominating eagerness to his lips that commanded your utter acceptance. His teeth playfully nipped your bottom lip, pulling it slowly as he parted. You pulled away with lidded eyes, observing the same intoxicated look flash across David's features.

"See you tomorrow, baby." He chuckled, roaring his engine before leaving you. It took you several minutes to recuperate, walking back into the main center of the boardwalk.

Walking past a closing video store, you weren't really paying attention to your surroundings. The sound of a man's voice pulling you out of your daze, looking around your eyes connected with those of a middle-aged man. You recognized him as the video store owner, who must've said something to you.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You asked, now focused on the man.

"I said you should stay away from those bikers; they're nothing but trouble." His words seemed stern, yet they had the unnerving power to upset you.

"Yeah, you know them or something?" You asked in an accusatory tone, hearing the man shake his head with a small sigh.

"You've got the same attitude as them; if it were up to me, I wouldn't let you in. But Lucy always wanted a daughter." The man's tone turned sadistic as he got closer, pushing you into a nearby alleyway. Panic shot through you, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. But before your fight or flight response could kick in, you were knocked against the wall with such force the wind was knocked out of you. Leaving you disoriented and wheezing for air.

You felt his fangs graze your skin, a small sob escaping you. A fear of dying, hate for pain, and lingering betrayal being too much for your eyes to hold. What did Lucy have to do with this? You didn't deserve to die, not like this!

You were scared. One of your hands placed itself on his chest, clenching the fabric of his jacket between your fingers as you desperately tried pushing him away. Thrashing as much as you could. When the pain finally arrived, you winced harshly and gasped. The hold on the man's jacket grew tighter as his jaw clenched. It fucking hurt. Hurt like hell. But he refused to move, not wanting to make the feeling worse. The longer you stood there, the more accustomed you felt to the dull aching. It was an awful feeling, leaving you feeling dirty all over, but whatever was happening, it sparked hopes that you might get out of this alive.

You could feel particular sharp sparks of pain whenever you moved, shifting the puncture wounds. Your mind grew cloudy the longer he drank.

"Stop.." You whispered, the words sounding frail and weak. The man needed to stop. Your body was slowly growing light, the feeling of dizziness and sleepiness festering inside you. The hand holding onto him loosened its grip before slowly falling against your side. Your tears had stopped a few minutes ago, your cheeks glistening from the wetness. Your eyes grew dull in color, silently fighting yourself to stay awake. You could practically hear your heart hammering against your chest, each beat loud and overwhelming as it rang through your ears.

It felt like you were dying, and a part of you was convinced you actually were.

Your body was in a state of searing, burning pain. Your heartbeat rang like cathedral drums, harsh and loud before the sound turned quiet. One beat, a pause, then silence. Your body limp and cold, your lifeless body let the blood of its murderer wash down your tongue. Suddenly everything began to burn inside you; your mouth ached horribly, and your fingertips too. Your body felt freezing cold until some drop of relief washed over you, and through your mouth came a small stream of euphoria. Practically lighting your every fiber on fire. Your eyes opened, no longer their usual color but a vivid yellow. Your hand instinctively grabbed the man's wrist, your mind going blank as you sink your teeth into the crimson liquid.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you closed your eyes, swallowing greedily as you calmed the burning inside yourself. You didn't let the man budge, your new, sharpened nails practically digging into his forearm. You felt insatiable; no matter how hurriedly you lapped and sucked on the wound, you wanted more, more blood.

You didn't relent; you practically couldn't. But the urge to look up at your murderer was undeniable. You pulled away, a small trail of the man's blood trailing down the corner of your lips as you looked up at him. Large, doe-eyed hungry eyes stared up at him, the look of a pure predator.

You had died in that alleyway, after all; a part of you just knew that. With speed unrecognizable, you ran away, not sure where, but far, far, away from the boardwalk.

The next night, David and the others did not find you at the boardwalk. But none of them were just going to let you go like that, no, not when mates were so hard to find. It was hard enough for them to have let you go last night, and if it wasn't for the threat of the approaching sun, they wouldn't have. Their boardwalk princess was missing, and there would be hell to pay if they didn't find you soon.

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