#mission board: succession

[nightfall-1409]

Im mentally chewing on the fact it's now Commander Scorch on his own working for Hemlock.

Like it'd be really fucked up if the reason he stayed and the others either didn't (as in they took a path similar to the books and got out altogether, they're some of the first clones eligible for retirement after all given their service records) is Sev and having to leave him behind. Or maybe the other's have since died. and he's the only one left to keep going. hooooo

#would Love to know if Boss and Fixer are dead. Why is it just Scorch now. #Rotating it around in my head that Scorch is on his own. He was forced to Leave Sev Behind. Now he's the only one still plodding along #if he left NOW would that be abandoning the mission he abandoned sev for. #ive also got some wildly fucked up conspiracy theories on my board. scorch is close to hemlock. follows him around. #Hemlock is obviously a pos but he has ostensibly done things to 'help' individual clones to get their loyalty. Emerie is one of them. #im conspiracy theorizing that oh it'd be so fucked up if scorch thinks he has some understanding of the technology. and he's staying around #specifically to try to be able to bring back sev from like. the dead. #if that is a plot line. (and i do think it is I think that mystery black armor guy is tech revived from death I think that's what's going o #back in hemlock's secret lab I think that was the “successful transfer” with a dimininshed/ reduced m-count.) #I think that would b in scorch's character. to burn it all down around bc it could get him sev back. #it would be even greater then. if sev was like. idk running around w/ quinlan vos or something similar. hoooo #I want to believe they chose him in that role specifically for reasons. #the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers

[incognit0slut]

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

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a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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[chireikiden]

I think about Sukimamori a lot.

Sukimamori (sukima = gap, yamori = gecko, mamori/mori = guardian) is a youkai created by Japan Railways West, Osaka Municipal College of Design and Osaka Metropolitan University for an awareness campaign to warn small kids (and their parents) to "mind the gap" and not fall between the train and the platform.

It dwells in the gap between train and platform (appearing when the gap is created) and is 14 meters long. It likes people who board carefully, eclairs (it kind of looks like one), and gaps, and dislikes people who board carelessly or run on the platform. Despite being a little scary, it's actually helpful and wants to stop kids from falling in. Most of all, the campaign itself - titled the mouthful yet delightfully vague Children Falling Into Gaps Prevention Project - is supposed to be attention-grabbing in order to remind people that this is a thing that can happen.

Yeah, well. Mission successful.

"Don't show any gaps in your defense", the slogan goes.

One or two of these traits could be a coincidence, but I want to believe that the specific combination of a 1.) purple youkai that 2.) lives in the gaps at 3.) train stations with 4.) prominent hand and eye imagery couldn't have been designed in a complete vacuum from Touhou. Certainly that's a pretty harmless thing to believe in. And not a hard connection to make.

https://seiga.nicovideo.jp/seiga/im11192689 (fanart, obviously)

In the end, though, Sukimamori just stands out to me because I really like this creature in its own right.

OMCD Sukimamori site Sukimamori Twitter

#sukimamori #youkai #touhou

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

���Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic rec #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry edward styles #harry styles writing #writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #tennisplayer!h #tennisplayer!y/n #enemies to lovers #tennis rivals #fanfic rec #fanfiction #one direction #harry styles rec

[hotyanderedaddies]

Hello mate

Would you ever be interested in writing something for a yandere Pirate x (navy) Admiral male reader?

Yandere Pirate Boards Your Ship for His Treasure

[Yandere! Pirate x GN! Admiral! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You're an admiral on one of the Navy's most prestigious ships, and you were on a mission to deliver some precious cargo back to your country. Said cargo was traded goods, including gold and precious gemstones.

Word had gotten out regarding what your ship would be transporting, hence, your crew was on high alert for any pirates that might try to come and take it.

You were at the wheel of the ship when the bell from the lookout post started to ring. "Pirates!" the lookout shouted, altering you to the potential danger.

You grabbed your binoculars and tried to look out over the water for a sign of any pirate ship, but the thick fog helped to shield the lingering threat. Unfortunately, once the fog cleared enough for you to see, it was too late.

The pirate ship was dangerously close, enough for the pirate crew to start tossing ropes on board to your ship, some of them hopping on board to start attacking.

But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

You vaguely recognized the name on the side of the pirate ship: The Blackheart.

It was the ship belonging to one of the most infamous pirates on the Seven Seas, a dangerous pirate who went by the moniker "Daddy", and who was always successful when it came to taking whatever he wanted.

"Fuck," you spat under your breath.

The commotion happened so quickly that you didn't even have time to grab your weapon and help defend your ship, until the door to the steering room was kicked open and in walked Daddy.

The tall pirate had a joyful expression on his face, and he smiled widely as he looked over at you.

"Well, well," he said with a chuckle, "if it isn't Admiral Y/N. You know, I've been following your ship quite a while now, and I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to board. But as fate would have it, here I am."

"Yeah, here you are," you spat, "now leave!"

You tried to grab your sword, but Daddy was a lot faster than you, and he snatched it out from your reach.

"Not so fast, Darling," he laughed. "You see, I'm not goin' nowhere without my treasure." He crossed his strong arms in front of himself and waited, expectantly

From the opened door, you could see Daddy's crew rallying yours on the deck, having easily defeated them. They were starting to tie them up and you began to fear the worst.

Of course you had a mission, but you believed that your true duty was ensure your crew members' safety as opposed to some gold coins and shiny rocks.

"Fine," you relented, your shoulders falling. "Just let my crew go."

Daddy puffed out his chest with pride and stalked closer to you, completely towering over you with his intimidating bulk. "Oh?" he teased. "Are you givin' up already, Admiral?"

You scowled, avoiding his eyes.

"Just take your treasure and go," you muttered, clenching your fists angrily.

"Gladly," Daddy exclaimed.

Daddy stalked even closer to you and quickly tossed you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

"W-wait!" you cried out, confused. "What?"

"Don't act so surprised, my treasure," Daddy chuckled as he carried you out of the steering room and over to the edge of your ship. With one mighty leap, he brought you onto his ship, and stalked over to the room on the deck that was without a doubt the captain's quarters.

Daddy kicked this door open too, revealing a tiny room with a double-sized bed. There was a singular nightstand beside the bed and on it was... a small picture frame with a picture of you in it.

You looked up at the pirate with confusion written all over your face.

Daddy only chuckled in response, closing the door shut behind you two.

"Oh, Darling," Daddy said in his deep voice, "I've been following you across the seas for a long time now. I've been so desperate to get my treasure, and now that I finally have it, I'm never letting it go..."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere daddy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #asks #pirate #yandere pirate #pirate x you #pirate x reader #yandere pirate x reader #admiral reader

[rileyslibrary]

An Unlikely Duo

Request by ✨ anon: Can I perhaps get a Ghost x GN!Reader, where reader got transferred to TF 141 and has two personalities? Like cold and badass on the battlefield and super friendly and chirpy back at base. So Reader, on day 1, already sees Ghost as a best friend and she loves hugs, so she decides to hug him after a missions success and leaves him frozen and a blushing mess?

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,310

Notes:

Big thanks to my ✨ anon for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it! Hope I did well on my first request!

Fluff (the platonic kind)

Want more?

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You walk behind him, holding a container filled with freshly washed strawberries. His strides are long and confident, making it hard for you to keep up with him as you walk to the truck.

“Would you like a strawberry?” You ask, extending the container to him, but he ignores you and quickens his pace.

You try to catch your breath as you follow him, but it’s difficult. Whenever you think you’re closing the gap, he increases his speed and pulls away again. You break into a light jog to stay close.

“So, I presume... you’re not... a strawberry fan?” You ask, out of breath. Instead of responding, he lets out a dismissive “tsk” and continues walking.

“Why don’t you like str-”

“Get that damn thing away from me and keep moving,” he says as he pushes your hand away. “We have work to do; no time for strawberries.”

You come to a complete halt. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, strawberries are-”

“Just get in the damn car,” he orders, opening the back door and gesturing for you to get inside.

It’s your first day as the newest member of Task Force 141, and the base already feels like a powder keg. But that doesn’t bother you; you’re excited to be a part of such an elite team and contribute as much as possible to future missions. Soap and Gaz were surprised but amused by your cheerful personality when they met you this morning. However, not everyone on the team seems to be on the same page; Ghost was less than impressed. He sized you up from head to toe, looking for any sign that you were ready for the mission. But, instead of finding comfort, he was met by your cheery attitude and endless questions about his fruit preferences.

“What is this, Captain?” He grumbled at Price, “I asked for an explosives specialist, not a fucking Jack Russell.”

“Laswell swears by their abilities,” Price reassured him, “just give ’em a chance, brother...”

Despite his trust in the captain, Ghost remained skeptical. Was it the way you expressively waved your hands while speaking? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking about strawberries? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking in general? Whatever the reason, Ghost was clearly not on board.

He has the same attitude as he sits across from you in the truck, driving to your assigned mission. It’s a look of concern and contempt. as if he can’t believe what fate has brought him this time—like he’s been dealt bad cards yet again.

But that’s okay; you’re used to feeling like an outcast, and you’re not going to let that get in the way of this mission’s success.

“Yo, Lt.?” You ask excitedly, attempting to break the ice by pulling a purple star-shaped charm from your pocket, “Do you like it?”

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “You look like you just got out of a toy store.” He comments flatly.

“That wasn’t my question, sir,” you say wryly, “and if that’s the case, then you look like you just got back from trick-or-treating.” You smile and attach the charm to your assault rifle.

“Take that off this instance,” he says, “I won’t let you and your sparkles hinder our position.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re not sparkles—they’re sequins,” you say, waving your gun around so he can see the charm, “and second, they won’t even see it when they’re dead.”

“Stop talking.” He sighs.

“I’m conversing, not talking.”

“Then stop conversing.”

“Like, who doesn’t like strawberries?” you ask, lowering your voice.

“I told you to stop.”

“And sequins are pretty cool, man.” You mutter to yourself as you cross your hands over your chest.

“Shut it and put your helmet on; we’re almost there,” Ghost says sternly.

You fall silent as you gaze out the window at the passing scenery. The tension in the truck is intense, but you refuse to let it get to you. Instead, you take a deep breath and relax.

As the truck comes to a stop, Ghost explains the goal of the mission: get to the door where the valuable information is stored and collect as much intel as possible. After his brief rundown, you quickly exit the vehicle and assume position. It’s game time, and you’re determined to prove to everyone what you’re capable of.

You move fluidly through the environment, using your firearms, knives, and bare hands with precision to take out any targets that come your way. You are agile and swift, never staying in one place for too long and using your surroundings to your advantage. He takes quick glimpses at you every now and then to check if you are okay. He seems impressed yet wary; as if he’s testing you to see if you’re up for the challenge, yet careful enough to not put you in danger. As you work through the guarded area, you keep calm and focus on the task, finally reaching the steel-framed door. However, the door remains unyielding despite using military-grade hammers and refuses to budge.

You turn towards Ghost to plan your next move when you notice an enemy approaching him from behind.

“Get down, Lt.!” You yell and throw a knife at the enemy. The lieutenant is stunned but quickly regains his composure. He turns to thank you, but you cut him off.

“This isn’t a playground, Lt.; I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly won’t become yours.” You firmly tell him as you push him aside and place the purple star-shaped charm on the door’s lock. “Step back,” you order.

Ghost looks at you, puzzled.” What is-”

“You must learn when it’s the right time for chit-chat and when to listen to the specialist, sir; please take a step back.” You repeat, and he follows your instructions.

With everyone clear of the area, you pull the cord and duck for cover. Five seconds later, your bomb detonates, blasting open the door and granting you access to the information inside. You quickly survey the room and pinpoint the location of the vital information. You approach it with calculated precision, relying on your training and experience to predict potential threats. The room is full of guards, but you’re prepared for them; you take them out, using your weapons with deadly accuracy. The intel is kept in a secure case, and you begin working on cracking it open. You have a special tool for the job, and the lock gives way in seconds. You open the case and extract the valuable information.

After a quick glance at the documents, you are pleased to see that it is exactly what you were hoping for. Ghost calls for backup to secure the scene, collect the documents, and transport them back to the base. As he completes his orders, he turns to the team for a debriefing, but instead is met by the old, cheerful you.

“LT., WE DID IT!” You yell and leap onto Ghost, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He freezes and raises his hands as if he’s been arrested for a crime.

“Get off me,” he orders with an unusually high-pitched voice.

“No, you deserve it.” You object and proceed to pat him on the back.

“I did nothing wrong to deserve this, soldier; get your fucking ha-”

“Shhh, Lieutenant.” You cut him off by putting your hand over his mouth to silence him. “You must feel the hug.”

“I said-”

“They’re right, Ghost,” Soap interrupts him with a sinister grin, “you must feel the hug.”

“Yeah, listen to the specialist, sir,” Gaz adds, trying hard not to laugh.

Ghost looks at Price for help, who has a satisfied smirk on his face. The captain turns to Ghost and mouths an inaudible “told you so,” establishing you as a valuable member of their team from now on.

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #✨ anon #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod ghost

[demetris-cocksleeve]

Darling, I need some Dom!Jasper smut asap pls. 😉

(A/n: Order up!)

(A/n: Special thanks to @pawspurpaw for taking on the challenge of being my Twilight beta reader😘😂)

Word Count: 3,200

Summary- Just another case of the swing dancing to fucking pipeline

Warnings: strangers to lovers/semi one night stand-ish, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, blowjob, cream pie, kinda Major! Jasper

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Jasper Whitlock x Fem! Reader: Swing

------------------

“What’s a lady like you doin’ all by herself, darlin’?” A smooth drawl comes from behind you, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You turn to look at your sudden companion.

Wavy blonde hair that stops just short of his jaw, strong eyebrows, thin lips quirked up on one side in a slight smirk. But the thing that catches your attention the most is his eyes - soft gold - almost glowing in the dim light of the bar.

He wears a white tee with dark-wash blue jeans and cowboy boots. Simple, but by god, attractive.

After taking a second to admire the man in front of you, you nod in answer towards your friend, still dancing with the guy who had swept her away almost an hour ago. She’s got a bright smile on her face as she sways against her companion, and it makes you smile as well. You had brought her out to forget about her lousy ex, and you have to say: you’re glad to see it's worked.

“Mission: Rebound was a success,” you verbally answer as well.

The stranger tilts his chin up in understanding.

“I’m sure she won’t mind if I steal you away for a couple of minutes, then?” He holds his hand out to you with a playful grin and a quirked eyebrow.

You can't help but return his smile. Sure, you're here to cheer her up, but who says you can't have some fun, too?

"I'm sure she won't~" you drawl back in an awful attempt at a texan accent. Placing your hand in his, you're shocked by the temperature difference between you.

Probably poor circulation, you think.

Brushing it off, you say, "Hope you don't mind the possibility of you getting stepped on."

He chuckles as he pulls you to the dance floor. "Not at all, Ma'am~"

He places a hand on your hip just as a new, higher energy song begins. "Just relax, I'll guide you- and I've been told I'm an excellent lead~"

And, boy, is he ever-

He twirls you around the floor, the hollow sound of the floor boards with each of your heeled foot falls joins that of the other patrons' steps, adding that much more to the country song blasting through the bar.

Letting your mind shut down and allowing your body to take over, you manage to avoid stomping on his boots and even throw in a couple impromtu hip sways and hair flips into the mix.

He swiftly dips you down, and you make upside down eye contact with your friend. She gives you a playful wink before being spun away herself.

He pulls you back up and into a twirl, holding your back against his chest before spinning you back out and under his arm.

You exchange a back and forth of steps, laughing as you back him up with a hand to the chest.

"Thought you said you couldn't dance, darlin?'" He smirks down at you as he pulls you into a side dip.

"Guess you are a good lead, after all~" you twirl into him before falling back into a fall through dip.

"That-" he says as his spins you out again. "-or you just sold yourself short, sweetheart."

"Maybe..."

The song ends with you held against him, hands pinned against his chest as he smiles down at you.

"The name's Jasper, Jasper Whitlock, darlin'." He releases you but keeps the proximity. "And what do I have the pleasure of callin' you?"

"You can call me yours if you keep saying "darling" like that." You can't help but laugh out.

Jasper shakes his head with a chuckle as you compose yourself.

"Y/n," you say. My name's Y/n L/n."

Jasper takes your hand and brings it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/n; it was an even greater pleasure to dance with you~"

Your cheeks burn as you stare into his golden eyes, almost enraptured.

Clearing your throat, you open your mouth to respond only for your friend to cut you off.

"Y/n!" You turn to see her latched onto her new guy friend. Her cheeks are flushed as she stifles a laugh at something he says. "I'm gonna go with Colt, I'll see you tomorrow."

It's then that she seems to notice the lack of space between you and Jasper.

"Or... not~" she smirks before starting to drag the guy - Colt - towards the exit. "Have funnnn~~"

You hear a snort and turn back to Jasper. "Sorry about her, she's... her." You chuckle.

"Not at all," he slings an arm over your shoulder, leading you off the dance floor as another song starts. "What do you say to getting out of here darlin'?"

"That's the best idea you've had all night," you tease.

.

You finally break apart as Jasper kicks the door shut behind him. His eyes are dark with lust as he stalks toward you, ever the predator hunting his prey.

Falling perfectly into your role, you start to back up slowly, making your way towards your living room.

In a couple of long strides, Jasper closes the distance between you, grabbing your jaw in his large hand. He forces you to watch as he slowly rakes his eyes down your figure.

You can feel your heart pick up as his free hand comes up to tease along the hem of your shirt.

"Take it off." His voice leaves no room for question as he drops his arms, moving to undo his belt buckle. His slender fingers distract you as they unclip the hunk of metal and start their work on his button and zipper.

He stops when he notices you not moving.

"Take it off, or I'll change my mind about shoving these inside you later." He flexes his hand for emphasis.

His threat has you snapping into action, sliding off your top, and kicking your shoes and pants off. Thank god you decided to wear your best set, you think as you stand in just your undergarments.

"Good girl, darlin'."

He finishes undoing his jeans and shucks them down just enough to free his length. Your eyes widen slightly as you take him in. Even at half mast, he's still insanely long and thick.

It makes your mouthwater.

As if reading your mind, Jasper gestures for you to come closer. You take the couple steps forward, hips swaying a bit as you do. Once directly in front of him, he speaks.

"On your knees. I want to see that pretty mouth of yours around my cock."

Swallowing in anticipation, you sink down until you're eye level with his crotch. Keeping eye contact, you reach up to stroke him, running your palm down his shaft and rubbing his tip into your palm.

A low rumble sounds from his chest as his eyes narrow.

Slowly, you lean forward to kitten lick at his slit before kissing your way down to his base.

"Don't -" You cut him off with a long lick back up to his tip.

"Don't what?" You smirk before pushing him fully into your mouth.

"Fuck..."

His eyes look almost black in this lighting as he stares down at you with lidded eyes.

As you pull back off, you press your tongue into a thick vein you feel on the underside of his girth. His hand shoots up to grip your hair at the feeling, pulling you off completely with the harse tug.

The sting pulls a moan from you as your eyes roll back.

Jasper's brow quirks up. "You like that?" He tugs harder, dragging yet another noise from you. "You like being roughed up, huh?"

He lines his cock back up with your mouth, smearing the spit-soaked tip across your bottom lip, before shoving back in. The sudden pressure in your throat makes you gag a bit, but you couldn't care less if it means he'll keep pulling your hair like that.

"I'll show you rough, darlin'."

His cock slams into the depths of your throat, uncaring as you gag around him.

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes from the treatment. Jaspers hand is still grpping your hair, keeping you from pulling off when he pushes in as much as he can, holding himself there for a second before fucking into your mouth again.

The grunts and strings of curses that leave his lips with each thrust makes your pussy clench. Slick gushes out to soak your panties as he lets out an almost feral growl.

"You fucking love this, dont you? Love being treated like a toy?"

A strangle moan claws its way up your throat at his words, the vibrations shooting up his cock making his head toss back with a loud 'Fuck!'

All of a sudden, he's pulling out of your mouth and practically tearing the rest of his clothes off. "Get on the couch."

You barely have time to get up before he is pulling you up and backing you up to said furniture. You briefly feel the fabric of it brush your calf before he grabs your thighs and pulls your legs from under you. You yelp as your back hits the cushion.

Jasper crawls on top of you, shoving your panties down to your ankles and shoving two fingers into your pulsing cunt before you can even bother voicing any complaint.

"Oh~" you breathe as he sinks his fingers into you. The wet slide of his digits is all you can focus on - oh fuck -

A noise just short of pornographic leaves you.

- especially when he curls his fingers like that.

You turn your head to bury it in the back of the couch as the heel of his hand brushes against your clit. The addicting friction making your hips buck as it rubs against you over and over.

"Look at you." Jasper shifts his hand to dig his thumb into your clit. "Falling apart on my fingers. Makes me wonder how you'll look once I have you on my cock."

Your pussy clenches. Whether it's at the thought or the delicious way his fingers keep brushing your cervix, you're not sure but you are sure that, right now, you'd give anything to properly fuck the man above you.

He already has you teetering dangerously close to climax from just his fingers, you're going to finding out what he can do with those hips if it's the last thing you do.

"I can feel you squeezin' my fingers, doll; are you that desperate for a cock?" Jasper dips down to press a harsh kiss to your lips.

"Been a while since you've been fucked right?" He trails down towards your neck, nose brushing across your jaw and skimming your neck as he breathes you in. He places a barely there peck to your collarbone before sitting back up.

His intense gaze mixes with the way his fingers curl just right and you're gone. One hand buries itself in your hair as you cry out while the other fists into the cushion.

"Jasper~" you moan, wave after wave of aftershock pulsing through you.

Jasper keeps working at you. Your vision dances with black spots as you ride out your orgasm , hips pushing up to meet his fingers with every curl.

Mind empty, all you can think about is getting this man's dick inside you. Discretion be damned at this point.

As the brain fog clears, his fingers start to slow before pulling out completely.

"Please," you gasp. "Please let me ride you~" Fuck being embarrassed.

The smile that he gives you is absolutely wolfish.

"Pretty girl wants to ride the cowboy? Well... Who am I to decline such a darlin' little lady?"

Before you can process his words, Jasper has you pulled up and manhandled into his lap.

He rests his arms across the back of the couch as he smirks down at you. "Ride away, sweetheart."

His legs spread, forcing your own apart and giving him the perfect view of his cock now resting against your stomach.

His stare has your thighs quivering as you lift up. You take his cock in your hands, lining him up before sinking back down. Your head drops forward as his thickness starts to stretch you out. Fucking finally.

"Atta girl, darlin'," he sighs out, head tilting back. With his neck on full display, you can't help but to lean forward and press a couple kisses up towards his ear.

"Let's see if you fuck as well as you dance~" You taunt, teeth nipping at his earlobe before you pull away.

You start to roll your hips against his, lifting up before grinding yourself back down.

"Careful." Jasper warns with a sharp thrust up. It makes your knees buckle, dropping you back onto him. His cock slams into you and forces a curse from your lips.

"Watch that mouth, sugar."

Huffing out a breath, you grip his shoulders before rocking your hips again.

You set a faster pace, practically slaming your body weight down again and again. Each ministration has your pussy clenching around him.

"Make me."

With those two words, you might as well have taped the box and shipped it yourself with how much you just sealed your fate.

Before you can blink, you're off his lap and on all fours. Jasper grips your hair, yanking your head back so he can whisper in your ear.

"Big mistake, darlin'~"

Without warning, Jasper shoves back in and sets a brutal pace. His cock slams into you at an animalistic pace. His arm slips under you to lift your hips, forcing him mind meltingly deeper.

Each slam of his hips against your thighs sends jolt after jolt of electricity running through your body. Every time his pelvis brushes against your clit, you can't help the twitch: your knee jerking to the side, your hips bucking...

It's overwhelming yet not enough.

You can feel your climax ebbing ever closer, but it teases you, staying just out of reach, as you grasp at anything you can get your hands on - you're gonna have to apologize for how hard your nails are digging into Jasper's forearms later. You might have to apologize to your neighbors as well. The thin walls of your apartment no doubt doing very little to obscure the obscene squelching and slapping echoing through your living room.

"You feel so good, doll," Jasper growls above you. His jaw is set as he watches you, eyes scanning each of your minuscule reactions.

Your pussy clenches at the praise, forcing him to slow do a grind as he lets loose a deep groan.

The sudden change of pace has your head falling back with a sigh; his cock presses firmly against your cervix, threatening to push impossibly further. "Fucking hell... Jasper~"

His fingers dips just the slightest deeper into your hips as he pulls your hips tighter against him. "Atta girl... Squeezing me so good~ You gonna milk this cock for all it's worth, sugar'?"

Jasper pulls his hand away from your iron-clad grip in favor of toying with your clit, hips still grinding against you.

The added stimulation makes your body scream out for him. For him to stay buried in your cunt, for him to keep touching you like that - oh~

You feel like an exposed wired, dangerous yet electrifying. You can't remember the last time someone fucked you this good. If ever.

The added friction is just enough to shove you over the edge; cumming so hard your vision goes black and you can barely hear it as you all but scream out Jasper's name.

Definitely gonna have to apologize to your neighbors.

"Fuck, darlin'," Jasper gasps out as your walls clamp down on him, hips stuttering as it forces him to spill his seed in you. The cum that paints your walls is cold, shocking you but not entirely unpleasant.

He ducks down to capture your lips in another kiss as he starts to grind into you again, riding out both of your highs.

You reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft locks as you kiss, soft sighs and moans breaking the kiss ever now and then. Jasper drops your hips in favor of almost tenderly gripping your jaw. He uses his grip to force you to open your mouth. The kiss becomes less of a kiss and more of a clash of teeth and tongue as he pulls you closer.

"Wanna taste you." He mumbles against your lips before pulling away.

Jasper slides down, pressing kisses and the occasional nibble to your skin.

Once between your legs, he licks a heavy strip up your folds as he keeps your gaze. Your breath stutters from the unexpected intensity of the action. "Open up wider for me, doll." He breathes against your skin.

Swallowing, you spread your thighs.

"There's my girl..."

"Oh fuck-" You let out a breathy chuckle. These nicknames and praise are gonna be the end of you.

You feel more than see his smirk. God damn it. This man is going to ruin all other guys for you...

Icy hands grip under your knees, pushing one of them towards your chest. "Hold this for me, doll."

As soon as you hook your forearm under your knee, Jasper is diving in like a man starved.

The way he licks and sucks at your clit sends your mind reeling. Is this what heaven is like? Nah, this man is definitely a work of Himeros himself.

You can't help the way your hand tries to shove his face closer as you grind up desperately.

"Taste so fucking good," your cheeks heat up as a sharp *slurp* seems to punctuate his words. "Guess callin' you 'sugar' wasn't too far off..."

You can do little but watch as he smirks up at you before plunging his tongue inside your slick and cum soaked cunt.

You can feel another orgasm working its way up. Still sensitive from the first one, it's hard to hold it back. especially with how his darkened eyes stare up at you, keeping you from looking away.

The sudden sting of his teeth grazing your clit is the beginning of your end.

"Oh god!" Your head throws back as your nails dig into his scalp. The harsh scratch of your fingers causes him to let out a warning growl, the vibrations shooting through you and yanking you fully back into ecstasy once more. Your legs clamp around his head as you cum. The way he sucks and licks you through it not helping the "you suffocating him" situation. Not that he seems to mind with how tight he's still holding you against him.

"Knew you had one more for me, darlin'," Jaspers gloats as he finally pulls back, wiping the mixture of cum from his chin.

He pauses before saying, "We're definitely going to have to apologize for the noise, though~" He smirks down at you as he pulls you into his cold chest

All you can do is stare up at the ceiling as a breathless laugh rips its way from your chest.

#jasper hale smut #jasper whitlock smut #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader smut #jasper whitlock x reader smut #lackie's inbox

[rookiesbookies]

Different relationships that the CoD boys are in and will probably be in for most fics I write bc they give these vibes?

Featuring: Price, Soap, Ghost, Konig, Keegan, Gaz (in that order under the cut)

Price:

Wife. You both met on a dating app when the Captain was feeling lonely. Poor man got so anamored what was supposed to be one date and a fuck turned into one date, two days, four dates then fucking, then well yk. He kept you under deep protection, the boys never really learned about you but Price sends you photos of them all the time, referring to them jokingly as his sons. You’ll meet them eventually, but only when Price knows Graves and Sheppard aren’t a problem anymore.

Soap :

Fiance. After a couple years and a lot of confidence talks by Gaz, he built up the courage. He knew you’d say yes, everyone knew. Everyone knew the night you came to the bar to pick Soap up when he was blackout drunk and didnt kill him when he vomited all over your car’s dash. Ghost knew of you first to snatch up Soap’s phone to call. He was gruff and to the point about it but he felt sorry seeing Johnny cry over missing you but not wanting to leave the team during a celebration for another successful mission. Price made you promise him he’d be allowed to walk Soap down the aisle since it was, as he said, “clear who wears the pants in this relationship.”

(Fic about this posted and in my masterlist with in pinned on my account)

Ghost:

Situationship. He has too many attachment issues to be super stable and he knows it, especially with his line of work. You dont here from him for months at a time after goodbye dates, but when he comes back he’s basically living out of your apartment because it just feels better than living on base. He crashes on the couch because he doesnt want to join you in bed to make you uncomfortable or steal your bed by accident. He kicks and flops in his sleep like a fish.

Konig:

Wife. He couldn’t have put the ring on your hand faster out of fear of makimg you uncomfortable. After the second date he knew he wanted to marry you. But he waited a year to ask, it was painful for him. He asked the two of you elope, promised a ‘real’ wedding with a big white dress and anything you could ask for when the world was safer or his job slowed down. He has large enemies so he mostly keeps you as on the downlow as he can. Everyone knows not to mess with the Colonel's Wife.

Keegan:

Fiance. He promised you when you both graduated he’d marry you, lost contact not long after, reconnected a bit later, and he put a ring on you- promising he wouldn't lose you again. You’ve been engaged for a couple years but you want to be financially stable enough to do the dream wedding you both have planned on a Pinterest mood board. You’ve been his best friend since forever and met in a math class when he didn’t quite understand algebra. He says, “im not a math person,” quite often to this day.

Gaz:

Girlfriend. You met at a bar during his training way back while a friend was working as a bartender, they let you bust his ‘fake’ ID just to talk to him. He comes to see you every time he can now, cozying up in your bed and telling you the happy and fun moments he has with the boys on missions. You play Its Raining Men and he jokingly acts like he’s having flashbacks as a running gag.

#captain john price #john price #cod x reader #captain price #call of duty #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #konig modern warfare #konig x y/n #konig headcanons #konig x you #konig x reader #write this later #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #john price x reader

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

.

"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

.

Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn. 

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate. 

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug. 

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli. 

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold. 

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship. 

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction. 

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit. 

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present. 

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed. 

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked. 

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his. 

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.” 

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship. 

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore. 

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging. 

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry. 

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm. 

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated. 

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting. 

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran. 

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help. 

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured. 

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with. 

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love. 

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him. 

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured. 

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

 Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #dark!din djarin #female reader #reader insert

[thedensworld]

Piece of Origami | K.Mg

Pairing: Husband Mingyu! x reader

Genre: humor, fluff, established relationship

Words count: 1,1k

Summary: you have no idea that you're this untalented in making a paper fold—origami until your kid ask you to make one

You struggled to grasp the situation as the sensation of shaking pulled you from the depths of Sunday morning slumber. The room felt like it was caught in an earthquake, only to discover it was the lively jumps of your 5-year-old son, Han, on the other side of the bed. A smile played on your lips as the realization dawned that he was the culprit behind the early morning disturbance.

"Rise and shine, mummy!" echoed Han's cheerful voice as he darted towards the window, flooding the room with the morning light. His infectious enthusiasm seemed to infuse the room with energy, and you couldn't help but reciprocate the joy.

Exposed to the gentle rays of sunshine, you became aware that your husband, Kim Mingyu, had already embarked on his Sunday routine. The absence of his presence in the bedroom hinted at an early start, likely immersing himself in a workout session in the home gym before diligently preparing breakfast for the family.

As you navigated the transition from sleep to wakefulness, the orchestrated chaos of your family's morning routine unfolded around you. Han's vibrant energy, the warmth of the sun, and the quiet absence of your husband painted a vivid picture of a Sunday morning in your household.

You extended your arms, inviting Han into a morning embrace, and he eagerly jumped into your hug, expressing, "How could you be so pretty even in the morning, mummy?" His charming compliment elicited a chuckle, a trait undoubtedly inherited from his father.

As you held Han close, you inquired about his morning and the quality of his sleep. He nodded in affirmation before sitting up, ready to share a dream he had during the night – a dream of crafting a plane and a ship for you and Mingyu.

"Can we make them with my origami paper before breakfast?" Han asked with enthusiasm, and your immediate nod signaled agreement. "Of course, baby. Let's go," you replied, gently tapping his thigh before intertwining your fingers and guiding him out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.

The rhythmic sounds of a knife meeting the chopping board filled the air, and you caught a glimpse of your husband, Mingyu, skillfully preparing breakfast with a focus on chopping vegetables. His gaze shifted to you and Han, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"Mission success, Han?" Mingyu inquired, and Han responded with an enthusiastic nod before darting off to his room. A giggle escaped you as you approached Mingyu, standing beside him and observing as he began heating water for soup. Mingyu's cheeks tinted with a subtle blush as your attention turned to him, and he tried to hide it with a soft laugh before pulling you into his embrace.

"Stop watching me; I'm blushing!" he teased, planting a gentle kiss on top of your head. Mingyu, ever fond of the comfort your presence brought, took a moment to inhale the familiar fragrance of your hair, a ritual that never failed to soothe and connect you both in the midst of daily routines.

Your arms wrapped around Mingyu's substantial frame tightened, and you whispered a question about why he hadn't woken you up. His response, "you look pretty when sleeping," accompanied by pulling you out of the hug, cupping your face, and adding, "but you look prettier even when awake," elicited both a forehead and a lip kiss.

The tranquility was interrupted by Han's protest as he stood below the counter with origami paper in hand. "Dad, stop stealing mummy. She wants to help me make planes and ships like in my dream, right mummy?" he insisted.

Mingyu, with a scoff, played along, "Aye-aye captain... I'll give you your mummy, but she's mine after breakfast, okay?" he teased his own son. Han made a face, reacting to his dad's statement, creating a moment that left both you and Mingyu amused and bursting into laughter. "He's definitely your son," you remarked to Mingyu, noting the striking resemblance between the two, not only in appearance but also in their playful attitudes.

You made your way to the couch, seeking a moment of rest after a demanding week managing a company project. Han trailed behind you like an eager puppy, claiming a spot on the couch and expressing his impatience to craft planes and ships with origami.

Mingyu, observing the scene, called Han's name and suggested, "Let mummy rest and play with me after breakfast." Han, with a pout, insisted, "Mummy is who I want to play with!" Mingyu sighed in response.

Amused, you joined the gathering on the couch, and Han, still buzzing with enthusiasm, requested to make origami ships. "How about we make the ship first? Can you teach me, mummy?" he asked, and you nodded, reaching for an online tutorial. As you followed the steps, Han mirrored your actions, a hands-on learner even when faced with mistakes.

A groggy chuckle escaped you as you struggled with the instructions, unfolding and starting afresh. "I don't think this is right, mummy," Han mumbled, his words audible to Mingyu. You glanced at your husband, who softly laughed, well-aware of your handcraft challenges. "Is this tutorial right?" you whispered in protest, but Han, growing bored, voiced his disapproval, having watched you wrestle with the paper for almost ten minutes.

"Hmm, how about making a plane instead? I think it's easier," Han suggested with a considerate tone, eliciting laughter from both you and Mingyu. His innocent and polite remark subtly highlighted your struggle with paper folding.

"Done!" you declared triumphantly as the plane origami took shape. However, Han, inspecting your creation, gave you an odd look. While it vaguely resembled a plane, it didn't quite meet his expectations. Shaking his head, he swiftly ran to Mingyu.

"Dad, let's make origami after breakfast," Han proposed, evidently preferring to enlist Mingyu's help for a more accurate and satisfying crafting experience.

*

As Mingyu and Han engaged in origami crafting on the floor, Mingyu brought up a nostalgic question. "Do you remember our first date?" he inquired while folding a paper crane for your son.

Lying on the couch, you nodded in response. "And what we were talking about is happening," you added, recalling the early days when your first date involved pizza, Mingyu's apartment, and creating a jar filled with paper cranes.

"I made them most," Mingyu remarked, and you nodded once more. "You made them all," you corrected, prompting a chuckle from Mingyu at your fond recollection of the shared moments from the past.

"I'm not good with my hands," you sighed, and Mingyu, sitting on the floor folding paper cranes with Han, turned his head to you, his brows raised. You smiled and continued, "You know what I'm good with."

A smirk played on your face, causing Mingyu to let out a soft laugh. He tossed an almost finished paper crane in your direction, and you looked at him, feigning innocence. "What? Why are you so worked up?" you asked, maintaining the charade, and he covered his face, laughing.

"Watch your mouth, babe. Han is listening," Mingyu reminded you, shielding his face from potential embarrassment.

"I was about to say brain, duh!" you clarified, and Mingyu nodded in acknowledgment, appreciating your clever save in front of your son.

Han abruptly halted his attempts at crafting an animal face origami before posing a question, "Do you know why people make origami?" Mingyu, fully engaged in the moment, shook his head, eager to hear Han's explanation.

Seated on the couch, you turned your attention to your son and responded, "Do you know why?"

Han nodded with certainty, "Because people couldn't make a real plane, ship, car, and animal! So they make the imitation ones with paper."

Your applause echoed through the room, and Mingyu showered your son with compliments, visibly proud of his insightful observation. However, what Han said next caught you off guard.

"How about making me a paper brother, dad?"

The unexpected proposition left Mingyu visibly taken aback, his surprised expression mirrored by your own raised eyebrows. "What do you mean, Han?" you inquired, seeking clarification as Mingyu's mind processed the peculiar request.

Han, undeterred by the puzzled looks, explained, "Yeah, a paper brother. Teacher said that having a brother is not easy and has a lot of responsibility. How about a paper brother? We just have to make one!"

Mingyu, still slightly baffled, shook his head and decided to excuse himself. "You handle this, since you're good with your brain," he quipped, retreating to the kitchen sink to tackle the dishes.

Turning your attention back to Han, you regarded him attentively, searching for the motivation behind his unique request. "Ummm, so..." you began, prompting your son to elaborate on the notion of a paper brother and the thoughts swirling in his young mind.

#densworld🌼 #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #mingyu imagines #mingyu recs #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu #mingyu au #mingyu fluff

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

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[dailyadventureprompts]

Encounter: The Bridgebuilder's Impasse

Frustrated with interruptions to the flow of commerce, a local caravan magnate has hired your party to slay the giant who's repeatedly destroyed the bridge spanning a turbulent river causing delays and costly detours across the realm. The one wrinkle to this otherwise straightforward mission is that the giant is the one who built the bridge in the first place, and rather than hunting a rampaging monster you and your companions have signed on to assassinate a beloved local artisan.

Whoever said “two heads are better than one” never met the giant Gilbult Gultib (or Gultib Gilbult, as he often insists) who far more embodies the adage “Every artist is their own worst critic”.  Immensely talented in stonecutting and engineering, Gilbult (or Gultib depending on who you ask) has been building and rebuilding the same bridge for the better part of two centuries, sometimes letting it stand for a generation, sometimes scrapping it and starting over several times over the course of the same month. 

With a perfectionist streak as wide as the river he's trying to cross, neither head can agree how, muchless when the bridge should be finished, agreeing only that what came before will be insufficient going forward and that they must return to the drafting board once again.

Adventure Hooks:

The locals are of divided opinion about Gultib Gilbult, most regard him as something of a curiosity, as much a fixture of the landscape as the river itself, while others see him as a gruff but otherwise pleasant neighbour or family friend. There's a very vocal minority that wish that he would get on with building the bridge, or else move and leave the maintenance to someone who won't tear it down on a whim, especially the merchants who end up paying an arm and a leg on unexpected barge fees. There's been an uptick in those actively calling for the giant to be driven off, all of which just so happen to be in the pay of the local quarry owner, who's in talks with the Caravan magnate about the construction of a tollbridge in the near future.

Having reached a new low of indecision, the giant has resulted to gambling with himself to decide the composition of this version of the bridge, anteing particular stones against himself in the hope that luck and strategy will let the superior side of his mind win out. This is just as much a stalemate as any other, but may present an opportunity for the party to resolve the situation without violence.

The tricky thing about accepting adventuring contracts from successful merchants is that they're VERY good at paperwork, and while this one did come with a sizeable advance, the fine print threatens numerous penalties (including debt and possible outlawing) if the party don't fulfill their end of the bargain and take out the giant in a timely manner.

Artist

#giant #random encounter road #random encounter #villain merchant

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Kids Anger Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 ~ Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

Kid hasn’t been the same since finding you. He hasn’t even been his normal angry self. It’s like he’s become a shell of who he was and Killer can’t seem to snap him out of it. Killer was the one to break down you cell door and pick up your limp body, yelling at Kid the entire time to snap out of it. It wasn’t until the room was empty and Kid had realized he was staring at the stained floor that he started moving again.

        The cell was clearly your torture chamber, the thought of someone hurting you sent him into a blinding rage. He knew Killer had taken you so he could wreck as much havoc as he wanted without care. He doesn’t remember much of what happened after Killer had taken you away, but he does know that the entire crews Bounties had gone up after they had left the island.

        Killer gripping you limp body on the other hand rushed to get you back to the ship, there was no way anyone on this island would dare to treat you, especially not after hearing the destruction that had started behind him. The Navy base had been made of metal and steel and he could hear Kid using his power to decimate the area. But that wasn’t his concern right now, you had started to turn cold.

        Jumping back onto the ship he ran towards the room they deemed the infirmary. Killer had thought it overkill to have an entire room dedicated to medicine and first aid when you had first come aboard but he couldn’t be more glad that you had been insistent on the semi-sterilized room. He passed Hip on his way in who had quickly followed them to help with whatever injuries you had.

        No one on board was a skilled doctor, everyone knew basic first aid and a couple knew how to stitch or tourniquets a limb good enough. Hip by far was the most qualified to be called the ships doctor but even that was a stretch, sure she had been the one to cauterize Kids arm when it had been ripped off but it was still a far cry from being knowledge or skilled.

        None the Less she gets to work closing up your wounds, she starts by stopping blood flow to your shoulder, a tight tourniquet, to make sure the infection doesn’t spread further. Taking her time to slowly look at the wound before she realizes the Bullets still in and goes to fish it out.

        Your body, while cold, was covered in sweat and every movement and prod made you face slightly contort, a good sign in Killers mind as he got more supplies out to be used. He quickly walked out to inform everyone to be prepared to leave the second Kid gets back before going back in to assist Hip.

        As he walks in he sees her pour whiskey into the wound and sees you flinch violently at the sudden pain. Despite being on the verge of death it seems you still have some fight left in you. Hip demands Killer help flip you over and without a thought he does so. Hip gasps at the deep gashes littering you back, and what skin left stained a deep purple almost black. Killer is the first one to start treating your back as Hip gets her bearings again, grabbing a needle and some thread to go in after Killer disinfects the wounds.

~~~

        Kid had come back after night had fallen, passing out the second he gets on deck, and just as soon as he passes out the rest of the crew is working at leaving the hidden cove. Killer could feel the vessel move and he was almost glad it had taken Kid this long to get back, there were more injuries than he had thought and it had been a couple hours since they started working on you.

        It was only once the night became the darkest that they had finished bandaging you up, your breathing shallow still. The rest of the crew seemed relieved that Kid and Killers mission to retrieve you had been a success but it became all the more worrisome when Hip came out of the room covered in blood and exhausted.

        She’s the one that set up a schedule to make sure you were never alone. And as much as Killer wanted to move you to an actual bed, he was afraid to move you. He muttered under his breathe, begging you to just wake up, this had been hard enough when he went through it with Kid. But he didn’t have the reassurance he had back then, he believed Kid would make it through his ordeal, he was only missing an arm, you on the other hand… You were weaker than them, and your injuries seemed so much more severe.

        As he’s leaning over you, not even daring to hold your hand in fear of harming you more, the door opens and shuts. A small huff and creaking of chairs lets the blonde man know that the other was finally there. “She’s alive” Kid whispers, his voice slightly wavering. Killer feels the red-head shake slightly and leans on him.

        “Hip thinks we should amputate her arm” Killer says, his voice weak and dry, “She. The infection, she thinks its too much” The bandages on you were already slightly dirty, and no doubt they’d be changing them again soon.

        Kid lets out a weak chuckle, “We could twin.” Killer also seemed to let out an amused huff at the idea. Neither of them looked at each other and silence feel upon them as they both watched you chest slightly move with your labored breathing.

~~~

        It’s been a week and you didn’t show signs of getting better, but you also didn’t show signs of getting worse. You were on the constant edge of Life and Death but for the most part you had seemed stable. Kid spent his days silent, unusual for how he normally was. His only direction given to the crew was to go someplace where there was a doctor, any other interaction was from the rambunctious crew checking to make sure he was alright himself, and eating.

        Killer had taken it upon himself to be in charge of changing your bandages, taking extra time to check every wound and using more alcohol to disinfect anything he deemed dirty, lightly dabbing at anything that had continued to bleed or somehow re-opened. Kid could barely watch, he hated this, he hated you, he hated how weak you had become. Where was his feisty little mouse? The one that wasn’t afraid to hit him even if you knew it would hurt him. Laying in front of him was an empty shell that he was terrified to touch, he just wanted you back.

        At some point through out the week Kid had convinced Killer to move you to an actual bed, to their bed. It didn’t matter that they’d have to change sheets often to keep them clean for you, nor did it matter that it meant neither of them had a bed to lay on, both of them would rather sleep on the floor before making you any more uncomfortable.

        Quincy would come often enough with fluids and somehow got you to drink by holding your nose shut, the first time she had done it Kid nearly attacked her, thinking she was trying to suffocate you. But once the misunderstanding was resolved He’d reluctantly sit back and watch you swallow in order to gasp for air. Killer had assumed it was a good sign.

        It wasn’t until Kid had finally decided to lightly grip your hand that a moan had left your lips. Killer had jumped from his chair hearing it and joined you two on the other side of the bed. A small squeeze to Kids hand had made him reinvigorated and nearly screaming for you to wake up only for Killer to hit his head to be more quiet.

        But just as quickly as you had given them both hope, you had sent them over the edge when you broke out into a fever. Your brows furrowing as you took a turn for the worse. Kid had gotten a part of his soul back and went running out, demanding they reach an island by the morning and Killer took to work to wipe you down of sweat, changing your bandages as often as the sweat soaked through them.

        Despite it all the two had become exhausted and it was Hip who had decided to lock them out of their own room, demanding they get some sleep as she looked over you for the night. Begrudgingly, they both agreed, opting to not break the door open and instead heading to the rec room where there were some hammocks and a couch.

        As they both got situated, Killer on the couch and Kid in a hammock, a foot placed on the ground the silence overwhelmed them. “What if.” Kid started, staring at the ceiling, “What if she doesn’t wake up?” Killer could hear how broken Kid was, “All because I couldn’t shut myself up-“ Silence filled the air as Kid refused to let a sob out, “and didn’t realize when our mouse was hurt.”

Killer stayed silent, not wanting to reveal his own emotions, but instead got up and somehow squeezed himself into the already occupied hammock. Kid seemed to breathe in, holding his breathe for a second before laughing a bit, “We’re not kids anymore Killer- We don’t fit like this” Moving slightly to try and get more comfortable.

“I can leave if you wan-“

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Kid's voice was demanding yet weak as he placed his head on Killer's chest.

#Kid x Reader X Killer #One Piece #Kid #Killer #Angst #Part 3 #One Piece X Reader

[merbear25]

hey !! can i ask -12 "If you win, I'll kiss you." with Ace , fem or gn reader swf pls ?

congrats on your 200 followers 💋💋💋!

Hey, hey! Thank you for sending in a request! So happy to write this for you and hope you like it lovely 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, some fluff and humor, drinking, reciprocated feelings

Shooting your shot

There was hardly a moment you and Ace weren't sharing a laugh together. Perhaps the only time you weren't hanging around each other was when he'd have to go off on outings, leaving you behind; he always said that it was because it would be too dangerous for someone like you, "You are just a tad too soft for them", he'd tease.

But you'd been admiring Ace for quite some time now: from his strength to his laugh, he had stolen your heart and was holding it hostage, even without him knowing it. The two of you were good friends, but it was hard for you to ignore your pining for wanting more.

During one of the many parties that were always held after a successful mission, you couldn't help watching him partake in his usual activities: fluttering between different groups of people to share jokes and stories, often with a drink and food in hand.

Pausing to take a shot to boost your chances at maintaining your newfound bravery, you let the liquid luck work its magic and worked up the courage to approach him.

Stopping in front of him, your front was starting to faulter as he beamed at you and asked how you were enjoying the party. In hopes of shoving your nerves back down, you abruptly challenged him to the drinking game that'd been set up earlier: beer darts.

Chuckling at your sudden assertiveness, he started waving it off by saying you'd make yourself sick with how many beers you'd surely have to drink.

He was unintentionally making your foundations shake and sway, so you thought it'd be best to make a wager. "If I win, then you'll have to take me on your next outing! A-and, if you win...," you paused to ponder what he could possibly want from you.

"If you win, I'll kiss you."

You shot up from hearing his suggestion, your chest heaving at the mere thought of him placing his lips against yours. "Okay, then it's a deal." The fifteen minutes began its countdown.

Positioning yourselves behind the boards, you were the first to throw a dart. However, your hand was shaking from the possibility of him kissing you, which caused you to miss horribly―practically throwing it straight down into the dirt.

Unable to hold back his amusement, he went into a slight laughing fit asking what on earth happened. Just as the dart was passing through his fingers, he caught a glimps of your flustered, pouting face, causing him to lose focus.

Luckily for you, his dart just barely missed the beer. Taking a deep breath to help calm your nerves, you became lazer focused on the can infront of you―a direct hit!

Congratulating you on being able to hit it this time, he chugged his beer down.

As the timer you'd set earlier ticked the minutes away, the two of you shared in equal wins and loses. The score was tied and there was a little over a minute left on the clock, meaning this was your last chance at pulling ahead of him. Mustering all of the might you had been clinging to throughout, not only the game but your whole friendship with him, you threw your last dart. Any hope you'd been gathering to share your first kiss was shattered as the dart made contact with the wooden board standing behind it.

Ace let out no triumphent laugh as he threw his final dart, hitting your can with ease. As the taste of defeat wet your lips, you could only feel disappointment fill your stomach.

Not wanting to face Ace due to the embarrassement washing over you, you hadn't noticed him walking towards you.

"You know, I've never been one to play by the rules," soothing your heartache by placing a kiss laced with passion, he pulled you closer to fully embrace your form.

#follower event #one piece #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #one piece x you #ace #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace x you #op ace #one piece ace #ace portgas #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece fluff

[iridescentdove]

What about a Platonic! BSD x Child! Reader is very smart, like almost Ranpo-level smart, but they don’t use their smarts and intellect for anything at all except for online video games, board games, etc., and they’re lazy and don’t go outside at all. Plus, the first time Reader and Dazai had a game of chess, Dazai literally lost two moves in, and Dazai was rethinking his entire life choices in that moment because how the fu-

(How Dazai and Reader’s game of chess went *REAL* link)

WHY DO I HEAR BOSS MUSIC?

platonic!bsd x child!smart!reader

A/N: I for an odd reason, love it when characters are humbled and seen inferior 😭 I love this request too! Here it is~

Everyone loves you.

I'm so jealous rn /j

Well as a kid it would be expected to be like that! Although, it was a little different as you were ... considered unique to other children around you. How so?

ULTRA DEDUCTION BABY.

No but for real. FUKUZAWA merely took you into the agency since you seemed to have had no parents by your side to take care of you. As such, he took on the responsibility himself. The agency takes care of you now! <3

Anyways, let's say you were basically rivalling RANPO in terms of deduction and overall smartness capabilities, as he now thinks you are a worthy opponent.

But even he himself lost to someone like DAZAI.

Yes. Of course it was true, the suicidal detective just seemed to be way too good. The so-called 'world's best detective' had lost to a man, in which who, flirts with women 24/7 and asks for double suicide everywhere he went.

But to say the day came when brunette's demise lurked around the corner ... because of a chess game.

The agency had nothing important going on in particular as the peace of Yokohama was maintained in the meantime. Simply put, you guys were on vacation. So what else to do other than some old family bonding?

There were lots of activities planned that day, and everyone had enjoyed it to the fullest. You did also find it fun, but ... of course, for someone your age – you were mature as fuck.

And so, you did what everyone wouldn't have the balls to do.

Challenge DAZAI OSAMU himself to a chess match.

So obviously, everyone got a bit nervous. Pretty sure you had no idea how smart the suicidal maniac was, nor did they ever believe you would last a good 'ol round even once. By some experience of a certain detective – there is absolutely no one better than DAZAI himself.

The chess game went on. You looked so cute and innocent! Maybe he should go easy on you?? After all, you're just a kid.

And yet ... he was downright horrified.

In a matter of four turns in, the death-craving young man was absolutely OBLITERATED by you. Upon the match ending, a pin drop silence was heard. Eyes widened in shock, whom even RANPO himself never imagined such. Everyone never spoke, not even coughed for a solid 5 minutes.

But it was true. You DID defeat him. FUKUZAWA had the face of a very proud parent – he really didn't think you'd emerge victory in this small innocent match.

The president promised to treat you out next time a successful mission was in tow. Of course, DAZAI couldn't believe he had lost to you! A little child!

It would definitely take a lot of time for him to wrap his head around that – but once he does, oh boy.

I think you a little crazy there uncle ahaha

He almost literally brags about your existence everyday to anyone. You can't tell me he hasn't literally shoved in and mocked in front of people's faces with that shit eating grin of his oh my fucking God 😭

Then again, no one is safe. An even better gifted than the two greatest treasures of the Armed Detective Agency.

FYODOR better be shaking in his fugly ass boots.

You're coming for him alright. (and so am I)

Honestly, the ADA cannot be anymore proud to have an ally like you by their side. Missions and war would cease to exist from how well you managed to help them. And even moreso, combined with RANPO himself.

World destruction who?? I only know (Y/N) (L/N) 😍

Your existence is known, everyone knows about what you've done and how respected you are despite your young age.

Who tf let the Port Mafia fuck ya'll up?? Oh nevermind they were destroyed because of ur amazing little ass. The Hunting Dogs tryna tear apart the ADA which was mistaken as terrorists? Umh chill anyways so you already had a plan– RANPO doesn't know what to do for once? You're already there to help. Decay of the Angels? Lives up to their name, they're decaying under your superior brain and intellect.

You're just found to be the lifeline of the agency. In return, everyone treats you very well (spoils you even), making sure you lived your days as a child to the best extreme possible.

And to be frank – no one dare underestimate you anymore.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #platonic bsd #armed detective agency #ada x reader #bsd #decay of angels #port mafia #ranpo edogawa #dazai osamu

[ellaa-writes]

Do you mind making a fanfic where König slowly falls in love with the reader that's the team medic. And can it be smut towards the end that's more vanilla than rough?

Hiii! Thank you for the request. Also sent back in November. I always get carried away with these. CW; alcohol consumption but over all its very tame and a little fluffy :)

Working for Kortac wasn't always easy but it sure was awarding. Being the team medic/doctor had its perks. You mostly worked on base, or different outposts. You rarely experienced field work, but you weren't completely useless. The rest of the team wouldn't allow it, specially the Colonel.

You train with them, eat with them, shower with them, cause you are one of them.

As well as going out after a successful mission, when everyone is preparing for there leave. A nice hooray before a break.

You've been with Kortac for little over a year now, you made friendships with almost everyone. The Lifesaver they call you, out of respect and also taking the piss. Getting a nickname meant you were really family.

You don't talk about your personal life, no one does and no one asks questions. But it's not like you want to talk about your failures and joining the military was you lose ditch effort to pursue your dreams. Working in the hospital wasn't ideal anymore, the mundane day after day was draining you. And your tremors destroyed your opportunity to your goal as a board certified surgeon.

Wearing your civvy clothes, nothing special. Your favorite pair of jeans, a simple top and chunky boots. It's a tad chilly so you threw a warm leather jacket over it to tie it all in. Taking a cab with Roze to the local bar. Chatting about plans and wants. Roze using her leave to go climb a mountain. Telling her you wish you had her ambition and discipline. And her telling you that she could teach you some time.

The cab stopped in front of the bar, a fairly busy night. A small group of people were gathered around chatting and smoking cigarettes. Some of them you recognize as your teammates, and the Colonel. He made you dizzy, every time your eyes find him every cell in your body buzzes. Like flies to a street lamp.

Like a million butterflies in your tummy, beating against the inside tying to break out. You waving back to the ones that waved to you, making your way into the bustling bar. Leading the way to the bar, Roze close behind.

"We should find a both, I'm not being stuck at a fucking table." Roze gritted into your ear, remembering the last time you two went out with the boys. "Go find one I'll order our drinks. The usual?" you offered. She gave you a big smile and squeeze to your upper arm. "You are a doll, do you know that?" she yelled as she made her way through the crowd.

You finally flagged down the busy bartender, ordering Roze her vodka soda and your old fashion. Looking out into the crowd trying to find the others. Spotting them at a big booth in the back, a big screen rght above playing some sort of football game.

With a loud clink the bartender dropped the drinks in front, snatching the change out of your hand before turning away to help another. Carefully making your way through the crowd to the others, watching has Roze and Hutch lively convo. Setting the drink down before sliding it over to Roze who mouthed a silent thank you to you.

You slid into the other end of the both the faced out towards the bar, right up to a very tired looking Oni who looked unintereseted in whatever Horangi was saying. "What's up cool cat." he cooed to you, his big arm snaking around to give you a tight hug. "Getting drunk." you cheered raising your drink, the two cheering in agreement as they clinked their glass against eachother.

"Room for one more?" his thick deep accent purred for behind you. Colonel König sliding in beside you, taking up the rest of the both. Causing you to shift over to Oni to your right. "You smell like shit." Horangi exclaimed, raising his glass towards König. Causing the giant to bark with laughter, raising his pint towards the Korean. Causing some to slosh to the side and drip in front of you.

Indistinctively making you jump back to not get any of the stinky lager to get on you. "Sorry about the doll." his rumbling voice reached your ears. Making you blush and say "It's all good sir." taking a big gulp of your drink. Shrinking back as the others talked, stopping once in a while to include you.

König's leg brushing up against yours every now and than. If you were any the wiser you'd think he was doing it on purpose. Downing the last of your drink you plopped it on the solid table with a clank. König eyeing the empty glass while he finished his own. Kindly taking it with him as he went to get another fill.

Roze gave you an odd look from across the table, you just shrugged it off. She's been trying to convince you that the Austrian has been pinning for you. You brush it off as him being kind, but he's never that kind. Small things like bringing you things he found that reminded you of him. Small like trinkets and tchotchkes, either hand delivering them himself or leaving at your door.

Always being the first on the team, even before the muscle. Having first pick over any new recruits, a small luxury. Like you said, he's just kind. And very straight forward and to the point. A confident and cocky man, that knows what he wants and always gets it. And it's definitely not you.

It wasn't long until the Colonel returned with his drink and yours, setting down a colorful fruity drink in front of you. Causing a laugh from the others, but you just blinked at it. "I think this is yours." as you shifted it across the table to Hutch. Who gladly took the free drink cause booze is booze baby. "Aw Koni pal, you shouldn't have." he nearly had it to his lips before König thick hand grabbing Hutch's wrist, giving it a light squeeze before saying "It's not yours." in his husky accent. Bringing it back to you, holding it out. "Do you not like?" he asked curiously.

You weren't sure what was happening, was this some joke that you just didn't understand. "No." you said flatly, eyeing Roze for some help but she just eagerly gulped down her own ignoring you. "Can you excuse me." as you brushed passed the giant now looking at the drink in confusion.

Going to the bar you ordered two shots of the strongest liquor they had. Taking them down like a champ you asked for another old fashion. Feeling a warm hard body brush up next to you, seeing the Colonel standing beside you with that stupid drink still in his hand.

"I'm sorry Katze, I thought you would like." he started to explain. The bartender interrupting to give you your whiskey, taking a quick sip before König moved the drink so it was next to you. "It reminds me of you, that's all." he finished. You snorted into your glass and nearly choked on the smooth amber. Huffing out a coughing laugh.

"I'm sorry sir, but how does that remind you of me?" you giggled, finally feeling the alcohol settle into your worn bones.

"It's colorful like you." he said confidently and also confused at how you dont see it. "I'm colorful?" you asked, taking the drink from his hand. Your fingers lightly brushing against his, bringing the liquid to your nose before downing the whole thing in one try. And setting it back into his hand that remained in place.

König eyes widened at your bold display, a fire burning into them as he watched you lips grip the rim of the curved glass. The way your necked bobbed as you swallowed the sweet liquid. The fire burning a path straight to his pants. Feeling himself grow to life and strain against the front zipper.

"It's nice to see you like this sir." you blurted out and immediately regretting it. Ok, last drink and your leaving, you scolded yourself. "What do you mean?" his curosity peeked. You waved his answer away, getting embarssed by your loose lips. "Dont get shy on me now." he pushed. Moving hs big body into yours more, pining you to the bar stool.

"It's just, your so human." you whispered. A little nervous to his reacton, but instead he leaned his head back and barked out a laugh. Causing people around to jump at the sudden loud sound. A few moving away from the big man.

"That was a good one Katze." he leaned further down to your face. "I like seeing you like this." his hand slowly running from your wrist to your neck, holding it in place. "Like what sir?" you mummured, eyeing his lips as they moved closer to your own. "Flustered." he breathed into your mouth, closing the gap and kissing you deeply. His hand moving to the back of your head to keep you in place. Your lungs seizing to produce air as you felt his soft lips move against yours.

He pulled away slowly, moving his hand to your face, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Your lungs screamed, finally sucking in a deep breath. You could feel the heat rise to your face, you must look like a tomato right now.

"So damn cute." he continued, looking away from you to your abandoned drink at the bar. "Are you done?" he questioned. You were buzzing, almost right out of your skin. So light headed all you could do his shake your head yes. König took that as his sign to make a move, so he lead you out of the bar into the cold night.

"This way doll." as he pulled you to the direction of the quiet street, you could spot the bmw shining under the moon light. "I'll drive us back." he reached the passenger door, holding it open for you as you climbed in. Closing it softly as he jogged to the drivers side, climbing in and the car roared to life.

The drive back to the base passed in a flash, König nearly dragging you through the building towards his own room. His high status warrants his own private quarters. A small living and dining area, followed by his bedroom and attached bathroom. He unlocked the door with haste and pulled you in. Spinning you around so you were pushed against the back of the door.

His strong body on yours, you heard the click of the lock slide into place. König lips once again on yours, nipping and sucking. Making a trail down your neck, pulling the zipper of your jacket down and off your arms. Tossing it towards his table, his hands finding your ass and hauling you up. You legs mindlessly wrapping around his waist, tugging him into your core more. Earning a low moan, vibrating from his chest.

He yanked at the collar of your shirt, a clean tear running down the front exposing your breast to his mouth. Pulling a yelp from you as he nipped at the sensitive skin. He turned you both around and towards his room, kicking the door open and dropping you on the bed.

"Sir-" you tried to let out but König's lips swallowed your words. "Shhh, baby. Let me make you feel good. Ja." he whispered into your mouth, making you melt into the bed. All you could do was shake your head has you fully leaned back, closing your eyes.

König made good with your clothes, leaving you only in your panties. You watched has he removed his shirt and shoved his jean and brief's to the floor, kicking them away as he climbed back on and slotted himself between your thighs.

Pining your spread knees to your stomach, rubbing his face against your clothed core. His big nose carding its self along your slit, building pressure against your clit. Pulling moans from you, throwing your head back.

König took his time, running his face up and down your thighs. Kissing from your ankle to your inner thigh, over your soaking core, and down the other leg. Licking path across your skin and blowing on the wetness, goosebumps spreading across your body.

Pulling your hard buds into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and sucking. His teeth grazing on the sensitive nipple and lightly nipping. Relishing in the noises hes drawing from you. Humming in approval, slowly pulling down your panties and letting them get lost on the bed.

His fingers find your center, the thick heavy digits ghosting up and down. Gathering the wetness that pushed through, pressing his wide thumb right against your clit. Making you buck into his hand more, König's mouth still on your tits.

He worked his thick middle finger into you, slowly opening you for him. Working knuckle by knuckle, whispering praises into your ear. Pushing another finger into you, making you whimper at the stretch.

"Ko, please." you pleaded with him, feeling his low chuckle. His hot mouth against your ear, cooing "Patience love." as his fingers pump in and out of you. Feeling your slick slide down your ass and onto the sheets.

Whining at the loss of his fingers, but feeling the head of his dick running up and down. Collecting your wetness and spreading it over him before the tip catches you needy hole. Snapping his hips fowards ripped a cry from your throat. Your legs clamping around him and tightening.

"Shh, shhh. Quiet now pretty girl. I'm sorry, I'll be more carefully." and he kept true to his word. His cock slowly stretching you open, your warm folds inviting him in. Squeezing and pulsing around him, König cherished every moment.

Sensually thrusting in and out, lazily rolling his hips. Making sure he pulls orgasm after orgasm from your body.

Not stopping until your begging and pleading with him. Incoherently going on about it being too much, too sensitive.

König could lose himself in you, deeper and deeper. Holding back to not scare you. Wanting to make it all about his sweet little medic. The moment he laid eyes on you he was hooked. Those sweet eyes and kind smile, how quick and smart you were. Such a soft thing, you shouldn't be in this line of field.

Finally letting himself go, he buried himself deeper. Releasing pressed right up against your cervix, shoveling as much as he could to your core. Letting out one last guttural moan as he collapsed onto you, only rolling over when you started banging against his back. Taking you with you, you settled on his chest.

König laid out completely satisfied, head back and eyes closed. He could feel you staring at him.

"Sleep" he commanded. Hearing your giggle as you continued to stare.

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