This Is The Way

She/Her || 27

[jobean12-blog]

Anything For Love

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader/ The Mandalorian x reader

Word Count: 300

Summary: The Mandalorian shows you just how thoughtful he is and it means everything!

Author’s Note: This is for June 25th of @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles and the song, ‘Rude by Magic! And the lyric: “she’s in love with me.” Thank you both bunches for hosting and thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always🩷🩷🩷Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: just a soft and sweet moment of love, Mando is the best, fluffs

June Jukebox Scribbles Masterlist

“We’re running out of time,” Colonel Ward says. “But I may have one last lead on Janu’s location.”

“And if it’s wrong?” you ask.

Zeb looks as though he’s about to say something brash, but his eyes widen at someone’s approach and his mouth snaps shut.

A warm, muscular arm bands around your chest from behind, a familiar scent engulfing your senses.

“I don’t like waking up with you not in my bed,” Djarin’s gruff voice rumbles against your ear.

You twist in your seat, finding him already dressed in his armor, except for his helmet, dark hair still deliciously disheveled. His mouth closes over yours, capturing your lips in a deep, decadent kiss. It’s slow and thorough and makes you forget it’s right in front of everyone at the Imperial base.

Someone whistles loudly.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Zeb chuckles as you break apart.

With his arm still around you, Djarin reaches for your glass of tea, taking a sip of the warm liquid. “I don’t know how you drink this stuff!” he says, making a face.

Your lips turn down. “What do you mean? You drink it all the time.”

Djarin huffs out a laugh. “Never.”

“But it’s always in your bag. You have it on the ship!”

“Who’d you think that was for?” He kisses your neck gently. “You told me on the first night we met that it’s your favorite. I keep getting it because of you.”

Warmth blooms throughout your body and you whisper, “let me get you something you like.” Reluctantly he lets you go and sits in the seat you vacated, long legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

“Really? Tea?” Zeb says, his eyes bright.

“She’s in love with me,” Djarin answers. “And I’ll do anything to keep it that way.”

[navybrat817]

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.”

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[mishkatelwarriorgoddess]

OH NAVY!!!! ❤️🥰😍

My goodness woman, I was NOT prepared for this lovely hit to my senses.

Chet - being every cliche for an asshat that has ever lived

Bucky - Silver Fox, Sugar Daddy, Alpha. and just HMPH! all rolled into a package that makes anyone who THINKS of insulting me sorry for their sorry existence.

and Reader - an Omega designer in training with hopes and dreams who just HAPPENS to be Bucky's MATE!!!!

❤️🥰😍

aoljfdksjflkjsdlkfjksdljfkia'ljdsf;ljsdpiofurewipojfp;ljsakldjf;lskjdfpokalj

[navybrat817]

Bucky puts all alphas to shame (with the exception of Steve because he is also amazing). Chet more than deserved to be put in his place. And you deserve to have your dreams come true. Thank you so much! ❤️

[tw1sters]

Sympathy is a Knife

Your lives have always moved in parallel: close enough to touch, yet separated by an irreconcilable distance. Bucky is a prince and you are his sister's lady-in-waiting. But love ignores rank, and so does the kingdom's newest desire-inducing substance.

▸ PAIRING: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, dubcon because of sex pollen, so much yearning, slight hurt/comfort, public sex, porn with too much plot tbh, possessive!bucky, degradation, filthy talk that border on dubcon but know that she wants to be there as much as him, breeding kink, insecurities, both virgins, bucky is nasty and a lil mean under the influence, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies ▸ WORD COUNT: 16.1K ▸ A/N: "this will be a short pwp," i say, famous last words. thank you so much to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for organizing this collab. dedicated to @artficlly in honor of pursuit of jade episode 37 iykyk — i'm gifting you the sex pollen by the stream that we never got <3 hope you enjoy this baby of mine. if you do, please let me know your thoughts (even if they are incoherent) through reblogs, comments, and likes!!

↤ main masterlist | bwat summer masterlist

Princes James Buchanan Barnes has everything he could ever want. A palace fit for the king that he will eventually become. Mountains of jewels that shine brighter than the sun and all the stars combined. Bespoke dress uniforms made from the finest fabrics, adorned with elegant aiguillettes and medals of his valor in battles fought and won. Countless women and men alike throwing themselves at his feet for the opportunity of him even sparing them the briefest of glances.

But the only one he truly wants, the only person he truly wishes to hold, is the one thing he cannot have — and it’s you.

You’ve been destined to become Princess Becca’s helper since you were born. Your mother had served the family for two generations; you were born in the palace, raised in the hustle and bustle of the castle with all the live-in staff. You spent years refining your cooking skills in the kitchen that seemed to function twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, decades toiling away in the garden with the landscaper to take care of the queen’s prized roses, and occasionally sneaking into the palace library for a quick novel or two when your mother took her eyes off you.

It was a natural pathway for someone who wasn’t born to nobility yet was constantly surrounded by it. 

Fortunately, growing up in this kingdom that is governed with kindness and compassion means that there are paths to advancement that you never anticipated, mainly becoming Becca’s lady-in-waiting. The two of you had been raised together, joint at the hip, to the point where you may not even distinguish which of you is the real princess. The king and queen had welcomed you as if you were one of their own. 

Of course, you know that it’s far from the truth. Despite their accommodations and generosity, you’ve always known your place in society. There is a reason why Becca is the one covered in silver and gold, while you’re handstitching the holes in your clothes. She’s seated at a table for twelve with a wide array of dishes and pastries all created to her liking, while you join your fellow staff members for a family meal, cramped together in a table meant for half of you. 

You’ve always drawn that line, regardless of how many times Becca tries to cross it.

“Come now, you must come with me to Viscountess Romanoff’s ball!” She huffs, stomping her feet as she always does when she does not get what she wants.

You let out a sigh and Becca’s face falls as she prepares herself for your disappointing response. “Princess—” she glares and you bite your tongue, “Becca, that is not my place.”

“Of course, it is! Many ladies-in-waiting go to these balls.”

“Ladies-in-waiting that were born into nobility,” you correct her with a look. 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re my lady-in-waiting and I need you there to— to— fix my dress!”

You know it isn’t true — well, it is only true to the extent that Becca may become ridiculously inebriated and has to be stowed away before she can go as far as risk the royal family’s reputation, and you somehow have become the most reliable person for those circumstances. 

However, there are many there that will surely keep her on her toes — literally, including her brother. 

“Did you hear that? She needs you to fix her dress. You simply have to attend now.”

The interruption brings both of your attention to the door where Bucky is leaning against the doorway, a smirk curled on his lips. His eyes skip past Becca and land on you and — heaven almighty. 

He drinks you in, you in your simple gown, yet his sapphire eyes warm all the same. They darken like the evening has arrived far too early and the moon is nowhere in sight. His smile dims slightly, if only for him to clamp down on the inappropriate sound that climbs up his throat. 

Bucky has never been good at subtlety. 

You drag your eyes away and back to the lady that you’re supposed to be waiting on. The lady who is currently huffing and puffing as she plops down on the sofa with a scowl. “Will you please convince her to come, Buck?”

He steps further into the room. The air is a little heavier, like his presence has sucked all the oxygen out of the space — but only for you. Your fingers twist quietly together in front of you as you force yourself to stand upright, force yourself to keep looking ahead when his arm brushes yours — an inappropriate proximity for a prince and a member of the staff. 

Discreetly, you take one step to the side, just enough to put distance that allows you room to breathe, lest you risk Becca suspecting something transpiring between the two of you.

“You should come,” Bucky murmurs. His gaze is warm on your cheek. His blue eyes no doubt soft as they take you in. 

You resist and instead address Becca. “That would be unacceptable, Pr— Becca. Please. The crown prince will be in attendance and the viscountess’ staff are more than capable. I’ve met many of them and you will be in good hands.”

“Well, the crown prince would appreciate his ability to drink the viscountess’ liquor supply for the night without worrying about whether his dear sister can control her alcohol,” Bucky chimes in, which earns a roll of the eyes from Becca. 

“I can control my drinking, Bucky. Can you control your deviant desires in the presence of all the other women in the ton?”

Your heart skips a beat. A little nick in your chest to draw blood. You can practically hear the smile wipe off Bucky’s face, his face red as he grits his teeth. “You know that’s not true, sister dear. I’ve never once laid a hand on them.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t try,” Becca shoots right back.

Another scratch, enough to peel back another layer to your bleeding heart. 

It shouldn’t — doesn’t — matter. There has never been anything between you and Bucky. He is the crown prince and you were born to be a lady’s maid at best; it was only the queen’s philanthropy and Becca’s friendship that you were granted this promotion. 

Bucky is meant to marry a princess from another kingdom, or at the least someone born to a proper, respectable family with titles. 

Neither of which is you.

“Rebecca Marie Barnes.” Bucky’s voice is sharp; it slices through the air and straight towards Becca whose face goes cold the moment it lands. 

Becca’s lips purse in annoyance. “I’m going to look for a dress for tonight.” Then she’s lifting her dress and stomping away.

You make a move to follow, only for Bucky to swiftly take your hand. You don’t turn. Bucky forces you to when he tugs you towards him, spinning you around so you land against his chest. You’re quick to flatten your palm on it to push yourself away, but instead, he catches your hand and presses it over his heart. 

“It’s not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve never once shown any of them any interest.”

Don’t cry. You’d be a fool to cry over a prince. You steel your gaze as you look up at him. “It would be in your right to do so. A crown prince is meant to take a wife.”

Irritation flickers across his eyes. “There’s only one woman I wish to take as a wife but she seems to deny me that right at every turn. What say you to that?”

“A crown prince is meant to take a proper wife. One fit for the ton.”

“I don’t give a damn about the ton.”

“Bucky!” The chiding comes out on instinct, his name sliding on your tongue like water. Habit — one that you should’ve curbed a long time ago if it weren’t for the two of them always insisting that you call them by their names. 

Bucky’s face thaws, mouth curving into a delighted smile. You try to extract yourself from his grasp again but fail to do so when he ducks his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shiver snakes up your spine as he drags you closer to him. “I love when you say my name. I’d love it even more if you called me your husband.”

Your traitorous heart slams against your ribs. Foolish desires plague your very being. It’s been decades since you were first introduced to Bucky, ten years since you first defended Becca against Bucky’s teasing, and far too long since you first fell for the crown prince. 

It’s not as if your feelings are not reciprocated; Bucky has made it clear from the start that he adores you dearly. Adores you in a way that is far from acceptable for a prince. But your mother has reminded you time and time again that, no matter how intimately acquainted you are with them, you will never be one of them. 

And Bucky deserves a partner — an equal. Someone who can stand tall and proud beside him without the risk of gossip and mockery. You would only give him grief and he would certainly bore of you in the future once the thrill of the chase is done. 

So you exert more effort this time to push him away. “Prince Barnes, I must ask you to maintain some semblance of decorum. If you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to the princess.” You do a small curtsy, ignoring the flash of pain in his eyes as you walk away.

This is how it’s supposed to be. This has always been your fate.

“You have to try this on. Please? For me?”

It begins as an innocent enough request. Becca was in the midst of selecting her gown for the evening and that meant that you were right by her side, providing her with the necessary words of affirmation for her to make a decision. 

These are the most challenging questions that royalty have to deal with. Sometimes you dream of living such a comfortable life, pampered daily with the sweetest of treats and lavishing yourself with the praise of society. However, you know that things aren’t so simple. There are restrictions that come with being part of this family.

You saw firsthand how many classes Becca had to take as part of her education — in addition to the typical academic courses, she had to spend hours learning proper etiquette, how to sew, how to play a musical instrument, how to entertain and host a gathering. They had to prepare her for her future as a wife. While options are limited for women in society, they are practically a straight-line path for a princess who is not in line for the throne. 

Her career, her future, her partner — everything is almost pre-destined.

One day, Becca will marry someone. While she dreams of a happily ever after, she also understands the political nature of matrimony. To maintain power, you have to seek power. She may not be here a few years from now when she’s officially married off to extend her father’s reign. Her parents have insisted that they would never force her to marry, but Becca has always had a strong sense of responsibility.

You both admire and hold sympathy for her. 

Unfortunately, in this very moment, you would like to push her out of the carriage so you too could make your escape. Somehow, she has managed to rope you into going to the ball — in one of her dresses. 

“This is completely inappropriate,” you hiss. “I should not be here.”

“I want you here.”

“Becca,” you exhale deeply, “if your parents knew about this.”

“It’s a masquerade ball! Nobody will know.”

“I’m coming with you! I fear that makes it quite obvious.”

“I’ll tell them you’re one of our very distant cousins — one from a land far, far away.”

You pinch your nose as the carriage rattles, the silk of your glove glides along your skin. Pulling your hand away, you can’t help but look at the delicate fabric on your skin. 

When you first tried the clothes on, you could hardly believe your eyes. You didn’t even look like… you. Gone were your well-worn gowns. The tightness of the corset has you a little breathless, but the dress adorned with intricate sequins and embroidery sliding over your body like water. The silver shimmers underneath the moonlight that spills past the curtains of the carriage, white camellias sewn in a river down your shoulder to your waist. 

You reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear, only for your fingers to brush over the diamond necklace that Becca has so thoughtfully loaned you. The gems catch light, winking at you as if they’re letting you in on a secret. Then your fingers catch on your mask, a combination of beads and lace trimming, the same flowers framing the corners of your eyes. 

In all your life, you could never have even dared to dream of wearing such things. You never imagined that you would be swimming in such luxury. 

If your mother could see you now, she would absolutely murder you. She would bury you six feet under before the royal guards could even get to you. 

You know that neither the queen nor king would mind, but what would the rest of them think if they knew? What if they found out that you were no more than a girl born into somewhat fortunate circumstances? That your blood was redder than most of them. Common. 

A hand lands atop yours. Becca peeks at you with a nervous smile. “Hey, it’ll be fun. You’ve never been to one of these. Please try to enjoy yourself. I promise that nobody will say a thing.”

“What if I stand out? What if they know that I don’t fit in with the rest of them?” You whisper. 

Becca squeezes your hand. “If you stand out, it’s because you look far more beautiful than the rest of them. If you stand out, it’s because they are looking at you with envy. You could’ve easily been the diamond of the season.”

Warmth creeps up your neck as the carriage pulls to a stop. You can already hear the music filtering through the entrance; the sound mingles with the fast rhythm of your heartbeat in a symphony that echoes through your mind. 

“Showtime,” she beams.

Now, as someone who has been directly involved in the planning, decorating, and organizing of the extravaganzas, you’ve seen your fair share of ridiculously opulent displays. The palace is, after all, renowned for hosting the grandest of balls, bringing together only the who’s who of society. The guest list is selective, both for security and exclusivity reasons. It is the most sought-after invitation of the season. So when you walk into the viscountess’ home, you didn’t think you would be impressed.

However, you have never been happier to be proven wrong. Every inch of this place has been meticulously swathed in a color scheme perfect for the summer. Florals in every shade of the sunset draped across banisters, hanging over the staircase leading down to the dance floor, and standing tall in structures that do not look humanly possible.

Butlers and maids dressed head to toe in fine fabrics float around the room carrying hors d'oeuvres that look more like miniature works of art. Macarons that match the colors of the flower arrangements, tarts with crusts that crumble perfectly on your tongue, bonbons in perfect spheres dusted in cocoa, and fruits plucked from the vines at their ripest, sweetest point.

The stars twinkle above you to complement the tiny candles that string across the railings to illuminate the room, only outshone by the chandeliers with flickering flames hanging above you. Guests in their Sunday bests drift around the room in excited chatter, spreading the newest gossip that will surely make the papers by morning.

Heads turn as you and Becca enter the room and, before you can duck behind her, she’s linking her arm through yours and pulling you forward into the crowd.

“Becca—”

“Breathe, this will be fun. Enjoy the treats and the wine. The viscountess has exceptional taste, she has gathered the best chefs in the kingdom in her kitchen. Mother simply adores visiting her for tea for the food alone.”

Becca walks through the room with the confidence of someone who owns it. Everyone knows her as the princess even hidden behind the mask, murmurs of awe rippling across the crowd. The men pay particularly close attention, eager to get hers. The women speak of her in resentful admiration.

Becca — the belle of the ball. You, her companion.

“They’re looking at you,” she giggles quietly in your ear.

“No, they’re looking at you, Princess.”

“I’ve been in enough of these rooms to know when people are looking at me. While some are focused on me, most of them are keeping a close eye on you.”

“Likely to see when they would have the opportunity to speak to you alone no doubt,” you mutter under your breath.

Becca frowns at you. “Must you be so cynical? You look absolutely stunning. If you gave the room a chance, you’d know how many of them are keen on dancing with you. In fact, why don’t we put it to a test?”

Right as you’re about to ask her what she means, Becca moves away from you, pretending to be drawn by the dessert that appears to be running away from her. Her name leaves your mouth but you don’t get very far when three men approach you. All of them impeccably dressed, all of them handsome — at least, from what you can see with the mask.

“My lady, would you grant me the honor of joining me for a dance?”

Your lips part in surprise, eyes darting around the room to search for the princess. Becca stands off in a corner, grinning proudly to herself as she nibbles on a cream puff. You bite down the urge to curse before politely turning to the men. “My apologies, I should be getting back to my companion. I can’t leave her for far too long.”

You take a step and one of them moves directly in your path. “I’m sure she’ll find the company of others just as pleasant. Please, you must grant each of us a dance. It would be a privilege for us.” 

Although you’ve danced before, it’s mostly to help Becca with her training. You have no idea how these dances work during the balls — the coordination, the etiquette. Your heart begins to race as your throat closes in a panic.

“I can’t—”

“One. One song is all I ask.”

“Then mine next.”

“And then me.”

Your chest flares as you search around the room for Becca again but she is nowhere to be found. Your skin begins to burn as your survival instincts kick in. The last thing you need is for these men to notice and question how they’ve never seen you before at such events, and you would have to craft a convoluted fib that you would be forced to maintain.

Just as you are about to deny them again, a hand presses against the low of your back.

“My lady.”

The voice grounds you in a familiar presence. You look up to find Bucky — even through the mask, you’d know it was him. His favorite cologne clings to the threads of his jacket and his hair, thick and styled, is one you can practically feel on your fingertips. Those days spent by the riverbend, his head on your lap as you read him sonnets—

No. This is not the time to be sentimental.

“Your royal highness.” The men stumble over each other to greet him, their energy shifting to nervous jitters as they look amongst each other.

“I believe the point of the masks is anonymity,” he says smoothly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to invite this lovely lady to a dance.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, he simply takes your hand and whisks you into the crowd. You don’t have time to think about the consequences of this, more relieved that you’ve escaped that sticky situation.

“Thank you,” you breathe out.

“I believe I should be thanking you for this dance,” he grins.

“How did you find me?”

“I could find you even if you were across the world, mon cher.” You roll your eyes and Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t think you’re supposed to respond that way to the crown prince.”

“Perhaps if the crown prince didn’t use such predictably embarrassing lines.”

His lips curl again. “I noticed you the moment you walked into the room. Most beautiful woman tonight. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in fact.”

“Haven’t you been taught that dishonesty is unbecoming on a man?” You snip back.

“You wound me,” he gives a little shake of his head, “Out of everyone, you know that you would be the last person I would attempt to bathe in false affirmations. I know you can see through those pretenses.”

“Then why try?”

“Oh ye of little faith. If you wanted praise from me, you could just say so—”

You balk, snapping back in surprise. “That was not my intention!”

Bucky squeezes your hand as he shifts you around the room. It is then that you realize he’s been guiding your movements all along, every one of your steps falling in line with the others around you. He’s always been a good dancer, far better than Becca who had resisted these lessons for the longest time.

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear. The smell of him infiltrates your senses, his warmth, the brush of his hair against your cheek. “Of course, you could’ve worn nothing at all and you would undoubtedly still be the most fetching person in this room.”

“If I wore nothing at all, then I’m sure I would fetch the eyes of everyone in this room,” you tease with a small quirk of your lips.

Bucky goes momentarily taut, stiff as he spins you and then pulls you in even closer. His hands tighten around you, like he’s fearful you would slip away at any moment. “Thank the heavens you opted for clothing today. I would rather not imagine anyone else seeing you in such a state. I’d have to dramatically increase this kingdom’s beheading rate. If I do that, what kingdom would I have left to rule?”

“Because you’d have to eliminate the witnesses to my humiliation of the royal family?”

“Because I have limited self-restraint when it comes to you.” You cock an eyebrow in question. “I would have to eliminate anyone who has ever seen you in such an intimate state. I’m a tad possessive you see, I’d rather be the only person alive who’s ever seen you in all of your raw beauty.”

Heat flushes along your skin, a sudden rise in temperature that rarely occurs at this time in the evening. “You’ve never seen me in such a state.”

“I would be the first and the last, my dear. I’ve never been very good at sharing.”

“I am not an object to own, your royal highness,” you bite out with a sour curl of your lips.

“You’re not,” Bucky murmurs softly, “but my heart belongs to you and I was hoping that yours to me — and your affection is the one thing I refuse to ration.”

You look up to meet his eyes. Earnest blue eyes that are far too honest for your liking. That gaze that’s dripping with the kind of affection he cannot counterfeit. Your movements nearly falter, your knees suddenly weak, but Bucky holds onto you even tighter.

“Bucky, I—”

Your gaze snags on the view behind him — a line of women watching the two of you, glowering green seeing your frame tucked against Bucky’s. Women who undoubtedly come from near and far in search of a notable husband to match or increase their standing in society. What better catch than a prince?

Instead of investing his time looking for a proper candidate for a wife, he is instead wasting these minutes with you. It’s been three songs, far from appropriate for two acquaintances, suspicious enough that you can hear the whispers of speculation begin to circulate the room. As the song comes to an end, you’re quick to curtsy in front of him.

“Thank you for the dance.”

You whirl around before he can say another word and disappear into the throng, leaving Bucky to be swarmed by women who are far better suited for him.

Becca stands by a corner, having watched all of this transpire. She’s barely paying any mind to the gentlemen suitors around her. When you come around to her, she’s immediately distancing herself and rushing towards you. Her gaze is eager, far too eager.

She’s had at least two drinks then.

“How was it? I saw you out there.”

“It was fine,” you mutter.

“You’ve only had one dance and it was with my brother. Methinks it’s time to expand your registry. How about the Duke? I hear he gets a little bit handsy and a little fun can do no harm.”

After your conversation with Bucky, you seriously doubt that. You would rather avoid this ball turning into a beheading festival tonight — or Bucky ruining his pristine reputation with society when he decides to do an execution in the middle of the dance floor.

Bucky is many things but he is not a liar. Whether he exaggerates is up for debate but that is not a theory you want to test tonight.

“Or shall we have a few more to drink in the meantime? Their champagne is quite lovely. I heard the viscountess had sourced all of the vintages from her favorite year.”

“Ladies.”

Speak of the devil. The two of you find yourselves in front of the viscountess. Even beneath the mask, her vibrant ruby hair is an easy identifier. She is cloaked in a glimmering black fabric with touches of red, breasts pushed up with the tight wrap aroung her waist. Spiders are stitched into her mask, crawling up the sides.

“Lady Romanoff,” Becca cheers, “what a lovely ball you’ve thrown. This is stunning, our chefs simply must learn from yours, otherwise I’d be tempted to sneak a few of those macarons up my sleeve before I leave.”

The viscountess laughs. “Princess, if you desire the macarons, I shall ensure that they are delivered to the palace by the morning. I believe your queen mother is also rather fond of the bonbons I source from France, I’ve already arranged for it to be sent tomorrow and I’ll make sure we include your macarons with that delivery.”

“You are most kind and gracious.”

Then she turns her eyes to you and you freeze. “And I do not believe we’ve met. Your name, dear?”

Your eyes flick to Becca momentarily before returning to her. You should lie. You should give her another name, but the viscountess has been known to be shrewdly intelligent. If you were caught in a fib, you would likely have your tongue cut out. There have been rumors of what she has done outside this kingdom, things that are far from proper; still, nobody has been brave enough to validate any of that gossip.

So you tell her your name.

“And I presume you are the princess’…” she trails off for a second and you go rigid once more, her gaze sharpens a fraction. “…cousin from far, far away?”

“Um, yes! She has decided to do an impromptu visit because she missed me so. I hope you don’t mind my bringing her, my lady.”

Lady Romanoff smiles like she knows — and you have a feeling she does. She simply doesn’t care. After all, she has always danced to her own tune, including how she’s wearing all black tonight that would be typically reserved for funerals.

“Not at all. I hope you enjoy your visit and my ball tonight. I would avoid Lord Smith, he’s in desperate search of a wife and may latch on to the one new face who appears unaware of the reputation of his temper.” Then she laughs.

“Fair advice, Lady Romanoff, thank you,” you murmur.

With one last squeeze of your arm, she brisks away from the two of you. As you follow her movements, you also spot Bucky as he makes his own escape with a few of the gentlemen you’ve seen come around the palace. He turns in time to catch your eye, his mouth curling into a smile as he winks at you from the distance, right as he disappears out the door.

“Now, shall we indulge in more treats?”

You’ve always been a quick study and there are three things that you now understand about the nature of these functions.

The first is to eat your fill — between the champagne and the specially mulled wines, intoxication is a friendly foe that rears its head far too fast. You have to learn to balance properly.

The second is that the marriage market appears dreary. None of the ladies are interested in the gentlemen, no matter how desperately they try. It appears that the women in the room aren’t too afraid of waiting a tad bit longer if it means they could find the one. This means that the gentlemen are far too preoccupied with harassing the help to keep themselves entertained, not that Lady Romanoff tolerates that behavior; she’s kicked out a number of them already.

Last but not least is that Becca is a social butterfly. While you’ve always been familiar with her friendly nature, seeing her out and about like this, crafting budding friendships with every single person in the room, you’re once again reminded of why the two of you were fast friends. Becca has always been more welcoming, conquering all five love languages on top of the three spoken and written ones that she’s already studying. However, following her around, you are also reminded that you are, in fact, not like her and these interactions are beginning to wear you down.

There are only so many ways you can talk about your dress before the discussions start to sound inane.

There are also so many times you can tolerate the way these women look you up and down. What happened to camaraderie? The catty looks are one thing you don’t expect. In your eyes, you’re a nobody who just happened to be playing dress-up thanks to a good friend. However, you can see how you seem from their perspective — close enough to the princess to attend this ball, apparently attractive enough for the crown prince to steal you for more than a handful of minutes.

You swallow the urge to scream, “I’m nothing more than the help!”

“The prince does have peculiar taste, doesn’t he?” One of them comments and you have to resist rolling your eyes, lest you offend her publicly. 

“What do you mean?” Becca asks as she nibbles on her third tart of the night.

Expectedly, the girl’s eyes flick to you for a brief second before her lips stretch into smirk. “I assumed he would take a wife by now. Have an heir to continue the lineage. However, it doesn’t seem that anyone in this room suits his preferences. He hasn’t asked anyone to dance yet — and not for a lack of trying from our part.”

“He did have one dance—”

You clear your throat to interrupt Becca. She looks at you quizzically.

God bless her heart. Becca means well but sometimes she misses some of these cues; she’s too trusting, which is why you have to be the exact opposite.

“Apologies, I meant a dance that would count—” she smiles saccharine sweet. “—that would matter. You’re a visiting relative, right?” This question she directs towards you.

All eyes turn to you. The attention has your cheeks burning. “Correct.”

“She’s actually a very dear friend, but she’s practically family. She knows Bucky very well.”

“Is that so?” You don’t appreciate the way the woman’s gaze flashes with something akin to amusement. “Practically a sister then. I don’t believe I recall where you’re from. I haven’t heard anyone speak of you either.”

“I didn’t say.” Your lips twist up in an irritated smile.

Awkward tension falls upon the conversation. Becca looks nervously between the two of you; this cue is far too hard to miss. “That doesn’t matter! What matters is that we are here now. How about we get some lemonade? It’s quite warm here, isn’t it?”

As Becca busies herself with resolving the tension, which is the last thing a princess should be doing, you take this opportunity to slip away from the suffocating atmosphere of the room.

Perhaps the garden can be healing this time of night.

Bucky would rather be anywhere else but here. Let him correct himself — there is exactly one place he would rather be than here and it would be to be back inside. With you. Dancing. Fetching you drinks. Keeping those overly-excited, unworthy vultures away from you.

The moment you stepped through those doors, he knew he was in for a long night of suffering. Time and time again, you’ve rejected his advances. He knows you feel the same way, has felt you leaning into his touch before you would pull yourself away. Your stubbornness has always been endearing, but Bucky yearns for the day when he finally breaks through those walls.

It’s not an if, it’s a when.

Because Bucky has always achieved everything he’s dreamed of and you are his most important one.

However, for now, he is instead subjected to the debauchery of his peers. Dukes, viscounts, and fellow noblemen who have far too much time on their hands to be exploring substances that shouldn’t be explored. Sam is in the midst of lecturing their tight-knit group about this vial he procured while out in the countryside, some fermented liquid that supposedly produces the most vivid, imaginative visions that have you questioning reality.

The others ooh and aah in fascination but Bucky’s eyes continue to stray towards those double-doors where you stand on the other side.

“Your royal highness, I have something that may be of interest to you.”

To that, he does turn with a raised brow.

“I specifically obtained this one for you. I am sympathetic to your cause—” Sam teases and Bucky responds with a withering glare that does nothing to deter his friend. “—and when the time comes and you hope to last, this will be immensely beneficial.”

“His cause is hopeless if he doesn’t do anything about it,” Steve laughs.

“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Rogers. Believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying,” Bucky mutters as he leans back against the stone pillar.

Sam grabs his hand, slips it into his palm and closes his hand around a small tin. “Very potent. I wouldn’t recommend more than a pinchful at a time. A pinchful should last you through an hour, but what a delicious hour it will be.”

He doesn’t know how to tell him that Bucky doesn’t need this sort of chemistry to make him last. Every time he’s near you, his pants tighten like a schoolboy again. Thirteen and realizing that this desire to kiss you isn’t a result of friendship. As he got older, he realized that these urges aren’t those that should be held against his sister’s lady-in-waiting.

Urges that blossomed into far more when he feels his chest constrict, breath stolen from his lungs, whenever he catches a whiff of that perfume. Or how he can’t resist peeking at you from around the corner whenever you sneak into the library, wondering what book has absorbed you this time, how quickly he could read it to spark conversation with you. Or how desperately he tries to make you laugh just to hear that tinkling melody that loops like the nation’s best symphony in his mind.

There are days that Bucky wishes he wasn’t born into this family, that he could be normal, so he wouldn’t be forced upon societal standards that he has no desire to follow. He could pursue you and you wouldn’t constantly put this chasm between you.

But then if he hadn’t been born into this life, then he would’ve never met you. He would have never known what it means for love to consume his very soul, how one person could mean the world to him, to a point where he would give it all up — the riches, the rule — to be with you.

Fate is a funny thing.

“I don’t need this, Wilson,” Bucky grunts as he tries to push it back into Sam’s hands.

Sam raises them. “No, sir. Think of it as an early coronation gift. Perhaps once you can change the rules of the kingdom, you would be inclined to follow them too.”

“Think he’s a jester,” he mutters to Steve with a roll of his eyes.

“In another life, my prince, perhaps in another life,” Sam grins cheekily. “You simply have to breathe it in. Like the usual stuff. Again, very powerful so be careful. Otherwise, you’d be trapped in that state for hours on end and your only relief would be to…”

Bucky’s eyes rise to meet his. Sam only wiggles his eyebrows in response. He makes a face of repulsion. “That’s how you rid yourself of the effects?”

“The more you finish, the lighter the effects will be. However, if you don’t find any form of… relief, then it could last for hours and you’d be hurting everywhere — and I do mean everywhere. It’s the strongest form of desire that can be relieved if you fulfill it.”

Bucky looks down at the tin again. Unassuming. Small. How powerful could this little thing be? He tucks it inside his coat, if only to appease his friend, and lets them resume with the conversation.

By the time they adjourn, Bucky is sufficiently exhausted. All he wants is to go search for you. It’s only been an hour and he already misses you. What a fool he is — if only the kingdom knew that the crown prince’s only weakness is a woman who doesn’t even want him.

As the other men filter back indoors, Bucky moves to follow. That is, until your perfume tickles his senses. You’re outside. He whips around to try and find you but you’re nowhere in sight.

Perhaps this is his chance. The two of you would be in Lady Romanoff’s prized garden, far away from the prying eyes of the palace or the rest of the ton. He looks at Steve and Sam, waves them away. “Go on. I’ll enjoy the fresh air a little bit more.”

“Alright, don’t look too thrilled that all those women inside are waiting for their prince to return.”

Bucky winces. Of course, he’s felt their hungry gazes all night. All of them practically vibrating where they’re standing, fanning themselves a little faster, batting their eyelashes a little more rapidly. He has zero inclination to humor any of them because the one person he wants to dance with is the one who won’t even look at him.

With one final gesture, he begins to prowl further into the grounds, further away from the mansion, to find you.

Little does he know that the tiny tin rattles like a cry against his chest, lid loose as he walks at a pace that’s far from careful.

After exploring the gardens for a bit, you almost wish that Lady Romanoff would adopt you under her wing to understand her excellent taste in design and decoration. The architecture is as old as time. Each brick feels intentionally placed like it’s meant to be part of history. The stream that sits quietly further away from the palace brings a touch of natural life to the otherwise manmade masterpiece.

A boat sits swaying in the gentle evening breeze and you’re half tempted to paddle yourself out to the middle to find some form of peace. However, given how deep it is into nightfall, you assume you’d have to eventually make your way back to find Becca. She’s promised not to touch another drop of champagne for the evening so you trust her to make good decisions.

Just as you turn to begin your journey back to the mansion, the last person you expect is standing before you.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

In the darkness, he stumbles towards you, mumbling incoherently. You strain your ears to decipher him but it’s near impossible when his words blur together. He’s clearly intoxicated. You wonder how much liquor Steve and Sam have fed him and lord knows what else.

When he finally stands where the moonlight shines across the concrete, you see the flush that sprawls like an illness across his skin. His breathing is labored and his fingers continue to tug at the collar of his shirt, clawing almost desperately. With his mask long gone, you can see how his pupils are blown wide as they drink in the sight of you, a mix of relief and desire in the constantly shifting shades of his ocean eyes. 

He breathes out your name like a prayer when he sees you. “Gods, you look…” he trails off again as he moves towards you, walking side to side as if his legs can’t bear the weight of him.

You catch him before he can topple over, his entire body draped over yours. You thank the heavens that you’ve done enough manual labor in your life that you’re able to prop him up, pushing him up against the wall. Your hands on his shoulders as you frown at him.

He doesn’t smell too heavily of liquor but there are strange particles on his coat that you suspect are the reason why he’s behaving like this. You bite back the urge to scold the crown prince of all people to be more responsible. When you look up at him, he’s looking down at you with a lazy smirk.

“Bucky, what did you take?”

“Y’smell…” he leans forward again, nearly tipping over but his nose ends up buried in your neck. You feel him inhale, deep, before a long, extremely indecorous moan rumbles against your skin. Heat slithers up your spine, pushing your blood south between your legs. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

Biting your tongue, you try to push him back against the wall but he’s faster. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his chest as his mouth trails warm against your skin. He whispers your name again — like a promise. “Bucky, please, I can’t help you like this.”

“Need—” he chokes then, whimpering.

“What do you need? Tell me.”

“You.”

You stroke his hair gently as he continues to mumble words you cannot hear against the pulse in your neck. “I know, I’m here. Tell me what you need.” Worry torments your heart as you press the back of your hand against his forehead. “Heavens, you’re burning up.”

“So hot,” he whines, “so, so warm.”

Without removing himself from you, he begins to shed off his tailcoat first, casting it aside. Then his fingers reach for the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers seemingly too uncoordinated to undo them.

“Please. Help,” he pleads.

How can you say no when he asks so sweetly? But at the same time, you really shouldn’t be doing this. “Bucky, this isn’t a good idea. I don’t think you should—”

“Help me.”

Gods, you’ve never been good at saying no to this man, not when he sounds like he’s in pain. Your gloved hands reach towards him as you begin to unbutton him slowly, revealing more and more of the linen underneath. Then Bucky pushes it off his shoulders.

“My shirt next.”

“Bucky!” you gasp, “That’s completely out of the question. I couldn’t possibly.”

“It’s so warm, mon couer. Please.”

He’s never played a fair game, but particularly when he addresses you so charmingly in French. You remember when he first started calling you those terms, practicing the foreign language on his tongue in a way that had you leaning in to listen for more. You asked him what they meant, and he said, “Only the truth.”

My love. My heart. Your heart feels like it’s been lit on fire when you read the translations.

You never questioned it further. Becca always took it as teasing, like Bucky’s being his usual charismatic, mischievous self. But every time he calls you that, you know that it is the truth. A truth you keep contesting for the sanctity of your mind.

Because if you accept that you are his love and that you are his heart, you don’t know how much of your resolve would be left.

And Bucky deserves more than that. He deserves the world, which he already has. You can’t be the reason that he loses all of it.

“We should head back. Becca’s going to be wondering where we are.”

“Becca can be patient,” he murmurs as he finally finds the strength to rip his shirt open, the buttons flying off as the fabric is torn off his body, leaving him bare in front of you. His abdomen ripples with the kind of muscles that come from the hours spent training, the hours you spent watching him practice. 

Saliva pools on your tongue and you feel like a dog taught to drool at the sight of its master. You’ve seen him shirtless before, of course — god knows the man loves to be fully exposed to the sun in seasons like this. However, something about him is different this time. He’s practically soaked through his shirt, his body glows with a sheen layer of sweat. 

“You have a fever, Bucky. You need help.”

“Need you,” he repeats, clearer this time. His brows then meet in the middle as he looks down at you. He tugs the mask off your face, letting it drop to the floor as he searches your eyes. Deep blue, bluer than the summer sky. “There you are,” he says softly.

Your heart stutters as you shy away from his gaze, his fingers catching your chin to tilt you to face him again. His eyes fall to your lips, your lips separate, sticky with whatever Becca had swiped onto you earlier.

Then he slants his lips over yours and you feel the fireworks explode inside your chest. Bucky’s moan spills down your throat as he kisses you deeper, harder. Ravenous is the only way you can describe it. He’s chasing after your lips like you’re the last drop of water for a parched man. He breathes the air from your lungs, an intimate exchange that has noises you’ve only made in the quiet of your room — alone — rising from your stomach.

It’s everything you’ve ever imagined, and so much more. You spent nights picturing what this could feel like in painstaking detail, hoping that it may happen one day — in the slightest of chances.

But then that anxiety seeps back in, creeping under your skin enough to wake you from this dream. 

“Bucky—” He kisses you again, quashing whatever rational thought you’ve only just begun to formulate.

“Tastes so sweet, even better than I thought,” he murmurs. “So sweet, my love. Gods, I could kiss you for days and I’d never tire of it.”

“We shouldn’t—” Your protest once again dies in your throat as Bucky begins to kiss along your jaw, placing a wet trail of fire as he mouths down your neck, counting your racing heartbeat. Your palms flatten against his chest, damp and humid. He’s sweating bullets but you don’t get the chance to interrupt again.

“I need you,” he groans, “lord, I need you.” His fingers catch your hand and press it against his chest. Your heart pushes against your ribs. “You smell so good. I can’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about what it would be like to kneel at your feet, your leg over my shoulder, and bury my face in that pretty pussy of yours.”

A gasp wrenches from your throat as you jerk back. “Bucky, that is— oh my god, that is unacceptable!”

“It’s the truth,” he growls, “I can practically smell you between your legs, your sweetness on my tongue. I want you to press your hips against my face and let me feast like a king. Slip my fingers in there and feel how you resist me, how you act like you don’t want this but you’re dripping all over my fingers.” 

The moan that climbs out your chest is involuntary and it’s all Bucky needs before he’s flipping you around and he’s pressing your back against the pillar. A gust of wind blows, providing some semblance of reprieve to the sudden sweltering heat that blankets you. It does nothing to soothe Bucky who looks at you like you’re the perfect prey, skin exposed to him with your hair twisted up like the forbidden fruit. 

Bucky isn't a godless man, but in that moment he swears there isn't a higher power who could stop him from having you.

He silently asks the heavens to turn their gaze away from the sin he's about to commit. Because whatever happens next, he won't be seeking forgiveness.

He will only offer his thanks.

He kisses you again, tongue slipping past your lips just as he swallows your surprised sound. His tongue strokes against yours, licking up and pressing against it until you’re trembling against him. 

You no longer have authority over your body, how every ounce of energy dissolves into thin air against him, knees nearly sending you crumbling to the ground if it weren’t for his own strength holding you up. One of his hands is ont he back of your neck, keeping you close, and the other on your hip. His mouth continues to move against you as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

Distracted by the taste of him and his seemingly contagious fever, you barely realize when Bucky peels back layer upon layer of your eveningwear. The weight of the fabric pools around your feet with a soft thump. His fingers are frantic as he pushes each piece off your shoulders, leaving you only in your shift and your stay. The corset is tight around your body and Bucky snarls to himself when he can’t seem to untangle the loops. 

Then you hear it, the sound similar to clicking tongues as Bucky tears it off your body. When the haze clears just enough for you to realize what’s been done, you shove him away from you, but your power doesn’t throw him very far.

“Bucky, this is indecent. I can’t be—”

“We’re too far past decency, my love.” He stalks back towards you, capturing your lips in a languid kiss that eviscerates your objections into ash. “Beautiful. You had the eyes of everyone in that room tonight. I loathed seeing you surrounded by all those men earlier. Undeserving creatures who think that they have an opportunity with you.”

“I—I wasn’t interested in any of them,” you whine as he works his way down your neck, teeth and lips marking slow, deliberate claims against your skin. Ones that spell out mine.

“I know,” he murmurs against your pulse, smiling as if the answer was never in doubt. “You don’t need to fret. You’re mine. I wouldn’t let them near you. I wouldn’t even allow you to look their way.”

His mouth drags lightly over your skin again. Unhurried, certain.

“Only me. Always me.”

It’s not a question, nor an order. He’s stating a fact. For as long as you can remember, regardless of how many handsome bachelors walk through the palace doors — or even through the staff entrance, you haven’t spared any of them a second glance. Your heart and eyes have always belonged to him. 

Bucky takes your hand and gently removes your gloves. He brings your hand up to his lips, placing one gentle kiss after another. First on your wrist, then up your forearm, to your bicep, until he’s on your shoulder. He moves this final layer to the side just enough for him to press wet kisses on your collarbones.  

However, despite his attempts to divert your attention away from the actual matter at hand, you can’t help but worry. His temperature is a far cry from normal, you fear what would happen if he weren’t observed and provided the necessary remedies. 

“You’re sick, Bucky. Please let me take you back to the palace. Let me fetch your carriage so we can at least summon the royal physician to assess you.”

“No, won’t help,” he grunts, “need to— need to—” and the next word that slips from his lips has your heart slamming against your ribcage— “fuck.”

Your mouth dries and your own desires begin to overwhelm you. This isn’t right. He’s not himself. He’s not in his right mind. What he needs is a doctor and a bed and—

“Sam said,” he exhales harshly, “I need to get it out. To stop this.”

“Get what out?”

“Need to finish.”

Finish. Fuck. Your throat suddenly feels like sandpaper. 

He needs to climax. 

“Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with finishing once,” he huffs honestly as his hands reach up to cup your breasts. He lets out a little pleased noise as he feels up your soft flesh, the shape of your breasts molding to his hand as he massages them. With only one barrier left between the two of you, it feels as if there’s nothing at all there. “My gorgeous girl with her gorgeous tits. I always knew you’d fit so perfectly in my hands. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of this, putting my hands on them, pinching these lovely pert nipples—” he moans as he tugs on your nipple, electricity coursing through you in a zing straight down to your core. “How it would feel to have my cock tucked in between your tits.” 

You don’t have the voice to argue, nor the mind. All you can think about is how delicious it feels for Bucky to be touching you. Your head leans back as your eyes slide shut, your mind lost in the sensations of his touch. 

“Please, let me have you, my love. I need— I need you.”

His hand doesn’t wait for an answer, they begin to bunch up your skirt, pinning them against your hip with his wrist as his fingers trail up your inner thigh. You fight against your shudder and he lifts his mouth back to your lips to kiss you, just as his fingertips make contact with your core.

You’re sticky down there already, a mess from the proximity and his scent and his feverish warmth. This is still Bucky — your Bucky — but he’s also different, like all of the chains that have held him back, that have granted him the patience all these years, have been shattered. This is the result of all the times you’ve rejected him again and again and again. All of the times that you have rejected these feelings within yourself.

Now the dam has been destroyed and all those times you’ve swallowed your pride and your wants, they’re finally being released and they completely drown you.

The moon reflects off the water, illuminating Bucky’s face in a shifting series of ethereal colors. Even with the glimmer, his eyes are dark. A fog clouding his judgment. His desire is unwavering. The more you touch him, the more you let him touch you, the stronger the effects of his fever. 

If possible, he grows even warmer. His skin practically searing against yours but nothing burns more than his fingers between your legs, the delicate stroke of your lips, moist with the evidence of your lust. 

“You’re drenched down here, my sweet girl,” Bucky moans, “is this all for me? Were you thinking of me the same way I was thinking of you?”

“Bucky, please,” you jolt, hips rising when he dips a tentative finger inside you. 

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he slips himself in there, aided by the slick between your legs. He pushes a finger in as he gulps down your pleasured sound, a desperate little cry as his fingers stretch out your insides. 

You’ve never had anyone else touch you like this. You’ve barely even touched yourself like this; even when left to your own devices with nothing more than your imagination and the lingering scent of Bucky’s cologne on your threads, shame still restricts how much pleasure you allow yourself.

However, out there, with Bucky in control, you relinquish that power to him. You let him determine how much pleasure you experience, how much gratification you can get under his ministrations.

Bucky’s fingers are skilled as they work you open, scissoring you open until your teeth sink into his shoulder. “My pretty girl, look at you. I want to hear you cry for me, want to know how good I make you feel.”

Obediently, your lips split open in a wail that shakes the air. 

“Let me have a taste of you,” he murmurs and draws his hand away from you. The loss is almost instantaneous, a sudden chill where his touch had been, but it’s replaced by the fire that burns bright in your gut the moment he drags his wet fingers along his lips. He breathes it in like he’s memorizing the scent of you before he slides his fingers over his tongue. “God, you’re perfect. Sweet, as I expected.”

Then Bucky sinks to the ground and there’s something about the crown prince on his knees before you that has you faltering. Someone whose blood is bluer than the ocean shouldn’t risk scraping his knees for a mere maid — and yet here he is. 

“Hold your skirt up for me, sweet girl.” 

You want to protest. You want to say no. You want to remind him again that this isn’t a good idea but there’s determination in his eyes that have you whimpering, fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt to reveal yourself to him. 

Bucky drags a finger along your slit again, collecting the moisture and wiping it on his tongue with another moan. He leans forward and your eyes slide shut, heart thrumming in anticipation with the steady pulse in your veins. He kisses you slowly at first, making his way up your thigh but his patience is thin and soon enough he’s burying his face between your legs.

His tongue strokes up your pussy, legs still clamped shut in your apprehension. Bucky looks a little irritated when he can’t seem to properly taste you so, with one hand, he holds one of your legs up by the thigh and opens up your leaking cunt to him. He curses under his breath when he sees you glisten in the flickering night. 

The stars in the sky blend in with the ones behind your eyes when he finally lays his lips on you. He mouths at you hungrily, like he’s wolfing down his last meal. His tongue presses eager strokes along your walls that have your legs closing in around him again — only for his hand to pry them open once more to grant him access to the nectar between your thighs. 

“So sweet, so soft,” Bucky groans against your pussy. His lips suckle eagerly, the lewd slurps ricocheting off the surfaces in this quiet night. In the distance, the music continues quietly, but here — you’re accompanied by the sound of your quickening heartbeat and Bucky’s delighted grunts.

Each time he licks you, he buries himself deeper and deeper, until his nose bumps against your clit and his face glistens with your arousal. Your fingers tangle in his thick hair, damp with the sweat from his fever. When you tug on it slightly, Bucky sticks his face in even deeper, moans even louder. 

You can see how his erection only grows underneath his trousers, needy for attention, and yet satisfied all the same by your own pleasure. He tilts his face to reach new angles, his fingers pushing inside of you to keep you full while his tongue flicks that sensitive bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t take you long fall apart, walls closing in around his tongue and his fingers, spasming with your orgasm — the first of the evening.

For a moment, guilt enters your system and you’re forced to look down at Bucky remorsefully that he didn’t even achieve what he set out to do. However, you notice the shaking of his shoulders, a shudder wracking through him as his hips twitch upwards. A pulse down there. 

“Y-you finished?” 

Bucky nods, unabashed as he comes to a stand. “Do you see what you do to me? Cumming untouched in my trousers like a prepubescent boy who can’t even control himself.”

“I didn’t— I mean, you didn’t even touch it.”

“The mere thought of you finishing around my mouth like I’ve always dreamed is enough for me, my love.” He tucks a loose strand of your hair, one that have fallen loose from your updo, behind your ear. “However, I’m far from done. This fever — I can’t break it without you. I have to have you.”

Again, he doesn’t wait for your permission as he steals the air from your lungs with a passionate kiss. This time, you can taste the sweetness of champagne on his tongue along with something a little more unique. Something that belongs solely to you and now also belongs to him. 

“I’ve been leaking for you all night, sweet girl,” Bucky mumbles, “I couldn’t stop thinking what you look like underneath this dress. How soft and supple your body would be. Apparently, everyone else had the same thought. I could see how they looked at you. I should have them all stripped of their titles and banished from the land.”

“Bucky,” you chide, warmth flaming your cheeks. “That would be incredibly rude. Nobody did anything.”

He rolls his eyes as he presses you back against the pillar, reaching down to his pants. You hear the fabric shifting as he holds you up and frees himself. You’ve never seen one in real life before, only those diagrams that Becca likes to tease you with. 

And the real thing looks far more intimidating.

It stands upright, a thick vein running along the top as the head strains red. It looks almost as if that line pulses, encouraged by the purplish lines that sit underneath the surface. A new pearl sits at the tip of him, pearlescent as it rolls down the length of his cock, already sticky and stained creamy white from the mess in his trousers. It’s fat and it’s long and you can’t imagine that fitting inside you. 

You must’ve voiced your fears aloud because Bucky is then saying, “Don’t worry, mon couer. We’ll make it fit.” 

He lifts you up, drawing a squeal from your lips, as he wraps your legs around his waist. The head rests against your entrance, the sight of it already has your pussy drooling over the tip, like it’s preparing for his cock. 

“She’s excited to have me,” he muses quietly, “she’s dripping. So eager to have me. You haven’t been filled before, have you? You’ve never had another man touch you?”

You must’ve taken a moment too long to respond, too preoccupied with the incredulity of the situation.

The low roar sounding from Bucky’s chest has you looking at him. Fury claws at his eyes, the usual bright blue shifting darker as he sneers. His hands tighten around your hips. “Has anyone else touched you? Who is it? Is it the stableboy? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve been meaning to replace him—”

“Bucky, god, no. Nobody!” You pant, “Where would I find the time?”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? I know your good heart would want to protect them.”

Your lips curl. “No, I would have no reason to lie to you. 

“Good, because I fear the dire action I would’ve had to take if you told me otherwise.” 

“I’m not yours to own, Bucky,” you snap.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet girl. You’ve always belonged to me, whether you knew it or not. You’re mine and I’ll kill anyone who even dares to think about you.” Another surprised sound escapes your lips and Bucky only smirks. “This pussy especially. I’ll shape it to the size of me, you won’t ever know pleasure with anyone else. I’ll train her to only please me and only me.” 

Before you can admonish him for acting so barbaric, Bucky notches the tip into you. You can already feel the stretch, your pussy resisting the entry of something so… large. So imposing. But he pays it no mind; instead, he uses your own juices to lubricate his entry as he pushes slowly into you, inch by inch. 

He drives deep inside of you, swift and merciless the first time, to yank a gasp from your throat. Another expletive leaves his lips as his head rolls back, eyes slamming closed as he relishes in the feel of your cunt wrapping around him. 

Your entire body is under a spell, experiencing something otherworldly that no language you know could describe. It burns like you’ve been placed on a stake to be set ablaze, like every atom in your body is being torn apart and rearranged. It’s divine deliverance in the pain, but one that provides you with the kind of relief you don’t expect. 

“You feel so—” he chokes as he drags himself out before pushing back in, faster this time, the slide easier. The ache still screams between your legs but you let them fall apart anyway, allowing Bucky to take control over the situation. 

His name falls from your lips — this time as a plea, but you can’t tell if you’re begging for him to stop or to go faster. You want to get past the hurt, want to feel the sort of pleasure that you’ve only heard whispers about. But at the same time, a small piece of you relishes in that pain — it reminds you that you’re human, that this is new, that this is real, and that Bucky is right here with you.

“So tight, so fucking wet. You’re completely soaking my cock, sweet girl. I always knew you were meant for me, this pussy was made for me. No one else can ever see you like this, do you understand me?”

Bucky jerks his hips forward, his arms under your knees, hands on your ass as he presses you against the wall. The surface is solid against your spine, holding you upright as he fucks up into you. His grunts are muffled into your neck as he breathes you in, like your scent fuels the fire in his veins. 

When you don’t respond, too drunk off the sensations of Bucky driving into you at a pace that has you delirious, he punctuates one thrust particularly hard.

“I asked, do you understand me?”

A sob crawls out of your throat as you nod, tears leaking down your eyes. He doesn’t apologize for your cries, he knows you better than that. These tears are from the overwhelming waves of emotion, the heightened tension that grips your lungs until you can’t seem to find the capability to breathe. 

“You feel like heaven, my love. I’ll fuck you to the shape of my cock, until you can’t take anyone else but me — until you won’t even consider taking anyone else. I’ll ensure everyone in this kingdom knows that I’ve defiled you, that you’ve taken my mark on your skin and inside of you. I’ll ensure that you will only be mine.” 

The shame settles hard and fast in the pits of your stomach. If everyone could see you like this, pinned outside against a wall by the prince, fucked like a whore in heat with your pussy clamping down around him, you could never show your face again. A desecrated maid who couldn’t keep her legs shut for a prince. 

Anyone would be lucky to have him, but no one in their right mind would let even the crown prince take them before marriage. They would rather die than be labeled a slut. A harlot. You would be the bane of your family, no one would speak of you again and you would be banished to the outerlands. 

But this is Bucky and even the concept of him keeping you as his dirty little secret only sends thrills through your veins. 

“Bucky, you can’t—”

He laughs, dark and sinister. Like the idea of him unable, unallowed to do anything is absurd. “I’m the crown prince, sweet girl. I am the future of this kingdom. What I say goes. If I say you are mine then it is true. No one will come within a foot of you. Not after I’m done with you. I’ll make sure everyone sees the marks of my affection for you. I’ll imprint them in places everyone can see and other places that nobody will ever see.” 

His words have your heart clenching in mortification and a humiliating level of arousal. The debasement of your character, the degradation of your morality — apparently none of it means anything if it means you have Bucky between your legs and his cock buried deep inside your cunt. 

“I’ve laid my claim on you. No one else will ever touch you. You—” thrust “—are—” thrust “—mine.” 

Staying true to his promise, his fingers dig deep into your flesh. Deep enough that you’ll surely carry those bruises with you for some time. The litter of prints on your neck and above your breasts will have to be covered by your high necklines, gowns that would only raise suspicion in the summer. 

But most of all — the taking of your virginity, your purity plucked from your hands and placed into Bucky’s — is the kind of mark you will never undo. 

Bucky is too lost in his own pleasure, too focused on delivering you to your second peak of the night to recognize the telltale signs of your climax approaching. Your whines crescendoing, the stutter of your heartbeat as your fingers sink into his shoulders. His name spilling from your mouth in an uneven rhythm. 

“I will cum in you, sweet girl. I’ll fill you up with so much cum, I’ll have you dripping all the way home, I’ll make sure you’re leaking all over the carriage before I take you again in my chambers. Gods, I’ll tie you to my bed, make sure that you’ll never deny me again.”

Your heart smashes into your chest, threatening to catapult out with his warning. For some godforsaken reason, the idea of being Bucky’s plaything — tied up with no other purpose than to serve his pleasure — has you gasping in desire, your legs closing in around him as you feel your senseless craving crescendo. 

“You want that, don’t you? You just want to be my pussy. Keep your legs open, this pretty cunt dripping yours and my cum all over my sheets. My darling girl is nothing but a whore who wants cock to keep her plugged up at all times. You won’t have to worry about a thing ever again.”

“Bucky, please—”

“I’ll breed you until you carry my heir.”

That jars you awake and you’re scrambling, a conflicting concoction of pure, unadulterated want with the terrifying fear of the consequences to follow. “You can’t! Bucky, you have to stop. You can’t get me—” you hiccup, “—you can’t get me pregnant. Your heir has to come from a proper bloodline.”

“I no longer care about propriety and bloodlines. They have kept us apart long enough. I’m the crown prince and, what I want, I get. What I want is you and you alone. Why would I need some uptight, prissy noblewoman who doesn’t know how to cum around her husband’s cock?” 

“Bucky!” You gasp as he fucks you hard and fast. His pace is unrelenting and every slide of his cock inside you scrambles every single sensible thought in your mind. 

“And I have you — I can feel your pussy choking me. You — while you’re getting fucked outside with the risk of someone finding us. Yet, look at that, you’re squeezing me even tighter, my love. I always knew you were made for me. Every inch of my depravity, you take it even further. You complete me.”

Your stomach coils with something deep and tight, an unknown force set out to subject you to the strongest cut of humiliating pleasure. As a proper woman, you shouldn’t take such words, even from a prince. You shouldn’t stoop so low as to attain this form of high. 

However, your mind and your body and your heart do not align. While your rational mind screams at you to put a stop to this, your adoration for Bucky — now forced to surface after years of stomping on it and swallowing it with guilt — and your pure primal need — what many consider to be your purpose — join and meld to push you to keep going.

To chase after this sought-after pleasure that few can even dream about. If the cost of is to reduce your dignity and pride, then so be it.

“And now, I will complete you,” Bucky murmurs sweetly before he shoves himself inside you over and over again until you’re a weeping mess, your legs quaking as your body slides up against the wall with every thrust. Tears leak down your face, destroying Becca’s efforts to make you look beyond yourself. 

But all that physical destruction is worth it when your insides are being remade. 

With one final thrust, Bucky spills inside you. Warmth coating every part of your walls, thick, clinging onto your skin like it’s marking you with a permanent mess. Your second climax twists inside your gut, rising up to your chest to constrict your lungs as your pussy curls tight around him. His need to complete you is complemented by your own need for the same. Your walls keep him in, trapped, until every single drop is milked from his cock and buried deep inside your cunt. 

Bucky doesn’t let up, he fucks into you until he’s groaning sensitive against your neck. His breathing is even hotter than before, each exhale like a furnace in the middle of the desert. 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Those words no longer spark fear, but zealous anticipation. 

Then Bucky takes you again — you on your feet, him behind you as he fucks you against the wall, your breasts in his hands to hold him steady as he cums into you again, the milky white seeping out from where you two are joined. But then he misses your face too much so he grabs your chin, turns you to face him, and devours you in a messy kiss that has your teeth clicking almost painfully. 

Then he has you laid out over his clothes, your back on the floor, your knees and thighs against your torso, as he fucks deep inside you, promising you that it’ll take this time. That he’ll try as many times as he needs to until his seed takes. 

Then you’re on your hands and knees as Bucky pounds into you from behind, his thighs slapping against yours, his fingers reaching around to your clit in intentional circles that have your body quivering underneath him, and he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming around his cock and he’s filling you up with another load. 

Then you’re cleaning him up, the taste of his cum and your pussy a more potent substance than all the liquor in the nation combined. The thick liquid spurts down your throat like you’re being fed your dessert, a treat for having done so well.

And again and again and again. 

For a while, you forget that Bucky is relentless only due to the poison in his veins, his depraved hunger only exacerbated by the delicious textures of your cunt around his cock. An addiction that he could never suppress. 

When both your limbs finally give and enough of the toxins have been excreted — inside you, mind you, the two of you slump down on top of both your clothes. A mess of damp fabrics and fluids that even the best solvents in the kingdom could never remove. 

Bucky turns over to you with a groan — the same sound that’s been rattling inside your mind, the same sound that will surely affix to every crevice inside your brain for weeks, if not months — and slumps an arm over your waist. 

He nuzzles his face against your cheek, a small chuckle tickling your face. He hums, pleasantly exhausted. You’re a disarray of tangled limbs and gummy skin. You can’t help but laugh too. 

“Why are you laughing?” He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss on your bare shoulder. Somewhere along the way, you’ve stripped yourself of your final layer too, leaving you completely nude. 

The circumstances are far from believable. If you had told yourself that this was how your night would end, even your wildest imagination couldn’t have conjured up this conclusion. “I can’t believe we’re doing this in the middle of Lady Romanoff’s ball.”

“She would skin us alive if she knew,” he smirks. 

“Yes, she would.”

The third, unexpected voice has the two of you jumping, your fingers immediately reach for more clothes to cover you up, at the same time Bucky also drapes his jacket over your body. 

Lady Romanoff stands closer towards the land, where the water doesn’t extend. She then approaches, oil lamp in hand. You can’t unriddle whether her expression is contemptuous disgust or unpredicted amusement. 

Meanwhile, the two of you are still clad in nearly nothing, only the moonlight to cast shadows that cloak you.

“Lady Romanoff, I apologize profusely. We didn’t mean any disrespect—”

Bucky’s quick to interject. “It was entirely my fault. I have been subjected to… urges that were outside my control. It was a substance, you see.”

His words have your heart palpitating in an uneven rhythm. The words land unexpected sharp, like a piercing wound straight through your beating organ. 

Urges that were outside my control. 

This was never meant to happen. You and Bucky. This night. All of it is a fever dream. A product of your desires catalyzed by a chemical compound. Bucky never would’ve done it otherwise; the two of you have always run in parallel lines, never meant to intersect. 

All of his words — sweet nothings. 

Just like this evening. 

“I’m fully aware of the substance you speak of, I am frankly surprised that you would be so careless as to consume it at such a public place, your royal highness,” Lady Romanoff muses.

Bucky winces, scratching the back of his ear awkwardly. “I stumbled and the container had been loose. Unfortunately, I was forced to consume nearly all of it — at least, what didn’t end up on my clothing.” 

Lady Romanoff only hums thoughtfully. “If I remember correctly, the aftermath to this substance would be a deep sleep. Rather fast, I’m afraid.” This time, she turns to look at you. “I shall set up a room for the two of you — you can enter through the back. Most of my regular staff is gone and I’ll arrange for my lady-in-waiting to prepare it. She is most discreet.” 

“We can—” Bucky stops then, seeming caught off guard by the sudden dizzying spell. He sways slightly, words slurring together in a jumbled mess before he falls against you. His breathing even. 

“It appears my memory serves me well,” she says, voice tinged with unexpected pride. “Come, my dear.” 

As promised, most of the party has dwindled down to a few inebriated guests that Lady Romanoff organizes to be delivered home in their respective carriages. You and Bucky have been set up in a wing far from the prying eyes, this is where they’ve restricted most of Lady Romanoff’s staff, only the trusted are allowed. 

Her lady-in-waiting and her most trusted butler had been sent to help carry Bucky back — of course, after you properly dress him. No explanation was provided beyond the crown prince getting “ill from the food”, but you assume that they suspect something else is at play, particularly when you yourself look like you’ve been mauled by a wild beast. 

After Bucky has been settled into his room and you’ve been provided your own as a guest, which you insisted against, but Lady Romanoff insisted against your insistence, her staff is sent away. Bucky snores quietly on the bed, he’s been in and out. He was somewhat awake long enough to help the butler walk him back into the mansion, enough to plop himself down on the mattress.

Your heart is uneasy with worry but Lady Romanoff touches your shoulder. “He should be fine. He has most of it out of his system, I presume?” She cocks an eyebrow. Heat crawls up your neck as you nod. “Then he will recover by morning. He may be weary for a while but he’s in good hands.”

“Thank you for your generosity, Lady Romanoff,” you murmur, “I do apologize for the inconvenience and my… impudence.”

“No apologies needed. I spoke to Wilson and he’s received an earful from me about bringing untested substances — in unsealed containers, at that.” She pauses then turns to you, “You’ve been quite the kind… relative, for a distant one.”

She knows. You know that she knows. She knows that you know that she knows. 

This is a mess. 

“Yes, I’m rather used to caring for him,” you clear your throat, and then realize what you’ve just said. “In a way where he’s almost like my brother. We grew up together.” And that one isn’t a lie per se.

“I’m sure,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, take my words with a grain of salt, but I would like to ask you to proceed with caution. You seem to be a smart woman, I’ve seen you with Becca, how you manage to fit right in with society. While I am a romantic at heart, I am also a realist — and the truth is that the challenge will lie with you. As the crown prince, he will be untouched. Unharmed. The realm will protect him before it will protect a woman.”

“I understand that,” you nearly sigh, glancing back at Bucky. 

It’s what you’ve always known — your position in society. It’s why you never accepted Bucky’s advances, nor your own feelings regarding him. It’s easier to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that you aren’t in love with the crown prince as a mere maid — even if it hurts. 

“But his royal highness is also a good man. I’m sure he will choose wisely,” Lady Romanoff smiles. “Now, please rest. I will arrange for separate carriages to deliver you both home in the morning.”

“I should return now—”

“What you should do is rest,” she presses with a pointed look. “Furthermore, I believe he could use some tending to tonight — in case he wakes or has… remaining urges.”

She’s teasing you, and it’s working because your face feels like it’s been trapped in a heatwave all day. “I’ll make sure he gets through the night and will depart first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further.”

“No inconvenience. This has perhaps been the most entertaining occurrence this season.” Her eyes are practically twinkling in delight. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Lady Romanoff, please forgive me for overstepping, but if I could ask for your discretion regarding this matter—”

She waves you off with a reassuring smile. “You need not ask. I understand the position you are in and I would never trouble another woman more than necessary. I also would not enjoy making an enemy out of the palace and I doubt the crown prince would let things slide if anything were to happen to his precious lover.”

Your mouth opens to correct her, she gives you a look that tells you not to even attempt to lie to her. You technically wouldn’t be fibbing. 

After all, it was only his urges that allowed him to do such things to you tonight. At the end of the day, you’re still nothing more than a maid — a member of the royal staff. A lover is what you are not. 

“Have a good evening, dear.”

“You as well, Lady Romanoff.”

Once she leaves the room, you go to check on Bucky one last time before you move to your own room; it is an adjacent space, connected by a door should you need access to his room. That distance, while small, still feels much too large. 

You pull the blanket up higher on his waist, brush the wet strands away from his face as you check his temperature again. His fever has come down plenty, he’s at least broken through it and now he’s simply sweating out the rest. 

With that, you pull your hand away and ready yourself to move to your own room. 

Except, you don’t get the chance, not when you feel those familiar fingers wrap around your hand before you could move. You whirl around to find Bucky drowsily looking up at you. His eyes glow in the moonlight spilling through the massive windows. 

“Stay,” he murmurs.

“Your royal highness, I should return to the chambers Lady Romanoff has provided. If the staff were to return, I wouldn’t want to have to explain the circumstances.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” He says, but there’s no bite to his words, only affection.

You swallow thickly, chancing another look at your door.

“Stay,” he insists again, “please.”

Who are you to deny the crown prince? Your frail heart can’t seem to do that, not when it could be your last evening with him. 

So, you slide under the covers when he makes room with a giddy little smile. He tucks you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. “Sleep, sweet girl.”

And for once, you listen to him. 

Come morning, the reality of the situation has carved itself deep into your bones. While you wake up in Bucky’s warmth, his arms around you and your legs on top of each other, you know that this is the last part of your dream. The epilogue. This will be nothing more than a memory, maybe even the figment of one. 

You swiftly clean yourself up, ensuring that you are properly clothed and presentable before you make your way to where Lady Romanoff had directed you. She is nowhere to be found but a carriage has been arranged to take you back to the palace. The sun hasn’t even risen when you slipped out of bed.

With one last look at Bucky who’s still sleeping peacefully, you take your leave.

You’re back early enough that none of the staff are awake yet, but you also can’t bring yourself to sleep. The gown Becca had lent you hangs by your door quietly, a stark reminder of the evening you thought you had crafted in your mind. You turn over to ignore it. 

However, slumber doesn’t find you and so you begin your duties early. The princess’ gown, the tea, everything a lady-in-waiting should do in the palace. 

It’s expected that Becca has questions about where you went last night. She was frantic with worry at the thought of losing you somewhere, or if something had happened to you that she refused to leave.

“Lady Romanoff informed me that you and Bucky had returned earlier because he was ill,” she says, forehead creasing with lines, “I apologize that your night was ruined by my brother. I was hoping you would enjoy the remainder of the ball.”

“I enjoyed it plenty already, don’t worry,” you smile. “Thank you for giving me that opportunity.”

“Well,” she eagerly presses, “were there any handsome bachelors that caught your eye?”

Only one and he is the one you certainly cannot have. 

“No, I believe we were out there to assess the men for your own relationship.”

Becca blushes, fanning her face. “No, no one of importance.” She’s never been a good liar. “Okay, there was one but Bucky would kill me if I tried. Have you ever noticed how attractive Lord Rogers is? He also has such a kind heart.”

If he had a kind heart, he would’ve stopped Bucky from taking that ridiculous substance, you think bitterly, unfairly. 

“I’m sure he is,” you only say. 

“How was your evening then? Did you really not see anyone to your liking?” 

You smile softly at her. “Princess, even if there were, it would not be my place.”

“That’s rather unprogressive of you! I’m sure there are suitors who would care little about such trivial things.”

Naive, hopeful Becca. This is why you love her. 

Before you can respond, Becca perks up and waves behind you. You turn and that’s when you see him — Bucky. He’s crossing the ground with long strides like a man possessed. He’s a man on a mission as he wastes no time at all in closing the distance.

He looks furious.

He also looks an outright mess — shirt unbuttoned, sleeves haphazardly folded, hair sticking up at odd angles. It looks as if he rolled right out of bed at the Romanoff house and came straight here. Here to this garden that you’re walking with Becca. 

You have a feeling that that’s exactly what he did.

“Brother, you’re looking much better—”

“You left,” he instead speaks directly to you.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to avoid Becca’s look of utter confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, your royal highness.”

“I thought we’ve established that we’re past that level of formality,” he snaps, “I’m not letting you escape this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, sister dear, I need to have a little chat with this one.” His hand covers yours, none of the gentleness from last night, instead he squeezes it tight like he’s afraid of you slipping away again. 

Becca doesn’t follow, she’s too busy gaping and slowly piecing things together. 

All the while Bucky is dragging you stumbling and tripping over your own feet towards a more secluded part of the gardens, away from the curious eyes. 

You’re trying to pry his fingers off you to make your escape. “Bucky, stop. Stop this.”

He does stop dead in his tracks but he immediately spins around to face you. “No, you stop,” he growls and the sound shoots straight for your chest. “After last night, after everything that’s happened, you simply – what — leave? I woke up and you were nowhere to be found. Lady Romanoff was the one who had to tell me that you departed earlier.”

“I had to return to my duties first,” you say brusquely, “I have responsibilities to tend to, your royal highness. It also would have been inappropriate and highly suspicious if we arrived at the same time.”

“Damn propriety,” he barks, eyes glowering, “I think you should cross that word off your vocabulary after last night.”

Said last night flashes before your eyes, like paintings that could force a priest to pray. You’re warm all over now, the ghost of his touch on your skin, his mouth mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing the dips and curves of your body. The feel of his cock, hot and wet, sliding inside you, spilling evidence that took you far too long to clean last night. 

Even now, you can almost still feel it dripping down your legs.

“You left,” Bucky presses.

“You weren’t yourself last night. Like you said, they were urges as a consequence of the substance you accidentally took. It was nothing more than a fulfillment of the circumstances.”

He scoffs, “I said that to Lady Romanoff, not to you. I did not want her to hold you responsible for the state we were in. To me, last night was— last night was everything.”

The lump in your throat only grows, tears prick your eyes. He can’t do this. Not now. You’ve made your decision to let that dream go. 

“It shouldn’t have happened,” you whisper.

“Shouldn’t have happened?” He echoes, aghast. “Is that regret I hear in your voice?”

“Bucky…”

“Because I don’t regret it. Not a single damn thing. I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve made it very clear that I love you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If I had to give it all up, I would — if that meant that I could finally hold you.” 

“You can’t say such things!” You hiss, “You are the crown prince!”

“And sometimes I wish I wasn’t! Because it would make this easier, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have to restrain yourself every time you speak with me. You wouldn’t have to call me such ridiculous titles when all I want is for you to say my name. Because I know you love me, I know you do. You can’t look at me the way you do and expect me to believe that you don’t feel anything for me.”

Your heart splits down the middle, parts of it chipping away. “I— it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I want. You have a long line of noble ladies waiting for you to make your choice—”

“I’ve already made my choice and damn anyone else who gets in my way. I’ve already had a taste of you, my love. I’m never letting you slip through my fingers again. I’ll speak to my parents—”

“Don’t!” You interrupt. “Please don’t. It’s— it won’t be you who would suffer the consequences. If they know of what… we did, if they know that it goes far beyond the previous evening, it wouldn’t be you they punish. My mother and I…” Your sentence trails off as your voice cracks. 

Bucky cups your face, presses his forehead against yours. “I wouldn’t dare let a thing happen to you.”

“It’s not your choice.”

“It is. If they want me to be their heir, this is my choice. They have to make theirs.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, that’s love.”

You swallow thickly as he leans back only slightly, pained like he can’t even bear this amount of distance between the two of you. 

“I love you. I love you and that’s a fact truer than the sun that spills light onto this earth. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise to care for you, to cherish you. I promise to be a man fit for you. I won’t be perfect because god knows nobody in this world could deserve you, but I’ll always try my damndest to make you happy.”

“Bucky,” you breathe out..

“Say yes. Say you’ll be mine. You’ve made me wait all this time. All these years wasted. Don’t let us forego anymore.”

Could you really do this? It would be a risk — not only to you, but to your mother, to the staff. They would be questioned if they’ve ever encouraged your entanglement with the prince. Becca — oh god, what would Becca even think? It would be an incredibly selfish decision. 

“Don’t do that,” Bucky murmurs as he tightens his fingers around your face, “don’t think about anyone else. Think about you and what you want.”

You want him. You do.

“You’re mine regardless, sweet girl. I’ll protect you no matter what you decide. My heart is yours.”

“Yes,” you whisper and the answer comes easier than you think, “yes. I’m yours.”

Bucky lets out a wet laugh, blue eyes glistening as he presses his lips against yours. “You’re mine. I’ll protect you, I swear it.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he rasps, “I know. Thank you for trusting me. I promise to do right by you. No matter what happens, know that my entire life is yours. I’d burn the kingdom down before I let anyone lay a finger on you.”

“Becca might get to you first,” you choke out a laugh.

Bucky swipes the tears from your cheeks with the pads of this thumb. “Then maybe I will have to take your protection first.”

“Deal.”

+ sam: my google searches from this are so embarrassing but hey i tried. i havent written bucky in a hot second but this one took me by the throat so i hope you enjoyed it!!! i love hearing thoughts so please share them if you liked it <3

bucky is kissing (taglist): @superbassbuck @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @flockoff-featherface @winterdecember18 @chateaubarnes @54nboo @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @heldbybarnes @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @pinksplace @lunexiax @54nboo @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @esunarint @captain-shannon-becker @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @alli0-0 @amoremarveloustime @avgdestitute @natskisses @sarah1barnes @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @onecojg @/iamthatonefangirl @stegosaurussims @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @flippedccc @lynnidc @winnichu173 @singulartoast @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @itsmadamehydra @cutttteeee @macbaetwo @blobfishlol @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @erina00 @idkbeautiful @goobers-mcgee @globetrotter28 @rach2602 @star-yawnznn @my-drvidess @deeninadream @fruitypebsworld @ella-rowen @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @awkwardgiraffe726 @a-very-fictional-girl @misswhiddless @femmewithmommyissues2001 @onyx8514 @pandasslol @eiaf4uwn @wickedfun9 @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @umm-ok-fine @its-pomegranite @67-angelofthelordme-67 @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @wowitsafemale @fruitypebsworld

+ add yourself to my taglists !

[jobean12-blog]

Safe in Your Arms

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader/ The Mandalorian x reader

Word Count: 300

Summary: The Mandalorian’s enemy has taken it too far with your kidnapping and now he will suffer for it.

Author’s Note: This is for June 11th of @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles and the song: ‘Little Bitty Pretty One’ and the lyric: “come on and talk to me.” Thank you both for hosting and thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always!🩷🩷🩷Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: being held captive, illusions of injury, Mando is in a rage, soft fluffiness and maybe a giggle at the end

June Jukebox Scribbles Masterlist

You roll your forehead against the cool stone floor. Far behind you, there’s the sound of banging, the doors shuddering under the force.

BOOM!

The doors blow open, debris splintering everywhere You sense him before you hear his agonized roar.

The air shifts and you feel his hand glide over your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, usually strong voice breaking. “He will pay. For everything.”

Somewhere nearby you hear the heavy footfalls of Moff Gideon approach, and you tense even in your weakened state. Djarin’s grip tightens around you before his hands leave you and he stands.

Gideon taunts Djarin, seeking a reaction that never comes. The Mandalorian stalks after him, steady steps filled with coiled rage. Gideon strikes out with the dark saber, but Djarin blocks it, his Beskar unbreaking.

Most of his body is hidden under his fitted armor, but even with so little showing, he is so obviously a dangerous thing. And then he strikes so fast you barely register the attack and with the help of Grogu, the dark saber is free from Gideon’s grasp, and he lay bleeding out on the floor.

Djarin slides his hands under your body as he gently lifts you, your choked sound muffled as you turn your head into his chest.

“It’s alright baby. I’ve got you.”

You force your eyes to remain open, curling tighter against him.

“Come on and talk to me,” he pleads.

Your eyes focus on Grogu who hangs on his shoulder, ears bent back with worry. “Got any cookies buddy?”

You can feel Djarin’s body sag with relief at your request and Grogu reaches inside his robe, taking out a cookie, biting it once then handing it to you.

With a nuzzle you settle against Djarin’s body, the feeling of safety surmounting all else.

[jobean12-blog]

At Last

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader with lots of cute Grogu too!

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: After your home planet is destroyed by The Empire and you're taken prisoner, someone and something unexpected comes to your rescue.

Author's Note: Once again, I'm terrible at summaries but this is my first time writing for Mando and honestly, I've been enjoying it so much. Took me almost a week to get it done but thankfully I did. I've read up on quite a few things that say his first name is Djarin and some say Din. I went with Djarin but of course whatever works for you is best. Being a huge SW fan I also tried to be true to the lore and all that but forgive me for any mistakes. Thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Thank you Daisy @firefly-graphics for the divider!

Warnings: there's some light angst over past experiences but nothing is mentioned in detail, mostly it's light and fun and adventurous and flirty and Mando is just yummy and there's a no helmet reveal lol and lots of Grogu silliness.

The dampness of the cave begins to seep into your clothing, and you can’t staunch the consistent shivering of your body any longer. With your hands bound and your mouth covered in the harsh cloth you really can’t do much at all.

At the sound of someone-or something- approaching, you let the first tear slip free. After being dragged from your home, bound and gagged, and thrown into wherever this was you were sure nothing good could come next.

The shadows along the wall grow taller, the being that approaches something you’re sure you’ve never seen before. You plaster yourself to the cold stone, disappearing into the darkness as much as you can and try to slow your rapid breathing.

When the creature finally reaches the bars of your cell you can barely make it out, but you remain silent, willing it to go away. It steps closer and cocks it’s head to the side, revealing wide eyes and long, slim ears. It’s much smaller than you thought it would be.

It blinks several times, tilting it’s head as it studies you. You still don’t dare make a move but then it makes a sound, almost like a soft coo and you can’t help the way your interest piques and your fear lessens. That is, until it lifts its three fingered hand and squints as if focusing. You brace yourself for pain but let out an exhaled huff of surprise when you hear the lock break.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut, too afraid to open them but when a soft sound of interest hits your ear, far closer than before you suck in a breath and open them.

The creature is standing right in front of you, so small it barely reaches your bent knees. It keeps studying you before it takes another step closer. You instinctively squeeze yourself against the wall, but it continues to advance until it reaches your bound wrists.

Reaching out again, it’s hand hovers over the metal binding and then with a clank they break apart and fall to the ground. You’re breathing quickens as you slowly reach for the cloth secured across your mouth but then you hear the heavy footfall of boots and the little creature scampers closer to you as if to hide.

“Grogu?” a deep voice calls. “Where the hell did he get off to?”

Whoever approaches speaks with an exasperated and grumpy tone and once they’re standing in front of your cell you realize you might actually really be in trouble this time. The dim light from the torches in the hallway glint and gleam off the armor that covers him from head to toe, and his broad shoulders fill most of the cell doorway.

A Mandalorian.

His head cocks to the side slightly, the sight mirroring the way the small creature still hiding next to you first observed you.

“Grogu,” he sighs. “What are you doing in here?”

You still haven’t removed the cloth over your face, but you hold up your unbound hands to show they’re empty before taking it off.

“He opened my cell,” you say, voice raspy from your screams from earlier.

The Mandalorian steps closer, allowing light to filter past his body, and takes you in. Since you can’t see his face you can’t read his expression, but he stares for a bit too long and Grogu moves toward him.

“Come on, we have to go,” the Mandalorian says and holds out his hand.

“No!” you shout a bit too loud. “Please…”

The Mandalorian tilts his head again and just as you’re about to fill the silence with another plea you hear the distinct sounds of a group of droids running down the hallway.

“Now Grogu!” he yells.

Grogu looks at the Mandalorian and then at you and doesn’t budge. You keep your hands in clear view and start to stand on shaky legs. They almost give out and you fall against the wall, wincing as your achy and tired joints rebel and you slide back down to the floor.

The Mandalorian turns on his heel and pulls out his blaster, positioning himself flat against the bars of the cell to peek out into the hallway.

“We’re running out of time,” he grumbles. “We’re leaving.”

Grogu finally vocalizes his emotions in a series of coos and squeaks, all of which sound adamant.

“No.” The gravelly voice leaves little room for argument in the single word, but Grogu doesn’t relent, his clear argument growing louder with every sound.

The Mandalorian’s shoulders slump and he lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine,” he groans.

Grogu turns to you with the flash of a triumphant smile in his eyes.

“Get up,” the Mandalorian says gruffly, his attention now on you.

You push yourself up with shaky muscles, but the events of the last twenty-four hours have finally caught up to you. Before you can tell him you’re struggling he reaches out a gloved hand. Your hesitant at first but as the sounds of the droids get louder you close your fingers around his and allow him to steady you on your feet.

“Stay behind me and keep up,” he says quietly. “My ship isn’t far.”

You nod and as he turns around you grip the back of his jet pack, holding on as he stealthily moves across the cell back toward the door. He holds up his hand, and you wait, loosening your grip on him as he surges forward and starts blasting the droids.

Every shot finds its target with deadly precision, and you trail behind him with Grogu. Amid the chaos you lean down as ask, “do you want a lift?”

Grogu nods and even with your tired limbs you easily lift him into the your arms. The Mandalorian makes easy work of the droids and within seconds you see his ship looming ahead.

“Wow,” you breathe out when the Razor Crest comes into full view.

He ushers you up the gangway, still shooting until the door is almost closed. You follow him to the cockpit, your heart racing as you dash toward the unknown.

“Sit,” he commands and you’d be more annoyed with his gruff tone if he hadn’t just saved your life.

Well…technically it was the cute little alien that freed you from the cell. Either way, you were in no position to argue so you sat with a thump and buckled your seat belt. Grogu hopped into a seat clearly made for him and did the same.

You watched as the Mandalorian punched in some coordinates and pulled several levers. Once the ship was safely out of the planet’s atmosphere you let out a loud sigh of relief, dropping your head back against the cushioned seat.

Grogu releases himself and waddles over to you.

“Hey!” the Mandalorian says. “What did I tell you about walking around the ship while we’re flying?”

Grogu makes a distinct noise of nonchalant dismissal and continues toward you, hopping up into your lap. He studies you just as he was when you were in the cell.

“Hi Grogu,” you say quietly.

What you think is a smile graces his expression and you smile back then tell him your name.

“He’s really cute,” you say. “Did you rescue him too?”

“Something like that,” the Mandalorian answers after a pause.

“What’s you name?” you ask him.

“You’ve got a lot of questions…”

“Well you’re not very talkative so…”

After another long pause he replies. “Djarin. Din Djarin.”

“Nice to meet you Djarin. And really. Thank you. I owe you my life.”

He nods, the action barely perceptible but when it’s clear he’s not into talking more you purse your lips together and look back at Grogu who cocks his head and coos.

Your stomach grumbles and it startles him, but he quickly recovers and drops to the floor to a small bag. He pulls out what looks like a blue cookie and brings it to you.

“Thanks,” you say with a smile.

He grabs two for himself and happily munches away.

“Lucky he didn’t offer you one of his frogs,” Djarin says and you’re sure you hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

You make a face but school your features quickly so as not to upset Grogu. After another cookie and some water you settle into the seat, realizing how tired you are. You’re just thinking you should ask where Djarin is taking you, but your brain starts to get hazy and your eyelids grow heavy.

You wake to the feel of warmth and softness, slowly blinking your eyes until they focus. The image before you has you gasping for a breath of air as you instantly back away. Your heart rams against your ribcage until you finally realize you’re only staring at Grogu’s curious face.

“I told him to let you sleep but he won’t leave your side.”

At Djarin’s deep voice you look up to find him hovering nearby, his stance casual as he leans against the wall.

“He just startled me is all,” you explain. “How did I get in here?”

“You feel asleep,” Djarin answers in a matter-of-fact tone.

“So I guess I just walked here while sleeping…”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I carried you in here after you feel asleep in the cockpit.”

You’re about to tell him thank you but he continues on. “Not the most comfortable place to get some rest.”

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“We’re making a stop at Nevarro. Then I can take you back to wherever you’re from.”

You sit up and hug your knees into your chest. “There’s nothing to go back to.”

With a sniffle you turn your face away and he doesn’t prod you for more information.

“Let’s just get to Nevarro first,” he finally says.

“I was a droid engineer,” you offer after silence fills the space, “on my home planet.”

“I don’t care for droids.”

“Probably because you haven’t met the right one.”

“I’ve met too many.”

“None that I’ve built.”

He scoffs lightly and pushes off the wall.

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He offers you the bowl of hot soup. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask.

Grogu’s loud and happy slurps make both you and Djarin look his way before Djarin answers. “I’ll eat later.”

Before you can ask him why he disappears down the nearby ladder.

After a full belly of soup you start to explore the ship, running your fingertips along the metal ridges and grooves as you slowly walk down one of the hallways. When you reach a thatched grate you cover your mouth to stifle your surprised gasp.

“It’s a good thing you’re not an enemy.”

This time you jump from surprise and spin around. “Where did you come from?”

“This is my ship,” Djarin answers as if that answers your question.

“I can’t believe you have a mobile carbonite freezing system...are you…”

“We’re almost there,” he interrupts. “I suggest you find a seat,” he adds, before stalking off.

The planet of Nevarro is not what you expect. The dry and dark volcanic rocks that line its surface are uneven under your feet, and each step kicks up a plume of dust. When you look out over the horizon you see much of the same, no sign of the city in sight.

“We’re almost there,” Djarin says as he reaches out to catch you when you stumble on a loose rock.

His hand steadies you at your waist, lingering before he pulls it away and keeps walking.

After what feels like another ten miles you see a small cabin up ahead. It’s nestled against a backdrop of the same rocky mountains you’ve passed since landing the ship, scattered rocks framing the small abode and one lone tree out front.

“It’s not much…,” Djarin starts as you near the home, but before he can say more you pick up your pace and with renewed energy follow Grogu and his hover pram to the door.

“Are you kidding?” you say with excitement. “This is so much better than where I was living before.”

Djarin cocks his head as he watches you flit around the space, touching everything- much to his annoyance-with a wide smile on your face.

“Just make yourself at home,” he says with a wry tone.

You stop in you tracks and drop your hand from the weapon you were just about to grab. “Sorry,” you mumble. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” he asks, softer than before.

“I like your house.”

You turn away, fidgeting the trinkets on the counter.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get us dinner.”

He’s out the door before you can respond and you sigh, dropping your shoulders as you look around. Grogu hops over and reaches for your hand. He leads you back outside to the front of the house and pulls a shiny silver ball from this robe.

With slow steps he distances himself from you then turns and lifts the ball in the air. It floats in front of him and you marvel at the sight.

“How do you do it?” you whisper.

He then makes a forward motion with his hand and the ball floats toward you until you can grasp it. “I can’t float it back like you do.”

He cocks his head with a soft coo.

“Is it ok if I just gently throw it back?”

He nods and as carefully as possible you throw the ball back. It stops just a few inches before Grogu’s hand, hovering in midair before he pushes it back to you with some invisible force.

You continue you playing this way, laughing when he starts sending it careening toward you at different angles and heights, clearly making you reach for it. You’ve just caught his last wonky ‘throw’ when you hear the scuffle of boots along the dry ground.

“Watch he doesn’t hit you in the head with that,” Djarin says and the lightness in his voice catches you off guard. You lose concentration as you focus on Djarin and the ball comes flying back toward you. Before you’ve even had time to react, Djarin throws himself in front of you and catches it.

“Shit,” you mutter, looking over at Grogu who has what looks like an innocent expression on his face.

Djarin groans and chucks the ball back toward Grogu, who stops it easily, then ushers you into the house.

“At least you have all that armor on,” you say as you walk next to him. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt if you got hit with it.”

“Depends on how hard he sends it,” Djarin says, tone serious.

“How does he do that?” you ask as you help him unload the supplies and fresh meat.

“He’s force sensitive,” Djarin states.

“A Jedi…” you say in breathless wonder as you watch Grogu try to stealthily steal a bit of meat from behind Djarin and slurp it into his mouth messily.

“He’s still in training and I’m not a very good teacher,” Djarin says, clearly aware of Grogu’s attempts.

“He certainly has good control of that ball.”

“That’s nothing. I’ve seen him do…,” and he goes silent for a moment before continuing, “some incredible things.”

Djarin starts to prepare the Qartuum meat for cooking but you still his hand and take the blade. “Let me. It’s the least I can do.”

“You know what you’re doing?” he asks, the hint of lightness in his voice stalling you again.

You nod. “I’ve had to fend for myself for a long time.”

He gives you a sound of understanding and stands, clearing a spot to sit and eat.

“Will you take your helmet off to eat?” you ask, not daring to look up as you skin the goatlike creature.

When at first he doesn’t answer you slowly lift your gaze to his. Grogu looks between the two of you and makes a noise you can’t interpret.

“No one asked you,” Djarin says as he turns to Grogu.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand to quiet your chuckle, and Grogu makes another string of noises.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Djarin says in response.

You listen to the one-sided argument and try your best to keep your laughter at a minimum, but when Grogu extends his hand toward Djarin and you see his beskar helmet start to lift you let out a gasp.

“What did I tell you about that?” Djarin admonishes. “Don’t.”

Grogu makes a squeal of clear dispute and tugs on it again. Djarin holds it down and grumbles something incoherent.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

Djarin’s helmet drops back down, and he grunts with a frustrated sigh.

“I can eat outside if you prefer,” you say, the words fast and filled with anxiety. “Or you can eat outside and I’ll stay in. Or I can go somewhere else entirely…”

He stops your rant with a gentle raise of his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

As he walks out the doorway to dispose of the Qartuum carcass you stare, silently mulling over your thoughts of what he might look like under the helmet and all that armor.

“Is he handsome?” you ask Grogu in a whisper, giggling when he tilts his head and lowers his ears with several blinks of his big round eyes. “I have no idea if that’s a yes or no but hopefully I’ll find out soon.”

Djarin serves both you and Grogu then mumbles something about needing to check the condenser unit behind the house.

He’s still out there when you finish eating. “Need some help?” you ask as you watch him fiddling with a part.

With a slow turn of his head you can imagine him looking back at you with narrowed eyes.

“I promise I know what I’m doing…with this stuff at least.”

He steps away from the unit and motions for you to take a look. “Oh…I’ve seen this before. We just need a new motor.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you repeat.

He mumbles something and shakes his head before stalking into the cabin. When he returns he has several parts in his hand. “Wasn’t sure which one,” he says as he holds them out.

You place your palm under his gloved hand, cradling it as you search through the motors with the other hand. “This will do.”

As you step back to admire your handwork you trip on another loose rock, your ankle twisting as you lose your footing and start to careen toward the ground.

You let out a preemptive scream that quickly dies in your throat when strong arms wrap around your waist, your body now cradled against the firm armor of Djarin.

“Do you usually trip and fall this much?” he asks with a light chuckle.

You glare at his helmet.

“Technically I haven’t fallen once!”

“Thanks to me,” he adds.

You’re still in his arms, neither of you moving away as you banter.

“Then I guess you better stay close.”

The words are out before you realize what you’ve said, and you feel his grip tighten before he carefully sets you back on your feet.

He clears this throat. “Thanks for fixing that.”

“Thanks for keeping me on my feet.”

He nods and turns his attention to Grogu who’s now standing a few feet away and munching on one of his frog snacks.

“Hm…definitely not trying one of those,” you say as you brush by Djarin. His light laughter follows you and with the feel of his arms still lingering you almost float back to the cabin…not tripping once.

As you’re watching nightfall on Nevarro, the darkening sky dotted with the sparkle of stars, you hear the distinct sounds of a message coming through a comm link. Djarin is inside the cabin, cleaning his blaster and you hear the low murmur of his voice but you’re unable to make out the words.

Not a minute later he steps outside. “I have to leave.”

You stand quickly. “Now?...Alone?”

“Just me.”

“But…”

“You can stay here with Grogu and when I return we can figure out where you want to go.”

“I want to go with you.”

You put your hands on your hips and straighten your shoulders. Grogu waddles up next to you and tries to mirror your stance, his tiny arms crossed over his chest and his expression indignant.

“No,” Djarin says. “Stay here. I’ll be back before tomorrow night.”

He starts to walk toward the smaller starfighter you took to the cabin after docking the Razor Crest. You follow with Grogu not far behind.

“Why can’t we come with you?” you ask, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

“It’s dangerous.”

“So.”

“So I don’t want to have to worry about either of you.”

You look down at Grogu who meets your gaze then back at Djarin. “Give me a blaster. And he can use the force!”

“We don’t fit in the starfighter.”

“We made it work to get here!”

“That was a short ride.”

He’s now standing with his hands on his own hips, knee cocked to the side while he argues.

“Then we’ll take the Razor Crest.”

With a sigh he just turns back toward the ship and tries to open the cockpit. “What the…” he starts then slowly turns to look at Grogu.

“Stop it,” he growls.

Grogu tilts his head, blinking innocently even as his outstretched hand strains with the tension of holding the cockpit closed.

“Grogu.”

You can’t help the laughter that slips past your lips, and Djarin turns his head toward you.

“I’d say you were giving me a dirty look right now, but I wouldn’t know…” you tease.

The silent standoff between Grogu and Djarin lasts for another minute before Djarin’s shoulders finally slump and he grits out, “fine.”

You let out a whoop of excitement and head back to the cabin to grab a small bag of the few belongings you had, making sure to pack extra snacks for Grogu.

“Does he always get his way?” you ask with a smile.

Djarin just grunts and readies the ship. “Stay out of trouble and most importantly out of my way. It’s enough I have to worry about him…”

Before he takes off he pauses. “Did you happen to grab extra snacks?”

With a bright smile you pat your bag. “Plenty.”

He holds your gaze for a beat and you’re hoping there’s a hint of a smile hiding beneath his helmet.

“Stay on the ship,” he says firmly. “I’ll contact you if I need to.”

He looks between you and Grogu, shaking his head as Grogu shoves his third cookie into his mouth.

“And don’t let him eat anymore of those!” Djarin says before turns and cautiously distances himself from the ship.

After you and Grogu play ‘catch,’ you explore your surroundings, being as careful as possible even though there isn’t much around where the ship is hidden. You try and fail to keep Grogu from eating more snacks and as the time continues to pass you’re both getting fidgety.

“Think he’s ok?” you ask Grogu, worry lacing your tone.

He coos softly and drops his ears.

“I know. It’s been a while….maybe we should….”

Before you can finish the thought Grogu reaches into a small compartment on the ship and pulls free a piece of armor just his size. He holds it up to you and you help him put it on.

“Guess we’re on the same page then,” you say, after securing the chest piece and searching the ship for something you can bring for yourself.

Once you’re both equipped and as protected as you can be you sneak off the ship and in the direction of Mos Eisley’s space port.

Grogu clings to your back, hidden under the hood of his cloak, your own cloak wrapped around you, the hood over your head and low enough that you can only see the bottom half of your face.

Thankfully, the spaceport is bustling with activity, and your presence mostly goes unnoticed. That is, until you unceremoniously trip over a repair droid that whizzes past your feet.

You stumble forward and nearly land on top of it, quickly recovering and grabbing your robes to pull them close to your body again. The repair droid whistles weakly from below you, still trapped and you wince.

“Sorry little guy,” you mutter. “I’m prone to falls.”

He makes another pitiful sound, and you see that a piece of his is damaged.

“Don’t worry, I can fix that,” you tell the droid, carefully picking him up as you stand and try to look nonchalant. You tuck the droid against your side and keep walking, sucking in a hiss when you feel the pain in your knee from where you fell.

“I never thought about how we would find him,” you whisper to Grogu, who coos softly in your ear. “Maybe if we…”

Grogu makes a loud whistle, grabbing your attention and pointing down one of the dusty alleyways hidden between two stone buildings. You take slow and cautious steps toward it, flattening yourself to the wall before peeking down the narrow opening.

“I don’t see anything,” you whisper.

Grogu squeaks and gives you a forward nudge. You continue on as quietly as possible only stopping when you reach a metal door at the far end. You slip to the side and hide behind some freight boxes, listening.

“How do we get in?” you muse more to yourself than Grogu.

Before either of you (or your new droid friend) can come up with any ideas you hear scuffling on the other side of the wall. A few blaster shots go off and then the door explodes outward in a crash that rings your ears, dust clogging your eyes and throat as you stumble backward.

You can just make out Djarin’s armor glinting in the hot sun. He’s prone on his back, unmoving.

“Shit,” you grit out, looking between the crumbling doorway and Djarin. “Shit, shit, shit.”

In the time you’ve had to let out a string of curses you hear his groan as he moves his head and starts to sit up.

“Oh thank goodness,” you say, far too loudly.

His head whips your way and you’re sure you pick up on his low growl of disapproval before he gets to his feet.

“I thought I told you…” he starts as he limps toward you.

The distinct sound of stormtrooper footfalls fills the air and you grab Djarin’s shoulder.

“No time for reprimands now. Come on, we have to go.”

He groans and lets you help him with some of his weight as you disappear down a turn in the alleyway. The droid still tucked into your side makes a loud beep of fear and Djarin stills.

“Why do you have that?”

“Ummm…also no time for stories. Let’s go.”

The stormtroopers start shouting, blasters raised as the small group of them get nearer.

“We’re going to have to fight them off,” Djarin says, standing upright and pushing you and Grogu behind him.

The stormtroopers round the corner and Djarin takes the first shot, hitting the nearest one square in the chest. Grogu hops off your shoulder and onto the back of Djarin’s jetpack, blasting another with a force push that knocks him into the wall and down to the ground.

There’s only three left and Djarin takes care of another with an easy shot, you reach for your small blaster and aim. The shot goes off and hits the second to last stormtrooper in the stomach.

Djarin takes out the last one then turns to you. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“I told you. I’ve been on my own for a long time…”

Again, he doesn’t push for more but instead pushes you forward back toward the ship. The closer you get to safety the more you start to notice the way his right arm hangs more loosely at his side than the left.

You ask, “Are you hurt?” and he quickly squares his shoulders, but you catch the sound of a hiss.

“I’m fine,” he states and Grogu makes a sound of suspicion.

“No one asked you,” Djarin says and starts to walk faster.

“He’s grumpier than usual,” you mutter.

Grogu’s sound of agreement covers up whatever Djarin grumbles.

You slide into your seat in the Razor Crest as Grogu hops into his, noticing again that Djarin is averse to using his right arm.

“You’re hurt.”

It’s a statement this time and you try to put some force behind it.

“We need to get out of here,” is the only answer you get as he plugs in coordinates and starts to get the ship in the air. “We’re going into hyperdrive as soon as we’re out of the atmosphere. Buckle up.”

You brace yourself, quickly checking that Grogu is safely secured, smiling despite the circumstances when you see him shoving a cookie in his mouth.

Once the ship is safely through hyperspace, Djarin leaves the cockpit. You follow right behind.

“Let me see your shoulder,” you say when he gets to the med bay and slumps onto a bench.

“It’s fine,” he says, more harshly than intended and you hear his soft sigh that follows after.

He doesn’t protest when you reach for the pauldron that covers his right shoulder, careful as you remove it to reveal the blood stained cloth beneath.

“Shit,” you say and quickly stand to grab some medical supplies.

“I’m fi…”

“If you say, ‘you’re fine,’ one more time…” you threaten.

“What?” he counters in a huff. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll…I’ll pry that helmet right off your stupid head.”

“Stupid!?”

“Yeah.”

He’s quiet as you peel away the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a deep gash where a blaster shot grazed his shoulder. He only winces slightly when you start to clean it, a light hiss escaping through his clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing it must sting badly.

“Thank you,” he says, just as quietly and you look up, finding his head tilted in your direction.

You nod and hold his gaze, letting your eyes wander over the scuff marks on his helmet.

“No other injuries,” he states as if knowing you were assessing him.

You purse your lips and focus on his wound once again. He shifts just so he can take off his gloves, uncovering strong hands and thick calloused fingers. You stare a bit too long, trying to shake off the thoughts of what else he’s hiding under all the armor.

He reaches up a hand and wraps his fingers around your wrist, the feeling of his warm skin against yours sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. He brings your hand to his helmet before taking the other and doing the same on the opposite side.

Your eyes widen and you stay paralyzed in that position, your splayed hands gripping the sides of his helmet.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice husky.

Your tongue darts out to wet your parted lips and with shaky but deliberate hands you gently start to lift his helmet. The first thing you get a glimpse of is his neck, the muscles flexing with his hard swallow.

As your breath hitches you continue to pull his helmet upwards, revealing next the chiseled edge of his jaw, lined with a dark shadow of hair. After that it’s his lips, and you can’t stop your gasp. They’re perfect. Pouty and soft.

You finally see the hint of a smile pull at the corner of his mouth and when you get the helmet free of his head and your eyes lock with his you’re sure all your breath whooshes out of you.

“That bad huh?” he says with a chuckle.

His hair is slightly mussed, and you tentatively reach up to run your fingers through the soft curls before dropping your hand to his temple and further to trace the line of his jaw until your fingertips press softly to his lips.

Your head slowly moves back and forth since the word of disagreement has escaped your now muddled brain.

Your fingers spread over his cheek, and you drag his face closer, feeling the soft escape of his breath against your lips. His gaze drops to your mouth and without another second of hesitation you close the distance and press your lips to his.

His hand immediately glides up the curve of your spine and around the nape of your neck, tugging you closer until your bodies are pressed together. He reaches up with his injured arm, intending to brush his thumb across your cheek but the pain catches him off guard and he hisses against your lips.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, keeping you just a breath away.

“Maybe we should get that bandaged first.”

His nose lightly bumps yours before he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, gently sucking before soothing it with a soft kiss.

“Mm,” he hums. “Not yet.”

The next kiss steals your breath and you’re sure even if he were bleeding out you wouldn’t stop him from kissing you. You’re so lost in the feel of him against your skin that it’s only the loud crash from across the room that startles you enough to have you break apart.

Your heads turn and you see Grogu sitting on top of one of the rolling trays, the medical supplies that were just on it now littering the floor, with a cookie in hand, proceeding to make crumbs everywhere.

“He really likes those cookies huh?” you joke.

A firm press of warm fingertips turns your head back until your eyes lock with his.

“You have no idea,” he whispers before pressing his smile to yours.

[absurdthirst]

To See Your Face {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: Slavery/Capture/Forced servitude, surprise, confusion, hurt, Removing the helmet, death threats, lost love, flashbacks, sex in the dark, flirting, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, cream pie, trust, cock riding, fighting, creatures, death, reassurance, professions of love, Mandalorian vows

Comments: When Mando walks into the Hutt hall, he never imagined to find you there. The woman who disappeared years ago, leaving him alone. He thought you had left him, only to find that you had been abducted and sold to slavers. Finally seeing his face for the first time when his helmet is removed on orders of the Hutt Twins.

A/N: This is COMPLETELY inaccurate to the movie! We saw the trailer and decided on a story. I saw the movie on Friday and it's totally wrong, but who cares? 😂 Written before we saw the movie.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.

The dry, evil laughter of the giant slugs makes you shudder, although the temperature in the room where they preferred to receive visitors was hot. Good for you, considering your daily outfit consisted of barely anything, the Hutts enjoyed dressing their slave women in nothing more than scraps of fabric and metal that doesn’t cover more than your nipples and the folds of your sex. You’re surprised they even allowed the panel that drapes between your legs but you’re sure that’s because it’s a hindrance when trying to run away. You found that out first hand when you saw a pale purple Twi’lek try to run and get her legs tangled. The chain around her neck didn’t help either. You bite your lip, shifting slightly because you don’t know what they are laughing about, you had been thinking back to a much better time, disassociating from the reality of your life now and you hadn’t been paying attention. The rattle of your chain makes Rotta’s eyes shift towards you and you swallow harshly, but the doors to the great hall open right at that moment. 

Your body freezes when you see the armor, the helmet. A Mandalorian. You gasp quietly because you had once known a Mandalorian, although his armor was much different. Din.

Din strides into the hall, prepared to face the Hutts, and prepared to watch his back every single moment. He focuses on the twins sitting on the platform, their disgusting forms makes his nose wrinkle, and as he gets closer, he's grateful for his helmet to conceal the smell that others say is vile. "Ah Mandalorian." Rotta greets him and he nods, letting his gaze drift for a moment and he is once again grateful for his helmet when his eyes land on their latest victim. He'd recognize you anywhere, even dressed in scraps of fabric with chains around your limbs. He bites his lip to stop himself from saying your name.

“Mando.” The gravelly voice of the other Hutt is smug, as if she knows something that holds power over the Mandalorian. You don’t get your hopes up, because it’s not your Mando. The helmet looks the same, but when you had asked Din about his armor, he had told you that the helmet was the only new piece he had. Everything else had been scrapped from fallen Mandalorian’s when he had taken the Creed. “I’m not working for you.” The Mandalorian rasps out and you gasp. The voice. Even if you can’t see his face, because you’ve never seen his face, his voice is the one you hear in your dreams. “Mando.” You whisper, realizing that the man standing in front of you is the same man that you had been with the day you had been kidnapped by the Hutts seven years ago.

His jaw is clenched and he’s grateful the Hutt cannot see his reaction but he cannot let it show in other ways that he knows you otherwise you’ll be leverage. He ignores you, “your cousin?” He redirects the conversation and Rotta chuckles, tugging on your chain to bring you closer until you are leaning into him. “Do you know this Mandalorian?” He asks you, turning to press his tongue to your cheek to see if the Mandalorian reacts.

You cringe and try to shy away from the wet, slimy muscle but the chain around your neck collar is pulled tight and you are helpless to move. “No.” You gasp out. “I have seen Mandalorians before.” You lie. “This is not the man I knew.” You think back to the last time you had felt him. The lights had been powered down even though his helmet had still been on. The armor was removed and the flightsuit stripped down. You had left the comfort of his embrace to go find breakfast for you both, only to never return.

Rotta hums, loosening his grip on the chain and Din has to consciously try to not clench his fists in fury. The memory of you not coming back haunts him. He thought he wasn’t enough for you, that you had run away, and it destroyed him. He thought you would be his riduur one day but you had disappeared and he thought you didn’t want him anymore. It had hurt but it hurts even more to see you end up here. You look tired and hungry, making him frown under the helmet. “I have come here to inform you that I will not be retrieving your cousin.” He announces, knowing this will anger the Hutts but he promised he would not work for gangsters anymore.

You wince, knowing that they will not like that. You think Mando’s eyes are on you, but you can’t tell. Not like it had been years ago when you could sense every time he looked at you under that helmet. Rotta growls and you shrink back slightly.

“You dare to defy me, Mando?” He hisses and his guards surge forward. Din spins around, aiming his blaster at them but they wrap a steel rope around his wrist. His free hand reaches for his other blaster, getting a couple of shots in until he is restrained on both arms and forced to kneel in front of Rotta.

You have to bite your lip from making a sound, knowing that the Hutts are suspicious now, not wanting to give them any ammunition. Rotta gives an order in Huttese and the guards reach for the edge of Mando’s helmet. “Nooooo!” You scream out, rushing forward to stop them only to be yanked back by the chain. Your earlier caution is thrown to the wind because you know how seriously Din takes his vow that no one sees his face.

He growls when the helmet is removed from his head and his eyes immediately meet yours, seeing the shock and horror on your face. He clenches his jaw, furious that the vow he tried so hard to redeem has been shattered once again. “Bring me his helmet.” Rotta orders and his guard brings the beskar to him. “Mandalorian steel. Priceless on the black market.” He holds the helmet and you cannot stop staring at Din. His twin smirks, “but what’s even more is knowing we have shamed you forever.” Rotta nods, “we know the Mandalorian creed. You will be outcast forever. Cast out for letting an enemy see your face.” You squeak and Rotta tugs on your chains again. Din’s eyes narrow as he glares at the twins, “not if you all die.” With a chuckle, the Hutt twin smirks, “it will give us great pleasure to see your spirit die. Even more pleasure to have your girlfriend watch it.” He presses his tongue to yours once again, “she’s so sweet but I’m sure you knew that.” Din doesn’t tug on his restraints, knowing that will give them satisfaction. “Put him in the pit!” Rotta orders, the grate to the pit opening slowly.

You hate what’s about to come. Din has always been a good fighter, but he is no match for the creature in the pit. You can’t help but stare at the face of the man you have loved, even while in captivity. His eyes are hard, angry as he stares at the Hutts. There’s no fear, no worry. Just hatred. Until they shift to you for a moment and something softer flashes over his face before he looks back at them again. “Since you have seen my face, you will die.” He growls.

The Hutt twins chuckle, deep and evil, and the guards grab Din, cutting the steel ropes before they push him into the pit. “Noooo!” You cry, falling to your knees and the Hutt twins laugh. Din lands on his back, winding him for a moment, and he scrambles onto his knees to catch his breath. “Dank ferik.” He growls, realizing he’s without his blasters but he thankfully still has his knife. A growl echoes from the darkness and he braces himself, watching the beast appear in front of him. He tilts his head, looking up at the creature and he swallows harshly.

****

“Hey sexy.” You grin as you lean against the side panel of the ship, watching as his back straightens and the silver helmet turns towards you. The spanner in his hand almost looks like a weapon, and the curses have stopped since he’s not working on fixing the hyper drive. “Want to take a break? You’ve been working all morning. I’ve made you some soup. It’s in the galley. I’ve already eaten and am planning on removing all my clothes and sliding into the bunk. What you do is completely up to you.” You wink playfully at him.

It’s an invitation Din is unable to refuse and he smirks under his helmet. “Go get ready and I’ll eat. Soup first though.” He teases, voice modulated, and you giggle, swaying your hips as you disappear. He sets his spanner down, rolling his shoulders, and he straightens to make his way to the galley. He should eat first and he knows you wouldn’t sneak up on him as he lifts his helmet to sip the soup you had made. After using the fresher, he strips down to just his flight suit and helmet, making his way to the bunk. “Someone is eager.” He comments as he finds you naked, legs open with your fingers already grazing your clit.

“Yes I am.” You don’t deny it, not when just the thought of Din touching you is enough to soak your folds with arousal. “Are you Mando or Din?” You tease, knowing sometimes he likes to be a bit rougher, as if you were prey he had been hunting. Fresh off working with Ran and his crew, you had understood he had done some dark things. You don’t care though, he’s good to you.

“Mando.” His voice is raspy, even more so with the modulator, and he pulls down the zipper of his flight suit. “Keep touching yourself, mesh’la.” He demands, shrugging off the suit to expose his hardening cock. “It might be all you get if you’re not a good girl.” He warns, kicking the suit aside to stand naked before you except for his helmet.

“I’ll be good for you.” You promise, eyes greedy as you drink in his scar riddled skin. Places where the armor hadn’t covered him, proof of the violence that is prone to following him. He’s strong, virile, sexy, even if you have no idea what color eyes he has or if his hair curls like the short hairs that are surrounding his thick cock. “Or bad if you want me to be.” You smirk as you roll onto your stomach so he can see your ass, but the fingers rubbing your clit are now out of sight.

He growls, unable to stop himself from smacking your ass and your squeal makes him chuckle. “You’re already being bad.” He reaches for the panel, turning off the light to leave you in darkness. “Mando.” You whine and within a moment, your whine turns into a squeal as he grabs your hips and pulls you back and up to bury his face into your folds.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Your eyes roll back in the darkness, pussy clenching around nothing but his tongue as he pushes it inside you. “Mando.” You pant out, loving how filthy he is. Despite never being able to see his face, the man is a better lover than anyone you’ve ever had. “Baby, fuck, you are so good to me.”

He groans into you, loving the way you taste and you never push for more. You take what he gives you and he loves that. You squeal when he pushes his tongue into your cunt, nose pressing into your puckered hole as his fingers squeeze your ass to open you up for him.

Mando growls into you, his pace sloppy and needy. Obviously needing this as much as you do. He craves touch, taste. He loves when you let him do whatever he wants and you love to let him. “Thought about you all morning.” You gasp out. “Watching you work. Imagining you fucking me as I was bent over the panel access.”

His chuckle is absorbed by your flesh as he flicks his tongue over your clit, “I was imagining fucking your throat while I was trying to fix the panel.” He confesses with a deep inhale, “now you’re going to be a good girl and cum like this.” He surges back into your flesh, wanting to feel you fall apart.

You moan softly, rocking back to meet his eager tongue, knowing that he won’t stop until he makes you scream in pleasure. Your fingers curl into the sheets of the bunk and hold on as he takes you apart. “Oh fuck, oh fuck baby.” You whimper

He groans, needing you to cum for him, and he moans when you rock back, moaning his name as you fall apart on his tongue. He’s greedy for every drop, moaning when you blindly reach back to grip his hair, keeping him pressed into your pussy to ride the aftermath of your orgasm.

When he finally pulls back, you can hear the smacking of his lips, groaning happily at the taste of you on his tongue. “How do you want me?” You demand breathlessly. “I need you inside me, Mando.”

“Stay where you are.” He demands, wanting to fuck you like this first. “You’re such a fucking tease. Wearing those tight flight suits and fluttering your eyelashes at me while I’m trying to concentrate.” He growls as he grips his cock, pumping himself a couple of times until he pushes into your quivering pussy, groaning at how wet you are.

You gasp, rocking forward as you take him to the hilt. “Fuck. Your cock is so thick.” You whine, making him chuckle as he grinds deep into your body. His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips. “You take me so well, Mesh’la.” He coos, his unmodulated voice always making your walls flutter in pleasure. He’s vulnerable with you, giving you as much of himself as he can while holding true to his religion. You would never ask him for more, even if you are curious about what he looks like, you don’t ask. “Made for you.” You agree.

“Mine.” He grunts, knowing he wants you to be his riduur one day soon. He just needs to wait for the right time. “Fuck. So tight around me. You feel so goddamn good. Maker.” He hisses, smacking your ass again and he squeezes your flesh.

“So good.” You cry out, lurching forward only to be pulled back and he pushes deep. “Yours.” You promise with a gasp that fills the sleeping quarters. “Din-“ his hand comes down on your ass again. “Mando.” He growls, thrusting deep. “Yes, yes! Mando!”

He can tell you’re close. He needs to feel it so he slides his hand under your stomach, rubbing your clit, and he groans when you clench around him. “That’s it. Want to feel you cum for me, mesh’la.” He demands gruffly, “I know you can do it.”

You whine in agreement, knowing that he wants you to cum before he does. He always wants you to cum. “Maker, I’m so close.” You pant, collapsing to press your face against the cool sheet. You close your eyes as he rolls into you again and again. He is throbbing inside you and the next thrust is deep and hard, pushing you over the edge with a cry.

When you fall apart, he thrusts two more times, pulling free of your clenching cunt to stop himself from falling apart so quickly. You whine at the sudden emptiness and he chuckles, “so fucking desperate.” He smacks your ass, “on your back.” He demands, wanting to be able to kiss you when he fills you up.

You roll over and spread your legs as he shuffles to hover over you. “Hurry up.” You demand. “I don’t like being empty.” He chuckles and your hands slide up his biceps in the dark.

He can’t see but he grips his cock, pushing into you with a low groan as he ducks down to kiss you. His nose hits yours and you giggle, cupping his cheeks to bring his lips to yours. He wastes no time sliding his tongue into your mouth, starting to rock into you.

You love kissing him. You get to touch him. You don’t explore his face with your fingers like you want to, but you get to cup his cheeks, to kiss his lips. You moan into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, rocking up to meet his thrusts.

This is more tender, his feelings for you bleeding through his persona as he transitions from Mando to Din. He slides his tongue into your mouth, working into a quicker rhythm and he wants you to fall apart one more time.

You feel the urgency under the tenderness. The way that his hips snap and rock you both up on the bunk. You moan and kiss him back, your short nails digging half crescent indentions into his skin to remember you by when he’s back in his armor and seemingly untouchable.

He loves how you mark him in your own way, taking what you want from him, and he hisses your name as he rocks into you. “Fuck. You feel so good.” He pants against your chin, “I want you to cum again. One more time.”

“Cum with me.” You beg, kissing along his cheek and back to his lips as he lifts back up to kiss you. “‘m close baby. So fucking close.” You promise breathlessly. “Let go with me.”

You ask him so sweetly and how can he deny you? “Gonna - please, cyar’ika. Cum with me.” He pleads against your lips, cock twitching as he is on the edge. He can’t hold off anymore and his breath puffs against your lips as he pushes his cock deep, throbbing inside you as he starts to paint your walls with rope after rope of hot cum.

You do cum with him, the way he tenses and hardens even more inside you pushes you over the edge. Walls squeezing him tight while you choke out his name, “Din!” while falling apart under him. It’s perfect and you hum when you start to come down, relaxed and giggling quietly over how perfect everything is.

He sighs, pressing kisses to your jaw and down your neck as he relaxes above you until he is shifting to lay down beside you after slowly pulling out of you. He drags you into his side, wanting to keep you close, “always so good.” He murmurs, wishing he could see you right now but he can’t.

You hum in agreement, settling down and enjoying the way your ear is pressed to his chest. His heartbeat starting to slow down. “The lights powered down all over the ship?” You ask, even though you know they are. He does that so you don’t accidentally see him on your way to the ‘fresher. “Yes, Mesh’la, go to sleep.” He murmurs, although he sounds far more sleepy than you. You smile in the dark and sigh. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You promise.

Din blinks as he wakes up, the lights in the bunk still off, and he reaches for his helmet. You are not in the bunk and he knows you shut the bunk door before turning on the lights. He grunts as he opens the hatch, shuffling to the fresher and he grabs a new flight suit when he’s cleaned up. The smell of food hits his nose and he groans, finding you with a fresh meal. “You went to get food?” He asks and you nod, “you should eat this while it’s hot. It’s delicious.” He hums and watches you, “I will.” He promises, grabbing the bowl and he turns his back to you, lifting his helmet to sip the broth.

You turn around, knowing that he wouldn’t mind, but you always want him to feel secure about his creed around you. “So as soon as we are done here we are headed to Tatooine?” You ask, lifting a brow. “People are always so odd around there.” You comment. Din is still eating and you take a bite of your own meal. “Still, I like it better than freezing my ass off on some of these planets.”

He snorts, knowing you are not a fan of Hoth, and he finishes his meal quickly. He’s used to eating fast, needing to reposition his helmet and satiate his hunger when he’s on the move. You take your time, savouring your food, and when he’s situated, he turns to face you. “I’ll set the coordinates.” He slaps his knees and stands, not bothering with dressing in his beskar until you are getting ready to land.

“I’ll be here!” You call back as he disappears up the ladder. Grinning to yourself as you fork up another bite. “Fuck, I love that man.” You tell yourself quietly. 

****

You peer over the edge of the pit, terrified that you are about to watch the man you’ve loved die. Hands curled into fists as the chain that ties to you Rotta’s large seat rattles, but you don’t look behind you. Right now, you’re afraid you might attack the giant slugs for what they have done and they will end up eating you. You don’t want to end up in their bellies.

Din looks up as the beast waddles towards him, and for a moment, he doesn’t think there’s much to be afraid of, until the bastard opens his mouth. Din’s eyes widen at the rows of teeth on display, “fuck.” He mutters, adjusting the grip on his knife as he faces down the creature. Rotta barks an order and the beast is poked from a grate in the way, making it roar, and its tail comes out to flick Din. The Mandalorian is sent flying back into the wall, winded by the move, and he chokes as he tries to catch his breath.

You shudder, trying not to show how terrified you are, but it doesn’t escape the giant slug behind you. He laughs as he tugs on the chain and sends you sprawling back from the ledge. “Do not try to rescue him.” Rotta huffs in his native language. “You both would die.”

Din manages to stand up, catching his breath, and he narrows his eyes. He surges forward, sinking his knife into the beast that roars and spins, sending Din flying but he engages his jet pack and lands on his feet. “Dank farrik.” He growls, flying towards the beast with knife in hand.

You can hear the battle below you, the splashing of the water and the roar of the beast, but you can’t see anything now. Fingers clawing at your throat, at the collar that is holding you back. Rotta laughs and yanks again, making you choke and gasp for air as it cuts off your breathing.

Din manages to get some jabs in but the beast is strong. It flings Din again, making stars burst behind his eyes as his head hits the wall of the pit. “Fuck.” He mutters, blinking a few times as he gathers his senses. He rushes forward again, stabbing the beast in the eye and it roars.

You choke out a cry when Rotta bellows in rage and yanks the chain again, dragging you closer to the giant slug. Your thigh drags along the floor, giving you a friction burn but you claw at the tiles, trying to grab hold of something to anchor yourself and fight against him.

“Fucking Maker.” Din huffs when the beast tries to fling him but he holds firm, making to get another jab in his eye. The beast roars and Din cuts the beast again and again until he manages to slit its jugular. Blood sprays from the beast and it falls to the ground with a growl, Din managing to roll free before he is squashed by its weight.

Rotta roars in displeasure but you don’t pay attention, black spots appearing in your vision and you feel yourself losing consciousness. “Din.” You gasp quietly, whisper before everything fades and there’s nothing.

“Mesh’la. Can you open your eyes for me?” Din’s voice sounds distant, like you’re underwater, and your head hurts. He caresses your cheek, “wake up. Want to see your pretty eyes.” He murmurs, quiet and he is worried that you aren’t going to wake up.

It takes a few moments before you start to stir. The quiet panic that had been welling in his chest settles when your eye lashes start to flutter before you open them slowly. The fog is present, the confusion as you blink away the darkness. The smoldering bodies of the guards he had slain are still smoking, the blaster wounds singed and the Hutt twins stench managed to be even more foul in death, but you don’t notice that when you look up and see Din staring down at you with worry lacing his eyes and sweat rolling down his cheek. His bare face up close and you gasp before you shut your eyes again, knowing you should not have seen him.

“Open your eyes.” He orders, wanting to see yours and he knows what you’re thinking. He has killed everyone else who saw his face except you. “Din. No. You’re - you’ll be shunned. You should’ve - you can if you need to.” You squeeze your eyes and he growls at what you are implying. “I didn’t give you all the options. When my helmet is removed, there’s only two ways to stop being dar’manda. One: kill the person who sees my face. Two: marry the woman who sees my face.” He confesses, “and killing you is not an option. I thought - I thought you left me. That morning - when you were gone.” He chokes and you don’t open your eyes yet.

****

“I love you.” You murmur to Din, kissing his shoulder and he doesn’t stir from his sleep as you shuffle from the bunk, closing the hatch before you fumble to turn on the light. You find it and clean up, dressing with a soft hum as you get ready to go find breakfast for you and your lover. Din blinks when he wakes, huffing when the bed feels cold and he grunts as he sits up, scratching his cheek. He grabs his helmet, putting it on his head, and then he opens the hatch, exposing his eyes to brightness that makes him wince through the visor. He calls your name and when you don’t respond, he doesn’t think much of it. You usually go and fetch breakfast. He cleans up and dresses, putting on his beskar, and he frowns when time drags. You’d usually be back by now. He makes his way to the ramp, hitting buttons to open the Crest and he walks outside, calling your name once more. No sign of you. Closing the Crest, his fingers flex over his blaster and he makes his way to town, deciding to search for you. When he exits the last store, the anger sets in. You’re gone. Disappeared. You’ve left him. He clenches his jaw, feeling his heart break in his chest and he rolls his shoulders, striding back to the Crest to forget you existed. He’d grown up to never trust anyone and he let you in, trusted you, and you broke that trust.

****

You slowly open your eyes again, focusing on him as he swallows harshly. The regret and hurt shining out of his dark eyes. “I would have never left you.” You can’t believe that it is him, but it’s the same voice, the same soft touch against your cheek. This is Din. “I- I was abducted when I was at the market.” You explain as you push up to your elbows. Din quickly adjusts to help you sit up, moving slowly as the room spins slightly. “Slavers. I was sold to Rotta.” You shudder slightly. “I waited and hoped you would find me.” He will blame himself for that, but he deserves to know. “For years, I had prayed that you would blast through those doors looking for me.”

His dark eyes sadden and he shakes his head slowly, “I was angry. I thought you’d left. No one in the market told me you’d been taken. I buried myself in bounties and then I met - well, there’s this kid. He was - the empire wanted him but I protected him and well, he’s my foundling. It’s a long story but he has the force. I left him with a Jedi and then I - I went back to distracting myself with bounties. I’m sorry I didn’t search for you. I was hurt, angry, and I thought - I thought you couldn’t handle my creed.”

You frown slightly, trying to follow his rambling explanation but your head hurts and you only catch the first and the last part of his long winded speech. “Never.” You almost reach for him, but you stop yourself, fingers curling back. Still unable to believe that you are looking at his face. “I never would have dishonoured your creed or left you for it.” You promise him. “I- I loved you.” His mouth turns down, frowning more as his shoulders shift. “Loved?” He chokes out quietly, sure that you must hate him now. He abandoned you. He left you at the mercy of slavers for years because he was angry. Because he had been so quick to believe that you would leave him. Even when all your belongings had been on his ship. The crates he had carried around for years until the Razor Crest had been blown up by Moff Gideon. “Mesh’la, I-“ you swallow harshly. “You shouldn’t marry me.” You tell him quietly. “I’ve been- I’ve been a slave for seven years, Din.” You remind him, looking down at your hands. “You can restore your creed, walk with honor if you-“

“No.” He doesn’t let you finish what you want to say. “Absolutely not. If you don’t want to marry me, I will return to Mandalore. I can redeem myself in the waters. I will not - no.” He growls, shaking his head. He would be prepared to go through the ritual to redeem himself if it means saving your life.

You gasp, shaking your head as you grab onto his pauldrons. “No. Mandalore is cursed. You would be killed and I- I couldn’t-“ you close your eyes. “Maker.” You whisper, feeling guilty for putting him in this position even if you had not been the one to remove his helmet. Din tuts and cups your cheek again. “Mesh’la, Mandalore is not cursed.” He promises. “My people have returned to our planet and the great forge is once again lit.” He nods when your jaw drops. “I have already bathed in the waters once before.” He confesses. “I- I removed my helmet to save the child. Grogu.” You bite your lip and stare at him. “Why do you offer to marry me then?” You ask softly.

“Because I want to.” He confesses softly. “I wanted it then. I loved you. I still love you and when I saw you standing there next to those bastards…my heart was racing and then I wanted to kill every single one of them for taking you. Even if they took you after you left me.” He explains his thoughts, “I fought for you. For your freedom so if you want to go, you can. But I want you to be my riduur.”

Din doesn’t lie, at least not to you. “I love you are the last words I whispered to you when I left the bunk that morning.” You reveal. “When you walked in, I was disappointed because I thought it couldn’t be you. When I heard your voice….my heart started beating like a hammer. I still love you. I wanted to be your riduur then, and I still do now.”

He stares at you for a moment, unused to the sight of your face without his visor distorting you slightly. “Mesh’la. Marry me.” He pleads, wanting you to be his, “I want you with me as my riduur.” He promises, reaching out to caress your cheek with his gloved hand.

You close your eyes, the smell of the leather familiar and you turn torn head towards his palm and nuzzles into him. “Yes.” You murmur quietly. “Yes, Din. I’ll marry you.”

He grins, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours, “we can say vows now. I want to have a ceremony back on Mandalore with you.” He confesses, “but I want you to be mine this second if you want that.”

You giggle slightly, off kilter and amused that you would marry Din wearing nothing but the skimpy slave bikini that the Hutts demand you wear when he is covered from neck to toe. “Can you leave your helmet off for our vows or would you prefer to have it on?” You would like to see his eyes but you understand if he would rather have it on.

He shakes his head, “I want to look at you without the visor.” He promises, reaching for your hands. “Are you ready?” He asks and you nod. He looks down at your joined hands, “mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors." He translates so you understand what you are promising.

Raise warriors. Your stomach twists in pleasure at the thought of having his children. “Mhi-mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar-dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” You stumble through the words, encouraged by his hands squeezing yours softly as you made mistakes. “Are we married now in the eyes of the Mandalore?” You ask softly.

He offers you a blinding grin, happiness making his stomach twist as he nods, “we are.” It’s not Mandalorian tradition but he leans in to press his lips to yours, wanting to kiss you for the first time as his riduur. “I love you.” He promises, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be safe with me. Until my dying breath.”

You close your eyes and sigh softly as you let it sink in that you are leaving. Reaching up, you realize that your collar is missing, Din must have broken it off while you were unconscious and your eyes fill with tears. “I’m- I’m free.” You sob out quietly.

“You’ll be free from now on. Even if you get tired of me, you will have your freedom.” He promises,  not wanting you to feel trapped by him. “Are you ready to go?” He asks, holding his hand out towards you once he’s standing up.

“Yes.” You groan as you look around the room, the bodies of the men Din had slain are still smouldering. “I never want to see this planet again.” You admit quietly.

Din smirks as his eyes drift up to the thrones of the twins who now lay dead on the floor after a slow effort to escape the wrath of the Mandalorian. “I want you, mesh’la.” He confesses, “I have - since you were gone, I’ve - you know, but no one was like you. I love you. I want you. Do you want to ride me on their throne?” He offers, knowing it would be revenge for them keeping you in their clutches.

You should probably say no, to take some time to heal mentally from what you’ve had to endure over the past seven years. You don’t want to. Every day you have woken up knowing that it could be the day Rotta or his twin killed you, thrown you into the pit for sport. You’ve lived in fear. Now you just want to live. “That would be perfect.” You hum as you glance at the throne. “Always wanted to ride you with your helmet off. Just never thought it would be possible.”

He nods, shifting to lift you up into his arms, carrying you over the bodies of the Hutt loyalists, to the throne that you were chained to. “You’re so beautiful…mesh’la.” Din murmurs as he sets you down, sitting in the large throne of the gangster that kidnapped you from him. This is his ultimate revenge. You waste no time straddling him and he smiles, his gloved hands sliding along your back.

“You are more handsome than I imagined.” You admit, hands reaching up to caress his cheeks. Your fingers slide across the bridge of his nose. “That helmet conceals how handsome you are, but it doesn’t take away from your appeal.”

He is happy that you think he’s handsome. He has a different concept of attractiveness for himself. He thinks you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I thought I was terrifying?” He teases softly, sliding his hands lower to squeeze your ass.

“Terrifying to those that don’t know you.” You admit with a smirk of your own. “To those that have wronged you or those you care about.” You moan softly when you feel his arousal twitch, his cock already hard and tenting his flight suit. “You are nearly covered and I am nearly nude.” You snort.

“We will make sure you get some proper clothes.” He promises, “you will never wear this again.” He vows, grunting when you grind down onto him. His hand snakes between the scraps of material, huffing when he finds you bare. “Bastards.” He growls, furious that they left you bare like this. He wants to replace the negative association so he slides his fingers through your folds to rub your clit.

“Din.” You moan, not bothering to ask him what he wants to be called. You know. You know that he wants to hear his name on your lips, just like your entire body hums in pleasure as he murmurs your name between kisses to your skin. “I need you.” You pant softly. “I always have needed you.”

"Can you take me? I don't want to hurt you." He murmurs, rubbing your clit, and you huff, reaching between you to work on freeing his cock from his flight suit. "I need you." You repeat and he groans, "you have me, baby."

You don’t give yourself time to think, just needing to feel him inside you again. You shift enough to push up and position him at your entrance before sinking down on his length. Feeling like you are where you belong for the first time in seven years. “Din.”

He pants as you take him inside you, lost in how wet and tight you are, lost in how it feels to have you in his arms again. “Fuck, mesh’la. So good.” He surges forward to press his lips to yours, keeping his eyes open so he doesn’t miss a moment of this when so much was shrouded in darkness before.

Your fingers tangle into his hair and you kiss him back. Ignoring the tears that roll down your cheeks, so happy that you are with him again. It feels like a dream, except you’ve never felt him pulsing inside you when you were dreaming. Rocking your hips makes him groan against your lips and you do it again while grinning.

He chuckles, “you are a handful.” He teases, kissing your neck until he playfully nips your neck. “My handful.” He smirks and rocks up into you, twitching inside you when you moan his name. “I love you, riduur.” He vows, “never letting you go again.”

“Never.” You agree. You don’t blame him for what happened, he believed that you had left. Considering that you know how the slavers operate, no one would have told Din you were taken. “I love you.”

His hands caress your body, wanting to remove their outfit from your form but he doesn’t have anything else for you to wear. He will make sure you get the clothes you want when you land on the next planet. “Fuck, need you to - please.” He begs, needing you to cum for him. “I can’t - it’s too much.”

You whine but you know you aren’t close enough to cum. Din’s body is tense and shaking under you as you bounce on his cock. “I’m- I’m working on it.” You huff out, loving how wrecked he sounds.

“Fuck, baby. I’m - need you to work on it a little quicker.” He grunts, “I can’t - baby, shit. I - I’m gonna-” He can’t stop himself as he falls apart, pushing up into you, his fingers digging into your hips as he twitches inside you. His hot cum paints your walls as he groans your name, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You giggle, loving that he couldn’t hold back. Grinding down on him and squeezing his still twitching cock inside your walls. “Fuck.” Din groans, sounding embarrassed but you just lean back and lift his chin to make him look at you. “I love it, I love you dripping out of me. I don’t care that I didn’t cum.”

“I do.” He huffs, shaking his head, and he slides his hand lower to find your clit, rubbing circles on it. He wants you to fall apart for him. “Need you to cum for me. Wanna see it again, riduur.”

You moan, watching as his eyes light up in pleasure and he bites his lip, “always wondered what kind of faces you make when you cum.” You tease. “Now I want to see it all the time.” Din smiles. “You can see it, but I want to watch you right now.”

He rubs your clit a little faster, wanting to see you fall apart for him like this. He has only even watched it through his visor and he wants to see every minor detail on your face. He's softening inside you but he doesn't care, hissing a little when you squeeze him in your walls, but he wants you to fall apart.

You don’t rock your hip, but grind them down in a circular motion. Close to cumming as you stare at your riduur’s face. Din is your husband. You are the one person who can see his face, share his creed although you are not Mandalorian. You are one with him. Another swipe of his fingers sends you over the edge and you cry out, clenching down around him again. “Din!” His name echoes through the hall where you have been held captive as you cum for your husband.

He groans, kissing along your neck as you shake against him. He continues working his fingers until you cry out and he pulls them away, watching you as you try to catch your breath. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek with his free hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Yes.” You smile at him as you slowly pull off his softened cock and stand. “I want to go back to the Crest. I’m sure you don’t have my things anymore, but it was always home.” Din frowns. “I have a Razor Crest but it’s not the ship you were on.” He confesses and you frown. “That ship was destroyed three years ago, by an Imperialist named Gideon. He was after the kid that is my apprentice.” Your eyes widen as Din stands to tuck his cock away. “What?”

“I - I was dar’manda. Showed the kid my face. Became the technical leader of Mandalore. Lost that title, thank the Maker, then decided to start taking bounties again. I have been across the galaxy and I never stopped thinking about you.” He promises, reaching out to take your hands.

You shiver slightly and Din immediately pulls back, reaching for the cowl of his cape and unhooks it from his flightsuit to hand to you. You wrap it around yourself and sigh when you feel covered and warm and comfortable since it smells like him. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you either.”

He glances around the hall, grabbing his blaster from its holster, and he guides you out of the shithole you’ve suffered in. “I got you, baby.” He promises, escorting you out into daylight and you gasp, tilting your head to let the sun warm your face. You look ethereal and Din wishes he could keep this moment forever but you need to go. “Come on, riduur.” He guides you to the Crest, opening the hatch. “Where are we going?” You ask and he secures the ship, “to get the kid.”

The kid. You can tell that Din cares about this child. It makes you smile softly as you watch him, now helmet back in place as he starts the ship up. You had dreamed about having his children one day, when you had almost imagined it to be impossible but he is acting like a protective father. Even his tone when he talks about this apprentice is warm and caring. “Where is he?” You ask softly.

He sighs, "I left him on Nevarro with a friend." He knows that Karga is capable of babysitting the kid. "We will find you some more clothes when we get to Navarro." He promises, "and whatever you want. You buy it." He demands, "but you can keep my cape for now."

You chuckle. “Thanks. I would hate to see the looks I would get on Nevarro.” You huff, knowing how rough and tumble it could be. “I don’t need you shooting another bounty hunter and impacting your standing with the guild. Din tilts his head and pulls back the leaver to increase power to the engines. “Nevarro has changed, Mesh’la.” He explains. “It is civilized, respectable.”

Your eyes widen and he chuckles, making his way up to the cockpit to punch in the coordinates. You glance around the Crest, familiar - yet different from the ship you called your home, and you caress the metal, finally realizing you are free.

You don’t go upstairs just yet. Exploring the new ship that feels so familiar already. The hours and days you had spent on the original Razor Crest with Din, you can’t even calculate it. Although you open the little sleeping nook and sigh when you see his blanket tossed on the cot. Crawling in and pressing the fabric to your face, you close your eyes and fall asleep.

****

“Mando. You have returned.” Karga greets him with open arms and Din nods, keeping you close. “And you brought a friend.” He adds and Din adjusts his stance, widening it as he proudly says, “riduur. My wife.” He says your name and you fluster, ducking your head.

Karga’s eyes widen in shock. “Wife?!” He exclaims and then laughs a full belly laugh. “You are full of surprises, Mando.” He admits. “I did not know you were looking to get married.” He glances back at you and smiles. “No wonder he once turned down my offer of a camtono of spice and trip to the Twi’lek Healing Baths.” He smirks as he reaches for your hand to bend down and kiss the back of it. “I would turn it down too, if I had a beautiful woman like you keeping hearth and home warm.”

Din smiles under his helmet and reaches for your hand, “she is beautiful. And she needs clothes.” He is glad for his cape to conceal your outfit, knowing you wouldn’t want anyone to see you like that now that you are free.

“We have the finest merchants in the outer rim.” Karga immediately turns into a salesman for his planet. “We import from Coruscant, Naboo , even host refugees that had been fortunate enough to not be on Alderaan at the time of its demise.” He winces slightly but quickly recovers. “One even made clothes for the Organa family.” He boasts proudly, happy with what he has turned Nevarro into. 

Your eyes widen and Din reaches for the credits he keeps on his belt. "Get her the best." He demands from Karga, "I want to get the kid and then we will go back to my home for food and rest." Karga nods, "I will arrange for some clothes for the lady."

“Your home?” Your eyes widen as Din guides you away from his friend. “I live here, when I’m not working.” He explains. “I- we, have a house outside of the city. You will love it, Mesh’la.” You never expected Din to ever have a home, expecting him to be a nomad. “It’s for your kid.”  You realize. “For Grogu.”

He nods, “it’s for him. And now for you.” He promises, entering the hut when you hear a coo. You look down and gasp, seeing a small green child staring up at you. “Hey kid.” Din greets him and you can hear the smile in his voice as he picks the child up who coos at your husband, reaching out to touch his face. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Din says your name, “my riduur. She’s our family.”

The kid, Grogu, is like no creature you have met before. He stares at you with wide black eyes before he somersaults from Din’s arms and lands on your shoulder with a grunt as you gasp and reach for him, terrified he will fall. Your husband chuckles. “He likes you.” He explains as you turn your head as a three finger claw settles against your cheek and suddenly images fill your head. Images of Grogu in a pram, a strange Mandalorian arriving. Din protecting him from a giant beast and in return, Grogu saving him. Hundreds of visions, all with your husband in the center. Putting himself in danger for the child resting on your shoulder until you realize that Grogu chose to stay with Din and he loves him. The visions stop and you bite your lip, smiling at the little green creature. “I love him too.” You promise softly. “Always. So that means I will love you, if you let me.”

He chirps at you, wanting you to know he likes you and if Din loves you, he will too. You seem to understand as you reach up to caress his ear and he tilts his head. “Let’s go home.” Din murmurs, taking your hand as Grogu jumps from your shoulder into the satchel Din had slung around his body. The three of you walk to the small cabin Din calls home and you gasp when you see it. “You like it?” Din asks, turning to look at you, and you wish you could see his face. “I love it.” He nods, opening the door, and Grogu squeals as he jumps, rushing towards the snacks Karga stocked in the back pantry.

“It’s very nice.” You walk around the surprisingly spacious open room and notice the comfortable sofa and chairs. There’s some doors on one side that must lead to sleeping quarters. And there is an honest to Maker kitchen. “Wow, you mean I can cook here? More than just ration packs?”

Din smiles under his helmet, “you can cook here, whenever you want.” He promises and Grogu coos in delight. “He never stops eating.” Din explains and you giggle, “we will make sure you have enough snacks.” Grogu spins in delight and waddles over to his pod. “Nap time.” Din explains and the doors close on the pod. “Do you want to shower? It’s not a ‘fresher.” He promises and you groan, “really? Yes. I want to clean up.” Din steps closer, “you can say no but I’d really like to clean up with you.”

You smirk at him as he shuffles slightly. “And miss out on the chance to have you completely stripped down with me, and have the lights on?” You shake your head. “That’s something I never imagined I would ever get to have.”

He chuckles, taking your hand to guide you to the bathroom, working on his beskar once you’re there and you lean in to turn on the water. His cape drops to the floor and you start to rip at the outfit the Hutt’s forced you to wear. Tears sting in your eyes and Din notices the change. “Hey, hey, hey.” He reaches for your hands as you tear the fabric from your body. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that. Those bastards…you survived. They are dead. You’re so strong, riduur. So damn strong.” He shifts to cup your cheek, “you are here and you are protected. My life for yours.” He promises, wanting you to know he’d lay his life down for you.

“I would never want that.” You choke out and you bite your lip as you look up into his visor. “Can I see you?” You ask softly. He nods and leans in, silently giving you permission to remove his helmet. You reach for the cool beskar and slowly pull it off. Loving that his eyes are immediately on yours.

You set the helmet down and he reaches for your waist, pulling you closer, and your fingers caress his features. He closes his eyes for a brief moment as you trace his nose, until he opens them, wanting to see you. “I love you.” He murmurs, lips brushing your fingertips as you trace their shape.

“I love you.” You are bare now, no trace of your past is on you and you reach for his flight suit, wanting him to be just as bare. “Here we can just be us.” You murmur softly. “No creeds, no past. Just the two people who love each other.”

He nods, nudging his nose against yours when you lean closer. You pull on the tabs of his flight suit, stepping back so he can shrug it off and kick it aside. “Shower.” He orders, squeezing your waist.

You hum, stepping into the stall and standing under the hot spray of the water. Groaning happily at the heat. “The lava flow under the surface keeps the water hotter than anything I’ve ever felt before.” Din chuckles as he steps in with you and groans himself when water touches his skin.

“It’s been so long since I had a hot shower.” You confess, “I only got a bowl of cold water.” You admit and Din frowns, hating to hear about how you suffered. “Never again, riduur.” He vows and reaches for you to pull you closer, “you will never want for anything.”

You know that he means it, but he doesn’t have to give you everything. “I just want you.” You promise as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I know not everything will be comfortable in life, that’s not the life we had before, but I want this with you.”

He nods, understanding what you mean and he reaches for the soap, wanting to wash you. You sigh when his bare hands caress your skin, enjoying his touch, and he can’t help the way his cock starts to harden at your soft sighs while he lathers you up.

You had known this would end up in sex, touching Din always does. You don’t mind it, you want it. You want your husband. Now your hands slide over his shoulders as you hold on. “I love you.” You murmur softly.

He loves hearing you say it and he surges forward to press his lips to yours, lost in the overwhelming reality that he can touch you. He can see you and touch you and this isn’t his imagination. He groans your name and slides his hands down to your thighs, lifting you up to press you against the wall of the shower.

He groans into your mouth and your legs naturally wrap around his waist. “Din.” You pant as one hand slides up to cup your tit. “I want you. I want you to make love to me right here.” You beg softly.

He pants as your heels dig into his ass. “You need me to get you ready?” He offers, knowing he will stretch you but you shake your head. “Now, riduur.” He nearly bursts hearing you call him that and he groans, letting go of your breast to grip his cock, positioning himself at your entrance to slowly push into you with a harsh hiss.

He stretches you out. It would be painful, except it’s never with him. Always nothing but pleasure as he fills you up. You cling to him as the water cascades down his back and you press your lips to his in a kiss that is years of repressed emotions.

Din groans into the kiss, loving how you feel around him, and he feels like this place is now his home. He squeezes your thigh, keeping you pressed into the tiles as he starts to rock his hips, pulling back to watch your face as you take him.

All you can do is cling to him and enjoy it. To realize that you are free to love him, free to love your life with him. “More.” You beg. “Make me forget everything.”

He grunts, wanting to create new memories for you. That doesn't involve those gangster bastards. “Fuck, mesh’la. You feel so good.” He murmurs, kissing along your jaw as he rocks into you.

You whine and your eyes slip closed. Almost afraid you are dreaming but the way he feels is more real than any dream. The water is still hot, beating down on both of you and you dig your nails into his shoulders. “I love you, Din.”

He groans, rocking into you, and there’s no rush. There’s nothing but time now for you and him. He pants as your walls flutter around his length, making him groan as you take everything he gives you. “Cum for me, cyar’ika.” He pleads softly, wanting to watch you fall apart for him.

There’s a soft intensity that you know has to have been there the entire time, hidden under his helmet. The warmth and love in his eyes makes you moan just as much as the way he pushes inside you. “Yes, yes.” You whimper, leaning back and trusting him to keep you up against the wall. “So close.”

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re so beautiful. My riduur. My life.” He vows and he says it so reverently that you fall apart. Clamping down on his cock, he groans your name and within a half dozen thrusts, he’s pushing deep to fill you up. Your nails dig into his shoulders but he doesn’t care, loving the way you are squeezing him to drain him of every drop.

“Cum for me, riduur.” You whimper. “Fill me up, Din. I want to feel you. I need to feel you.” You beg, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips to yours as his cock pulses inside you. You love it, you love that he finally found you. It doesn’t matter that it took years, it matters that you are together.

****

Din looks out at the horizon of Nevarro, the sky painted with orange, red, and pinks. He watches Grogu, who is chasing a frog, “can’t use the force, buddy.” He tells the kid who coos in protest but lets the frog drop. The door opens behind him and he turns his helmet to find you as you waddle out onto the porch. “Sit, riduur.” Din orders, standing up to help you into the chair. Your ad will arrive any day now and Din is scared but excited. “He’s busy.” You giggle, watching a frog land on Grogu’s head until he uses the force to float it in the air. “He will be a good brother.” You smile as the kid coos. “And we will raise our son to protect him. You can teach them everything you know.” Din nods, reaching for your hand as he sits down beside you. “We will raise warriors.” He lifts your hand to his helmet and you smile, “and Grogu.” The kid waddles over and Din lifts him onto his lap. He has his family and his creed. He doesn’t need anything else.

[jobean12-blog]

Protecting What's His

Pairing: Din Djarin x princess!reader (he's basically like a bodyguard :) and light enemies to lovers- featuring Grogu ofc)

Word Count: 6.2K

Summary: Your father is stirring trouble with the Empire and he worries for your safety so he hires you a bodyguard.

Author's Note: So I've been working on this for foreverrrrrrrr. I just don't have time and with a story like this I had to do some plot to build the tension and all that. Anyway, after my last Djarin story I just can't stay away. I'm hoping to do more stories with him but shorter so I can get more out in a timely manner. Thank you all so much for reading and sharing, much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

PS This takes place on the planet Naboo- you can look up the city of Theed and the Kaadu creatures here You can also look up her droid here

Warnings: fun banter, tension and flirting, some SW action, little angst here and there, implied sexy times, def spicy at the end, soft moments and lots of cute Grogu

The moment the words leave your father’s mouth you choke on your drink, wishing instead you had been three glasses deeper and much less keen to the weight of his words. You stare at your father, trying to master your expression and there’s a challenge in his eye, a dare to argue…but you don’t, knowing it will be worse if you do.

You force a smile and nod.

Back in your room you pace, feet stomping unceremoniously as you throw profanities out left and right, causing your poor BD-3000 droid, KT-12 , or as you lovingly call her, buttons, distress.

She’s following you back and forth, arms raised in the air, eyes rapidly blinking as she tries to calm you down.

“Just because he’s too busy to keep me safe doesn’t mean he can just hire some random bounty hunter to follow me around all the time! It’s an invasion of privacy!”

You finally stop and Buttons nearly slams into your back. She tsks. “Perhaps it’s for the best my lady. Things between your father and the Empire have been getting…heated.”

You whirl around, eyebrows drawn in and fury etched into your features, ignoring her placating words. “And I can’t imagine how much this bounty hunter is getting paid! It’s always about the money!”

She holds your gaze and if her face weren’t built so mechanically you’d be almost sure there was a hint of sympathy there. You plop down on the plush coverings of your bed, falling backward dramatically and sighing even more dramatically.

“You don’t suppose he’ll be devastatingly handsome and kind and we’ll end up falling in love and he’ll rescue me from this place…?”

Buttons moves over to your discarded robe and begins to fold it. “I’ve never found humans to be all that handsome myself, but I suppose you’re a better judge of that.”

A hint of a smile pulls at your lips, and you sit up. “Well, guess it’s time we found out.”

Before entering the formal throne room you glance around from the threshold. Buttons runs into your back, urging you forward.

“Hey,” you squeak as you take a falling step inside.

“There you are,” your father says, giving you a fake smile.

Your eyes dart from side to side, searching for your new bodyguard but all you see is your father’s guards.

“And where is he?” you ask, holding your chin high and your shoulders back. “I thought you said we were meeting promptly after dinner.”

Footsteps echo behind you and you turn at the sound of a deep and gravelly voice.

“Forgive me princess,” the bounty hunter says when he walks in. “I was…preoccupied.”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze sweeping over his body. A body completely covered in Mandalorian armor. At the hint of sarcasm in his voice you scoff.

“Hmm. Well…now that we’ve met I’d like to retire to my rooms.”

You start to turn on your heel, but your father clears his throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut, silently cursing him before you relent and stay put.

“This is Din Djarin. The Mandalorian I’ve assigned to protect you.”

“You mean paid,” you grit out.

Your father ignores your jab. “He’ll be with you wherever you go.”

“Even my bathing chambers?” you answer back, a wry but saccharine smile lifting your lips.

Again, you’re ignored by your father, but you don’t miss the way Djarin steps closer to you, hands seated comfortably on his hips, his shoulders relaxed when he whispers, “only if you want me to Princess.”

Your blood heats and you lift your finger to point it at his chest, both distracted by his armor and what might be hidden beneath.

“First of all, don’t call me Princess. I have a name. And secondly, you’ll stay as far away from me…and my bathing chambers…as possible.”

His head cocks to the side as he seemingly studies you. You hate that you can’t see his face.

“As your protector I can’t make any promises. I have a job to do…Princess.”

Before you can speak again your father dismisses you and Djarin. “Very well then,” your father says. “On your way.”

The feel of him at your back makes your shoulders tense and when you get your room you startle when he reaches around you to open the door.

“Let me do a sweep.”

“I’ve been gone for half an hour!” you say with an eye roll.

“Wait here.”

His gruff command leaves no room for argument, and you cross your arms over your chest, huffing out your frustration. Button’s stands beside you, her metal fingers resting gently on your shoulder in a supportive pat.

Suddenly, you hear some commotion from inside and you reach for the doorknob.

“I wouldn’t my lady,” Buttons says.

“He’s probably rifling through my underwear drawer!”

A second later the door opens and you see Djarin standing with a smoking and broken spy droid dangling from his gloved hand.

If you could see his face you’d be sure he was wearing a smug look. “Next time don’t fight me when I need to do my job.”

You lift your chin defiantly but don’t answer back.

“You’re all clear,” he says before stationing himself just outside the door. “Yell if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” you state and slam the door.

The next day passes and you only leave your room when absolutely necessary. Your defiance is all you have to hang on to, and you refuse to give in easily. Djarin stands guard day and night, though you wonder if he ever sleeps because even when you do leave your room he’s right behind you.

And today, he decides you both need to get outside.

“Would you be willing to show me around the palace a bit more? Maybe the gardens?” he asks, now striding right next to you as you head for the library.

“I was going to read.”

You don’t elaborate and start to walk faster.

“Please,” he says quietly and it stops you in your tracks.

“So he does have manners,” you muse, raising your brows.

He sighs and waits. And you drag out the moment, enjoying his suffering.

“Fine. Let’s go for a walk,” you finally agree.

He extends his elbow for you, and you narrow your eyes, reluctantly taking it.

“Lead the way Princess.”

You bring him out to the gardens, sighing when you feel the warm sun on your face.

“Sorry you kept yourself locked away for so long?” he asks, tone snarky.

You don’t bother glancing his way and continue walking toward the seating area, making yourself comfortable on a bench.

“Feel free to go where you like,” you tell him, motioning to the expanse of the gardens.

He inclines his head in thanks and turns on his heel, seeming to wander aimlessly until he turns a corner around some bushes and disappears.

At first, you pay him and his absence no mind, enjoying the warm air and the faint floral scent carried on it. But then you start to hear his voice, muffled but raised and a small series of something akin to squeaks.

“What in the….?” You mutter and stand in the direction he went.

When you turn the corner you are not expecting to see him kneeling in front of a small green alien, arguing with it.

“You can’t have anymore. You’ll get sick,” he says as he pulls a cookie out of its little hand.

The alien’s big dark eyes look up at you, blinking slowly as he coos.

Djarin turns quickly and tries to block your view.

“He’s so cute. Why can’t he have more cookies?” you ask, stepping around him to see the alien again.

“Shit,” Djarin says and rests a hand on his helmet.

“What?” you ask before kneeling to say hi to the alien.

You say your name and point to yourself, and the alien’s small hand reaches out toward your face.

“His name is Grogu,” Djarin says. “He’s in my care.”

With a smile you fish inside your dress pocket and pull a snack free, handing it to Grogu. He takes it with a happy squeal and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

“That’s not helping,” Djarin says with a sigh, hands now resting with resignation on his hips.

“Have you been keeping him out here?” you ask, suddenly angry at the thought.

“Well…” Djarin starts, holding his palms up.

“That’s terrible! It’s not safe and it gets cold and…”

“Will you just listen for a minute” Djarin interrupts.

Stomping your foot you start to walk off but he grabs your arm, stopping you and spinning you gently back to face him. He leans in closer and you hold perfectly still.

You shiver and he looks down at your arm, watching the goosebumps erupt over the expanse of your exposed skin. He releases you and reaches for the small cloak secured around his neck.

He drapes it around your shoulders, and you press your lips into a thin line.

“Relax Princess. Just being a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes. “Not very gentlemanly to leave that sweet little guy out here all alone.” When you bump his shoulder and go to storm by him he hooks an arm around your waist and twists, pinning you against the bushes. You look up at him with murder in your eyes.

“Still being a gentleman?” you ask, tone cheeky.

Even through the material of his gloves you can feel the warmth of his skin and then you feel a traitorous shiver crawling up your spine- and not from the cold. You squirm in this grip, causing the edge of your skirt to catch on one of the branches of the bush.

He looks down, his body tensing at the sliver of exposed skin that’s now revealed, then he slowly lowers his hand, eyes staying focused on the spot, clearly waiting for you to protest. His fingertips brush along your thigh, knuckles grazing something hard.

“Planning to use this?” he asks as his fingers toy with the dagger secured to your leg.

“Are you going to give me a reason to?” you counter, furious that you can’t see his face as you hope to keep your own features schooled.

“You can’t tell anyone about Grogu.”

Your chin lifts and he presses harder against you.

“For his safety,” he pauses, “please.”

That one word catches you off guard and for a second you forget how frustrating this whole situation is. You gather yourself, hoping your emotions are as hidden as his.

“Then you have to let him stay with me. Inside the palace.”

He sighs and you add, “for his safety.”

“Fine,” Djarin says. “But no one can know.”

“Don’t worry. I’m very good at keeping secrets,” you assure him, giving him a light shove to release you.

He does but you don’t let him get far. “As long as you tell me why he’s in your care and why it’s so important he stays hidden.”

He hangs his head with a slight shake. “You’re a pain the ass, you know that.”

His comment makes you laugh. It’s the first real laugh you’ve had in days, and it feels good and Djarin’s never been more thankful to have his face hidden. The sight of your smile takes his breath away.

“Oh you have no idea!” you say as you reach for Grogu’s hand.

When Djarin follows you and Grogu into your chambers you don’t refuse his presence, noting the urgency in his voice as he explained the situation to you during your walk back to the palace.

 “I can make him a place to sleep here and bring him food after meals,” you say as you flit around the room and gather blankets.

Once you’ve set up the space you take a deep breath, turning to find Djarin filling your space. He grabs your wrist, and you freeze, looking from his large, gloved hand to where you imagine his eyes would be.

You try to pull away but he pulls you closer, seemingly holding your gaze as he slides his fingers gently up and over your knuckles.

“Thank you,” he says in a whisper.

You’re imagining he’d brush his lips across your hand if his face weren’t forever hidden behind his helmet. Heat rushes through you at the contact and the thought and you nod your head.

“Forgetting you can’t stand me?” you say to break the spell, the corners of your mouth tilted up.

He drops your hand and steps back. “Wouldn’t dream of it Princess,” he says but you hear the smile in his voice.

The palace has been bustling with activity over the last week due to tonight’s wedding of your cousin. Your father offered to host in the hopes of keeping the family in a positive light. You’ve stayed as far away from it all as possible, enjoying your time with Grogu.

He’s playful and adorable and doting on him has taken your mind off the constant presence of Djarin, who on the other hand is distracting. Just the sound of his voice makes your traitorous body react and you’re dying to find out what’s beneath all that armor.

Just as your imagination is drifting to the wide set of his shoulders and the way his hand so easily wrapped around your wrist there’s a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

Djarin steps through the door with Buttons right behind him.

“My lady we need to prepare you for the wedding,” Buttons says as she walks to your closet.

Djarin checks on Grogu, speaking softly to him before he turns your way.

“When you’re ready I’ll be waiting outside to escort you to the festivities.”

“Shouldn’t you be in more formal attire?” you ask as you look over your shoulder. “Surely for one night you can wear something else.”

He clasps his hands in front of him. “As much as I’d love to be your date for the evening Princess, I can’t risk your safety just to look good.”

The playfulness in his voice takes you off guard and you smile softly.

“Hm. Too bad.”

Taking that as his dismissal he leaves the room and Buttons holds up a dress. “How about this one my lady.”

You look it over, your eyes lighting up in delight before you say, “actually…I know exactly which dress I want to wear.”

As you exit your room you’re purposefully placed cloak swishes behind you, cascading over the floor as you walk to meet Djarin. He bows his head slightly and ushers you toward the ballroom. When you reach the entrance Buttons fusses with the hem of your cloak, but you hastily remove it, revealing your dress beneath.

If it weren’t for the music playing in the next room you’d be sure you heard his quick intake of breath. You hand the cloak to Buttons. “It’s warm enough tonight. I don’t think I’ll need this.”

You feel his gaze immediately even though you can’t see his eyes. You smile and lift your brows.

“Staring is rude you know.”

He clears his throat. “I wasn’t staring.”

You trail your fingers along the neckline of your dress, pretending to adjust the pendant resting against your skin before you step into the room.

He grabs your arm. “Let me go first.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, stepping to the side to allow him to pass. At first you watch him to a sweep of the room but once you lose him in the crowd you turn toward the ornate and elaborate decorations near the doorway.

“How much do you think these cost?” you say more to yourself than Buttons, who as usual, is standing diligently at your side.

Suddenly, warmth fills the space at your back, and you feel Djarin behind you, his body pressed to yours. Your heart kicks into a faster rhythm as his gloved fingers skim your arm.

“Everything appears to be safe,” he whispers, low and gruff, “but…”

You stop breathing when he dips his head lower, not even the helmet blocking the caress of his words against your skin. “There’s a man here…there’s something about him. He’s wearing a purple cloak. Stay away from him.”

“Ok.”

Your voice is too breathy, but you can’t stop it with him this close. He hums against your neck, and you clench your thighs together involuntarily. Trying to deny your attraction to him would be ridiculous at this point but it doesn’t make you any less angry.

You’ve never even seen his face. The illusion can shatter with just a glimpse.

He moves away and you feel the loss like a punch to the gut. It steals your breath and you turn to find him tucked behind you, leaning along one of the pillars in the ballroom. Even as you walk away in search of a drink you can feel the weight of his gaze.

The rest of the evening goes by without much excitement. You’re asked to dance several times, noting the way Djarin is always in your line of sight. When you finally get free of the dance floor and find some sanctuary by the outdoor balcony you’re not surprised when that familiar deep voice greets you.

“Why do you dance with them if you don’t want to?” he asks.

“Who says I wasn’t enjoying every minute of it?” you counter, turning your face to the light breeze.

“You hated every minute of it,” he says, his tone so sure if makes your fists clench.

“And how would you know,” you grit out.

The slight tilt of his helmet is all you get in response and you have to close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then a slow smile spreads across your lips.

“Or maybe…you’re just jealous.”

“Wouldn’t that make you happy Princess,” he chuckles.

A commotion on the dance floor pulls you both from the moment and he instantly has you secured behind him as he assesses the situation. With his hand on the gun at his hip he slowly moves forward but the instant there’s a space between the people on the dance floor you let out a barely contained snort.

“Oh don’t worry. That’s just my father pretending to make a drunken scene. He’s really laying it on thick,” you drawl.

Djarin continues to study what unfolds before him, not letting you pass and not removing his hand from his blaster.

“And it’s also my signal to go to bed,” you add.

“Not interested in seeing how this plays out?” Djarin asks with a light tone.

“I’ve seen it a million times. He does this just to try to win people over. It’s total bullshit.”

You wave a dismissive hand and start to head for your room. Djarin falls in step beside you.

“You’re not going to stay and enjoy the party?” you ask. “I’m sure there’s some beautiful lady who’d love to get that helmet off you.”

Ignoring your comment he responds with, “where you go I go Princess.”

“I’m aware,” you reply wryly.

“Would you mind if I check on Grogu before you retire for the night?” he asks softly.

“Be my guest,” you say as you wait by your door, knowing he’s going to go in first for a security sweep anyway.

Once it’s clear there are no safety breeches he calls you inside. He’s leaning against the wall near your bed, looking down at Grogu who’s snuggled into his blankets with a cookie.

“I don’t know where he keeps finding these snacks,” Djarin tsks with a shake of his head.

You clear your throat. “Oh, I have no idea either. But he’s cute enough to get away with a lot.”

Grogu looks at you, blinking slowly and making  a soft cooing sound. You smile and wink.

“I’m going to have a bath. You can see yourself out.”

With that you head into your bathing room and shut the door, quickly testing the bath water that Buttons had set up for you. It’s warm and inviting and you let your dress slip from your shoulders, sliding your undergarments off then stepping into the large tub.

You’re not sure how long you spend submerged in the bath but as you stand and retrieve your towel you hear the door creak open. It startles you at first and you quickly cover yourself with the towel, peering through the low light to see who’s at the door.

Grogu waddles through, his ears bent backward and his eyes bigger than usual. He holds out the small sack you gave him to hold his cookies, showing you it’s empty.

“Did you eat them all?” you ask with a smile.

He nods and his expression turns solemn.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you more.”

After hearing that he starts to chirp and coo excitedly, making far too much noise for the time of night it is. You try to quiet him down but before you can Djarin barges into the bathing room, poised and ready to attack.

You let out a scream and nearly drop your towel.

“What the….?” you start, your fingers in a vice grip on the material as you stand there still dripping water.

“I heard…something,” Djarin says. “Are you ok?”

“We’re fine,” you say in a whoosh of breath. “He just got excited over...”

“Cookies?” Djarin finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “And what is that?” you ask, pointing to the large gun looking thing slung over his shoulder.

He relaxes his stance but doesn’t pull his gaze away from you. “A flamethrower.”

“Oh. Bigger than I thought,” you muse.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he shoots back.

You place a hand to your chest, feigning shock. “Did you just make a…joke?”

He scoffs and lowers the flame thrower. For a moment you think he’s going to engage but he just seems to be staring at you, although you can never quite tell with his helmet on. You suddenly remember you’re standing there in your towel, and you swallow hard, all the built of tension rushing back in a flash.

The time stretches taut with heated anticipation, and you sway closer, the urge to drop the towel taking over.

Grogu interrupts with a whistle and you’re released from your daze, looking down at him slowly.

 “Come on Grogu,” Djarin say as he turns to leave. “And no more cookies,” he shoots over his shoulder.

Your exhale is long and slow as you watch him leave, Grogu following slowly behind with disappointed look.

The next day you’re thrumming with energy, the need to leave the palace and find some solace from this ever-growing tension between you and the Mandalorian becoming overwhelming.

The problem is, wherever you go, he goes.

As you’re sitting on your bed watching Grogu munch on a cookie your eyes light up with an idea. You smile mischievously at him, and his ears instantly flatten to the back of his head.

After you’ve explained your plan to Grogu, going over it several times until he was nodding in what you hope is agreement you grab your pack and change into something less conspicuous than your usual regal garments.

You give Grogu the signal and he heads toward the door of your bedroom, sneaking out into the hallway to get Djarin’s attention. You peek out of the door and see Djarin turned the other way and reaching for Grogu to take him back inside.

It’s now or never. You slip away with silent footsteps and once you’re out of sight you sneak toward the stables. You make quick work of saddling your Kaadu, ignoring its light protests to you riding out unescorted.

You soothe the creature with soft touches and words until you’re picking up speed, and the palace grows smaller behind you.

The city of Theed is alive with the thrum of people coming and going, the marketplace full of vendors shouting to every person who passes by and you’re thankful for the hood you pull up and over your face.

Your Kaadu waits impatiently at the stables, and you know you don’t have much time. The energy of the freedom of the city keeps your feet moving forward and after a few minutes you start to relax.

When you pass a particular vendor selling sweets your nose stops you in your tracks, the smell a familiar one that brings back a flood of childhood memories. You stop and eye the treats, knowing you’re not the only one who will enjoy them.

You reach for your bag of money and realize that you forgot to take some. Your stomach sinks at the thought of going home empty handed. You look around the marketplace, checking for anything that seems out of place then look to the stall owner, noting that his focus is on the customer ahead of you.

Your movements are slow and careful as you reach for a handful of the treats…

“HEY! YOU!” the vendor in the stall next to you yells. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your hand flies back and you quickly look around, noticing that you now have the attention of several people, including the owner of sweets stall.

“Uhh…” you start, eyes darting from side to side.

Then without thinking you make a grab for the treats, taking a large handful and stuffing them in your bag before turning and dashing off into the crowd. You can hear the commotion behind you, the vendors yelling, other patrons shouting as they get knocked into and pushed aside.

You don’t look back, just continue running as fast as you can until you reach one of the large cylindrical buildings and it’s many arches. You disappear into the shadows and plaster yourself against the wall, listening as the small group that was chasing you passes by in a flurry of agitation.

Releasing a breath you smile to yourself, feeling the exhilaration of the adrenaline moving through you and the triumph of escape. You check your bag one last time, happy to see the treats are intact and check around the pillars before starting to make your way back to your Kaadu.

Just when you think you’re out of harms way you turn the corner and walk straight into the solid white armor of a storm trooper.

“And just where do you think you’re going…Princess.”

“Shit,” you mutter before another pair of hands grabs your wrists from behind you and secures them.

“Let’s go,” the second Stormtrooper says. “And don’t make a scene or we’ll be forced to silence you.”

“Where is she?” Djarin hisses, slamming the door to the bathroom shut as he stares at Buttons.

“Sir, I have no idea where she could have gone. I was tending to the laundry and when I came back the only one here was the little alien…covered in crumbs.”

“Do you know where she is?” Djarin asks, spinning to face Grogu.

Grogu’s ears go back, his dark eyes wide, telling Djarin exactly what he needs to know.

“Shit!” Djarin growls. “You’re not supposed to make my job harder!”

Grogu makes a soft squeak, lowering his head at the admonishment.

“Don’t move!” Djarin commands and then looks at Buttons. “And you either. Keep an eye on him!”

He storms for the door, steps heavy and purposeful before he turns to face Grogu again. “And no tricks!”

You’re practically dragged into the underground passage, your feet tripping over each other as you try to keep up and the damp smell of Earth assaults your senses.

“Where are you taking me?” you huff out, defiant still in the face of danger.

“You’ll find out,” answers the Stormtrooper who’s pushing you forward.

The loud rush of falling water grows louder until you’re shoved through a high archway that brings you to an opening with a waterfall at the back. Two other tunnels lead off from the center, but both are blocked by guards.

You look around, trying to measure your surroundings as quickly and efficiently as possible before you hear the distinct gruff voice of Moff Gideon. Your lip curls in a sneer as you meet his eyes.

“And what a lovely surprise it is to see you Princess,” he drawls.

You scoff and don’t offer him a greeting instead shooting back with, “whatever it is you want I won’t do it. You’ve made a grave mistake.”

He smiles. “And why is that? We know you’ve had contact with the alien child, and you will tell us where he’s hiding.”

You lift your chin. “I will tell you nothing.”

One of the dark troopers barring a tunnel entrance takes a step in your direction. Your heart drops into your stomach but you school your features.

“Always so uncooperative,” Gideon sighs.

The stormtrooper pushes you forward as the dark trooper advances. You brace for pain, your body tense but instead you feel the whoosh of a blaster shot, the storm trooper crumpling at your feet right before the dark trooper does the same.

Instinctively you duck and rush away from the chaos, backing yourself into the wall and seeing Djarin blaze through the farthest tunnel, shots firing and several enemies falling to the ground.

He’s just about to end the last of the troopers when you hear Grogu’s squeal, his small body appearing at the opening of the other tunnel. You lunge for him, only to have one of the remaining dark troopers grab you. Gideon slips through the shots being fired, using the commotion as his shiel to scoop up Grogu.

Djarin advances, his gun now poised at Moff Gideon.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you Mandalorian,” Gideon sneers. “I have what I want and you’re going to let me go.”

You struggle against the dark troopers hold and Djarin’s head turns your way.

“Let them go,” he growls. “Now.”

Gideon laughs. “No. Surrender and they will be remain intact.”

Gideon pulls out a small blade and holds it against Grogu’s throat before he looks to the dark trooper who then pulls out a blaster and aims it at you.

Gideon presses the blade closer to Grogu’s skin, and he lets out a small whimper. You see Djarin go completely still and you hold your breath.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Djarin hisses as he lowers his blaster and raises his hands in surrender.

You struggle again and the dark trooper tightens his hold, shoving the blaster into your side.

“Seize him,” Gideon states, motioning to the last dark trooper. “And remove his helmet.”

You suck in a gasp of air, frantically trying to come up with something to do. The dark trooper takes Djarin’s hands and wrenches them behind his back, dropping him to his knees. He secures his wrists with a binder and then places his hand on Djarin’s helmet.

Grogu releases a series of agitated squeaks and squeals just before the dark trooper pulls the helmet from Djarin’s head.

Your eyes instantly lock with his, their dark brown color warm despite the situation as he stares back at you. His equally dark hair is mussed, some soft pieces falling over his forehead as his plush lips lift into a small smirk.

“Hi Princess,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you say, the effect of the reveal clearly apparent in your breathy tone.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, drinking you in with a sweep of his gaze from your head to toes.

Gideon’s overexaggerated laugh drags your eyes away from each other. “Isn’t this just grand,” he says. “Now I have two things that are important to you.”

Djarin grunts and tests the binders at his wrists. The dark trooper gives him a hard shove, and you struggle again in the your own restraints. Gideon laughs and starts to back up.

“Once I’m free of these tunnels kill them both,” he says with a sinister smile.

Then he turns and starts to run with Grogu toward the exit. In the seconds between your scream and the next breath you hear a loud thud from the tunnel, the sound of Gideon’s voice suddenly muffled before Grogu waddles back into the center room, his arm outstretched and aimed at the dark trooper who has a hold on Djarin.

The trooper flies backward into the wall, slamming into the stone hard before it falls to the floor in a heap. The next few seconds happen so quickly you barely register anything. Djarin stands and turns his wrists toward Grogu, who instantly breaks the binders then he has his blaster in his hand and the dark trooper holding you falls backward slowly, the hole in it’s head still smoking.

Djarin rushes for you, grabbing your hand. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

You stare at him, closer now so that you can see the shadow of stubble along his cheeks, and the long dark lashes that frame his eyes.

His gaze holds yours before dropping to your lips and impulsively your tongue darts out to trace their shape. He groans but urges you behind him before putting his helmet back on.

“We don’t have time,” he says, signaling for Grogu. “Let’s get to safety.”

Your escape back to the palace is a blur of movement and urgency and it isn’t until you’re secured back in your room, legs cramping and breathing ragged that he unleashes his anger.

“What were you thinking?” he shouts. “You could have been killed!”

Before you can answer, he whirls on Grogu. “And you!”

Grogu’s ears fall back and he lowers his head with a sad whistle. He retreats to his bed area looking thoroughly chastised and you watch the anger in Djarin deflate with a sag of his shoulders.

But still you shoot back, “don’t yell at him,” throwing your finger out and crowding Djarin’s space. “It was my fault. I put him up to it. I…I just wanted to get out of here for a little while.”

Your last words soften as the air leaves your body and you start to sway forward with the weight of everything that has transpired.

He catches you easily, one arm around your waist, as your breathing starts to even out. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He removes one glove and then the other, placing his fingers under your chin to lift your face to his. Your body comes alive at the feel of his skin against yours, his thumb softly tracing the curve of your jaw.

His lips tenderly brush your cheek, his nose gently bumping yours before he kisses you. It’s not just some quick affection. This is a kiss you feel everywhere. You’re hyperaware of all the places your bodies touch, of the way, even through his armor, you fit together perfectly. He holds you to him, his large hands softly cupping your face.

When you pull away you’re breathless and Djarin’s eyes wander deliberately over the features of your face, his head dipping to kiss you again.

“Careful Mandalorian,” you whisper against his lips when he retreats just enough to hold your gaze. “You’re looking at me like you’re forgetting you can’t stand me.”

The corner of his lips tilt upward into a smile and the lines around his eyes deepen, sending a rush of warmth through your body.

“I could say the same for you,” he murmurs.

He leans in, skimming his nose from the junction of your shoulder up your neck, breathing you in.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” He whispers the words into your skin before inhaling again.

A shiver runs along your spine as his breath ghosts over the rapid pulse in your neck. He hums appreciatively, groaning before he kisses you again. When he pulls back, he searches your face for any sign of hesitation and when you give him none he drops his hand between your bodies, searching for the hem of your shirt and slipping his hand beneath, calloused fingertips gliding over your soft skin.

One of your hands thrusts into his hair, yanking his head closer to kiss him, and his barely controlled restraint snaps, his free hand curling around your thigh to lift you into his arms. He walks you backward toward the bed, spinning until he’s seated and you’re straddling his lap. He never breaks the kiss, his hands steady but urgent in their exploration of every curve of your body.

He shifts, trying to ease the strain of the hardness between his legs.

“You’re wearing far too much clothing.” The words are a challenge against his lips, and his eyes snap up to meet yours.

His hand slides up to your neck, and his grip tightens on your throat, the feel of your pulse beating harder and harder against his fingers.

“You are temptation,” he whispers, “and I want to take my time…”

“But…”you purr.

“It’s been torture since the moment I laid eyes on you. I need you to be mine.”

Your lips spread into a smile against his. “Then make me yours.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dandelion

Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A typical work assignment turns into something less than usual.

Characters: Walter Marshall, Curtis Everett

Note: blame @stargazingfangirl18

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!

Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖

'No signal'.

Out in the farmlands, it isn't too rare to see those two dire words. You always keep a map in the car just in case. As it is, you've never quite got lost. These rural roads don't have many turn offs to do so.

The farmhouse is just ahead at the end of the dirt path curling to the left. The owner said something about a red post and you're fairly sure the one with the peeling coat you just passed is the one. You idle right before the branching lead off to check the map one last time.

The fields are so endless and the back roads so empty that you hear the car coming before you see it. You lower the map and look in the rearview. An iron grey truck spits up dust as it follows the subtle up and down of the unpaved lanes.

You wait for them to pass but they don't. Instead, they signal and pull up behind you. A large hand signals through the windshield. You squint and check the locks on the door.

The driver gets out and approaches. You roll the window down and inch before he can tap on the glass. You lean over to peer up at him.

Dark curls, a dark beard, some silver laced through both, and two bold blue eyes above the thick bridge of his nose. He wears a long-sleeved cotton pullover with sweat around the collar. His forearms are exposed under the rolled sleeves as he grips his hips and bends to see you.

"Lost?" He asks.

"Not really," you crinkly the map.

"You sure?"

"Um, yep. Pretty sure the farm I'm looking for is that one right over there." You nod to the north east.

He scoffs. "Hard Top."

"That's the one." You fold up the map.

"Uh huh. Well you just follow me on." He reaches to tap the roof of your car. "It's mine."

You flick your brows and his mouth slants.

"Walter Marshall. You were talking with my partner, Curtis." He explains.

"I was."

"No use keeping him waiting." He drags his hand away. "He's a bit of a grump."

He turns and struts away. You watch him in the mirror as you roll up the window all the way. That's lucky.

You wait for him to get in his truck and pass you. You follow him slowly, crawling along the curve and the subtle incline of the road. You glance over at the fields as you let your foot hover on the brake.

He leads you to the dusty clearing in front of the farmhouse. You park next to him and get out. You open your back door to take out your bag, your water bottle clinking against a buckle as it hangs from a carabiner on the strap.

“Curt!” Walter cups his hand around his mouth as he booms toward the house.

You uncap your bottle and drink as you wait. He turns to you as you twist the top back on. You let it dangle again and rest your hand on your bag.

“I told him to wait outside for you. I had to run into town and get some wire.” He clucks.

“No problem.” You assure him as you turn to take in the expanse.

“We bought this place off a family. Been passed down for decades.” He explained. “We’re thinking vegetables, herbs, some fruits. Buddy has an organic juice business….”

“Hey.” The front door snaps on its hinges.

You turn to the man that stands in front of it. His black shirt is smeared with dirt, the emblem of some metal band mostly obscured. His thick arms and sides are completely exposed by the cut of the fabric. His dark hair is buzzed short, his beard only slightly longer. More stubble than anything.

“I was dealing with the pipes.” He says as he wipes his hands on a rag. His attention darts between Walter and you. “You must be… I’m Curtis.”

“That’s me.” You assure him. “I got everything ready to go.”

“Cool. So, we’re thinking veggie patches—”

“Already gave her the breakdown, bud. Maybe next time, you won’t be late,” Walter interjects.

“I was here.” Curtis growls.

You shift awkwardly.

“What was planted before?”

“Wheat? Grains. There’s a few pear and apple trees still around and healthy strawberry patches we’ve kept going.” Curtis comes down the steps of the porch and tucks the rag in his pocket.

“Mm. Well, today I can do a quick test. I have a few kits in my bag. I’ll need to take samples back for more intensive testing and compare to the topology of the fields. Do you have a map of the plots that belong to you?”

“Huh, she’s thorough,” Walter comments.

You barely twitch. This is your work. You know what you’re doing. If you really wanted to be complicated, you’d speak like you do at the lab.

“Have to be. You’re paying for it.” You assure him without a look.

“Well, let us show you around. It’s a pretty big place so no use wasting time.” Curtis says and gets a snort from Walter. “I can get you a map of the plots. Might have to draw it out but I’ve got the deed here. There’s some coordinates on there…”

“No problem.” You nod.

“Here, it’s a bit of a walk,” Walter startles you as he grabs the strap of your bag.

“Oh, I got it.”

“Looks heavy.” He tugs and you cling for just a moment before you let go. “Come on. It’s only gonna get hotter out here.”

You repress your irritation. It wouldn’t be the first time the old-fashioned type treated you like ‘a lady’. Sometimes it can be endearing, mostly it’s demeaning.

Walter waves you ahead of him as Curtis points to the east. “We’ll start over here.”

You follow him around the house and along the strips between the patches of turned soils. When you come to the border of their holding, you turn to Walter and ask for your bag. His hand twitches on your water bottle then slides up the strap. He hands it over.

You dig inside for a quick kit. You put on some gloves and start the process. You’re overly aware of them watching, standing side by side just to your right.

“This will mostly check the PH of the soil,” you explain. “It’s typically easy enough to balance it out or at least plant according to the results. Once I have the lab results back for my other tests, we can determine anything that isn’t viable this season. Unfortunately, it can take a lot of time to revive arable land.”

Curtis hums. Walter shifts in his boots.

“You been doing this a long time?”

“Almost fifteen years.” You put in the neutralizer and wait for the results.

“Fifteen? You don’t look that old…” He muses.

You ignore that. Comments like that also aren’t unusual. You’re surprised he hasn’t commented that he expected a man but then again, you think your name might have spoiled the surprise.

You continue around the farmland. It’s tedious work. Quick tests then scooping up soil to deposit in your labeled vials. At points, you dig down deep into the sediment.

You pause to grab your water bottle and gulp. Sweat stains your scalp and dampens the insides of your gloves. You put the cap on and press on.

“More water in the house if you need it,” Curtis offers.

“Thanks. It’s a big bottle.” You counter.

As you make your way around the strips of land, the sun beats down, ringing in your vision. You try to blink away the glare as even your lashes feel sweaty. You squat down to get another sample but as you stand, you sway and stumble.

“Woah, you good?” Walter asks.

You flick your lashes and look at him. “Fine.”

You fumble to seal the sample and tuck it in your bag. You take another swig from your bottle. It’s empty. You put the cap on again and sigh. You’re almost done.

You try to lift the bag and the weight tips you over before you can stand. You fall onto it and groan. You shake your head. Something’s not right.

“Hey, you okay?” Walter asks as you’re pulled back.

Curtis lets you fall onto your back in the dirt. You grumble as your arms fall limp at your sides. You can’t move. What the hell is going on?

Curtis stares at you, touching your cheek then your forehead. Your eyelids flutter and he holds his fingers under your nose to check your breathing.

“How much did you put in?”

“Enough.” Walter answers as he unclips your bottle and shakes it. “I didn’t think she’d drink it all.”

Curtis sighs.

“We need to get her out of the sun.”

🌼

Black lightens to grey. Your mind slowly grinds back into motion as your body comes back into being. You climb out of the pit of your unconscious up into the gloom of your current predicament.

Your finger twitches. That effort alone aches. You bend two, then three, then curl up a whole fist. You raise your hand and let it fall as the weight thrums in your forearm.

You smell dirt and sweat. Your mind flashes with your last memories. Laying in the dirt, writhing and weak, the sun beating down, two shadows looming above.

You open your eyes and quickly close them again. It’s not real. It has to be a dream. These things don’t happen like this. It was a job, not…

No, it was a trap.

You look again. You stare at the wooden slats of the wall. The dark stain is faded and a few scratches mark the passage of time. You turn your head. The space is typical of an old farmhouse, but not airy as you would expect. The small room is stagnant and damp.

You know that scent too. A basement. You shudder as your chest locks up. Breathe.

You press your hands down and sit up with a grunt. The effort is enough to make you dizzy. You fall onto one elbow before you can keel over the side of the bed.

You take in the space. A wooden wardrobe, the bed, a night table with a lamp on top, a threadbare rug. There’s a small sink in the corner and a mirror. It’s all very simple.

You push yourself up again and angle your legs one by one over the edge. You’re not stupid enough to stand. You hunch forward and hug your middle.

You remember Walter taking your bag, walking behind you. You never heard a thing. He was quick.

But why? Why all of this?

You don’t see any chains or torture devices but maybe they’ll bring those out later. You doubt these things are as dramatic as those dismal Netflix miniseries. It’s not all aesthetic, it’s just a woman locked in a sad room in a basement.

You wallow in the silence. Your breath is the only sound until the grind of metal scrapes from the door. You wince and peek over as the hinges whine.

You grip the edge of the mattress. Walter tuts and shuts the door.

“Try to stand up and see what happens.”

You lift your chin and scowl at him. There’s no point in asking what or why. You look at his hands. No knife, nothing. Well, he’s big enough to kill you with his own strength.

He closes the door. You watch him. He faces you and stares.

“Well? Questions?” He prompts.

You glare at him. He waits. You don’t say a word.

“Alright, well, I suppose we’ve all waited long enough.”

He turns and goes to the wardrobe. He opens it. He takes out a dress with a dandelion pattern. It’s cut in an old farm style with buttons down the front.

He offers it to you as you stare. You don’t move. He steps closer.

“You’re in no shape to fight.” He warns.

You tilt your head up and grimace. “What is wrong with you?”

His lips curve slightly.

“I’m just like every other man. I’m just honest about it. I know what I want and need.” He bends and places the dress on your lap. His nose almost touches yours. “You can deny it in yourself but you’re a woman and women need men.”

You swallow tightly. His hands spread over the dress and feel your thighs through the fabric. He leans in to drag the tip of his nose up yours.

“I’m the nice one, sweetheart, so do yourself a favour and get changed.”

He squeezes then pushes away. He turns and marches to the door, not looking back as he leaves. You huff and bite the insides of your cheeks.

You drop your head and touch the dress. Your hands hurt. Your veins are tight but hollow, tendons strained. You feel the cotton and shiver. You know he’s right. You don’t have a choice; well, you have one. To make it worse for yourself.

You slowly unfold the dress. The effort alone is enough to make you shake. Or maybe that’s the fear.

You put the dress aside and undress. Your boots are already gone; your jacket too. You strip down to your plain cupless bra and high-rise panties. You take a deep breath and let it out as you stand.

You sway and remind yourself not to lock your knees. You grab the dress and unbutton it. You pull it on and pull through each button one by one. It’s tight and the buttons pull against the holes. When you finish, you sit again.

What do you do now but wait? You feel useless and helpless and stupid. Are you just accepting this? Everyone has a plan but how do you really plan for this?

When the door opens again, you don’t react. The shadow approaches you and grabs your arm. Walter sighs.

“You need help?” He asks.

You shake your head and stand. You try to shrug him off but he clings to you. He takes you through the door.

It’s brighter in the next room. The aromas in the air make your stomach grumble. You’re hungry. Something’s cooking.

There’s a dining table on a patterned rug; a kitchenette along one wall; fridge, stove, sink, cupboards. You notice the locks on all of them. Curtis has his back to you as he uses a spatula to transfer food from a skillet to a plate. Walter makes you sit in one of the wooden chairs and stands behind you, his hands on your shoulders.

The details start to tweak in your head. Curtis wears a black button up and slacks. Walter has changed too; a grey button-up and dark shade of pants. They’ve both cleaned themselves up.

Curtis turns and brings over two plates. He places one before you on a crochet dish mat and another at another seat with the same setting. Walter lets go of you and sits. Curtis returns and takes the third plate. He joins you at the table, his hands framing his plate as he looks at you.

“That dress is nice on you.” He says.

“Bit small.” Walter remarks. “Tight.”

You grit your teeth.

“Bit older than I expected too…” Walter adds.

Curtis sniffs. “Shut up. She’s… beautiful.”

You look away. Stolid silence roils around you. Walter is the first to move. He picks up his fork and stirs the penne on his plate. Curtis taps his fingers on the table.

“Eat,” he commands.

Your eyes meet his. His jaw is set. Walter eats without pretense.

“I’m not hungry–”

“I can hear your stomach. Eat.” He demands. “No use drugging you again, is there?”

You stare at him and take your fork. You poke a piece of zucchini and lean forward slightly. You push it into your mouth. He picks up his own fork.

“You really do look good,” he snarls as his eyes narrow, his lip twitching. “Doesn’t she?”

Walter hums and swallows. “Tits are nice.”

Curtis sighs. “Jesus.”

🌼

Your hunger is replaced with unease. Your stomach churns around the meal as you remain in the chair. Curtis gets up and gathers the empty plates. Walter stands and slaps his stomach. He nudges you.

“Come on.”

You hesitate then stand. He takes you back to the small room and shoves you inside. The door shuts heavily behind you.

You go back to the bed and sit. You climb up into the corner and fold your arms over your knees. You slump and close your eyes.

You stay like that until the door opens again. It’s Curtis. He has a zip-up bag in his hand.

“You need to get ready for bed.” He says as he shuts the door.

You stare. He goes to the sink. He puts the bag down beside the faucet and unzips it.

“Get over here.”

You stay. You’re annoyed. You’re not a dog. He speaks to you like one.

He sighs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You don’t move.

He pulls his hand out of the bag and marches over to the bed. He grabs your ankles and drags you across, the blankets rumpling beneath you. You cry out as you try to kick free.

“One last chance to get on your feet or I will drop you on your ass.”

He lets you go. Your ankles throb. You let your feet dangle and stand.

He grips your shoulder and walks you to the sink. He pulls out a tooth brush and tooth paste. He wets the bristles then puts the paste on. You reach for it and he slaps your hand down.

“Open.”

Your lip curls before you force yourself to obey. It’s so strange. He brushes your teeth as you try not to gag. He finishes and fills a plastic cup and tells you to rinse. You do.

Next, he pulls out a jar of face scrub. He tells you to wet your face. Then he applies the exfoliant. You flinch. His large hands linger on your cheeks. His eyes dip.

“You really do look… good.”

You avert your gaze. He rinses his hands then grabs the back of your neck. He bends you over the sink and splashes water over your face. He rinses off the beaded wash and hands you a towel. You pat dry as he squeezes moisturiser from a tube.

He rubs his into your skin and down your neck. His hands circle your throat and linger loosely, he hums. He exhales a hot breath over you.

“Change.”

He lets go and crosses to the wardrobe. He opens it and pulls out a linen night gown. It’s about long enough to reach your knees; plain white with straps.

He brings it to you. You reach for it and he shakes his head. “Take the dress off.”

You swallow and look around. “I can do it–”

“Stop. Do it.”

His voice sinks into like an anchor pulling you to a halt that nearly upends you. You lower your chin and close your eyes. Your hands shake as you unbutton the dress. It falls open and reveals the cushion of your chest, stomach, hips, and thighs.

You twitch as his fingertips brush down your neck to your chest and trace the top of your bra.

“Everything.”

You gulp as he takes the dress away. You unhook your bra and he tugs it off your arms. Then you push down your underwear until they fall to your ankles. He bends to snatch them away too.

He looms close then throws the night gown over your head. You bring your arms up to poke through the holes. You open your eyes as he pulls the sheath down your body. It’s tight too, hugging your tits and ass.

His breath scrapes audibly. His hands hover around your sides then drop. He gathers up your clothes and heads for the door.

“Lay down.”

He slams the door behind him.

🌼

You lay in bed but don’t sleep. The lamp is on. You can’t bring yourself to face the dark.

You watch the door. Reality skews as time passes without notice. No tick of the clock, no numbers to count, only those walls and your fear.

The door jars then opens. You sit up. A figure fills the frame.

You stare at Curtis as he tilts his head. He’s naked. You brace yourself.

“Please…”

“Hey…” another voice comes from behind him. “Starting without me?”

Curtis winces and turns. You look away from his naked ass as he faces Walter. The other man snickers.

“Couldn’t sleep, big boy?” Walter taunts.

Curtis shakes his head and turns back. He enters the room. Walter follows and sheds his tee shirt. The door shuts with a loud click.

You push yourself against the wall, curled up as you hold up a hand in defense.

“Please, don’t–”

“Shh,” Walter hushes you as he shoves his flannel pants down his thick legs. His dick bobs up shamelessly as he stands and stretches.

Curtis approaches the bed and latches onto your ankle. You whine as he jerks you away from the wall. You flail as he drags you to the edge. The night gown rolls up above your thighs, exposing you.

“She looks good,” Walter praises as he strokes himself. “Give me her mouth.”

“Take it.” Curtis says as he drops to his knees and pushes yours apart.

You whimper. He grips your knees then slowly kneads up your thighs. Walter climbs up from the foot of the bed and strokes your cheek. You sway him away and he catches your hand. He snickers as he pulls it toward his pelvis.

“Stop! Please–”

“It’s not going to hurt if you’re good,” Walter chides.

You gasp as Curtis’ touch crawls between your thighs. His breath grazes your pelvis and you flinch. You reach down to stop him but once more, you’re slapped away.

Walter pumps himself with one hand as his other grasps your chin. He turns your head and you lock your jaw. He squeezes until your entire skull pulses.

“Don’t be bad.” He warns.

Curtis frames your pelvis, his thumbs stretched down the creases of your thighs.

“Listen.” Curtis growls. He leans in and his breath plumes against your cunt. He nuzzles you and purrs.

Walter presses his tip to your lips as his grip gets even tighter. You open your mouth and whine. He pushes inside and you close your eyes.

Curtis’ tongue grazes along your lips and you shiver. You sink into yourself as he tastes between your folds. The coolness of his mouth flows through your veins.

You tell yourself, beg yourself not too feel. But you feel it all. As Walter dips deeper into your mouth, smothering you, sliding down to your throat. As Curtis flicks his tongue up and down, swiping circles around your clit.

Your body vibrates as they violate you. Curtis reaches up your body, groping and grabbing at your stomach, then your chest. He fondles one tit as Walter grabs the other, still guiding your mouth up and down his length.

Your muscles spasm as you gag. Curtis tickles along your cunt with his fingers and teases your entrance. Walter pushes past your reflex and your eyes water as drool stains your lips and cheeks. Curtis pushes two fingers into you and you squeeze both of them as they invade your body.

They work in tandem, licking, lapping, tugging, thrusting. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t do anything but let them use you. For all that you can’t do, you feel it all.

Your insides twist and tie up. The tension coils around and around. You press on Walter’s thigh as he dips deeper and deeper and Curtis’ tongue swirls around and around.

You arch your back, toes curling, and the pressure bursts. You whine around Walter as you spasm and cum. Your orgasm dominates you, conquers you, and shatters the last of your resistance.

Neither stop. Walter fists your hair as he fucks your mouth and Curtis rams his fingers in deeper and hard. He sucks on your clit as you clasp at the tangled blanket and choke. You cum again.

He eases you through and drags his wet mouth across your pelvis and hip. He growls.

“Get her up.” He snarls.

Walter pushes in one last time then slides out of your mouth. He pulls you up by your neck and moves you off the bed. Curtis angles around to sit on the edge as Walter guides you onto his lap.

You push back against Walter and he grabs your hip. He leads you down as Curtis’ hand grips your other side. They force you onto Curtis’ dick as he groans. His hand slips to your rear as your walls clench him and you push on his chest.

Walter shoves you down until you cry out. He chuckles and moves your hips. You whine again.

“Is she tight?” Walter growls.

Curtis groans. He leans forward as the night gown droops below your chest and he takes a nipple in his mouth. Walter moves his hand up your back and pushes lightly. Curtis lays back, taking you with him.

Walter keeps your motion. He rubs your ass as guides you up and down Curtis’ length. He steps closer and bends over you.

Curtis reaches down as he nibbles at your chest. He frames his intrusion with his fingers, opening you up as Walter presses against your entrance. You twitch and try to move away.

They hold you in place as Walter pushes into you. He stretches you so much it burns. Just his tip has you trembling and pleading. Curtis hushes you and pets your head.

Walter inches into you, crowding your cunt as it strains around both of them. He presses against your back as he plants his knees between Curtis’ to kneel on the bed. He bends over you and snaps his hips, bottoming out.

You squeal and Curtis grunts. He hisses. “Fuck, she’s… fuck…”

“You’re right,” Walter rolls his hips and kisses the back of your head. “She’s fucking perfect.”

[krirebr]

Holy shit. These twooooo. 🥵

My red flags were pinging as soon as Walter took her bag but I still wasn't expecting them to work that fast. And that basement seemed especially dismal. Will she ever see the sun again??? 😬

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

They did not hesitate. Walter might not have got what he expected but he didn't mind really hehehe. Oof. I don't know if she'll ever get past those two.

[biteofcherry]

Hello There 😏

I think my Boy Chris from Destroyer dosn't get enough Love on Tumblr, so If you feel Like it, it would be nice ❤️ and Naughty 😈

P.s. I Love you and your fics ❤️

✨✨✨

The party at the clubhouse is in full blow, half of the men are already pretty drunk and busy with eager mouths and pussies, so it's no surprise no one noticed an uninvited person slipping in.

No one would ever even think to keep watch out for him, because no one in their right mind would dare to cross into an enemy's territory.

But he dared.

You didn't even manage to peep a squeak, or to make any sort of ruckus, he was on you so fast. Hand on your mouth for a split of a second, before he cinched your lips shut with a stripe of duct tape.

He bound your wrists behind your back, tightening a zip-tie around them.

When he turned you around, pressing your hips into the edge of your vanity, you were met with your own fear-blown eyes in the mirror's reflection. And the cold blue of Chris' dark gaze.

He rolled your dress up slowly, smirking at the panic rising in your eyes. He mapped your pussy with dedicated fingers, sneaky and skillful in the same way he breached the clubhouse. Your cunt stretched around his gloved digits without much resistance.

The jangle of his belt buckle mixed with his pleased grunt as he finally released his cock and tapped it against your ass.

"Big decisions await you, princess." He rasps against your ear, guiding his cock between your thighs. "You can come with me right after I fill this pussy with my cum. Or you can stay and tell your brother how you came all over my dick like a pretty little whore-"

duct tape muffles your moan when he pushes into you

"Or-" Chris groans, sliding deeper- "you can tell them in a few weeks, when your belly starts growing."

✨✨✨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 7

Part 1 💍Part 2 💍 Part 3 💍 Part 4 💍Part 5 💍 Part 6

Warning: dub/noncon, entrapment, control.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Steve sighs and leans back. His arm stays hooked around your middle. He clucks as he holds his phone to his ear.

“That’s not what I wanna hear from you right now,” he growls. The stone in his voice makes you wince. “Call me when you got something for me.”

He sneers and puts his phone face down on the table, hitting it against a plate as he does. He huffs and rests his hand against the edge, fingers tapping then curling. He exhales again and drops his hand, brushing up your arm as he bends to kiss your shoulder.

“Doll, why you moving around like that?” He drawls, breath seeping into the robe.

“Um… no reason,” you eke out.

He purrs as his hand curls around your side and he angles to kiss your neck. “I don’t like lies, sweetheart.”

“I’m not–”

“You tell me the truth,” he grits and pinches your skin between his teeth.

You yelp and twist around in his lap. He sits up and leans back to watch you. Push your arm against his middle and brace his chest. His hand grips your hip.

“Steve,” you gulp tightly. “I… I…” your heart flip flops as you grasp at your courage. “I need to go.” You say and watch his face. The brims of his eyes narrow and his brow twitches. “It’s late. I didn’t plan to be… overnight and I gotta get…home.”

He’s silent as he watches you. His eyebrows drop down and he nods. His cheek lines with tension and rolls his tongue in his other. His irises drown you in their icy blue expanse.

You gasp as suddenly he grabs your jaw and you clasp down on his thick wrist. He pulls you close until his nose is almost touching yours. Your lashes flutter fearfully.

“Home?” He echoes gruffly. “You’re with me. That’s home.”

He squeezes and you whimper. You open your fingers and pet his forearm. You shiver as his thumb presses painfully behind your jaw.

“Doll, why’re you tryna run away?” He challenges.

“N-no, I just–” Your hand slips down his taut muscle and your eyes widen. “Please, ow! It hurts–”

“How do you think it feels when you’re sitting here tryna ditch me?” He snarls. “Huh? We’re having a good time.”

“Please, Steve, I– I– I’m sorry. I just thought…” You slide your hand up his arm and across his chest. You stroke between the opening of his robe. “You sound… busy so I was… I thought you needed me to go. That’s… all.”

He stares at you. His tongue slides out between his lips and his chest fills with air. He lets it out slowly and his grip slackens. He drops his hand to trail his knuckle down your throat. His lips curve slightly.

“You’re wrong, doll. You’re never in my way,” he turns his hand to tickle along the curve of your shoulder, hooking his thumb under your robe as he tugs it wide. “You got that?

“I… Yes, Steve,” you murmur.

“So you don’t gotta go nowhere,” he says as his eyes drift down and he pulls your robe apart with both hands. “I need you near. I got everyone else messing with me… I need you, doll.”

He runs his hand up to frame one side of your chest. His other hand brushes up your back and he latches onto the nape of your neck. He leans you back as he bends. He fondles your tit as he guides your nipple between his lips. You quiver helplessly as his tongue flicks around and plucks deep inside you.

You lean on the table and gasp. He rolls your nipple between his teeth and hums. His timbre thrums through your nerves.

He drops his hand and feels along your leg. He slips beneath your knees and suddenly, lifts you as he stands. His mouth pops off your chest as he puts you on the table. You sit on the edge as he crowds you and sweeps the dishes off.

You squeal as he grabs your knees and yanks. You fall onto your back and another bowl clatters as something wet stains the back of your robe. He tears the fabric away from your body and you spams. With his other hand, he tugs on the belt of his robe and it reveals his already rigid desire.

He steps closer and splays his hand over your thigh. He drags it along your pelvis and dips his thumb between your lips. He swirls his digit around your clit as you whine and tremble. He hums as he watch himself touching you, biting the tip of his tongue as your thighs tense.

He growls and plants himself between your knees. He pushes his hand up your body, goosebumps prickling up your stomach and chest. The heat of his skin sticks to yours as his palm chafes. He bends over you and traces the tip of his nose around yours.

He shoves his hand under your head and cradles it. He smothers your mouth with his and guides his tip along the crease of your thigh. He finds your entrance and prods. He drags himself between your lips and purrs. You’re wet. 

You cringe as he forces his tongue past your lips. You nearly choke on his intensity. He lines himself up again and leans into you. As he delves inside, you quake and latch onto his arms. Even through the cotton, you can feel the bulge of muscle.

He growls and nibbles on your lip as he pulls back. He slides out to his tip and rests his forehead on yours. The weight of his head aches in yours.

“Look at me, doll,” he commands.

You open your eyes and peer into the depths of his. He pushes into you slowly. You croak and tense, pushing gently on his arms as he splits you in two. When you’re sure he’s done, he somehow dips even deeper. You arch your back and moan.

“You are exactly…” he pauses and rolls his hips back. You exhale at the sudden hollowness. “Where you need to be.” He thrust back in and you brace his shoulders. He slides out again. “You got that?” He brings his hand around to grip your chin and turns your head. He presses his lips to your cheeks and pumps into you once more. “Don’t ever talk about leaving again.” He holds himself in you as your squirm and whine. “I know you’re a good girl. I know you’ll… remember.”

[needlereads]

Bruh, this is called kidnapping.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No, this is called commitment.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 6

Part 1 💍Part 2 💍 Part 3 💍 Part 4 💍Part 5

Warning: dub/noncon, entrapment, control.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Freedom is short-lived. You wash your hands, bladder as hollow as the rest of you. Even if Steve's not in you, you feel him. You shut off the tap and dry your hands, dozy and dazed.

The clock read after noon when he finally let you go but you're not sure you'll get much further. As if sensing your doubts, Steve struts into the bathroom, unabashed by his own nudity. He drags his hand across your ass as he passes.

He opens the shower door and leans inside. He cranks on the water and you twitch. As he faces you, his dick twitches. He can't be getting hard again.

“Come on, doll. Time to clean up,” he extends his hand to you.

You gulp and hang the towel. The thought of escape flutters away as your thighs thrum. You're so stiff and raw, you could never outrun him.

You take his hand and he draws you close. He walks backward as he leads you into the large shower stall. The glass walls speckles with the spray from overhead. 

He urges you against him as you stand beneath the large showerhead. Water pours over you as he rocks you and strokes your cheek. He hums as the steam clouds around your bodies.

“I never thought I'd find you…” he purrs.

You squirm in his embrace, unsure what he means.

“You were just right there… waiting for me.” He frames your face and tilts your chin up. He kisses you, first soft, then more hungrily as his tongue dips past your lips.

His hand slips down your body greedily. You shiver and keep your eyes closed. That little voice in your head fades beneath his grip on your jaw and the friction of his skin.

He parts, breathless, and you open your eyes. His pupils are smokey and dilated. He drags his hand off your chin and turns. He grabs the tall bottle of soap and a fresh scrubbie. He lathers it up and presses it along your throat, swiping it around as you shiver.

“Now, doll, this is just the beginning for us. We got lots to think about, lots to do,” he speaks as he spreads the bubbles over your skin. “I gotta focus… as much as I wanna be on you… in you…” he purrs and bites his lips. You stare at him, speechless. “You keep looking at me like that… I won't be able to do much else.”

He snickers as he lifts your arm, his thumb rubbing your wrist as he dotes on every inch of you, washing away the night from your skin but not your soul. You let him move you, bend you, stretch you as he plies the soap. What else can you do when resistance only goads this man on? Blame him but it's you. You're the one too weak to just walk away.

💍

You lift the flap of your clutch and slide out your phone. You shiver in the hotel robe. You can’t find your clothes. Not even your heels.

You unlock the screen but before you can read any of your notifications, the phone slips from your grasp. Steve whistles and hums. He looks down at your case with the lilac petal applique. You reach for it and he holds it away from you.

He tuts. “Ts, ts, ts, now doll, what’re you doing?”

“Mm, I’m just… checking my phone–”

“Why? I told you, anything you need, you ask me. So, what is it? You don’t like the hotel food? I can call for something else.”

“No, Steve, I was about to eat. I just…” you pout and drop your hands. “Where are my clothes?”

His face draws taut and his jaw ticks. “Why? You going somewhere?” His voice makes you shiver.

“No, I just… want to know.” You eke out.

“You don’t need to worry about your phone or your clothes or anything. You let me worry about it.” He wiggles the cell at you then puts it in the pocket of his own robe. “You sit, eat, maybe have a drink if you need to. That’s all you need to do. Got it?”

You stare at him. You should say no. You know you should and yet, you can’t.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You look down, ashamed. Not because of what he wants you to be ashamed of, but because you’re apologising. For what? He’s holding you captive in this place. “I get it.”

He growls. “Sweetheart,” he steps closer and cups your chin. He forces your head up. “Don’t mope. Acting like I’m not giving you everything I got.” He shifts his hand and pets your cheek with his knuckles. “Go on and relax. You need it.”

You search his blue eyes. They’re as cold as ice. You don’t dare defy him further.

“Good girl,” he leans in and kisses your forehead. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world. Meeting you last night.” He kisses your cheek. “Gotta be fate, right?” He presses his lips to yours and purrs. He parts and his hot breath tickles you. “I’m not gonna mess this up. When you find a good thing, you hold onto it.”

You nod and gulp. The way he’s talking is as scary as that glint in his eye. You only just met… just over twelve hours ago and he sounds like he’s decided your entire future.

“Thank you,” you quaver. “You’re so… generous.”

He hums. “I got more than enough for you, sweetheart.” He hooks his arm around you and rocks you. “You let me know and I’m all too willing to give.”

Your head swims as you peer up at him. You put your hand on his chest but think better of pushing him away. Even if you’re suffocating. Instead, you rub the front of his robe.

“I’m hungry,” you croak, hoping it will get you some space.

“Oh, yeah? Let’s eat then, doll.”

He trails his hand down over your ass then grabs your hand. You let him. He drags you around through to the front room. He brings you to the table where room service left a spread of covered dishes.

He pulls out a chair and sits. Just as firmly, he puts you in his lap. You gasp in surprise. He chuckles and presses his hand to your lower back. His other hand squeezes your thigh. You squirm and he squeezes.

He lets go and reaches past you. He uncovers one of the plates. You look over at the fresh fruit, the fragrance filling the air. He grabs a strawberry and brings it up to admire the vibrant red. He presses the tip to your lips as you sit dumbly on his lap.

He traces your lips then prods between them. You open up and let him push it inside. You bite down and the juice dribbles out and trickles down your chin. He pulls the stem away as you chew.

Before you can mop it up with your sleeve, he catches your wrist. He leans in and licks up the trail down your chin. You don’t move, stunned by the intimate and sloppy gestures. He follows the juice up to your lips as you swallow. He kisses you, his tongue dipping in to taste the lingering sweetness. You can only taste bitter regret.

[honeybee-reads]

At first I was like how dare he not pull her chair out. But he did. And put her right on it. Oh Steve. His delusional is so hot. He’s not hearing a darn thing she’s saying. His mind is made up. And she shouldn’t feel bad. He’s terrifying. That glint in his eye would keep anyone from acting up. I’m sure he scares other grown men. I mean all she did was ask for her clothes and he looked ready to go dangerous. So I’d just try to ride it out, but she doesn’t know yet that she won’t be escaping at all.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Oh no. He will be her seat and her everything. He's so scary. I'd be like okay whatever you say BC no way am I acting up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 5

Part 1 💍Part 2 💍 Part 3 💍 Part 4

Warning: dub/noncon, entrapment, control.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your head clouds with overstimulation. Steve’s hand splays over your hair as he nuzzles your neck, clinging to you as his hips move dulcetly. In, out, in, out. Each thrust is slow and torturous. He puffs against your skin, groaning and growling.

He drawls your name as his lips brush your skin and you shiver. Your head lolls against his curled arm. The last time you looked at the clock it was 12:52. It’s 2:14. That can’t be right.

You shudder and close your eyes. You’re exhausted and suffocated. Your skin is slaked in both your sweat. You drone and sink down into the bed; too weak to even think. He can’t go all night, right?

He purrs and traces his nose along your throat and across your clavicle. Another swell rolls down your spin. He drags himself out of you and you twitch. He nips and kisses down your torso. His hands follow his mouth and wrap around your hips.

He moves you to his need. He drapes your legs over his shoulders as he bows his head. Your lashes flutter as you peek down as his messy blond hair and the round muscle of his curled posture. You moan as his tongue meets your swollen lips.

“Please,” you eke out. You don’t know how much more you can take.

He doesn’t care. He keeps going. He laps at you eagerly as he pushes your thighs against his face. His thick fingers dip into your soft flesh as he moans and hums at the taste of you. 

He flicks around your clit, over and over, then centres his attention on the tiny bud. He sucks on you as the tip of his tongue dances furiously. Your hips buck as you cum. 

Please, stop. You’re no longer begging him but yourself. You need your body to stop. You try to fight it, try to resist it, but the way it responds to him is beyond your control. It’s not yours anymore, it’s his.

He drinks up your pleasure and drags his chin through your slickness. He noisily licks his lips as he raises himself up on his knees. He sighs and falls on you again.

You whimper as your muscles slowly uncoil. He burrows into you until you feel him in your guts. You whine as he guides your leg around his and rolls you with him. He slips his thick arm under your head and pulls you into a kiss stained with your delight.

He gropes you as he rolls his hips slowly. He traps you against him, puffing into your mouth as he fucks you slowly. You tremble in his embrace. Each time you think he’s done, it starts again. It’s not possible.

As measly as your experience might be, this isn’t normal. Men don’t do this. All your friends giggle and complain about ‘just a little longer’...

“I don’t want this to end, doll,” he growls in your ear, sliding out to his tip and slowly pushing back in. Your back arches and you squeak. “Never, doll. Never.”

💍

Your body is locked up. Your chest fills with the thick air as your eyes roll under their lids. Slowly you wake and bat your heavy lashes at the room. Steve’s arm is wrapped around you as his breath dampens your scalp.

You can’t remember when you fell asleep or when he stopped. Did he? 

Your lip trembles as you feel down your stomach and your insides clench. “Ow…” the single syllable escapes you at the fullness throbbing in your walls. He’s still inside you. You squeeze him at the thought.

You blink as you search for escape. You trail your hand up his forearm and wiggle your hips. He’s asleep, you could just slowly, carefully, quietly slip away.

You bite your lip as you drag yourself up his length. A growl rolls behind your ear as he bends his arm and clamps down on your chest. He fondles you as he tilts his hips and plunges back to his limit. You whimper and give up.

“Where’re you going?” His voice is rocky with sleep.

“Ow, oh, I…” you babble. “I need to… go.”

“Go where, doll?” He rocks his hips, just a little, the rhythm just enough to make you squirm. “You’re right where you belong.”

You slap down on his thick thigh and groan. You grasp his hand with your other as your spine curves. You can’t take much more.

It’s not just what he’s doing to your body, it’s your head. You can’t understand how you let this all happen. He never asked to dance, never asked you to come back here, to do… this. He just did it all. He took what he wanted and never ever thought twice about it. Everything is his and there is no denying him.

“Please, um… Steve,” you choke on your voice as his other arm curls under you and he feels along your pelvis. His middle finger finds your clit. “Steve!” You squeal. “Please, I want to go… ho-home.”

He snarls into your hair as he keeps his finger and hips in tandem, a soft thrust that has you teetering on the edge. He rolls you under him, smothering you under his weight as he inhales your scent. He rams his pelvis, holding himself deep as you wriggle beneath him.

“You’re home, doll.” He pumps again, flicking your clit so you spasm and squeak. “When you’re with me, that’s home.”

He fucks you into the mattress, each dip of his hips harder and deeper than the last. Your nails dig into the muscle of his thigh as he pets your hair and huffs into it. You grip his wrist at the same time, pleading silently for him to just let you go. Just stop.

He grunts as he uses his knees to close yours. The pressure around his intrusion intensifies and you whine. The bed shakes as his furor builds, the frame knocking against the wall between his harried breaths. He bites your ear and growls.

“Doll, you’re where I belong. You feel that?” His body tenses and his muscles shakes. “Yeah, you’re got me now.” He snarls and snaps his hips, hard. “I’m gonna give it all to you, baby. Whatever you want…” He spasm and you feel him cum. You hear it as he fucks it into you. “You got it, doll. All yours.” He rambles as he ruts through his climax. “All yours, sweetheart.” He trembles as he keeps going. “All mine,” he rasps and kisses your head. “All…” he slackens and crushes you completely. “Mine.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 4

Part 1 💍Part 2 💍 Part 3

Warning: dub/noncon, entrapment, control.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your dress is on the floor with your shoes. You think your courage might be there too. You’re not brave enough to say no, because deep down you know it won’t stop him. His indomitable determination has you bound up in futility.

His hands frame your head as he kisses you. He groans and rolls his pelvis. The rumble deep in his chest makes you tingle and that tingle makes you question yourself.

He drags his lips off of yours and kisses along your cheek and jaw. He drifts under your chin and down your neck. His thumbs press into your temples as he purrs. He shifts further down and his lips dance on your chest. He nuzzles between your tits and bites on your bra.

You quiver and flatten your palms to the downy blanket beneath you. He hums as he brushes a hand down to flip down the cup of your bra. His thumb flicks across your nipple and he takes it in his mouth. You spasm and clap down on his broad shoulders.

You look at his blond head as he tugs down the other side of your bra. The band pushes up your chest as he fondles you, his mouth doting on the swell of flesh. He growls and his large hands curve around your ribs. He lifts you slightly so you arch your back.

“You’re so sweet, doll,” he purrs as his saliva stains your stomach.

You heave as goosebumps speckle over you. He shifts back on his knees and pushes yours apart. He holds them wide as he bends between them and purrs against the top of your panties. He drags his nose down the fabric and inhales.

He drones out a hot breath that gathers beneath the weave. He curls his shoulders as he opens his mouth and wets the front of your panties with his tongue. He pushes between your folds, wetting you through the cotton. 

You twitch as his hands slide up to your thighs. He kneads your sensitive flesh and snarls. He rolls his head, the pressure sparking a heat within you. You tilt your hips as your eyes close on their own. A shivery sight escapes you.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and rolls them down your legs as he reluctantly pulls away. He dips his head through the space between the cotton and your cunt and plunges back in. You yelp in surprise as his cool tongue glides between your lips.

He scoops his hands under your ass and lifts your pelvis off the bed. He laps at you eagerly, rocking his head as he dives into you. He smears your delight around his tongue and smears it down his chin. His fingertips curl into your flesh, his thumbs pressing deep into the crease beneath your ass.

He sucks on your clit and you squeal. His tongue flicks around furiously as you tremble and twitch. He groans as he keeps going, his intensity building each time you let out a noise.

He raises your hips higher until your weight is centered on your shoulders. He has your body as an angle as he sits up, neck bent as he drinks you in. He grips your hips as he circles his tongue around your clit then flicks back to your entrance, dipping into you slightly.

He trails back to your clit and swirls around as your thighs quake. You clamp them against his face as you clench the blanket in your hands. You moan and writhe as you try to contain the thrumming heat. Your pleasure erupts all at once as your muscles knot around your nerves. You puff and pant through your orgasm, head spinning at the vibrant peak of energy.

He growls and gently lowers you back to the bed. You’re breathless as you grip your head, your eyes loose in your skull. He wipes his wet face on your pelvis as he sits up, twisting your panties down your legs as he strips them off entirely. He balls them up and buries his nose in them, inhaling deeply.

“You taste as good as you smell, sweetheart,” he intones as he watches himself toy with your panties. 

He grins and looks down. You follow his gaze down to his boxers, tented over his arousal. He tugs them down and his dick springs out. He groans as you gape at his size. He wraps your panties and his hand around himself.

He pumps and the muscles of his chest tighten. You watch him senselessly as he strokes himself with the wrinkled cotton. You shiver and push yourself up on your elbows. You drag yourself up the mattress and he snarls.

He lets go of his dick and grabs you. He wrenches you back down the mattress. You gasp as he holds you by your hips, pinning you until you’re still. He inhales and flings your panties onto the pillows. He shoves his boxers down to his knees and gets closer.

He grabs your legs and lifts them against his torso. Your feet lean against his chest as he shifts even closer. He grips one ankle as his other arm snakes down. He guides his tip against your cunt, watching as he teases you, spreading your slickness over his taut flesh.

He hums as he presses against your entrance. You can feel his thickness just as he tests your resistance. You reach with your fingertips, barely grazing his stomach as you curl your shoulders. He ignores your feeble attempt and pushes himself into you with his thumb.

He grunts as you whine, feeling how you strain just to take his tip. Your stomach and walls clench around him. He frames your hip with his large hand, his other still on your ankle, and he slides you down the bed onto him. You whimper with each inch, his blue eyes blazing at the size of your bodies joining.

When he stops, you shake and spasm. You struggle to breathe as you dig your nails into the downy duvet. He guides your legs together, leaning them against one shoulder and thrusts. You yelp and he bends, just a little, the back of your legs tight and hot.

He slaps one hand on your chest, groping you as he rocks. His other hand takes yours and weaves your fingers with each other. He clings to you as he carries a deliberate motion.

“That’s it, doll, we’ll go slow,” he growls. “Just you and me. Just like this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 3

Part 1 💍Part 2

Warning: nothing explicit.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You yawn into your hand. The prospect of driving home is more and more treacherous the longer you stay. You should’ve left hours ago but this man hasn’t let up once.

You flick your lashes as the fatigue pricks tears in the corner. You wriggle in Steve’s iron grip and peek up at him. You just need to break away and you can sneak out. As fun as the night’s been, you’re starting to feel a bit smothered.

“Um, do you mind if I use the restroom?” You ask.

His blue eyes storm as he looks at you. “Sure, doll. I got one up in the suite.” He lets go of your hand and instead, drapes his arm across your shoulders. “It’s getting late, huh?”

“Oh, it’s fine. There’s one right there. I’ll just–”

“Sweetheart, I know I’ve worn you out. Can’t help myself,” He ushers you toward the doors. “As nice as it was, our wedding will be better. Don’t you worry.”

You twitch. Our wedding. Surely he’s joking. He’s playing with you. Just like he has all night. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

You’ve never had a man so attached to you and not from first sight. Well, you had one boyfriend in all your life and it didn’t work out because of the photos he had saved from your co-worker’s Insta. Ugh, is there one memory that isn’t gruelingly embarrassing?

“I appreciate it, Steve, but I got a long drive and I should probably–”

“Stay. It’s not safe to be driving this late,” he insists as he leads you through the ivory halls of the venue.

“I… can’t.” You murmur.

“Why not?” He challenges as his hand slides down to grip your side. “Dancing with me all night and you’re just gonna ditch me? I know you’re not that kinda woman.”

He’s right. You aren’t. You wouldn’t have danced if he’d asked, but he didn’t. He hasn’t asked for anything. He’s told you or dragged you into it. Yet, you haven’t said no either. Something about him makes you too scared to even utter that word.

“That’s really nice of you. I guess I could… sleep on the sofa or something.” You accept, stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Or something,” he drawls as he stops at the elevator. 

Two other couples wait with you. You step on and he takes you to the back of the elevator. His hand dips down to your hips and kneads. He leans over and kisses your hair. You wilt at his intense proximity.

The other couples leave the floor before you. He leads you off and down the hall. He slips a card from his pocket and taps it on the censor. It beeps and he uses one finger to twist the handle and pushes the door open.

“Let me show you around,” he intones as the door shuts behind you.

He drops the card in the scalloped tray on the table behind the door. He takes you further in as you clasp onto your clutch, the chain digging into your shoulder. Your sweat stains the fabric.

He takes you through the suite; the front room has a balcony, a bar, a living set, and a kitchenette. It’s so spacious, probably bigger than your own apartment. He takes you through the arched double doors into the bedroom suite. 

The king bed sits against the far wall, a large square mirror above it the low frame. Opposite is an artificial fireplace built into the wall, a cushioned bench before it.  The wall to the right of the bed is entirely transparent and looks out onto the other half of the balcony. It’s so nice it’s surreal.

“Through here, doll,” he turns you with him and points to an open door.

You nod and slowly break away from him. His hand drags down your hip and grazes your ass. You march into the bathroom and gently shut the door. You exhale and drop your chin. Holy guacamole, how are you getting out of this one?

You flip on the light and put your clutch on the floating marble counter. There are three sinks. Three before the expansive mirror reflecting most of the space. A large oval tub in the same marble as the counter and a large shower with a round shower head centred above the glass booth.

You focus on emptying your bladder. You weren’t entirely lying. You’ve been holding it all night.

You wash your hands as you stare at your reflection. You’re not ugly but you don’t think you’re anything special. You think you know what this is. Men at weddings are just looking for an easy lay.

You dry your hands and grab your clutch. You go out into the bedroom and nearly trip over your toes.

The lights are low, the artificial fire flickering as it gives a warm din to the space. Steve has his jacket off, his tie loose around his neck, collar undone, and a few buttons loose to expose the top of his muscular chest.

Your mouth goes dry. His blue eyes center on you as he holds two tall crystal flutes. He nears and offers one to you. You’re speechless. Oh, you weren’t wrong. He wants… that.

You take the wine and stare at him. Is it so bad? He’s handsome. Blond, tall, and built. His eyes are a shade of aquamarine that makes you think of gems and his features are chiseled just perfectly.

“Get cozy, doll,” he reaches to grab your clutch and wiggles it free. He tosses it and it lands in the clamshell chair by the wall. 

He clinks his glass against yours then hooks his arm in yours. You awkwardly play along and sip in time with him, your arms linked together. Before you can put your glass straight, his fingers are on the bottom, urging you to drink more. The bubbles tickle your throat and singe your eyes.

When he lets up, the champagne is almost gone and you feel strangly light. His glass is empty. He untangles himself from you and puts it down. He tilts his head and his neck cracks. He drags his tie from under his collar and lays it over his jacket on the same velvet chair as your clutch.

You set down your glass with his and wring your hands. “I think I could sleep out on the couch–”

He pulls his shirt open and exposes his muscular stomach. He looks over at you and grins. “Beds big enough for two.”

You gulp. “That’s nice but… I think…”

He removes his cuff links and crosses to the bed to put them on the night table. He strips off his shirt as he nears the chair again. He slings it over the rest. He pauses as his hand clamps on his belt buckle. He peeks over at you and smirks.

“Come here,” he beckons you with his thick fingers. “I told ya, doll, I’ll take care of you.”

He comes close as you stand paralysed in place. He stops and runs his hands up and down your arms. Goosebumps rise at his touch. He grips your arms firmly and leans in. He brings one hand up to your chin and lifts your chin.

He kisses you again. You gasp and his tongue snakes into his mouth. You groan around his intrusion as his hand slips off your arm. He cradles your head as he feels around your back. He pinches the tab of your zipper and tugs it. Your dress slackens and you catch the front.

He lets go of your head and grabs your hand. He guides it to his chest. You squirm and pull away from his mouth.

“Steve, I can’t–”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he traces his nose beside yours, pressing your palms to his skin. “You’ll do what I say… cause you’re mine.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not The Type to Ask 2

Continuation of this

Warning: nothing explicit.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Come on, let’s get some cake, doll.” Steve keeps hold of your hand.

Your feet ache in your low heels and your face is alight with the warmth of his proximity. He clings to you as he approaches the line for a piece. He surpasses the patient attendees as you glance at them guiltily. No one protests as he steps to the front of the line..

Clare turns with a plate and her eyes widen as she sees him. She looks between the two of you. Her throat locks up.

“Oh, hi,” she squeaks. “Steve, uh, here you go.”

He takes the plate and thanks her, then hands it to you. She watches as her pretty face creases. Her make up gives her a nice glow as her veil shimmers around her hair.

“I’m so happy you could make it,” she says to you.

“Oh, thanks, uh… yeah. Congratulations.” You stammer.

“Here ya are, big man,” her husband steps up and offers a plate to Steve. “Live a little. It’s a wedding.”

“Sam,” Steve drawls as he accepts the cake, his other hand still on yours.

“Well, I see you’re at least having a little fun,” the groom winks. “I don’t know her…”

“My friend from college. Remember,” Clarissa– Clare offers.

“Ah,” Sam’s brows pop up. “Interesting. Well, you two have fun.” He grins. “Oh, and don’t let him get too rowdy.”

Steve hums and leans his arm against yours. He ushers you away as agitation roils off of him. He takes you to one of the tall tables along the wall and you set down your plate. He finally lets go of you but stands right at your side, sleeve brushing your arm.

You pick up the fork as your eyes wander over the space. Some still dance, uninterested in the dessert, as others sit and chatter over the fragrant sponge. You sniff it curiously. You nearly drop it as you spot a man with a woman in his lap, feeding her cake with an intense stare. What the heck?

Another whisper passed between two men and a handshake between a grey-haired guest and groomsman. It’s less and less like a party and more like a business conference. Steve leans into you again.

“You gonna have that cake?” He intones.

You turn back to him. His plate is untouched, fork still resting on the rim. You gulp and steady your grip. His hand brushes down your back and rests right at your waist. You suppress a shiver and slice into the dainty layers.

It’s a curious flavour. Not the vanilla you were expecting. You make a face as he chuckles and drags his fingertips up the back of your dress. He pets the back of your neck.

“No good?” He wonders.

You swallow. “Mm, not bad, I just… I don’t know what the flavour is.”

“Here, gimme some.” He commands.

You blink in confusion. You look down then cut into another morsel. You raise the fork as he leans in. He sucks the cake and icing off the tines and licks his lips. He hums as he tastes it diligently then swallows.

“Saffron… maybe citrus in the icing.” He says.

“Oh… never had saffron,” you murmur.

His hand crawls down and he plays with the strap of your dress. “What would you choose? For a wedding?”

You shrug as you resist another chill. You poke at the cake. “I like strawberry… maybe with dark chocolate…” You mull and glance around. “But weddings seem like a whole lotta work.”

“Big deal, isn’t it?” He says. “Choosing the person you’re gonna be with forever.” He shifts closer. “Doll, did I say that this…” He slides his thumb under the strap of your dress. “Looks amazing on you.”

You squirm and take another bite. Your skin is on fire. He’s not a bad looking man, that’s for sure, but he’s still a stranger. Your plan was cake and dip. You have a long way to go home. The hotel is booked up for the wedding party and you can’t afford the night anyhow.

“Thanks,” you murmur and smile nervously. “That’s…”

His thumb comes up and drags under your lip. “Got some icing there.” He brings his thumb up to suck off the excess.

“Oh, uh,” you use the back of your hand to dab at your mouth.

“It’s alright, doll. I got you.” He once more places his hand on your back and pinches the fabric of your dress. “Finish your cake.”

You flinch. His last words are a firm command. His voice is so certain you don’t dare refuse. He has that way about him. Like refusal isn’t an option. Whatever he wants is inevitable.

You focus on the simple task of eating. It’s delicious but you can barely enjoy it with the new shadow at your side. You finish and place your fork down.

“Steve, I hate to keep you all night and I should be going–”

“Let’s dance,” he interjects and latches onto your hand again.

You stagger beside him as he urges you back to the floor. You’re tired and you just want to head off. You have to factor in the two hours of driving, longer in the dark.

He brings you to face him. You let him lead again.

“Steve, it’s been a lot of fun,” you say above the music. He leans in to hear. “But I have to drive–”

He tilts his head so his mouth is right by your ear. “Doll, you’re not going,” he growls. “Don’t worry about all that. Just be with me.”

You choke on your words. His fingers curl into your side as he once more guides your hand up to his chest. He keeps you close as he sways with you. 

You peek up at him and find him staring down at you. You wince in surprise and he grins. Before you can look away, he catches your chin. He leans in and you gasp just as his lips meet yours.

He keeps a strong hold on your chin as his tongue slides across your lips. He pokes until you let him in. He snarls into your mouth as his arm hooks around you and he crushes you to him.

You can’t help but melt in his embrace, overly aware of those around you. He parts but stays close, his breath fanning over your face. He sighs in content.

“Let’s keep this night going, doll,” he rasps.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Not the Type to Ask

Warning: nothing explicit.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Wow,” you utter as you look up at the grand chandelier.

You’re so dumbfounded by the sheer extravagance that you stop without thinking. You’re jostled by the other guests as they try to get past. Oops, you’re not the only one here.

You step out of the way and take it all in. You’ve never been to a wedding so fancy. Your sister had a backyard wedding and your best friend forwent the whole debacle for the courthouse. Speaking of, it was so cheesy of Riley to skip out on you.

You can’t help but feel even more out of place. Solo and lost amid the sea of mostly strangers. You’re super excited for Clarissa. Oops, she goes as Clare now. You keep forgetting. Back in college, she hated when anyone shortened her name but she said her fiance, now husband, prefers it.

You don’t think you could change that much for a man. Or anyone. You have a hard time sticking to anything really. You’d be like a puppy that doesn’t know their name yet.

You reel in your wandering thoughts as you approach the table with the seating plan. You look at the diagram then up at the dining area. There’s so many tables and chairs and still room for dancing. Holy guacamole.

As you search for your name, a man steps up next to you. He leans in slightly to read the chart. Another man bookends you and you squirm between them, panicking as you struggle to find your name. The letters all move around as you search for your place in this elaborate affair.

The man to your left leaves but the other lingers. You peek over and find him staring at you. You blink. He’s tall, blond, blue-eyed. You noticed him in the wedding party. The white rose on his lapel confirms his role. A groomsman. He wears sleek black, cut perfectly to his figure.

He doesn’t say a word before he turns away. That was strange. Or you’re just awkward. You look down and your eyes zero in on your name. Thank the fates!

You memorise your table number and set off to find your seat. You’re with the second and third cousins. You know because Clarissa used to complain about Mindy, sat to your left, opposite the empty seat left by your absent plus one.

It’s all very proper. The guests find their seats. The bridal and groom’s party sat either side of the table set above the rest. The two seats of honour remain vacant as bodies continue to shuffle in.

The chatter stirs around you and deepens your dejection. You know it’s all in your head. You’re just a nervous mess with no courage.

The voices quiet as the pluck of harp strings cuts through. The bride and groom emerge from the double doors and strut proudly to the centre of the floor. Oohs and ahs escape several guests as Clare reveals a second dress. If you ever take that plunge, you don’t know if you could do all this.

The music shifts and a man announces the bride and groom. As they begin their first dance, the lights dim. You watch, twitchy as you long to take out your phone and shield yourself in a mindless matching game. That would be rude. It’s just so awkward sitting there staring at them as they dance so intimately.

When the dance ends, the bride and groom take the microphone to welcome their guests and to your relief, announce that dinner will be served. Well, at least the food should be good.

Your glass is filled with wine before you can decline. You’ll stick to water but the complimentary alcohol is a nice gesture. The first course is tiny mushroom tarts that kind of smell like a basement. So much for the food. Well, the lobster bisque is alright…

After dinner, your attention is snagged by the man with the microphone again. He once more congratulates the couple then hands off the microphone for the first speech. First? How many could there be?

Eight. Eight speeches. Each longer than the last. By the end, you taste the wine. It’s too bitter.

When at last, the talking is done, the father/daughter dance has you ready to nod off. It’s all very nice but it’s taking forever. Then the mother/son dance. You wonder how anyone can stand all these people just staring at them.

When that’s over, the dance floor is opened for all. Guests stream out as the music picks up tempo. You once more curse Riley for ditching you.

You sit and watch the dancing. It’s not too bad. You hear whispers of the cake being cut soon. That would at least be worth it. What are you even thinking? You’re here to support Clare.

You glance over at the married couple’s table. The groom stands amid his groomsmen. How odd. They look very suspicious, as if conspiring.

There’s little things you’ve noticed. Whispers between them, hands shaking a bit too many times. Well, maybe it’s just been a while since they saw each other.

You look down at the dark wine and turn the glass. It would be rude to dip out. And you do want some of that cake. You glance over at the eight-tiered monstrosity. It looks too much even for the hordes here.

Your vision of the perfectly scalloped icing is suddenly blocked. The chair next to you slides out and a man sits calmly at your side. Your eyes refocus on the same blond man who stood beside you at the seating chart.

He takes the name card from in front of you and reads it aloud. You watch him, more nervous than curious. He slides the tented cardstock into his pocket then holds out his hand.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself.

You pause then shake his hand. “Hi.”

He squeezes and doesn’t let go. He stands and you look at his grip on you. You frown.

“Pretty girl like you should get at least one dance,” he drawls as he tugs you up to your feet.

“Uh… I don’t… know how…” You counter weakly as he easily guides you away from the table.

“Just follow me, sweetheart.”

He brings you out to the floor as the music slows down. He turns to face you and places one hand on your side as the other leads your hand to his shoulder. He holds you close as your face flushes with heat.

“Ummm,” you blink furiously.

“I’ll lead,” he leans in. “You just relax, doll, and I’ll take care of you.”

You do your best not to step on his feet. You glance around and notice the eyes following you. No, not you, him. You peek down as your toe scuffs against his.

He brings his fingers up under your chin and forces your head up. He keeps you close as he stays on time with the music, swaying with you. He leans down to look into your eyes.

“Doll, don’t look no where but here.” He growls. “It’s only you and me.”

[navybrat817]

Hidden Cameras

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You look at some paperwork with Bucky.

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Cockwarming, dirty talk, power imbalance of sorts, hidden cameras, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 20 of the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: “If anyone walks in, that’s on you.” ❤️ More of our congressman. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You looked at the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick by. You should’ve been home over an hour ago, but Bucky convinced you to stay longer. He was persuasive that way. 

Very persuasive. 

“You’ve been reading that page for the last five minutes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You weren’t exactly concentrating on the words in front of you, and he knew exactly why. The bastard. 

Gorgeous. Cocky. Bastard.

 “It hasn’t been five minutes,” you muttered, the words starting to blur together. 

“Hmm. You’re right.” Bucky’s lips brushed your neck, your pulse picking up. “I think it’s been six minutes.”

Your head fell back against his shoulder. “You should be reading this,” you reminded him.

“Paperwork is boring,” he whispered, reaching under your skit to tease your clit. “This is much more fun.”

You bit back a moan when he thrust his hips up, making you pulse more around his cock. You had no clue why either of you were pretending to work at this point. To be fair, you did get a lot done earlier in the day before he told you to take a seat. 

You were lucky the Congressman didn’t have you sitting on his cock all day, but would that really be so bad if he suggested it?

“Better not moan too loud,” he teased, his teeth scraping your skin. “Someone might walk in.”

The coil inside you tightened with every touch. “If anyone walks in, that’s on you.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t want anyone to see how well you take my cock? How pretty you look when I make you lose it?” You whimpered when he rocked his hips again. “Well, even if no one walks in, we can still watch it later.”

Bucky and all his hidden cameras.

Gorgeous. Cocky. Bastard.

I have no problems with this. 😌 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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