#HAVE YOUR RETINAS EXPLODED YET

[adventuringblind]

I See Your Beauty

Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!reader

Genre: a little angst mixed with fluff and comfort

Summary: the youngest Verstappen is forced to do life without her vision. Thinking she might not be able fully experience her life due to the remarks of her father, she concedes that finding love is unlikely. Until she runs into Charles who helps her believe she doesn’t need her eyesight to be loved.

Warnings: Jos is his own warning now. Talks of disability and reader having an accident. Talks and depictions of verbal and physical abuse.

Request: nope this is self-indulgent. However, I am taking requests for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, and Daniel.

Notes: written in third person. Also, this fic deals with disabilities, particularly blindness. I myself am blind though I still have some vision left, which is mainly what I’m basing this off of. Please remember that blindness is a spectrum like many other disabilities. It is defined really by a loss of vision that can’t be corrected. I’m open to answering questions about it if y’all have any. My inbox and asks are always open :)

Masterlist

The youngest of the Verstappen’s very close with her brother, Max. The two are barely a year apart so it makes sense. Though they get in each others nerves often as well. Victoria doing her best as the oldest to settle arguments between the two.

Jos decided that two children in racing gives him better odd then just one. Electing to have both start karting at an early age.

They liked racing together. Getting used to being each others rocks when their father was harsher then necessary. It became routine for the two to defend each other.

Then everything changed.

The two were moving up through the ranks. Competing harder then ever to make your dad proud.

The accident wasn’t her fault. A consequence of her father from trying to build a faster car and not having test run it.

The engine exploded during the race. Every one of her senses ranged useless as she tried to react.

Ears ringing.

Smoke from the fire burning in her nose.

Blood from whatever hitting her knocking her teeth into her lip.

Heat nipping at her skin.

Lack of sight making her steering erratic.

Max had immediately rushed to aid his sister. Their father only staring in disappointment. He became resentful of his father that day.

The ambulance arrived and took you away. Max begged to go with but Jos ignored his request, telling him he needed help cleaning up his youngest daughter mess.

After hours the finally arrived back home. The other two Verstappen’s confused why the youngest was nowhere to be found. Max finally broke down in tears, much to his father dislike, and clutched Victoria for comfort. Telling her everything that had happened.

While three of them went to the hospital to find you, the fourth sat wallowing in disgrace at the display from his children today. He couldn’t admit he’d made a mistake. One that might have cost him a child.

Meanwhile the youngest was out of surgery. Continually crying for her family. The nurses had tried to reach her father who had given the medics his cell number, but they had yet to hear from him.

When her family arrived she tried her best to make out their faces. The sparks from the engine had been so bright that they burned her retinas. The combination of the fire doing permanent damage. The impact of the engine had knocked her helmet almost all the way off and she instinctively pushed it away to try and see again. The protection of the visor gone.

The three siblings cuddled together in her hospital bed. The youngest not fully comprehending why she couldn’t see. The lights were too bright. She was squinting to make out the small details.

Things didn’t improve after that. Jos became angry towards her. Constantly reminding the girl of what happened, what she did wrong, and how if she hadn’t messed up she might have been successful.

Regardless, she listened to him berate her at everyone of Max’s races. He stopped commenting about Max when she was within earshot. Mostly because she told him off every time he insulted her brother. Jos already deemed her the disappointment of the family, standing up for Max couldn’t possibly make things worse.

Max had also gotten more protective of his sister. Having been the one to pull her away from the wreckage and cleaning up the damage made him realize he didn’t want you to get hurt again.

He made it to every doctors appointment he could. He attended as much physical therapy as you would let him. He even put on a blind fold so he could understand a bit better. He helped her learn cane skills and how to guide you himself. All in an effort to help his sister feel less alone.

He was aware she still had some eyesight lift. Mostly cloudy and bright patches dotted her eyes making it difficult to make out where things are and any specific details. She liked seeing what she could of her siblings faces though.

Max determined he was going to bring you to every race with him. The Verstappen losing all ability to drive now making things harder for her and she didn’t want to stay with her father.

Victoria had a room for her in her house and let her stay when she needed. Max always made sure there was a room for her if she wanted to travel with him. She loved how willing her sibling were to help her out. However, it left her feeling useless and vulnerable at times.

Eventually, Max helped get her a job with Redbull as a strategist. She enjoyed playing with the different data. Listening became a more essential job then seeing.

Race days were spent in the garage unnoticed in the back. Hopefully out of view of the cameras and away from her father. They saw each other often, much to her dismay. He always had something to say to her when Max wasn’t around.

It was during her downtime that she met Charles.

~

Deciding her cane was unnecessary since she knew her way around the paddock and the ground is relatively flat, she went to hunt down her brother.

Neither party was paying attention leading to them running straight into each other. She could vaguely make out the Ferrari red race suit standing in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Came the voice of Charles Leclerc. Though the two had never formally met, she had heard during interviews enough to know his voice.

“It’s alright, neither was I.” She smiled at the Monegasque. “Have you seen Max anywhere?”

He chuckles. “Unfortunately no. Are you his girlfriend?”

The question makes her laugh hysterically. “I’m his sister.” She can hear him sigh in relief at the clarification.

“That’s better at least because I wanted to say that you are very beautiful.” The playfulness in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Completely taking her off guard. Sure she’d gotten complements, but not often enough to make her used to them. The words of Jos not letting her believe them anyway. “Would it be alright if I give you my number?”

She lost all words in that moment. This had never happened before. “Sure-” she manages to stutter out before handing him her phone. The screen reading out things to her so she could get to her intended destination.

“I’ve never see a phone do that before.” Charles takes the phone from her and starts to put in his information.

She mentally face palms herself. Obviously he hasn’t realized she’s blind. “Actually I don’t have much of my eyesight.” She play with the bottom of her shirt. Her father having instilled in her that her blindness is something to be ashamed of.

“Wait- so you are blind? That is very interesting, I would like to know more if you’re okay with it.” The curiosity in his voice rising.

She wasn’t prepared for this. Nobody asks her questions about her condition. Even Christian doesn’t touch the subject and she never brings it up in conversation. “I guess, if your really interested.”

“Great, I’ll see you later tonight. Send me the address of where you’re staying.” His playful and flirty manner never faulted as he walked past her. Leaving the girl confused and blushing.

Little did she know that Charles had seen her around the paddock. Mostly hanging off of Max’s arm. He assumed she’d never notice him wave or try to get her attention. Turns out she couldn’t see him. He knows better then to assume. He blames it on the anxiety of being around her.

The youngest Verstappen finished up her duties as quick as possible. Catching a ride with her brother back to the hotel. He has learned to read her though and immediately noticed something was different. “What’s going on with you? You seem very smiley today.” He laughs.

“I can’t tell you because you’ll hate me.” She did her best not to appear nervous but was ultimately failing. Her hands fiddling in her lap.

“I could never hate you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She glances over at him. Eyes planted on the road. His calm demeanor putting her at ease. ���Charles Leclerc asked me on a date tonight.”

Max begins laughing hysterically. His once smooth driving now a bit jerky from his sudden movements. “You thought I would hate you because of a date?”

She stutters a bit. “Well- aren’t you two rivals?” She manages. His laughing throwing her emotions all over the place.

“Sure, on the track. Off the track we are still friends and I trust him.” He explains. Relief floods through her body at his words. Her confidence in the situation going up a little.

She can feel the smug look on Max’s face. “Do you want help getting ready?”

~

The two siblings spent over an hour playing dress up. Max eventually having to video call Victoria and ask her opinion. The two trying to make their sister feel like she owns the world.

Dressing is less tricky then make-up. Sometimes she didn’t feel like it was worth the struggle and didn’t put it on. Some day she had to call Victoria to make sure everything looked right. If there was good lighting she was typically fine, but tonight was not one of those nights.

Growing up between two sisters, Max had learned a decent amount about make-up. He even enjoyed getting to do it on his sisters if they would let him. The almost squeal he let our when his sister asked for help was both hilarious and ridiculous. Immediately setting things up on the bathroom counter and going to work.

Max could tell his sister was anxious. Their father having scared away any of your potential boyfriends. Even going as far as to tell they that she is diseased. One of the worst things about having Jos around the garage, is that you’re left with him.

Though Max has stepped in many time and even lectured his father about his word choices, he never let up on any of the Verstappen children. All of them getting some aspect of their father’s insecurity thrown back at them like it’s their fault.

When he was done, Max tried to sooth your nerves. “Dad isn’t around. He’s in his own hotel room. Go have fun.”

And that’s exactly what she did.

The conversation between her and Charles flowed. He asked questions that weren’t invasive and was respectful if she didn’t want to answer. He made her laugh ridiculously hard.

So they kept doing it. She had to follow Redbull for work which made things easier in the two. Finding down time to meet up or celebrating together after races.

After the season was over, the two went on a holiday together.

Charles spent a good amount of time learning from her (and in turn Max) how to guide if the need ever arose.

Charles was so gentle with her. Always letting her know if there was something unexpected around. Telling her who was in the room.

If felt like a dream. One she never wanted to wake up from. Charles had assured her multiple times that she wasn’t dreaming and that their love is very real.

But alas, Jos likes to make things difficult.

~

A few races into the new season, Charles still had yet to formally meet Jos and the Verstappen siblings intended on keeping it that way. It wasn’t secret. Everyone in the paddock know the two were dating. Jos just hadn’t had the chance to talk to him yet.

She’d mentioned her childhood a few times but could never get out the full extent of what happened. Charles thankfully is patient with her and lets her take her time. He knows Jos’ reputation. Her childhood couldn’t have been the most amazing with him around.

This particular race, she was forced into close proximity with him. There had been a mistake during a pit stop for Max which made him lose some positions. Ending the race in fifth. To her it isn’t bad at all, but to the angry Dutchman unleashing his fury on everything, it most certainly is.

Sensing his rising anger, she had pulled her father into a more secluded area. Hoping that Max wouldn’t come back to the garage for awhile. At least not before she could talk some sense into their father.

She said nothing as strings of curse words left his lips. Only waiting for him to run out of breath.

“Did you see how he got lazy? He would’ve finished higher after the idiots didn’t do their jobs if he had put in more effort.”

“Max put in all his effort and you know it.” She scoffs. Arms folded over her chest. This is nothing new to her.

“Like you have any room to talk.” He snaps back. Her head now sagging, knowing his anger is now finding a new direction.

Charles, on the other hand, had been looking for her. It’s his first win of the season and she is nowhere to be found. Max ran up to him as the podium celebration ended. Patting him on the back for his well earned win.

“Have you seen your sister anywhere, mate?” He asked the Dutch.

Max ponders for a moment. “She might still be in the garage debriefing after what happened.” He replies. “I can walk you over if you want.”

The two drivers made their way to the Redbull garage to find most of those who would normally be inside, standing outside in a huddle. “What the hell is happening?” Max shouts over to Christian as the two approach him.

“I was just about to go find you.” Christian sighs in exasperation. “Can I call security on your father? He hasn’t stopped shouting since the race finished up.”

Charles and Max exchanged glances. The young woman’s absence now making more sense. “I’ll try and talk him down.” Stated Max before weaving his way through the sea of Redbull shirts. Charles following close behind.

Before the two could get further away, Christian yelled out to them. “Good luck, your sister has been trying!” The statement make the two move faster.

Charles could feel his emotions bubbling as the shouting got louder. As him and Max turn the corner, he immediately spots who he’d been looking for. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she felt around the floor looking for something.

Max steps in between her and the angry Dutch, shouting back and forth in their native tongue. Charles tries to spot what she’s feeling for. Scanning the ground until he spots her phone. The entire thing shattered. Small pieces of glass just barely reflecting the light. He’s down by her side in an instant.

“Love, it’s Charles, max is here also, I’m going to get you out of here okay?”

Her body turns towards Charles. It’s then he notices the specks of blood dotting her hands from feeling around the glass and a deep purple bruise forming on her forehead.

She’s struggling to breath now. Listening to the angry shouts. The pain in her head and the bright fluorescents not helping her see anything. She back in the crash.

Her father had spend from the end of the race until now laying into her. She had successfully defended Max and thought she was prepared to take the brunt of it. Until he snatch her phone and threw it at her. It hit her head so hard she was in the ground in seconds. Trying to feel her way around to where it might have gone so she could call Max.

The words were so familiar to her. The ones she heard in her nightmares when she was once again surrounded by smoke and bright lights stealing away her vision.

“I don’t want to crash again Charles. It’s to hot. It hurts too much. I can’t see anything.” She tried to search for him but ended up with more glass in her palm. The tears only thickening.

“Stay put, okay? I’m going to help Max and then I’ll be right back.” He didn’t want to leave her on the floor. She looked like a child, and so did Max in this moment. The two getting their fathers wrath with no end in sight.

Charles sprints back to Christian, yelling at him to call security, then sprints back to Max.

“Mr. Verstappen I think you are out of line here.” Says the monegasque. Signaling Max to stay with you. He didn’t move at first but it was obvious he was getting nowhere, so he obliged. Kneeling down to help his sister calm her breathing.

Jos scoffs at Charles. “You have no right to get in between me and my children.” Anger pooling from his features.

“I mean no disrespect sir, but you’re being an asshole.”

“And is she-“ he jabs his finger at the girl on the floor, “-not disgusting.” Charles almost hits him but refrains from doing so knowing security will be arriving soon.

“On the contrary, I think she is an angel.”

“She’s diseased. She hasn’t even tried to fix her mistakes. Look at her! She just wants attention for what she did to herself!”

Now Charles doesn’t hesitate to punch him. His fist colliding with Jos’ jaw, sending him stumbling into the wall.

Max took his attention off his sister, who was leaning against him, and placed it on Charles. Shock clearly evident of his features.

Jos attempted to confront Charles again, but security finally showed up and escorted Jos out of the paddock.

Charles exhales, glad the confrontation is over. “That’s not how I imagined meeting your father for the first time.” Charles chuckles nervously.

Is doesn’t take much longer until Charles has his love safely wrapped in his arms. Whisking her away to his hotel room. Max had stayed ti make sure everything got cleaned up at the paddock. Kelly arriving shortly with Penelope in tow, ready to comfort Max.

She cried when they were finally safe inside. Pouring out to Charles about the accident and what it had caused in her life. He listened intently, doing his best to soothe the girl. Her panic still clearly evident.

Soon enough she’d calmed. Her head laying in Charles lap while he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“It don’t care what anyone else says. I see your beauty and it is not defined by what you can’t see.”

#x reader #fanficion #f1 fic #formula one #max verstappen #angst #max verstappen x reader #redbull racing #super max #jos verstappen #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #reader insert #charles lechair #disabilties #blindness #vision loss #racing #ferrari #ferrari formula one #verstappen #leclerc #max verstappen is a protector #charles leclerc is a simp and you can't change my mind #karting #accident #Jos verstappen is a jerk

[machiavellli]

In the HEAT of the moment

Pairing: Cal Kestis x chiss!jedi!reader

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: reader is in heat, unholy use of the force, slightly angst dynamic (we are a bit bratty), 0ral f&m receiving, p in v, dom!cal(?)/switch (accusingly), p0rn w/o plot (not really?), no use of y/n

Summary: Terribly h0rny on a ship with an attractive redhead, what could possibly happen?

MDNI!

Author’s note: it all started that I wanted to write an old classical sex pollen! fic, but then I remembered how a lot of people (myself included) headcanon chiss people to have a mating cycle and I thought it could be an interesting alternative. Also the only thing you really have to know about chiss people is that they are generally speaking slightly cold people, they have blue skin (NOT MENTIONED) and red eyes (which glows when they feel strong emotions). Reader is depicted as a force user, but this honestly only serves the purpose to make it even more filthy.

Sorry for the BAD DESCRIPTION of the Mantis, do you really care though? Also BD is safe and sound from any inappropriate view🤌

English isn’t my first language

I watched the red-haired figure beside me trying to land the ship as fast as he could, fear painted all over his face, anxiousness filling his chest. If only he could know what was actually wrong with me.

I was spread out on the co-pilot seat, breathing heavily, clothes increasingly damp from the sweat that was now clearly crowning my face. I was trying to concentrate exclusively on my force signature, or rather I was desperately trying to keep it closed. I just had to wait for the wave to pass, for this embarrassment to end.

I hated the fact that it happened in front of him, I usually was able to handle it myself. I wanted to shout at him to leave, I wanted to maintain my usual cold character, he had never seen this vulnerability in me before and he was scared.

He was probably thinking a fever had come over me, he couldn't possibly know how my biology worked and he couldn't, shouldn't know, that I was developing a soft spot for him.

It was so hard to be this close yet so far from his touch. If I had spoken I would have lost all control over my signature and he would have been able to sense my heat expanding. How the heat ran more and more in my blood until I felt my eyes burning. If only he could know.

I remained contorted in the chair, trying to tighten all my limbs, trying to make myself smaller and smaller, to repress this uncontrollable situation. My head was back, eyes half closed, I couldn't look at him, even though the image of him, those damn red hair, was now imprinted on my retina. Every time I tried to open my eyes even slightly, he would turn his worried gaze in my direction. My glowing red eyes left me no opportunity to escape his peripheral vision.

I closed my eyes definitively, trying to cling to the little concentration I had left. I could feel Cal landing the ship, this is absolutely useless, I kept thinking. BD scanned me, «I know her temperature and pulse are high, I can see it» he replied with a frustrated tone to the droid, he didn’t like at all this unusual situation.

My eyes were still completely shut, not even for the love of the Maker I was going to open them, especially now that I could hear him rising from his piloting seat.

«You have to tell me something though, what the hell is happening to you, you were fine thirty minutes ago» he was now hovering over my face, and I could feel his warm breath as he spoke.

His hand reached out for my face, but I quickly sent him away, dismissing it with my arm, still, the brief touch made me tremble from the inside. And he noticed it.

You aren’t getting any information out of me, I would explode before letting you know anything, I thought.

He loudly snorted, starting to grow frustrated by his anxious state and my attitude.

«Listen, you got to tell me something. Why can’t I access your signature? You never blocked it. Let me read you» he then gripped with decision at both of the sides of my now completely sweaty head and made me face him.

I had to bite so hard my lips to hide the moan that almost made it out, to the point where I tasted my own boiling blood.

Focus, focus, focus. For the love of the Maker and for my dignity.

I tried to remove myself from his cautious touch, but his callous hands gripped harder, keeping me firm in my place. I then opened my eyes, the light of the cockpit invading my sight, making my eyes water from the discomfort, but I kept my burning gaze on him. Hopefully, even if a tear started to descend, he would recognise my furious gaze, which I had unfairly dedicated him numerous times, on missions, but also in everyday activities. I was just trying to keep my distance for all of those months, but all the crafting I did on my persona was breaking just in front of his eyes. If only he knew.

«I just want to help you. Let me help you. I know that you hate being helped, especially by me, but I need you alive and healthy kriff» he sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, but I kept my gaze fixed on him, breathing even more heavily. It felt like oxygen wasn’t enough. Because it wasn't, as I resignedly knew; and I knew I was going to need his help if he didn't get out of here in mere seconds.

«Since I don’t know what’s the matter with you, I’m sorry, but I have to try to access your mind. You look like something is giving you a panic attack» how ironic.

If only he knew.

After that sentence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold the game, the control I had over my force signature was feeble, so it took me all my strength to do it, but I kicked him as hard as I could in the stomach, desperately trying to send him away. The kick ended up being much more delicate than I had in mind, it didn’t even hurt him, but it still made him step back a little and remove his delicious hands from my skull. I tried to catch the opportunity to leave the cockpit, but as I tried to stand up, my bloody wobbly limbs made me crash on the floor, my head hitting the seat just above and failing forward.

I hissed in pain, desperate, needy and desolate for the scene that Cal had to endure. I was barely lifted from the floor with my elbows, I lifted up my gaze towards his direction. Hairs sticking to my forehead and breath still as heavy as an imperial cruiser.

«Let me help you. You are a mess» he slowly walked next to me, lowering his broad figure to my level. Flashes came back in mind from all the times I had the upper hand over him, in our training sessions or missions. I was so good at hiding everything, until I wasn't.

«Y-you need…t-to stay away from me» I whispered and it made him widen his eyes from the surprise that I could speak. Words as light as air destined to fall into the sea of ​​uselessness as quickly as lead. And with that, the unstable hold I had on my signature fell.

«I can’t leave you here, don’t be rid-» he started saying by lifting me from my arms. And with that, he knew. Now he knew.

Moments that felt eternal passed as I held again my gaze, now completely stripped of any decency. Kriff, if he knew.

I couldn’t reach for his signature, I simply lacked the strength to do so, but I was sure that he was scanning my interior from top to bottom, I could sense him everywhere in me. It was so good, I imagine the real touch, how good that must feel.

«Go away.» I replied, closing my tired eyes once more, letting my head fall forward, hiding hopelessly my bare mind.

«But I thought that I felt so good…» he said meanwhile rising my head once more, lifting my chin with one of his damn hands. And a light moan escaped my lips.

My mind went blank there, eyes fixed on him as I would be staring into the void itself and my mouth opened from the shock, revealing the now dried blood painted on my lips. I felt the agonising tears and the sweat mixing over my face, this was purely mortifying.

One thing was being shamed without addressing it and one thing was whatever was going on here. But as much as I felt shamed, I felt this growing heat rising once again in me: it felt good.

And it certainly didn’t help when he started to gently brush away the dried blood from my lips with his thumb. I was just glad his eyes were fixed on them and not my eyes, you know, for the sake of my decency.

«All of this…all of this for what?» He chuckled lightly, readjusting his gaze on me, making our eyes entangled again «For hiding from me? The only one ashamed is you, wilful as always».

«Leave the matter to me, I-I will handle-»

«You don’t get to handle a thing. Be a good girl and let me help you or your rut won’t pass» he voiced firmly.

This time, my eyes widened in surprise and the little nickname made my body flinch.

«Tell me you want my help and you will be served.»

For a moment, I breathed heavily again, focusing entirely on reaching for his signature: he was being honest. That’s all I needed. I needed him and he knew. He knew it all.

«Help me, n-need you»

Without any other dancing around, he lifted me easily, closing the cockpit door of the Mantis behind him, and locking up BD. My head instinctively went back, just for him to catch it with his large hand. I wanted any clothes off.

Once we reached for the table, he delicately leaned me against its surface, ice against my warm skin. He climbed over me with his broad figure, feeling his own arousal growing. He waited for this for so long. And I did not know.

Our lips, now, mere inches away. I was hot, but kriff, I could feel his heartbeat also running. Our breaths mixed over our faces and for cutting short all the theatrical tragedy, I simply lifted one of my hands to cup his face, making him come instinctively closer. Now as my lips danced on his, I knew it was over.

I was burning, to the point where the heat gave me back my strength and I started holding onto his hair with both of my sweaty desperate hands, making a moan escape from him. He felt like a sweet fresh relief from my pain, but Force, if I need more than that. Our hips then started to stroke against each other, searching for the real relief.

It felt like we were eating off each other’s faces, sloppy kisses filled with burning passion, mixing with the sweat and blood, nothing too different from our condition on a battlefield wryly.

Then, he started travelling down to my neck and moans finally freely left my mouth, as I felt the ginger growing harder on my thighs.

«You are so warm, so good» he muttered half moaning into my neck as his hands started working on my tunic, but he stopped for a moment and looked at me with those pretty green eyes: «Can I?».

«Hurry.» was my response.

And he hurried. Basically ripping my damp tunic away, and without losing a second he was on my breast, skilfully sucking one as he played the nipple of the other with his callous hand.

«So soft, can’t believe I had to wait this long» he whispered as my voice grew hoarse with desire.

«More Cal» I whined softly, now completely blinded by lust.

And my wish was his command.

He navigated down, in the direction of my wetness, leaving a trail of careless kisses behind. His hands, which felt frigid, given my temperature, followed him as he went down, gripping firmly my waist, and making my eyes roll. Hence, he held me still with one large hand flat over my lower stomach, pressing lightly, as the other worked to remove my trousers. At last, I was bare before him, a desire I hid for long.

«It took you a heat wave, almost a heart attack, for letting me touch you. So obstinate to prove yourself, when you were already perfect in front of me» he breathed while he lowered himself, as my thighs were being spread upon his face.

As my legs parted, I felt my indecent drench slide down, feeling exposed and turned on like never before.

«You are going to be my four-course meal» he mumble, taking a look at my condition and smirking, before starting to rub over my sensitive clit, as his breath kept teasing me.

I was in no condition to speak, my mind was already far too gone, and filthy sounds were the only thing coming out of me. And Force, the sight would have killed any Jedi master back at the temple. Too bad.

Once he considered it enough, he closed the gap between my heat and his lips, starting to suckle intensely, holding me open for him, feeling every one of his digits pressing into my flesh. The touch felt electric, combined with his force signature overwhelming me inside. I wanted him, may this be the last thing I ever do.

And he damn knew.

«For someone so bitter, you taste so sweet» A low groan escaped from him as he gripped greatly at my inner thighs, parting my lips even more, whilst I held on the table for my damn life, trying to steady myself as my body trembled beneath him.

His lips, the swirling of his tongue over my swollen bud, the slightly cool sensation from his lower temperature and the air around us, were driving me wild. I was getting close and instinctively I tried to force my legs closed, but I was immediately shut by his powerful hands, keeping me more open and vulnerable than ever.

«Don’t try. Let me have what is mine» he hissed while flipping me over to my stomach.

My face and chest made contact with the cold surface, as I felt my hips being lifted and dragged at the edge of the table. His cool grip, air, surface and exposure made my walls clench. The sight of my bare ass made his cock, still hidden beneath all his clothes, twitch in anticipation. He nudged over my warm soft flesh, admiring my curves, gripping it with force and giving it a loud slap.

«Don’t you think you were bratty enough? It feels so good to have the upper hand, no wonder you like it some much»

He was enjoying this almost as much as me, the only difference being that I was utterly submitted to my own desire, my rut, desperately trying to get me filled with his seed.

He lowered once more his gaze to my warm, opening my lips with his rough thumbs, as my wetness fell on the table’s surface. His mouth captured my clit once more, making me tremble from the newly acquired angle, but his hands were quickly on my sides, supporting my weight.

We kept filling the room with my indecent moans and his low groans as he ate me out like a starved man, till the point where I reached my peak, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation coursing through my body. Oh Force, oh stars. Why did I wait so long for him?

Instinctively, I let my hips fall on the table and Cal followed me, resting his head on my lower back, giving it a soft kiss. We were both breathless, but we were both far from being over with this.

We both knew.

My heat returned after mere seconds, making me whine. I flipped myself over as Cal lifted himself from me, gripping one of my ankles to drag me closer to him.

«Undress. Come over to the table. Quick.» I commanded and so he did as I said.

Rapidly he removed his own clothes and I got to stare at his toned pale body, covered in delicious freckles and reddish hairs travelling all the way down to his throbbing member. What a show.

He climbed for the second time that day over my figure and when he got to the level of my face, I decided that before anything else, I would have to taste him, my thoughts driven by my burning lust. I took him from his shoulders, switching our positions, causing his head to collide with the table and blocking him with my thighs, my wetness now pooling on his lower stomach, just above his crotch.

«My turn, you had your fun Kestis»

Whiteout giving him the time to protest, I descended over his body, leaving a trace of warm bites from his neck till the lowest part of his abandonment, making him squirm at every touch. I felt like my blood was boiling even more, raising my temperature once again.

I softly bit the flushed skin of his cock, before opening my watery mouth and taking as much as I could from his size. My boiling mouth, working in sinuous movements around his member, made him let out a low groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

«If o-only I could’ve shut you up before like this, mhm. So pretty. So good.» he stated bringing his hands over his face moaning, lifting his hips up a little, causing me to pleasantly choke on him.

Hence, he moved one of his hands on my head, encouraging me to go deep, to move faster, increasing his excitement. From now on, I wouldn’t have ever again protested to remain silent.

Then, he lifted my head from him, a hand taking me from my chin, cleaning once more my lips, but not from blood this time.

«Nobody here wants me to come in your mouth, let’s be honest» he asserted and it was almost as if my rut snapped me out of my state, remembering what I truly want and need.

All I wanted was being filled, till I couldn’t take it anymore, filling me with pleasure and relief from the unbearable heat that has been consuming my body.

«Please» I pleaded softly, biting my lower lip between my teeth, desperation adorning my words.

Cal lifted me from my stance, sitting up and swinging my legs around his lap, my core just in front of his.

«You are beautiful, you have always been amazing, even if I thought you hated me» he spoke softly, caressing with one hand my face, removing some of the hairs sticking over it, whilst, with the other one, he held my waist firmly.

«I am sorry, I was just trying to be professional» I confessed lowering my gaze. The sounds of our heartbeats were the only thing I could hear as our force signatures started to entangle.

«You were more annoying than professional» he chuckled, «And professional for who? Do I look professional? C’mon.»

«Mhm…annoying…just because I kept beating your ass Kestis»

I took his chin with one of my hands, as the other gripped at the nape of his neck, his Adam’s apple rising as I bit again into his neck, making him breathe heavily.

«So annoying…» he moaned, «Tell me what you need to make you feel better, I would do anything for you»

Our signatures overflowing into each other, make me see the stars and the kriffing galaxy, I said in his mind. He thankfully knew.

Without another thought, he laid my back again on the surface, as he towered over me.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His fierce mouth was on mine, filthy kissing me, catching restlessly my swollen lips and whimpering while doing so. His hand adorned my curves, clasping at the softness of my hips, gently moving one leg up, aligning himself at my entrance.

Locking our eyes, sharing one last breath, before his length entered me.

Instinctively, I rolled my eyes back as his thick member filled me completely. He was everywhere inside of me, his pleasure was mine and mine was his. The Force could reserve such unholy uses.

«See? Good girls get stretch real good» he muttered in a groan of pleasure.

The carnal desire was burning more now than ever.

As he moved inside of me, I arched my back and let out soft moans, whilst he was holding me tightly, growling at the nape of my neck. I clenched my walls around him as he hit every sweet spot just right. Every deep trust emanated a lustful indecent sound, skin against skin, clapping together, coiled by sweat and desire.

He was filling me divinely, but I needed it raw. Animalistic. As my rut intended.

But, without words, he knew that.

Cal flipped me over, grabbing onto my waist from behind, as he impaled himself without warning in one trust. His powerful thrusts sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through my entire being, and I felt the intensity of his emotions radiating through every cell in my body as he poured into me relentlessly. One of his hands reached for my neck, bringing him even more inside of me.

As our hearts synchronised, the combination of the raw act and our force signature fuelled his movements. the connection deepening with each powerful stroke.

Every noise, every sound of pleasure, filled the room, intoxicating our actions even more, the sound of our skin colliding acted as a frame, in this almost dazzling lust.

We both become lost in the heat of the moment, Cal blinded by my rut that I shared with him in the force.

His cock throbbed with excitement, eager to release its energy deep within my welcoming embrace. The redhead filled me up completely with his solid, pulsating presence. The sensation was invigorating, propelling both of us closer to the brink of euphoria.

«Close» I mumbled with the little strength left in me.

His muscles tensed, as I tightened around him, feeling my pleasure intensify as Cal’s arousal reached its peak.

With his last powerful strokes and the connection we shared in that moment, I saw the stars and the galaxy, feeling our bodies intensely tremble at the reach of our high, whilst gasping loudly.

He painted my inside white with his warm liquid, turning my body temperature back to normal.

Breathless, he fell onto my back, his nose brushed deliberately over my ear, with his member still inside of me.

Restored our normal heartbeats, he lifted the both of us from the table, guiding us to the sofa, where I sat on his lap, brushing some of his hair away as he did the same with me.

«I had no idea chiss had a mating cycle»

«Nobody knows, it’s embarrassing»

«It was fun in my opinion baby» he confessed before giving me a small caste kiss. The action, made me flush and smile unintentionally, which produced a soft laugh from the redhead.

«Fellow associate» I replied, hiding the smile.

«Don’t start again ple-»

«The cycle lasts a week» I said, cutting him off by placing one finger over his own swollen lips.

His eyes widened and a smile formed upon his face as I pressed my forehead on his, smiling, without control this time.

There was nothing he didn’t know now.

Lovely gifs from @vindicia !!

Beautiful dividers from @cafekitsune !!

Star Wars masterlist

General masterlist

My request are open, just know that I’m slow✨

#dedicated to all my ginger friends<33 #little treat after those the bad batch episodes #huge backstabbing tbh #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi!reader #chiss!reader #star wars #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #cal kestis smut #star wars smut #also #shoutout to all the Thrawn fanfiction with his rut going on #chiss #star wars fanfiction #star wars chiss #reader insert #Jedi fallen order x reader #Jedi survivor x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis/reader #cal kestis x y/n #chiss ascendancy #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan x reader

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Touch Me (I'm Already Yours)

Summary: Spencer and Reader bake cookies together and learn that they both like to take care of each other.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Touch Me (I’m Already Yours)

It wasn't too say that Spencer thought that his heart was going to explode, it was more of a matter of when it was going to explode. Despite it being a feat that superseded the laws of physics, Spencer was simply waiting for the moment when Y/N's entire kitchen would be splattered with tiny, gross pieces of his heart.

It was inappropriate to think about such vile and graphic things as Y/N glided around her kitchen wearing a dusting of flour on the bridge of her nose. A scene like that deserved nothing but the most pure and wholesome thoughts. Strangely enough, both dealt with matters of the heart.

Literally and figuratively.

"Snowman or ornaments?" Y/N asked, holding up two cookie cutters. "The ornaments seem simple, but we'll want to be neat with the decorations."

"So snowmen?" Spencer suggested, counting the times his heart, made up of muscle, thumped in his chest. He swore Y/N could hear it too. "You love snowmen."

"You remembered?" Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. The entire thing, her nose covered in flour, her eyes beaming up at him, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon coming from the over, was too much for Spencer and his tender heart.

"Of course I remembered, Y/N" Spencer said, attempting to hide the way he ducked his eyes from her line of vision.

"Right." Y/N said, sounding some what disappointed with either the situation or with Spencer himself, he wasn't too sure. "Eidetic memory."

"Ah no. It's not that," He paused taking a breath as his mind churred around and around. He needed away to explain his without ruining what they had together. "It's just, I could have the memory of a chimpanzee and still remember every mundane thing about you."

She wiped the flour from her hands, dusting it all over her Christmas themed apron. The Santa bells jingled as she cleaned them off, puncturing the silence with their festive twinkling sound. She smiled, the flour still on her nose and Spencer decided to take that as a good sign.

"Aren't goldfish the ones with bad memories?" Y/N asked, turning to the rolled out dough. She handed Spencer a snowman cookie cutter, silently instructing him to cut our a couple of his own. He followed her lead, watching as Y/N carefully created snowmen-shaped cookies.

"Well actually, that is a rather wide misconception. Goldfish have pretty impressive memories. There are thousands of studies on memory that feature Goldfish as testing subjects. They are quite fascinating as they are tetrachromatic. Tetrachromacy is a condition where a person, or in this case a fish, has four cone types in their retina."

“Hmm,” Y/N remarked, “that’s fascinating, Spencer. I can’t comprehend a color besides the ones we know.”

Spencer smiled, still trying keep his heart in it’s fleshy container. He watched as Y/N took the bench scraper to slide the cookies from the counter to the cookie sheet. The oven beeped, interrupting the silence that wedged itself between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a comfortable one. It was soft and sweet, the sugar cookies that baked to a perfect crisp, yet chewy golden brown in the oven.

“Okay, given the thickness of the cookies, the size, and your oven, I’d venture to guess that the cookies need 8 and a half minutes.”

“See,” Y/N commented, taking the cookie sheet off the counter, “you are good at this. I can’t believe you thought you’d be bad at baking.”

Spencer offered a sheepish smile, knowing well enough that claiming that he was a bad baker was nothing, but a lie. The truth, however, was something that Spencer didn’t want to reveal. He was quite too fond of keeping his heart in his chest.

“I’m the oven they go,” Y/N commented. She opened the door, sliding the tray hot oven. “Oh shit!” She cursed. “Ah, I-I burnt my hand.”

“Run it underwater,” Spencer said, rushing over to Y/N’s side to asses the burn. “Here, let me see it.”

Y/N hissed in pain as she ran her hand under the rushing water. He touched her bare skin, think he was the one who has been burnt.

“Ouch,” Y/N whimpered. “It hurts.”

Spencer rubbed her hand, his brows furrowing as he saw the tip of her finger she burnt. “I know, Y/N.” He whispered to her. “Just keep it under the water. Studies show that running it under cool water for ten minutes and the keeping it out of the water to breathe for another ten is the key to preventing pain.”

Y/N side eyed Spencer sheepishly as she winced through the pain, “well you’re the doctor aren’t you,”

She smiled and Spencer felt that old familiar body ache. The one that threatened to unleash his heart from his chest. The one that would cover this kitchen in heart muscle and tissue and blood and all the gross things that help keep him alive. He was barely breathing, as he held Y/N softer hand in his rougher one. Spencer stood so close he could smell the flour and cinnamon on Y/N. It was like the sweetness was oozing from within her.

“Give it a couple more minutes.” Spencer instructed, his hand still on her wrist. “And then you’re going to sit on the chair while I clean up.”

“But—” Y/N started. She was taken aback by Spencer’s forceful interruption.

“No buts,” Spencer said. “You are going to listen to me. So sit.” He said, shutting the water off with finality.

Slightly disgruntled, Y/N listened to him and sat herself down on the kitchen chairs that faced her small kitchen. She winced at the warm, searing pain of her finger tip. Spencer looked at her with concern, but she waved it off with a simple shrug.

“It’s really fine. I’m being a baby.” She explained, watching as Spencer stared the dishes.

“No, you’re not,” Spencer. “Burns really hurt. There was one case where the unsub rigged the house to blaze up with flames. I burned my side leg. I think that hurt more than when I got shot in my leg.”

“Such a brave hero,” Y/N lamented with sarcasm, “It seems wrong to have someone like you doing my dishes after how hard you work.”

Spencer looked over at Y/N, his expression changing from concern to misunderstanding. “You work hard too, Y/N,” Spencer said, sounding genuine as he spoke, “and you deserve someone who will take care of you when you are hurt.”

“So do you, Spence,” Y/N whispered, not meeting Spencer’s eyes. “And I think I’d like being that person for you.” Spencer let the water run, not caring as the dishes and bowls overflowed with hot, sudsy water.

“Oh,” He said, concentrating on the way his heart tightened in his chest, “well that’s good. I mean, I like when you take care of me. And me too. No that’s not right. I just like taking care of you as well.” Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s flour covered face, “What I mean to say is that the feeling…the feeling between us, it’s mutual.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” Y/N said, smiling as she stood up. She walked over to Spencer, grabbing his hand with her good hand. “I think you are pretty great, Spence.”

“Again,” Spencer started, “the feeling is mutual.” Somehow the thumping in his chest subsided. Instead, Spencer felt warm and safe inside. With just their fingertips touching, Spencer felt every fiber in his being tuned into Y/N’s being. He could hear her breathing, feel the heat from her body against his side, and smell the sweetness from the cookies against her skin.

“That’s good. Because I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want to burn these cookies.”

Taglist

@reidsbookclub @reidslovely @coldbrewat3am @fightingdragonswithwho @hotchandspencearedilfs @sadgirlml @goldentournesol @spencerslibrary @foxy-eva @paperbackprettyboy @reidselle @alexxavicry @justlivinginadaydream @reidsmilf @givemeth @reidslibrarybook @mrs-dr-reid @spencerreidsmommy @spencer-reid-wonderland @radiant-reid

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

[toriria]

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓— 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

When arriving to Ayato’s apartment, seeing him in set up that could put a shame to other crime movies was definitely not what you were expecting.

You take a seat at the plastic table Ayato oh-so-wonderfully set up in the middle of his living room, wincing once a bright-ass light was directed towards you, “What is all of this? It feels like I’m getting investigated.”

You grimace, “Is the light that’s burning my retinas really necessary for your plan?”

He chuckles nervously and turns off the light, “Ah, no. Sorry about that.”

You can’t help but shake your head at his antics. So dramatic, yet so serious.

Muttering underneath your breath, a slight smile spreads on your face, “You’re really something else, Ayato.”

But it seems he didn’t hear you as he rereads the notes he’s taken on his beloved notebook. You groan at the sight of it.

Sensing your dismay, your kitten jumps down from her very fancy-looking scratch post and makes her way towards you.

“What would you say are your most likable qualities?” Ayato suddenly asks, staring at you keenly for your answer.

You hum, a small but uneasy smile playing on your lips, “Hm. I’ve never really thought about what makes me likable. People who like me, like me, and people who don’t, don’t.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Never?”

You huff, “What? Am I supposed to? I don’t need people to like me. I like animals more anyways.”

Despite not really getting an answer, you notice Ayato noting something down with a small smile on his face.

“What’s with that look? What are you writing in there?” You squint, trying to snatch the notebook away.

He gasps and holds the damn thing to his chest like a baby, “Hey! Be patient. I’ll go over everything after you answer a couple more questions.”

You slump back into the seat, petting the kitten in your lap to distract you.

“What is you ideal partner? What do you usually find attractive?” He asks.

You shrug, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never liked someone enough.”

“How am supposed to work with this?” Ayato groans, which you know he prolonged for dramatic effect. “You’re giving me nothing here!”

He can be such perfectionist once he gets caught up on something, you think. You appreciate though, it means he’s taking it seriously.

“Quit whining! You’re going to scare the kitten,” You furrow your brows. “What do you find attractive then, huh?”

Ayato practically chokes, “W-What?! Why are you asking me such personal questions?”

You stare at him, pondering whether or not you should just leave with the kitten or tough it out. Unfortunately, the chance of a discount has you choosing the latter.

You sigh, “Clearly, we need to rethink a new strategy on how to go about this. We can get to know each other as much as we want, but it won’t change the fact that we don’t act like a couple.”

Of course Ayato has thought about that. It was practically the first thing he thought of when brainstorming. But to act like a real couple with you, his heart feels like might explode.

Control and order is what Ayato works best under, and if that isn’t the case, he can find ways to adapt and improve. Since he was young, he’s practiced how to solve situations that could arise with grace and precision. So, acting should usually be no problem for him.

But…

He glances at you, you whose attention has been captured by the cat on your lap. You start cooing at her about how she’s the reason you’re going to save so much money.

His lips quirk up at the sight, “I like a girl who’s straightforward and bold. One who seems to be intimidating at first glance, but once you see her smile, it’s over. Plus, she has to like animals.”

You perk up, drumming your hands on the table, “Ohh! Write that down! That’s good!”

He shakes his head and laughs, flipping a page in his notebook, “Now, you have to go. Just think of something.”

“Wow, how helpful,” you roll your eyes.

Still, you lean back and close your eyes, humming to yourself as you think.

“I like people who are…cool,” you laugh, your cheeks warming up a bit.

Talking to him about this stuff is kind of embarrassing, you thought. But he shared, so it wouldn’t be fair to not put some effort.

He tilts his head in amusement, noticing your red cheeks, “Cool? That’s it?”

You groan, “I mean—Ugh! I like people who are like—funny and passionate about things they love once you start talking to them.”

“So having hobbies is attractive to you?” He smirks.

You slap his thigh lightly, “I don’t know how to explain it, okay? You make it sound so simple, but it’s more than that! It’s kind of like…you!”

Ayato freezes, but his mind goes haywire, “H-huh? Me?”

“And like Ayaka,” You nod, and his hopes go down the drain. “You both come from a very powerful family, and based on that, people make assumptions. It’s normal, it’s human.”

Ayato nods, and you continue, “And while you two are both polite and well-mannered, I’ve enjoy getting to find out more things about you. Like how unexpectedly dramatic you are. Or how much Ayaka like to bake despite…”

You gulp, not even being able to finish this sentence.

Ayato laughs, “Oh god, you’ve tried her baking too?”

You hit him again, lightly, “Shush! You’ll hurt her feelings!”

He catches your hand in his and pouts, “Stop hitting me! And she’s not even here! Just admit it’s bad.”

You tsk, “It’s not horrible…it’s just crunchy, sometimes.”

“Mm, crunchy,” he smirks. “Would you say those crunchy bits are usually black and taste different?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Stop. You’re talking about my best friend’s baking, you know?”

“You’re best friend is my little sister, you know?” He grins.

A voice pipes up from the doorway, “I think you guys got the acting like a couple part down.”

You scream and put an arm in front of Ayato, “Who the fuc— Childe?!”

The ginger grins and waves, “Yo.”

Ayato stands up, “Why—How did you even get in here?!”

“Your front door was unlocked. That’s real dangerous, man. Also, you weren’t picking up your phone, and Thoma got worried like he always does,” he shrugs. “Thank goodness he told me to check up on you. Who knows who could’ve broken in.”

Ayato blinks, “You?! You literally broke in?!”

He pats Ayato on the shoulder, “Don’t worry about the little things too much. Come on now, everyone is waiting.”

He turns to you, “Sorry to cut your date short, Y/n. But you know how it goes, bros before—“

Ayato cuts him off, “Do not finish that sentence, Ajax.”

You squint, “No, finish it. I want to know how it ends.”

Childe laughs nervously, “What’s with that look all-of-a-sudden, huh?”

Ayato clamps a hand over his mouth, “Sorry for the inconvenience. I have no idea why Thoma puts so much faith in this one. We can meet up again another time! Oh, and take the kitten with you.”

You just nod, quickly gathering everything up, “Have a good day?”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: (𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝!)

@yintsukareta @koritasp @whats-humanity-lol @reverse-iak @estelwrld @slvdsjjk @hadesaedes s @gothic-illustrations @fanfictwarrior r @velionas @elysiasbae @morgan-is-writing @aixaingela @ang3lzwrld @still-dazai-simp-not-sorry @kuni-kuzushii @kazuyato @yohoo-tehee @kazuhasmaid @marshmallow12435 @deathkat657 @ropuszke @dollpoetwriting @silverninja48 @ryomenswife @nebulaera @axerrri @racoonlvr @mayasshitposts @lifeisnotdaijoubu-sigh @kazuko-l0I @kaxoohaa @dreamlessnight @sweetstrawberrybabe @itsactuallylina @balladeertome @aromaticism @4lhaitham @sharkiestory @cooki-anna

#genshin impact #genshin impact smau #ayato kamisato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato kamisato x reader #ayato x you #ayato fluff #ayato x reader #genshin ayaka #genshin ayato #genshin childe #genshin thoma

[zombiepuke]

here have this little idk what i wrote about cecilia cause im dumb and in love with this bitch :’)

💖

watching her come is like being alive for the end of the universe.

hundreds of trillions of years from now, every star supernova’s. bright flashes and dances of light so blinding it burns your retinas from your skull.

she is on her back, thrashing against the covers. she is blinding, burning your retinas from your skull. she is every star exploding in on itself, all hot and blazing and you think your house is burning down.

blonde rivulets of hair are flooding the pillows, curled around her immaculate face and pooled into the depths of her collarbones. she is panting, chanting in some language you can’t understand - she hasn’t taught you her native tongue yet.

you feel like every sharp piece of every star is puncturing your lungs, shrapnel of metal crushing your windpipe and you can make out breaths of your name cradled in with the words she whimpers below you. you can taste her, still, tangy and sticky sweet against the back of your teeth.

her back arches, spine curved in a perfect crescent moon that you can press into your palms, run your innocent hands across her ribcage, feel her coldness turn to molten heat, churning and mixing her atoms into yours. you are both metal, alchemists from whatever fucked up city she’d brought you to now.

the moon of her spine sings stories of her past present and future to you.

oh god, how you howl at just a sliver of her.

#saw x #cecilia pederson #saw

[ink-inkonstantin]

Another year passed, another year ending. This had been the eleventh since Toji had died.

The next day, another year was beginning. It would be the twelfth since Toji had died.

The fireworks lit the sky. The entire world was celebrating.

“Happy birthday, Toji-kun.”

Down below, there was the festival, everyone was happy, having fun, dressed in their decorative yukatas and masks. Naoya used to walk those crowded alleys between the booths holding on to Toji’s yukata sleeve, a kitsune mask on his head. An oni mask on Toji’s. Playing the games, eating the street food, milling with the crowds.

When the fireworks were about to start, they’d find a tall building nearby, go up onto the roof, like where Naoya was standing now, after walking through the festival alone, partaking in nothing. But still he walked the crowded alleyways between the booths, holding on to the sleeve of a ghost.

The fireworks were stunning, as always. But Naoya missed the way the light had played on Toji’s scarred face, danced on the surfaces of his dark eyes.

“It’s like the entire world is celebrating your birthday. A festival and fireworks just for you. With your birthday, the entire year, for everyone, is starting anew.”

“Naoya,” Toji’s hand on his head, ruffling his hair, fireworks blossoming above them, whistling, exploding, colorful thunder in the clouds, rainshowers of laughing sparks, “the only one who celebrates my birthday is you.”

Naoya watched the fireworks, felt the sizzling lights on the backs of his retina, an entire symphony of lurid color and sound in his head, but he was the only one who heard it playing for Toji. He didn’t think even Toji had heard it.

Thank you for existing.

Naoya had tapped it with his fingers on the back of Toji’s hand, had hummed it with his breaths, had danced it with his buoyant feet, had held the shape of it in his grinning teeth. He didn’t know, though, if Toji had ever realized the words that were caught in his throat like a cloud dragon that had swallowed too many stars.

They stung in Naoya’s eyes with the fireworks, now.

Thank you for having existed.

It had been eleven years since Toji had died, seventeen since Toji had left the Zen’in clan, and Naoya never had seen him again. Toji always had been leagues ahead of him. Naoya had always run after him, but Toji had always easily outpaced him. Naoya was still chasing, but he hadn’t caught up to him yet.

“The only one who celebrates my birthday is you, Naoya.”

Toji-kun, don’t say that like that’s nothing. When I die, nobody will celebrate my birthday at all. Nobody will be glad that </i>I<i> existed.

Toji-kun, why didn’t you realize that you meant something to </i>me?

You’re not truly dead, Toji-kun. Not when I’m haunted by your ghost.

The fireworks were in their finale, a grand crescendo of bangs and glittery, shivery flashes of radiant flowers raining—and then all dissipated to smoke, streaking dirty across the sky, ghost images faded and blown gently to smears in the air.

All beautiful things came to an end. Toji’s life was no exception. Toji had been like a living god, but not even the immortal were forever.

The old year was over. It was the start of a new year. The eighteenth since Naoya had seen Toji, the twelfth since Toji had died. Naoya would be turning twenty-seven. When he was a kid the entire Zen’in clan had celebrated it, but it had been mostly a political affair, the clan showing off for the other sorcerer clans, the entire shebang. He was an adult now, and his birthday wasn’t celebrated anymore. Not even he celebrated it. Not when, with Toji gone, there was no one he wanted to celebrate his life with. He didn’t tell himself “Happy birthday, Naoya,” on that date; he told himself, “You survived another year. Good for you. Congrats on still being too proud to kill yourself.”

He hoped that that wasn’t the kind of thing that Toji had told himself on his birthday, when he’d watched the fireworks with subdued eyes while Naoya held onto his sleeve and watched not the fire blossoms in the sky, but their warm light that bathed Toji’s face and the scar through the corner of his lips that Naoya just wanted to see smiling.

Toji-kun, hey, Toji-kun.

Happy birthday.

Thank you for existing.

#toji fushiguro #happy birthday toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanart #my fanart #ficlet #my fic #naoya zenin #jjk fic #jjk #i have covid rn and it sucks lol but i wanted to do something for his bday so here this is #i wanted to do something more ambitious but this is all i could manage fjdskljlk #the art and ficlet don't entirely go together but ah well

[discordapples]

PT. 2 | Poltergeist Tears

Word count: 2.3k (10 mins read)

Characters: Livia Novik, Laurence Novik, Fastidio.

Summary

Imprisoned within the treacherous labyrinth of the poltergeist, Fastidio, Livia Novik endures the sinister whims of her captor. Reduced to a mere plaything, she clings to her plan of convincing the entity to shed its tears for her, inching her ever closer to resurrecting her dead brother. In a startling twist, the tables turn, and Livia emerges as a formidable opponent.

Read the second chapter below.

TW: Mild mutilation, cursing.

Livia | Hogsmeade, Late August, 1893.

A tangle of mangled chairs ceils over Livia Novik’s head as she races through the mansion.

The corridor chases her, slinking upon itself like a limbless centipede. It pushes her forward; the floor rolling under her feet. 

She runs faster, then cuts left around the angle of the corridor. Passing the threshold of a yawning door, she finds herself in yet another blind room. 

The door slams behind her. 

“Lumos.”

The tip of her wand throws a garish glare that washes her retinas with pain. 

On the four walls, mirrors parrot themselves into infinity. 

She folds her palm around her wand and allows her eyes to adjust to the light. 

She is surrounded by hundreds of raven-haired girls who stare back at her. Wicked smirks here, mournful pouts there, their irises the same olive green as hers, all wearing her golden locket, the one her brother gave her, all sporting on their left cheek and neck the patch of burned flesh she loathes to look at.

 A laugh rumbles through the walls. The sheathing groans as if it will collapse.

Livia looks up, aware of the thousands of rooms pressing around her. 

Will she ever get out of this maze?

She has been at it for five hours, judging by Laurence’s pocket watch, but she has no way of knowing if the poltergeist can alter the flow of time in this world of its own design. 

Her throat is raw with thirst and exhaustion drives needles at the back of her skull. 

She has to push forward. 

Her fingers rove about the looking-glass, following the tiny cracks like she would the dashes of ink on a map. 

At once, all of her mimics start whispering. 

Amidst this labyrinth of infinite reflections. Seek the key to liberation, defy all imperfections. Through shards of glass, find the clue concealed, for only truth shall guide, your freedom revealed.

“The key to liberation,” she mulls out loud, her heart ramming against her ribs. “Defy all imperfections.” Sweat breaks on her forehead as the solution sketches itself into her brain. “Shards of glass… Fuck.”

Above her head, the poltergeist’s despicable jeer drives cracks through the ceiling. “A worthy playmate. But does she have what it takes to win?”

Livia bites down on her lip, crouches in the corner and lifts her wand before her. “Reducto.”

The mirror shatters and snows on her. Grabbing a mutilated piece, she stands up as her reflections burst into laughter.

Flames fill the room behind her. 

Illusions? 

She feels no heat on her back, but the idea alone is enough to send tremors into her limbs.

The images of that terrible night visit her in their cruelty: Laurence’s fists slamming into the sashed window, a heap of smoldering beams hissing angrily behind him, the stench of peat singing its way down her throat, thousands of nerve endings exploding with a harrowing pain, the stink of her own hair melting away. 

Shaking, she lifts the shaving to her scarred cheek, her heart fluttering like a wild bird against the bars of its cage. 

Pain blisters as soon as the glass bites into Livia’s skin. Blood purls, slinking over the slope of her jaw, and the tang of wet copper fills the room, oppressive—sickening.

Her teeth grind together as she slowly shaves the scarred tissue from her face.

Her progress is slow. Excruciating.

Tingles skitter to her fingertips.

White inkblots swarm around her like angry gnats.

She will faint if she keeps going.

Dropping her improvised scalpel, she bends forward, heaving. 

When she lifts her head again, her scar is intact; the sundered flesh basted back in place by the poltergeist’s witchery. 

“Have I broken you yet?” The entity whistles into her ear, its frigid hands raising the hairs on her shoulders.

Livia cannot see it, but she feels the mass of gelid air roaming the skin draping her clavicle, her nape, her scalp.

“You’ll never get out of here,” it taunts, a necklace of cold closing around her windpipe. 

The entity’s hold is feathery, however, an ethereal brush against the pit of her throat.

Her copies in the mirrors have vanished. Now all Livia sees is a boundless darkness, so thick and inky, it eats at the light emanating from her wand, gulping it whole.

“You’re mine.” The voice ghosts over her lips. 

“Not until you bargain with me,” Livia says. 

She has been waiting for this moment. Five hours solving the poltergeist’s pathetic riddles, running through a snarl of corridors, making herself interesting.

Designing the perfect prey is as minute an operation as brewing a potion. 

A dash of wit, a lick of brazenness, a smidge of distress, a hint of hopelessness.

Spirits crave for life, Livia, her brother, Laurence, told her as they planned her time with the poltergeist. They envy each throb of a beating heart. They long to have another taste of love. Even hate is better than nothingness, but lust and fear… Lust and fear are honey to the dead tongue.

A curl of breath wings up behind her ear. “What can you possibly bargain with, living one?”

“My life,” she says, her blood cataracting through her temples. “Let me ask you a riddle. If you solve it, I will stay here with you forever. Send me through a hundred more mazes, watch me wither with thirst or have me lure innocents into your trap—do whatever you want to me.”

Immaterial fingers key along the notches of her spine, enticing a shiver that climbs up to her nape. “And if I fail?”

“You’ll give me your tears and let me go.”

Although she cannot see it, Livia can hear the smile in the entity’s words. “Deal. Ask away, living one.”

She takes a deep breath, the conundrum rehearsed with Laurence until she could recite the words as fast as she would her own name. “I am born from nothing, yet always remain. Unseen, untouched, beyond human domain. I have a beginning, but lack an end. Infinite and eternal, my essence transcends. I exist in all places, yet never can be. Forever elusive, an enigma to see.”

Silence cotters into the room. 

The entity’s fingers have gone from her chine as it ponders over her aporia. 

For it is exactly that: an aporia, an impasse—a puzzle defying logic.

The kind she and her brother, Laurence, used to concoct to ease their boredom. 

Time slips, aching forward, and in its flow, Livia can almost taste the poltergeist’s irritation. 

When, at last, it speaks, the voice is half-cautious, half-convinced. “Love. Love is the answer.”

A smile plays upon Livia’s lips. “You are incorrect. The answer is time.”

“No,” the entity hisses, its anger blustering through Livia’s hair. “No, it has to be love!”

“Love isn’t born from nothing,” she says calmly. “It isn’t elusive or eternal or infinite. It certainly isn’t beyond human understanding.”

Aerial fingers scuttle along her arms, her neck, through her hair, the touch custodial, soft, tender. The voice comes, wheedling. “Stay with me, living one. Together, we would lord over this world and send fools into the arms of madness.”

Her lips curl at the attempt. “I believe you owe me your tears.”

A force pushes her against the mirror. Cracks slither through the glass. Livia gasps with the pain, but she weathers it.

So close, she is so close. 

“You are a fool, living one! Poltergeists don’t cry.”

“You are right,” Livia concedes. “But humans can, and I can make you one, if only for a time.”

The voice that comes is curious. “Why would I want to be human?”

“So you could know what a kiss feels like. Have you never wondered about it? You chanced ‘love’ as the answer to my riddle. Surely it has been on your mind, you have asked yourself what it was to feel loved. What if I could show you?”

“I... No.”

“You can conjure rooms at will, stretch corridors endlessly, but nothing compares to the bliss of being kissed. An eternity spent without knowing this feeling is not worth living.” Livia whirls around, unsure from which corner the entity observes her. “I can turn you into a human and you can dance with me. A boy, a girl, and their own pocket of existence. I will kiss you, or you will kiss me, and you will cry for me.” She swallows in a dry throat, hoping that her words find their mark. “I will leave you for a while, but I’ll come back… You have an eternity to spend and I have a brother to save. My absence will be a trifle to you, a drop in the ocean. What say you, immaterial one?”

“Will you swear to come back if I accept?”

In this instant, Livia tastes the victory on her tongue. “Kiss me and convince me to come back.”

A cold lick of air touches her cheek. “Make me human then.”

“Look into the mirror,” she says, crouching to grab a shard of glass. She drives the edge against her palm. The slit weeps blood. She presses it against the mirror, closing her eyes. “Touch me through the glass.”

There is a thrum through her palm, a lash of fire smoldering through her wound. When she opens her eyes, she is faced with a flaxen-haired boy with eyes an elysian blue. He is dressed in blue-damasked samite and a flourished red silken cravat. 

For a trickle of seconds, the poltergeist takes in his new body, his fingers caroming over his clothing. Livia extends a hand, and his arm materializes through the mirror, slipping through the barrier as if he shrugged out of a shroud. 

When his hand touches hers, the room shifts. The looking-glasses vanish, so do the dust of splinters, and they find themselves in a deserted ballroom, under the coy light of the chandeliers.

Violins warble and flutes chirp and their fingers intertwine. His hold is strange, not quite material, akin to holding an empty glove, but already he presses against her back and leads her into a waltz.

Livia’s heart flutters in her breast, and even if he has no blood to pump through a mesh of veins, a flush vines behind his cheeks. 

His mouth hovers close to her ear, and he breathes her smell in, and they twirl on the checkered floor in a shiver of silks, and when the music fades, when the boy’s eyes connect with hers, he leans in for the kiss and she yields it to him. 

He explores her mouth gingerly, as if the illusion is a piece of porcelain that will ruin with his urge, but it is there, interred underneath the reluctant gestures.

An urge to call upon and mold.

Livia’s arms loop around his neck and she draws him in, her tongue parting his lips with none of his prudence. She moans, a whit of heat paddling between her thighs.

It is a strange thing, to be kissed by a phantasm, but Livia takes it. Why wouldn’t she? It is a victory, and victories are best savored in excess.

When she breaks their embrace, she does because her lungs burn with the lack of air.

The boy’s eyes turn vitreous. “Is this love?” He asks her, his voice cracking.

“No,” she says, pulling her wand from her pocket. “This is lust, and it’s but a taste of love.”

A pearl-colored tear slips past his eyelid, and Livia catches it with her wand. She opens her locket and watches the silvery drop roll on the pure gold like a bead of mercury, then lifts her eyes to him. “You have to let me go now…”

Tears stream freely on his face; thick and milky like trickles of molten wax. “When will you come back?”

Livia culls the substance from his cheeks with a thumb and graces him with a smile. “When I have the Promissum Mortis, and thanks to you, I’m one step closer to finding it.”

* * *

The sun has long been washed away by the ink of night when Livia climbs back into the carriage.

“So?” Her brother, Laurence, asks her. 

Her thumb presses against the locket. 

In the low light, Laurence is but an outline, his translucent shape more akin to air simmering than a full-fledged apparition. 

He is fading a little more every day, and Livia wonders if he will disappear completely before she has time to find the relic.

She casts a spell and a shy light glows awake. Laurence’s phantom is made of asperities; the burn scars covering most of his aspect. He no longer has hair or eyelashes or brows. 

He no longer looks like her brother, and the artifacts of the boy he was can only be found in his voice. 

His eyes rove to a distance shrouded in gloom. “I can’t follow you there,” he says. “To Hogwarts.”

“I know.” Her hand hovers before him. His fingers slip right through her palm, leaving a cold imprint. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you, Laurence.”

He graces her with a faint smile, difficult to make in the low light. “You lived a full year on your own when I wasn’t yet born.”

“I don’t have memories of it. You were always with me for as long as I can remember.”

He nodded, melancholy painting his features. “You are late to your sorting ceremony.”

“As if any of this matters.”

A neat line draws itself between his brow bone. “Life matters, Livia. In the pursuit of restituting mine, don’t forget to live yours.”

“I’m the big sister, Laurence. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“But I do. I always will. The dead are left with nothing else but concern for the living.”

The carriage startles and groans, wheeling through the cobblestones streets of Hogsmeade.

Livia reclines in her seat, her eyes going to the road ahead. “And what are the living left with but the lingering pain of those who fell out of life?”

#hogwarts legacy fic #dark retelling #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts oc #hogwarts legacy mc #harry potter #harry potter universe #hp fanfic

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit Chapter 7 - Something to Fight For (Part 2)

1600. Kenobi and his men are here. My blaster is in my hands. I stand inside the gate ready for whatever comes through it. The guard up in the tower hasn't given the order to open it yet, but my heart hammers in anticipation.

General Nidor heads us off. General Krell never did that. I wonder if that's the difference between him and the others.

The guard yells. "Open the gate! They're here!"

And one by one, like a bristling hide, blasters click into place. I check my ammo. I sight up. I'm ready.

There's blaster fire outside the wall. Cannons boom. The ground trembles with a far off concussion and then the gate grinds open. Nothing can hide the carnage anymore.

Droids, tanks, SBD's there's a sea of them, but like a Krayt dragon's jaws we close around them. General Nidor yells and I'm running. I fire. Each droid is nothing but a red blip on my HUD and scrap when I'm done with it.

Clones are men. We're brothers, and we fight for that spark of light that lives in us. I grew up knowing I'd die, but here in the middle of the battlefield, all that matters is killing and surviving. We think like men, desperate, dying men. Droid's can't do that and that puts a world of a difference between us.

We burst through the ranks. The SBD's lay covering fire. The men above us on the wall return with our own. A separatist tank fires on a squad to the left. There's a plume of black smoke. There's screaming. The shockwave almost knocks me off my feet, but General Nidor is scaling the beast and with deft slices, it explodes. The Jedi lands near me, agile as a cat.

I bust in a droid's head with the butt end of my blaster. I reload, the motion is as natural as breathing. For the first time I feel cool under fire.

"Kian, on your six!" Aftermath's voice breaks into my comms.

I whirl and squeeze off two shots. Laser cuts through metal and a B1 crumples.

"Nice shot!" Bevik calls. "But I'm at fifteen already."

"Hah! Seventeen!" Aftermath pipes up.

I slag another droid. How many have I killed? I wasn't keeping count.

"Twenty-three," cuts in Shave, his voice ever calm.

"Butt out," Aftermath snaps. "We didn't include you in the bet."

"Doesn't matter if we don't all survive now does it?" Shave retorts. "That's twenty-five."

The banter is like a comforting white noise. It blocks out the screaming as I cut down another droid and return fire on an SBD that nearly nicked me. A green blade flickers through it, mere feet in front of me and takes the whole thing down.

I forget to keep firing, the afterimage of the lightsaber burned onto my retinas.

I'm shoved down as a tank shell explodes overhead. It's Mer'en. He scrambles up beside me in the rubble.

"Don't freeze up," he mutters.

I open my mouth to argue, but I can only get to my feet and blink rapidly in search of another target between the blaze of fire. Mer'en's right. I can't let myself panic. I have to focus.

A droid fires at me and I dodge. In two short leaps I tackle it, busting in its head with laser fire. Exhaling, I get up. "One."

"What was that?" Aftermath yells over the noise of an explosion.

I shake my head and mow down another droid. "I want in," I call over the comms. Other lines are busy with other chatter. "That's two."

"Two!" Bevik laughs. I grimace and duck behind the cover of a broken tank. Aftermath slams shoulders with me. He looks over.

"Two's not bad, but you're gonna have to keep up," he says. I eye the droid sighting him up and blast it. Aftermath looks over his shoulder.

I grin. "See if you can keep up."

#

"We kicked their metal shebs!" Bevik pumps his blaster in the air. "Man, that feels good."

I'm glad he's excited but it's all worn off for me. I only counted twenty kills, after I started counting. Everyone beat me out, not that there was anything to lose.

Our lives. We could've lost our lives. I'm much happier losing a bet.

And the town is ours. No, the planet is ours. The Generals are both outside the wall setting up guards, calling in heavy weapons, and talking. I follow my squad back through the gate, though, and into the city where we wander among the other groups and look for somewhere to rest.

I'm beat, but still on high alert. Anything can happen.

"I'll bet the locals could build a new town out of all the scrap," Aftermath says. "And this one is still standing, ain't it, Shave?"

Shave declines to respond. Mer'en veers toward an empty house. We file in and take up the porch like before. I sit against the railing this time, though.

"You know, the separatists pulled out rather quickly, do you think they realized this place was a lost cause?" Bevik asks.

"I think they figured they'd win," Aftermath shrugged. "But we showed them."

I look down at my blaster. We did indeed "show them."

Mer'en straightens. "I'm going to get some water from inside. I hope the locals don't mind sharing."

"That's called stealing," Bevik calls after the sergeant as Mer'en ducks inside. He stretches. "Guess we could get back in time for the game now, Aftermath, what do you think?"

"I think we have a better chance of finding an uplink on an officer's comm."

"Well frag that," Bevik sighs.

I inspect the little house. The locals can't be very tall. Everything is short and squat. The home is something of a dome. Not made of metal, though reinforced by it now. It looks like it was originally carved out of the same purple wood that grows here, even down to the steps and railing. It's beautiful really. The architecture is not something I can fully appreciate, but the handiwork is.

There's a faint beeping from inside. Bevik hears it too because he leans over toward the door.

"You good in there sarge? Trigger an intruder alarm?" he laughs.

I stiffen. "Bevik, maybe we should go inside and check it out. What if—"

The ground rumbles. I grab the railing of the house and lunge over it. As I land, I see a plume of smoke rising in the near distance. The four of us stare at it.

"The hell was that??" Aftermath mutters.

Bevik whips around. "Mer'en, get out h—"

"Bevik, don't—!"

Shave whirls. I whip around. Bevik gets two steps to the door and I realize I can't hear anything. No voices. No birds. The dead silence hits me harder than a shock wave. Time doesn't move. We're suspended, waiting for the hammer to drop.

The air explodes hot. My eardrums pop loud and I'm slammed back. I feel my ribs crack as I hit the ground, gasping. Everything is white noise, and white-hot pain. My helmet tries to buffer the noise, and my visor darkens against the flash. Blind, I grab at the dusty ground, panting hard as I crawl up to my hands and knees.

Vision returns, slowly and leaves me stunned with horror. Fire consumes the house in front of me. Shadowy figures lay in the dust, still amid the flames. Smoke rises overhead. I scramble up, my legs shaking but adrenaline pushing fear from my veins.

"Mer'en!" I yell. "Bevik!" I stumble but the shadows are still too far away. They're ghosts in the smoke.

"Aftermath!" My knees give out and I slip into the burning sand. "Shave..." I choke on the smoky air making it through my cracked helmet visor. My eyes water from the sting and I cough, sinking to the ground. "No! Please...not again!"

#

13 BBY Calamitycrew quarters

I recoil and sit up. Cold sweat burns down my face as I clutch my blankets in hand. Another nightmare. I rub my face against my scarred face and lift my head to survey the dark room. It's the dead of night according to standard hours. Everyone should be asleep. That includes me.

I toss aside the covers anyway and put my feet on the cold floor. Maybe it's only because I've lived half my life on ships set for one place or another, but the Calamity feels right at home. It's cold, unfeeling, and groans a little at night when everything is silent.

I get up and stumble to my door, which slides open at the lightest touch of my hand. A faint light floods the familiar halls. There are other doors, other crew suites, each occupied with snoring sleeping bodies. I pad quietly toward the common area and galley.

Entering, I half expect to see someone up because I can hear the holo vid from outside, but the common room is empty. There is however a holovid playing on the table.

Bolo ball match. It looks recorded. I don't look at the time stamp, but I just have the gut feeling. I slide into a seat. I've never watched a Bolo ball match to save my life.

Sports in truth are much like war, except no one is trying to kill anyone else. But they're all trying to win. Maybe that's why I hated sports. Or maybe it was all the late-night yelling.

Slumping forward, I lean my chin in my calloused hand and stare at the screen. Blue and white team. Red and green team. Looks like blue and white might be winning. I don't know how to score, but the bottom left shows it.

The ball flies across the arena. Player's scramble. It looks like a tussle.

Who does this belong to?

I blink my eyes. The light is making me sleepy, that and the silent repetitive plays over and over again. There isn't any sound, it's just an old vid someone left on. Maybe it belongs to Dross. He strikes me as the type to watch sports.

The more it drags on the heavier my eyes grow. I eventually lay my head in the crook of my arm so I can keep watching without really paying any attention.

It's almost like watching a ghost. The past meeting the present in some form of eternally understood conflict. No sound, no context, not even an explanation. I don't know who will win, but I can see they both believe it'll be them. The sweaty faces. The yells without any noise.

And the ball sailing back and forth locked between two sides.

I wonder what color Bevik was going to dye his hair? Nyo tried to go green and red. Would they have been on the same side?

My eyes sag. What does it really matter? I let my head drop. We're all just the ball in the middle, getting kicked around until the game is decided.

(Chapter 8 Sneak Peek coming Thursday 4/27...)

Chapter 7 Links!

Dar'Aliit on Wattpad

Dar'Aliit on AO3

#dar'aliit fanfic #star wars #clone wars #clone trooper oc #212th battalion #obiwan kenobi #star wars fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #tw trauma #ptsd cw #part two #chapter 7 #reblog is appreciated #fic writer

[phantasmaw]

♢*   —    @nvrcmplt​ ​ /  𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑: 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 

❝ confronting the past comes with a price. ❞ //Baalthia @ Gael

  〈✟*〉 ┊  But I've already paid. I've paid more than I owe. What about the debts I'm owed? When will I be confronted as the price of the past?

    --he wants to lash out, and very nearly does. Yet with a deep, slightly shaky breath, and nails biting into the gold-dusted palms of his hands, Gael refrains. He's already thrown that fit before. He isn't sure the embers of righteous anger will ever spark the way they did back then. No... he knows they won't. There's no tinder as highly flammable as the walls that used to enclose him, and those were long since immolated to nothing more than a handful of ash. Oh, but what he wouldn't give to feel the smoldering remains sift through trembling fingers again. What he wouldn't give to scream his throat raw, to taste his own unfettered resentment coat his tongue with blood and honey again. What he wouldn't give to see pinpricks of terror break through gazes always clouded over with lofty veneration again. Not because he had relished the pain. Because finally, finally, they had seen. They had understood. For the first and only time since his birth, his community had accepted him into their midst as nothing and nobody but Gael.

( and he hears himself howling in millions of voices that explode from a mouth dripping with rose gold spittle, 'I AM NOT YOUR GOD. I HAVE NEVER BEEN YOUR GOD. I AM NOT YOUR GOD. I AM NOT GOD. I AM NOT. I AM NOT. I AM NOT.' )

    "I don't think I left any of them with a fighting chance."

An admittance of guilt? A confession of sin? A simple statement of fact? He's not sure. If he's allowing himself to be greedy, he would opt for all three. He had been hoping that when the time came for him to come clean about the ugly uncertainty of the aftermath following the assurance of his freedom, he would feel something. Either crushing remorse or a relief of pressure. Neither come. There's only a hollow ring, as stale as the wind that had swept away the glimmering ash his fire had left behind.

Still, he continues barely above a whisper, "When I set fire to it all, I didn't want anything left behind. Not even the people. I... I know I shouldn't have. At the time, though...."

He trails off and lowers his eyelids. A flicker of memory burns against his retinas: a lone child watching his house go up in flames that hummed rather than crackled, singing along to the holy hymn that rose higher and higher along with the purifying smoke. He should have at least saved him. Maybe, somewhere out there, that child was still growing into himself. Maybe at least a few had made it out. Rationally, he knows not all of them deserved it. He also knows the idea that a few made it out is fanciful at best. His fire purifies all in its path, innocent and tainted alike; it retains all to whence they came, be it the earth below or the sky above. No earthly compound could have ever quelled that inferno in time for belated mercy. Not even his bitter weeping could have extinguished the blaze. The guilt sits on his chest as a weight that shifts about but never fully dissipates, and he's learned to live with it. In its own way, it's a creature comfort as much as it is a continual condemnation.

It's the past he continues to confront and the price he continues to pay.

Gael sighs and blinks his eyes back open. Misty tears cling to his lashes but don't fall. Is he even allowed to cry for them now?

"...I won't ever stop paying, will I?" he rasps, and it's less of a question and more of a plea.

Tell me yes. Tell me atonement exists. Tell me anything but 'no'.

And then, he turns his gaze towards the hooded angel, and dares to ask, "Are you exempt?"

#nvrcmplt #ic : gael #〈✟*〉gael ╲ INBOX #〈✟*〉a sentinel of awakeness holding truth like a torch ╲ BAALTHIA #〈♢*〉drying ink ╲ ANSWERED #* TY TALA YOU ALWAYS SEND THE GOOD GOOD STUFF <3 <3 #* gael took 94710948089262579238 psychic damage from 7 simple words #* baalthia's duckling is not only pitiful! he is also maybe a criminal against humanity!

[tsuruyasonozaki]

Here be some neato laser-eye edits I made all by myself for all your laser-eye needs You’s welcome =u= I just want to point out how the two most famous/popular Seuss grumps are both inventors (well Guy wasn’t in the original but he is now...SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT)

#Dr Seuss #Green Eggs and Ham #geah #The Grinch #The Grinch 2018 #guy am i #grinch #grinch meme #geah meme #laser eyes #edit #meme #HAVE YOUR RETINAS EXPLODED YET #secret grumpy man ability

[retvenkos]

conversations from the tap | s.h.

requested Stranger Things — Steve Harrington x Reader, light angst, light fluff

tw: mentions of the battle at starcourt, fear, mentions of blood word count: 2k prompt: things you said after it was over A/N: umm... uhh... i am at war with what i want this piece to be, ngl, but i can’t fight with it any longer.

Summary: The Battle of Starcourt is over, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t linger under your skin, and that doesn’t mean you’ll be fine, come morning.

Cold water barrelled out of the tap, saturating the towel in hand, ricocheting off the white stone basin like bullets from a shotgun. Scenes of chaos lay fresh in your mind - vivid in their monstrous glow - and they replayed over and over until they were all you remembered. Teeth and flesh, fireworks and screams. The tension in your jaw was enough to snap, so you curled your fists at the sound of the falling water, that incessant resonance filing your mind. You closed your eyes into nothing and leaned against the countertop.

We're safe. We're safe. We're safe.

The towel dripped. The water hit the basin. Silence curled around you, and its tendrils were gentle. You weren't shaking anymore, and the world was slowly dulling its existence. You turned the knob.

The water stopped; the sounds dissipated into nothing. You wrung out the towel with slow, practiced movements. "D'you think you'll ever come over to my house for normal, teenager reasons?"

You turned with a sigh, and Steve Harrington sat on the lip of your tub, his face a horror of purple bruises and dried, crimson blood. His hair was matted with sweat, and some strands were stuck to his brow. He looked like hell, holding a bag of frozen peas to his swollen eye, but he smiled. It looked painful. You handed him the face towel, and he took it, dabbing at the cuts that littered his face.

"You mean being chased by a murderous alien from a... different dimension isn't your average coming-of-age?"

You scoffed, and the sound was just edge.

"Oh," and his voice sounded rough - like vocal cords scratching against sandpaper, "don't forget the evil Russians, too."

You wanted to roll your eyes. "As though I could."

Your heartbeat was no longer racing in your chest, but you could remember the way it had - like a dozen military-grade guns, opening fire until empty. Like fireworks exploding flesh and overwhelming your retinas. Like screams of "we're out" and echoes of sirens. Like taking one look at the calvary (arriving too late, never saving you, anyway) and feeling sick to your stomach.

You couldn't handle the crowds. You couldn't process their questions. You had taken Steve's hand and run away from the chaos of it all as soon as you could - slipping away without notice and putting as much distance between Starcourt and yourselves as you could.

And here you were - sitting in the quiet of your empty house, blinking against the harsh lights of the bathroom.

"You never told me why you came." You pushed yourself up to sit on the bathroom counter, still looking at Steve, blinking fast, as though to not miss him. "With me, I mean. You could be in the hospital by now. You probably need it the most."

"Thanks," Steve deadpanned, and something about his normalcy calmed you. Anyone else, and it might have been infuriating - how easily he brushed off everything that happened. How he treated everything like it was just another Saturday night. But this was Steve. What else could you do? "And, well, maybe this is the blunt force trauma talking, but something about military questioning and having my dad pick me up from the hospital doesn't sound like the perfect evening."

"Yeah," you sighed. Or maybe it was a chuckle. It was the remnants of something - whatever lingering remains were buried in your chest, not yet tainted with fear. You looked down at your scraped knees. Maybe you should put something on them, too. If only just to dull the ache. "You're lucky I know how to patch you up, then, right?  Good thing I've had the last two years to perfect the art."

"You even know how to do stitches, now, thanks to me." Steve passed you the towel, and you leaned over to rinse it out, again. Blood washing down the drain. That's all it was - all it had to be. "Think of it as a gift. From me to you."

"Very generous," but anything like levity was still jittery on your tongue. You hopped off the counter, and with a gentle hand, pushed strands of hair off of Steve's forehead, wiping the sweat and grime. "God, I never want to have to do this again." 

Steve looked up at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that made your shoulders slump - two parts commiseration, one part loss.

You tried to coax something lighter from your voice. "I mean, maybe I have the wrong audience, but I'd kill to have a perfectly normal life from here on out."

For a long moment, Steve was silent. It made sense, after all. With desperation like that, what was Steve supposed to do?

"I wouldn't say 'kill' if I were you."

And you chuckled as you swore. "You're right. With our luck..." your voice trailed off again, but it helped, somehow. You finished cleaning off Steve's face and reached for the bandages you'd stocked up on, ever since the first attack. Your parents had thought it odd, your insistence on suddenly filling the first aid kit that went virtually unused, but they let you do it, without ever knowing why. It was lucky they did, too. You shook your head with a scoff. "I should have gone with my parents on that stupid vacation to Idaho. Could you imagine how dull it would've been? Bliss."

Steve smiled, and you couldn't help how infectious it was. He tilted his head, and you swatted him on the shoulder, carefully placing another bandage. "Yeah, but if you went, you wouldn't have spent the summer scooping ice cream with yours truly."

"Devastating, really."

"A tragedy or some shit." And a laugh escaped your throat, and Steve's eyebrows shot up almost comically as he laughed along with you. It wasn't quite joy, but it filled you to the brim with warmth and light, and you didn't want it to end.  You pushed a stray piece of hair back from Steve's brow. "And I mean," Steve smiled at you, and it was more bright than it had any right to be, "there's nothing like an interdimensional threat for bonding, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Next time you want to connect, Steve, just rent a movie and grab a pizza."

Steve inclined his head good-naturedly. "Noted. Do you think—"

A booming sound came from down the hall, and you jumped. 

Steve stood in a flash, and your hands fisted at your sides, your attention turned toward the open door. Your heart hammered in your chest, and it took you a good minute before you realized the bang and subsequent hum was just the cooler kicking on. Steve's eyes were still wide when you whispered so, and you both just stood there for a moment, breathing fast.

Eventually, you moved to sit on the floor, your back against the cabinetry and counter. Steve resumed his position on the lip of the tub. You leaned your head back against the wood, and you heard the sink faucet dripping. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"I've been scared of the dark since the first time those things came," you admitted. "D'you think they cover 'battling Lovecraftian horrors' in therapy?"

"Maybe 'surviving Russian interrogation'?"

You gave a rueful smile. "How's your face feeling, anyway?"

"Better." Steve shrugged. The bag of frozen peas had long since thawed, and after the cooler scare, they were left discarded, on the floor. He picked up the bag but thought better than to put it over his eye. "How's it look?"

You hesitated. "Just be glad it feels better." Steve let out some exclamation of sarcasm, and you raised a brow. "What are you going to say happened, anyway?"

The last two times you had patched Steve, there had been a reason. Jonathan, then Billy. He got into a surprising amount of fights, all things considered. It had been the root of some of the jokes you'd tossed back and forth all summer while spooning ice cream side-by-side. He'd make fun of your flavors of choice, you'd make a dig at his ridiculous hair. He'd tease how you didn't understand the importance of romance, and you'd counter that he couldn't seem to woo anyone, and his looks weren't helping so much anymore, when every year, he found a way to bash in his face, just a bit more.

Problem was, there wasn't really an explanation for this beating, now was there?

"I got mauled by a bear?" You blinked at Steve, and then broke out into laughter. Your amusement seemed to spurn him on. "It was a cage fight, obviously. I won," he snorted. "If you think I look bad, you should see the bear."

"Mmm. Starcourt is a cover for an underground fighting ring?"

Steve laughed. "Robin faced off with a tiger."

"I was stuck with a pack of bloodhounds."

"Seems like a cakewalk compared to whatever the hell happened tonight."

You hummed, and after that, all you were left with was silence. It didn't bother you so much, anymore. Worry still itched at the back of your brain, but it was dull in comparison, and the longer you were here, the more it would dissipate. Steve was here, you were across from him, and you were safe.

Your eyelids were heavy. You closed them for just a moment, but then the seconds stretched onward, and it was hard to open them, again. You were exhausted. You probably wouldn't sleep, once Steve left, but you had to eventually.

You opened your eyes and noticed Steve was fighting the same battle as you.

"Hey." He hummed in response. "Do you have to leave? Can't you just... stay?" Steve's eyes fluttered open. You rubbed your hands on your thighs. "My family won't be home for a week longer, and I don't love the idea of being alone. If I jumped at the sound of the cooler, I'll have a heart attack, if any more fireworks go off. You'd be doing me a favor, is all."

You shrugged, as though it meant nothing at all, but when Steve nodded his head, it meant the world and everything beyond. "Yeah. I can stay." You smiled, and he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight. "I mean, I'd rather not explain all this to my parents, tonight. I can just... make a phone call and stay."

And you wanted him to stay. Right here, on the bathroom floor, holding your hand and looking at you with tired-soft eyes, and a relieved sort of smile. You touched the soft skin on his cheek - that part not marred by horrors and bruises - and a sigh left his lips, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second.

"Alright," you said, and it was little more than breath. Steve opened his eyes. You smiled. "The phone's in the kitchen. And there's probably another bag of frozen vegetables for your eye." 

"Right." Steve moved to stand, and you kissed his knuckles before he could go far. He looked back at you, and you raised a brow, amused. "Right."

Steve flicked on the hallway light, and you heard his footfalls as he went down the stairs, and into the kitchen. You stood and noticed the water still dripping out of the faucet. You turned the knob. The water stopped. You could hear Steve's voice from down the way, could hear the wobble in his voice as he did his best to not sound the way he looked.

Things would be better in the morning. No doubt, in just a few hours, Joyce Byers and the military will show up at your door, with questions as to how and why you slipped away. No doubt they'd have a scheme concocted to explain away what happened - to pretend like nothing ever happened, and things would right themselves eventually. And maybe they would. Or maybe you'd be jumping at the sounds of coolers forever, stocking up your first aid kit in fear you'd have to use it, again.

You walked down the stairs, and Steve was still negotiating his way out of coming home for the evening. You opened up your freezer and passed him a bag of frozen corn, and he smiled.

'Thank you,' you mouthed.

Steve covered the phone and winked. "Any time." 

taglist: @starkeysslut, @vixxiann, @slashersugar, @locke-writes, @mystic-writings​ // add yourself to the taglist here!

#stranger things #st #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things imagine #reader insert #light angst #light fluff #bro if you hate my logic for letting them sneak out then you're in the wrong fandom my guy explain with logic how kids defeated the #russian goverment

[yeojaa]

come over, pt. i

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  this is pwp.  smut in the forms of:  kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex.  use of the pet name shy girl.  wc. 6.2k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life.  author note.  this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang​.  while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way.  tysm for reading!  (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that.  You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library.  He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room.  (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).  

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.  

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights.  You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.) 

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas.  It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed.  One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!"  You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks.  The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs.  You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands.  “Stop stealing all my chips.” 

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered.  (You know better though.  Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for. 

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips.  They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar.  (Note to self:  thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,”  you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows.  “I’m just—“  Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades.  “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout.  You aren’t actually.  The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter.  It’s just annoying.  You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls.  It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good.  People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail.  One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.) 

“Pay attention to the movie.”  The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time.  You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.  

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were.  Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin.  Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him.  The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite.  You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful.  You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.  

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery;  he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong.  Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,”  he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room.  Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.”  It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight.  Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level.  It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him.  "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest.  It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.  

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh.  Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt.  It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up.  A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention.  It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit. 

A part of you wants to run from the room.  Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck.  It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop.  (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook."  You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away.  Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out.  Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.  

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests.  (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most.  Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw.  A sigh escapes before you can help it.  "Shy girl,”  he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m not shy,”  you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you.  "We're watching a movie."  You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it. 

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips.  A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear. 

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be.  You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation.  Term paper due the next morning?  He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night.  Break something at a house party?  He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.”  He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's."  Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks.  So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh.  The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not.  They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt.  So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed.  “What’re you—“  The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people.  (Okay, not a lot, but enough.)  You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.  

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you.  There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck.  They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick.  Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day.  (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,”  he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky.  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending.  You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality.  You hope it doesn’t.  Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.  

“I’m not.”  

“Oh?”  There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach.  You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features.  “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he?  Of course he did.  Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though.  Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you.  Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet.  It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though. 

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair.  It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.  

“Oh my god,”  you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of  relief.  You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots.  “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in.  It’s his fault, after all.  

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed.  Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit.  You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth.  You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists.  Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this.  Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip.  There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands.  You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth.  A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels.  “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue.  You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.  

You want to be his pretty girl. 

"I want you.  I need more,"  you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth.  He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked. 

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips.  When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers.  They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease.  The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.  

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing.  (You swear you see stars;  you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving.  It feels so good to have him between your legs.  You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats.  Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself.  It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?”  You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.  

“Fuck.”  He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy.  He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves.  “You want a taste?  Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”  

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs.  You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.  

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else.  Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip.  It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy.  You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb. 

“Please.”  You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand.  You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing.  "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself.  It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.  

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs.  “Open up, ____,”  he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full.  “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind.  If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length.  A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives.  You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip.  Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away.  (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?"  You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie. 

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you.  The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion.  He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag.  Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand.  He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch.  It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more.  For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants.  As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.”  He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek.  You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up.  “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat.  It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now.  Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls.  When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks.  “Is it my turn yet?”  You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs.  Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.  

“Your turn?”  The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful.  It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed.  Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal.  “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,”  you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose.  Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did.  It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight.  He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared.  You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.”  Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air.  The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter.  Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me,"  you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks.  Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,”  Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck.  He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin.  You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit.  “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement;  or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees.  You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return.  You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need.  "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable.  Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.”  Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain.  You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes.  They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.  

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t.  It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?”  He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric.  Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.  

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.”  It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist.  You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core.  It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half. 

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help.  Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion.  “Oh my god,”  you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in.  “You’re so big.  I c-can’t—”  You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck.  A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder.  The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness.  “You feel so good, Kook.”  You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper.  “Please, move,”  you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you.  He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven.  When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out.  It sounds like that, anyway.  With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently;  you can practically feel him in your throat.  (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier.  You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake.  They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat. 

There’s slick all across your thighs.  You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in.  It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half.  "Harder, p-please."  Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes.  "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut.  Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits.  Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used.  You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking.  The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop.  A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?”  It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway.  (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward.  (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.)  "Like it so m-much.  Feels so good.”  You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him. 

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length.  You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years.  You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.  

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer:  every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much.  With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring.  "R-right there,"  you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?”  He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops.  They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.  

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.  

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care.  The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts.  He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered.  “Perfect,”  he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it.  You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more.  “So sensitive.  Such a shy girl.  Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon.  He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind.  It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves.  Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision.  Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over.  "So big.  It's too m-much.”  And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed. 

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap.  When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over. 

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit.  It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude.  It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses. 

"Kook—please—come for me.”  You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).  

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high.  You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop.  It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared.  “Are you okay?”  You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours.  He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,”  he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time.  “You’re welcome.”  It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for.  You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.  

“You too.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #heartsforbts #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts oneshot #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #work.zip #drabble.zip #jungkook.doc

[theonewiththefanfics]

Give You Hell (one-shot)

Synopsis: When you’re in a relationship with someone famous while being famous it can be difficult. But not for the Reader and Harry, yet when her past comes knocking, she’ll make sure to know where she stands.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, some minor angst, like microscopic 

Warnings: swearing, reference to past abusive relationship, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3428

100% inspired by ‘All American Rejects’’ ‘Gives You Hell’

Dating someone famous while being famous yourself had pros and cons, much like everything in life. The cons mostly came from the outside, not from the inside. It was the opinions of others, thinking what they said mattered, the scrutiny of the press, hoping one of them would mess up, and they could run some bullshit article just so their numbers could go up, without a second thought of how the people involved felt, and it was some jealous fans who didn’t seem to comprehend the people they admired were actual human beings with feelings and thoughts and emotions and autonomy. But other than that, Y/N’s and Harry’s relationship was just like any other. Save for when their emotions bubbled over, millions of people heard them in songs.        They’d met at the iconic yellow-suit-Harry Brit awards. She’d been right next to Hugh Jackman opening the show, a red glittering bodysuit with a black and gold ring-master jacket, a top hat adorning her head as she dominated the stage. If Harry had been sloshed at that point (much like he was later on, but who was Y/N to say, given how most of the night was a blur for her), he would’ve absolutely started drooling at the sight of her, and he was one of the thousands who stood up, hollering and clapping as she and Hugh ended their performance.

       Much to his dismay though, Y/N wasn’t one of the people assigned to sit by his table, instead, she was a couple of rows behind, whispering something into Billie Eilish’s ear, the two erupting into uncontrollable laughter.        He felt like a creep as he tried to catch every possible glimpse of Y/N, her smile making his heart race. She’d been on his radar for a while, had even thought about asking her to collaborate on a song for ‘Fine Line’, but at the end of the day, it was an album of personal discovery (and when one of his producers told him Y/N was halfway across the world in the middle of Norwegian woods for the next half-year working on her own music, he didn’t want to be a bother). But seeing her then, Harry wondered why he hadn’t reached out on his own, especially after at the after-party Lizzo had dragged Y/N to him and introduced the two.        The following day, pictures of them dancing together, drinks in hands and drunken grins on their faces would sweep the web, sparking millions of rumours, but, at that moment, they didn’t care, nor did they care about what was written because as Harry twirled Y/N under his arm, as much as the connection was there, that night they went their separate ways. Even when they were drunk, they understood that about the other person, and wouldn’t accept anything else, but a sober and coherent ‘yes’.        Sometime midday the next day, Harry reached out to Y/N through a DM on Instagram checking in on how she was doing, which then turned into a six-hour FaceTime call.        “What do you mean you’ve never had a hangover?!”        Y/N laughed at Harry’s almost offended expression. “I mean I’ve never had a hangover. I’ve never thrown up while drunk or after being drunk, my head’s never hurt – nothing. I mean I’m tired, but that’s because I’m still on New York time and got to bed at like five AM.”        “You… are something else.”        She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that something else something good?”        Y/N didn’t know, but when Harry saw her eyes sparkle, his heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew – she was it. “The best.”        “Well…” she bit her lip. “If I’m the best, would it be too forward of me to ask you out for a coffee?”        What Harry didn’t know was that when she saw him smile as if those were the best news in the world, her heart skipped as well, and she knew he was the one.        “Only if it’s my treat.”        “But I was the one who asked you out.”        “Yes, but you can pay for the second date.”        Holding in her squeals of joy was tough, but she raised her eyebrow, giving Harry a sly smirk. “Already so confident there’ll be a second date?”        Harry scoffed. “And a wedding!”        Seeing Y/N throw back her head as she laughed, made all sorts of butterflies fly through his stomach.        “Okay, Styles. I’ll take your word for it.”        Three months into the relationship, the two were booked to appear on The Graham Norton show together, which was also the first time they’d appear officially as a couple at a work/outing kind of a setting since the rumours started floating, and a picture of Harry kissing Y/N outside of a hotel room had sort of confirmed that.        “So, you two.” Graham pointed between Y/N and Harry with his cards. “Have started to date? Not to say anything Harry, but Y/N… I didn’t think boy-bands were your type.”        That made her lean over in laughter as Harry gave everyone a shocked face, before slumping back and pouting, nudging Y/N with his knee. “That’s not funny.”        “I mean it kind of is.”        “She was twelve when she swore off boy-bands.” Graham nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what you said last time you were here?”        “Hey, it’s been ten years since I said that!” Y/N laughed. “Cut me some slack. All the people I was crushing on are married anyway… with kids… and could probably be my dads… I have issues, don’t I?”        Everyone exploded into giggles while Harry shook his head, chuckling.        “Love you with all of your issues.” He nudged her shoulder, and she nudged right back, taking a sip of her drink.        “Yeah, give it a couple of months. You’ll regret your words.”        The thing was Y/N was so wrong, and she’d never been happier to be so wrong. Each morning they were together, Harry woke up to her showering him with kisses or vice versa. As private as Harry was, his Instagram stories were now filled with pictures and small videos of them, of Y/N’s face half-covered by a blanket, glasses crooked as she smushed her cheek to his chest and watched a movie, or her eating breakfast while re-watching old Bones and Castle episodes with captions like ‘dunno how she keeps the food down’ and ‘she swears it’s just for research’, while her feed was full of candid Harry photos or her rummaging through his closet and showing everyone his immaculate style, and giving tips how others can recreate it (also she may or may not just use that as a reason to steal his clothes).        Generally, people loved it, and their love for one another. It was refreshing to see them enjoy each other’s company, and not be afraid to do so, especially now, given how it was a couple of days before Y/N ended her tour in New York in Madison Square Garden, to which Harry had specifically flown out for despite being in the middle of filming for ‘The Little Mermaid’. Three AM blinked on the clock, as the two finally drifted off to sleep after five hours of a passionate reunion when her phone dinged, indicating a message had arrived.        “Turn it off,” Harry grumbled into the skin of Y/N’s back. “’S too early.”        She hummed in agreement, furrowing her brows as her palm blindly searched for the offending device, and she squinted her eyes as the light burned her retinas before widening in shock at the message.        Harry felt her body go rigid, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Everythin’ alright, lovie?”        “Uh – “ she stuttered, trying to process the words on the screen. “Uh, yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Just… some last-minute changes for the show. They want something really big for the ending, and some of the propositions are just…”        She could feel a smile stretch across Harry’s mouth. “Extravagant?”        “You could say that, yeah.”        “Sounds like it’s gonna be one hell of a show. Not that the others weren’t.”        Y/N switched the phone off wiping away the message first and then turned to cuddle into Harry’s chest. “It most certainly will.”        For the next two days, she was an anxious ball of mess, as her crew got everything ready, and her and her band rehearsed relentlessly before she asked all of them to gather at the studio to add a song to the setlist.        “It’s gonna be a couple more hours, Hazza,” Y/N murmured into the phone as Harry had called in to check on her. “ ‘M sorry. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know you’re still adjusting to New York time.”        “ ‘S alright,” he slurred, clearly already falling asleep but determined not to. “Can’t sleep without you anyway.”        At those words, Y/N’s heart did that stupid flipping thing it’d been doing ever since Harry entered her life to stay, and a shy grin blossomed on her lips. “You’re exhausted, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you what - if you do go to bed, I’ll be sure to wake you up with a kiss when I get back.”        “You promise?” She could hear the smile on his face.        “Swear it.”        “Alright, lovie. I’ll be waiting to cash in on that kiss.”        “I’ll run to give it to you as soon as I can. G’night.”        “See ya’ in a bit.”        Y/N let out a shudder as she heard the call disconnect. She entered back inside the studio and clapped her hands, drawing the attention of her producers and band members. “Where were we?”

***

       The hour before a show was always nerve-wracking for Y/N. It’s when the adrenaline truly started to rush, when her feet and palms got all tingly, and her ears and cheeks heated up. It was when their warm-up band exploded on stage, and the crowd got pumped up. But the best moment that night by far was right when she was about to run out, Harry had pulled her back by the wrist and kissed the living daylights out of her.        “You’re gonna kill it tonight,” he muttered against her lips, words skimming her mouth and making her smile as bright as the sun. She seemed to do that a lot around him. It’s why he now dedicated Golden to her every time he sang it.        “Thank you. For being here.”        Harry flicked her nose. “Always. Now go. People are waiting.”        When Y/N finally appeared on stage, pretty much glowing as brightly as the stage lights, her fans went wild, and even more so when she jumped, starting off the show. The whole time, her gaze flitted to backstage just to get a glimpse of Harry, and whenever she did, she saw him dancing, singing along, filming her having fun and some clips of himself as well, going absolutely ham to her songs.        As the night was moving towards the end, usually, she’d feel euphoria from giving a great performance, after hearing thousands of people sing her songs in unison, now Y/N felt closer to throwing up and fainting.        “So uh…” She pushed back strands of sweaty hair, hollers of people echoing in her head. “This is a very special show tonight. Umm… this is the first concert my boyfriend’s come t - .” She didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the cheers of the people interrupted her, deafening the girl even with the earplugs.        “But umm… it’s also a special show because two days ago someone reached out to me, and uh… he… well, he was as important of a person once the same way Harry is right now, and he wrote this.”        Y/N went over to where the piano chair was, lifted it and fished out her phone from it, revealing the message that’d been basically haunting her nights and days since receiving it.        “Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” To her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure, unlike her hands which were trembling like leaves in a storm. “I know you look happy and in love, but I know it’s not true. I’ve known you for five years, I know how to see through the mask you put on every day just to make sure others are happy while you yourself suffer an inauthentic life. But you do deserve to be happy. And I’ll be waiting for you if you decide to give us a chance again. I’ll be at your concert in Madison Square.” She looked out into the crowd. “You wrote a song once for me. If you sing it, that’s how I’ll know you feel the same.”        By the time she got to the end, there were no more shouts or screams, but confused murmurs. Y/N let out a shuddering breath, hoping that she could manage to do what she wanted, and everything didn’t fall apart. “The thing is, I’d like for Harry to come on stage, please.”        She could see the fear in his eyes as he jogged to stand next to her, but he disguised it with an overenthusiastic smile as he waved over towards the raging sea of people. He’d seen the message, had seen her reread it more than fifty times by that point, and as sure as he was in their relationship, when someone who held such importance, no matter if good or not, in someone’s life came knocking again, you could never be too sure what would happen. Harry didn’t want to say anything, believing if it was important enough, she’d tell him. Guess that was it.        “So, uh…” Y/N pulled Harry’s arms over her shoulders and grasped onto them, grounding them both. “This is for you.” Y/N looked over into the crowd before glancing over her shoulder, Y/E/C eyes meeting Harry’s wavering green ones. “And you,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Hope you know I mean everything.”        As the cords started playing, she felt Harry unwarp his arms from where she’d been holding them over her shoulders and a smile erupted on her face.        “I wake up every evening,” Y/N sang, “with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place.”        “And you’re still probably workin’,” Harry’s voice joined in, grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s, as he now had a microphone in hand, the other placing earplugs in his own ears, “at a nine-to-five pace… I wonder how bad that tastes.”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the two harmonized, Y/N’s eyes locked onto the masses, imagining the face of her ex-boyfriend who had the audacity to send that message.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell.” Harry was looking at the crowd as well, now fully understanding the message and the person behind it, and although he lived by ‘treat people with kindness’, he couldn’t help but gloat at the fact he got to sing with the love of his life on stage, and basically serenade a break-up song to a person who didn’t know how to appreciate what he’d had.        Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Now, where’s your picket fence, love, and where’s that shiny car? It didn’t ever get you far. You’ve never seemed so tense, love. I’ve never seen you fall so hard. Do you know where you are?” It was hard not to smile, knowing where she was and who she was with. Harry threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders as she sang, giving a mock sad look, while Harry pouted. “And truth be told, I miss you… And truth be told, I’m lying!”        “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Y/N pointed towards where she imagined her ex was standing. “Then she’s the fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell! Hope it gives you hell!” For a split second, the music slowed down, guitar strumming in the air, as Harry pulled Y/N by the palm and towards his chest.        When the next lyrics came out of his mouth, he knew them to be true as he sang them to the man, he’d heard Y/N talk about, to the man who thought everything he’d done to her, every horrible word and deed was justified, to the man who thought breaking someone else down was the only way to bring themselves up. “Now tomorrow you’ll be thinking to yourself, where did it all go wrong, but the list goes on and on.”        “And truth be told, she misses you,” Harry hummed, Y/N letting out a large laugh, holding onto his bicep, as he slightly changed the lyrics. “And truth be told, she’s lying! When you see her face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you walk her way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!  When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well.” Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Then she’s the fool you’re just as well hope it gives you hell.”        “Now you’ll never see,” Y/N took over the song. “What you’ve done to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me. And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes, with that sad, sad look that you wear so well.” She dragged her finger down her cheek, giving a pout while Harry mimicked her stance before turning the mic to the audience.        “When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell,” the crowd sang back with such vigour, Y/N was sure the whole ground was shaking just from their voices, and the clapping and stomping to the drum rhythm would bring the whole world down. “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell! When you find a gal that’s worth a damn and treats you well, then she’s the fool you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell!”        The two were jumping around the stage like madmen, adrenaline filling their veins. “When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!” Everyone else repeated.        “When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!” “Hope it gives you hell!”        “When you sing this song and sing along, well you’ll never tell. Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well, hope it gives you hell!” Y/N grinned once more, placing her hand over her heart, meaning every word – she was just as well. She had amazing friends, a career that’d flourished, and a person who loved her more than words could describe.        “When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell!” Harry crooned down the mic, knowing their happiness would, Y/N’s happiness would give him hell. And he enjoyed it, knowing how good her life was.        “You can sing along I hope that it puts you through hell!” Her voice became the only sound as the last word echoed around everyone, her chest heaving up and down from the exertion, from all of the emotions running through her body as well as the overwhelming feeling of not only having Harry watch her perform but to end up performing with him.        When his hands wrapped around her body, it startled her out from the daze, and the popping confetti startled her even more, as the rest of her band joined the two to take their bows, grins on all of their faces while they did so.        “Not the song you thought I’d sing, is it?” Y/N laughed into the mic, Harry’s arms tightening around her waist. “There’s a reason I blocked your number, let alone you from my life. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”        “But I would like to say thank you, to the asshole in question,” Harry said, making Y/N’s forehead scrunched up. “You let go of the best person ever; you had the honour of calling yourself her boyfriend, but instead, you chose to walk away. So, thank you for that. Because now I’ll have that honour and pleasure for the rest of our lives.”        Yeah. It was one hell of a show.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I love ‘All American Rejects’ and have been listening to ‘Gives You Hell’ non stop. It’s the best break-up song ever, and you won’t convince me otherwise. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms without my explicit written permission. reblogs are fine :)

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fandom #1d fan fiction #1d #one direction #one direction imagine #harry styles angst #eroda #harry styles eroda #all american rejects #give you hell #gives you hell

[jessiebanethedragon]

Commander?

Summary: Reader ('Mech') Is a member of CT-9904's unit and is sent to Ryloth instead of fighting with the insurgents. If only either of them could figure out why he made that call...

basically empire Crosshair is falling in love with the reader and is fighting with the chip's influence, the reader is falling as well. This is what happens when she see's the aftermath of the engine injuries.

Warnings: the reader gets choked, but not like in that way, reader is mean to crosshair, crosshair is mean to reader (ie neither of them know how feelings work)

Ryloth is grossly humid, you hate the way it feels with your plastoid armor on. The dark colour of it and your blacks underneath certainly don’t help either. And the fact that you’re still seething over your delegation has your teeth so clenched it hurts. Senator Taa is driving you insane as well, the fact that you’re playing the part that any trooper could be is driving you insane.

You didn’t get the nickname Mech for nothing. The modified electrostaff that hangs on your hip is evidence of that. The pop of your knuckles out of boredom has Syndulla and his clone looking at you.

“Something to say? Admiral Rampart asks with a glare. The kind that makes you stand straighter and fall in formation. When an answer doesn’t come from behind your helmet he sighs before adding. “You’re dismissed.”

Back in your sorry excuse for barracks, your armor is thrown against the wall. Starting with the stuffy helmet, the sound it makes when it hits the stone isn’t enough to satisfy your anger. So as you strip off each piece of the remaining plastoid it too, meets the interior of the Ryloth cave.

Screw him. Screw your commander. Screw the nerf herding Clone that sent you here. You hate him, you hate the way he speaks to you. Like he’s always looking for a weakness. You hate being here playing guard dog while they chase down the insurgents. And what you hate the most is the insecurity that lingers in your mind.

Why didn’t he think I was good enough?

You were the only one left behind, the only one sent to Ryloth ahead of time. Perhaps for one too many snarky comments. Perhaps because he doubted your abilities.

You’re so angry you go as far as striping out of the empire regulated blacks and into your civilian clothes. Which largely consists of your old baggy tactical pants that are so worn down the hues of your favorite colour are faded. But you still stuff the pants into your combat boots anyways. The top is less top-like and more like a piece of fabric that is long enough to turn into some kind of thing resembling clothing. It’s not exactly high Naboo fashion, but it’s a hell of a lot less warm than your kriffing armor.

You take to fixing the scope of his sniper rifle. You’re tempted to leave it broken, Maker knows how it happened in the first place. But you’re desperate for a distraction, a challenge, anything to take away the sting of being left behind. It gets fixed all too quickly, and you have to resort to tinkering with the calibrations in order to pass the time.

The door opens with a whoosh and the Commander and the rest of your team find you lounging with your feet up, scope in hand looking positively annoyed. Everyone tenses when you lazily get up, and walk over to them without saluting.

“That doesn't look like your uniform to me.” He says, the anger crackling through the helmet. And while everyone else has taken their helmets off, you can see them hesitate.

“Well considering the planet's demilitarizing, it didn’t look like it needed a commando to me.” You snap, the week of annoyance coming to fruition all at once.

“What did you just say to me?” He asks, stepping closer and bunching his fists. Your hand goes to your electrostaff, and his to his blaster. Weighing your options, you decide not to sign your death warrant today. Instead you reach into your pocket and grab the newly fixed scope. Not passing up the change to shove it into his chest.

The second your hand collides with the pastoid he moves like lightning. The scope clatters to the ground adding to the noises of surprise that your comrades make. Some of them move to help you, but think better of it. By the time your brain catches up your back has already hit the wall, a durasteel hand around your neck.

“Apologise.” He grits out. The green visor burning out your retina, and your hands scratching at his vambrace. You splutter around the hand, and he lets up a little. Just a little. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say the two simple words.

“I take it you failed to catch them then?” You say instead. And the hand tightens again, making you slap his forearms, he doesn't let up and somewhere your brain registers someone gasping:

“He’s going to kill Mech!” And with that, you collide with the floor. One hand bracing yourself and keeping you off the actual ground, and the other cradling the tender skin.

“You three. Out.” He snaps, and the sounds of footsteps rush out the door. Looking up at the Commander, you see the helmet watch your comrades hustle out, before he moves further into the barracks. Collecting a jug of water and a singular cup. Clutching both in one hand, he uses his other to haul you up. Still gasping you try to struggle.

“Calm down.” He says plainly. “I’m not going to hurt you”

“I think you understand why I'm not inclined to believe that.” You wheeze out, as he leads you to one of the beds and makes you sit on it. Before pouring water into the cup, and hesitantly handing it to you.

“Drink.” he barely gets the word out before you’re snatching the substance from him and gulping it down. You cover yourself in it but you don't really care. Pausing to catch your breath again, the fog begins to clear.

“No toothpick?” You mean to tease, but when you ask he walks away from you. That's when you catch it. There’s a piece of his armor that's discoloured from the rest. Not so much that it needed replacing, but enough for you to notice. “Commander?” You ask, and watch him shake his head ever so slightly. Only turning back when he hears you get up and stagger towards him.

“Sit back down. You’re injured.” He winces slightly at the sentence. Almost like there's a part of him that hates himself for hurting you. Funnily enough it's the same part that convinced him not to let you on that mission.

“I think you are too.” You admit softly. “Let me see.” You push. And he grumbles and mumbles before taking his helmet off.

His hair has been shaved off - even shorter than it was before. But that's not what catches your eye. What you stare at is the gaping injury on the back left side of his head. And the way he scrunches his nose and turns away shows you something you’ve never seen from him before.

Fragility, fear, embarrassment and maybe a multitude of other emotions fly across his face. When he opens his mouth to say something your brain kicks into gear.

“Sit down. Let me tend to it.” You demand. He tries to protest.

“That's not-” “Just let me see it.”

“I’m fine-” “You need bacta.” You’re still trying to lead him into sitting down, and he tries to argue more before finally giving in.

“I was cleared from the medbay you know.” He grumbles, and part of your soul does cartwheels when he listens to you and does actually sit down. And you almost like to think you’re the only person who he does listen to.

There aren't nearly enough bacta strips to double wrap the area like you wanted, but it’ll do until you can restock at a proper Imperial medbay.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been this close to each other, and it isn’t even the first time you’ve touched the commander's face. The first and only other time was in the depths of space. Everyone else was passed out in exhaustion after mission after mission. But you two, neither of you could sleep. And you could see the scrunch in his brow of anxiety and pent up adrenalin. And somehow, some miracle happened and after much convincing, you sat on the floor of some hallway, and he let you rub calming circles into his temple. You can still feel the way his hands held onto your forearms gently, like he was afraid you’d hurt him, or maybe he was afraid you wouldn't hurt him. Or maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to hold you.

“I should’ve been there.” You whisper while dressing the wound. It probably looks worse than it is but guilt is still eating you alive.

“You were where you needed to be.” He states. Taking his gloves off while you move from behind, to beside him as you finish with the bacta. Still analysing the wound and the rest of his face. He almost wants to smile, they didn’t call you Mech for nothing.

“Why did you send me away?” You ask. Closing your eyes when you feel a hand come up and caress your face. It's so gentle it’s almost like it's not there at all. Your heart feels like it's exploding with each beat. Why did this always happen between the two of you, why were you like magnets for each other.

And why did he always have to push you away after?

“I’m sorry,” He tells you when he grazes over your neck. “For that,” another swipe of a gentle hand. “But not for sending you here. Evidently I made the right call.” Fingers rest under your chin, tilting it up. When your eyes open, his are finding the part of you that you worked so hard to bury.

“You should be. It kriffing hurts.” You try to joke, to hide your feelings. But it comes out dry and cracked, a reminder of his anger moments ago.

“You learned your lesson then.” He snaps. And yet, the hand that goes to your hair is still gentle.

“Don’t leave me behind again commander. Or it’ll be the last time you see me.” It’s not a threat, but his eyes darken as if it is one.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He hisses.

“Good thing we’re commandos then.” You shoot back. He closes his eyes and sighs, his hand leaving your face. It takes something with it, and you feel at a loss. One of your hands travels the regulated blanket that you’re sitting on, like it’s subconsciously searching for him.

Instead, he stands up and walks away.

“You should be resting.” You grumble at him, also standing up, if only to cross your arms in annoyance.

“I was cleared from the medbay.” He repeats himself, reaching for his helmet, ready to block you out again.

“Those droids clear out anything with a pulse. You need time to heal.” Hesitantly, you pad over to him, your hand stopping his when he goes to put the helmet on again. As if on instinct his other hand goes to your throat. But he stops himself when he sees the marks from before.

“This isn’t allowed.” He whispers, bucket hitting the floor. His hand moves onto your waist like a different person is in control of his motions. “I’m sorry.” He says again, fixated on the markings on your neck.

“It’s okay.” You tell him, moving closer. Sighing into his hold and the cool armor on hot skin. Looking up at your commander with blinking eyes. If someone was to walk in now, you’d most likely be executed, or exiled at the very least. But it doesn't stop his bare hands from moving, one on your hip where skin meets skin outside of imperial rules, regulation and armour. The other goes to your face again. Why does he like it so much? What is it about your face that is addictive? He tries to imagine a different face, a different person having this effect on him.

He can’t.

“No.” He says against your lips when they almost touch. And you tremble in rejection, a blank face covers the part of you that's crying. You’re so close to him, to something real, something other than war efforts or the Galactic Empire. You ignore him, and try to lean forward again, but the hand in your hair moves to place two fingers of your lips and push you back. And you know he feels your lips stutter and breath hitch as you contain a cry. His hands leave you completely as he steps away and puts his helmet back on.

“Shame.” You say bitterly, and you’re not proud of what happens next. Maybe you’re too smart, maybe you shouldn’t have read his file when you hacked into the database to find those chain codes. Maybe you shouldn’t have let him hurt you first.

“I liked seeing your tattoo.” You add, watching the helmet glare at you. “It’s a Crosshair, right?”

#tbb crosshair #tbb echo #star wars tbb #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb spoilers #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #sw tbb #tbb x reader #tbb x you #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair #bad batch #the bad batch series #the bad bad spoilers #bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader platonic #bad batch headcanon #star wars the bad batch #tech bad batch #crosshair x y/n #crosshair x you #crosshair x oc #crosshair the bad batch #jessiebanethedragon

[chil2de]

How are you today? If its alright with you, can I request a Atsumu x fem reader where she has a super tomboy style and ALWAYS wears baggy clothes, but one day atsumu comes over to hang out and the only outfit she has left is kinda a tight fitting shirt and for the first time ever Atsumu realizes just how curvy his girlfriend is

sorry if thats to specific! feel free to ignorethis!

warning - miya atsumu x reader

hiii! i’m doing okay anonie, thank you and i hope u are faring well!!! so um this ended up being a LOT longer than i expected pls forgive me it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble but now its like uh 2k words aJdhfhhd, i really loved this idea!!! don’t worry ab it being too specific i actually like that and it helps give me a general idea about the req

well whilst this isn’t tooooo nsfw there are a few small themes in the beginning + swearing since i write atsumu like that and implications of sexual content ig at the end but aside from that? just some fluff for our fav king. characters are aged up and i am unsure how it would work but call it anime logic and enjoy! thanks for requesting! (okay rereading the ending is lowkey smut why am i like this)

“b-cup.” atsumu huffed with confidence. he took a large swig out of his water bottle, nodding his head wisely in affirmation.

“really? i’d say c-cup.” suna chimed in, his half-lidded gaze narrowing.

“nah, it’s b-cup”

“what the hell are you two talking about?” osamu interjected, concern and disgust thick on his features as he came over carrying a few towels.

“(y/n)’s bra size” suna nonchalantly responded, his eyes flicking up for a few seconds as he accepted the towel from osamu.

“‘tsumu i knew you were messed in the head but, suna? have you caught his germs?”

“fuck are you making it sound like i have some viral disease?”

“you don’t?” suna snorted, plopping down onto the floor to sit cross-legged.

“why don’t you just ask her?” osamu’s gaze flickered onto yours from across the court. you felt your ears burn from the way the three of them were staring at you.

was something on your face?

a bug? dirt?

“huh? like i’m supposed to say, hey baby girl, what size are your tits?”

“i’m still saying b-cup”

“c-cup”

“i think b-cup” osamu joined in, watching atsumu screw his face at him

“you goddamn hypocrite-“ “who’s being a hypocrite?” kita inquired with a half-hushed tone, making his way over with a few protein bars

“oh my god i’m going home” atsumu groaned, resting his palms on his knees as he stood up. he beelined towards you, his exhaustion painted his lazy smile beautifully. he still had the energy to turn around over his shoulder and flip his middle finger up at his team whilst his right hand snaked around to your waist.

somewhere around your waist. it took him a little bit of digging through all the fabric.

it didn’t matter to him, though. as much of a jackass as he might’ve been, he never judged you for the way you dressed. even if it meant that sometimes you looked a lil bit homeless, at the end of the day- he still had that glimmer in his eyes whenever he saw you.

you would be his favourite baby girl, no matter what.

“is that my shirt you’re wearing?” he hummed, glancing down to look at it.

it was, in fact, one of his shirts. it was matte black in colour, with a small dip that would showcase atsumu’s collar bones. it was a little bit faded from the many wash cycles it endured throughout its lifetime, but he would always notice the small tear in the bottom right section of the fabric.

“sorryyy, i know you just washed it but it smelled so nice. also, wow, did you put on deodorant? you actually smell like a man it’s kinda creepy”

“i always put on deodorant you dipshit, you’re always crying about how pretty my face looks so your nose doesn’t pick up the scent. it’s verbena citrus, buy your own because i know you’ll try stealing mine so i’m putting a padlock on that shit.” atsumu scoffed, digging his fingers into your sides to tickle you as you walked. you squirmed, swatting him away as you dug your hands into the pockets of your joggers. they were not atsumu’s, unfortunately, for you found out the hard way that you would literally have to drag the excess fabric behind you like some train dress or bundle it up and fold it, which, in retrospect- did not look too aesthetically pleasing. you settled for your own joggers and favourite high-top sneakers to match.

“you know you’ll say all this but give me your deodorant anyway, right?” you stuck your tongue out at him. he rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair.

“hey.” he called out, causing you to direct your attention towards him.

he nudged your arm with his elbow.

oh.

“give it here.”

you uncurled your left hand out of your pocket, zipping it up to make sure the contents inside didn’t spill. atsumu slid his right hand away from your waist and opened his palm up, intertwining his fingertips between yours into a tight lock. he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a small squeeze.

“that was the cheesiest and most corniest thing you’ve done and i hated it” you made a mock gagging sound, averting your gaze.

you could feel the blush fresh on your cheeks, heart pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

“wait, you thought i was holding your hand because we’re dating? i’m just doing it because i know your dumbass would get lost” atsumu snorted, throwing his head back in laughter.

well,

you could still see the light blush tinting his cheeks. and it wasn’t the sunset.

“mmm, should i wear this one- wait-“ you grabbed the shirt, folding it upwards as you took a small whiff. well,, you did wear it yesterday… yeah, you did put it in the laundry basket,,, no, it didn’t smell toooo bad, but..

you groaned, tossing it back into said basket as you furrowed your brows in concentration.

you heard the doorbell ring which only caused you to panic even further. you just needed a shirt. literally any shirt. you were about to cut your freaking pants out and sew them together to another pair for a shirt.

since it was a friday, you had atsumu walk you halfway home. you only lived a street away from him, and the apartment was conveniently built on a fork between the road down to his house and the supermarket. hence, he dropped you off and went to the store all by himself like a responsible adult to grab some snacks for the weekend.

“it’s open!” you called out, leaning your jaw back as you shouted in hopes for your voice to travel further.

in that moment, just in the corner of your eye- you saw a familiar flash of black.

you swooped the fabric up, quietly humming in pleasure when it smelled like laundry detergent and fabric softener.

you lifted the shirt over your head, struggling to pull it down for a few seconds.

you admired yourself briefly in the mirror.

it was a casual t-shirt. it reached down to the middle portion of your arms, though it was significantly less baggy than all of your other clothes. you liked to sleep in it during hot and stuffy summer nights, but rarely found yourself using it otherwise.

it’s not like you didn’t like these kinds of shirts.

but when given the option to look “stylish” or comfortable, who wouldn’t pick comfortable? that’s what was important to you above all. clothes that made you feel like you were constantly in bed were a godsend from the heavens.

“hey dipshit, i spent twenty minutes jumping stores for you but no one sold any (favourite drink) so i got you-“ atsumu halted in his steps, the grocery bags curled around his fists were suddenly forgotten and discarded as he caught sight of you through the doorframe.

you were clad in a pair of old white shorts and a black t-shirt, complimentary of the fact that everything else was currently in the laundry machine. atsumu could outline every single damn crevice and dip on you, and he burned that shit so deep into his retinas that he would still see it when his eyes were closed.

he felt his breath hitch, something deep inside him resonating, growing feral like hunger.

he still stood by what he said,

baggy clothes or not, you were beautiful.

but he wasn’t expecting this

“so you bought what?” you inquired, twisting your torso halfway to greet him as you finished brushing through some knots in your hair at the vanity.

“huh?”

“you said there wasn’t any (favourite drink) so you got what? did you fall and crack your head open on the way here? cause it looks like it”

you could feel your heart squeeze, body temperature increased twofold as icy hot waves wracked every inch of your skin. there was a cold sweat that rolled down the back of your knees.

“shut the hell up, i hate you” atsumu grumbled, forcing himself to turn away from you and stomp off to the kitchen with a pout.

“jesus christ give me strength i hate this woman, where the hell does she get off thinking she can get away with looking so good like that” atsumu mumbled incoherent curses underneath his breath, shakily unloading everything he bought out onto the counter and stuffing the groceries into cabinets and the fridge.

“‘samu, i hate you but dude i need twin telepathy, give me strength so i don’t deck this woman right here right now” he cursed, gritting his teeth. his self-control was about to fly out the window.

“you okay?” you popped your head through the door, leaning into the kitchen.

he could see the outline of your prominent collarbones, the way the shirt still fell a little bit and hung loosely off of your frame. he could see the start of your stomach.

god, it should’ve been illegal the way he wanted to grab your thighs. he wondered for a second what it would look like with his fingerprints etched into your skin there.

“want a few tissues and some lotion?” you snorted, nestling up beside him to help. you gazed at him, watching him keep his eyes narrowed on the packet of pistachios he was fumbling with.

you thought it was cute.

“listen- if you’re not ready yet then i’d suggest that you find something else to wear cause holy shit if you don’t get away from me right now i swear i will not restrain myself-“

“i’m ready” you hummed, giving him an innocent smile. you toyed with your hands behind your back, fiddling with them as butterflies swept your abdomen.

atsumu snorted, eyebrows creasing in confusion. he turned to face you, setting the pistachios down.

“alright i’m not saying this to boost my ego, but, what did you say?”

“i said i’m ready”

you watched his brain stir, gears ticking and turning like clockwork.

atsumu let out a low sigh.

“yeah, yeah. well, then.”

his right hand slammed against the wall, caging you in. he leaned into you, looming over you as his half-lidded eyes burned holes inside your soul. you felt the air tense and switch around him, carnal desires swirling behind his gaze. his chest was so close to yours, practically flush, save for the tiniest gap. you could literally feel his heart hammering.

he was so invasive, so close, yet so respectful. he still kept his distance, just n case you changed your mind.

“are you sure this is what you want?” his voice was hot and slick against the shell of your ear, voice husky and octaves deeper. you could feel the sexual tension dripping from him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against him.

“i’m sure, ‘tsumu.”

a loud chuckle ripped from the depths of his chest. it was so hearty, and fuck, it made you clench.

atsumu swooped you up all in one swift motion, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he shoved you against the counter. he sent everything clattering and thudding in the process.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, doll.”

#SA DOUZOOOO #HE SAID IT HE DID #omfao fjhsh #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #hq headcanons #hq fluff #hq atsumu #hq x reader #hq smut #hq imagines #hq #atsumu fluff #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu headcanons #atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x y/n #haikyuu atsumu

[junicai]

lights out.

| summary | In New York, the City that Never Sleeps, Aria can’t sleep. So, her roommate comes up with a skeptical idea, and ropes Mark into it as well. 

| word count | 3.7k

| warnings | one (1) curse word

| era | circa. April 2019

92. "Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English."

New York City.

Forever illuminated in light, forever alive and bustling down below the skyrises that towered above the people that wandered through the streets no matter what time was displayed on the clocks. The city was teeming with energy, bubbling beneath the surface as it waited for a chance to explode.

Traffic backlogged street to street, wandering souls pattering around the block in search of nothing, aimlessly strolling past the busy business-goers, those that carried briefcases with carefully filed notes and papers, and those that had dragged themselves out of their beds for the graveyard shift in the neon-lighted coffeehouse.

24-hour Coffee! The best coffee you’ll find in the Big Apple!

The noise outside the window was muffled through the thick glass but the busy sounds of the city still filtered through, gently falling in to the otherwise silent hotel room.

Aria rolled over onto her side, pressing her head into the soft pillow. The red LED lights of the alarm clock sitting on the locker beside her bed was boring the colour into her retinas, and no good could come from simply watching the minutes tick by.

The blankets were soft, if not a little cold on her skin, and she pulled her legs into her chest to rub at the exposed skin lightly. Donghyuck had insisted on leaving the air conditioning on as they slept, the boy living up to his name Fullsun as he ran hot near-constantly, but that left Aria to shiver slightly despite the mountain of blankets she had buried herself beneath. 

Rolling back over to the cool side of the pillowcase, Aria let her eyes fall on Donghyuck’s back. 

The boy wasn’t asleep - she could hear the low sounds coming from the airpods in his ears as he watched something on his phone - but he looked comfortable enough that she was reluctant to disturb him.

It had been a long day, and tomorrow was their only real designated day in this area before they were scheduled to be flown out to their next concert.

Aria loved touring, but it was hard to keep going sometimes. She assumed that Donghyuck thought the same, and that’s why instead of insisting that the pair of them watched something on his laptop, or played a game, he was letting her sleep in peace.

He had watched Aria push herself past what they both had thought her limits had been that day - watched as she stumbled through the final songs of their set with blurry eyes and a shaking frame. He’d moved to wrap an arm around her waist as soon as they had broken formation, and she’d given him a shaky smile for his efforts. 

Donghyuck had guided a rapidly blinking Aria through their ending ments and off the stage, catching her as she slipped down the last two steps. He’d practically carried her into the car, waving off an insisting Yuta, who was adamant that he could help despite still favoring the ankle he had rolled two nights ago. 

They were all running a little worse-for-wear, but, by god the crowds made up for it. 

He had known that NCT 127 had an international fanbase, had known that they were popular overseas for years. But there was nothing like seeing a crowd of five thousand, even eight thousand people from a country that didn’t speak their language, singing their songs and screaming their fanchants at the top of their lungs.

It settled into his bones, pushed him past his old boundaries to create new ones, made him want to keep going and keep singing, keep dancing, keep performing until his knees went from beneath him and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Donghyuck knew Aria felt the same, and that’s why he took it upon himself to pull her away when she needed him to.

 Despite their broadly opposite personalities - truly the sun and the moon when it came down to it - they were similar in so many ways. Scarily so.

Scary, in so far as the fact that Donghyuck knew when Aria couldn’t take it anymore, knew when she was stumbling and falling not because she was tired but because she’d hurt her back again and was unwilling to talk about it. Scary, in the fact that he knew when she wasn’t telling them something, choosing to bite her lip instead of letting whatever worry that was bouncing around in her head fall onto their shoulders to help carry the weight. 

Donghyuck wanted to help her carry those things. Even if that meant carrying her as well. 

The two of them had slipped into the hotel room at nine minutes past ten, showering briefly in the small bathroom they had adjoined to the left wall and slid into the two beds with a quiet goodnight. It had been silent since Aria had leant down to turn off the centre light, only the light peeking through the curtains from the street and the light of Donghyuck’s phone screen to illuminate the dark room left.

He had thought she had fallen asleep soon after - given the bleary squinted look she had given him in the van home as she told her to not fall asleep just yet, that they’d be home soon and then she could sleep - so you could imagine his surprise as he flipped over in the bed, letting the phone fall face down and was met with the image of Aria starfished over her single bed, staring open-eyed at the ceiling.

“Ari?” Donghyuck cleared his throat. “Ari? Why’re you awake still?”

Aria’s head flopped to the side to look at Donghyuck in the opposite bed, blinking once at him before closing her eyes and groaning. “Can’t sleep.”

He hummed, lifting up the corner of his blanket with a hand as the other pushed his phone onto the bedside locker to make sure it didn’t fall off the bed. 

Without a word, Aria slid out from underneath her own blankets - pulling one from the top layer - and padded across the room to slide into Donghyuck’s embrace, fluffing the extra blanket on top of them both. 

Donghyuck sniffed a laugh at her, but said nothing as he dropped his arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and snuggled his head into where her shoulder meets her neck.

Aria giggled lightly at his hair tickling her skin, moving her head away from the strands until the hand around her waist squeezed once. 

“It tickles,” She whispered.

“But m’comfy like this,” He responded, shoving his head further in if possible and throwing a leg over hers. 

“Just-” Aria moved some of his hair away from her face. “Better.”

“Better?”

“Its not in my face anymore.”

Donghyuck lifted his head from her shoulder to peer up at her face. “Why couldn’t you sleep? You were sleepy in the van.”

Aria huffed. “No I wasn’t.”

“You hit your head against the window when you dozed off.”

“I-”

“Twice.”

She sighed through her nose. “If it bruises I’m going to be upset. My face is my only selling point right now.”

A silence permeated the room, and Donghyuck sat up. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked again.

Aria flipped to lay on her stomach, shoving her head into the pillow. “I dunno. Think I have some excess energy to burn off or something.”

“You were literally dead on your feet three hours ago,” Donghyuck said. 

“I know that. I just, feel like I need to go on a walk or something. Just to move or do something that isn’t lying in a bed in the middle of New York.” Aria muffled out into the fabric, kicking her legs slightly. 

Donghyuck caught a wayward ankle before it could hit him in the face. “Hey, kicking your best friend was not on that list!”

“It could be.”

Scowling, he fell back beside her, scooching closer. The pair laid together for a moment, listening to the sound of traffic from outside. 

“You want to go for a walk?” Donghyuck was the one to break the silence, looking down at Aria.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

Aria lifted her head to blink up at him. “It’s like,” she broke off to turn her head towards the clock, blinking rapidly to bring the LED numbers into view, “Half one in the morning, I don’t think the hotel gym is open.”

“I don’t mean the gym. I mean out there.” Donghyuck pointed to the window. 

This time it was Aria who sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Hyuck, what?”

“You want to go for a walk? Let’s go for a walk. Who’s gonna stop us?”

“Our managers? The fact that its nearly two in the morning? The fact that Taeyong will kill us?” She said, bewildered. 

Donghyuck sat up to face her properly. “They won’t know! We could be quick - promise. You can’t tell me you don’t want to see the city properly.”

Aria spluttered. “We have seen the city! We took that bus tour around when we first arrived!” 

He scoffed. “I meant properly, Ari. Like a local. How the city is meant to be.”

“We could get murdered.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let that happen.”

Aria swallowed. “What happens if we get caught on the way out?”

“Simple: Lie.” Donghyuck leant back on his hands like this wasn’t the worst plan he had ever come up with in his nineteen years of life. 

It wasn’t often that Aria went along with his ideas - nine times out of ten, she was usually the one talking him out of them. It was only when she’d run out of patience, or the will to give the effort to barter logic out with him that she’d give in. Or in cases like this. 

“Fine.” 

Donghyuck let out a whoop, reaching over to the locker to snag his phone off the top of it and flicking the screen unlocked. Aria in turn proceeded to roll off the bed and onto the carpet, looking for the pair of leggings she had worn through the airport to cover her legs so she didn’t go wandering around the city in a pair of sleep shorts. 

Finding the black coloured material hanging on the back of the chair, she could hear Donghyuck texting someone behind her. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, not bothering to turn around as she moved into the bathroom and partially shut the door to allow her both privacy and the ability to continue her conversation with him. 

“Mark - Thought we should tell someone where we’re gone, right?”

Aria stopped. “Does he want to come?” 

“Given the angry texts I’ve just received about quote, missing out on stuff like this now that he’s not in Dream: I’d say a solid yes.”

Aria nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. “Is Jungwoo coming as well then?” 

Mark was rooming with Jungwoo this time around, the members alternating on a rotational basis.

Donghyuck shook his head. “No, he says that Jungwoo is too tired. He’ll keep a lookout for Taeyong for us though, which is good.”

“Huh, that’s nice of him.” Aria re-emerged from the bathroom, leggings pulled up over her hips and a large hoodie swamping her frame. With her thin wire glasses, she looked cosy and extremely comfortable. 

Donghyuck himself was still wearing a pair of sweatpants, and pulled one of his hoodies on over his t-shirt before rummaging in the pile of shoes to find something comfortable. 

Without looking back, he tossed out Aria’s runners, who caught them with a thanks before sitting down on the ground to do up the laces. 

He succeeded in finding his own pair of shoes, pulling them in just before two light knocks sounded against their door. Aria pulled it open to reveal a bleary-eyed but excited Mark, a padded jacket pulled over his jumper.

"You are insane." Was the first thing out of his mouth.

"You're welcome to leave?" Sniffed Aria.

Mark frowned. "I never said I wasn't."

Opening the door wider, she revealed Donghyuck who had just stood up from the edge of the bed, brushing down his pants. He looked up to meet Mark's eyes and grinned.

"Let's go!" He cheered, moving to walk out into the hallway but being stopped by Aria catching the neck of his jumper and tugging him back.

Looking at her quizzically, he raised an eyebrow.

"You need a coat? It's nearly two in the morning it's going to be cold outside."

Aria herself had pulled on a jacket once Mark had arrived, but Donghyuck was still only clad in a threadbare hoodie that wouldn't protect him from the cold outside.

Reaching back over the bed, he pulled out his cost from beneath a chair and slid his arms into it wordlessly. He turned to Aria and spread his arms out into a display. "Happy?"

"It's better."

"Guys do you think we could not do this in the hallway? I really don't want to get caught by someone right now." Mark's voice came from just inside the doorway.

"Right, right," Aria agreed, shoving Donghyuck out the door and snatching the keycard off the table just before they left.

She slipped the keycard into her inside pocket of her jacket, zipping it closed before patting the padded material lightly. “Safe and sound.”

Mark, closed the door behind them. The beep sounded as the mechanism locked itself, and the trio were left standing alone in the empty hallway.

Donghyuck stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly as his shoulder clicked. “Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.” 

Aria paused. “Hyuck, you don’t speak English.”

“I’m deaf and you don’t speak English.”

“And what do I do? You planning on leaving me for dead?” Mark asked, arms crossed.

Donghyuck only pat him on the shoulder, moving to rest his weight onto his elbow. “You, are fast. You’ll be fine.”

“You, are a terrible influence.” 

“A proud one.”

Aria put a hand on one of their shoulders each, pushing the two boys forward down the hallway insistently. “Let’s not have this argument where we can be found in incriminating circumstances, okay boys?”

Donghyuck snorted. “Aria we’re not going to go to jail for sneaking out.”

“Doyoung might put Aria on house arrest,” Mark countered.

“Then let’s not wait around for him to find her!”

With that, the trio made their way down the hallway, choosing to take the stairs down to the ground floor instead of the elevator - hoping to avoid as many people as possible. Aria had slipped three black facemasks into her pocket before they had left the room, knowing that if they were to be spotted they’d need something to help them blend in. 

The front doors of the hotel slid open with a quiet beep, and she was blasted with a cold front of air. She could feel her nose twitch slightly at the breeze, and knew that she’d be returning with a rosy tinge to her skin if they stayed out longer than a few minutes.

But instead of letting that bother her, Aria chose to focus on the identical wide grins Donghyuck and Mark sported, both boys looking around in wonder at the lights that surrounded them on the pavement. 

“Shall we?” Aria extended her arms playfully, giggling lightly as they both linked their arms into hers. 

Beginning their walk down the pavement, she could only look around in wonder. New York truly lived up to it’s name - dozens of people were milling about even at this time, all clad in various thicknesses of coats, and Aria felt herself relax minutely at the knowledge that the trio didn’t stick out against the colorful lights like a sore thumb. 

Each street had something new, and her eyes grew wider with every sign they passed as they walked. 

“Mark look!” Aria pointed towards a small bookstore on the corner of the block, dropping his arm to run towards the window. “Doesn’t that look like the notebook you wanted to get in Atlanta?”

A small, green leather-bound notebook had piqued Mark’s interest in the city earlier that month, but by the time he had had the time to get to the bookstore, the notebook had been sold. 

The notebook that Aria pointed out was near identical - perhaps a little bit thicker, but close enough to the original that Mark was already planning on how he was going to get back to this street tomorrow when all the shops were opened back up.

“Do you think we could come back here tomorrow to get it for you?” Aria looked away from the window, eyes shining hopefully.

Mark reached out to tug Aria underneath his arm, pulling her into his side. “I’m sure we can figure something out, Ari.”

She clapped her hands lightly to celebrate, before Donghyuck was taking them both by the hand and dragging them both back down the street which they had walked up.

“Now, while you’ve both been looking for fancy notebooks, I’ve been doing some important area recon, and have discovered that,” He trailed off, continuing walking with a firm grip on their wrists.

“Ta-da!” Donghyuck came to a stop, releasing their wrists before making jazz hands beside his face. 

Behind him, was a small food cart with an attendee that looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. 

“Pretzels?” Mark asked with a tilted head.

“Pretzels.” Donghyuck nodded emphatically. 

Aria tugged lightly on the younger boy’s sleeve. “Hyuck, I don’t think any of us brought money with us-”

Donghyuck hummed, cutting her off. “Got you covered, angel.” pulling out his phone and taking several small bills from behind his opaque phone case. 

Turning to the attendee with a blinding smile he strolled forward to the cart, opening his mouth to begin speaking. 

“Can I.. we..”

Mark stepped up behind him. “Order,” he whispered, facing the pavement so his lips weren’t visible to the man.

“Order.. three.. three,”

“Pretzels,”

“Pretzels please?” Donghyuck finished, looking up at the man curiously. 

“Yeah,” Came the deadened response. “That’ll be $9.87.” 

Donghyuck fumbled with his hands momentarily, before placing three bills into the awaiting hand and stepping back from the cart, shoving his hands into his pocket.

Aria came up beside him as Mark waited at the front of the cart. “Hyuck, I don’t think I should..”

He turned his head to look at her. “Hm?”

“I don’t think I should, eat that. You know?” She looked down knawing at her lip slightly. 

“I think you should.” He said.

“No I really shouldn’t-”

Aria was cut off by Mark approaching them, three warm pretzels in his hand. He handed one to Donghyuck who took it with an affirming hum before ripping into the bread with his teeth, and handed the other to a cautious Aria. 

After Mark had taken his first bite, he looked quizzically at Aria who was staring traitorously at the bread in her hand. “Ari?”

She sighed, dropping her shoulders a little. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should-”

Aria squeaked when both Donghyuck’s and Mark’s glare was turned on her. “Guys I-”

“Pretzel.”

A protest formed on the top of her tongue, but fell flat when Mark raised an eyebrow. 

“Ok, ok sorry.” Aria took a bite from the now-cooling snack. 

Satisfied, both boys went back to their own snacks, sighing lightly as the trio continued their walk back down the streets they had come. From a different angle, they noticed new things each time, and it was so easy to lose track of the time when they were staring up in wonder at the neon lights.

The atmosphere was broken by a ping from Mark’s phone.

Jungwoo [2:08] uh

Jungwoo [2:08] taeyong hyung started his rounds

Jungwoo [2:08] id recommend getting ur asses back

Jungwoo [2:09] ill stall him

Mark [2:09] how long do we have 

Jungwoo [2:09] seven minutes. tops

Mark [2:09] fuck

The trio turned on their heels, pelting down the pavement.

The people they passed looked oddly at them - they must have made a comical sight. Three twenty-year-olds, dressed in padded jackets and facemasks sprinting down the street at two am. They looked like they’d just committed a robbery.

Aria could feel sweat beading at her forehead beneath her headband, pulling it off and tucking it into her pocket. These shoes were not designed for sprinting, and she could feel the rough plastic digging into her ankle already.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get back?” Aria yelled over to the other boys, the blood rushing in her ears. 

Mark slipped out his phone from his pocket, pulling it up close to his face and checking the time. “Four minutes? We’ve gone in a big circle.”

“We’re dead.” Donghyuck breathed out harshly, picking up speed.

Silence filled in the wind rushing past their ears, feet pounding against the pavement. Mark barely stopped himself before crashing into a small child clinging sleepily to an older woman’s hand; twisting his body out of the way at the last second before profusely apologizing. 

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the front doors of the hotel they were staying at for the next two nights. 

Panting, Aria slowed to a walk, pulling at the neck of her sweater to fan herself. She took slow and deep breaths, trying to calm her pulse before they made their way into the lobby.

Starting forward, she was stopped by Donghyuck’s hand on her shoulder and Mark’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Oh. Oh god.” 

“Mark? You alright?” Aria turned to face the boy, watching his face drain of colour. 

He lifted a hand, pointing to the one window on the fifth floor with a light still on. It stood out against the other darkened windows, like a lightstick in a sea of concert-goers. And there, illuminated against the cream-coloured curtains, was Taeyong’s silhouette. 

Donghyuck huffed. “Aria, this was a terrible idea!”

#*aria.writings #nct 22nd member #nct dream 8th member #nct additional member #nct 24th member #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #nct 2020 #nct 2018 #wayv #superm #nct addition #nct additions #kpop addition #kpop additions #kpop!oc #kpop #nct extra member #nct female oc #nct female member #nct female member au