#also whenever I listen to The Feels by Twice I think of this series now b/c I'm pretty sure I had that song ON BLAST after the breakup

[secret-third-thing]

just a very silly, sappy post

Two years go, my relationship with my long-term boyfriend (A) was in shambles. I was still recovering from a horrible back injury, and I had just started a job that turned out to be rather lackluster (read: sexism abound!)

I got the sense that A and I were going to break up soon, so I scrolled through Libby and picked up this book called ACOTAR that tiktok was raving about, thinking that if I was going to be alone, I may as well start doing "alone" activities. I read the book in a day.

A broke up with me within the week. I read the entire ACOTAR series shortly after. Then TOG. (And eventually CC.) I maybe cried over A twice. I was too busy with fae men, I guess. 🤣

Now, I'm living in my favorite city with my best friend, working a job I adore. I'm writing again; I've found other new hobbies that bring me joy.

And it's wild that this fandom has been part of this healing journey. Running Eris Week was so much fun - watching so many creators come together over this JERK (affectionate) was hilarious and inspiring. He'd be SO embarrassed, and secretly flattered.

Anyway, there was really no point to this post other than just getting the good vibes out there. If no one reads this, that's fine. I'm simply ecstatic to be here and I am thankful for all the friends I have made and will make in the future.

Here's to a massively creative 2024 (and an even sluttier Eris Week 2024 🧡)! 

#stt ramblings #also whenever I listen to The Feels by Twice I think of this series now b/c I'm pretty sure I had that song ON BLAST after the breakup

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 18

An: Thanks for your patience, March is a really busy month for me! The tension is building and I can't wait for the next part (19 is looking steamy).

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2800

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.

I think of all the phone calls I’ve made throughout my life. The hundreds of hours I’ve spent talking to friends and family. Sharing the exciting news of getting into college with my childhood best friend who moved away in elementary school. Gossiping with my favourite coworker about an awful shift when she didn’t open with me in the morning. Listening closer to hear the whispers of shared secrets between the few people I really care about. Talking late into the night about that one person I couldn’t scrub from my mind. The conversation slowly dying down but neither of us ready to hang up. Neither of us ready for the silence after the line goes dead.  The relief of hearing their voice after days or weeks of nothing. All those conversations flicker through my mind as I stare at the landline sitting on Captain Price’s desk. It’s a clunky, faded, black thing with a rubber coil attaching the receiver to the phone and the numbers on the keys have long since rubbed off.

I’m not prepared to hear his voice. After learning all I know about him, I don’t think it’ll sound the same. There’s no way the man I’m about to speak to is the one I’ve known my whole life.

Soap was supposed to be here. Then five minutes ago, he was called out to demolitions by another sergeant who said it was “urgent”. I wasn’t sure what his specialty was until recently and after getting to know him better, it makes perfect sense. He spends almost every waking moment out there, yet won’t tell me what they’re doing. Whenever I ask, he sits up straighter and has to suppress his smile, but I don’t miss the excitement in his eyes when he says it’s classified.

Right now I’d rather be there with Soap than sat in front of Price and Ghost and some scrawny man with equipment hooked to that damn phone. I’d rather be almost anywhere than here.

The script crinkles in my hand. The Captain already gave the go-ahead. Now it’s all on me. I feel Ghost’s eyes on me. I want to find some comfort in them, but just can’t. After he left, he told Price about the mole. He had to, I get it, but I also can’t help the feeling that nothing I say will stay between us.

I wish I was back in his room, lying on top of the covers and reading his copy of Huckleberry Finn knowing that no one could get to me. Only Simon.

And then the phone is in my hand, pressed against my ear: ringing once, twice. And then it stops. Shuffling sounds fill the other line. Then, I hear his voice. That voice that softens when it speaks to me. That has always been so understanding. That ordered those men to mercilessly take the lives of innocent civilians praying for salvation.

“Y/n?” he asks, almost unsure – like the possibility of talking to me might just be too good to be true.

“Hi,” the word dad almost slips from my lips, but I know if it does, I won’t be able to keep it together. My hands don’t feel attached to my body. Like somewhere in the numb space of my forearms, they were simply disconnected. My mouth is dry and I eye the script, but can’t get the words to come into focus.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you? Are you eating?” there’s just something to his voice, that I can’t quite pin down. Something disingenuous. Like he’s only playing the role of a concerned parent. When I meet Ghost’s eyes, I know he hears it too. He nods, urging me to speak.

“I’m fine,” my voice is strangely even. “They said I could see you again. That they’d make a trade,” the rest of my body disconnects from my mind and suddenly I’m standing beside Ghost watching myself talk on the phone. The hope in my voice is real. The girl on the phone is going to go home safely to her dad. And it sounds like she genuinely believes every word she’s saying.

“Oh my sweet girl,” he croons. “I want nothing more. Your mother and I have been worried sick.”

“Mom?” I latch onto the hopeful word. “Is she there with you?”

“No, but she’s somewhere safe, being guarded by some of our best. You’ll get to see her soon,” he purposely leaves out her location, unknowing of 141’s extensive intel.

“Dad, I-I,” just like in the script, Price audibly warns me we’re short on time. An intentional move to add more pressure to our conversation. My father will have heard him in the background. “They said I can’t talk much longer,” my tone is rushed and worried. I see a small smile tug on the corner of Price’s mouth. I’m convincing.

“Hey,” he says. “Soon enough we’ll have all the time in the world,” the ultranationalist who snuck into my room said he was displeased that I leaked the ambush info, but you’d never pick up on that while listening to him on the phone. He hides his cruelty so well. Even knowing what he’s capable of now, the man I’m speaking to just doesn’t sound like the type. “But y/n, I’m going to need to know what they want from us first. Okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble like a scared child. I smooth out the script across my thighs and read off their demands. I recite the names of five men. Two of their leaders and three of 141’s soldiers who were taken prisoner at one point or another. Neither my father nor my uncles are on the list. There’s no way they’d trade one of themselves for me. Even I know that.

“Those are the men they want?” I hear a newfound tension in his voice as he shifts in his seat.

“That’s what they told me to say,” my eyes are glued to the paper. If I look at Ghost or Price now, I’ll lose my concentration.

He sighs deeply, “I’ll need a few days little bird, those are some top dogs. But I’m going to get you out, don’t you worry.”

I sniffle as though this is too much. Like hearing his voice made me realize how much I miss him and now I might cry. “Love you,” my voice cracks.

“Love you too darling,” the line goes silent for just a moment. “I’ll be in touch,” with these words, his voice significantly deepens. He’ll be in touch. He has his ways of contacting me despite 141’s precautions. I should expect a shadowy visitor very soon.

Then he hangs up. I place the phone back on the mount. Horror creeps its way up my shoulders and I know I’m back in my own body.

“Well done,” Price congratulates me. He’s surprised I did so well. I don’t come off as the type of person to perform well under pressure – I normally don’t – yet the phone call was almost flawless.

“Thank you,” I attempt a small smile, but inside, I feel awful. Dirty. Blindsided. I can’t believe that is the same man I’ve known my entire life. Sinking betrayal anchors my bones to the depths of the Mariana Trench. The immense pressure makes my head feel as though it’s about to implode upon itself. But along with the shame I now carry because of our kinship, there’s also molten anger stirring within my core, threatening to erupt.

“Thank you, Sergeant, you’re dismissed,” Price turns to the man who recorded the call and waits for him to leave. Ghost hasn’t said a word almost this entire time. Yet he closely watches the man leave with his equipment as suspicious as ever. He doesn’t trust a soul. Especially now. “Within the next few days, your little friend will pay another visit. We’ve installed another camera outside your door and tapped the room. Tell him the truth, just like he asked, we don’t need to aggravate them further, but it is essential he doesn’t think you snitched again,” Price’s tone has turned serious. He understands the gravity of the situation.

The ultranationalist could decide to kill me if he thinks I snitched again. He would certainly order the execution of my friends back home. While Price doesn’t care about them, he needs me alive. They won’t have the opportunity to ambush the Ultranationalists without me alive for a supposed exchange.

“Any questions?” he asks. For once, I have none.

“No sir.”

“Right. Ghost, your request is approved. Take the afternoon to complete it. Return her to her quarters before 1800,” he nods once toward the lieutenant. And then we’re off.

I don’t know why, but I expected him to say something as we navigate the halls. However, like usual, Ghost is completely stoic.

When we first met, I was always silently instructed to walk in front of him. Ghost was suspicious of me. Despite being cleared by intel, part of him still considered the possibility that I could be an Ultranationalist. By walking behind me he eliminated any chance of a surprise attack. His analytical eyes would trail up and down my frame trying to decipher any hidden motives. He’d take note of the length of my stride. How I hold my head, my shoulders. How my hands fidgeted and I picked at my nails and then my cuticles once they were too short.

Something has changed since then. A lot has changed.

Now I walk beside him. Close, but not close enough that our arms brush. Not close enough to attract suspicion. He no longer glares at me like I could turn on him at any moment. There’s so much more depth to his eyes when they steal small glances my way. Sometimes – like now as we walk along the sparsely populated halls - I feel him step closer so we’re almost touching, the heat of each other’s body is just noticeable, before he reminds himself that someone could come across us at any moment. Then, after a brief moment of indulgence, he once again shifts away to a more professional distance. I sense the same kind of longing pulses through his veins as mine.

My thoughts are interrupted as we continue to walk past my room.

“Aren’t you dropping me off?” the confusion is evident in my voice as my pace slows. Ghost turns to look at me while keeping his pace.

“No. We’re training,” he says. Training? Is this the request Price mentioned earlier? What kind of training is he referring to? What is Ghost planning?

“We are?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms. His long legs are hard to keep up to as they stride with purpose.

“What kind of training?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Ghost says. And if I’m not mistaken, I almost detect a hint of teasing in his voice.

Yet, Ghost doesn’t take me to a gym or shooting range, instead, he leads me right back to his quarters.

“Is this a joke?” suspicion is evident in my voice. I hesitate as he waits for me to enter first.

“Negative,” the curt response is typical. He isn’t about to volunteer any additional information.

“What could we possibly train for in your room?” my mind involuntarily wanders to a variety of things, but none that will help with the exchange. As I make eye contact with him, my cheeks flush almost immediately. Ghost’s gaze is strong and unwavering. He knows exactly where my thoughts have drifted.

“I’ll show you,” he motions to the door. A small ball of nervous energy forms in my lower stomach. The type that has no place being here right now. The type that’ll get me into trouble. “First, I want to know your thoughts on the phone call?”

“I don’t want to think about the phone call,” I say as I leave him behind in the hall. Once inside, he takes his vest off and hangs it on the back of the door. Facing away from me, he slips off the skull mask and quickly replaces it with a plain black balaclava. My whole body freezes at the sight. I can’t believe he just took it off in front of me. His hair is darker than I thought it’d be. The strands are a stark contrast against his fair eyelashes. He wears it clean cut like most men in the military, short on the sides and more forgiving on top. But it’s overall longer than I imagined. My mind drifts to what it would feel like to run my fingers through the delicate strands. To gently trace my nails along his scalp. To roughly grasp him by the hair as he–

“It’s not often Price congratulates someone on their performance,” Ghost’s head tilts as he gauges my response. I don’t speak, my mind still stuck on the fact he took his mask off in front of me, even if I couldn’t see his face. “You were almost as good there as you were during the interrogations,” he continues. Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t know if it’s a feeling of flattery or embarrassment.

“I’m not good at it. It feels like I’m not even there,” like the actions aren’t even my own. It’s a dangerous feeling. How far can a person go when they don’t feel responsible for their actions? How far could I go?

“But you know you are?” his tone becomes mildly concerned. Does he think I’m slipping from reality?

“I know I am. It’s just easier to separate myself from what I’m doing,” I think out loud, my voice slowly fading toward the end of my sentence. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of protecting myself?

“Y/n, if it’s too much let me know,” Ghost says seriously as a gloved hand reaches out and touches my chin. It has been too much since the moment they kidnapped me. But now all I can do now is figure out how to survive until the exchange is over. “For this too.”

The second half of his sentence catches my attention.

“And what is ‘this?’” what does he keep alluding to?

Ghost’s delicate hand on my chin leaves as he reaches for something strapped to his belt. The gloved hand unsheathes a steel knife. He flips it around and offers the handle to me. I hesitantly take it from him, all the while closely watching his eyes. There’s a glint to them. Something troublesome. At this point, his intentions could be anything.

“What’s your safe word?” his husky voice is suddenly a lot lower as he takes a step backward and squares his shoulders. There’s an ambiguous spark in his eyes. One that’s about to catch fire. I can almost smell the damp, smouldering smoke in the air.

“Safe word?” my breath catches in my throat and I try to force a swallow. I choke back a nervous laugh.  He’s joking, right? The knife feels unnatural in my hand.

“Think of one, sweetheart,” he rasps. There’s that damn name again. The one that makes it so fucking hard to think. My mind snags on it like a loose thread to a nail, pulling every thought out of order. Only he can mend me.

“Um, I don’t – Soap, I guess?” his call sign comes to mind first.

“Not Soap. Something different,” his head juts to the side with disapproval.

“Okay. Fine. Pizza then,” I’m still confused as to why he wants me to have a safe word.

“Pizza,” Ghost repeats to himself, burning it to memory. He takes another step back and I almost feel myself relaxing. My shoulders don’t feel so tense. The knife is no longer so heavy. I glance down at the mean little thing in my hand. I wonder how many people have died by this blade?

Ghost doesn’t wait for my eyes to return to his. From the edge of my peripheral, something large lunges at me. He’s incredibly fast. Just a flash of movement in the dim light. Fear hasn’t had the chance to take over yet. Instinct kicks in and I jump back out of the way, just narrowly escaping his first attempt at grabbing me. But there’s nowhere to go. The room is small and he’s closer to the door than I am. He wants me to fight. He’s forcing me to.

“The fuck are you doing?” I angrily spit at him as I corner myself between the dresser and wall, knife still in hand.

Ghost looks as terrifying as ever as he shifts to face me once more. His intimidating frame takes up the entire walkway between the bed and dresser. Those thick shoulders heave along with his chest as his breathing deepens. His gloved hands stay open at his sides, eager to grab at me again. Ghost’s sharp eyes look darker than before. He is completely locked in on me.

There is no escaping what comes next.

Pt 19:

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost fanfiction #ghost imagine #cod ghost #cod ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod #cod mw x reader #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #ghost mwii #call of duty mwii

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Catching Out: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: Spencer has his suspicions about your parents but you refuse to even listen to him. There is nothing going on with your parents... right? No, they’re normal parents that are just overprotective of you. Spencer is just being paranoid.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: So, I know in previous episodes I had mentioned the reader's birthday is in February, but I forgot that when I wrote this episode. I have decided to change it to April since I've also based some other episodes around her birthday being in April. So, from now on, the reader's birthday is now in April.

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"Plenty sit still. Hunger is a wanderer." - Zulu proverb

The first thing Spencer always does when he gets into work is go straight to the breakroom and make himself a cup of coffee. He usually makes yours, but JJ got you coffee this morning when she came in. Spencer's brow has been furrowed ever since he first came in, and you know exactly why.

It's your parents. You didn't think they would have behaved the way they did. Your mom wasn't as bad as your dad, but you could feel how they both felt. They were pissed, but you're not exactly sure why.

"Spencer, it was one bad dinner. You're telling me you don't have bad days?"

"This was more than that, Y/N. Something is bugging me about this."

"Spencer, it's nothing. They just had a bad day, that's all."

"What's got you getting premature wrinkles?" Emily asks when she walks in.

"It's my parents. They didn't take to Spencer well," you sigh.

"It's not her parents, it's her dad," Spencer says and finishes up stirring his coffee.

"You have a strict dad? I know a little about that," Emily chuckles.

"He's always been like that, though. Whenever I brought home a boy, he'd become this scary man and run them off. He always said they were never good enough for me. I won't let that happen to you, Spencer," you shrug. "He's just being protective."

"He's being possessive."

"Spencer," you sigh and look at him.

"Are you his only daughter?" Emily asks.

"His only biological daughter. He fosters a bunch of kids, or he did. I can't imagine them still doing that." You don't want to talk about this anymore, so you turn to something that you know will bring everyone's spirits up. "It's your birthday soon, baby. That's exciting."

"I guess," Spencer shrugs.

He's never liked his birthday, but you're going to make it memorable for him. He is turning twenty-seven, and you're going to turn twenty-six four months after him.

"I'll make this one memorable," you wink at him. The glass doors open and Derek walks in with a confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I met this incredible woman at this coffee shop, but she kind of rejected me. She knew who I was, but I've never met her before in my life."

"She knew your name?" Spencer asks.

"I don't know how I could forget a face like hers."

"You've been with so many girls that you can't remember all their names?"

"Oh, come on, are you surprised?" Emily scoffs.

"This has never happened to me before."

"It hasn't happened to me before either," Spencer shrugs.

"Well, it can't happen to you. You have an eidetic memory."

"Besides, you only got one name to remember," Derek smirks.

"Hey, it's not nice to tease," you pout and kiss Spencer's cheek. "I was pretty memorable last night. Twice, in fact."

Spencer blushes at the memory of you two last night. How could he ever forget? All four of you head to the briefing room to meet with everyone. JJ is ready to start the briefing, and when you take your seats, she starts.

"Okay, six victims have been killed in a series of burglaries/homicides all over central California. Bakersfield, Fresno, Chico, and two nights ago, Alan and Brenda Paisley in Sacramento."

"That's a big area. Are we sure it's the same unsub?"

"His DNA was found in all of the homes. They hadn't connected it because he crossed jurisdictional lines. The head of the Sacramento field office has established a multi-agency task force, and he wants us to run point."

"It looks like we got a lot of investigators on this one."

"We'll streamline it if we need to."

"You should know that they've already named him the 'Highway 99 Killer'," JJ says.

"We'll deal with that when we get there."

"He targets one to two-person households. He kills the victims while they sleep. It looks like he uses blunt force trauma with objects found at the home. Multiple bashes to the head," Spencer reads through the file.

"After he kills the victims, he ransacks the homes for valuables," JJ says. "What's unique about this unsub is that after he kills them, he sits down to have dinner in their homes. They found his DNA all over the food and the table."

"Are these burglaries that turned into homicides or homicides that turned into burglaries?" Rossi asks.

"Between the two offenses, it seems the primary motivation is homicide. Otherwise, he would have just stolen the items and fled."

"He stays there for hours, he eats their food, he tries on their clothes, he showers, and he even sleeps in their beds. It's like if Goldilocks became a serial killer," Emily jokes. "They've got plenty of DNA, but they found no fingerprints. If he doesn't take their cars, how does he get there?"

"There are no witness reports of strange cars on the street."

"So, there's no prints, no gun, no noise, no car, and no witnesses. This all adds up to prior experience."

"There has to be a record of him somewhere."

"Until we find it, he'd have moved onto another town, which could be anywhere. Wheels up in twenty."

You and the rest of the team take twenty minutes to get ready, and before you know it, you're already in the air. You're sitting next to Spencer who has a map of California only relevant to the areas involved with the murders; so, not the entire map of California. He has a red Sharpie in his hand, and you stare at the way he holds his pens. He doesn't hold it like a normal person would.

"You hold your pens weird," you say and look into his eyes. He scrunches his face in confusion, but you lean up and kiss his cheek. "It's cute."

"So, our unsub hit four homes in about five weeks. The first one is at the beginning of September in Bakersfield. Then, in Fresno a week later. Eight days later, he hit Chico."

As JJ talks, Spencer marks the areas with circles and the dates to have a record of where he's been. Maybe you can determine where he's going next.

"Then, he changes direction and heads south to Sacramento at the end of September."

"These crime scenes are spread out over four hundred miles. I mean, how many serial killers move around like that?" JJ asks.

"Not many. Of the ones who do, we categorize them into two subgroups. In one model, he's an itinerant homeless person, someone who's been displaced. With the second type, their occupation allows them to travel. He could be killing while on business."

"Would a truck driver make sense?"

"Long-haul truck driver Bruce Mendenhall shot his victims and disposed of their bodies at truck stops across four different states," Spencer says.

It's a possibility.

"Mendenhall targeted mostly high-risk victims: prostitutes and hitchhikers that he picked up right off the highway. I don't think it's a truck driver. They'd use their rigs to get away, and someone would have noticed a tractor-trailer parked in the neighborhood," Hotch dismisses that idea.

"How about someone in corporate sales? They still travel," Rossi suggests.

"Or computer professionals. They travel to install the software. Maybe someone in real estate like a land assessor?"

"They just discovered a new murder in Modesto," JJ says with her phone in her hand.

"He went south again," Spencer sighs and marks that on the map.

"Right, when we land, Reid, JJ and I will go to the task force headquarters. The four of you to Modesto," Hotch says to you, Rossi, Derek, and Emily. "We're going to log some miles on this one."

The first stop was Modesto to drop off you and the others before the rest went up north in Sacramento. It's only an hour's drive between the two cities, so if you're needed up there, then you can drive. The detective on the case, Detective Daniels, meets you at the newest crime scene. The murders just happened, so the house is soaked with energy, trauma, and blood. You can feel it just by standing on the side of the road.

"I'm Detective Daniels. It's nice to meet you."

"How are you doing?" Derek asks. "I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Agent Rossi, Agent Prentiss, and Agent Y/N."

Detective Daniels walks with you to the house, but you pause before your feet can touch the porch steps. Besides the obvious energies inside the house, you look around at the neighborhood. No dogs are barking and no sign of an alarm system, but they do have outdoor lights. The neighbor says they didn't turn it on, and the unsub knew that.

The three basic things any burglar looks for are dogs, alarms, and lights. That tells you the unsub is patient enough to find a vulnerable house.

"I'm going to talk to the neighbor," Emily says.

The detective and Derek walk into the house, but you can't seem to take a step toward it. Rossi is about to go in when he notices you have frozen.

"Are you okay?"

"This house is oozing death and spiritual energy. Rossi, it's everywhere," you whisper.

"It'll be okay. Come on."

Rossi escorts you inside, which is much worse than the outside. There is blood everywhere but only you can see it. Blood oozes down the walls and is caked on the furniture, and it doesn't help that you can clearly see the spirits of the deceased still in their beds. The unsub is a black shadow, but you can clearly see him take an iron and smash it over their heads while they are sleeping.

You have to look away because this is too brutal.

"What do you see?" Derek asks.

"You don't want to know."

Derek walks into the bathroom and notices two bottles of nail polish remover out along with some washcloths and a plastic baggie.

"Check this out." Derek shows you what he found. "I've seen this kind of thing before with burglaries when the criminal is a substance abuser. Oftentimes, they huff household cleaners just so they can get high."

"What was his point of entry?" Rossi asks.

"The laundry room window."

"It explains where he found the murder weapon," you mutter and stare at the bloody iron. "This is serious overkill. He's killing with rage. I saw it."

"You saw it?"

"How does a man with such rage calm himself down enough to make coffee and eggs?" Rossi asks, getting the detective back on track.

"He's disorganized, picks an opportunistic weapon at a crime scene, and strikes with rage. Though, he's organized enough to follow through with a ritual enough after he kills. He cleans up, goes through their things, and eats."

"It's very unusual. The intensity of the rage followed by a long period of calmness spent inside the house is not common."

"Can you explain what he does with his clothes?"

"His clothes?"

Detective Daniels holds up dirty clothes with gloved hands. The unsub was wearing these when he entered the house, and he must have stolen the clothes here to change into. You put some gloves on before reaching out to them.

"May I?"

Daniels hands over the clothes, and you concentrate on the energy left behind on them. You're getting a lot of emotion and fear, and that allows you to see bits and pieces of what the unsub might have been doing before coming here. Train tracks pop into your head, and you can't seem to get that out.

"I see train tracks," you tell your team.

"When we found the deceased, the shirt was placed over his chest and the pants over his legs," Daniels explains.

"This is the first time we're hearing about this."

"Why would he cover up the body?"

"He wears their clean clothes, sleeps in their nice bed, and then puts his dirty clothes on the male victim's body. This might be some form of transference," you say.

"Transfer of what?"

"By symbolically dressing Mr. Sullivan in his clothes, he's equalizing their status. Mr. Sullivan has all these things and he doesn't. This guy has a problem with his station in life. He can't bring himself up on his own, so he makes himself feel better by destroying others and living their lives."

"That might be why he stays so long. He needs that time just so he can feel at home and pretends this is all his," Derek back you up. "He's playing out his fantasy."

"Given this behavior--the dirty clothes and the cheap drug choice--I'd say we're looking for someone homeless."

"How does a homeless man move about the state like this?" Daniels asks.

"There's a reason I saw the train tracks, Rossi," you say and take out your phone to call your boyfriend. "Hey, are you in front of a map?"

"I am now."

"Good. I think I know how the unsub is getting around. Do you see train tracks linking Bakersfield and Sacramento?"

"I'll be damned. He's hopping trains," Spencer confirms.

x

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #series rewrite #cm season 4

[pantoneyoongi]

neon signs | jealousy is a disease

title ; jealousy is a disease pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you 

notes ; 

this is part of the neon signs drabble series, where drabbles are released in random order (but listed chronologically in the masterlist!) 

series description ;

namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi. 

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.) 

word count ; 2.2k

tags ; yoongi is a simp, that’s all i have to say, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags 

look, yoongi will never admit it. but whenever seokjin’s name comes out of your mouth, he has the oddest urge to abruptly switch subjects until seokjin is the farthest thing from your mind. you always brighten up when you talk about him, saying seokjin this and seokjin that and fine, the way your eyes light up is incredibly endearing and that’s great but how come it’s always jinnie said the funniest thing today and never yoongi you’re the funniest person i know, huh?

probably because yoongi is not the funniest person you know, and he’s pretty sure he never will be because yoongi is not exactly the class clown type. but he digresses. 

you’re doing it again now, and yoongi thinks taking the differential equations midterm exam might actually have been better than this. yes, he’ll listen to anything you have to say at any given point in time but he’s never met this seokjin guy and it’s hard not to be miffed when he’s pretty sure you’ve never once looked at yoongi the way you look when you’re talking about jinniejin.

jinniejin. are we kidding? 

(okay, yes, it’s kind of your thing. when you really want something out of namjoon you will also whip out the jooniejoon, though yoongi is maybe 98.3% certain that’s mostly because namjoon cringes really hard at it and will do just about anything to make you stop calling him that.) 

(but also, quick question - when does yoongi get a cute nickname?) 

“can he come tonight?” you ask, and yoongi immediately tunes back into the conversation. this sounds important, and not like a dissertation on how cute jin is when he’s eating like an alpaca. 

“sure,” hoseok agrees easily, the fucking traitor. his best friend glances at him and grins. “it’ll be nice to meet this guy you never stop talking about, y/n.” 

you wiggle in your seat, excited. “you’ll like him, i swear. he’s been really nice to me all semester.” your eyes fall to yoongi and he doesn’t have the heart not to smile back at you, not when you seem so eager for the boys and seokjin to meet. after all, seokjin is one of very few genuine friends you have outside of namjoon, hoseok, and yoongi, so that has to count for something. you met him at the beginning of the semester and have been enraptured since, much to yoongi’s dismay. 

having gotten your dinner plans sorted out, you say your goodbyes, running off for class. yoongi watches forlornly as you go, dreading tonight. 

.

.

.

the worst part about spring semester isn’t that you met seokjin. it’s that yoongi doesn’t share any classes with you. 

it means he has no excuses to message you one-on-one, or see you at least once or twice a week. granted, hoseok usually solves that problem by dragging you all together for dinner or piling into his dorm room on the weekends, but still. it’s not the same. chinese class was his thing with you. only you. 

now studying together is a group activity when yoongi would much prefer to be alone in a library room with you, sitting shoulder to shoulder, feeling his heart race whenever you giggle and lean in a little too close to point out his godawful penmanship. 

he’s thinking about this because you’re leaning a little too close to seokjin right now, the prettiest smile on your face as you beam up at your friend. the five of you are crowded into a table at the local diner, you next to seokjin on one side while yoongi somehow got squished between namjoon and hoseok on the other. now he gets the prime view for watching you loop your arm around seokjin’s whenever you get excited, squeezing him tight. 

do you do that with namjoon, too? hoseok? yoongi can’t remember. 

you definitely don’t do that with yoongi, though. he would absolutely remember that. 

the thing about being in the engineering department is that it makes yoongi incredibly analytical. or maybe that’s just an excuse for how yoongi is as a person. the moment you stepped through the diner door with jin on your arm, yoongi had assessed him from head to toe: tall. handsome. broad. seokjin had let you drag him forward as soon as you’d spotted your friends at the table, chuckling fondly when you’d tugged him along, legs long enough to easily keep pace with you even when you were practically skipping to the table. 

the introductions were short, and since hoseok’s here, quick to descend into chaos. seokjin matches hoseok’s energy as if they’re lifelong friends yet pulls back to be gentle with you, and yoongi thinks he might develop a headache if he sees seokjin pat your head one more time. 

by accident, he catches your eyes halfway through dinner. something in the way you look at yoongi feels hopeful, like you’re asking for his approval. between the three boys, yoongi has the hardest time making friends. hoseok and namjoon are both social butterflies in their own right; yoongi has nearly intentionally clipped his own wings in that regard. but you’re asking. when you look at him like that, you’re asking yoongi if he’ll be friends with seokjin. jinniejin. 

how can he possibly say no? 

.

.

.

see, seokjin is a nice guy, and yoongi hates that. 

he can’t explain it. well he could, but he’d prefer not to. 

at the least, seokjin only becomes a sort of floater in your group of four. he comes and goes - mostly whenever you ask him to - so for the most part seokjin is more your friend than a friend. (note that this is not yoongi’s fault. yoongi is playing nice.) 

but it’s really hard not to resent how nice seokjin is because it means that yoongi has no valid reason to not point out that your apparent favorite person is heading your way, sending you flying out from your spot next to yoongi, across the grass to take a running leap right into seokjin’s arms. 

yoongi feels like he might die. he can’t believe the trade-off to seeing you scream and giggle happily is the fact that seokjin is the one swinging you in circles, made even worse because yoongi can tell that doing that makes seokjin dizzy but seokjin seems willing to do anything to appease you with the things you want. 

seokjin sets you back down on your feet and yoongi glares at hoseok. hoseok’s the one who said you and seokjin are ‘just friends’ and that you ‘don’t have a crush’ on your new friend. hoseok is a liar. look at you! look at how happy you are just to see him! 

“don’t look at me like that,” hoseok whispers. “i know they’re close but it’s not like that.” he elbows namjoon. “tell yoongi it’s not like that.” 

“it’s not,” namjoon shrugs. “they’re really just good friends. she says he takes care of her.” 

boyfriends take care of their partners, yoongi wants to wail, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut, sucking his teeth. he keeps his head ducked but his eyes can’t stop glancing up to watch you talk animatedly to seokjin as you cross the courtyard together, seokjin patiently listening to you. he nods and hums along to everything you say, leans down a little to respond so you’re closer in height. 

something he says makes you flush, and you shove at him lightly, your face doing that thing where it gets all scrunched up because you’re embarrassed. it happens a lot when namjoon puts his foot in his mouth when he’s talking about something that was supposed to be best-friend-restricted-information. 

seokjin laughs loudly but seems to relent, rubbing your arm soothingly until you’re done pouting, and yoongi has to resist the urge to plant his face straight into the ground. 

namjoon gives him a sympathetic smile. 

lovely. 

.

.

.

ever since yoongi met seokjin, it’s like he sees him everywhere. well - not everywhere. everywhere with you. 

it’s not entirely abnormal for yoongi to bump into you on campus - between your shared minor and the university’s core curriculum requirements, there’s bound to be some overlap. but he swears he’s never seen you as often as he does now - side by side with none other than kim seokjin. 

it has his heart dropping in his chest much harder than he’d care to admit. much worse is the fact that yoongi doesn’t seem to know how to act, so every time he catches sight of you and seokjin together, he dives behind literally any object large enough to hide him. 

today, it’s some random statue decorating the campus grounds. he peeks past it, watching as you and seokjin head down the sidewalk, crossing towards one of the newer built academic buildings. he yelps when a hand clasps him on the shoulder, hoseok’s megaphone voice in his ear, “yoongi! what are you doi-”

yoongi shoves his hands against hoseok’s mouth and yanks him to the ground, head popping up to see if you noticed the commotion, but you’re at a much farther distance now, almost to the doors of the building. hoseok sputters and yanks yoongi’s hand off his mouth. “dude??” 

yoongi winces. “sorry,” he mutters. hoseok shifts over to see what yoongi is hiding from, and sucks in a breath, shaking his head. 

“jealousy is a disease, yoongi,” hoseok wags his finger at his friend. yoongi slaps his hand away. 

“please stop talking so loud.” 

“she can’t hear us! if i wanted her to hear us, i would crank it up, like, HEY-” 

“i will knock you out swear to god hoseok-” 

hoseok cackles, but it’s too late, because hoseok has an inhumane ability to project his voice across probably the entirety of campus. when yoongi glances back to see if you’ve gone into the building with seokjin, he finds instead to see your face lighting up, grin spreading across your lips as you ditch seokjin without so much as a warning to come running across the grass towards yoongi and hoseok. 

except, you severely misgauge how fast you’re going, and tumble straight into yoongi (hoseok conveniently sidestepped) and yoongi stumbles back a few steps and instinctively grabs you around the waist to steady you, startled. 

“oops,” you say breathlessly, eyes shining. for someone who wasn’t running, yoongi is also slightly out of breath. he manages a weak smile back that definitely makes it seem like he’s in pain, but you don’t notice as you gently pull away from him, yoongi’s hands slipping from your waist. “hi guys.” 

“hello,” hoseok sings, slinging an arm around your shoulders. he swings you back around to face the direction you came from. “where’d seokjin go?” 

“class, probably,” you answer. “i was looking for yoongi but i bumped into jin instead so i was walking him to class.” 

yoongi blinks. “me?” he clears his throat so he can form a full sentence. “you were looking for me?” 

you smile. “your class ended not long ago, right? near here?” 

yoongi’s heart, which had been on the ground when he saw you with seokjin, jumps right back into his chest, bursting into a sprint. he nods, and points in the direction he came from. 

your smile widens. “knew it. i thought i always saw you around here. i checked your schedule and everything earlier. we both end class at the same time but i’m over at james hall.” you point across at the building directly opposite from the one yoongi’s class is held in, but yoongi is still too focused on, i was looking for yoongi - you were looking for him. him. not seokjin. 

“next time, let’s meet after class,” you’re saying, as you loop one arm against yoongi’s elbow, your other arm already around hoseok’s. “hobi, are you free?” 

“nope,” hoseok slips out from your side, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. “i’ve got class in ten.” 

you shrug. “just me and yoongi then,” your hand remains wrapped around his elbow, and yoongi’s fingers curl inside his pocket, fighting the desire to slide his hand out and into yours. “unless you have plans, yoongs?” 

yoongs. yoongi blinks. jinniejin, jooniejoon, hobi. yoongs. 

you ditched seokjin for yoongi (you were looking for yoongi in the first place!), you have your hand on his arm, and yoongs. he finally gets a nickname. 

when he takes too long to answer, hoseok fills in the gap for him before you can get too confused. “he never has plans,” hoseok grins. “i’ll catch y’all later.” he gives yoongi a look that says get your brain back in working order before he heads off, and you look up at yoongi, eyes sparkling, enrapturing. 

“have you eaten, yoongi?” 

technically he has. right before class. but it was small and light and that seems reasonable enough an excuse for him to shake his head, just so he can watch you beam at him and tug him along, rattling off about the new restaurant near the student center that you wanted to try, and when you say something along the lines of, “i’m glad i get to try it with you,” yoongi forgets seokjin was even in the picture to begin with, content simply to be trying new things and spending time with you. 

series masterlist ; neon signs

taglist ; @thelilbutifulthings​ @bbsantc​ @chickentenderx​ 

#yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x yn #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fluff #fluff #yoongi #series: nsyg

[potatothots]

Porcelain Doll

Genre: Drama: Smut, Fluff, Semi-dark

Rating: Explicit: smut

Pairings: semi!dark!James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Sex, obsessive!bucky, powered!reader (no explicit description given), choking kink, fear of choking kink. This is NOT a dub/noncon! 

Summary: Bucky learns what it means to have a duel edge kink.

I wrote it quick and tried to beta myself. Potatos aren’t the best at editing their own work.

Note - I'm not your guardian. You read what you want. I can't stop you. If you don't heed the warnings, too bad for you, not me. 

A/N: I’m writing for my WaY series, but this popped into my head. I know choking is a big kink in this fandom (I am one of those kink lovers!), but it can also be scary for some people. I suffered from a fear of it and slowly got over it because I wanted to. I wanted to write a fic that explored that theme. I felt Bucky was a good person to bounce this off of. Like, he’d understand. 

I also like dark!characters in general so… *kicks rock* there’s that, too. 

Bucky looked down at her in awe. Her eyes were half-lidded, a blissed-out haze over her features...

Bucky looked down at her in awe. Her eyes were half-lidded, a blissed-out haze over her features. He shifted, throwing her legs over his shoulders so he could push his cock into her deeper as they fucked. Her body immediately arched towards him. He wondered how he was so lucky to find her. They’d both been through a lot - before they met and even more after. They each had nightmares that kept them up most nights. Both were quiet and reserved, apparently a far cry from who they used to be. 

But whenever he was around her, he felt this primal need to protect her. It was like a beast that clawed away at his sanity. She could protect herself easily. He’d seen her take down people twice her size faster than he could. Yet, she was so tiny compared to him. Pretty, tiny, and seemingly fragile. Like a porcelain doll. At the beginning of the sexual part of their relationship he was afraid to hurt her. Her own powers hurt her. Bucky didn’t want to add to that. He wanted to worship her.

However, the more she chanted “please” and “yes” in his ear, the cloudier his brain became. He could still see her, but his attention was on how she felt. How he felt inside of her. There was no memory he could pull from his scrambled brain to indicate any sex he’d had prior was this amazing. She was clenching around his dick so tightly he thought he was going to suffocate. It would be a blissful way to go. 

It felt good and he wanted her to have the same feeling. 

Bucky wasn’t thinking about her past as he got lost in her present. He hadn’t even paid attention to what he was doing aside from rutting into her like an animal. It wasn’t until he felt her smacking his right arm did he register something was wrong. Her body had gone still. The blissed out look she had earlier was replaced by fear. 

“Oh my god!” Bucky immediately let go of her neck. He pulled away and helped her into a sitting position. “Are you okay? Did I…I’m sorry…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. 

He’d hurt her. One of the few good things he had, he’d hurt. They were both broken and yet, he’d broken his doll more. 

She rubbed her hand across her neck, but shook her head. “No, I could barely feel it. I just, I knew it was there.” 

He waited for her to continue. She let out a small sigh, shrugging. Her fingers tangled together in her lap. With her shoulders shaking slightly he knew she was trying not to cry. Bucky moved to hug her, but stopped at the last moment. What if she didn’t want him touching her anymore? It was her decision right now. She was the one hurt.

“Oh Bucky, don’t cry.” she smiled at him through her own wet tears. 

He let her reach out to him. Immediately, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the side of her head a few times, silently apologizing for his actions. She smelled like him and the monster inside growled in appreciation. 

Mine, it said. Mine, mine, mine.

He shushed it to listen to her. She was the most important thing right now. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t you.” Her voice was quiet, muffled from her head’s position at his neck.

He found it ironic that she was comforting him when he was the one to hurt her. 

“I’m scared of that. I’ve been choked enough. I know people say it gives a lot of pleasure in sex, but I’m not ready for it, I don’t think.”

“I’m really sorry, doll. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I understand, Bucky.” His doll smiled at him again. 

He loved to see her smile. He’d do anything to see it, even if it meant killing everyone who’d ever made her afraid of anything. Excluding him. There was only one person in the world who could protect her and also understand her. It was him. Only him. 

“...I’m a bit tired. Can we shower?”

Her voice made him zone back in to listen. At her question, he nodded. Bucky picked her up with ease. She had stopped complaining months ago about him doing that. She stopped complaining about a lot of things he did out of his affection for her. He was grateful - he wasn’t going to stop. He would never stop loving her.

#bucky #semi!dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james barnes x y/n #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #wow there are a lot

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

8. you’ve reached the end, you are the winner

A/N: Hey, guys!! This chapter took a little longer than it should have because I’ve been a bit sick, so I haven’t had much energy for writing, but I’ve started feeling a lot better and I finally got this done!! This chapter is actually a bit short compared to the past ones, but after this, we have a short interlude and then the rest of the chapters after that, I expect will be much longer than the past ones, so I feel that leaving this chapter so short will be okay. I also wanna say, the only therapy experience I’ve had was an almost year long period in which I had therapy that never helped me a single bit (I used to think it was just me until I realized the therapy I thought was completely normal is actually really bad therapy according to the rest of the world 💀💀), so if the therapy session I have written out for this chapter is completely wrong and not good, then I apologize for that, I tried my best!!! I hope you enjoy this chapter either way!!

Pairing(s): Tristan x Lancelot

Summary: Tristan attends his first therapy session since the break-in at his apartment and Lance has an unexpected family emergency.

Tag(s): Therapy, vague mention of past events, lmao, fire, hospital and injury mention

Song Inspiration: Tag, You’re It By Melanie Martinez

Word Count: 3,712

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Series Masterlist]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

[Read on AO3]

[Author Masterlist]

~*~

"Dr. Dreyfus is ready for your session now, Mr. Liones." Miss Guila tells him, popping her head into the waiting area.

"Okay, thank you." Tristan thanks her quietly, standing up from the chair he was curled in. He walks out of the waiting area and down the hall towards the fifth room on the left side of the hallway. As he reaches the door, he knocks twice before turning the handle and going inside.

"Tristan, welcome!" Dr. Dreyfus greets him, standing up from his office chair and walking the few short steps over to the couch and two chairs taking up most of the room. "Choose whichever seat you like, as usual."

Tristan gives him a half-hearted smile and then chooses the couch, sitting all the way to the left and tucking himself into the corner. He specifically chooses the spot because it allows him to see the entire room, including the front door. He smooths his shirt down with slightly shaking hands, wishing more than anything that he could pull his feet up and curl up into a ball, but he didn't want to mess up Dr. Drey's couch. He tries his best to take in a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly. He could keep himself in check. He will. He's in control of the situation. He can see the whole room, he can leave whenever he wants to, Dr. Drey is not here to bring me harm. This place is a safe space. He just keeps repeating all of it in his head until it's the only thing he can think.

"Tristan." The other man in the room calls softly, lightly tapping a cup against the table beside the chair he's now sitting in.

Tristan sucks in a breath, blinking at him. "S-sorry, Dr. Drey." He whispers.

Dr. Drey sets the cup down, frowning. "There's no need for an apology, Tristan, you're perfectly fine." He tells him. The silverette just nods, not sure what else to respond with.

The brunette sighs softly and folds his hands in his lap. "So, what do you want us to talk about today?" He asks.

Tristan doesn't want to talk about anything. But he knows he needs to. He refuses to go backwards, and right now, he's at risk of doing so. "I want to talk about what happened two weeks ago." He whispers.

"And what happened two weeks ago, Tristan?" Dr. Drey looks at him with kind and concerned eyes, his full attention on Tristan and not in a "I'm studying your every move" kind of way.

It's one of Tristan's favorite things about the man. He always makes sure that you know he's listening. And he never takes his notes during a session like Tristan expected him to when he first started going to therapy. Dr. Drey says that lots of therapists actually do take notes during a session in that stereotypical way you always see in media, but he isn't one of them. He explained that he feels it just makes patients more uneasy and can distract them, and sometimes it can even mess with the focus of Dr. Drey himself. 'I've never been a very good multi-tasker, anyways.' He'd laughed. Right in that moment is when Tristan officially decided that he liked the man.

"Two weeks ago, I found out that I was being wa-watched." Tristan is sure that the doctor has seen or heard at least a little bit about what happened. The media knows that something happened - Lance leading a hysterical Tristan outside of his apartment building shortly before multiple police vehicles show up there doesn't exactly go unnoticed when one is followed around by paparazzi on an almost constant basis - but they don't know what it was. But besides that, Dr. Drey is a family friend nowadays and Tristan doesn't know if he's talked to his parents recently or not. "S-someone broke into my apartment while I wasn't h-home and they left an envelope filled with p-pictures they had taken of m-me. There was," Tristan takes a shaky breath as he feels the tears start to return to his eyes. He feels like all he's been doing for the past two weeks is cry. "There w-was also s-signs of them going thr-through my stuff." He stutters out.

"Were you at home when this break-in happened?" When Tristan looked at him, it appeared this question was not just to get the full story but also because the man is genuinely concerned.

"No, no, I wasn't home when it happened, don't worry." Tristan reassures. "I was out having dinner with my parents."

"So you returned home alone, then?"

"Oh, no, I had Lance with me. He was at dinner, too." He tells him.

"Lance?" Dr. Drey questions. "You're still seeing him, then?"

Tristan flushes slightly. He had forgotten that the last time he saw Dr. Drey was back before Lance officially became his boyfriend. "Oh, yeah. Uh, we're officially together now, actually. He's my boyfriend. That became a thing the weekend after the last time I saw you." The silverette explains, smiling softly for a moment at the thought of Lance. The blonde had been there for him as much as he possibly could over the last couple of weeks and Tristan was beyond grateful for him.

"Oh, well congrats, then. That's good to hear." Dr. Drey smiles at him. Tristan nods and Dr. Drey's smile drops as he continues the previous topic. "So, Lance was with you when you found out what went on in your apartment. You said an envelope of pictures was left behind. Did you look at the pictures?" He asks.

Tristan nods. "Yes. I, uh, I started getting the feeling that someone was watching me about a month ago, and then the envelope had my name on the front. Whoever it is wanted me to see it. I just felt the need to look inside the envelope. But the pictures..." Tristan's lip wobbles and he feels the fear rise in him, his eyes automatically beginning a glance over of the entire room, searching for secret cameras that he knows he won't find. "Th-they weren't just pictures of me o-outside and a-around town, like what the p-paparazzi takes. There was pictures of me inside people's h-houses, taken through w-windows. Th-they know wh-where everyone l-lives, everyone that I've gone to-to see in the last month at least. B-but then-" Tristan pauses, rubbing the palms of his hands against his jeans. "Th-there was a p-picture o-of me at my kitchen s-sink but it w-was t-taken from i-inside my a-apart-partment. It w-wasn't through a w-window. L-later on, the police ended up finding a c-camera inside the switch for my g-garbage disposal and that's where..." He trails off as his voice cracks and he clears his throat. "Wh-where the pictures was t-taken from."

"Was that...all the police found in your apartment?" Dr. Drey asks, brows furrowed.

Tristan shakes his head. "N-no. They-" A burn starts building in the back of his throat and his vision blurs as tears threaten to fall. "Th-they found nearly a d-dozen c-cameras-"

"Breathe, Tristan. Take your time, there's no need to rush the story out. Just take a moment to breathe." The doctor interrupts him with a gentle voice.

Tristan sucks in a deep breath, the breath he then lets out turns into a halfway sob. He is not doing this. He is not going to breakdown again right in front of his therapist. He squeezes his eyes shut and his fists clench as he spends a few minutes collecting himself. When he finally opens his eyes again, he sees Dr. Drey looking at him with concerned eyes and a disapproving frown at Tristan's actions. He shouldn't be so surprised. We've been doing this for 8 years now. Tristan thinks bitterly. It's not that he has anything against the doctor. Dr. Drey is awesome and he's helped Tristan through so much in the past. He just hates how screwed up his brain is.

"Lance and I actually ended up leaving the restaurant early that night. We never even finished our food." He speaks up suddenly, looking down at his lap and picking at the threads hanging from the holes in his jeans. "I got cornered by someone in the bathroom. I got scared, so I asked Lance if we could leave and Jade gave us a ride back a few minutes after the whole thing happened. The police don't think the incident was related to the break-in because there were signs that whoever it was left in a hurry which means they probably weren't expecting us to come back when we did." He tells him.

"What happened when the person cornered you? Did they hurt you?"

"No, he didn't hurt me. Not physically..." Tristan gulps. "But he knew things that he shouldn't. He started saying things to me about...about what happened when I was a kid." Tristan gives the man across from him a meaningful look. He doesn't need to spell it out, the doctor will know exactly what he's talking about. It's the event that first led to Tristan coming to see him in the first place, after all.

"He knew what happened?" The brunette gives him a surprised look.

"He did. And it...almost seemed as if he was taunting me. He kept asking me questions, but the way he spoke made it sound like he already knew the answers or something. He asked things like, "How did it feel?" and "How much do you remember?" but then the last question he asked was strange..." Tristan's brows furrow as he recalls the last question he'd heard from the man before he'd pushed him away and ran out of the bathroom. "He asked me if I felt guilty for framing Dustin for what happened."

"Wait, what? Dustin. Isn't that the one who-"

"Yes. Dustin is the one. And this person came to me and tried to claim that I framed that horrible man for what happened." Tristan scoffs and shakes his head. He's angry at the thought. He hasn't thought much about it between when it happened and now, if he's honest. But he feels disgusted that anyone could think of a man like Dustin Pendragon as anything but evil.

"Do you know how this man could've found out about things with that much detail? Was he someone you've met before?" The doctor asks.

"No, I've never seen him before as far as I can remember. He was a total stranger. I have no idea how he found any of it out, the only ones who should have access to any of that information are my family and the police." He says. "But it doesn't matter. That's not my main concern right now since he isn't working with whoever broke into my house. The police can't do anything about him anyways."

"Okay." Dr. Drey says slowly. "Have you been in your apartment much since things happened?" He asks.

"No, I...haven't even slept there since that night and if I ever need something from there, I always make sure at least one person is with me. I've been staying with Lance for the past two weeks."

"And what has Lancelot's reaction been to all of this?"

"Oh, he's mainly been worried about me, I think. He's been really protective and cautious. And he's always checking in with me no matter what we're doing, he always wants to make sure that I'm feeling safe. It's pretty nice, actually." Tristan admits.

"Does he know about what happened when you were younger?" Dr. Drey asks curiously.

Tristan frowns, looking at him. "No, I haven't told him yet."

His therapist nods. "Okay. I was only wondering. The two of you have only been together for a few months, I'd be surprised if you had told him already. I just didn't know if he'd heard anything from others or not."

"No, I've asked everyone I introduce him to not to mention it. But..." Tristan chews on his bottom lip. "I've actually thought about telling him."

"Oh? You really trust him, then?" The other man looks surprised again. Tristan isn't exactly very good at trusting new people. That's why up until three months ago, he only had all of three friends, one of them being his own cousin and all of them being people he first met when he was only a child. Tristan likes to think he can now call at least a couple of Lance's friends his own friends, too. Not close friends, not yet, but still friends.

"I do." Tristan admits. Lance has been a special case from the beginning, he knows that. When Tristan first realized just how much trust he truly has in the man, it scared him. It still scares him. For Tristan, trusting people so much is absolutely terrifying. But the entire time he's known Lance, all the man has done is prove again and again that he is exactly the person that he presents himself to be and nothing more. "I don't know what it is about him, but I just...feel safe with him. He makes me feel really, really safe." When he looks at Dr. Drey again, the man is smiling at him, a knowing look in his eyes. It's similar to a look he's received from his mother multiple times in the past and Tristan still can't quite figure out what it means yet.

He's about to ask his doctor to clarify the look when his phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket just enough to press the lock button and ignore the call, not looking at the caller ID. "So what-" He's cut off when his phone rings again and he frowns, doing the same thing as before. He then turns back to his therapist. "What does that mean?" Tristan questions. His phone pings a couple of times then, whoever was calling him now messaging him instead, he assumes.

"What does what mean?" Dr. Drey asks.

"That look that you just-" His phone pings a few more times and it's starting to irritate him. He supposes he should've put his phone on silent before coming into the room, but all these notifications in the middle of a session usually isn't a thing. "Sorry, I just need to put my phone on silent real quick." He says apologetically. Dr. Drey nods at him with an understanding smile.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket completely and wakes up the screen, intending to just silence his phone and nothing more. But as his lockscreen shows up, he ends up scanning over the messages waiting for him before he manages to do anything and his eyes widen. "I'm-I'm sorry, Dr. Drey, b-but, I, I really need to go." Tristan tells him, immediately standing up.

Dr. Drey stands up as well, looking at him in confusion. "Why? What's the matter?" He questions.

Tristan tears his eyes away from his phone for a moment to look back at the other man. "It's Lance, something happened a-and he's freaking out, I need to go call him. I'm so sorry, I really am, but I've never seen him like this, so I'd really rather just cut this off for now and reschedule if that's okay." He unlocks his phone and pulls up his contacts, already backing away towards the door.

"Of course, of course. I hope everything's okay, just call the office to reschedule whenever you're able to." Tristan barely hears him, turning and quickly walking out the door and down the hallway as he presses call on Lance's contact and puts the phone to his ear.

~*~

Lance speeds down the highway, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. Thank gods I'm in front of the work rush. He thinks. His phone rings and when he sees Tristan's name, he quickly reaches over and answers, putting the call on speaker before putting his hand back on the steering wheel.

"Lance? What's going on? Are you okay?" Tristan asks him, worried.

"Uh, well, not really. I'm really sorry to bother you in the middle of therapy, I didn't really think much about that before I called." He apologizes. His mind's been a bit scattered since the moment his dad called him.

"No, no, it's fine, therapy can always be rescheduled, you're what's important right now." Tristan says seriously. Lance can't help but give a small smile at the man's care for him, but it quickly drops again. "Your messages, I didn't really understand much of what you were trying to say, you said something about your mom?"

Lance switches lanes, swallowing before he answers. "Yeah, uh, my dad called me a little bit ago. Tris, there was a fire at my parents' house, dad says it was really bad. Both of them made it out but mom's in the hospital, she got injured real bad, her whole torso is all burned up." Lance's face twists at the thought of how much pain his mom is in right now and just how close to death she came, according to what his dad told him.

"Oh no, that's awful!" Lance hears a car start on the other end that he assumes is Tristan's. "And your dad, he's okay? Is he injured, too?"

"He's got a few burns but none of them are nearly as bad as my mom's, he was never even checked into the hospital like mom was." He turns off the exit towards Benwick, where his parents had moved about 3 years ago. "This all happened last night, he didn't get the chance to call me until about three hours ago." He explains. Tristan had spent the day with Chion, Jade, and Isolde, so Lance spent the day catching up on some artwork, but everything was disrupted after he found out what happened.

"Three hours ago?" Tristan asks, surprised and confused.

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, baby. I don't mean to leave you all alone. But I gotta go see my mom and do whatever I can to help out my dad. I left for Benwick as soon as I got off the phone with my dad, I'm almost there now. I would've called you way earlier but it didn't even cross my mind and then by the time I remembered, I'd forgotten about you going to therapy today and-"

"Hey, hey, Lance, baby, it's fine, it's okay. I understand, you gotta go be with your parents. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. You take as long as you need in Benwick." Tristan tells him sincerely.

"I'm probably gonna be here at least a few days, sweetheart, are you gonna be okay by yourself?" Lance asks him uncertainly.

"Yes, I'll be fine, I promise. I think I'll talk to Howzer, he's Donny's uncle, right? Last I talked to him, he told me that if at any point I felt unsafe, I could call him and he could stay nearby for awhile, make sure nothing happens. I think it's mainly a favor kind of thing since I know Donny., honestly, but I'll take it." His boyfriend says.

"Well, Howzer's also just that kind of guy. He's the police chief for a reason, after all. Of course, you being friends with Donny certainly doesn't hurt anything." The blonde says thoughtfully. "But if Howzer says he'll watch over you, he'll definitely put his best into doing so."

"Good. That's good. I-I think I'll call him and see if he'd be willing to stand by tonight, at least for a little while, since this will be my first time back in my own apartment since everything."

"Yeah, yeah, that's probably a good idea. Just be careful, okay? And if you get scared, just call me, no matter what time it is." Lance intructs.

"Yes, I will, and if you need me at all, then it's the same thing. Call me no matter what time it is." Tristan tells him.

Lance nods even though Tristan can't see it. His heart swells for appreciation and affection for the other man. "I-" He pauses, not quite sure what words his mouth is trying to form. He shakes his head, brows furrowed, and he decides to try again. "I...I-I'll miss you." He says softly.

Tristan stays silent on the other line for a long moment before he answers. "I'll miss you, too. Don't go meeting any boys that are prettier than me while you're gone, okay?" He replies just as softly.

"That's impossible, your majesty. You're the prettiest prince in all of Britannia." Lance intends for the comment to come out flirty and teasing, but current situation doesn't allow it to land the right away and he grimaces.

"Good." Tristan doesn't seem to mind, he knows how Lance meant it. "I'm gonna go ahead and hop off. Message me once you get there, okay?"

"I will. Be careful once you get home, Tris."

"You know I will. I'll talk to you later, Lance." And then he hangs up and Lance is once again left in the silence of his car. With nothing better to do, his mind wanders to all the possibilities surrounding his parents' situation and he sighs. The last hour of his drive to Benwick is going to be a long one.

~*~

A/N: How did you guys like it?? What do you think about our random new character name drop? 👀 How do we like therapist Dreyfus?? Also, as clarification, Guila is also a therapist, not a secretary. But anyways, please let me know what you guys think!! I would love to know!!!

~*~

Taglist:

@darkelf-7​

@ivyllamauwu​​

@toryhis​

[Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series and any other stories relating to it!!!]

#purple_strxnger #purple_strxnger_stories #4koa #4kota #trilance #tristan liones #lancelot #4kota tristan #4kota lancelot #tristan x lancelot #lancelot x tristan #trance #trislot #trislance #lanstan #lantris #lancetris #fanfiction #fanfic #au #4kota fanfiction #4kota fanfic #4kota au #trilance fanfiction #trilance fanfic #trilance au

[theblacksheepcz]

More Rebecha headcanons but this time it’s her relationships with basically everyone

Here is part one btw

oh my god i forgor this in my draft section

um uh let’s start chronologically I think cuz it feels right for meh

So Rebecha and Super Weasel Kid never met, but Rebecha knows about him because of Walk, and SWK doesn’t even know she exists. HOWEVER. If they did meet, they would have this ‘wine aunt and prankster nephew’ dynamic like “yo can I borrow this dangerous thing for a prank?” “take it and leave me alone. (finally something interesting will happen)”

She met Mr. Squarell once in Secrets of Legendaria and they very much relate to each other.

Rebecha hates Irving with every pixel of her being. He hates her too. They can’t be in a single room together without beating the shit out of each other. Anyways that’s why she’s so rebellious and wants to get the fuck out of Gameworks/Gamefuna. Because the workplace is shit.

She gets along very well with Bryce, she listens to his stories from the Cooking Granny series and he taught her a few things about cooking/baking!

Wizarro is her best friend. Bestest friend she ever had. She tells him everything from gossips to personal stuff and he’s always there for her if she needs comfort. He’s too pure for this world T-T oh and also they paint each other’s nails

also she didn’t really talk to the other fighters in Combat Arena X but she had this rivalry with Shinobee and Alley Gator-

Now about Sado…*inhale* so if you’ve known me long enough (or follow my other medias) you probably noticed that I basically invented Sabecha- you see- ITS COMPLICATED THEY HAVE POTENTIAL OK- THEYRE FRENEMIES AND LOVERS- AND- CALM X RECKLESS, REBEL X GOODY-TWO-SHOES, FORBIDDEN LOVE/STARCROSSED LOVEEERS, ON AND OFF RELATIONSHIP?? grumpy x silly. *slaps roof of car* This baby can fit so much angst. And fluff. Ofc. you can read my fics and know what I mean-

And while we’re talking about ships. Chandrelle. basically i headcanon that she was in a polycule with them 👉👈 but she broke up with them, mostly on good terms tho.

There’s Lazarus…she tolerates him. Lazarus doesn’t really know if she dislikes him or not because she always has that deadpan expression and mostly monotone voice so he chooses his words carefully around her. But she’s really chill.

Rebecha somehow befriended Jack, the Sphinx’s servant. They understand each other. And he teases her by calling her Rebecca on purpose. That’s pretty much it. Also Wizarro always shushes him whenever he’s about to say a curse word. Everyone actually. Just because.

Rebecha tried to flirt with the village girl once and only got a death stare in return.

talked to Jay once or twice and dipped.

she was the one that told baby Junior that his dad won’t come back and then he had to be hugged for an hour.

Rust is like a father figure to her. More or less. He gives her headpats. But Rocky is more like a nephew.

She pretends that Dustbowl Danny and The Vurm don’t exist. Take that as you will.

Rebecha views FPP as just acquaintances, but they view her as a friend. Rebecha tells stories or vents to them and FPP gets to do the same (in sign language). Both of them are glad that someone actually listens to them.

She’d find Catarina and she would tell Rebecha to “break up with that clown freak” and Rebecha wouldn’t give a shit

o yea she saw Jeremiah sneaking into the boat, she didn’t think much of it.

ok now Lionel Snill…her feelings about him are complicated. Like she knows that he probably has no idea that his characters are sentient and that Irving basically abuses them but at the same time she resents him. And then in Walk she just facepalms at hearing his story.

#the hex #the hex game #inscryption #inscryption game #rebecha #the hex rebecha #rebecha the hex #inscryption rebecha #rebecha inscryption #daniel mullins games #daniel mullins #mullinsverse #headcanon #headcanons

[moemoemammon]

MC is Sick?!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

A little late to notice that you’re sick. He’s been so busy lately that he can’t watch you as carefully as he’d like to, so he apologizes for not catching on sooner.

But now that it’s been brought to his attention, Lucifer is all over it. You’re excused from your classes and sent to your room for bedrest while he tends to everything else. He’s rarely the one to bring you your medicine or meals, to his dismay, but his busy schedule just won’t allow it. 

If he were able he’d let you stay in his room until you felt better. But for the time being, he’ll have to squeeze in little visits to your room, where he’ll pop in and sit on the edge of your bed, pressing his hand against your forehead and letting it linger on your cheek.

He’ll often come to your room with a record for you to listen to, and he loves talking about the history of the music and the life of the composure. His boring talks put you right to sleep.

“This piece is one of my favorites. The composer went into an illness induced madness when he created the sheet music, and wouldn't eat or sleep for two weeks until it’d been completed. Why, I often listen to it when- Ah, have you fallen asleep?"

Mammon

The first to notice the change in your health. You don’t look so good.. Are you okay? MC?!

Good luck trying to get any rest, because your first man is gonna be popping in and out of your room every five minutes. He’s constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re not too hot or too cold, that you’ve got something to drink, that you ate the soup he left-

Actually, Mammon’s not that bad of a caretaker! He’s a little too attentive, but he clearly knows what he’s doing. Also insists on being the only one that takes care of you until you’re better.

Polices everything you do. You wanna get out of bed? Nope, wait for Mammon. You’re bored? He’ll bring you something to do. Know what, he’s just gonna move into your room for the time being-

“Who told ya to go and get sick? Makin' me worry like this... I'm gonna make sure ya get better in no time, so you'd better be grateful, ya hear? I don't do this for just anybody..."

Levi

No way... You’re sick?! But you guys had plans to watch Magical Ruri Hana together...

Yeah, he’s not the best at caretaking despite watching Cells at Work, but he does know the basics! It kills him to leave his room so frequently, so.. why don’t you just stay in his room? He’ll take care of you there, and the healing waves of Ruri-chan will wash over you and get rid of your illness!

He definitely can’t be your primary caregiver, unless you want to be sick forever. Anime doesn't really imitate real life. Who would've thought?

 But he’s as attentive as he can be, at least! He brings you new DVDs to watch, manga to read, and delicious stacks to try whenever he can! Even if this is all he can do, he wants to make sure you know he’s thinking about you. May or may not also be spam texting you and keeping you awake-

“I brought the audio drama for you to listen to! It's from the TSL live series, where they act out the scenes! You won't have to worry about reading or watching anything, so you can listen to it to sleep. Oh, but I want to hear your opinion on everything! And then you- huh? When will you be able to sleep? Uh..."

Satan

The most knowledgeable when it comes to taking care of human illnesses, but he still fumbles a little. Insists on making an accurate diagnosis of your symptoms, and that takes way longer than the actual treatement,

But once he’s deduced what’s going on, Satan goes all in. You might feel like a guinea pig because of all the weird methods he’s trying on you (may or may not have read a medieval medicine book first), so uhhhhh be patient with him. Now hold still while he puts this onion in your sock-

Not as attentive as the others, but very thorough when he tends to you. And despite all the unorthodox healing methods, you actually recover quickly, by some miracle.

In the quieter moments when all you need is rest, Satan will sit by and quietly read to you until you lull off to sleep, brushing the hair from your face before he leaves.

“Hm... I was sure St. John's Wart would do the trick, but your fever hasn't broken at all? Maybe I ought to try minced garlic and honey next? Or maybe..- Eh? Just normal medicine is fine?"

Asmo

SICK?! No no, this won’t do at all! Asmo doesn’t want to see his darling MC looking so pale and unsightly! It’s off to bed with you now. No, not his bed he loves you but you’ve gotta understand-

Gentle affection is one of Asmo’s selling points, but that doesn’t mean the king of aftercare knows how to treat illnesses. He does however make you extremely comfortable. I’m talking extra fluffy pillows, cold and hot packs where you need them most, careful sponge baths (if you’ll let him), and everything else he can offer to make sure you’re okay.

May or may not show up in a hazmat suit, but don’t worry. The mask is clear so you get a view of his beautiful face! And when he isn’t around to take care of you, he sends pictures of himself to speed up the healing process.

Most likely to ask for help in your care. He tends to forget that you need more than affection and selfies to help you recover-

“Make sure you get better quickly, okay? I'll keep gracing your with my gorgeous face, and that ought to heal you in no time! Oh, maybe an herbal bath will help, too? I'll join you~!"

Beel

Extremely worried the moment you sneeze twice in a row. And when that escalates into a full blown cold, he immediately takes you to your room and cocoons you in every spare blanket he can find.

His care is sloppy, but full of affection. Your bed is a fluffy mess of soft blankets and pillows, and he lingers in your room nearly all day. And naturally, Beel knows you need to eat in order to heal.

You’re never without any food. This man will bring you an entire rotisserie chicken and a quart of orange juice for breakfast do not underestimate him. And if you can’t stomach anything, he’s try for things that’re easier to eat. like soups and broths. Also insists on feeding you himself.

Might also need some help in caring for you. He has good intentions and he’s being as careful with you as can be, but it can’t help to have another set of hands on the job. He wants to make sure you get the best care he can offer.

“Mm... you're not eating a lot today. Hm? You're full? But you only had a shadow hog roast, three sandwiches, and a gallon of juice. Are you sure that's enough? ...Well, maybe you're right. I'll eat what you can't finish, then. Hm? You're worried I'll get sick? It's fine. A human cold wont affect me."

Belphie

He knew something was up when you didn’t get out of bed that morning. Sleeping until 2pm is HIS thing, got it? Just kidding-

Tries not to show it, but this man is so worried that he can’t even sleep. BELPHEGOR, the Avatar of Sloth, is suffering from insomnia. 

He isn’t really the best at taking care of other people, but he knows that plenty of rest can only do you good. Belphie climbs into your bed and resigns himself to staying there until you heal. Somehow, having him around makes your sleep even deeper, so you always wake up feeling a little more rested than before.

Not so great at remembering when to bring you medicine and stuff, so the help of the others is a given. But despite that, you find yourself comfortable in every position you shift into. Belphie knows a thing or two about resting peacefully, so he’s got an eye for helping you with that.

“Are you feeling a little better today? ...Good. You were tossing and turning in your sleep, so I got you that ice pack. It look like your fever finally broke, so that means I can rest easy now.. goodnight......"

#I wrote this because I am ill and I wanna indulge #obey me shall we date #obey me! #obey me #obey me! shall we date? #shall we date? obey me! #shall we date obey me #obey me writing #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

[sugusshi]

┄ DREAMING OF YOU

➥ Baji Keisuke x f!reader

Part 1 of the “My Insufferable Idiot” Series

MASTERLIST | CURRENT — next

· · ────── · ·

➥ Characters: f!reader, Baji Keisuke

— brief mentions of: Chifuyu, Mikey, Draken, Kazutora, reader’s mom, and Baji’s mom

➥ disclaimers/warnings: angst, some fluff, college!au, baji lives!au, slight canon divergence, some slight cursing, apologies in advance for any errors!

➥ word count: 6k

· · ────── · ·

➥ author’s note: If you couldn’t already tell, this fic is based on the song Dreaming of You by Selena. Definitely recommend you to listen to it if you haven’t already ♡ Also wanna say a big thanks to @undersakusa who gave me the push to actually write this idea out! Thanks for dealing with my rambling for it ♡ Anyway, the fic is finally out in words after almost two months! Depending on how I’m feeling, this might be a mini series~ ☆～（ゝ。∂） I haven’t written a fic in so long so I hope it’s not too bad! For now, I hope you enjoy!

Late at night when all the world is sleeping

I stay up and think of you

You were stronger than this. Were being the keyword, but the pain in your heart is too much for even you to bear. The ache in your chest that only grows with every salty tear trailing down your flushed cheeks.

It’s past midnight and you're thankful that you live alone in your apartment and that the walls aren’t paper thin. You can cry and cry to your heart's content without worrying about disturbing your neighbors. No worry that someone will judge you. No one to look at your distressed state.

Yet… No one to console you either.

And I wish on a star

That somewhere you are

Thinking of me too

It was only two hours ago since you were left alone on that dreaded park bench that used to mean so much to you. Two hours since the man you loved ripped your heart out and stepped on it, figuratively of course.

You think the pain would hurt less if it was literal.

· · ────── · ·

“I’ve had enough of this.”

You were confused when you heard that, pausing mid-bite on the dango you bought yourself at a stand before your little date with your boyfriend of six years. There was silence following that comment, making you blink once then twice as if to break the sudden tension in the air.

“I’m sorry, uh, what are we talking about? These dates?” You asked genuinely confused and concerned. After all, these ‘dates’ (as he made sure to call them) were all his idea.

These late dates were neither every night nor were they a scheduled thing, they were just sporadic. It was whenever either felt like calling for one but didn’t feel like being confined indoors. These dates were spent mostly basking in each other’s presence, an arm around each other or leaning against each other, any position the two of you could get while sitting on the trusty wooden bench. The two of you would just talk about the day you just spent or watch the sky and point out whatever you saw. This park in particular was quiet with only a few people walking by, sometimes with a dog that would have the both of you excited and asking if you can pet said dog. Sometimes you’d fall asleep with your head on his shoulder and he’d wake you up with a kiss to your forehead, a soft smile on his usual devious lips.

You think maybe he’s getting busier with classes and work so he wants to get all the sleep he can get, hence why he wants to stop these late dates. After all, when you two aren’t on these dates, you’re either FaceTiming or texting each other until one of you fall asleep if you didn’t see each other enough during the day. Maybe his mom told him he needs a better slee—

“Us. I’ve had enough of us,” He says coldly, with one of the most serious faces you have ever seen on him. His fierce eyes looking directly at you, a small scowl set on his lips.

Your heart skips a bit in anxiousness.

“W-What?” Your dango, long forgotten, falls out of your hand and onto the ground as you stand to meet his eyes. Now you understand why he never even took a seat next to you when he arrived tonight, late too. This is the first time in four years that he arrived late to these dates, always so excited to see you.

He doesn’t repeat what he just said and it makes your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. You two weren’t a ‘perfect’ couple by any means, but you were a couple that many deemed ‘goals’ once they saw your dynamic and everything the two of you went through. You’ve had one too many little disagreements, rarely escalating to actual arguments that had either of you ignoring each other until one cracked and apologized. Those arguments always ended up with the both of you cuddled in one of your beds, whispering sweet words to each other, genuine apologies still lingering on your lips. Sometimes it’d end up with him tickling your sides because he hated seeing your solemn face or sometimes you’d playfully wrestle him until he let out an amused laugh in that deep voice of his that you loved.

But this didn’t seem like it would end like that.

“Keisuke,” You call out to him, only making him tsk and look away from you. “What the hell are you talking about Kei? Are you playing some sick prank on me? Did one of the guys put you up to this? Cause this isn’t funny.” Again, he stays silent.

There was another reason why you two worked so well. Why you two had been going strong for six long happy years. Why people, friends and strangers alike, looked at you two like: "How?" How were you two practically made for each other?

While you two completed each other, like him, you were strong both mentally and even physically albeit not as much as your boyfriend. You didn’t ‘grow up in the streets’, as Baji said so about himself, but you grew up strong headed with the help of your single father. Your father who raised you the best he could after your no good mother left the both of you. You didn’t take shit from anyone and you weren’t shy about speaking up either. You remember how Baji’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree the first time your feisty side came out, only making him fall for you more.

So how else were you suppose to respond to your boyfriend who refused to respond to your questions? How else were you suppose to make him look at you?

“Baji Keisuke,” You growl out, hands clenching into fists at your sides. Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, the chilled air making your cheeks even more rosy.

If you weren’t so focused on getting an answer from him, maybe you would have noticed the slight tense of his body at the use of his full name. You had always called him Keisuke, Kei, or any of your cute little nicknames since even before the two of you started dating. He forgot how foreign his family name sounded from your lips. Still. He looks back at you with a glare on his eyes, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “What? You going deaf or something? You heard me.”

You see red with the way he answers you. As if you were stupid. As if you were the one being unbelievable right now. You can fight, thanks to your father signing you up for lessons at Mikey’s grandfather’s dojo at a young age, but you won’t. You can’t. If it was anyone else answering you with that tone, you might’ve slapped them, maybe even punched them in their face if you really disliked the person— but it’s Baji. Neither of you have ever laid a hand on each other nor will you start now. Instead you bite your lip in frustration, angry tears gathering in your eyes as you refuse to back down.

You refuse to believe this is happening. You two were happy. So happy. Just a few days ago he refused to let you get out of his arms when you two were sitting at a booth with your friends at a fast food chain. Your friend’s complaints about the PDA making you laugh and Baji stick out his tongue at them defiantly.

“Really? Right in front of my salad?” Mikey referenced, hands motioning at his very much not salad (it was a happy meal of course), before throwing a fry at Baji’s face.

Your boyfriend simply caught it in his mouth, grinning triumphantly before giving your cheek a sloppy kiss. “Fuck off.” He retorts only making Mikey groan and the others laugh. You roll your eyes at their childishness, but smile.

Your smile only grew as Baji leaned closer to you, whispering sweet words into your ear. Draken noticed this unfortunately for him, making him dramatically gag at the both of you. “Get a room,” He said, only earning him a small kick from you under the table.

“Oh shut up. It wasn’t anything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter Kenny,” You refute, only snuggling more into Baji’s embrace, which earns you a soft kiss on the top of your head.

That wasn’t even so long ago. Everything was fine. Or at least you thought so. What happened in the span of two days to make Baji say this to you? You were sure you didn’t ignore him yesterday despite being busy with homework and studying for a test today. You were sure neither of you were arguing so why-

“K-Kei…” Your throat ached, trying to keep your voice steady but failing as you look at him again. There’s no remorse or hurt on his face. Just… a blank look in those beautiful honey brown eyes you fell in love with. There was no care in those eyes. There was only… annoyance and… impatience in his eyes. Something that was never aimed at you, yet here you were. Couldn’t he see the pain in your own teary eyes?

If you looked in my eyes

Would you see what’s inside?

· · ────── · ·

“Gooutwithmeplease!” Baji practically yells as soon as you step one foot out of your classroom door, the sudden appearance of the fanged boy in front of you making you jump.

“What?” You ask, genuinely not understanding what he said, fixing the strap of your book bag on your shoulder.

Apparently the one word question seems to deflate him as his shoulders sag a bit, his usual confident facade dropping by the second. You notice that despite still being in school, he let down his hair and his fake glasses were in the pocket of his school jacket. Something must be wrong because he always kept up his ‘poindexter’ appearance until after leaving class for the day. Baji looks down, mumbling something under his breath which makes you sigh in impatience. You had club activities to attend and Baji knew this, so why was he stalling you? As he stalls and continues to mumble under his breath, you notice he’s hiding something behind his back too. Just what the hell was he up to? It had to be important right? Otherwise he would have told you as he walked you to your club or after because he knows how busy you can be sometimes.

“Kei,” You lightly flick his forehead, pretty face full of concern which only makes him look away again.

“Don’t be such a coward Baji-san,” Chifuyu teasingly chides, whose presence you now notice, standing not too far behind your childhood best friend, kicking the back of Baji’s shin. “You didn’t make me help you write that letter for nothing so either you ask her correctly or I’ll tell her myself.”

“No!” Baji immediately responds, sending a glare to the blonde who only laughs at the other’s crisis.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Baji let’s out a characteristic yet dramatic yell before muttering ‘fuck it’ and bowing down in front of you, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands, his long hair framing his face. “T-These are for you!”

“H-Huh?” With your mouth agape, your eyes widen at the scene in front of you. Your eyes darting to look over at Chifuyu who only has a grin on his lips, giving you a playful wink as he motions for you to receive the flowers. So you do. If your hands are shaking (they are), Baji doesn’t say anything about it. He only stands straight again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nervously gulps.

“I like you,” Baji says, honey brown eyes looking right into your (e/c) eyes. He steps closer to you, wrapping his hands around your smaller ones that hold the bouquet. As your fingers grip around the poor stems of the flowers, he simply holds your hands in his, giving you a soft toothy smile. “I know you have your club to go to so uh… read that letter when you have a chance, yeah?”

“Letter…?” With this event transpiring, it seems to be that your brain is processing everything at fifty percent of its capacity. Right after those words leave your mouth you spot said letter right in the middle of the flowers, “Oh-“

“You know where to meet me-“ Baji stops himself as he rubs the back of his neck, “Well, that is if you feel the same, uh-“

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless,” Chifuyu groans, “I told you to let her be after giving it to her! You don’t want to overwhelm her even more right before her club!” He scolds, pulling Baji away from you, the warmth of his hands disappearing making your chest ache. The blonde looks back at you as he walks away, dragging Baji with him, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it too much okay, Y/N? Take your time with it. It’s his turn to wait for you now. After all, he’s made you wait this long already, right?”

Your face breaks out into a raging blush, the sudden memory that you weren’t alone in your classroom now hitting you. You were always the first one to leave class, always dutifully getting to your clubs on time or early, but Baji’s sudden confession made your usual calm brain break out in a havoc. You hear some girls giggling behind you while some of the boys whistle at your predicament.

“Class Rep, cat got your tongue?” Your deputy rep teases you, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“S-Shut it!” You huff, holding the flowers close to your body, the blush on your face only making your fellow first years laugh. You were always so poise and strong. So perfect with your happy demeanor and almost demanding tone (which they didn’t really complain about because you made everyone do what they were supposed to). So to see you flustered and lost for words is a moment they will not let go so easily.

“So?” Your best friend bumps their hip against yours, “What are you gonna do?”

You bite your lip as you look down at your flowers, your club completely out of mind. “I… I don’t know.”

This only makes them grin, lightly pushing you but not towards the club that both of you attend. “I’ll cover for you. Go get your man Y/N.”

You blink owlishly at them but soon break out in a grin.

“Go get him Y/N!”

“It’s about time!”

It’s pretty clear everyone knew this was bound to happen, including you, but you never wanted to push or force your feelings onto Baji. But now that you know the feeling is mutual, you’ll be damned if you let it go to waste now.

You say nothing more as you sprint off to where you know Baji is, your (h/c) hair flowing behind you as you make an exit to the school’s front doors.

At age sixteen, in your first year of high school is when you finally officially start dating your one and only childhood crush—

Baji Keisuke.

So I wait for the day and the courage to say

How much I love you— yes I do

· · ────── · ·

“You’re not a damn kid anymore Keisuke,” You scold as you dab disinfectant onto a fresh cut on his cheekbone. “You’re in high school for god’s sake,” You’re trying to keep calm, to not let your worry and anger consume you, but you can’t. “Getting into meaningless fights and shit was okay when we were younger, but this is-” You pause in your dabbing to apply a bandaid to the now clean and disinfected cut. “This is ridiculous, Kei. Fighting an all adult group all because they looked at you funny? This shit has to stop. You promised Ma’ to fight less and focus on school more, didn’t you?”

Maybe it was the tone of your voice or maybe it was the way you eyed him that made Baji click his tongue in annoyance. He moved away from your hands that were only trying to patch up his injuries and turned his back to you. “If I wanted to get scolded like a child I would have gone home to my mom.” This comment makes your nose twitch in anger, especially as he pulls out his phone and focuses his attention to it, instead of looking you in the eye.

Really now? He wants to do this in your home? In the home that your father and you happily welcomed him with open arms no matter the time or reason? He wants to ignore you now when not even thirty minutes ago he was half unconscious, only half standing thanks to Mitsuya who found your boyfriend limping while on the way to the store. Baji probably would've been passed out in the middle of a street or in an alleyway if it wasn’t for Mitsuya who only sighed and knew exactly what to do with him. And that was to help Baji make his way to you so his mom wouldn’t cry at the sight of all the new bruises, cuts, and blood on her son. Of course you welcomed him with open arms, but even your good friend Mitsuya and boyfriend Baji couldn’t see slight indifference in your expression or the array of emotions hidden in your eye.

You thank whatever deity out there that your dad is at work right now and isn’t home to witness this ‘dispute’. You’re sure he would tell you to separate yourself for the moment to calm down, but no. You’re tired of this. Tired of seeing Baji come to you with new ‘battle scars’ and black and blue bruises littering his body. Today was the breaking point.

Opening the door to Mitsuya with a dozing Baji hanging on his side was not a pretty sight to see. It worried you. Baji was so out of it he didn’t even realize where he was. It took Mitsuya to shake him and say, “Bro, we’re at Y/N’s house,” when Baji asked where they were. You didn’t bother to ask what happened at the time as Mitsuya passed you Baji, asking if you needed help. You said no, saying he should go back to what he was doing and while a little hesitant to leave, he left after you reassured him with a smile.

“You’re warm…” Baji mumbled into your neck, some of the blood on his face smearing on your clothes and skin, “Could fall asleep right here…”

“I think the fuck not,” You huff, barely stopping your voice from cracking as you as you sit him on the livingroom couch, “I’m afraid you got hit on your head with how you’re acting and like hell that I’ll let you sleep on a possible concussion.” You only get a groan in reply as he sits back on the couch, head leaning back on the back of the cushion as he stared at the ceiling as you get up to grab your medical box.

You weren’t supposed to let him know how worried you were. Hell, you were supposed to try not to say anything snappy, but all it took was one slip of the tongue to bring you to your current argument.

“Seriously, I’m trying to go to school for criminal investigation not nursing y’know? I can’t be doing this forever.”

That one comment caused an awkward tension in the air, neither of you saying a word as you cleaned his bloodied and bruised knuckles. Not one word was said as he took off his shirt to let you inspect his upper body for any possible hidden injuries. Nothing was said as you went through what was basically a routine at this point after he got hurt. The silence was killing you and just as you were getting ready to start working on his face he said something that was like a slap to your face.

“You said you’d be my own little nurse didn’t you? That’s what you said when we were younger. You promised me.”

That comment caused your thread of patience to snap and you called him childish as you started to clean one cut on his face. Of course he replied to you about being scolded like a child. Of course now he wasn’t even letting you tend to the wounds on his face, childishly ignoring you as you seethed next to him, hands clenched into fists on your thighs. Yeah, you did promise him that, but it’s just like he said, when you were kids. Back when you had no real responsibilities besides school and what you were going to have for dinner. Back when you even got into fights with people who dared hurt the feelings of your friends. Back then your dad didn’t even get upset if you fought as long as it was for a good reason and he was actually secretly proud when you told him you won said fights. Now you two were teenagers, all grown up. You’re about to start your second year of high school and you already had dreams and aspirations. You were always a little more mature than others even at a young age because of what your mother put your father and you through so you knew what you wanted to do even before you started high school. It’s almost ironic how you wanted to join the law enforcement, especially with the group of friends you grew up with, but even they supported you in your dreams. Hell, they even promised you that they would behave more so you wouldn’t get in trouble because of them. Mikey too was doing a good job, keeping his violent tendencies confined to the dojo or official fight clubs where you all cheered everytime he won almost flawlessly. People grow up. People change, especially for their loved ones so why… Why couldn’t Baji see that this is not what you meant when you promised him that?

“Whatever…” Baji groans as he stands up, bones popping and cracking into place as he stretches. “I’ll let you be. Thanks anyway. I’ll see you tomor-” He spared you a glance, the expression on your face making him halt in his step. “Y/N…?” His voice laced with concern as he notices your trembling fists, the way you’re gnawing on your bottom lip.

But just as he reaches to cup your face in his hands, you stand abruptly, swatting at his hands as you take a step away from him.

“Y/N?” He raises an eyebrow in confusion, glad you can’t see the way his heart beats rapidly in his chest. You never moved away from him or his touch like that e v e r, not even when you were kids and he forced you to hold a cricket. It was safe to say he was worried now. What did he do wrong?

“Get out,” You say, turning your back to him now only to hide the way your bottom lip trembles.

“W-What?”

“Get out Keisuke. I don’t want to talk to you right now,” You take a deep breath to try to steady your voice, but the air you exhale is shaky and you can feel tears build up in the corners of your eyes.

“Baby, talk to me-” Baji walks closer to you, a hand grabbing your elbow in an attempt to make you face him, but you only shake him off taking another step away from him. “Tell me what I did wrong- Shit,” You’ve never talked to him like this and it’s scaring him. “I’m sorry- please, Y/N, look at me, okay? What did I-”

“I s-said get out!” You cry out. You tried. You really did try. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to yell at him either… but you were still only a teenager as well and you were hurt. You were so hurt. He couldn't even understand why you were so hurt and that made the first cry leave your throat as you covered your face with your hands in an attempt to shield yourself from judging eyes.

Baji was stunned. His feet were cemented to the floor as he watched your shoulders shake with cries, something he never witnessed before. He had never seen you cry like this. You didn’t even cry when you were eight and you broke your wrist during a training move gone wrong with Mikey’s grandfather. Sure, you had teary eyes and yes you were in pain, but you weren’t shaking with cries. The closest you got like this was when Kazutora and he attacked you with tickles until you told them where your secret stash of snacks were. No, these cries were different. Those times were not like this.

His heart was breaking at the sight, the sound of your stifled cries only giving him flashbacks to when he heard his mother crying in her room when she found out he failed and had to repeat a grade. Something he never wanted to see or even hear, from his mom or you.

“Y/N…” Since you refused to turn to look at him, he walks in front of you, his heart constricting with pain as he sees tears drip down your cheeks. Everytime you wipe at them, new streaks form and he wishes he could just kiss your cries away. “Baby p-please…” Slowly, he takes both of your hands in his to test the waters if you’ll pull away or not again. He’s relieved when you don’t, taking this as his chance to wrap his arms around you, holding the back of your head tenderly as he places a soft kiss to the side of your head. “I’m so sorry… I don’t know what I did, but I’m so sorry. Please tell me what I did. I don’t want to do it ever again,” Your cries have yet to stop, crying into his shoulder, “Y/N… Please. Please talk to me…”

Your hands come up to clutch at the front of his shirt, “Y-You’re so stupid…”

“Huh?”

“You’re so goddamn s-stupid…” You cry, hands gripping onto his shirt tighter you’re sure you’re about to tear it. He doesn’t say anything again, waiting for you to catch your breath as you sniffle, still keeping your face hidden from him. “Why is it… Why is it so hard to u-understand that it hurts me to see you so hurt, h-huh? What’s so hard to get Keisuke? Please tell me.”

“I don’t-”

“You don’t!” You cry, pulling away to finally look him in the eye and it only makes Baji feel more like an asshole.

Your pretty e/c eyes glistening with sad tears make him bite the inside of his cheek as he realizes even more how upset you truly are. Your furrowed brow as you glare at him, plush lips trembling with each word. Cheeks red with raw emotion as you refuse to look away now.

“I love you, you insufferable idiot! I love you so much it terrifies me that one day I won’t be able to help you and then what? Huh? What if one day you get caught up in shit neither the others or I can do anything to help? You don’t know h-how… How scared I am that one day I’ll get a call from the hospital or worse: your mom. How fucking scared I am that I’ll lose you all because you wanted to have some fun! There’s other ways to have fun or get rid of all the energy I know you have! Join a sports club, god, fucking join Mikey in the fight clubs if you have to but p-please…” You hiccup a sob as you rest your forehead on his chest, “Stop playing with your life like it’s a game… B-Because it’s not…. A-And I don’t want to lose you…” Your hands loosen your grip on his shirt as you cry, “I just got you Keisuke… I don’t want to lose you when we both just started truly living…”

You would think Baji was a statue with the way he hadn’t moved a muscle or said anything yet, but you know he heard every word of your rant. You can tell with the way his hands move from your hips, your back, and back to your hips. As you sniffle, cries finally ending, he gently cups your face with his right hand with eyes so soft you almost cave.

“Say it again.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What…?”

Baji has a small smirk on his face, his sharp canines just barely peeking behind his lips as he stares into your eyes with one of the most determined stares you have ever seen from him. “Say it again Y/N. Something about being an insufferable idiot?”

“What are you-” And then it hits you.

Neither of you had said I love you to each other before, both always so scared it was too soon or not the right time.

You for sure didn’t think this was the right time either but all the emotion you were holding in caused you to blurt it out and now Baji wouldn't stop looking at you like he just won the lottery. Your face breaks out in a blush as you attempt to look away but Baji’s hand keeps your chin in place, only chuckling as you pout.

“Remember now?”

“...”

Baji laughs softly, letting go of your face to lean his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment before gazing at you lovingly and adoringly. “Say it again for me… Please?”

You bite the corner of your lip as you look at him, him patiently waiting for you as you take a shaky deep breath, “I love you…” The smile on his lips only grows as he hears those sweet words again, this time even better without your sad cries. “I love you so much I want to smack your face for making me cry like this in front of you,” He only laughs, making your chest warm with emotion, “You insufferable idiot…” The grin on his face is nearly splitting his face. “My insufferable idiot…”

“That’s right,” Baji hums as he leans in and finally gives you such a sweet and soft kiss on your lips, “Your insufferable idiot,” He’s smiling as he peppers your face with soft kisses, almost as if he wishes to make any traces of tears disappear. You find yourself smiling more with each kiss, but your heart nearly jumps out of your chest when he whispers in your ear.

“I love you too Y/N…”

Your eyes are wide as you take in his words, “Y-You do…? You know you don’t have to say it back just because I-” You find yourself interrupted when he kisses you again, this time letting his lips linger on yours, playfully nipping at your bottom lip.

“I truly do love you Y/N. I think I always have, but finally being able to date you and call you mine made me realize how absolutely in love with you I am.”

“Keisuke…” You can feel your eyes tear up again, but this time from happiness and he can tell the difference in it.

“And I’m… I’m really sorry… for making you worry about me like this all the time…” Baji looks down, feeling guilty for the onslaught of words he forced out of you, but he knew he deserved it. He was stupid for not realizing how his ways were only causing your distress. He knew you weren’t a part of the life you all used to have when you were younger, yet he continued on like it was nothing, but you were right. He was older now and more mature. The least he can do for you is try and try he will.

“It’s okay…” You sigh, a small smile on your face, “I feel better now that it’s out there…” Your arms slowly wrap around his neck as his wrap around your waist, “I know… I know it’s hard to change things, but I just… I just know you can do it. You’re good at so many things and I know you can exert that energy into other things that you know… Won’t have you end up on my front door passed out or worse. Y’know?” You lean in and giggle as he brushes his nose against yours, “I’m not telling you to stop fighting, because I know that will always be part of you somehow, but find a safer way. I would hate to see you at a crime scene in the future that I have to investigate you idiot.”

This comment makes him laugh, “Mhm, that would be weird wouldn’t it?” You roll your eyes but this only makes Baji kiss you again. “I promise I’ll try. For you. For my mom. For my future. You believing in me is enough for me.”

“It’s not just me Baji. We all believe in you. Hell, I believe we all will do something with our lives, whether it's now or later, it doesn’t matter. We’re so badass and determined that I know we’ll make it!” That’s one thing he always liked about you. Your confidence in not only yourself but in others as well. Where there’s a will, there's a will, you would say. And damn if that confidence on you wasn’t attractive as fuck.

“Just shut up and kiss me again,” He grumbles, taking the initiative in his hands as he kisses you, passionate and loving, especially when he can feel you trying to suppress your smile. He keeps it short, but only because he wants to see that pretty blush on your face again. “I love you so much Y/N. So so much that now you won’t be able to stop me from saying it to annoy you~”

“Oh god,” You playfully groan as you push his face away, cheeks a rosy pink as he laughs into your neck. “You’re already annoying as is…” You tease, unable to stop the smile on your face. “I love you Keisuke… Always will.”

I still can't believe

That you came up to me

And said, "I love you" ── I love you too!

· · ────── · ·

“Always will Keisuke…” You cry as you look at your lock screen picture, a picture of Baji and you on his parked bike. Baji is kissing your cheek as you wink at the camera, flipping poor Tora off who was taking the picture of you two.

One of the many moments you spent with your partner in crime, your childhood best friend─ your one and only love.

You always imagined the rest of your life with him and so did everyone else. Everyone else including your dad who was ready to walk you down the aisle and to the altar if either of you wanted a ceremony like that anyway. You were ready to adopt so many animals together happily, taking in as many as you could handle… but reality was different. It wasn’t cruel; just realistic and that was okay. You were kidding yourself thinking that Baji would stay with you, especially through college, a time where most didn’t want to be locked into anything besides school. You were kidding yourself thinking Baji loved you as much as you did him.

“You’re too controlling. You never loved me for me. You wanted to change me. The fuck is up with that? That’s not love,” Those words painfully stabbed you in the heart like a knife. "How could I love someone like that?”

Your vision goes blurry as you stare at the black screen of your phone, “I’m sorry Keisuke… I’m s-so sorry…” You sob into your pillow as you curl up into yourself, wishing this night was a dream. You cry and cry until you fall asleep, hoping your dreams are a little nicer to you.

I'll be dreaming of you tonight

And I'll be holding you tight

Dreaming with you tonight

© all works belong to sugusshi | DO NOT COPY AND REPOST

#the queen writes | ♕ #series: my insufferable idiot #baji keisuke x reader #baji keisuke x y/n #Baji Keisuke #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #baji x reader #tokyo revengers imagine #f!reader #hanaya network #tokyo revengers smau

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

#A LITTLE EARLIER THAN NORMAL BUT I HAVE TO GET READY FOR NYE AHH #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha fanfic recs #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha fluff #todoroki imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #todoroki x y/n #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #bnha todoroki #todoroki shoto

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 2

Modern royalty au

(Image from Pinterest)

Cowritten with @lizzygal

I'm so sorry! I made a mistake while posting this yesterday so I'm reposting it now. Hope y'all enjoy💖

Note - Since y'all liked it so much we've decided to post this fic on both ao3 and my tumblr! There will be no taglists for this however💖 You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, Mentions of previous domestic abuse.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 8k

To be fair, Steven could understand why his mother was so upset after watching the entire footage from the royal steam rooms. He had a far better understanding after having seen the footage in question. The one that had led to his mother’s reaction that very morning.

Seated beside Carol on the ride back, he slipped in his wireless earbuds and pulled up the first video he found online on his phone.

A separate car had been sent for you for whenever your meeting completed. However, he had a whole series of his own back at the palace before his day could be considered over in the administrative offices. Days were never really over for him. Should anything happen somewhere in his nation, he would be informed. As was expected for a ruler.

Until then, he had fifteen or so minutes to kill till he arrived back at the royal palace, depending on city traffic.

Which was how he found himself watching what was obviously some sort of hidden camera. As the royal banya did not have CCTV cameras. Steve found himself making a mental note to himself to ask Carol about it.

After he watched the video.

He had the feeling that this would not be going away anytime soon. Therefore, he needed to know what was on there if he was going to have to defend his actions, or even speak about it.

It was somewhat surreal watching himself walk into view wearing nothing. Not even a towel. Talking with someone who was obviously you.

Based on where the camera was located, Steve could tell it was somewhere in the hallway that led from the steam rooms into either the showers or locker room. Thank all the saints above your back was to the camera. Half of it anyway. You were standing at a turn in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Half of you hidden. A towel wrapped around your body.

Thanking those saints above still that there was no sound, Steve watched on as a voice narrated the video, some celebrity blogger dissecting the footage as if it were a pivotal moment in some sporting event.

Steve watched himself turn to face you, facing the camera too and exposing his entire self to the world.

Not that he was ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed about. Steve was built tall and powerful like his father and mother’s father. He kept himself in shape and as for the manhood that hung heavy between his thighs, he refused to be embarrassed by that either. The blogger however did have several opinions about what she referred to as, the royal sword.

She also seemed to be very opinionated when Steve watched himself kneel down in front of you. He’d never watched himself go down on you before and found himself transfixed, easily able to ignore the blogger’s excited rambling.

For once, Steve watched your hands sink into his hair as he sank between your legs. He watched your pleasure grow and grow, he watched you sag back into the wall and reach up, grabbing at it like a cat stretching out in the hot sun.

Seeing it happen like this? Steve felt like a voyeur. He felt like he was doing something wrong. And then, he watched you climax on his face. He watched your hands tighten up against the corner of the walls meeting. He watched himself stand and no longer noticed the commentary as he sheathed himself between your legs and proceeded to pound you into the wall without mercy.

His attention caught on one little inconsequential thing. Watching one of your legs that wound over his thigh bounce wildly each time.

Quickly he exited out of the video and blog. Unwilling to watch more. Pulling a bud from his ear, he glanced over at Carol who was watching the city fly by her window.

“Have you inquired as to if the palace guard has looked into how the video was taken in the royal banya?”

Blonde hair dusted her shoulders as she looked at her king. Carol answered without a second of hesitation. “Already done Your Majesty. The camera was found this morning. A webcam of some type. It’s been sent away for fingerprints and I have the best IT professional I know looking into it, to determine if we can track down who it belongs to. The royal guard has also launched an investigation into all palace employees.”

“Thank you,” he answered her with complete sincerity.

Captain Danvers had been at his side since he assumed the throne and had proven herself hundreds of times over. She was his confidant. She was his bodyguard. She was his closest thing to a friend, if Steve could say he had such a thing. He could tell Carol anything. He had told Carol about you. Carol had told him about her sick mother and in return, Steve have given her a cottage on palace grounds while providing a nurse. So that Carol would be able to spend as much time as possible with her mother in her final days. Carol still lived on the palace grounds in that cottage down by the gardens.

“I’ll let you know when I know something,” she assured him.

***

Your return to the palace felt like it took forever. Mostly because your panties were very obviously damp from leakage and you were greatly concerned about a wet stain. The modern equivalent of a scarlet letter. Letting everyone know what you’d done.

Twice you’d checked in a bathroom along with every mirrored surface you came across.

Alas, it seemed you were in luck.

No one would know that you’d had inappropriate contact on a workday, or think you’d had an accident. Granted if someone would have noticed you planned on blaming your monthlies.

By the grace of the many women who came before you, you managed to get back to the palace without being caught and were about to go change your panties when a familiar face popped into your office.

“Hey! You’re coming! I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Wanda.

Bright red hair and a brighter red dress that was far from office appropriate appeared in your office, leaping in like an acrobat leaping onto a stage. Making you look up from where you stood behind your desk, digging through your handbag.

A bunch of different thoughts buzzed through your head.

What was Wanda talking about? Where did she want you to go? Did Wanda wear that mini-dress to work? Cause it was about five inches too short and did downright sinful things to the girls. Wanda could always pull off anything. She looked amazing in clubwear, sweats and those tea-party dresses that Jackie O was always wearing.

“Coming?” Fell from your lips in a valiant attempt to stall till you could make sense of what was happening. “What are you not taking no for an answer for this time?”

In your roommate swept like a hurricane.

“It’s practically six!” She declared, as if that was supposed to mean something to you. It had you staring at her and waiting for more information. Hands paused in their hunt for clean panties and a pantyliner in your bag’o’stuff. “No more talk of this fake boyfriend. You and me are going to go have dinner. We’re going to hit the bars to pre-game and then to the clubs! Everyone is going so you are too!”

Such news had you freezing in your patent leather pumps.

Pre-gaming? Dinner? Clubs? Everyone?

How?

It was only Thursday and then you remembered.

It was a long weekend. The winning of some great victory over the Germans from the big war that you only kinda remembered hearing about. Mostly because you’d been busy with the border issue and the education overhaul. You’d known that it was coming up and the entire four-day weekend would be spent celebrating.

Wanda saw your face. She saw what you were thinking. She was practically a mind reader. Which led her to pointing at you scoldingly. “No! No no no! No checking emails or messages. No more work. No! We’re going out tonight and we are going to have fun! You remember what fun is? Right?”

But…you really did have emails and messages to check. You actually did have a ton of work to do. Granted you always had emails and messages to check, plus work piling up. It was the nature of your job. Helping in the running of a country was a 24/7 gig.

“Wanda…”

“Nope!” She declared, marching on into your office and behind your desk to chase you out. Shooing you. Literally making you hop away and grab your handbag because you just knew Wanda wasn’t letting you back near your desk. That much was for sure.

Like a sheepdog, she herded you around your messy desk as you attempted to protest, to get her to listen, to inform her that you really really did have a good bit of work to do.

“Wait…hold on…wait, Wanda…just one second…gah!”

“No more protests! I’m not going to hear it anymore! I refuse to let you hide behind work or the fake boyfriend.”

More protests came from you. You tried. You really really did. But Wanda was shoving and pushing and hip bumping you out into a hallway that did not look like an office building, instead, it was very obviously a palace.

Your heels clicked on polished white marble that shone. Walls were cream and had priceless art hung around, gold gilded borders ran up along where the ceiling met the walls. Light fixtures were old, bronze and cut glass. Furniture that belonged in Sotheby’s was sparsely decorated around the halls.

Door were old and creaky up and down the halls, wooden with locks that required big iron keys.

It was unlike any other place you’d ever worked.

You could feel and see and even smell the smokey history oozing from the walls.

A few people were hurrying out of their offices and locking the doors behind them, which Wanda didn’t even let you do as she went on indignantly. “No! Nope! Clint from Tinder will not wait forever! He digs foreigners and he has a job and he loves to dance!”

At mention of Tinder, your gut lurched.

Dear god not this again.

Why had you ever agreed to let Wanda make you a Tinder profile? At the time it seemed so reasonable. Let her make the profile and she’d get off your ass about your alleged imaginary boyfriend. Problem solved! How on earth were you to know she’d be on the damn app making matches for you?

“Why don’t you go out with Clint from Tinder,” you wanted to know, earning yourself a roll of Wanda’s eyes as you were dragged down along the hallway to the massive marble stairs. Looking as if they’d been carved from one piece, smoothly curling down a floor to the ground floor. Large chandeliers hung with cut glass that threw light everywhere. A massive painting hung up on the large wall of a long dead large royal family in the palace of past.

“He’s not my type. But he is absolutely your type.”

Somehow you doubted that.

Sighing deeply and focusing on not snapping your ankle on the stairs and in your heels, you followed Wanda down, mixing in with the few stragglers who were leaving work and making mental notes to text Steve and let him know you’d be late coming back to the palace that night. You were then planning when you could check your work emails and work-phone messages. That had to be done in a quiet place where no one could overhear. Maybe you could go out to the club and feign a tummy ache? Then sneak away from Clint? It’d probably be much easily to sneak away from Clint than Wanda.

Click. Click. Click.

With every step you maneuvered down your heels were noisy. You’d managed to fling your sizable bag over your shoulder and just knew Steve was going to be annoyed with you. But he was an adult. Being adults meant the two of you would have to do things that you didn’t want.

“So help me, if it kills the both of us, you and I will be going out tonight and having a fun time! This is a celebratory weekend! There are festivities going on all over the city!” Wanda went on, yanking you along behind her upon reaching the bottom step and heading in the general direction of the ground floor exits.

Hurrying along behind her, you followed but you weren’t happy about it.

God did you have so much work to do and you really really wanted to spend the night with Steve. And maybe if you gave in to Wanda, she’d get off your ass about your fake boyfriend? Wait, no, your secret boyfriend, because Steve was very real, you just didn’t want to be eviscerated all over the internet and tabloids for dating a king.

You’d seen what happened when a pretty actress had dated then married a prince who didn’t rule his country. The only thing you had going for you was Steve’s country was still looked at with some serious side-eye from the world, due to past events and rulers. Plus, he wasn’t a young prince that had grown up before the eyes of the world. He was a son of a tyrant, a citizen of a sizable nation the world still viewed suspiciously with a questionable human rights record.

“You’re going to love the club! It’s totally new and they open at ten. Meaning we can have plenty of time with the girls!”

Girls?

As in plural?

Because of course this would be a group event. Wanda never half-assed anything.

“Wanda…” you began.

Before Wanda could turn her attention on you, loud shrill lady screams came and you were greeted to the sight of Maria, Okoye and Pepper. All three threw up their arms and grabbed Wanda in a big hug, yanking her away from you and freeing you from her grip.

Loud girl screeches followed.

There was group hopping and hugs and laughter.

It should have made you realize that it’d been so long since you had a fun girls night. It should have reminded you that you were young and your life shouldn’t be all about work and sneaking off with your boyfriend whenever the two of you were able to.

Your heart should have been warmed by the sight of your palace coworkers who were clearly part of the aforementioned Girls.

How long had it been since you had fun?

How long had it been since you’d had a night out on the town?

What were you doing?

Were you jumping and screeching and hugging too?

No.

You were digging into your handbag so you could text Steve real quick. To let him know about your change in plans before he began to think you’d bailed because you were a coward and got cold feet.

Just as your fingers touched the smooth surface of your iPhone…

A noise caught your attention.

Movement.

Peering up to the side at the wall, or what you’d assumed was a hallway wall since you were in another hallway nearly identical to the one upstairs. All while the hugfest continued. You noticed that the wall was at a weird angle. As if it were opening up on a hinge and by the time you realized that the wall was actually an opening to a hidden passageway, a hand grabbed your elbow and yanked you in.

No more than a soft squeak came from you.

In you tumbled.

Into a dimly lit hallway that was actually a passageway you found yourself. With a metal sounding click the wall slid back into place and a big hand fell over your mouth. Making you immediately panic, immediately reach up to grab the hand that was silencing you. Making an arm band around your chest and pull you flush back against a broad muscular body.

“Did you honestly think for one moment that I would allow you to go get drunk with Wanda? Or go to a club with a man that she met for you on Tinder?”

Steve.

It was Steve.

His faint aftershave still burnt your nose but paired with the masculine scent that was him, you relaxed only a little bit, just a smidge.

How the hell did he know all of that? Had he bugged your office? Was he following you?

Deep in your chest your heart pounded wildly. Your skin was on fire. Even though it was dimly lit, you swore you could see each nail and groove in the wooden walls of the hidden passage.

Steve’s shoes were soft on the carpeted floor. Yours however never reached. Your legs dangled. Desperately you stretched out to try and reach your toes down, but alas, Steve was holding you up and was simply that much taller than you. Easily holding you up as he carried you.

His voice an angry snarl, a seething whisp against your ear. “That is so disappointing my love. A failure on both our parts,” came his angry voice. Walking with sure footing and a quick pace through the only barely lit halls.

Turning here and there, quickly and suddenly, until you were very much lost.

A protest came from behind his palm that was crushed against your mouth. Your blood heating with every passing second till it felt as if it were boiling. All that sudden fear was turning into anger at this treatment.

“I’ve clearly failed you if you’re unable to announce with nothing but the utmost certainty that you’re both in a relationship and have no desire to go out clubbing with whomever Clint from Tinder is.” The word clubbing was spat out, as if Steve found it vile on his tongue. “As for you? Yesterday we were discussing where to go for your birthday and today, you refused to answer one of my calls! You have work to do tonight to make up to me your behavior today!”

Further down the hidden passageway you were unceremoniously carried pulled to his front. Your brain racing at warp speed.

You had work to do? You had to make up for your behavior?

Had he lost his damn mind?

Had he not seen the video of his naked nether-regions all over the internet? Or the sex that made the footage a sex tape? The two of you were now amateur porn stars and he was mad that you? Because you were trying to be lowkey until the entire situation blew over? Steve was mad because you were being reasonable?

A most valiant attempt was made to free yourself.

You struggled. You kicked. You flailed and shrilled behind the hand over your mouth. No longer taken by surprise or frightened. Now you were growing angry.

On top of being terrified of being found out in that footage and ridiculed by the world, or worse, chased out of this country by a horde of angry people who didn’t agree with you being the kings choice as not only a foreigner, but one from pretty humble roots. You were upset that the world saw such an intimate moment between the two of you and even if Steve didn’t care that his junk was all over the internet, you cared. You cared a great deal. The royal junk was your junk. It was bad enough you had to know he’d dated women before you who’d seen him nude and were intimate with him, but now the world? It was simply too much for you to comprehend.

Steve slowed and turned, using his elbow he made something pop and a slight crack of light where there was obviously another hidden door in the wall appeared.

Using his broad shoulder, Steve pushed the door open and stepped out into a hallway that led down to the royal chambers and split off.

With his knee, he shoved the hidden panel shut and tightening his grip on you, Steve hurried down that hallway.

A completely different one from where the administrative offices were located.

Rich wooden paneling covered the walls. Making everything appear warmer, lusher. An amber haze hung in the air.

Thick carpet was underfoot. Furniture spoke to its age but had been made with a quality that endured. Like this palace. Built when his land was called something else but had stood through time in proof of his claim to the throne.

Generations before him had ruled, claimed spouses and lovers in these halls, grown old and made history and now it was his turn.

Merely that knowledge had him growing excited in his slacks for a second time that day. All of your thrashing and struggling didn’t help. If anything, it sparked a part of his brain that insisted he ravish and conquer you in his royal bed.

Mouth pressed to your ear, till he felt amber and diamonds press against his lips. “I swear, I will spend the rest of tonight inside of you until things are as they were yesterday. Until you remember that when I speak to you in any manner, you answer. Considering how thoroughly you’ve consumed every last part of me, it is only fair.”

And then, in his slowed pace down the hall ever closer to the door that would lead into Steve’s Royal Apartment, he saw a portrait up on the wall that made him pause.

It was him.

Or his portrait from when he’d turned thirty.

There he stood looking down at you both. Dressed ceremonially in his crown, holding the traditional ruling scepter and wearing the robes from kings of past. Fur, jeweled toned fabric that he’d easily filled out with gold adornments, amber buttons and pipping on his shoulders.

What was most striking about this portrait compared to all the others of Steven throughout the palace, was he was alone in it and unlike all the others, at the time, he’d not been single.

Further making that internal fire burn hotter.

Making him stop and force you to look up at it with him. Framed in a gilded bronze heirloom. Up where he had to look at it to be reminded of what could have been.

“Look! Look!”

You stopped struggling and looked, were well aware of his mouth against your hair.

“See? See it? You could have been there with me. At my side. Wearing my crown. Wearing the robes and jewels of my grandmothers. My queen.”

And indeed you saw.

When you’d seen the finished portrait, you had been blown away at how your body reacted to the sight of your lover in his traditional uniform he only pulled out for big special events. How powerful he looked. How sexy he was wearing a crown, holding a golden scepter with an eagle on the end clutching a piece of amber the size of an egg.

The arm around your chest fell so he could point at the empty space in the picture beside him. “Look. Right there. That is where you would have been. Right there. At my side.”

His hand over your mouth still held you flush against him. Pulled tight against him.

That thought, that entire notion of you painted on a portrait, up there with Steve at his side. It was so surreal to you.

When it was just you and Steve it was fire and gold and everything was amazing. When it was King Steve and his Chief of Staff it was stimulating and exciting. You still weren’t sure about being queen. A queen! That wasn’t like being a princess or a duchess. A queen was different. Even the word felt different.

It made your heart start to pound wildly in your chest again. It made you breathe hard against the back of his hand. It made you have a physiological reaction.

***

This was not how Carol intended to spend her night.

It was not how she wished to start her off-time. Having given Val the update on all things that had transpired for the day as she handed off command of the Royal Guard to her fellow captain.

No sooner had she told Val everything, did one of the messengers from communications come hurrying in. A slip of paper in her hand. A note that changed everything for that night, that week and even that month.

It had left Carol walking through the royal apartments towards the Queen Mother’s rooms.

As she knew exactly what King Steven was doing and quite frankly, she wanted no part in disturbing that unless she absolutely had to.

Besides. The message that had been sent to the palace via royal envoy was meant for Her Majesty. It was best Her Majesty the Queen Mother figured out how best to deal with this coming…situation.

Compared to His Majesty’s Private Rooms, Sarah’s were all light and brightness. White marble and ornate touches. Colorful priceless paintings and large bouquets of fresh flowers in crystal vases. Soft plush furniture held little personal touches. A white chenille throw draped over her couch by a fireplace. Pink slippers sat on the floor. Books both new and ancient with various markers holding her place were scattered about. Fresh flowers. She loved fresh flowers. They were everywhere.

As expected, the door to the Queen Mother’s apartments were open.

Carol still paused outside of it to knock gently.

“Your Majesty?” She called out, looking at her watch to see that it was nearing seven. Around seven was when the queen took her dinner meal privately. Of course she’d leave the door open for kitchen staff to bring up food as usual. It wasn’t one of the nights that was reserved for Steve and his mother to have their dinners together.

After the death of her husband the former king, Sarah had effectively thrown open all the doors that he had imprisoned her with.

Her soft voice drifted out.

Delicate and gentle.

The Queen Mother sat in a large chair by a big window overlooking the city. Her pale hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. A string of pearls tightened and loosened around her fingers as she lowered the book she’d been reading. A pleasant smile came over her soft features.

Upon seeing the stone of Carol’s face, the queen frowned. “What is it? What is wrong?”

Only confirming that something was wrong, Carol shut the door and locked it.

Dinner had been brought up. Smells emanated from the queens private dining room off to the left. It reminded Carol that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. It had been that kind of a day.

Clasping her hands before her, she rocked back on her heels. “A message was sent by Her Highness Janet Van Dyne. She and her daughter will be at the palace tomorrow…”

Janet and Hope Van Dyne?

Steven’s former fiancée and her mother?

Two golden eyebrows rose, making Carol press on. “Her Highness is under the impression that they’ll be staying here? In the palace?”

All of this was new to Sarah.

She had not heard from Janet since Steve’s coronation. When she and her husband had been in attendance. Earlier that particular year, Hope had broken her engagement with Steven to run away with a Maharaja.

It’d been all over the tabloids.

A young princess of the Netherlands had broken her engagement to the crown prince of an incredibly traditional nation to follow her heart. Hope had spent many years splashed across tabloids and blogs with a handsome charismatic Asian Prince. She’d lost her royal title and gave tell-all interviews about how her family had forbade her from running away and how she’d never marry a man from infamous Rogers Royal Line. And then, oddly, she was back home with her family this year.

Sarah had found it unusual. Alas, she was a busy woman with a life of her own to keep her busy.

“Was anything else in the message,” Sarah wanted to know.

Carol shook her head.

It had been a simple message that was very to the point.

Sighing in a most un-Sarah-like sort of way. She set her book down on the arm of her chair and rose. Tall. Willowy. Pursing her lips. Her dress fell around her in a gauzy cloud.

“Do you want me to tell His Majesty?”

Pausing, the older women considered the question. Dare she tell her son? He deserved to know. Nothing good would come from this visit.

If it were Janet alone? Sarah would not be so suspicious. But Janet and Hope? And that they would come so last minute? After the release of this video footage from the royal sauna?

“Is my son with her?”

Silence.

Carol was quiet.

A noise came from the Queen Mother. A clicking of her tongue. Stepping into her slippers, she pulled the hem of her dress up. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you would keep this from me.”

More quiet came.

“I won’t ask. I’ll find out my own way and leave him be for now. Janet and Hope won’t be here tonight. This can be a problem for tomorrow, today has been difficult enough for us all. Let tomorrow be tomorrow.”

Let tomorrow be tomorrow.

On her other hand was her wedding band. A treasure itself. Now on the widow’s finger. It was so symbolic of the cage she’d lived in for the duration of her marriage.

Absentmindedly, she twisted the rings. “Have you eaten yet?” Pulling them up and down her hand. “I had hoped you would come. I had the kitchen bring up extra.” Off slipped the rings that she had to wear in public. In her hand they jingled until she set them down on a smoothly polished table.

With two heavy clicks, they bounced on the wood by a vase full of peonies. Freeing her for the time being.

“I missed you while you were away.”

A blush bloomed over her porcelain complexion at Carol’s words.

As she watched Carol lock the door to her chambers, a warmth bloomed within her chest. Such words were so simple. So honest. They were words she had not heard before in her life. In this new chapter however, in this new time in her life, she had become accustomed to kind words and compassion.

“I missed you as well.” She confessed, stepping closer and still keeping space between them. As some habits died hard. “Stay with me? Tonight?”

“There is nothing I want more, Sarah.”

***

As it turned out, now you were ready to talk.

However.

Unfortunately.

Steve was now past that point and was on a whole other page.

You found yourself protesting when he carried you into his bedroom like some manner of caveman would carry a slab of meat. Shrilling out when he yanked and ripped and tore at your dress, forcing it over your head after ripping fabric and popping buttons, till it was an unsalvageable heap of material and threads.

Which was an absolute tragedy.

You loved that dress.

You even pointed out that fact to him somewhere between the threshold of his bedroom and his massive bed that really was fit for a king.

It was so big!

A headboard wider than Wanda’s itty-bitty car was long. An elaborate collection of regal flourishes and shapes. Dark sheets so soft they were slippery awaited you as you screeched and hollered, letting out an outraged sound when your bra was popped then yanked roughly from you.

“Steven!” You admonished your king, toes digging deep into the thick carpet as you’d lost your shoes back in the hallway leading to his quarters.

This whole evening was going off the rails for you. There was no other way to put it.

Dim sconces on the wall lit the way. Highly effective mood lighting if you ever saw it. Allowing you to see the set in Steve’s face, the firm line of his mouth.

His fingers wrapped around the back of your neck so he could hold you close, ground out for your benefit. “All day long I tried. Calls. Messages. Texts. Did you want to talk? No. You ignored me. Now I do not wish to talk either.”

Pushing you forward, you found yourself stumbling but knew if you didn’t walk on your own, Steve would merely toss you up on his bed. Up on the sea of pillows. Framed by gilded silver and dark curtains that came down from above to allow for privacy.

“All day long you denied me. I’ll remind you what is mine until you’re thinking clearly again. Until we’re back where we were yesterday!”

“I’m ready to talk now! I’m in a place where I can discuss this with you! I am thinking clearly!”

Words were not needed.

Oh no.

Not when the king grabbed your hand, pulled your arm back and pressed your palm against his straining erection. Hot to the touch. Shockingly hard. Painfully so even you were willing to bet.

Your knees hit the bed and you were pushed forward till you fell over, till you wound up on the expanse of bedding in a tangle of hands and knees and that silky smooth material.

A big explosion came from Steve. Feeling like and you were flailing on your stomach, trapped beneath his oppressive weight and the bed. Fighting. Wiggling. Trying to get free from beneath him but bigger stronger arms had your wrists.

Something was being wrapped around your wrists that you couldn’t see, as your vision was impeded by the broad chest in your face. Right there. Blocking your line of sight. Pinning you down to the sea of grey until finally, finally, he was up and you were once more struggling, wiggling, jerking and finding that you were tied to the headboard.

You were tied to the headboard. You were naked and bound to his bed.

Silky fabric that was Steve’s tie bound your wrists snugly together and wove into the headboard, securing you there most soundly.

It was outrageous! It was absurd!

You were tied to his headboard!

It was a first for you.

When your gaze returned to your boyfriend and even that was now a bit questionable, you were greeted to the sight of Steve shedding his suit. Yanking off each garment without pause or care. A few tears were heard and he was far rougher than need be. A button or two may have flown off.

“You cannot be serious! That’s your plan? You’re going to take what’s yours? Are you serious? This is not the dark ages!”

Ignoring you, Steve shoved his slacks down his long legs. Allowing his rigid cock to bob obscenely. Causing an eyeroll to immediately come from you. A hint of something dark on his hip caught your eye. But it was only a flash and as he was moving, yanking off his suit jacket and fiercely ripping open buttons on his shirt, you couldn’t get a good look.

Was it a bruise? A tattoo?

Somehow you doubted kings were even allowed to have tattoos. Or that Steve even had the time to get himself permanently inked. When the hell did he get that bruise?

Momentarily distracted by him climbing up on the bed, you looked up to give your bindings a good hard yank.

No luck.

Steve’s weight was pushing you down. Shoving you into the bed. Pinning you down as you protested, implored and began to plea. Which was exactly what he wanted. After everything you had put him through today? You would beg. You would plead. You would forget all about that video.

“Open your mouth.”

It was an order.

It could be nothing less.

An absolute command that had your lips slowly parting as your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden treatment, this roughness. Steve held his painful erection in hand and pushed his tip to your lips. Pushed the red end of his cock sticky with precum past your lips. Till you were forced to open your mouth wider and wider for him. To take him deeper and deeper into your mouth.

Steve held your gaze and pushed his member in further. Straddling your chest and gripping his headboard in one hand, till it dug into his fingers. While his other hand grabbed your face to hold it tight.

You’d never be able to take all of him. He knew this. You’d never been able to no matter how much you’d tried. But he wanted to see how much he could fit in your mouth tonight.

“Don’t swallow. Don’t let me down again.”

Your mouth was so warm closing around him. Wet. Sacred. It made him want to close his eyes to sink in deep but Steve would not. He would do that soon enough. He would lose himself in your cunt soon enough.

A few small movements from his hips sank his cock deeper into your mouth. Filling your cheeks as you struggled. Until you found a motion of moving up and down his length, running your tongue along his sides. Wetting up his shaft till sloppy noises started to fill his ears and a small little dribble began to moisten the corners of your mouth.

Those blue eyes remained set on your own. Never once showing you mercy.

“Tomorrow. In the future. If I call or text, you will answer.”

There was no follow-up. Nor was it a question.

Long fingers that belonged on an artist or musician sank into your hair tightly.

All you could do was nod as drool rolled down your chin and you suckled his cock like you would a popsicle, without swallowing, sucking on his sensitive flesh as he liked and without the aid of your own hands to steady his member.

It was glorious and Steve could only slightly appreciate it. As the words that fell from his mouth were more important, more vital.

Feeling how wet your mouth was getting was fantastic. Absolutely. Your nimble tongue was a gift. No one had ever sucked his cock like you.

However…he was still frustrated, still angry, still hurt even.

He’d not worked his way through those feelings as of yet.

Perhaps? In your body?

Those feelings teased and taunted him with his unworthiness. Of how you hadn’t been firmer with your roommate. How you had allowed her to drag you down the stairs for a night out with possibly another man? It infuriated him. It sent his hips rocking into your mouth. It had his cock rubbing up along the back of your throat and made your eyes water.

No.

Steve would not lose you. He loved you too much to even entertain such a notion. No. Infact, he would make sure that he ruined you. By the end of the night, he would make certain that you’d never even amused the notion of being set up. He would be completely sure that when you left his chambers come morning, you would never be doubted when you told Wanda or anyone that you had a partner.

“I want to start publicly courting you. I want to be engaged this year. I do not want to hide any longer. When people look at you, I want them to know that you belong to me.”

Noises came around his cock that Steve knew were words and he did not care.

“Look at yourself.” Steve stilled, his words harsh, bitter even. “You have my cock in your mouth and I am completely at your mercy. Tied to the bed of kings because I cannot go one night without dreaming of you, fantasizing about your tight cunt and smooth skin. I would give you the world and all you want is nothing. You are the worst type of infuriating.”

As if to prove his point, he steadily pumped his pelvis up into your mouth. Each slide in pushed saliva and pre-ejaculate out, making it ooze from the seal of your lips around his erection. Against your throat his wet balls bounced. His ass rested on your chest and he could not get enough. More. He wanted more. He needed more. Craved more.

The urge to go harder was strong.

Steve wanted so badly to fuck you. To make you feel how much you drove him mad. How you caused him physical pain from longing alone.

With drool smeared down your chin and neck, never looking more beautiful in his opinion, Steve pulled his dick out. Done with your mouth for now. Needing more. Needing to grab your tits and to be closer to your face, looking closer into your eyes.

In a familiar sort of way, your throat bobbed.

“Did you just swallow when I specifically told you not to?”

A moment of hesitation followed from you that had Steve gripping your face, easing his body down yours but holding your slippery chin tight in his grip. Your eyes were wide. Again, probably without even realizing, you swallowed in nervousness.

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry what,” he demanded, leaning down closer, licking the wetness from your chin and earning from you a most satisfying shiver that wracked your body.

“S-s-sorry, Your Majesty.”

His tongue was hot and wet on your chin. His body was heavy and hot on your own. Skin on skin contact made your brain short circuit. It was a miracle you could string those syllables together. With your hands bound so snugly to the bed. All you could do was take it. Take what he gave you.

Feeling him push your thighs open and position himself between your hips made you gasp. Words failed you.

And then words didn’t even matter because he was pushing into you. Claiming you. Taking what was his because you did belong to him. You belonged to him in every possible way.

A scream exploded out of you when he dove right in. Sank in till his crown was pressed up against the wall of your cervix. Deeper than anyone had ever been before. Hands were grabbing your ankles and spreading you wide. Spearing you on his cock. Stretching your body taut.

“So wet. You were made to take me. Made to take your king.” He whispered more to himself even though you heard. You would have heard a pin drop. You could hear your heart pound and blood rush through your ears, each gasp your lungs took. You could feel every last inch of him deep inside your core. Painfully stretching you open like this. Burning. Tingling. Twisting.

Hands tightened on your ankles till you looked up at Steve. Hovering over you like a pillaging warlord about to ravish his prize.

“You have till Monday to decide how you wish us to become public. I will not wait a day longer.”

Seeing you like this before him. Splayed out. Your pussy curled around his member, plump from being filled with your breasts round puddles up on your chest. It set his hips into a frenzy. Powerful thrusts were sent into your tight walls that made Steve grunt every time from the power behind his motions, from the sight of his cock vanishing up into you. Watching your pussy take him so hungrily as you cried out beneath him each time. Breasts swaying. Skin slapping on skin with the contact. Your hips jiggled, his headboard creaked, his balls slapped soundly against you both.

“Say it. Say the words to me. Say them!” Steve commanded you. Pieces of his hair falling and sticking to his sweaty forehead as he sank in to the very depths of you then pulled out, revealing a glistening shaft before slamming his member right back in where it belonged.

“Yes…yes…yes…yes…” you chanted, over and over, again and again with every thrust in, every withdraw that was like heaven and hell, your body needing him to complete this circuit only the two of you could create. “…yes…yes…my king…yes my king…”

Those words. They were a song to his ears and had your ankles slapped together. Those words had the backs of your thighs slapped wetly against his chest, your feet touching his shoulder as Steve continued to pound into you.

Pumping into your now closed thighs, into your tighter walls at this angle.

“Look!”

Dimly your eyes fluttered, you looked into his burning blue eyes.

“Look. Here.”

You followed his gaze to where he pointed, looking down at his pelvis, where his hip met his abdomen in that hard cut of muscle that was visible above his beltline. The one you loved to lick.

He did have a tattoo.

It took you a second to realize what you were looking at and focus, as his thrusts continued without mercy, pounding away, slamming into you without mercy. Shaking and pushing you into his bed.

Your writing was inked into his skin. Your very own signature.

Your name was forever scrawled into Steve’s skin and then, it hit you. Your climax took you by complete surprise. Your entire body went stiff. A pained noise came from you and you shattered all around his cock. Fingernails dug into your palm and you stared at your name in cruel ecstasy.

Steve fell too. You could tell from his thrusts getting wild, falling out of sync. You could tell because he swore out, clenched his face and held your thighs tight to his chest.

Pumping deeply into you while your body milked him for everything he had to give.

Making him merely a man in that moment with you.

Up on his headboard, you were tightly secured and would soon have bruises from arching up against the silk tie restraining you. Unable to do anything but feel and accept what your king was giving you. On your back. In a bed that past kings had slept in.

None of which was lost on you.

Not as your body felt leaden, filled with molten hot lava. Limp. Your secret garden continued to suck him in, clench around him and spasm, making your eyes roll up in your head, your body dig into his bed and words fall from your mouth.

In a most dignified sort of manner, your king humped into your body like a jack rabbit, chasing the last vestiges of his climax with coral wet lips and dark honey hair now damp with sweat.

A sight for your satiated eyes.

“Let me call my mother in the morning.” You breathed out slowly, as if figuring out how your lungs worked once more after a marathon. Your words making Steve still above you. Though your cunt did not. It twitched around his royal girth and you met his gaze from on his pillows. “Tomorrow you can have Maria release a statement saying whatever you want. Just let me tell my parents myself. They should hear from me that I’m not coming home.”

Whatever wind that may have held up his sails had clearly been withdrawn.

Almost tenderly now, Steve leaned forward to quickly loosen the silk around your wrists and free your hands from his headboard. Stretching out his long powerful body above you. Flushed red now. Glistening. Though he left his tie there. He remained inside of you too. Filling you and stretching you full.

Gently, he pushed your legs down until they wrapped around him and he was able to rest his weight most carefully on top of you. Pressing wet kisses to your nose, your cheeks and chin. Worshipping your face with delicate touches and caresses.

“I’ll fly them out here whenever you want. When we get back from Switzerland, I’ll have them waiting for you.”

Softly you answered, reveling in his softness now that your body had been given her reward, her treat, her pleasure from his roughness. Smelling the musk of his sweat and feeling the wet glide between your bodies.

Leisurely, your hands found their way up his muscular arms to his shoulders. “You know what I mean. I won’t ever be their daughter again. I won’t ever be Wanda’s roommate. I’ll have to quit my job. Nothing will ever be the same.”

Those words, well, they settled uncomfortably in him.

All of them were true.

You would be giving up so much. He would have to make sure to take care of you even more so, keep a closer eye on you. He would need to have a talk with his mother come morning.

“That’s true,” Steve softly conceded, rubbing his nose along your own. Barely grazing his lips over yours. A hint of a tongue touched you before his breath danced over your mouth. “We would be together though. Finally together. You. Me. Not hiding anymore.”

Speaking of hiding.

That word alone had you pulling away from his mouth to lean to the side, to get a look down at his Adonis belt. At the alluring groove that led down to his pubes where your name was now in black.

Nay, your signature.

As if sensing what you were after, your boyfriend tilted up a smidge. Enough for you to see but not enough for him to leave your body. Pray tell that couldn’t happen.

“When did you do this?”

“Do you like it,” Steve asked, as if your opinion mattered. Which was laughable considering how permanent it was.

He’d literally took your signature and had it tattooed on his body.

“Of course I love it. Now you have a part of me on you all the time.” An incredibly modern take on Steve’s royal jewel gift thing, but in reverse you thought. Then grinned as it sank in. “I can’t believe you did it though.”

Why wouldn’t he have done it?

Steve hadn’t thought twice when Maria had gone on about getting her late mother’s writing tattooed on her side, in a lasting forever tribute. Having your writing on him at all times had been an idea that hadn’t left him. Not until he’d had a tattoo artist praised for their work brought to the palace late the other night.

He wasn’t even going to lie, king or not, there was something downright satisfying about having something like this hidden on his body from all. Known only by you and him. A secret only for you two.

Bringing him right back to the thought that the biggest secret the two of you shared would soon be out.

Soon it would be public knowledge and that had Steve brushing his fingertips over your cheeks, kissing the swell of your cheekbone and moving ever just so to make a small moan come from you. “You’ll never regret this. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I’ll devote myself to making you happy. You’ll never regret becoming my queen.”

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers

[bangtanfancamp]

Champagne Silk | KNJ

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⋅summary: Almost year ago, you became the arranged bride of the most powerful man in the city, Kim Namjoon, but this morning, with you, he’s just a man who’s head over heels for you who can’t help getting lost thinking about his future with you.

Alternatively: no matter how powerful a man Namjoon is, he is still a klutz in the kitchen. A sexy klutz though.

⋅ author’s masterlist

⋅part two of the Silk series ( read part 1 here)

⋅also the second installment of breakfast with bangtan series (masterlist here)

⋅pairing: mafia!namjoon x reader

⋅genre: mafia! au, arranged marriage! Au, smut, fluff, angst, established relationship

⋅word count: 15.5k words

⋅rating: mature

⋅warnings: a generous amount of consensual sexual activities 🙃, brief scene of oral sex, impregnation kink, a shared bath tub, multiple instances of christiana being uncomfortable with using proper technical names for genitalia and being intentionally ambiguous instead. (honestly it’s more tame and wholesome than you think but god, if these two aren’t hot for each other )

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“Damn it.” 

The sound comes rumpled from the other side of the kitchen, like someone’s trying to keep it hidden. It’s so subdued and muttered that around anyone else, it might have been successfully hidden. But not right now. And certainly not with you. Because you know the distinct, adorable huff of your husband’s regret in an instant.

“You all right over there, darling?” There’s an innocence in your voice to hide your humor.

“Promise you won’t laugh if I tell you?” 

“Oh, unfortunately I can do no such thing, my love. You’ll just have to brave the odds and tell me.” 

Your smile is benevolent, but unyielding. You politely, pleasantly even, refuse to give him another option, and he knows it. It’s that simple. Even with his back to you, he knows the jig is up. As he hunches with heavy shoulders, he sighs and mutters something too low for you to pick up at first.

“Once more for the people in the back, yeah?” You tease.

“I said, I spilled wine on everything,” he exhales. 

His voice is tinged in shades of caramel, rich with resignation, as he confesses, stepping aside so you can see the mess he’s made. 

“Oh, Joon.” 

A terribly bright fondness pulls your lips into a smile as your clumsy giant sheepishly ducks his head across the room. His once pristine white shirt, his linen pants and your white antique tablecloth are all freshly dip dyed in swirls of Pinot Grigio and rosé.

“I know. I know. You don’t have to say it.” His eyes flit down to the stack of too many wine glasses slotted between his large fingers that have spilled their bounty across every available fabric surface.

“You have no idea what I’m about to say,” you point out graciously.

Crossing the room, you tip up on your toes to press a tender kiss to the spots where his jolly dimples would show if he weren’t so flustered. 

“MmmHmm. Sure I don’t.” He squints at you while you slip one glass at a time out of his grip and reach for a cloth.

“Precisely. You shouldn’t assume, Namjoon. You know what they say.” You smirk, wetting the cloth with water you know will be too frigid for him to stand in this half asleep state he’s in, but the stains have got to go.

“And what exactly do they say?” His large palms dip to rest on his hips as he braces for your commentary.

“Simply that assumptions only make an ass out of you and me so…”

His nose scrunches in distaste, even as he starts to laugh. “What a beastly phrase. I forget how much delicacy Americans have.” 

“Oh heaps of it. More than they know what to do with, really.” You shrug as you wring out the cloth. “Positively genteel. Is that not why you chose to marry one?” You add with a wry smile.

Glancing down at the bands on your finger, you warm at the way they glisten in the bits of lazy Sunday light filtering through the window. Namjoon’s glints golden across the room as he waits for your rescue. Both still new enough to feel like a novelty. Enough to make a small light inside you beam with pride whenever you catch sight of it.

“I chose to marry the only one I could find who was quick enough to get the stains I make out before they set and sweet enough not to give me grief for it.” He arches an eyebrow down at you in challenge as you slip one hand past the deeply undone row of buttons on his shirt to pull the fabric up and away from his skin as you begin to gently blot at the wine.

“Oh no. Well, I hate to inform you of this, but unfortunately, I’m actually 0 for 2 in those qualifications. But I will sincerely try my best since you’ve placed so much trust in me.” You chuckle as you set to work. “Would it be helpful if I mention what a smart wife you have to have ixnayed buying that cabernet sauvignon you wanted so badly, especially given your current predicament?”

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead before dipping to press his nose against your own while shaking his head. 

“No. Not in the slightest.”

“See? That’s good to know. Would have been awful if I mentioned the Merlot I put back too then. Can you imagine? Could have been so unseamly.”

He laughs, smiling against your hairline. “Well, what would have been the point of whisking my bride all the way out to a little villa in wine country and inviting guests only to not serve them red wine?”

“The point would have been you not turning into the kool-aid man whenever said wine inevitably spilled all over you. Case in point.” You look up at him through wide, fluttered lashes as you press the icy cold cloth against a particularly bold splatter on his chest. The frigid water grazes his nipple through his thin shirt and your giant of a man winces like he was wounded on the playground.

“Hey, that’s freezing.” He moves to swat your hand away. 

“Would you rather just take this off then? So I can work properly,” You smirk.

“No,” he sighs. “That would just be colder.” 

He looks so adorable right now. The lavender locks you’d once loved so well have been replaced, faded into a dusty blonde instead. His thick hair, usually coiffed so neatly, so perfectly, is currently disheveled entirely. Bits that had been gently curated to frame his face the night before are now plastered to his forehead, others shooting off at odd angles, all from falling asleep on the couch beside you once your dinner guests finally left late last night. 

He’s still in last night's now stained and rumpled clothes, still looking absolutely divine with the sleeves cuffed against his elegant forearms and his now wide open neckline thanks to the buttons undone all the way down past his rib cage.

His body is every bit a grown man, but his sleepy features- those wide eyes and pouted lips- make him look every bit the little boy you saw once in his mothers photo albums the week of the wedding. Big Namjoon still makes the same faces when he makes a mess as little Namjoon, and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Don’t be such a weenie,” you tease. 

“Careful who you tease, woman. You’re the only one in this city who forgets how many people are afraid of me.”

“This city is half a day’s drive away. There’s no one to fear you here,Joonie. Besides, your enemies have clearly never seen how quickly you’d fall in a battle against the cold or else you would have been displaced ages ago,” you tease with a twinkle in your eyes as he narrows his at you.

“I don’t think you’d like ice water on your breasts first thing in the morning either.” He huffs under his breath.

“You never know til you try,” you wink.

“Would you like to try?” His eyes rake over you salaciously despite the tenderness in his smile. 

“No, I can’t say that I do,” you chuckle, pushing a palm against his chest. “Besides, it’s hardly first thing in the morning, Joon. It’s almost noon.” You nod toward the clock.

There’s still sleep in his voice when he laughs, the sounds rich and resonant where it blooms from his chest. “Well, it’s still morning for me when we didn’t fall asleep til well after 3 because our guests don’t know when to leave.”

You smile to yourself at the memory of time spent with your friends. Well, more accurately Namjoon’s friends, i.e. the members of his crew who have become like family to both of you. Namjoon’s been on the move so much with work lately that there’s been no time to simply sit and enjoy their company. You were in raptures when he suggested they join you for dinner last night.

“It was so good to see Hoseok and Jungkookie though. Their new girlfriends seem so sweet.” 

Namjoon’s gaze seems far off somewhere as he listens to you.“They do, don’t they? JK’s seemed spunky too. She’s good for him.” 

“I think so too. He spent half the night blushing- he was so happy. It was good to see him so over the moon for once, that little romantic.”

Namjoon smiles, a soft thing nestled in the pocket of his cheek, full of fondness for the youngest of his friends. “Yeah, I’m glad he finally found someone so good for him.” 

Pulling you in, he kisses you gently, once, twice before pressing his lips to the top of your forehead, an unspoken “as good as you are for me” hidden his warm brown eyes.

“Big softie,” you whisper, reaching up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheeks. He tips his face toward your palm to plant a kiss there too, his lips just brushing the inside of your wedding band as you smile.

“For you? Always.”

“For me? It was the food last night. God, That charcuterie board Jin brought was positively masterful.” The memory alone has your mouth watering. “Such a shame it was all gone so soon though.”

“Ooo, speaking of,” Namjoon slips out of your grip to rustle around in the kitchen behind you. “Not quite.” 

“What did you do?” You narrow your eyes at him as you settle into a wooden chair to start tending to the swirling stains on the tablecloth.

“Oh, the best thing. Husband of the year level best thing.”

“Husband of the year? Can't wait to see this then. Very moderate expectations, indeed.”

With his back to you, you can’t see what he’s up to, but you can certainly hear it. Especially the low grunt when his hip snags on the new island counter. This poor man was clearly made for a different life than this old world kitchen provides. You wonder which will go first, your husband or the architectural detail. You chuckle to yourself until you realize exactly what it is he’s carrying.

“Kim Namjoon, is that-?”

“A mini stolen charcuterie board? You bet it is,” he winks your way, and a storm of winged things flutter in your stomach.

“How did you even-“

“When you had everyone gathered in the backyard, and Jimin tripped over the cord for the string lights.”

“I’ll never know how such a graceful man can cause such disasters. Or how you managed to befriend the only other man on earth as poised and clumsy as you all at once,” you chuckle, stealing a fig from the corner of the board as he peels back the plastic film covering it. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

“Mmm Hmm. I knew you thought so,” he taps you on the nose lovingly. “You always ask Jin to make these for you, and then you’re always so sad when all twelve people you invite make it vanish in half an hour.”

“I know. I know. It would go farther if there were fewer people to share it with, but Joon, the boys are like family. I haven’t seen them all together in so long. I couldn’t bear to leave anyone out.”

There’s a twinkle glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. He’s glad to see how soft your heart somehow remains despite the life you both lead. 

“Which is precisely why I took the liberty of stashing some of this bounty away while the guests were busy and saving it for you.” 

When he smiles at you like that, all softened edges and warm brown eyes, it’s impossible not to fall in love with him all over again. It’s not like you’ve forgotten how kind he is or how striking he can be when he smiles. It’s simply that the more you see it, the more in love you become.

Rising up in your chair, you reach across the table to tenderly cradle his cheek.

“I hate to say this, because then you’ll know you were right, but this is really is an excellent submission for husband of the year. I would like to point out, though, that you are welcome to make as many entries as you’d like before the panel comes to a consensus, you know.” 

He smiles so wide that his eyes get lost in their beautifully crinkled edges. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, they do say that you should play toward the judge’s preferences. Would you happen to know any? To help me get that inside edge.”

“Now, now. I can’t help you cheat. You’ll have to conduct your own research.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. We have a strict moral code. They’d ruin me if I let that sort of intel slip.” You tilt your chin up in defiance despite your smirk and laughing eyes.

“Hmm. We can’t have that, can we? Shame. I really thought this was going to be my year.”

“Do you really think the only way you’d win is to cheat? Come now...it can still be your year if you play your cards right.”

Your hand drifts up to his carelessly perfect hair, fingers gliding through it and tugging a bit near his scalp. One of his favorite ways to receive affection you’ve found out this past year. His lids fall heavy before he can catch them, a small hiss catching behind his teeth that means you’ve done it right.

“Careful. You don’t know what you might be starting.” His eyes wander the edges of your lips, trace the frame of your collarbone.

“I’d never take the risk if I wasn’t ready to face the consequences.” The twist of your lips is subtle, as gentle as the seduction you’ve learned is your forte. 

Namjoon licks his lips, the lower one snagging in his teeth as his eyes drift over you. Without breaking his gaze, he takes a champagne grape from the board and lifts it to your lips. You can feel your pulse flutter and quicken beneath your skin. It always does when he eyes you like that.

The man might as well be a snake charmer for all the control you feel like you have over yourself right now as your mouth parts of its own accord for him. But just before the fruit can graze your lips, his grin widens- wicked with delight- as he decides to pop it in his own mouth instead.

His dimples are so deep as he laughs at your flustered state that you wish you could crawl inside them and hide.

“Ha Ha. Very funny, Joon. Tease the woman you claim to love. Excellent way to keep a happy wife.” 

Rolling your eyes, you push off from the table, fully intent on doing... you have no idea what, exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from this table as fast as you can before you knock the carefully preserved remnants of this charcuterie board to the floor and take him on the table.

 The blush that was rushing to your cheeks is now crashing in your ears and all you can think to do is “go,” but before you can get even half a step too far, Namjoon’s warm, impossibly large hand is already wrapping itself around your wrist and grounding you to your spot.

“All I want is a happy wife,” he laughs. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I thought I made that pretty clear from the first day.”

Slowly, he stands as his hand trails its way down to dance across your palm before lacing your fingers with his. 

“Certainly doesn’t feel like it right now,” you pout, despite the excitement thrumming in your veins. You know that look on his face now. The one that’s evil and beautiful, sincere and serpentine. The one that wants to devour you playfully. To love you even as he ruins you.

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do.” 

Suddenly, he snaps you to him, his hands fastening themselves to the dip in your waist. You gasp, the force making you brace against his smooth, exposed chest to catch yourself.

“It won’t?” Your voice comes out airy, too thin, as the morning breeze billows through the open windows. 

“No. Not at all. So I wanna know: how can I fix this, baby?” His eyes are possessed by something wicked as one hand leaves your waist to trace a thumb over your parted mouth.

“I- I”

“Shh, I made this mistake. I’ll make it right.” He arches a single brow as his tongue wets his lips, and your brain loses any grip on rational thinking.

“And h-how do you plan to do that?” It’s a whisper- too breathy, too barely coherent. His hands are so warm. His touch is like lightning and suddenly even breathing requires too much energy with the way you feel like you’ve shorted out.

“I don’t know. You tell me, baby.” His knuckle tips it’s way under your chin, tilting your face up to his as you follow in obedience.

“But… I thought… I told you. The judge can’t help.” You swallow, lashes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Then she can’t get what she wants,” he challenges.

“Fair enough. That’s fair.” Your head bobbles in assent. 

“So I’ll try this again,” his face dips down until his mouth rests just below your ear. “What do you want, baby?”

You feel lightheaded as you melt in hands, rushing out the words, “Counter. Now. Please.”

 Your expression folds in on itself in satisfaction when Namjoon grips you around the waist and plants you on the kitchen island without a moment's hesitation. You gasp, airy and quick, before his palm is fitted against the curve of your throat with just the amount of pressure he’s learned that you like.

“Good girl. Open your legs for me, baby.”

A muffled inhale later, your knees have parted where you’re sat on the island and Namjoon is fitted between them, his hips to the counter as he kisses you in earnest. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue and open mouth work their way down your throat, painting wide open blossoms of scarlet and blush along the way. Your hands are in his hair, at his scalp, tugging and grabbing to bring him back to your kiss. His taste is tinged salty and sweet from your skin and the grapes, and your thighs wrap themselves tight around the narrow slope of him.

He’s gotten so broad since the wedding day. If you had trouble composing yourself around him then god only knows how you’ve survived the past year. His shoulders seem wider, his arms more substantial, his chest impossibly inviting as you claw at the last remaining buttons of his dress shirt. 

“Off. Off. Take this off.” You push at the sleeves that bunch around the arcs of his newly swollen biceps, taking a moment to drink in how beautiful they are as you clutch at his golden skin. 

“So eager now. What happened to my shy girl?” His voice is teasing, light, but his eyes look proud of you.

“You did things like this to her, and now she can’t get enough.” Your mouth fits itself to the beautiful stretch of bare skin beneath his ear, suckling the indescribable taste of him before traveling down his throat and across his jaw.

He laughs, something deep and melodic, before his fingers begin to glide over your collarbone and dance over your arms, featherlight, like he always does when he’s trying to rile you up.

“Should I get this out of our way then?” His fingers tug at the slim straps of your champagne blush dress. You’d worn it especially for him at last night’s party. You’d never forgotten his affinity for your skin draped in silk.

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do, baby. It’s perfect.”

“Then why do you want me to take it off?”

 Your voice is sticky sweet with innocence, but Namjoon knows better. He doesn’t know where you got the wherewithal to tease him right now as he holds you pressed against his growing warmth, but when your eyes flick to his, he knows you’ve made the right choice. He likes it when you challenge him. It makes it more fun when he wins.

“So I can do this,” he grins with a flash of his teeth.

Without missing a beat, he’s slipped both straps clean off your shoulders, leaving the dress to pool around your hips, and scoops one of your soft breasts gently into his mouth. Your breath comes sharp, a stuttered, inhaled moan that tastes as sweet to him as the ripened figs on the tray. Deliciously priceless. 

He still can’t get over you. He doesn’t think he ever could. He’s never reached a point where the sounds you make fail to set his world ablaze. He’d like nothing more than to make drawing them out of you every morning just like this his sole profession.

Reverently, his other hand brushes up your side to cradle your other breast beside it. God, they’re so soft. Namjoon is almost ashamed to admit how infatuated he is with your breasts.  It would be embarrassing if you weren’t equally in love with receiving all the attention he gives them.

What can he say? He’s a simple man. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him and for him? They’re perfect. Even with all the exploration the two of you have shared this past year, he knows this part of your body has got to be his favorite- your skin there is so velvet smooth and supple, so delicately sensitive, so perfectly sized for him to devour to his heart's content.

As his tongue warms the tender skin of your nipple with affection, and his thumb steadily plays with the other, he feels the muscled grip of your thighs tighten against him. The sounds you make for him as you clutch at the edge of the granite might as well be a symphony. He loves you like this. Wild and coming undone at his touch and attention. No one in the world but you and him.

“J-joon, baby.. I-“

Looking up at you through heavy eyes, entirely impressed with himself, he smiles and flicks his tongue against you again. When the jolt makes you jump, he stands to his full height above you, and sets his hands back on your sides.

“What is it, baby? You have to tell me.”

Your brows crumple in softly as you look up at him through your lashes. If you could speak, you would, but the way he plays you like an instrument with no effort at all always seems to dispose of your grace.

“But Namjoon…”  you’re trying and failing to catch your breath as both his thumbs come to lazily torment the soft swells of your chest. 

“You know what you like. You know what you want. Just tell me.”

You’ve barely got enough breath to function as it is, let alone to form a sentence. “But baby, I can’t…”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t have it.” He tuts. “Not if you can’t ask.” 

His grin is wicked, and as much you want to drown in it, something in you wants to wipe it off his pretty face.

“Not… fair…”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he smiles.

“Really? Because to me, what’s not fair,” he grips your hips, snatching you forward that last little inch to sit snug against his hips, “is me giving you a prize you haven’t earned.”

His hands dip to cup the curve of your backside,

his fingers digging deep into the silk and softness he finds there as he continues.

“ What’s not fair is the way you teased me in this little dress last night when you knew there would be too many people around for me to enjoy it properly…”

Dipping down, his sumptuous lips brush your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What seeing you in this dress all night did to me?”  

As yet another lightheaded gasp leaves your lips, a dark, satisfied chuckle leaves his. 

“H-how would I know?” your air comes in shaky as he has his way with you

“You know, baby girl. You always know.”

 As his fingers dip firmly into the globes of your backside, he begins gently, just barely, rocking against you. No hurry. No fuss. Just maddening, slow pressure as he grazes you. When an airy moan comes whimpering from your lips, his strong hands tense, keeping your hips too fixed to succumb to moving with him.

“But you didn’t... say anything.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his face lowers toward yours. You can feel the brush of his lips ghosting over the edges of your cheek, his nose tracing against your skin.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t tell. You know silk always does me in.”

His fingers slip across your stomach where your dress has pooled to rest. They ghost like a whisper over your hips and down your legs until they reach the hem of your skirt. He fits his hands against your skin and drags them up achingly slowly, willing his touch to memorize the feel of your skin along the way as he pushes the fabric up inch by merciless inch- all while never stopping the insatiable way his lips move warm against yours.

His touch and his kiss are languid, unhurried, as he sets you on fire. When he reaches your thighs, his palms splay across them, his thumbs dragging along the inner swell of your legs as your vision begins to blur. 

He’s taking his time. He’s teasing you and enjoying it. It’s evident in the way he slows down the higher he gets. The way his mouth begins to travel down your throat in kisses so soft, so divinely sweet, that you swear you’re growing lightheaded from the swelling rush of pleasure.

His thumbs have made their way to the folds of your hips, his hands hidden beneath the fabric as your body lights up electric at his touch. Like if it shines bright enough for him, he might bless it with all that you know he is capable of. But even though he knows you’re more than willing, your tease doesnt satiate your body or her cravings for him just yet.

Instead, he slows down further. He fits his hands on the outer edges of your hip while his kisses turn gentle, calming, resolving, as if he has no intention of following through further after riling you up like this.

“What are you— why are you stopping?” Your eyes flit between his, a subtle , whining irritation building up beside your impatience when he doesn’t move. He’s quiet at first, in no rush to answer. As his beautiful face hovers over you, he's so smug you almost want to slap him for toying with you like this. 

But that won’t get you what you want. What you need. So Instead, you take one of his hands and press it to your breast as you guide the other toward the center of you.

He plays along at first, until his fingers are about to brush the part of you that’s positively tingling for his touch, and he abruptly pulls back, resting both of his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

“Ah, ah. That’s for when you use your words, my sweet.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and suddenly, you’ve never been more greedy or more furious. 

Snatching at his waistband, you pull his hips forward and slip your hand over the linen to hold him. His breath catches at the back of his throat, and his eyes go wide, dumbfounded at the shift in power.

“And I said, the judge can’t tell you the answers.”

You level him with a look of quiet confidence as your fingers slip between his skin and the linen to hold him where he wants you most. His brows tip into softened u’s as the coolness of your touch brushes against him.

“Husband of the year should know what I want by now. I shouldn't have to tell him.”

You grasp him, fingers running delicately up the underside of him at the same time that you lick into his mouth. You feel him dip a bit as his knees buckle, making his hands on the counter the only thing holding him up.

“Mother of god,” he mumbles, even as his hips move in compliance with your touch. “Where did you learn that?”

“From the best,” you beam. Your smile is genuine, sweet and blindingly bright. It makes him want to take a bite out of the apples of your cheek, so he does. A playful nip that has you giggling and him pressing his lips together in fondness. 

The moment is sweet, until you catch his eyes with that same saccharine smile on your face, and take your hand away. His mouth opens, about to protest, until he watches you run your tongue in a long, slow stripe up your fingers before reaching back down behind his waistband to run the wet digits over his heated skin as you grasp him.

“Oh my… fuuuuck,” he exhales, his weight dropping to press into the counter. His face dips to lean against yours as he struggles to stay lucid. This feels so good, so out of nowhere, that his body is bursting to life more rapidly that he can keep up with. 

With every movement you make, he moves with you, gasping through his open mouth with every touch as he tries to keep his composure. Leaning into your forehead, he feels his nose bumping against yours as he searches for air. He feels nearly lightheaded but god, you’re incredible. Your touch feels so good- he never wants you to stop. 

Still, he wants control back though. To make you as much of a mewling mess as you’re currently making of him. He was enjoying the game you were both playing before, but he likes the feeling of winning more. However, just when he thinks he’s got a way to get the upper hand back, you ever so lightly twist your grip as you pump him, and suddenly, he can’t tell if he’s dying, ascending or blacking out. 

It feels so good so fast that he can barely remember his own name, let alone stage a coup. Your fingertips gently play with the tip of him at the top of each swell in your fluid flourish, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else to do with all this bursting excess inside of him but to kiss you. So he does. Open mouthed. Sloppy. Full of want. It feels so incredible that you can’t help but laugh brightly into his mouth, ethereally elegant, even as you wreck him. 

As you work, he can feel the way he’s growing harder with your attention, the way his blood feels like it’s singing the longer you touch him. His hips are obeying you like they belong to you, and at this point, he’s pretty sure they do. His mouth is painting your throat, adding swathes of crimson to the blooms he made before until your neck is colored with an entire bouquet of his affection. 

When he closes his eyes, the light behind them sparkles with effervescence as he listens to the quickness of your breath as you work. The sounds, the moans, the gasps you make as you touch him mingle with sounds of early morning nature and Namjoon wonders if this was what the poets meant when they described paradise. 

Pleasure is cresting over him in warm, molten waves now, and as it builds, he realizes he was wrong.

That as much as he loves your luminous eyes, your serene smile, the softness of your breasts, that those aren’t truly his favorite part of you if he’s honest. At least not right now. Not in moments like these. Because right now, with your hand wrapped around him, wrecking him with craving, that title is held by the treasure between your thighs; and as the blood rushes away from the rest of his body and swells where your hand lies, all he can think of, all he wants, is to bury himself in the wet, velvet warmth of you and never leave.

If he doesn’t get you naked with him inside you within the next three seconds, he thinks he might die.

So he does something about it.

“Open, baby. Open your legs for me,” he demands. It’s firm, commanding, but his eyes are so full of needy want that it’s hard to say who’s really in charge right now. 

Pushing your hand away and placing it on his chest, Namjoon kicks down his linen trousers and slides up your dress as you obey. He springs out, the length of him pressing into the meat of your thigh. It has you whimpering before you can catch yourself.

“God, I knew you were a smart boy. You’d figure it out eventually,” your voice is teasing, but your face is so dizzy, so desperate for him, that he could give you the whole world if you asked.

“You ready for me, baby?” His eyes are half blown with lust, his lashes hanging heavy as he runs his fingers over your opening, before collapsing against your shoulder. “ Oh my god.”

“What is it, Joon?”

“Nothing. I just,” he chuckles once, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how wet you get for me.”

With no hesitation, he slips two fingers inside you as your belly contracts. Gasping his name, you can’t help but cling to him as light shoots through your body at the incredibly welcome feeling of his hands there.

“Nam- Namjoon, ah!” Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you can feel your nails dig into his sturdy flesh as he begins rocking you with a motion so good, so fluid you fear you may simply float away and never touch the ground again.

“Yes, baby? What is it?” 

“You. I want you. Please.”

“You have me, baby.” His teeth are gritted in focus as he works you, his brow dipped low as he watches how easily you come undone with his attention. Warmth gushes over his fingers as he feels your walls contract in tandem with the tug of your hands in his hair. The sting is sharp and sublime as you grasp him tight with every part of you.

“Inside. Come inside. Need you. Now,” you plead. Your other hand trickles down his torso to the soft hair above his member before holding him firmly with a twist of your hand. He moans, hips canting into your delicate palm.

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. Slipping his fingers out of the way, he scoops you safely to the edge of the island, one large hand stroking himself and guiding him to line up with your eager entrance.

The essence of you coats the tip of him without any effort, your body unfolding, so relaxed for him, as he easily begins to slip inside you. It’s so abundant that the slide is effortless, helping him bottom out almost immediately within you. Your head falls back in wonder as he does, your hands quickly planting against the cold counter to catch you. 

Wow. God, Namjoon’s body always has a tendency to overwhelm you, no matter how many times you get caught up in each other like this. You still can’t get over that. Honestly, it would be impossible to when he’s built like he is. 

He’s broad everywhere- that’s obvious to anyone. But here, he’s long and thick, with thighs like tree trunks powering each movement as he glides inside you. Any other time, you might have needed his help to adjust, for him to take his time to warm you up, but this morning? Your body is ready for him, and he knows it. 

It’s unfolding itself for him like a bloom to the sun, and he’s reverent enough to return its worship. You’re so wet that he can feel it trickling down his hip as he pistons into you, and he regrets not dipping down to sample a taste of it before coming inside. But now that he’s here, there’s absolutely no way he’s leaving the warmth of your walls until you're both falling over and spent.

Your ankles are crossed behind him, pulling him as close as you can get him, and his face is pressed against your neck and collarbone as both your hips work in dizzy tandem. The sensation of it sends his consciousness swirling as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

He’s convinced now that you’re a real, actual goddess. There’s no way you could make him feel this divine if you weren’t. Your ambrosia coats his thickness, spilling over him as he thrusts harder, deeper, tilting his hips to curve against that spot inside you that—

“Oh! God! Joon,” you yelp. “Yes, don’t stop.”

His grin is infectious. You can feel it against your skin as you pull him tighter, rocking in time with him as your euphoria builds. Your laugh is bright, sparkling as he licks his fingers and slips them swirling over the sensitive burst between your legs. Your breath catches, his name and profanity tumbling from your lips in equal measure.

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Your senses are on overload, your vision darkening around the edges as the pleasure he paints across your body escalates rapidly. Somewhere far off, you can hear his voice. His mouth is near your ear, his breath cooling your skin that’s become sticky with sweat, but you can’t understand, can’t wrap your brain around what he’s saying…

Until you realize that even fully coherent, you’d still be lost because your forever intoxicating husband has slipped back into his native tongue. You love it when this happens. With his senses so thoroughly drowning in you,  translating language just becomes too hard a thing to manage, so the harder and deeper he goes, the lower the bass in his voice becomes as he mumbles in korean against your ear.

You’ve learned enough to catch words like “beautiful” “perfect” and “God, I love you,” but the rest remain a mystery as he captures the innermost parts of your body for himself with swift, perfect strokes of his hips. The depth he’s reaching right now has you in raptures. It has your breath coming in short gasps as your breasts bounce buoyantly with each...incredible… thrust he delivers.

You won’t last much longer. You know it. And All you can think right now is how badly you want to look in his eyes when you come- which you know will happen any second now.

  Between his touch, his voice, the indescribable way he moves his hips when he’s inside you, and the crescendo you feel from the spot he’s internally caressing right now, you know you’re only moments away from dissolving into the atmosphere, yet all you want is more of him.

“Joon, baby, I’m so close. Look at me. Please,” you move one of the hands supporting you to hold his face and bring it to yours.

God, that please of yours. It flows so naturally from your lips when he has his way with you. He doesn’t know how to describe what it unleashes in him, but he knows it never fails to wreck him. “Shh, let go, baby girl. I’m right here. I got you.” 

Before he can think, he’s kissing you deeply, his tongue insatiable as he tastes you. He alternates between kissing you and pulling back to catch your eyes. The depth of affection in his gaze warms you brilliantly from the inside even as you swear you can practically feel his thrust against the underside of your lungs. 

His once seamless rhythm has become all feel and nuance. All order is long lost as he makes his last powerful dives into the depths of you. You can feel it- the tightness in his body, the firm set in his jaw, the profound depth of his voice as he praises your body in Korean. If you were to die like this, caught up in Namjoon’s impeccably loving, gracious body, you wouldn’t have a single regret.

There’s nothing more you could ask for. 

The glittering sensation pulsing through your body let’s you know it’s almost time to surrender, and you’re ready to come undone. Surely, there could be nothing more blissful than this— until Namjoon takes the hand he’s kept gripped around your waist and slips it up to your throat.

Your eyes go wide. 

He really was paying attention. Husband of the year, indeed. 

And just like that, the express trip to ecstasy nearly slams into your body. His eyes are locked on yours. He’s muttering a soft “good girl” and “that’s it, baby” as he works his powerful hips into you. He has one hand clamped firm and perfect below your jaw along your throat, and the other dancing elegantly along the bundle of nerves between your legs. He takes those fingers into his mouth to wet them, his face crumpling in a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his skin, before slipping them back where they belong. 

It’s altogether too much and you are lit up sparkling as the combined sensation of it all builds with the warmth of his body against you, within you. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says it clear and firm, his touch generous to help ease you over the edge. 

“Only if you come with me,” you breathe. Your eyes meet his as you try to find something to hold on to as the tension in you crests. 

He smiles then. All dimples and sweet eyes and perfect lips. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek beside your lips, and that’s all it takes to ruin you.

You feel your body contract around him in bliss as his name spills from your mouth. Making love to Namjoon has never felt commonplace, but there’s something about today. About him. About the sweetness of this morning in the middle of your perfect hidden home with him that makes you burst not only with pleasure, but with love. 

As your orgasm washes over you, you feel illuminated from within like the sun is glowing out of your skin as your body melts against him.

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re so perfect.”

As your body floats back down from wherever you just astral projected from bliss, you can feel that his body is just a breath away from tipping over the edge itself. He’s pulling back, pulling out, intending to spill himself elsewhere, but in that instant, you realize you don’t want that.

Your memory flashes back to your wedding day. To the moment those hideous people decided to squawk about your child-rearing, heir-producing duty just hours after your vows, and Namjoon had cut them off immediately at the jump and whispered,” don’t pay them any mind. That happens when you’re ready. Not a second before,” soft against your ear. 

It was one of the first instances that made you realize what a good man he was. How willing he was to put your readiness, your comfort, before anyone or anything else. And now, as you take him in, as you remember how truly and deeply you love him, you realize you’re ready for there to be more.

You’ve had countless discussions with him about starting a family, and everytime, without missing a beat, his answer has always been, “whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.” 

You've come to learn over this past year that he’s wanted nothing more than to become a dad since he was a small boy.

You’ve gotten to witness how fun, gentle and gracious he is with his nephews. With Jimin’s daughter, his sweet godchild. For a year, you’ve watched him be good and kind to any child he meets, patient with you, subdued as he hides the depth of his desire to be a father behind his dimpled smiles and suave redirection when you bring it up. 

He’s been willing to wait for you. He never pushes. He never demands. And in this moment, as you study the face of the incredible man who’s welcomed you into his heart and his home, all you want is to begin the journey to give him what you know he will never ask for, even though it’s what the secret parts of his heart want the most. 

“Namjoon,” you whisper,” don’t. It’s okay. You can finish inside me.” You caress his face lovingly as his eyes go wide. 

“Really? But baby… I… what…” Your eternally eloquent man has gone slack jawed in his loss for words as his hips begin to still.

“It’s okay,” you nod. “I want you to. I want to feel you.” You kiss the dip of his dimple.

“Are you sure? i-“ he stumbles before you lovingly cut him off.

“I think it’s about time we start trying for our family, don’t you?” You whisper. Your fingers thread through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes as his face beams with light. His shoulders and chest are shaking with laughter as his eyes flit between yours and he smiles.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” His hands slip up to cradle your face, the most beautiful mixture of excitement and relief and the purest joy making his misty eyes look brilliant in the early light.

“Absolutely,” your voice is soft as you tip your nose against his. Your smile is all pearls and laughter as you reach to grab the full apples of his ass and push him into you.

He’s laughing and smiling and gasping when you do, before happily resuming the final few thrusts he would need to send himself over the edge.

“Use me, baby,” you whisper, eyes alight with the gentle seduction that always ruins him. “I want to feel you when you finish.”

Biting his lip, he swallows and nods, almost too eager, but you’re beautiful and warm and you’ve gotten so tight around him and he can’t help himself. He’s close. He’s already soo close. He’s spent nearly this whole morning trying to contain himself inside you despite the absolutely mind numbing feel of you, and here you are telling him to let go? It’s impossible that you’re real.

Pulling his face to you, he realizes you’re kissing him. Your honey sweet tongue has made a home in his mouth. Your soft breasts brush his chest with every thrust. Your hands are clutching his back and in his hair. Your heels pressed into the back of his legs to pull him close, and now he knows you want to carry his baby.

To allow your body to grow and change just to hold his seed, start his family and realize his dream of not only being a husband to you but a dad to your babies. He’s so in love with you. So maddeningly, ridiculously, stupidly, over the moon in love with you, and all at once, it’s happening.

His release is coming, strong and quick, and he can finally drown in the feeling of it happening while you surround him. His body is reeling at the burst of perfection he feels from losing himself in you like this. The cloud like swells of your thighs pressing around him might very well be the only thing holding him up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I love you.” His face is buried in your neck, your chest, your hair, your cheeks- everything all at once- his full lips dropping kisses on your skin like stars falling from heaven. 

When he pulls back to look at you, he can’t even put what he’s feeling into words. But it’s okay. Because you know. He can see it in your eyes.

Cradling his face, you smile up at him, eyes glossy and happy. “You ready?” 

“To have a baby with you?” His voice falters as his smile grows so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “There isn’t anything I want more.”

Pressing his forehead to yours as he hugs your waist, you both press your noses together and laugh. Overcome with something almost too sweet to simply be called happiness. The word seems too small to encompass it all.

“Maybe I’m not husband of the year yet, cause I definitely didn’t see that coming.” He chuckles.

“Oh shut up. I know you felt how you made me finish. You’re just showing off at this point.”

“I can’t have my baby girl leave anyway but satisfied with me.” He winks, and you smack his chest lightly.

“I’d be mad at you for being so smug if you weren’t actually as great as you think you are,” you scrunch your nose at him as he laughs.

“Well, if there are any areas of improvement I can work on, let me know. I hear I'm about to have a lot of time to workshop your suggestions.” Namjoon lovingly nips at your collarbone, and you tingle in bliss at the thought of how many more moments like this lie in your near future.

“Duly noted. On that note then, I feel compelled to point out that what you just did counted as an excellent submission for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” He licks his lips slowly as you nod.

“Remember- you can make as many entries as you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Limitless,” you assent. 

“Good to know. I’ll keep it mind,” he smirks, dipping down to lift the fullness of one of your breasts into his hand as he gently kisses the top of the swell of flesh. You sigh into his kiss. This is going to be a spectacular journey— you can already tell.

“Namjoon.”

“Hmm?” His eyes perk up, though his mouth never leaves its preoccupation with your bare chest.

“Is this… is this okay? I hope I didn’t spring this on you too soon or… I don’t know...too out of the blue? Because your comfort is important too, and I—“

You’re swiftly cut off by the sweet press of Namjoon’s delicious lips against yours. “Shh. Yes, I want this. More than anything.”

“So my timing wasn’t—“

“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect,” he kisses the tip of your nose as your lips bloom into a smile. “And if we are going to try to fill that cute belly of yours with a baby, then maybe… maybe this shouldn’t just be a weekend visit.”

Tipping your head to look at him, you feel your brows scrunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this has always been our getaway spot. A place to stay safe and lie low when things get jumpy in the city. A place to take you when we want to be alone. Truly be alone. But if…” he hesitates, lacing your hand with his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If you’re going to be carrying my baby, I want to keep you safe. I promised you that the day I met you- I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s been risky enough to have you in the city all this time as it is.”

“So...what exactly are you suggesting, love?” You run your thumb lovingly over his knuckles.

“I’m proposing if you do get pregnant, we move you out here. Permanently. Or at least somewhat long term.”

“Wait…” you pull away, eyes clouding as you do. “Alone? Without you?”

“No. No. I didn’t word that right. I’d be here as much as i can, and I’d send the security detail to stay out here whenever I have to leave so—“

“Namjoon, I don’t want to be all the way out here by myself. Surely, that’s not necessary.”

He frowns as he tries to gather his thoughts. “This is coming out wrong...You wouldn’t be fully by yourself. I’d be here as much as I can. I just... want you protected. Safe. And out of the city while you're carrying something so precious.” The backs of his knuckles graze your stomach. 

“But I don’t understand. Why—“

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.” His voice has turned solemn, his eyes an odd shade of vulnerability when they meet yours. 

“Joon, nobody’s gonna do anything. You’ve made that city so secure-nobody could hurt me even if they tried.”

Something stormy and troubled clouds his eyes.It makes you wonder if there are things he hasn’t told you. Things he’s kept to himself to ensure that your life is as peaceful as possible. You wonder what kind of darkness he’s had to swallow for your sake. 

“But they have tried.”

It's news to you. 

“What do you mean… when?” 

“It’s happened a few times. Nothing ever got far enough to warrant bringing it up.”

“What on earth? Joon, why in the world wouldn’t you tell me that?” 

He sighs once, from some deep place in his bones. “Because i never wanted to have to see the look in your eyes that I do right now.”

Suddenly, any anger you held vanishes all at once. 

“Baby, why are you carrying something like that all by yourself?”

“So you don’t have to. I promised I’d keep you safe, and I meant it. That includes taking care of your peace of mind. Something you won’t have if you knew how many times someone’s shot off at the mouth about coming for you because they’re irate at me or how many times someone has done more than just talked and actually tried.”

It’s a sobering thought.

“Is that… is that the real reason why you never pushed for an heir?” For reasons you can’t explain, the idea makes you want to cry. Namjoon sees the shift immediately, his fingers ready to brush your tears before they even fall.

“Shhh, hey. No. I mean, it’s part of it. You know all I’ve ever wanted was to be a parent. When I married you, please know the idea of you being the mother of my children sent me over the moon, but I know this world. How people take what they want. Do what they want. I wanted better for you.” He runs his fingers soft over your cheek like you’re some spun glass artifact he needs to protect. 

“I wanted to be better for you than the men in this world were going to give you. I promised myself that I was never going to demand anything from you. That’s why I didn’t push for an heir. I meant it when I said we go at your pace. Always.”

Sniffling, you look up at him through wet lashes. 

“Joon, protecting me doesn’t mean you hide the truth from me.”

“Not even if it would hurt you? Scare you?”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry you. It’s so kind of you to try to take these burdens so I don’t have to, but then who carries them for you? That’s my job. You have to let me do it.”

Closing his eyes, he exhales long and slow through his nose. 

“You really mean it, don’t you? You really want to know.”

“Yes,” you nod, caressing his face. He looks troubled. You’d give anything to help take some of his cares away.

“Then you should know why we came to the villa this weekend.”

“So it wasn’t just for a getaway?” You brace yourself for whatever it is you’re about to hear.

“It is, and it isn’t. I guess I have to go back a bit for this to make any sense, but my family isn’t from here. You know that. Our roots don’t go back as many generations as yours do, so when the new kid on the block started gaining power in this city faster than anyone had seen before, there were a lot of families that weren’t happy about it.

Especially not when the daughter of one of the oldest families in the city became my bride. There had already been a lot of grumbling against me before I made such a powerful ally, and there were certainly plenty after. Anything we’d stumbled on over the last few months had been mostly hearsay, but…”

“What is it, Joon?” You're worried now. You can hear the way his voice sounds choked.

“There was a deal that went wrong a few weeks back. Just a skirmish with some lower level captains that got out of control, but I thought I’d put a pin in it. Turns out the other family involved hadn’t let it go like I thought …” he stops, eyes going cold as color drains from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay. You can tell me,” you reassure. 

Closing his eyes, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath, his voice lower, raspier when he continues. “There was a hit put out on you this past week.

You’re shocked. “There— what?”

”It’s okay now. Jungkook caught intel on it soon enough that he crushed it before the people responsible could hurt you, but I've never seen anyone get this close. Y/n, I couldn't breathe when he told me. When I found out, I nearly lost my mind. I called you immediately to make sure you were safe— I couldn’t breathe til I heard your voice.”

You had no idea he’d been through that. You can’t imagine what you would have done if the roles were reversed, if you’d been seconds away from losing him. It would’ve shattered you. You’re not sure how he’s still standing.

“Once I knew you were okay, the first thing I could think was that I needed to get you out of town as fast as I possibly could. Something’s building in that city, y/n. The lower families are tired of their rank. They’re itching to get back any sort of power they can- it’s making them reckless. There’s rumors of a war building…I’d dismissed it so far. Didn’t think they were a real threat until they had the nerve to try something like this. We squashed it, but this was too close, and I’m not willing to risk you.”

Realization dawns across your face. “That’s why we left with less than an hour's notice. I’d thought you were just being romantic about a weekend getaway but ...That’s why we came to this safe house and not the one on the edge of town, isn’t it?”

His eyes fall away as he nods, “That’s why our security detail was thicker than usual.”

“But I've hardly seen anyone.”

“That’s on purpose. I didn’t want to scare you.  Didn't want to draw attention to a whole parade leaving town so I had them follow us at a distance. They’re stationed all around the property and schooled to stay out of sight.”

“What about the boys? Was it safe to have them here this weekend with their wives? Their girlfriends? Didn’t we put them in danger?” Your rounded eyes betray the sudden guilt you feel for what you thought had been such a beautiful night.

“Shh, no. Hey, they’re fine. I had them all moved out to safe houses not too far from here with a security detail on them too. They’re just a few miles from here. That’s why I didn’t feel bad about them driving out last night- they didn’t have to go all the way back to the city, just to our guest houses and then their safe houses in the morning….I’m having them all lie low for a little while. Figured they’d want their girlfriends and wives as close to their side as I want mine. Thought having them over was a good distraction for a night.”

You had no idea. Something cold runs up your spine at the thought that this weekend, this beautifully perfect day could’ve been so different. Or perhaps not even happened at all. 

Slipping your dress back into place, you cover yourself. It feels wrong to have this conversation half naked. Namjoon seems to sense it too as he pulls his pants back on. He offers to help ease you down from the counter, picking you up and placing you gently on the whitewashed floorboards, making sure you’re steady before he lets you go. 

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh at how he has to make you sure you’re stable enough not to keel over where you stand after blessing you with an orgasm so bright it makes your soul radiate around your body. Now though, you find your hand cradling your lower belly, feeling entirely naive for thinking now was the time to bless the world with Namjoon’s child. You should say something, but the words get stuck in your throat…. you feel like a fool.

“I’m gonna make us some coffee, yeah? You want a cup?” Namjoon offers softly. When you look up, he looks so worn out all of a sudden. Like he’s somehow aged years during the course of this conversation. Like he really does need a cup of coffee, if not something stronger.

“Sure, baby. I’ll take one.”

Nodding, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he plugs in the black gooseneck kettle you’d gotten him for his birthday. The gift had been simple, thoughtful, and if he was honest, it was the best present anyone had ever given him.

He practically survives on black coffee most days. At the beginning of your marriage, he was always long gone before you rose most mornings, so in an attempt to slow him down and have more time with him, you’d gotten him a pour over set and a gooseneck kettle to replace his old instant apparatus.

He wondered if you were aware of all the additional gifts it had given him along the way....It required time to steep and brew. Time he’d never given himself before he met you. The methodology of it soothed him, provided his mornings with a small structure and routine he’d never had in a lifestyle marked by so much chaos. 

Taking the time to make his absolutely necessary coffee this way helped wake him up gently, slowed him down enough for you to have the time to slip out of bed and catch him before he was gone, to hold him while he prepared it. To remind him of the precious reason he needed to be careful while he was out that day. 

As the water boils, he turns his back to you. He feels himself melt when your arms wind around him. Softly, you press a kiss between his shoulder blades before your touch slips away as quietly as it appeared. The subtle sounds of your footsteps fading as you walk away and the gentle buzzing of the kettle are all that fill the room in the silence between you.

Namjoon sighs as he turns, his arms crossed as he leans against the counter to watch you.  Without a word, you silently procure a hearty loaf of fresh,crusty bread from the pantry and begin to slice it for breakfast. As your head tips down in concentration, he watches your untamed hair fall in your eyes. It’s beautiful the way it frames your face. It makes something squeeze in the center of his chest.

Crossing the room, he comes to stand beside you, lightly brushing your hair back into place for you with his hand. You still in your task, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, baby?” 

“If it’s this dangerous…” your voice is barely above a whisper, “this unsafe… does that mean we shouldn’t have a baby?” When you look up at him, your eyes are starlit with tears. Your hands are trembling, and he hates to see you so sad.

“No. You’re ready, and I want a family,”’he soothes.

“But… but if there’s this much risk, how can our child ever have a normal life? Won’t we always be afraid for them all the time? Is that selfish? To make a life that has to live in this world just because we want them to?”

He brushes his fingers over the cascade of teardrops starting to fall from your eyes. “All parents have to worry about that, y/n. This world is still a scary place even outside my line of work.”

“I know. But they don’t have to worry about a hit on their child’s life or a ransom or generation’s old grudges putting their child at risk....They just have to worry about whether or not a child in their daughter’s class has a peanut allergy because little ashley will only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches right now and nothing else.”

You’re talking with your hands as Namjoon gives you a smile that’s equally warm and sad. “That’s a really specific scenario.”

“I went through a phase in first grade, okay?”

He finds your eyes until you laugh before pulling you in tight against his chest. “First of all, that’s adorable. We’ll address that again later because little y/n sounds incredibly cute. And secondly,” he sighs,” you grew up in this world- the same as me- and we both survived. Having a child is expected of us, yes, but if that’s not what you want... it doesn’t have to happen. But, if we both want one… if being a mom will make you happy, then I’m going to find a way to give you that.” There’s a heaviness about him right now. An authority resigned to accept whatever fate weighs on your heart the most as he watches your eyes fill with questions.

“But won’t we be afraid for them all the time? I feel so naive for only thinking of how much I’d like to meet them, how much I’d love them just because they’re a part of you, when I should have known better.”

“That’s not naive. That’s beautiful. No matter what they’re like, we’ll love them. Because they’re ours.”

“What if they don’t want any part of this world? They should have a choice… but can I even give them one or will their only option be serving as the new head of the Kim family one day?” Your face looks stricken. “Did you get to choose?” Your watery eyes flit up to his. 

He swallows, face stony as you survey him. “I did what I had to do so our life can look however we want it to,” he’s sighing again, worn out out by memories you may never see. “Look, you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the ones get to decide what’s right for us, y/n. I’ve told you that, and I meant it- that extends to our children too. Their lives don’t have to look like what anyone else wants but them. I don’t care if they want to be painters or accountants or captains in the family. They get to shape the life they want. That’s what I’ve worked so hard for.”

You feel your eyes flutter shut in relief on their own accord. Of course he’s already thought this through to this degree. When has your Namjoon ever done anything less? It soothes your mind to know he’s taken the time to lay the groundwork so you don’t have to. Still though, questions you’re ashamed didn't occur to you sooner rattle through your head and spill from your mouth.

“Do they have to spend their life in boarding school like I did? Are our only options to send them away or be scared for them every day?

“Y/n, no. We’ll find what works for our family. I want that with you- figuring that out and watching them grow. I’ll keep you both safe. However I have to. I promise you.” His thumb brushes over your ring as he holds your hand against his chest. “I promised you.”

And just like that, it hits you all over again- how much you love this man. How deeply you trust him with every fiber of your being. How you couldn’t have found a better man to love you if you’d tried. You two are it for each other- you’ve known it since the day you met him on the steps.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles,”... but, y/n?”

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Yes, love ?”

“I meant what I said. If this is all too much, if this scares you, we can wait.” His brown eyes are so deep and sincere. You know every part of him means it, and it’s precisely because of that, that you say the words you do.

“No. I want this. All of this. With you. We’ll figure this out,” you nod, gently pulling the back of his neck down so your foreheads are touching. “I want to have a baby with you. I’m all in, if you are.”

You can feel the rush of tension that leaves his body. He wraps you in his arms, so close and secure, and something innocent comes from him that you don’t think you’ve ever heard.

“God, you know I am. Thank you.”

His voice is as robust and full as always, but his eyes… there’s something so young and soft and terrified in them. Like the weight of all he’s been carrying alone has crashed down on him all at once. “I’m so excited to have a baby with you if it happens. And it’s okay if it doesn’t. But I can’t wait to try.”

You’re nodding and crying, and you realize something that perhaps has never dawned on you before. This is the first time you’ve seen him truly this vulnerable. He’s always so strong, so composed. Too busy holding up an entire empire and caring for you to let his walls fully fall. 

But as he buries his face in your neck, you suddenly feel dampness pooling against your skin and realize he’s crying. You wonder how you got here on a morning that had been so serene and full of bliss. Bliss you now realize has come at a price.

“I was so scared I'd lost you the day we came here.” Slipping your hand into his hair, the other soothes his back as he clings to you tighter. “I'm so glad you’re okay. You’re so smart. I know you are. You don’t make reckless mistakes when you’re out— you take good care of yourself— but I was so afraid. My heart dropped when Jungkook told me what he’d heard. He couldn’t calm me down until I heard your voice on the phone.”

Stroking his hair, you recall the phone call just a few days ago. How strangled and out of breath he’d sounded. How you’d asked if he was okay, and he’d simply said he was now.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.” 

He takes a moment to collect himself, pressing you so close you may fuse together. It’s unguarded, and precious. Something you know both of you treasure as he nuzzles into your skin in that space along your neck where his face perfectly fits.

It’s as simple as that. You both stay like this for as long as you can, secure in his embrace, your breathing settling until it’s nearly in sync. It’s peaceful for you, cathartic for him. It’s a moment framed by a different kind of intimacy than the one you both shared in this very room less than an hour ago. 

He shows no sign of letting you go until the kettle begins to howl for him from across the room. When he does, his fingers trace the silk fabric along your waist as his lips kiss your forehead. He takes one more heavy breath before he squeezes you in release to tend to the coffee.

“Cream and sugar?” He asks, his voice thicker than usual.

“Always,” you answer.

And so the morning resets itself. 

The day shifts into afternoon. The sun drifting higher, brighter, casting the shadows and ridges of Namjoon’s sculpted body in almost Grecian relief as he carefully pours the water for both of you over the coffee grounds. You finish slicing the crackling bread loaf and bring it to the table to place it beside the remnants of Seokjin’s charcuterie board. 

It’s only when you catch sight of your lacy table cloth that you remember the accident that started the whole morning to begin with. You’d both gotten so preoccupied with each other that you never made it any further than cleaning his shirt and not the rest of the disaster.

Smiling to yourself, you gently slide the cloth off the table and fill the sink with cold water to soak it. Looking over at your husband, you realize wine stains still swirl over the front of Namjoon’s linen pants. There’s a very good chance those are fully set now, but just in case, you might as well try to fix them. 

So, gently, you hook a finger into his waistband and tug. “Let me have these.”

“Round two all ready? Greedy girl.” He winks, his voice soft as follows the drip of his Colombian roast.

“No, smart girl. We did a terrible job of getting you cleaned up.” You pop the p at the end of the word as you snap the elastic on his pants.

Looking a bit lost, Namjoon glances down to see the lovely pastel splashes of rosé running clean down the front of his pants. He’d been too busy to notice once you’d gotten him out of them. Blushing for no reason other than the embarrassment of you having to clean up his foibles, Namjoon dips down to remove the trousers, leaving himself looking statuesque and unreasonably gorgeous in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs in the afternoon light as he tends to the coffee.

You feel terribly immature over how quickly affected you are by the sight of him in his current predicament and carefully take the pants from him, only to turn abruptly in search of some fresh air and relief. Namjoon catches your equally flustered state, smiling to himself, but doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. This spell of quiet that’s settled over the room is too peaceful to break.

Once the coffee’s done, he brings both your cups to the broad heirloom table, and you enjoy breakfast… or, he supposes, brunch at this point...together in the stillness. Every bite you take is piled high with prosciutto and fig while Namjoon drizzles honey on his slices of bread. 

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Tranquil enough to forget the world that awaits him back in the city.

It’s funny, the duality of his life. How easy it becomes in moments like these to lean into the simplicity of breakfast with his lover and ignore the undulating danger and uncertainty awaiting him in the rest of his world. It makes him realize how much he’s come to covet exchanges like this when he gets to feel like you’re just two people in love and nothing else. 

As his eyes trace over you, he promises himself to do everything in his power to make sure your life with him is hallmarked by sweet pockets like these. As many of them as he can give you. 

At some point Namjoon pushes up to get the carafe of orange juice from the fridge, and after assigning your more capable hands the job of opening the champagne, you both polish off your brunch with the tinkling clink of your toasting mimosa glasses. 

Once your bellies are full and satiated, Namjoon looks up at you. His elbows are propped up on the table, chin contentedly resting in his hands. There’s a question hidden in the corner of his lips as his eyes glisten with mischief.

“So… what else do you have in mind for your agenda today, my bride?” He reaches across the table to grab your hand, kissing the back of your palm as you giggle and roll your eyes.

“Well if you must know... I'm thinking I might give my sister a call. See if she’d be willing to come pay me visit.” You offer, pushing one of the last grapes around the corner of the board, avoiding the way Namjoon’s eyes shine. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe she could come stay in one of the guest houses. Potentially. Once I move out here. Whenever that may be.” 

“So my baby won’t be alone when I’m gone?” His dimples are popping in his cheeks as his smile spreads wide. It’s a brilliant idea to bring her out here with you until Namjoon can finesse a way to be by your side 24/7. He wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Probably because you’re as smart as you are beautiful. 

“Neither of your babies.” You crinkle your nose as you smile back at him. 

“I like the sound of that,” he’s beaming back at you, happy and light. His eyes are misty with emotion he can’t hide, and it only makes you love him more.

“Me too.”

“So, how would you feel about getting to work as soon as possible then?” His eyebrows bounce salaciously your way, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Is that what you want?” 

“If it’s what you want. Always.” Namjoon licks his lips and a crackle of electricity shoots up your spine. The parallels to how this morning started are not lost on you. It makes something in you thrill with excitement.

“Well, I would love to take a bath. Our activity this morning was excellent, but I must say you left a bit of a sticky mess in your wake.” 

“Sorry,” Namjoon ducks his head bashfully.

“So I’m going to break in that beautiful clawfoot tub and fill it to the brim with matcha bubble bath.”

“Mmm. With the orange blossom bath salts too?”

“Always,” you wink as Namjoon bites his lip.

“God, you always smell so good when you use that. It makes your skin so soft.” The thought of your skin fragrant and bare has his blood stirring again as his eyes rake over you.

“Well you are welcome to keep me company and read to me while I soak,” you offer nonchalantly as you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your hips as you round the corner, quickly followed by the sound of his bare feet against the floorboards.

“Or I could join you in the water.”

When he responds, his voice is closer than you expected it to be. He’s caught up to you so quickly with those long legs of his.

“Or you could finish the chapter of the book you were reading to me on the way up. You left me on such a cliffhanger when your hands got distracted on the drive. I’m dying to know what happens next.”

Biting his lip, that wicked gleam is back in his eyes at the memory of the drive up and the things the two of you got up to in the privacy of the tinted, shielded back seat.

“Fair enough, but I get to join after.” His hand is forceful where it slips across your waist. You tumble into him, wanting nothing more than to let him win and start this game all over again, but you had a feeling you were winning this round, and you like to win.

“I can promise you no such thing. We’ll just have to see how the day goes,” you shrug, dismissing him completely to climb the stairs.

As much as he enjoys the view, Namjoon loves the play for dominance more: it’s cute on you. Too bad he’s still got the upper hand. He catches you on the stairwell, turning you around to face him. His hand ghosts down the front of your silk draped stomach directly to the dip between your legs.

 He places enough pressure to catch your sensitivity there, smiling something wicked at the sound of your sharp inhale. He already knows how delicate you are after you’ve already finished once until he warms your body up again. The prospect of starting this dance all over again has him stiffening with delight against your leg when he feels the familiar slip of your essence help the fabric glide beneath his touch.

“Oh baby girl, you have no idea how well this day is gonna go.” His voice has dipped to an octave reserved only for the devil as he smiles at you and lifts you off the stairs and into his arms.

You squeal at the suddenness of it, wrapping your arms securely around his neck so you don’t fall. He just chuckles, something throaty and dark, as he carries you up the stairs and down the hall to the sunlit bathroom. 

Setting you on the counter, he turns to start the bath- scooping in bath salts, pouring your bubbles, raising the blinds so the room is flooded with light. He doesn’t want to miss a single look on your beautiful face when he has his way with you for a second time today.

Not once has it occurred to you to move from the spot where he put you. Instead, you sit perfectly still on the bathroom counter, feeling your nails dig into your palms, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you watch him. Your pulse is already thrumming with anticipation all over again. 

When he turns back to you, you can see clear evidence of his arousal reshaping itself beneath his black briefs, and suddenly, despite your meal, there’s something else entirely that you want in your mouth. He catches the hungry way your eyes follow him as he walks back to you.

“Can I help you, baby?” His laugh is warm, even if his eyes are sinister. It’s all you can do just to nod your head and slip your fingers forward to tug at his waistband. When it begins to fall, you slip down to the floor, catching him off guard entirely. Not in a million years did Namjoon didn't plan on this course of events, but he certainly isn't unhappy about it. 

Namjoon leans back against the counter in the spot you’d just been sitting in as your hands grasp onto the muscular ridges of his toned legs. You set to work kissing his golden skin on his thighs slowly, indulgently, enjoying yourself as you go. 

You’ve always been weak in the knees for his absurdly gorgeous legs. They’ve only gotten more toned in the last year just like the rest of him, and between his dimples, his arms, his chest, and his legs, it’s hard to know where to begin. Or it would be if there wasn’t something hard and beautiful staring you in the face.

Namjoon is in heaven watching this unfold from above. When you slip him into your mouth, he feels all his rational thought go dark. He’s helpless to do anything but cave in. God, the two of you are like rabbits, but honestly, how can you not be when you make him feel like this? He begins to lose himself in the soft rhythm you create, something lazy and hypnotic, that makes him feel weightless.

He can barely hold himself, but every second is worth it. All he can do is luxuriate in the way you take your time as you bless him. At least, that’s how he always thinks of it because it’s truly nothing short of divine. 

He can’t tell if it’s been a few minutes or an eternity when all of a sudden, you’re abruptly letting him slip from your mouth with a pop and a sultry smile. The cool air rushing against him nearly startles him in the wake of the warmth he’d been cocooned in while your tongue did its incredible work. Because just as quickly as you started, you’re gone. 

He realizes then that the floor is wet. Apparently, You’d both gotten so lost in each other that the water in the tub had spilled over its edges and he hadn’t even noticed. Also, at some point during all this, you must have slipped out of your dress, because you’re lowering yourself into the water now as bare as you were on your wedding night.

Namjoon swallows. His body is ramping with endorphins, and he’s so worked up it nearly hurts. As he makes his way to the tub, you stop him with a dainty hand against his lower stomach.

“Ah, ah. I asked you to read to me.” 

Your eyes are coquettishly round as you bat them up at him. He’s tempted to scoff.

“Are you serious right now? Aren’t we in the middle of something?” His face is serious, focused as he eyes your breasts floating in the water amidst the matcha- scented bubbles.

You push back against his stomach again. “Yes, we were… in the middle of that last chapter. Book. Please.”

There it is again. The “please” he’s always been so enamored by. The “please” that’s usually the product of your need for him. The one he’s so infatuated with that he’d do anything to satisfy it. The one that, up until now, he’d thought you were unaware of, yet here you are using it against him.

That’s when he knows he’s trained you too well. There’s pride sparkling in your eyes as you look up at him, and he can’t believe it. Running a hand down his face, he shakes his head at you. What has he gotten himself into with you?

“ If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,” he squints at you with playful derision. “But I’m reading to you in the tub with you when I come back.”

“Oh please do,” you coo, batting your lashes at him.

Oh, you’re good. 

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at himself as he walks to the bedroom to collect the book. When he met you a year ago- the blushing, soft spoken girl who was too nervous to meet his eyes- he definitely never would have thought that a year later you’d be sending him down the hallway fully naked and half hard to fetch your literature for you while you float in a bath. He wonders when he got so wrapped around your finger like this, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

 Being with you is the best his life has ever been. He’ll forever be grateful, that against all odds, you agreed to marry a man who was nearly a perfect stranger and create a life with him.

As he walks back to the bathroom, Namjoon catches a glimpse of your rosy smile flashing his way, peeking at him beyond the wall of bubbles. It fills his chest with something buoyant and light as he makes his way back to you.

There’s absolutely nowhere he’d rather be.

As he sinks down in the water behind you, more displaces, splashing out across the white wood beams and dousing your hair in the process. He apologizes profusely but instead of getting mad, you simply slip the rest of the way under the water to finish the job. When you resurface, you’re laughing so happily that your smile is the brightest thing in the room, putting even the afternoon sunlight to shame.

He pulls you to him, affection for you glowing warmly in his chest as you settle between his legs and look up at him. He kisses your forehead, his heart filled with contentment, before reaching forward to dry his hands on the closest available towel and thumbing through the book until he finds the page he marked.

The two of you stay that way until the chapter is finished and the book is closed. Until the bubbles all dissolve and the water’s gone cold. Even then, once the water is drained, you still stay wrapped in a tangle of Namjoon’s long limbs as you twist to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Eventually he straightens out his legs to allow you to climb into his lap so he can find his way home again and slip inside you. Your bodies are swathed in the golden light illuminating the room as the two of you go effortlessly slow and unhurried, taking your time . 

Namjoon sinks into you, lost in the beauty of you and your connection. 

This time, your session together is marked in emotion and security. 

He knows how much you want to start a family with him, and you know how special it was for him to let his walls down, to let you know how scared he was to lose you. Both of you are in awe of not only how attracted you are to each other, but also of the caliber of human you’re currently sharing your bodies with, of how transcendent love making can feel when your hearts and hopes are as interwoven in the act as they now are with all your cards on the table.

When Namjoon finishes this time, it’s in sync with you. It’s the first time that happened for the two of you in tandem. As your eyes search his, you're both aware that this shared state of bliss is nothing short of miraculous. As story-worthy as this act has always been between the two of, this time feels different. Markedly so.

Perhaps, it’s because you’ve both dropped your guards enough to fully let the other in, in a way you hadn’t uncovered before. If the crashing of his heartbeat has anything to say about it, Namjoon would probably guess that you've both sunken so deep into each other that it was impossible for the crescendo of your orgasms  not  to crest all at once for the both of you.

Once you’ve gathered yourself enough to speak, you watch Namjoon with dazed eyes, in awe that someone as incredible as him even exists, let alone that you get to call him yours. As he slips out of you, the warmth of his seed flows out between your thighs, and some ridiculous part of you can’t help but smile.

Namjoon catches it too, and leans forward to kiss you. 

“You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?”

Your eyes flash to meet his. Your body is spent, your emotions are big and at this point, your heart feels so filled to the brim with affection for him that you fear it won’t fit in your body anymore.

“They’re gonna be the luckiest kids in the world to have you for a dad,” you whisper with shining eyes as you touch his chest.

He dips his head, smiling so exorbitantly wide that it consumes his whole face, and all you can think is that you can’t wait to see that dimpled grin shining back at you from the face of a little boy or little girl down the road.

“By the way,” you begin as his gaze perks back up to meet yours. “You should know that we’ve tallied the votes for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” His brows lift attentively. “Should I pack it up? Is it time to let the dream go? Surely it’s not going to a rookie this year.”

“You’d be surprised,” you tip your head. Taking his hands you place them so they’re cradling your chest. “On behalf of the board and the esteemed academy, it is my honor to present the award of husband of the year to you, Kim Namjoon.”

As he throws his head back, he bursts into a bright fit of laughter and mock cheering like you’re both surrounded by a make believe crowd. 

“Oh my goodness,” he squeezes your breasts in his palm like the globes are irreplaceable awards. “I would just like to thank all the people around the world who supported me and believed me, who shined the light of their support on me even on days when this seemed bleak. We couldn’t have made it here without you guys. This award belongs to all of you.”

He waves to the imaginary audience he’s created before pressing your breasts together and happily burying his smiling face between them. He mumbles something you can’t understand that gets lost in the downy softness of your chest as you laugh at him.

“What are you even saying down there?”

“I’m thanking the people who got me here.” He eyes you soberly like that should be obvious before breaking character and cackling at how ridiculous this is. “I can’t believe we really kept this joke going all day.”

“I can’t believe I got in the tub to clean up the mess you left earlier only to now, once again, be sticky with dried up mess.” You look ruefully between your legs.

“Hey, hey, that mess may very well become your child.” He tuts as you grin and narrow your eyes at him. 

“I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“Semantics,” he shrugs, kissing your nose. You can’t help your eye roll that follows. “Hey,” he breathes, eyes suddenly serious.

“Yes, love?” 

“Please know, whatever happens, I’ll always love you, and I’ll always take care of you. Both of you, if we’re so lucky.” The tips of his fingers rest against your lower belly, and yep. You were right. Your heart bursts clean out of your chest. You can feel the way your eyes glisten, happiness spilling from them as you get lost in Namjoon’s smile.

“I know you will, Joon. I know you will.”

-fin.

#btswritersguild #btswriterscollective #btswritersclub #Kim Namjoon smut #Kim Namjoon fluff #Kim Namjoon angst #Namjoon mafia au #rm smut #rm mafia au #Kim Namjoon arranged marriage au #BTS smut #BTS mafia au #black silk #champagne silk #my writing #BTS angst #BTS fluff #BTS fic #BTS fic series #BTS one shot #Kim Namjoon x reader #Kim Namjoon x you #rm x reader #rm x you

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

[viskafrer]

Writeblr Pick A Card

I have recently been asked if I'd bring these back; last time I did one was at least 2 years ago so have a quick explanation:

You'll see three things in the picture below

decide which one you feel more drawn to and go with it

Check for the text below the picture but make sure it is your group's text. Each text will provide a mix of things, take what helps your story or made you have an idea and leave whatever doesn't fit

I will make this a 15-posts series, following the Save The Cat Beat Sheet. Each post, you get to pick one group and use the information given to write a story. It's a fun little excercise I like to do while writing on my projects but you can also use this to generate plot ideas or character development ideas for your existing stories. Tweak away, you can take and leave whatever you need. So if that sounds like something you'll have fun doing, have a try! If not, don't worry, sorry to have crowded your dash 🙂

Posts likely will be posted every Saturday or Sunday.

Writeblr Pick A Card 1/15 - a “before” snapshot of the protagonist

Group 1

Your character has just returned home from their hero's journey, their life is different now, their values and goals changed, dreams have been forgotten and others have been found. However, they return to their little house where everything is just the way they left it. Unopened mail scatters around the mailbox, the inside stuffed full with even more mail. Newspapers of days far in the past, articles with faces they once knew. The telephone on the counter by the door blinks, indicating that there are messages waiting to be listened to. Pressing the button, they wander around, picking up things, leafing through mail, sorting out stuff but it gets them itchy in a way they can not describe at first. They feel out of place and restless, the voices on the answering machine echo; some even have no distinct face to them anymore. However, something catches their attention.

Group 2

Your character went out of their way to get here. It's a calm place, they have to admit. One full of gentle nature, entertaining opportunities, and cozy architecture. Fishermen sail every river and lake, it's almost impossible to find a speck of water without one. Standing at the edge of a small wooden dock that reaches so far into the lake that they can barely see the shore behind them, they hold up a small painting and compare it to the lush greens and the rippling water around them. After a bit of thinking and comparing, they are confident in their opinion: this is it, the place they have been seeing in their dreams whenever they got off their medication. A flock of birds scatter as a handful of boats draw closer, waving at them, greeting in a matter that lures a smile on their face. Folding the paper with the painting and putting it back into their hidden chest pocket, they wave back, ready to dive right in. They'd find out. And no one would know, right? They had taken measures after all to throw them all of their trace. They would have never believed them when they'd told them where they were going, what they were trying to find. But they'd done it, and now they would learn the truth. Barely having said that, the first boat anchors by the little dock, reaching for their hand.

Group 3

Hurrying through the narrow street, your character hastily closes their worn bag. Lanterns flicker on, and some turn right off as your character races past. From other streets, quickly approaching steps echo across the plaster. It's not one pair of feet, but a dozen that hurries along the very same street. Dressed in black; all carrying the same worn out bag that they try to hasitly close as they run as if the devil himself is after them. Your character crosses a bridge and sprints down several winding roads until they finally seek shelter underneath a wooden bus station stall. The light flickers once, twice, thrice even, and then there is no more noise. Cars and busses drive past, all minding their own businesses, but in the midst of them, a black carriage approaches. And again, everyone minds their own business. No one stops, no one even looks at it; almost as if it isn't there. And when it stops by the bus station and the door opens, a hand reaches out, ready to take the bag. However, your character hesitates. They clutch the bag tightly against their body but the hand grows impatient, motioning for them to hurry up. In the end, your character hands over the bag. The door closes and the carriage drives away. Soon, the noise is back. There are no more cars and busses now, no more hurrying feet, no more shoes clicking on plaster. Your character glances up with a heavy mind and an even heavier heart, looking for comfort in a sky full of thick smoke but there is none anymore. The sky is clear and as beautiful as they remember it. "Good for you", a voice croaks behind them and when they turn, something hard hits them over their head and everything turns dark.

[part 2 here] [part 3a] [part 3b]

#writeblr #writing prompts #writing ideas #writing exercise #writing #original writing #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #writeblr pick a card

[otptings]

Insomnia

-Idol ~ Kun

-Genre ~ Sick Fic, Smut, Fluff

-Warnings ~ insomnia, lack of appetite & weight loss, pillow princess by force, oral (f receiving), passionate fucking, dry humping? (she's half naked but he's fully dressed), daddy kink, rough sex, choking, degradation,

-Word Count ~ 2.9k+

-Synopsis ~ Sleeping never comes easy to. You've tried everything from exercising, to warm milk. Maybe the one thing you've been missing is some late night loving?

-A/n ~ loosely inspired by sky Insomnia, the rose insomnia, and dreamcatcher sleep-walking. best to listen to any of those songs as you read it, might help set the mood even though those are all break up songs lmfao. I also have my ko-fi link in my bio help raise more money to help me buy essentials for my emotional support animal, I cannot work at the minute because of my treatment for type 1 bipolar disorder, and door dash doesn't allow me to save up abundantly enough, if you could even only share it I would greatly appreciate it. anyway hope you enjoy this and thank you for reading

Sleep and you have always had a complicated relationship. Fighting sleep as a kid, climbing out of your bed after your parents tucked you in, playing with your toys until you passed out among us. At sleepovers you were always the one who stayed up all night, too excited to actually get tired.

As a teenager spending nights before school desperately trying to finish homework, staying up until the early morning hours, quickly taking a shower before running to the bus. If you had no assignments your crush at the time would distract you, joking and blushing until it was time to leave for school, bags under your eyes prominent, but the loss of sleep was worth it.

Now the only thing you wanted was to sleep.

Insomnia took over your life. Staying up sometimes days at a time, struggling to calm your racing thoughts that were determined to keep you up at night. They won most nights. Laying in your bed, struggling to get comfortable or staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to overtake you. Even with the medication from the doctor you struggled to get more than 3 hours a night.

You tried other remedies too. Drinking warm milk with cinnamon and vanilla, the warm concoction soothing but never tiring you out. Exercising before bed that truly made you feel amazing but never worked to tire you out, only forcing you to feel the soreness in your body as you laid in bed. No electronics before bed helped you finish multiple books series that you had wanted to start but never had time for, but didn't work.

Everything you tried was in vain. Sleep continued to evade you, and it only took a higher toll on your physical body.

Your appetite started to lessen, your weight slowly declined. The bags under your eyes only got deeper and darker. Concerns about your physical state came form your friends, their worries growing as you continued to get worst and worst. It came to a peak when you almost passed out at an outing, shaky from the constant stream of caffeine that you were consuming in order to function properly, your eyes fluttering close as you collapsed into their arms. Concern was properly covering their face, and they rushed you to the hospital, you were too weak to even try and decline them.

At the hospital they gave you strict instructions to stay home and rest, with someone watching you over to make sure that you were properly taken care of. Along with instructions you got even stronger medication, 20 mgs stronger than what you were currently taking.

Kun being the thoughtful person he is offered to watch you while you were on bedrest. He was the best candidate out of your friends, the others practically pushing you to accept him.

Kun has been the best assistant? nurse? friend that you could ask for. Constantly at your beck and call making sure that you were drinking plenty of water, cooking you fresh homemade meals, and making sure your medication was taken on time. Along with that he also did the awkward task of helping you to the bathroom, since you were still shaky and weak at times.

He did this all without complaint, catering to you everyday and making sure that you were cared for. Sometimes when he wasn't busy with his own work he would sit and watch a drama with you, or just engage in conversation telling you about his day, and the funny things he did and heard.

Having him helping you 24/7 for 2 weeks straight, had caused some unwelcome feelings. Your friends weren't surprised at that, having been part of the reason why they suggested he did it, knowing your past feelings for him. With only a week left of your bedrest you were saddened at the thought that he was leaving, going back to only talking to him once or twice a week whenever the friend group hung out.

Kun had actually been the one who surprised you. Seeing that you were still up one night, thoughts of him running through your mind when he entered your room. Upon seeing you awake he sat on your bed, holding your hand as you asked what's up. You weren't truthful. Who would be truthful in that scenario? 'Hey actually I was up thinking about my crush on you and the desire that I constantly have to kiss you."

You were positive that wouldn't have gone through well.

Kun rubbed your hand soothingly, listening patiently to you as you lied about what you were thinking about, fake worries and complaints about going back to work. Offering you advice was always Kun's strong suit so you were ready for some good advice despite your lies.

That's what got you in this peculiar position.

Lip tucked tightly between your teeth, the taste of copper on your tongue. One hand grasping at the pillow behind you squeezing it tightly between your fingers, the other intertwined with dark blue hair as you tried not to pull too hard.

Kun thought the best thing to clear your mind was sex, and who were you to deny his generous offer.

You felt your hips jerking as tongue pressed his tongue against your hole, shallowly fucking into you. His free hand rubbed up your thigh, the sensation combining with him eating you out causing your mind to start to go blurry. His hand continued to glide up, before pressing down on your hips, forcing them down on the bed.

Without the ability to move you could only lie there as he continued to tongue fuck you. The fire in your stomach increasing, and Kun seemed to know it as he kissed your clit before sucking on it aggressively, causing your first orgasm to rip through your body.

Kun continued his ministrations, licking up your cum causing the fire to come back threefold. Kun sucked on your clit, flicking his tongue over it as you wriggled from the sensitivity. He seemed to be made for this, the way his tongue knew the perfect ways to fuck you open, and he hadn't even involved his fingers or cock yet.

Pulling away from your cunt you saw your juices covering Kun's mouth leaking down his chin. His hair was sticking every which way how you were messing, and pulling on it. Kun looked like all of your wet dreams had happened to come through.

"So pretty." A laugh let his mouth, a smiling spreading over his lips.

"Wish you could see yourself," Kun slid his hand up and down your thigh, rubbing it soothingly, "You're gorgeous. I've been wanting to do this for so long."

Kun changed the positions so that you were on top, straddling his thighs. You could feel his cock straining against his jeans, rubbing over your oversensitive clit in the best way possible. A whimper left your mouth as you started to rock on him, but Kun stilled your hips. His hand slid to your chin, rubbing his thumb along the side of your jaw.

"Can I kiss you?" You didn't bother answering, meeting him halfway. His chapped lips moved against your own as if you've done it before, there was a familiarity to it that made you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him flush against your chest. Sliding his hands up and down your body, lips moving in sync against yours. You nipped at his lip, causing a loud groan to leave his mouth as he opened it for you. Sliding your tongue into his mouth you reveled in the feeling of him taking dominance. His hands gripping your ass tightly, his tongue roughly dancing with yours.

You pulled away, placing your hips on his shoulders as you continued to grind against him. Another groan leaving his mouth as he moved you against him, forcing you to press down harder and faster against him.

"God baby." He leaned back as he looked at you, admiring the way you moved against him, needy and wanting to cum again. "You're so need baby. Who's got you like this hm?" You dropped your head back, continuing to rock your hips against his. Kun felt his cock twitching in his pants at the sight, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you close to him, placing kisses along your neck and collarbones.

"Kun I need you." You tried to sound strict but it came breathy, a moan following it as he kisses over your jugular, nipping at it before listening to your 'command'. Flipping you over he gave you a peck, before pulling away to take off his clothes. You decided to join him stripping out of your shirt and throwing it across the room.

Kun crawled back over you, but he stopped just taking the time to stare at you.

"I need to say this before. I'm not just fucking you because of your insomnia, I'm not just fucking you to fuck you." Kun intertwined your fingers, "I really like you. I don't want this to just not mean anything to you, when I really like you. Even thought we're doing this backward I hope you can at least think of going on a date with me." You felt your face heat up, and the familiar feeling of fluttering in your stomach at his confession. Placing your hand on his cheek you leaned up, placing a quick kiss on his lips.

"I like you too Kun. More than I can put words to." A big smile spread across his face as he leaned down, showering your face with kisses. "But if you don't put your dick in me right now, you might not ever get that date." A laugh left his mouth as he placed one last kiss against your check, before grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it up and down your cunt. Collecting some of your juices over his tips he looked down as he pressed into you, muttering a fuck at the sight of you taking him in so well. You threw your head back feeling the fuzziness come back, feeling how well he slid into you.

When Kun bottomed out he placed your still intertwined hands on the pillow beside you, his other hand sliding back to your hip.

"Fuck you feel so good." He growled as he waited for you to adjust, feeling your tight walls practically sucking him in.

"Please move. Please I need you." Kun placed a gentle kiss on your pouty lips before pulling. Thrusting back into you he set a slow pace, being gentle with you not forgetting that you were still on bed rest. Your other arm wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer to him. Feeling skin against skin as he continued to slowly fuck you, enjoying the feeling of him being close to you.

It was more intimate than it should've been, being the first time that you two were having sex but with Kun it felt right. This was more love making than casual fucking and you wouldn't have it any other way. The coil in your stomach started to tighten, Kun's groans helping greatly to push you towards the edge, but the pace he had set wasn't doing it for you.

"Kun." He slowed down, hearing the desperation in your voice and not wanting to hurt you.

"Yes baby? Am I hurting you?" You could hear the slight panic in his voice and shook your head, before meeting his eyes.

"Faster please. I need you rougher." Kun pushed your hair back, before cupping your cheek.

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you, you were just hospitalized."

"Please fuck me harder. I need you to ruin me daddy." At your words Kun's eyes darkened and without warning he thrust into you hard, causing a punched out moan to leave your mouth.

The mood changed just the way you needed it to, instead of being slow love sex Kun was fucking you. Hips meeting during every perfectly timed thrust, hitting deep within you as the sound of his balls smacking against your ass filled the room. He let go of your hand, instead opting to grab your waist and pulled you to meet him halfway on every thrust.

Ceaseless moans leaving your lips at the feeling of him fucking into you so beautifully, filling every inch of you. Opening your eyes that hadn't even realized had closed you were met by the sight of Kun, sweat glistening over his abs and dripping down his face. His hair plastered to his forehead, as he bit his lip harshly trying to hold back his groans. Your neighbors should really thank him for having some self control.

Kun slowed down as he lifted your legs up, pushing them towards your chest, folding you in half as he continued his rough pace. This new position causing you to feel him in your chest, the feeling of fullness completely overtaking you as you orgasmed for the second time. He fucked you through your orgasm, the tingly feeling spreading towards your hips as overstimulation set in. Even though his cock was dragging against your walls beautifully, blunt tip pressing into your g spot it started to get painful.

The feeling of it being too much, but not enough at the same time. Tears welling up in your eyes, as Kun pressed against your legs pushing them back further and forcing his cock impossibly deeper.

"F-fuck daddy please." You didn't even know what you were begging for anyway, him effectively fucking you dumb, his hands gripping your thighs tightly to the point where you knew you'd have bruises the next day.

"So tight around me, your pussy is sucking me in even after two orgasms? What's wrong baby? Two isn't enough, you need me to milk another one out of you?" You couldn't respond to him, only listened to him as he spoke, groans leaving his mouth harmonizing with your moans almost.

"Poor baby is fucked dumb," A cruel laugh left his mouth as he stuffed two fingers into your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, twirling your tongue around them. "Can't even speak, only babble and suck on my fingers huh? Lucky you're so cute. You liked being called dumb huh? Can feel the way you're pussy clenched around me? Must be close again." You could only let out a muted moan, Kun's fingers still pressed against your tongue, gagging you effectively.

Pulling his fingers out of your mouth he slid his hand around your throat, tapping his too soaked fingers on the side of your neck.

"So close baby. So. fucking. close." Punctuating his words with an extra hard thrust in between you had lost the ability to think, his hand gently around your neck, more like an accessory but just at the thought of him choking you felt yourself drooling, his thrusts still reaching that spot inside of you that was so deep it'd never been touched before.

As if hearing your thoughts, Kun's hand tightened around your throat, pressing you against the mattress. You came at that moment, Kun's tip hitting your g spot perfectly. Your eyes rolled back as you felt like you had exploded, all of your energy draining out of you with your third orgasm of the night.

At the feeling of you clenching around him so tightly, practically holding you in place Kun pulled out and quickly jerked himself off, cumming over your lower stomach. Kun marveled at the sight of you laid out below him, lips swollen from biting them, hair frizzy from rubbing against the pillow, his white cum painting your stomach, a light red mark around your neck from his hand.

Kun let you sit for a couple minutes before carrying you to the bathroom for a well needed shower. Setting you on the toilet, he let you pee while he started the warm. When you were finished and the water was warm enough Kun helped you into the shower, letting you lean against him as he started to clean the cum from your body.

"Are you okay?" You looked up at Kun, basking in the feeling of the warm water running down your body as Kun rubbed the soapy loofa over your body.

"Never felt better." A crooked smile spread across your face, too tired to even continue the conversation. Kun kissed you on your temple , seemingly sensing it and helped you rinse out. After getting you redressed and back into your bed with clean sheets, Kun went to go to the living room until you grabbed his arm.

"Can you stay?" Even after having sex Kun was still nervous to sleep in the bed with you, but he obliged hearing your soft, sleepy voice. Climbing into bed with you he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

"Thank you." Kun hummed, the vibration spreading through his chest and making you giggle.

"For?"

"Taking care of me." Kun placed another kiss on your head.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to care for you. Now get some sleep." Cuddling further into Kun, the beat of his heart along with the rise and fall of his chest lulled you to sleep.

For the first time in years, you slept like a baby.

#kpopcatalog #wayv #nct #wayv kun #wayv qian kun #nct qian kun #qian kun #Kpop smut #kpop fluff #sick fic #nct smut #wayv smut #wayv fluff #nct fluff

[plush-rabbit]

Late Night Talks

Request: Hey! I hope you’re well sweetheart! I have a request, so I’m the youngest of my family (unfortunately) and a lot of the time I’m unheard and dismissed because of this, ngl I don’t have the best relationship with my family so it’s hard to connect with them, or talk to them. I kinda feel like white noise ya know? So Compress, Twice, and Dabi are my closest comfort characters. So how about them suddenly seeing the reader (probably late at night) talk about the things they enjoy with just stars in their eyes. It’s a harsh comparison to how they act during the day, it’s still them, but it’s just more raw.

🙇‍♀️

thank ya babes

A/N: I hope that you like this, I’m not sure what the harsh comparison was supposed to be but Im guessing it was supposed to be more reserved? (also babes, feel free to gush here, i love talking to yall)

-

Bubaigawara Jin:

Jin’s need for interaction and want for friendship makes him the perfect partner to talk to. He loves talking to you, his legs bouncing and hands flapping as he mentions something that he likes. Sitting beside you, he does most of the talking, how energy out matched and while he does talk, he also looks to you for commentary, wanting to remember that he isn’t alone. There are rare instances when you two are alone that you’ll talk more. The roles will be reversed and you’re talking about anything and everything, smiling at him and for the moment when your eyes lock, he feels the weight on his shoulders lift.

It’s not uncommon to find the villian and you in a single room together at night, often the words will travel the halls and you have to muffle your laughter. This night is one of those- he’s in your room at night, resting beside you as you talk about this new thing that you’re into. You’re eager, shifting in your seat, a bowl of popcorn nearing the end of the bowl, kernels accidentally grabbed at. You’ve grown so excited, your words tripping over each other as you try to find a way to make yourself comfortable all while he stares at you. You’re processing the words fast, trying to tell the story in a cohesive way but with your excitement you are unable to. You look at him with wide eyes and a grin that can nearly blind him.

You’re different at night. He’s unsure whether because your mind has grown groggy with sleep or if it’s because the likelihood of someone interrupting the both of you has lowered, but you’re different. You’re much more prone to touch- you reach for him and you playfully push at his shoulder, your tongue stuck between your teeth as you give him a coy grin. Perhaps it's due to you being so touchy, that he grows bolder with his movements, grabbing your hand and playing with it as you continue to speak, the bite to his words softening whenever you tease at him.

If it were up to him, he would listen to you for hours on end, locking the door and making sure that you two could just talk until time ran out. But, he knows that that’s impossible, so he lays down on your bed, his head resting on his palm as his elbow digs into your pillow. You’re much different to him when the dim lighting is all that illuminates the room, your hair holding a soft glow, the features on your face almost softer and he’s unsure whether it’s exhaustion that grips at him or something else, but he wants to stay awake, he wants to listen to you every night. You mean a great deal to him and he wants to hear you speak, will take every word and keep the important ones so he knows what you like and what to do.

Despite being tired, he wants to continue talking to you, hearing you talk but the night continues to go on, the sky turning a softer shade of blue, and your words are starting to drift. Jin will take over at that point, laying beside you, talking as you start to drift. He mentions things that you said, making a point to mention that you were the one who came up with that observation and talk about how that really stuck out to him. You voice continues, your words growing softer and your gaze on him now barely peeking between your lashes and yet, he is unable to tell you to go to sleep. It’s selfish of him, but he wants to hear you talk until you’re whispering your words into a single breath. The next day, when you can barely keep your eyes up and you’re talking to him, he’ll have an inside joke, your grin widening as you take joy that he listened to you. Under the table, his knee nudges against yours, his smile ever growing when you return the gesture.

Dabi:

Dabi enjoys hearing you talk- it’s soothing for him, something where he’s able to rest his head on your lap and have you play with his hair as he listens to you gush about whatever it is that you like. However, while he does so, he realizes that he has a habit of falling asleep on your lap. It isn’t because you’re boring, you’re just nice to listen to. Laying with you and hearing you talk is one of the few times where he’s at peace, safe in your arms and touched gently. However, he’s noticed the implications of it, noticing that you don’t talk as much as you did. His piercings are warm as they press against his palms, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to figure out a way to make it up to you or to show you that he does actually care for what you have to say.

Unable to sleep, he arises from his bed, walking towards the living area trying to find some sort of sleeping aid. Instead of sleeping aids, he finds you curled up on the couch, the screen of your phone lighting across your face. You give him a smile as a greeting, your focus returning to your show. He can see heavy bags under your eyes- you’re forcing yourself to stay awake. The couch is soft under him, his arms spread as he turns his gaze over to your show. Without a word, you align your phone to make sure that he’s watching it, your words are whispered as you explain the plot and the characters but as you continue to do so, your words excite and your volume raises gradually.

The night is somewhat young and as far as he knows, there’s no mission that he has tomorrow. He has to fix his past mistakes and he wants to hear you talk. He pushes more, asking about the relationships between the characters and even wanting you to restart the series from the first episode- if you want to, of course. When you do so, he makes himself comfortable on the couch, stealing your blanket and laying down, offering for you to sit close to him in a much more relaxed manner. He covers the both of you with the blanket, his arm stretched behind your back and hand resting on your shoulder.

In between episodes, you start to muse once more, ranging from the metaphors to your favorite lines, and to the designs that you like. Your legs bounce, shaking as you try to contain your excitement despite it being written all over you. He gives you his full attention, nodding his head along as you ramble. Your words are rapid, your expression focused entirely on him and he wonders if you’ve always been hiding all this excitement. You’re much more animated, moving your hands and arms, shifting as you speak and there’s a certain tone to your voice that makes him unable to look away.

Every word of yours is coated in sugar and honey, and he clings to it, nodding along and looking at you with half-lidded eyes, unable to wipe the soft smile off of his face. The show is forgotten, your phone now showing him pictures from different stills and you’re much more relaxed, leaning against him, your head pressed against his side. You have a wide smile, your eyes shining with stars as when you look up to smile at him, he returns it as all air escapes his lungs. Once Dabi can properly think, he enters the conversation, offering more than soft hums and words of interest. At night, he can see your smile, the way that you look at him with wide eyes, the giddiness in your voice is enough to wake up from his growing slumber. He could fall asleep listening to you, but he doesn't want to miss how you look when it’s just you and him.

Sako Atsuhiro:

Atsuhiro adores hearing you talk. He’s rather eccentric, always wanting for the spotlight to be on him, but when you talk, he doesn’t mind being the one entranced by you. He wants to hear you talk, to see the light in your eyes. Yet, he can tell you’re holding yourself back- you play with your hands, tug at the ends of your hair, and laugh nervously as you apologize, telling him that you didn’t mean to talk for so long. While it’s true that you might talk over people, he knows it’s because of how excited you are, willing to share whatever is on your mind before the thought fades.

It’s a late night for him, phantom pains that make it unable for him to sleep and even with the medication acting as a placebo, he’s unable to truly find peace. He finds you in the kitchen, mumbling to yourself as you prepare a late night snack. He knocks against the wooden wall in an attempt to announce himself before startling you but you still jump, turning around with wide eyes and a parted mouth, before relaxing once you take notice that it’s just him. When you ask why he’s up so late, he gestures to his arm, making a strained face as his hand clamps around the residual limb, the pain sharp as it shoots up into his shoulder. He asks what you were muttering about and when you turn your head, your lips pulled into a straight line as you’re clearly flustered at having been caught, he laughs, telling you to tell him- to get his mind off of the pain.

You start off slow, mumbling between words and telling him about a new thing that you like. Your words increasingly start to grow with confidence, your eyes on him as you share your late night snack. He listens to you, nodding along and saving the best piece of the snack for you, his chewing trying to be quiet so as to not interrupt your words. While he also wants to start to talk about one of his hobbies, he much rather listen to you. When you do take a bite, he asks his questions, encouraging you to continue talking, his arm resting against the table and he leans towards you, eager to grasp at every word that leaves past your mouth.

Stars are in your eyes, your tone softer and you go to hold his hand, your thumb, index and middle finger hooking over his middle and ring finger, your eyes wide and smile whimsical as you talk. Under the bare light of the kitchen, you’re softer, your eyes shadowed and your touch gentle as you begin to toy with his hand. You’re passionate about what you talk, and he wonders if when you look so eager, and so full of life, if it’s only something that you show to whoever catches you at night, to someone who can glimpse a version of you so real that he’s almost at a loss for breath.

Sleep gnaws at him, but he is unwilling to do so. His pain is gone, replaced with a dull ache that he knows he can sleep off, but he has stars in his eyes as he listens to you talk. Your voice is soothing, your laugh like a lullaby that only pulls him in further to you. His hand is warm, hispalm tickled by your nails and the snack now lays forgotten on the plate. He almost feels bad for wasting food, but he doesn’t have the will to pull his hand away and finish the food that you prepared. Every word that you speak only makes Atsuhiro want to smile, to lay on his bed and think about you and how you spoke to him. You talk, and he’d do anything to keep your voice memorized, to stay awake long when you've fallen asleep just to remember how your voice lilts when you start to get excited or how it drops during a serious part as if you were telling him a secret.

#bnha #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #bubaigawara jin #jin bubaigawara headcanons #jin bubaigawara x reader #jin bubaigawara #bnha jin bubaigawara #bubaigawara jin x reader #bnha twice imagines #bnha twice x reader #bnha twice headcanons #dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi headcanons #dabi headcanons #bnha dabi #touya headcanons #touya todoroki #sako atsuhrio #bnha sako atsuhiro #sako atsuhiro headcanons #atsuhiro sako imagines #atsuhiro sako x reader #sako atsuhiro #sako atsuhiro x reader #atsuhiro sako #bnha mr. compress #bnha mr compress #mr. compress x reader