#Series: Too Obscure Females Day

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 05

note: this is the final part of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, more crying (sorry), nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, mirror sex, lots and lots of praise, body worship, biting, marking, possessiveness, teasing, channie is very embarrassed, handjob, begging, just a little bit of crying, edging, reader and chan are kinda obsessively in love, unprotected sex, riding, cockwarming

word count: 17.3k

A call of your name from across the lab caught your attention, just as you were preparing to collect your materials and head out for the day. Fumbling with your bag, you zipped it up as quickly as you could and headed towards your lab instructor, already bracing yourself for a conversation that, based on your track record with her, was very likely to be disheartening.

She lowered the stack of papers she’d been holding as you approached her, revealing her smile—a rare sight for anyone who worked under her.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations,” she announced. “Your paper’s approved.”

Your eyes widened as she handed the stack to you, over twenty pages of blood, sweat, and tears. They felt heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of everything that had been sacrificed for their completion. Just a few days ago, the news would’ve had you over the moon. It was all you’d been wanting to hear, all you’d been dreaming of since you’d first begun your studies. Now, it was nothing more than a shallow comfort, a single drop of sunlight that was immediately obscured by the shadows all around it.

“Great,” you said at last, flashing a strained smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

She gave you a pat on the back, and you tried to find solace in the proud shine in her eyes. “You did well,” she praised. “I’m sure you’ll excel in your next rotation, too.”

“My next…rotation?”

Your instructor glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses with a hum. “Since your research has been approved, there’s no need for you to remain at your current station. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with those binary pairs,” she added. “You’ll be doing interferometric imaging for the next few weeks. We’re a few people short.”

Something twisted inside you. “Really?”

She looked up from her notes, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“I…” you trailed off. There was nothing you could tell her that would be meaningful enough for her to let you stay—nothing that wouldn’t get you laughed at or even potentially dismissed from the lab for the rest of the semester. How on earth were you meant to explain that a pair of spectroscopic stars had come to mean so much to you? How on earth were you meant to explain what they signified in your mind?

“No, nothing,” you said weakly. “I’ll transfer my things tomorrow. Thank you.”

Your instructor nodded, and that was that. In the blink of an eye, you’d lost the final piece of what you’d had left of Chan.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, bowing quickly to her and turning to leave. Your pace quickened as you exited the lab, a wave of inexplicable emotions rising within you. It ushered you to head home as soon as possible, like it was a race against time, like you had to reach shelter before it crashed into the shore and drowned you in front of everyone.

A cold gust of air billowed past you as you pushed open the doors to the physics building. You squinted against it, burying your hands in your pockets. The sky was still covered with that same, gray sheet—much darker than it had been earlier in the week. The closer you studied it, the more it looked like the clouds might break at any given moment. All the more reason to rush home; you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, and you fished it out of your pocket without thinking. Anything to distract you from this. 

bin 😑 (2:27 p.m.) hey

bin 😑 (2:28 p.m.) is everything okay?

Just as you were about to close the notification, another came.

bin 😑 (2:30 p.m.) did something happen with chan?

You stopped in your tracks. 

Did he really not know? Had Chan still not said anything to him?

Was Chan keeping it all to himself? Suffering in silence, even now?

You didn’t have to question it for long. Of course he was. 

Against your better judgment, you typed out a reply, fingers stiff from the cold and—for some reason—thumb burning.

you (2:33 p.m.) i’m fine bin don’t worry about me

you (2:34 p.m.) please just be there for chan

bin 😑 (2:36 p.m.) where have u been??? i was worried

Guilt, guilt, guilt. 

He wouldn’t be worried anymore when he found out the truth.

bin 😑 (2:38 p.m) pls talk to me

You wanted to talk to him. You so badly wanted to talk to him—not even about everything that had transpired over the past four days, just in general. You wanted to tease him, to laugh with him, to share a meal with him, to chatter about the most trivial, most mundane of topics with him because you could, because you enjoyed each other’s company and nothing else.

You missed your friend. But he was Chan’s friend first and foremost; Chan’s little brother. Losing Chan meant losing Changbin. The moment he’d find out what you’d done, how you’d hurt the person he admired most in this world, he would look at you with that same, dark glare that had unsettled you so much on the day you’d first met. Only this time, it wouldn’t be misleading, masking the kindness underneath. It would be real, intentional. He would mean every bit of it.

Minho’s glares were one thing. The thought of Changbin looking at you the same way was more than you could take. There was no place for you in his life anymore.

A droplet landed on your screen, splattering water across it and blurring the words of his message. You looked up at the sky. The clouds had broken.

You were going to cry.

It was for the best, probably. A pot could only withstand so much before it boiled over. And boil over, it did.

You pulled the hood of your jacket over your head just as the rain began to fall more steadily, sinking to the ground and settling on the curb of the sidewalk. You gave up on outrunning the wave. For once, uncaring of the people around you. For once, allowing yourself to be an inconvenience. 

Vaguely, you felt another buzz in your pocket; repeating, persistent. Changbin must have been calling you. Pressure rose in your chest. A strange sound built in your throat, an unpleasant, unfamiliar sensation pricked at your eyes. But before droplets of your own could well up in their corners, before you could release, the feeling of rain pattering relentlessly against your clothes came to a sudden halt. Something had passed over you, shielding you from it.

You didn’t bother to look up, praying that whoever it was whose presence you felt hovering above you, they’d take the hint and leave you alone. Just a moment to wallow in your misery. Just a moment to feel without worrying about anyone or anything else. Even now, that was too much to ask for, it seemed.

Through the roaring downpour, you barely caught it—soft, airy.

“It’s raining.”

Your blood ran cold, chilling you more than any of the water seeping through your clothing, right down to your bones.

Of course. You almost laughed out loud. Of fucking course.

This had to be some kind of joke, the universe’s cruel finale to everything it had put you through over the past three years.

“Go away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me for learning how to use an umbrella?”

You peered up through the mess of hair and fabric blocking your vision, fixing him with a look fiercer than any of the insults he’d ever hurled your way.

“Go away.”

His stare didn’t waver, face unchanging as always. It must’ve been so easy, to be so unaffected. It must’ve been so easy, to care so little. He blinked down at you, and despite the static swarming your mind, through it all, you couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing harsh about the look he was giving you. Not quite warm, not quite cold. It was far from the self-satisfied expression of someone who knew he had been right all along. Of someone who knew that he had won. 

“Come with me.”

You watched him blankly, too appalled to speak. 

When you didn’t budge, he tilted his wrist, leaning his umbrella forward so that it covered you completely and exposed part of himself to the rain.

“I’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yeah? Brew yourself some yuja tea.”

His lip twitched into the beginnings of a smirk. Not smug, not condescending. Just faintly amused.

“That was pretty funny.” He tilted the umbrella further. The rain began to land on his hair, darkening it, weighing it down. “But I’m really starting to get cold, now.”

“I don’t care.”

He clicked his tongue. Still, he made no move to leave, not even to pull his umbrella back over himself. You might’ve been swayed by whatever approach he was taking if you weren’t too preoccupied with figuring out just how the hell you could get rid of this guy.

“By the way,” he added casually. “Changbin gave me something. I think it belongs to you?”

You cursed yourself for perking up so quickly, so obviously. It was only for a split second, but he caught on—of course he did—eyes glinting like a cat that had spotted its target in all your loose threads.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come with me, and the pencil’s all yours.”

You gave in. For whatever reason, Lee Minho had suddenly decided that you were now worth his time.

He didn’t offer his hand to help you come to full standing, but he kept the umbrella steadily above you as you rose from the curb, allowing himself to get drenched in the process. It almost made you grimace more than his usual behavior, solely because it felt so wrong. And, maybe, because you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Not even from someone like him.

As he led you down the sidewalk towards wherever he planned to take you, you inched away from him, back into the rain. He made no effort to move closer again, but you did notice his eyes flicker your way once or twice.

You shuffled awkwardly behind him, focus kept firmly on the pavement, feet kicking up water with every step you took. It wasn’t until the warm, addictive scent of freshly-ground coffee flooded your senses that you lifted your head with a start, just in time to see Minho wiping the bottom of his shoes on the campus library mat. He shook out his umbrella and stepped inside, seemingly debating for a moment whether or not he should hold the door open for you.

An ache gripped your heart, somehow, stronger than anything you’d felt over the past four days. It ached and throbbed and pulsed when you processed where you were headed. The table right across from the entrance, at the very back of the library.

You half-expected to find him there—shrouded in black, hunched over his laptop, one set of fingers playing with his lips, the other set tapping along to the melody of his music. But his seat was empty. He wasn't there anymore.

You tried to control the sheer enormity of your anguish as you approached its source. You’d already humiliated yourself enough in front of the last person you’d ever have wanted to witness it. Even if he didn’t seem nearly as delighted with your downfall as you’d imagined, the fact that he’d caught you more vulnerable than anyone else had before, more than Chan ever had, made your skin positively crawl.

Minho sat down with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it out. He slipped off his drenched jacket, giving it a disgusted look before dropping it on the table.

“Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

You narrowed your eyes. If you’d had any semblance of rationality left in your system, you would’ve told yourself that it was just an offhand comment, that he couldn’t possibly have known just how devoid of warmth you truly were. But you were far past that point. Everything he said was a trap and everything he did was a taunt.

When he saw that you had no plans to respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where’s my pencil?”

“Oh,” he sniffed. “I lied about that.”

You bristled. “What?”

“I don’t have it,” he clarified. “I lied so you’d come with me. Get it?”

You reached for your bag, preparing to leave.

“You can take it from Changbin yourself,” he continued. “Once this is all fixed.”

For once, the absolute certainty with which he spoke, like anything that came out of his mouth was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, wasn’t used to stir doubt within you. You froze in place. Whether it was a flash of hope, or a stubborn indignation that kept you rooted to your chair, you weren’t quite sure.

“Once this is fixed?” you echoed, rife with hostility. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? Chan hates me just as much as you do, now. You win.”

“I don’t hate you.”

You scoffed, expecting the lie—because it had to be a lie, a jeer, a vicious way to kick you while you were down—to be followed by that same scornful sneer that had become all too familiar for your liking. 

But it never came.

Your disbelief was only met with a sincere, unbreaking expression. No games, no underlying meaning. A complete contrast to everything you associated with Lee Minho.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t believe me?” he feigned hurt, which you had half a mind to be infuriated about considering the many, many worse things he’d assumed about you. “I mean it. I don’t hate you.”

You blinked.

“I probably could’ve,” he added unhelpfully. “If what I'd thought about you turned out to be true. But really, I just didn’t trust you.”

You grunted to at least acknowledge his confession, unsure of how else you should react. If that was how he treated the people he didn’t trust, you’d love to know what his hatred looked like. 

You’d long told yourself not to take it personally, but for some reason, there was an undeniable sting there. Maybe it was because Minho was eerily perceptive, so much that this whole ordeal had planted the idea in your head that he had to be correct. Or maybe, it was because you’d always felt like there was a bit of truth to his impression of you, even before you’d met him, even before his opinion of you had sunk straight into the gutter. Having someone else say it out loud had just forced you to come to terms with it.

That constant voice in the back of your head, etching guilt into your mind. Telling you that you liked hurting the people who depended on you, that you liked to build them a safe haven and then crush it before their very eyes. Exactly what he had claimed you’d done to him.

Exactly what you’d done to Chan.

“Am I making things worse?” Minho tilted his head. 

“No,” you answered, and it was mostly honest. “Go on.”

He said nothing, eyeing you for a moment longer. It put you on high alert. Similarly to Chan, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was delving straight into your center—but unlike Chan, there was no comfort of being able to stare right back into his. 

“You probably know this by now, but Chan is an easy target for a lot of people,” he began. Slow, deliberate, no playful lilt to it. “He can usually tell when he’s being mistreated, but even so, he puts up with it. He thinks he can make it all better.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your spot, concentrating on the rain droplets that hadn’t yet dried from your hair. “Yeah, I know.” 

I know better than you. The petty side of you wanted to tack on. But you decided against it, instead choosing to foster whatever kind of tentative truce was coming to fruition here.

Minho paused again. “Right.”

“So, what, you thought I was one of those people?”

“Mm.” Blunt as ever. “Like I said, I've seen the type before. And if Chan wasn’t going to do anything about it, then I was.”

He’d changed his wording, you noticed. It had been your type before, uttered with all the contempt and venom in the world. You wanted to find consolation in that subtle difference, but it didn’t stop the memory from rousing your defiance all over again.

“You think he can’t make decisions for himself?”

It was a risk—hypocritical, too, when you knew firsthand what kind of decisions Chan made for himself, when you knew firsthand the powerlessness of trying to get him to stop—but you said it anyway. Minho hummed, leaning back in his chair, as if the challenge in your words hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

“Of course he can,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t make them right. When you see your friend make the same decision over and over and get hurt every single time, wouldn’t it be cruel to just sit by and watch?”

He looked off to the side, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought that he was—God forbid—trying to prevent you from possibly catching on to an emotion of his.

“That’s what real insanity is—isn’t that how the saying goes? Repeating the same thing and expecting different results.”

You knew, deep down, that his explanation made sense, and somehow, that only stung more. You felt wronged, like the collateral damage for all the people who had harmed Chan in the past. Knowing Minho had treated you so coldly out of the goodness of his heart wasn’t much of a compensation. In a childish sense, it made things even worse, because now, your own negative feelings towards him felt unjustified.

That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he had been right. 

Every part of you wanted to object to him lumping you in with all the others as the same decision, but in the end, you were just another name on the endless list of people who had hurt Chan.

When he saw how long you’d gone silent for, Minho spoke up again, looking unsure of himself for what may very well have been the first time in his life. 

“I’m…” he huffed. “Look, I was wrong.”

As always, what he said was the polar opposite of what you’d been thinking. It was almost comical, how the wavelengths the two of you operated on were so determined to be different in every conceivable way. 

His ears, you noticed, had dusted red at the tips—the exact same way Chan’s would flare up when he was flustered. You hated how it weakened your resolve, how his mere association with Chan had you more than willing to accept his olive branch, however awkwardly shaped it was.

“Chan’s done a lot for me—for everyone. I just wanted to protect him.”

That was the point of convergence, the one, precious point where your waves intersected. The desire to keep Chan safe. You understood it better than anything else, and so, for that fleeting moment, you understood Minho. Still, your pride—something you’d repressed far too many times in your attempts to reconcile with him before—wasn’t quite ready to back down.

“But you barely even knew me,” you protested. “What did I do to make you decide that you hated me all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t hate you,” he corrected.

You pressed your lips together into an annoyed line. “What made you think I wanted to…to hurt him?”

Minho looked contemplative, and you found yourself worrying that he may simply decide not to tell you. You wouldn’t put it past him. It would be painfully on-brand, actually, at least with the version of him that you’d come to know. 

“Chan came home crying.”

Your throat went dry.

“What?” you rasped. “When?”

“Back in July. The morning I got back from summer break.”

The morning after you’d first slept together. All at once, everything snapped into place—pieces of the puzzle that you hadn’t been able to connect, pieces that you hadn’t even known were missing in the first place.

“So, he comes home from your place, crying, with those marks all over his neck,” he explained. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened. I put two and two together.”

You felt sick enough that you actually feared you might throw up, right there, on the library floor.

“I thought he must’ve landed himself in a bad spot again. With someone who only wanted to use him.”

“Why?” You gripped your soaked bag to your chest, with so much force that residual water began to dribble out of it. “Why was he crying?”

How did I hurt him? You wanted to add. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice? 

How could you have ever let this happen?

Minho hesitated, and you squeezed your eyes shut, not entirely certain that you even wanted to hear the answer.

“He was happy.”

Confusion. And then, relief. And then, confusion again. The turmoil must have been written all over your face, because Minho ever so graciously decided to elaborate.

“I didn’t find that part out until yesterday, though. Not much of a happy crier, myself.”

A fresh surge of anger overtook everything else you were struggling to comprehend. Thoughts of what could’ve been, of how it all might have turned out if it weren’t for the man in front of you. The man who had given you all the tools in chiseling your self-doubt to perfection, who had passed you the hammer to destroy what you loved most.

You wanted it to be his fault. It would be so easy to pin the blame all on him. But nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple. Even without the right tools, you would’ve found a way to destroy it regardless. It was what you were best at.

“You didn’t bother to ask him!?” you snapped.

“Oh. You think I’m stupid.” A glimpse of his former sharpness. You had to stop yourself from saying yes, just to spite him. “Of course, I asked. More than once. But his answer was the same as always—he smiled and told me not to worry. He’d say it with a gun to his head.”

You frowned. It was too much to process at once, too much for your already worn-down brain to compute. All you could really make sense of was a gut feeling, an instinct, telling you that you’d made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“I talked to Chan yesterday,” he mellowed again, back to his usual, airy tenor. “He told me everything. He doesn’t seem to fully understand it, but I do.”

Minho locked eyes with you, deep, intense. No longer the look of someone that had decided you were guilty, but a look that warned you that he would know if you were lying to him.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded, anyway. Such a simple thing to admit to. How could such a simple thing have ever led to all of this? 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “That’s why I did it. I was afraid I’d end up…”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Ah, seriously.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and he laughed. Incredulous, dry, ending with an exhale. “You broke up with him because you didn’t want to hurt him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Your face heated up. “You’re the one who thought I would in the first place!”

“But I was wrong.”

You were taken aback by how plainly he admitted to it, how that indestructible, stubborn pride of his was extinguished the instant he’d learned it had harmed someone he cared about. Even more troubling than that, was that you could tell he was apologetic, even without him saying it outright. All of this, as annoyingly as he was going about it, was his apology to you. Changbin’s words—fond and reassuring and, now, truer than ever—reverberated in your mind. Soft at heart.

“People are supposed to help each other. You know that, right?”

You snorted at the absurdity of the question. 

“Obviously.”

“So why are you so weird about it?”

“It’s different with Chan,” you insisted. “You said it yourself. He does so much—everyone takes so much from him. I didn’t want to do the same.”

“But that’s still not fair, is it?” he countered. “You’d just be giving everything instead. Chan doesn’t want that, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, only for the words to die in your throat. There was no way to justify it without sounding ridiculous—maybe, because it was a bit ridiculous. But Chan was the exception, he would always be the exception. You would give everything to him because you knew he would never take it for granted. You would give everything to him because he’d already given everyone so much.

Because he’d given you so much. 

Ah.

“God, you two are so—” Minho cradled his head dramatically, sensing that you’d finally worked it out in your mind. “You’ve already got the hardest part figured out. Just learn to take once in a while. You’re not gonna die.”

“But he won’t change unless I do,” you muttered. “I know he won’t.”

He gave you a look of pure exasperation, as if the answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

“So, change.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The feeling of your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, courtesy of Bang Christopher Chan, was one you’d become well-acquainted with over the past seven months. But of all the times you’d experienced it, it’d never been quite like this. This was something else entirely.

A day to mull everything over after your conversation with Minho, a sleepless night spent trying and failing to map out how you could possibly approach the situation, and over an hour of pacing restlessly around your apartment—all useless in ebbing the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. Before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m., you’d not only felt like you had run a marathon, but that you could run another for good measure. 

You’d spoken to Changbin first. He at least deserved to know what was going on. He deserved an apology, even if the very real possibility that he would never speak to you again afterwards made your stomach churn. On a more selfish note—you figured today was as good as any to start with that—you’d also just really, really missed him. 

As it turned out, he’d more or less come to grasp the situation, even when being protected from all angles. Between what little Minho had let slip, Chan’s avoidant behavior (to the surprise of no one, he’d hardly let Changbin know a thing) and your vaguely ominous texts, he’d gathered up enough bits and pieces for his genius intuition to fill in the gaps. The sound of his voice once you’d revealed what had happened in full; compassionate, calm—not an ounce of the disdain you’d resigned yourself to be met with so viciously—had almost been enough to make you choke up.

“You should’ve told me,” he’d chided. “Why do you love doing that to yourself? What, you think I’m not strong enough to lean on?”

You’d let out a long exhale, heavy with all the apprehension you released with it; relieved, embarrassed. “It’s not that, Bin,” you’d mumbled. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Not when Chan and Minho both mean so much to you.”

“And you think you don’t? C’mon, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Naturally, it only added to your guilt, that you’d created such an uncharacteristically cruel image of him in your head. This was Seo Changbin, after all. A great talker, but an even better listener, and as much as he liked to tease Chan for his age, he had a level of emotional intelligence far beyond his years. A wisdom that you would probably do well to learn from whenever it bothered to make an appearance. 

At the same time, however, this was Seo Changbin, the one man show, Leo incarnate. Once the relief of hearing back from you had eased his conscience (as much as it could, knowing how horribly tangled up everything had become), the theatrics had ensued.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but breaking his heart is off limits!” he’d complained. It was mostly light. No real anger behind it, just plenty of highly-warranted frustration. “Not only that—breaking your own heart too! What am I supposed to do with two brokenhearted best friends? Hang out with Minho!?”

After a slew of loud, nagging, reprimands, and a very serious threat that Cinnamoroll would be held hostage until further notice, Changbin had let you go. For the first time in five days, you’d laughed. You’d never felt more grateful, or more stupid, in your life. He made it all sound so simple. Lee Minho, quite possibly the most convoluted piece of work you’d ever encountered in this world, had made it all sound so simple. 

You could only hope that you hadn’t crushed it into something infinitely more complicated, something beyond repair.

The trembling of your fingers, coupled with that strange sensation in your thumb that had yet to go away, made it difficult for you to type properly. Still, you persisted, throwing caution to the wind. Caution had ruled over you for far too long, anyway.

you (10:03 a.m.) hi

you (10:04 a.m.) i understand if you want some space right now but if you can, i’d like to talk

You prepared to lock your phone, not expecting a reply for some time—if any at all. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t always get back to you right away. But, well, maybe the fact that the circumstances were anything but normal should’ve been enough for you to know better, because you didn’t even get the chance to swipe out of your messaging app before you noticed three little dots below your chat bubble.

Appearing. Disappearing. Appearing. Disappearing. Just a sign of life from him, and your palms had grown clammy. With fear, anticipation, dread. The dread of being met with anything but love, anything but warmth.

Then, at last, a single word.

channie 🐺 (10:08 a.m.) about?

you (10:08 a.m.) everything us

This time, it took him longer to respond. Ignoring every instinct that screamed otherwise, you typed up another text. There was no use hiding. There was never any use hiding with him.

you (10:12 a.m.) i don’t think i can do this

Almost immediately.

channie 🐺 (10:12 a.m.) me neither

Your heart leapt. You didn’t want it to give you hope. He had every right, every reason in the world, to not give you the time of day. He could get his closure and leave you, just as you’d left him.

channie 🐺 (10:13 a.m.) i can be over in 10?

A million thoughts sparked to life at once. The question of why he was already so close by. The urge to insist that you go meet him instead. The sudden realization that you were in no way prepared to see him so soon.

But all of it, overwhelming as it was, didn’t hold a candle to your strongest desire—a desire that could never be subdued by anything else. To put Chan first.

you (10:14 a.m.) okay, sure see you soon

You didn't deserve to say it, so you added it in your head. Get here safe, Channie.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Chan looked tired when you opened the door. Eyes dull, drooping, littered with traces of pink and lined with dark circles. A few stray curls peeked out from beneath his beanie. You prayed that the black hoodie he was wearing wasn’t the same one he’d had on five days ago. He looked so tired. Tired and cold.

His gaze met yours. Just for a heartbeat, then it fell to the ground. You wanted to think it was because he felt self-conscious, you wanted to think it was that shyness—that hopelessly endearing shyness that got the best of him no matter how many times he looked at you. You didn’t want to believe that he simply couldn’t stomach the sight of you anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Chan tensed. Then, he caught you eyeing the bandaid on his thumb. He brushed his finger over it absentmindedly. He’d thought the pain had faded until now.

“Yeah. Just cut my finger.”

Your expression changed.

“On accident.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit.”

You reached up to tug at your ear. He swiped his thumb over his nose.

“I—” you swallowed. The moment he’d stepped through the door, everything you’d so carefully planned to say, every point you’d spent hours trying to piece together into something comprehensible, was immediately tossed out the window. You had to navigate this in real time. There was no map for it—the path to something better. The only place you’d ever journeyed was your own destruction. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “I think I messed up.”

He lifted his head. For once, unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

He knew what you meant, you were sure of it. But he wanted you to say it—needed you to say it. He needed you to dare to open yourself up to him, just as he had to you.

You understood now. That was the most important thing you could’ve ever given him, yet the one thing you’d refused to give.

“I’m not used to this,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to get used to it. You’re…you’re so good, Chan. To everyone. To me.”

Already, cracks were beginning to form in your composure. You had to keep it together, just enough to fix this. Just enough to hold the mirror up to him before it shattered. 

“When someone that good comes into your life, you wanna do everything you can to keep them, y’know? I wanted to do everything for you.”

Chan’s breath caught in his throat, audibly, and you knew a protest was building on his tongue. So, you barreled through.  

“It’s exactly because you’re so good that I got so scared. Because you wouldn’t just let me do it all for you like everyone else does.”

There was a pause, long and heavy enough for you to debate if you should just keep going, to air it all out and pray that at least some of it would come out sensical. But before you could, he spoke up, attentive as ever in what he chose to focus on. He narrowed it down like second nature, sought out the most essential part. The root of it all.

“You were scared?”

You winced. “I…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever remained of your heart from the past few days was effectively smashed into pieces. An apology from the last person on earth you needed to hear it from. An apology from someone who was owed so many apologies. From you, from himself, and from countless others who would never have to say it.

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I drove you to this, didn't I?” he whispered. “I thought about it the past few days—talked with Minho about it. I put you in a position you didn’t want. It’s my fault.”

“Oh, Channie,” it slipped out so naturally, with such ease, you didn’t even have the chance to second-guess yourself. “Your only fault is the way you treat yourself.”

Chan didn’t appear convinced. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hands heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. Restless, ashamed. Still not looking you in the eye. You weren’t grateful for it anymore; you missed his gaze. Dark and reflective, kind and curious. Seeing right through you, even with all its flickering around. 

“Maybe I needed to be put in that position,” you continued. “I was just too much of a coward to take it. B-because you were right. I try to be everything for people, then I end up being nothing. I was so afraid I was going to do that to you—or even worse. I was afraid I was going to be the one taking everything from you.”

“Why would you ever think that?” he sounded so helpless, like you were communicating in two completely foreign tongues. No room for speaking in riddles. “I saw every little way you cared for me. Always. Did you think I didn’t?”

Challenging him meant challenging yourself. You’d taken the plunge acutely aware of that fact, this time. Still, the panic rose in your chest all over again, the itch in your feet goaded you to turn and run.

“I know you did. And that’s more than enough for me.” You forced yourself to take a step forward instead, desperate to get through to him, desperate to reach him. “But when you do these things for me at your own expense…when you don’t tell me about it, don’t you see how that could scare me? As someone who cares about you?”

In all the time you’d known Chan, you’d never once have guessed that he could be so difficult. But if that unshakeable stubbornness would emerge over anything, of course it would be this. He would never make things difficult for anyone but himself. You still remembered how plainly he’d said it, how bleak and merciless and cold it had been: “It doesn’t matter.”

You could tell he sensed how on-edge you were, how laughably out of your element something like this was for you. But you were pushing yourself—for him. So, like a true reflection, he matched you.

“I guess I was scared, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been the only thing I know how to do for so long. I thought…I-I thought you’d leave if I did anything else. Because why else would you stay, y’know?”

You’d known it. Even before he’d bared himself to you, even before you’d had the knowledge to connect all the dots, you’d felt it, deep within you. But that didn’t make hearing him say it out loud any less devastating.

“I don’t love you because of what you can do for me, Chan.”

His eyes shot up at last. Wide, intense, searching. Realigning with you. A break in the fog that had been clouding your view of each other for the past five days.

It may have been unfair—cruel, even—to say now. But you needed him to hear it, even if this was the end of the road for you and him. You needed to at least plant the seed in his mind with the hopes that one day, with enough care, it might sprout into something beautiful.

“You’re worth so much as you are,” you tried to get a handle on the shake creeping into it. “You do so much for me just by being yourself.”

Chan blinked. Pupils darting between you and the floor, hands slipping from his pockets, face muscles twisting in an internal conflict. You could see him physically exerting all his willpower to not reject the idea—to dare to accept a love so unconditional, solely so that you might accept it in return.

“If I told you the same thing,” he began slowly. “Would you believe me?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “I can learn to believe it.”

His fingers flexed. You realized for the first time how close the distance between you and him had become—drifting towards each other involuntarily. That inevitable, magnetic pull, more powerful than any of the forces you’d studied in four years.

“Okay.” He was reaching out for you. “Then, how about we learn together, yeah?”

Your heart jumped against your ribcage. Over his words. Over the sight of his pinky, held out in earnest despite you giving it such little reason to ever do so again, waiting patiently to curl against yours. 

You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

“Together.”

Just as quickly as things had fallen apart, the foundation was laid out for them to be put back together. A steady foundation, built to last. Your belief that day had turned out to be true, after all. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan. When you leaned into him. When you didn’t run.

Heat rippled through you the instant your fingers entwined, fiercer, more all-consuming than even the first time you’d ever touched. Still, neither of you pulled away. For the first time in five days, you were warm again.

The new, unspoken promise igniting to life between you reminded you of another; one that you’d let sit on your ledger for far too long. One you’d made so carelessly to the boy who deserved all the care in the world. The boy who treated you with all the care in the world.

“I’m going to be more selfish from now on.” You tightened your hold on his pinky, creating a fresh buzz of heat. “Because I want you to be, too.”

You thought you were hallucinating it for a second, the beginnings of a grin on Chan’s face. Soft cheeks rising, not enough to draw out his dimples or eclipse his eyes, but enough to make you certain of your decision. The key you’d tossed out a year and a half ago was in that smile.

“Guess I’ve got no choice but to mirror you.”

“That’s right,” any firmness it might’ve had was lost to a smile of your own. Exhausted, but tragically enamored with the boy in front of you. “Since you wanna be my other half so bad, and all.”

He giggled. Short, sweet, playing the strings of your heart like a harp. Or, rather, its melody was the sound of your heart.

“I’m gonna tell you some things,” you warned. “And they’re not going to be nice. Or good. Is that okay?”

“Anything.” He unhooked his pinky from yours, only to wiggle his sleeve back and weave all of your fingers together instead. Five fingers, one for each of the days you’d spent apart. Your palm pressed against his, pumping faintly with your quickening pulse. “Tell me anything.”

You inhaled. Better to start with something smaller, first. A test run in this whole emotional openness thing.

“About Minho…”

“He gave you plenty of trouble, didn’t he?”

You puffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I gave him some back.”

“I scolded him,” Chan mumbled. “A lot. Bin did, too.”

You tried not to feel too satisfied about it. The idea of Chan, so doting, so unabashed in his adoration for the younger boy, rebuking him, addressing him with anything but overflowing fondness. You would take it as a small, private victory—one that Minho didn’t need to know about now that you’d both chosen to bury the hatchet.

“But…I hope you won’t think badly of him. He means well, really. He’s—”

“Soft at heart, right?” you finished for him. “It’s okay, we talked it out in the end. I think."

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, he told me.”

You could’ve laughed. Lee Minho. You never thought you’d see the day where the mention of him wouldn’t be promptly followed by a wave of absolute revulsion. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had even agreed to see you today. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had only been ten minutes away from your apartment before you’d even sent him a message.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

I wish you’d told me. They were words you’d said to him so many times, words you’d wanted to say on even more occasions. But it was in your hands, now. You were in each other’s hands, now. You didn’t have to wish anymore.

“I know.” You gave his palm a squeeze. “But you can see why I didn’t, right?”

He nodded, sheepish, well aware that it was a pointed question.

“A lot of the things Minho did were to protect you,” you murmured. “But, a lot of the things he said were things someone else once said to me. I guess it made them easier to believe.”

Chan’s thumb glided delicately across the back of your hand. You knew he could predict where this was going.

“When you told me about what happened two years ago, I think I related to you a lot. I think it was one of those shared experiences you talked about.”

Each sentence felt like it was being dragged out of you, uprooted. But it was necessary. Clearing the weeds out to make room for something less parasitic—maybe, even flowers. “My last relationship was with someone who took a lot out of me, too. He needed someone to depend on. I…I wanted to be that for him.”

“I know you did.” Gentle, sad. A tenderness for you and, hopefully, himself. It gave you the strength to keep going.

“He needed so many things, felt so many things. All his emotions became mine until I didn’t have any for myself,” you were losing control of your voice again. “I didn’t understand how you could ever blame yourself for what that girl did to you. But, really, I’ve always blamed myself, too. Because I let him rely on me. I promised to be everything for him, then I left.”

“But he never let you rely on him, did he?” Chan didn’t miss a beat, like he already knew the answer. “He wanted you to carry it all yourself.”

You averted your stare. “M-maybe. And maybe I wanted that, too. Some people just need more support than others, y’know? I thought I could handle it.”

You always thought you could handle it, even when every past experience proved otherwise. That was yet another thing Minho had been right about. You’d driven yourself mad repeating the same cycle over and over again, deluding yourself into thinking it could ever turn out any different.

“Nobody needs no support at all,” he pointed out. “Not even someone as strong as you.”

Strong. Hearing the word come out of his mouth—his perfect mouth, in that light, melodic voice—pricked at your eyes. It was a term you’d never once thought to describe yourself with. It was the exact opposite of everything you’d come to believe about yourself. You wanted to reject it, to crush the idea before letting it get to your head. But how could you, when it came from the strongest person you knew? How could you do anything but cling to it, cherish it?

“I don’t know if I’m strong,” you muttered, blinking away what was sure to come eventually. “It’s just that every time I’ve tried to lean on someone, they let me fall. So it’s better to stand on my own.”

“Yeah. I understand."

You knew that much was true. You knew, painfully well, how much he understood. And you knew he still thought you were strong.

“I…” Everything had been put into place—or, rather, everything had been properly displaced—for the dam to break loose. Tentatively, lovingly, he was helping you pull out each log. It filled you with fear, down to every last fiber of your being, but you knew that you could break in front of him. He wouldn’t crumble with you. He wouldn’t shatter over the mere prospect of you expressing an emotion of your own. He’d let you release, and when it was all over, he’d help you pick up the pieces. Just as you had with him.

“I lost my friend last year.”

“Lost…?”

“I mean, she passed away—last summer. She was in an accident back home.”

Such a common way to die for someone who was anything but. Such a special person to become part of such an ordinary statistic. Chan’s face morphed into something heartbreaking, a look that told you he felt everything you were feeling in that moment. The gears were turning in his head, you could see it unfolding through your blurred vision. That was why you hadn’t wanted to return home over the summer. That was why you’d come back to him so soon.

“I’m so sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t only giving his condolences, he was apologizing for ever cornering you to reveal it. For forcing you to unveil the wound that had been festering for so long. Bleeding with no signs of stopping, neglected with no signs of healing.

“It’s okay, I—” A lump rose in your throat. “I need to talk about it, I think. Never really did.”

His hand tugged at yours, just barely, uncertain. Always hesitant to pull you as close as he really wanted. You leaned forward all at once, falling into him. And he caught you.

“Never?” 

“I tried once.” You rested your head against him, and his arms locked securely around you straight away. No room for you to fear, even for a second, that he might let you fall. “I tried to tell him. He always said he felt bad that he wasn’t there for me like I was for him. B-but…” The wave was rising again. “He just left.”

You couldn’t see Chan’s expression, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. You didn’t want to know what anger might look like on such an angelic face. But you could feel it, his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing. You figured he must look something like you had that night in October, struggling to maintain the delicacy in your movements as he revealed things that had filled you with a protective fire.

“He left?” Chan repeated, strained. “He left you like that?”

“Yeah. I-I guess it made him feel worse to be there.”

His hand began to run slowly up and down your back; drawing out your pain and soothing it simultaneously. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. He’d put his anger to the side, just as you had that night. “It must have been lonely for you.” 

Lonely. Something else you’d never once considered. Something else that became so obvious only once he’d said it. You’d always been surrounded by people, but they were all flocking to a version of you that didn’t exist. A version you’d let them believe was real, because that was so much easier. Maybe the version of you, in your truest form, had been lonely.

“A little.” You buried your nose into his hoodie. No scent of sweet citrus today, no vanilla cherry blossom. Just him. “I think she’s the only one I could’ve talked to about it. She…she was a lot like you, in some ways.”

Something seemed to dawn on Chan, because he gripped you a little tighter, pulled you impossibly closer. The realization that the universe had taken away the only person you’d ever come to rely on. Of course you would be terrified to ever let anyone take that role again.

“She sounds exactly like the kind of friend you deserve,” his voice rumbled softly where you rested against his chest. “You can tell me about her. About it all. I’m here to listen.”

“I want to,” you took in a sharp inhale. “But I think I’m going to cry.”

“You can do that, too.” 

The wave engulfed you in full. For the first time since the day you’d lost her, you allowed yourself to cry over her.

Given how long you’d been holding it in, it didn’t come out nearly as explosive as you’d expected. The tears slipped from your eyes and down your cheeks without a sound, but they came and came and came. Each hot stream was immediately followed by a fresh one, a buildup of all the sorrow you’d kept sealed inside you for the past year and a half, and all the years before that. You didn’t sob or wail or scream out, but with how tightly Chan was holding you, you were certain he felt every tremor, every subdued hiccup, every droplet soaking through his clothes.

“It’ll be okay, one day,” he promised. “You’ll remember all the happy times with her. That’s something you can never lose.”

You hoped it was true. You hoped that one day, you could step off the train in your hometown, take in the pine-tinged summer air, pick a chrysanthemum from that flower stall, and remember her with that warm, glowing ball of light you used to carry in your chest.

Chan didn’t stop rubbing your back the entire time you cried. He didn’t stop enveloping you in his warmth. He didn’t stop humming sweetly in your ear. 

He didn’t leave.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, not because it didn’t hurt anymore—you just didn’t think your body could keep up. No amount of tears could ever live up to your grief for her. But your breathing slowed, your shaking steadied, and, as much as your head positively throbbed, a sense of tranquility came with it, one you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you mumbled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After everything you’d put him through the past five days, after he’d listened to you so intently and patiently as you poured your heart out, after he’d comforted you when he was still in such a fragile state himself, he was thanking you. It was hopeless. You would fall in love with him over and over again, every moment you spent with him. 

“Have you…” he hesitated. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? About everything?”

“No,” you choked out a sad laugh. “Not really.”

Chan hummed again, quiet. He rested his hand on the back of your head, as if to pull you so far into him that you’d meld fully together.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself anymore,” he murmured.

“Neither should you.”

So immediate, so resolute, it made him stiffen against you.

“My stuff doesn’t compare to any of this.”

“That’s not true. You’ve only told me the half of it, haven’t you?” You curled your fingers a bit tighter around his hoodie. “You've been through so much to become this strong, haven’t you?”

The peaceful drag of his hand finally stopped. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. He'd been holding it together up until now, for you, even if your every tremble and sniffle made his chest ache like your pain was his own.

“Maybe,” he rasped. 

“So, let’s work towards something better. Together.”

“Together,” he agreed.

You raised your head at last, squeezing your eyes shut so that any remaining trace of tears trickled free. Chan reached up to swipe the droplets away with his thumb, soaking his bandaid. Still, neither of you let go. There were so many things to let go of, but not each other.

“I finished Placebo,” he said softly. “Do you want to hear it?”

The final promise that had yet to be fulfilled.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Weak, a piteous sight, probably, but genuine. “It makes me happy.”

You were lulled back to that day in April, seated next to Chan in the warm, coffee-infused atmosphere of the library, trying not to fall head over heels in love with him right then and there while he played the instrumental for you with a giddiness so uncontainable that he had to bite down on his fist. As you heard Placebo’s lyrics for the first time—lyrics that had gone through countless rearrangements, rewrites, and delays—you decided it must’ve been fate that it had been brought to completion now, of all times. You felt Chan in every line, every vitalizing beat, every nostalgic melody of the synth. You understood it better now than you ever would have back then.

But just as you’d predicted on that warm day in April, it became your new favorite.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The sun had been shining for two days straight. Bright, unobstructed by a single cloud, bathing everything in gold. It filtered through the blinds of your window, casting a delicate pattern of light on Chan’s face and creating quite possibly the most breathtaking view you’d ever seen. And you were warm. Warm against each other.

His curls were free, messy, tousled as you combed through them. You relished in every ringlet dancing between your fingers, in each content sound he let slip when your nails grazed his scalp. You brushed his bangs back, revealing his face to you in full—droopy eyes, big, adorable nose, soft cheeks, faintly freckled skin, every feature illuminated with nowhere to hide—then allowed them to fall into his eyes once more. The dark locks moved as one, a fluffy unit. He wasn’t taking care of them properly. You wanted to wash them again, give them the treatment they deserved.

Chan watched you the entire time you played with his hair, curious, mesmerized. Every flop of his curls against his forehead made him giggle, and so, you did it again and again. You couldn’t help it. After five days without him, without that sweet, harmonious sound, you could listen to him laugh for hours on end and still yearn for more.

But his lips were getting poutier with every card of your fingers, his thighs were shifting beneath you more and more. Impatient, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it. So, you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, just like he always did. But it was higher in pitch this time, involuntary, a neediness he typically tried to suppress until later down the line when it grew into something unbearable. He was already so vocal, so responsive, but today, he needed you more than ever. Every gap, every crevice between your bodies, he needed filled with you.

His lips consumed your senses, plush and plump and warm. They moved against yours seamlessly, encasing you in his softness, matching your rhythm, every part and pucker. So attentive, even through his haze of longing. It was familiar, the most natural thing in the world, yet still something you’d never get used to—something you never wanted to get used to. How his lips chased yours so insatiably, how they warmed you to your very core.

You were both breathless when you broke apart. That was nothing new either, you would kiss each other until your lungs cried out and then some. With the way Chan hardly pulled back, mouth ghosting just a centimeter away as you panted lightly in unison, you might’ve thought he needed to kiss you more than he needed oxygen. You took his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling delicately just to get a taste of him while the two of you caught your breath.

“Missed you,” he whimpered. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. 

“I know, baby.” 

Giving his bottom lip a light tug, you released it. You could tell his head was starting to go fuzzy, it was far more important for you to speak clearly. You rested your hand on his curls again, trying to keep yourself composed for his sake—even if your body was screaming for you to take him back and take him back now. “I know. I missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave me, please?” For once, a selfish request. 

He pecked the corner of your mouth as he said it, then your jaw, growing less controlled the further down he moved. He was getting lost in you, he wanted to lose himself in you and never find his way out again.

“Never,” you assured him. 

“Promise?” 

He nuzzled his nose into your neck, lips pressing urgent kisses to every spot of flesh they touched. Gentle and intense, hot and wet. They cooled your skin and set it ablaze, all at once. 

You’d gone five days without each other before—even longer, on particularly hectic weeks—but it had never been anything like this. After the emptiness that came in your time apart, the holes that had been left behind where you’d ripped yourself away from him, you wanted every kiss absorbed into your skin, filling them up one by one. You found yourself wondering, for what was neither the first nor the last time, how you’d ever managed to trick yourself into thinking you could be without him. You couldn’t even take him in moderation.

“I promise,” you murmured. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chan whined, opening his mouth against the edge of your collarbone, sucking, tongue flickering lightly against it. You allowed him to, petting his head, humming sweetly to him as he covered every inch he roamed with that irresistible heat.

His restlessness beneath you grew more obvious—squirming. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and grabbing and holding onto you like you might disappear if he didn’t. His usual hesitance to touch was nowhere to be found today, far overpowered by his hunger for you. You adjusted your position in his lap, and the beginnings of his desire brushed against your thigh, adorably transparent as always. It made your own self-control slip just a bit. Suddenly, his clothes were forming far too thick of a barrier between you and him for your liking.

You pulled gently at his hair, catching his attention enough for him to lift his head from your neck. His lips were already swelling, deepening from that pretty pink shade into something even more addictive. His eyes were dark, dilated, and so hopeful, like he didn’t already know where this was going. Like he had no idea that you craved him every bit as much as he craved you.

“It’s getting warm, huh, Channie?”

“Mhm.” He rested his cheek against your palm. “You’re so warm.”

“Let’s get you out of this, then.” You reached down to dip your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Reluctant to let go for even a moment, Chan kept his hands close to you, wiggling around as best as he could to help you slip the garment off. He blinked his eyes open once you’d pulled it over his head, catching a glimpse of his reflection in your dresser mirror, directly across from where the two of you sat tangled up in each other. It made his stomach drop a bit. Hair unkempt, eyes sunken, face puffy from what was a concerning lack of rest over the past week, even by his standards.

His gaze averted, flickering right back to you the instant he took in his appearance. Brief as the action was, it wasn’t lost on you, twisting your emotions and resurfacing an idea in your mind—one that had been brewing ever since the day of the showcase, where Chan had avoided looking into the bathroom mirror like his life depended on it.

You cupped his cheeks, pushing them together just enough for his lips to pucker.

“You’re glowing, Channie,” you marveled. “You’re so beautiful.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not.”

You pressed your thumbs into his skin, chiding. “The light’s hitting your face so perfectly. You look like an angel.” 

Chan’s breath quickened, another deflection building in his throat. You slid your hands down from his face, allowing the golden rays of the sun to fully illuminate him, just as they illuminated the moon. 

“I…” he chuckled. “Th-thank you, but I’m a mess.”

You frowned, placing your hands over his. Panic struck when you urged him to unlatch his fingers from your hips, you could tell by the way he gripped you just a bit tighter. It was another pang to your chest. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, that reflex had been ingrained. But you weren’t going to leave him, not even for a second. You kept your hands firmly rested on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself off his lap and settled down right behind him on the mattress. Comforting him with your touch, reminding him that you were there.

You peered into the mirror from over Chan’s shoulder, met with the gorgeous sight of his bare upper half and, unsurprisingly, his head ducked in embarrassment. A mop of dark curls shielding him from himself. 

“You should try looking at yourself through my eyes,” you suggested. “You might like what you see.”

He glanced up to meet your stare in the mirror, stubbornly set on ignoring his own figure. You dragged your hands along his tense shoulders, feeling up the warm expanse of skin, the curves of his muscles—taut, yet tender.

“Rather look at you,” he said softly.

Affection swelled inside you, but you were determined to maintain your resolve, even when faced with an opponent as formidable as Chan’s deep-seated inhibitions. 

“Why?” You faked a pout. “You’ve already got such a pretty view right here.”

You lowered yourself to brush your lips against his neck, almost completely out of sight. He all but jolted as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below his jawline, just as reactive as your first night together. Just as honest and open and just as painfully cute. Your hand slipped over his shoulder to take hold of his chin, tilting it up, exposing his throat fully to you and encouraging him to look at himself.

“You’re a gorgeous boy, Channie.” Your words melted right into his ear. “Everyone can see it.”

You pressed another kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck—his weak spot. With how sensitive he was, every part of his body may as well have been his weak spot, but the sound he let out as you grazed your teeth over it was like no other. Sweet and pleading in the back of his throat. It spiked in volume when you closed your mouth over the patch of skin, unconcerned this time over whether or not the mark would show. He wanted it to. And, selfishly, so did you.

“I-I don’t see it,” he stuttered at last. “I can’t.”

Your tsk of disapproval was met with another shaky sigh as you ran your tongue over the fresh lovebite. It soothed his burning skin, fogged up any remaining space in his head. You took a moment to admire the blooming red ring before gliding your lips over to a new spot to sully. He was yours, even untouched, but you wanted to leave traces of yourself everywhere, to make him a part of you in every sense.

“Look at yourself, baby,” you ordered gently.

His Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth, swallowing down his misgivings and finding the courage to comply. Before he even locked eyes with himself in the mirror, his ears were already flushing at their tips.

“There we go. Good boy.”

The praise eased his mind a bit, but you could still feel his heartbeat racing under your kisses, pulsing beneath your traveling fingers. All simply because of the sight of himself—a sight you wanted engraved permanently into your memories, just as badly as he wanted it removed from his. 

“Look at all these muscles. So big and strong.” You flattened your palms against his broad shoulders, trailing slowly, appreciatively, down to his biceps. Arms you used to dream about having bulge beneath your hands. Arms you had at your mercy, even in all their strength. Because it was a strength used solely to protect others, never to harm.

You wrapped your fingers around the defined muscles, too large to even close your grip entirely around. They flexed under your touch—a detail you found adorable, strangely enough.

“D-do you…” Chan licked his lips. “D’you like them?”

You smiled against his skin. Such an endearingly Chan question. Setting himself up for a response that he wouldn’t be able to handle; a response that was sure to set his face on fire and put a stammer in his speech.

“I might like them too much,” you admitted. “So gorgeous to look at. So irresistible to touch. So cute when I hold them down,” you mumbled the compliments between each kiss you peppered along his arm veins, protruding from his nervous hold on the sheets. “So safe and reliable. So strong, but so weak for me.”

Chan’s reaction didn’t disappoint, cheeks heating up instantly to match the burn of his ears, dimples making a timid appearance. Anything he attempted to say was lost in the shy, breathless laugh he sputtered out. You knew right about now that he was wishing he had some kind of cap, beanie—anything to pull over his face and hide away. To hear your doting words without having to face himself. Maybe then, he’d believe them.

“You work so hard, don’t you, Channie?” you cooed. “Such a strong, beautiful body for a strong, beautiful boy.”

“A-ah…please.” Chan fought back the impulse to cross his arms over his torso, solely because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your mouth ravishing them, appreciating every curve. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, too flustered to bear. Your hands found his chest without warning, cupping his pecs and making him squeak. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, a split second too late in trying to mask the pitiful noise.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You dug your nails delicately into his chest, just enough to make him shudder. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

To that, he didn’t object. “Yours, ‘m all yours.” It was eager, immediate, accompanied by a tilt of his head. Urging you to make it known, to leave more marks of yourself all over his neck until it belonged just as much to you as it did him. 

“All mine.” You rolled his nipples delicately between your fingers, earning a broken whimper that made heat pool in your stomach. “My pretty boy.”

Chan jerked forward, every intoxicating word of praise, every drop of your attention making his arousal skyrocket. With his eyes still shut tight, all his other senses were on high alert. The serene sound of your voice reverberated all around him, the deliberate care of your touch sent tremors up his spine. You roamed further down his body, fingertips dancing over his lean abdomen, tracing the outlines of his muscles. His stomach clenched as you did; exhilarated, rising and falling with each rapid breath. He felt so vulnerable—all his pleasure, all his comfort, all his worth in the palm of your hand. More exposed than ever, yet somehow, safer than ever. He could stay blind through it all and trust you to guide him to the other side.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

He pressed his lips together, protest cut short when you inched dangerously close to where he needed you most.

“There,” he gasped out. “There, please.”

Mischievously, you pinched the skin right above his waistband, satisfaction rushing through you when he throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants. “Where?” you questioned, deceptively innocent. “You have to look and see.”

You drifted further down, skimming the softness of his hips and stroking his tensed thigh. “Here?”

“No,” he huffed, face scrunching in frustration. “Please, ‘s too embarrassing.”

Your hum was full of sympathy, but your hand said otherwise, moving along his inner thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “How about here?”

You knew what was coming by now. So, you snaked your legs around his waist from behind, prying his thighs apart before they could clamp together reflexively. The added contact only made Chan’s composure weaken further, a low groan spilling out of him. Practically every part of your body was pressed against his—head tucked into his neck, chest rubbing against his back, hands grasping him wherever they slid, thighs resting on his—but it wasn’t enough. He needed more before he crumbled completely against you. Or, rather, he needed more to crumble completely against you.

His eyes snapped open at last, hazy, disoriented. He blinked a few times to readjust his vision, taking in the view before him. His puffed, rosy cheeks, his neck, painted with deep, crimson marks, his arms and torso, lined with the faint drag of your nails. Every part of himself that he chose to focus on was evidence of you on his body.

“Beautiful,” you said firmly.

“Ah…th-thank you.”

His reflection peered back at him, nowhere to hide. But with it, he found his other reflection, one he could admire so wholeheartedly, one he could never run out of things to love about. When at your side, maybe he didn’t look so bad.

Your lips were by his ear again, he felt your breath fanning softly next to it, saw your mouth opening unexpectedly close to his piercing—so close that he thought you may take it between your teeth again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if you did.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Channie?” you whispered.

His stare dropped to your hand, more than ready for any excuse to redirect his attention from himself. You rubbed gentle circles into his thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow place. Chan sucked in through his teeth, a fresh wave of embarrassment passing over him when his dick twitched again, as if it was crying out the answer for him.

“My baby’s so shy,” you remarked playfully. “But your body isn't.”

He squirmed between your legs with a sound of pure helplessness, too worked up to handle your teasing properly—not that he ever really handled it well, in the first place. 

“P-please, need you so bad.”

You softened. “I’m here.”

His eyes followed your movements in a glimmer of hope, fixated on your hand like a puppy would with its favorite treat. When you came to brush over his bulge at last, his hips shot forward, pressing into your palm in a way that made your stomach flutter, and his twist with pleasure. He didn’t even have the chance to feel humiliated about it, not when you finally curled your fingers around him like he’d been longing for so intently, so fiercely that even thinking straight had become a challenge for him.

“Is this it?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes. There, please.”

You gave him a squeeze, feeling up the shape of his length through his sweatpants. So hard without a single touch to it, more than ready for you—desperate for you. It made the ache between your own legs take over in full. Restraint slipping, you dipped your fingers below his waistband to tug his sweatpants off. Chan reacted immediately, scrambling to raise himself from the mattress just enough for you to slide them down along with his underwear. You couldn’t even find the patience in you to remove the garments entirely, instead letting them rest halfway down his legs.

Chan’s gaze flickered back to you in the mirror, just in time to catch the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his bare body. Length glistening with precum, pressed and dripping against his stomach. Milky thighs, dotted with delicate moles you could kiss endlessly. But you wanted to leave a different kind of mark on them, today. You ran your hands along his flesh—gentle, pacifying—then dragged your nails back up all at once, raking his skin and leaving a trail of pale lines that quickly deepened in shade. Chan inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against your shoulder, muscles constricting under your fingers.

“Pretty little thing,” you crooned. “You’re unreal.”

There was no time for him to recover—not from the delicious sting on his thighs, not from your doting words—before you took his cock into your hold at last. It sent a ripple of heat all throughout his body, almost enough to make him unravel right then and there.

You gave him a few careful pumps, delighted by the sheer amount of wetness that had dribbled from his tip, allowing you to move with ease. Using your free hand, you nudged his head from your shoulder to direct him back to the mirror. Despite knowing full well that the visual he’d be met with would turn his brain to mush, he obeyed. He would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You’re just like that moon you love so much,” you murmured. “You know that, Channie?”

It pierced through the lust occupying his thoughts, pulling him out from his haze just enough to string together a feeble response. “What—ah. What d’you mean?”

He tried not to let the sight of your fingers, sticky with his arousal, gliding up and down his most intimate spot, twisting and teasing in all the right ways like you knew his body better than he did, distract him from what you said next. If there was anything to focus on, it was you. 

“The moon can only see itself reflected in the water.” You swirled your thumb along his slit, using your other hand to run the pads of your fingers tenderly along his cheek. The combination was enough to make him dizzy. So much love, so much pleasure. He didn’t know how to handle it. He would never know how to handle it. “It doesn’t see its own beauty or light. Just the way it gets distorted by the ripples all around it.”

Before he could even fully process the comparison, Chan’s eyes began to water. This time, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was happiness imbued in those tears. A happiness the both of you still needed adjusting to.

“So, look at yourself clearly, now,” you encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at your reflection when it isn’t broken.”

It may have been too much for him at once; such adoration amidst everything else he was experiencing. The stimulation to every last one of his nerve endings, the bliss consuming his body and mind, robbing him of any coherent thought. But you needed to say it just as much as he needed to hear it. You wanted all the pleasure, all the love he felt in that moment to be associated with himself.

“O-oh, wow,” he choked out. “I…I don’t…”

I don’t deserve this. You could hear it on the tip of his tongue, clear as day. But he was too awestruck to protest, too awestruck to even speak. You felt a tinge of protectiveness—he was so far gone.

“D-dunno what to s-say,” he stammered. You knew it was taking every ounce of his strength not to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to let himself go completely and forget about anything that wasn’t you.

“It’s okay, Channie. You don’t have to say anything. Just look.”

You studied him in the mirror, nearly melting when you noticed him blinking the few, fragile droplets from his eyes—listening diligently to you, clearing his vision from any water that might distort it. He drank in his reflection in full, stiff, uneasy, but relaxing slightly between your legs when you pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“So pretty, every inch of you.” Your hand resumed its stroking, sliding down to the base of his length, cupping him gently. “Even prettier when you’re filling me up.”

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, jerking in your grip. Even with the mirror there to guide him, he struggled to coordinate his hand movements, pawing aimlessly behind him to find some part of you to grab onto, some part of you to anchor himself with. “Please, please. Wanna feel you.”

“I know, baby boy,” you shushed him. “You’re dripping so much. Poor thing.”

You dragged your index finger along the underside of his cock one last time before pulling away with a light flick. Chan barely stopped himself from surging forward, chasing your hand like an instinct. That, coupled with the mewl he let out when he registered the sudden loss of your body heat around him, tugged at your heart just as much as it spiked your adrenaline. You made quick work of removing your clothes, well aware of his eyes, wide as moons, watching you undress through the mirror, waiting for you to return to him. Keen, yearning, but obedient above all else.

He reached for you the instant you settled back in his lap, hovering over your waist for just a second before ultimately latching on, skin on skin, a whole new layer of heat. You took his length back into your grasp, turning your body so that you were both facing your dresser mirror. You could hear Chan’s breathing pick up behind you, feel his chest expanding against your back.

“See that, Channie?” You dragged the head of his dick along your folds, coating it with your own wetness. “Just looking at you gets me like this.”

If all you’d said wasn’t enough, maybe the physical proof of his effects on you would help do the trick. A sweet, desperate vocalization, so rife with need that you could practically taste it, was all he could manage. It morphed into a moan as you sank down on him all at once—loud, absolutely shameless. You would never think it came from the boy who couldn’t even catch a glimpse of himself without being reduced to a flustered wreck. Just as your heat engulfed him, his engulfed you. It came more intensely than ever before, more staggering than even your first time together, bolting through your veins and making you suppress a gasp. You clenched around his cock, relishing in the feeling of him pressed so snugly inside you, as close as physically possible. So comforting in its familiarity, so exhilarating in its return. It was something you could only describe as relief, relief in the warmth, the fullness, the completion you brought to each other.

Chan’s head fell forward with a whimper, chin resting against your shoulder, clinging to you so tightly that it was difficult to move. You weren’t even sure if he was aware of it, a subconscious desire to stay buried inside you, not wanting to lose the security of your walls wrapped around him for even a second.

“Missed you so much,” he slurred into your skin. “W-wanna stay like this forever.”

You reached back to cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, angel. Missed the way you fill me up so perfectly.”

You lifted yourself until just the head of his cock was left pulsing inside you. When you noticed Chan’s blissed out expression in the mirror—eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen against your shoulder, eyebrows knitted together—a golden opportunity presented itself. It took him a second or two to realize that you weren’t sliding back down, another soft plea rumbling in his throat, vibrating into your skin. You gave his scalp an affectionate scratch, prompting him to look. This time, he listened without question, driven solely by the need to feel your wet heat around him again.

“Good boy.” You took him back inside immediately, not keen on being apart for much longer, either. He gritted his teeth as you did, trying his best to keep his gaze leveled with his reflection for you, for your satisfaction, for your approval. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. 

“See how perfect you look when you’re inside me, Channie? See all the pretty faces you make? My pretty baby, feeling so good. Making me feel so good.”

At that, the precious little that had remained of Chan’s composure fizzled out completely. His hands flew up to cover his face, hot with shame, burning with arousal. The filthy sight of him pushing in and out of you, the wet sounds filling his ears, the teasing lilt of your voice. It was all too much. He shoved his nose into his palms, letting out a cute, mortified wail that echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with your breathless giggles. 

Even as you continued riding him, he stayed hidden behind the safety net of his fingers, shyness turned back up to full blast with no signs of disappearing. It only added to the pressure building up inside your abdomen to see him so overwhelmed, each muffled grunt and soft whimper of his spurring you on. Your words from earlier rang truer than ever—he was so weak for you.

You allowed him to stay that way for the sake of his sanity, petting his head with a gentleness that contrasted the steady pace of your bouncing. It wasn’t until you felt his cock begin to jerk inside you that he pulled his hands away from his face with a choked noise, reaching out for you once more.

“Can’t take it—mmph—‘m getting close! ‘M s-sorry!”

His fingers dug deep into your flesh, igniting heat at every point of contact. You basked in the feeling for as long as you could, then halted your movements altogether, pulling off of him in one fell swoop. The loss made both of your bodies cry out in protest. Chan hiccuped pathetically, mouth falling open, confused blinks reflecting in the mirror when your softness, your warmth, escaped him without warning.

He trembled underneath you, tugging at your waist as he tried to get a handle on his voice. With care, you turned in his lap to come face to face with him again, moving slowly enough as not to break his hold on you, not even for a moment.

“Did I…” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”

You brushed your thumb over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate. “No, baby. You’re doing so well for me,” you assured him. “But you wanna finish together, don’t you?”

It was almost funny, in a sense, how the way Chan’s face lit up—how his features flooded with pure delight—made your heart flutter more than anything else. More than any irresistible sound he let out, more than any way he let you use his body to your heart’s content. You were just as captivated, just as endeared, just as hopelessly taken with him as that night in May, walking home alongside him under the moonlight and knowing your fate was sealed.

“Y-yeah, together. Together, please.” He leaned forward, nose finding your neck, taking in your scent. “Can we stay like this? Wanna see you.”

Your hand found his length again, wrapping just tight enough around it to make him jolt. “Hm…you can see me in the mirror though, can’t you?”

“Please,” he repeated, pouty lips brushing against your skin. “Only wanna see you. Need you.”

You relented. Regardless of how badly you wanted to get the message across to him, regardless of how addictive you found the sight of him on display in ways you’d never seen before, you knew he’d just about reached his limit. And, well, maybe you needed him too. Needed to watch him fall apart right before your very eyes, needed to have every bit of your skin pressed against his, needed to kiss him when it all became too much for his foggy mind.

“You’re so cute. I’ve got you, baby.” You tilted his chin up with your free hand, half-lidded doe eyes finding yours. Knowing him, the eye contact wouldn’t last long before he was ducking away again. So, you took advantage of it, realigning him with you and watching his features flood with pleasure as you sank down on him once more. He had to stop himself from bucking up into you, body stiffening with effort, a breathy, grateful moan, nothing short of angelic, slipping past his lips.

“You’ve gotta hold on for a bit, alright?” You gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re close. Can you do that for me, Channie?”

His arms wrapped around you in full, no longer content with just his hands on your waist. “Mhm.” He barely mustered up a nod, pulling himself closer to you in a way that burrowed his cock impossibly deeper inside. “Promise. W-wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna be a good boy for you.”

“My good boy,” you cooed. “See how well you fit inside me? See how good you make me feel?” You clenched around him as you dragged yourself up his length, snapping back down with a delicious speed. “You were made for me.”

“M-made for you,” he agreed, head falling forward to nestle into your chest. “Ah—fuck! You’re so warm. Feels s-so good.”

You dug your nails into his muscles, using your grip on him for leverage as you began working your way up to a pace even more vigorous than before. Immediately, the new angle took a toll on Chan. It allowed the head of his length to rub directly against your sweet spot with each rock of your hips, making the both of you shudder. You could feel his mouth fall open against you to let out an especially sharp cry, nibbling mindlessly at your flesh, matching your rhythm.

“Y-you’re mine, too, right? Gonna stay with me?” he babbled into your skin. “Please, tell me you’ll stay. I’ll be good for you. P-please.”

The coil in your chest twisted just as tight as the one in your abdomen. You knew his thoughts were muddled, ridding him of any filter and making him ramble in the heat of the moment. But you also knew it stemmed from a very real fear, one that you would never feed into again.

“You’re already so good for me, Channie. You’re perfect. My perfect boy,” you spoke as steadily as your erratic movements and shaky breath would allow, ensuring that each reassurance found him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here ‘cause I love you.”

Chan whined, ringing out loud and clear even through the softness of your chest. “Love you. I love you so much.” He nuzzled further into you, strengthening his hold around you, hands pawing at your sides. The words seemed to have opened the floodgates within him, like he’d been waiting to hear them—the catalyst for him to lose himself in you completely. “Love you, love you, love you. ‘M almost th-there.”

This time, there was a short delay before you could bring yourself to stop. You didn’t want to let go of him again, no amount of time would be tolerable enough. So, you stayed perfectly still, indulging selfishly in the feeling of him inside you without snapping the final thread just yet. Chan lifted his head, disoriented, biting down on his bottom lip to fight back a pathetic groan as his climax was denied once more. You could feel his thighs quivering under yours, his arms flexing around you, his cock twitching wildly against your walls. Every bit of his energy was being expended to hold himself together, to endure it however many times you saw fit.

“You’re doing so well, baby boy. Lasting so long for me.” You twirled a lock of his damp curls around your finger, hoping to keep him grounded enough to hang on just a bit more.

“Y-yeah? ‘M doing okay?” He brushed his nose against yours, a silent plea that you understood all too well by now. “Making you feel good?”

“So good, Channie. I’m getting close, too.” You closed the gap between you and him before his wordless request became another whine, taking his swollen lips between yours. They were hot, pillowy, unbelievably wet. You tried your best not to flutter around him, but it was impossible not to when he was humming so eagerly into your mouth, kissing without an ounce of self-control left in his system. His movements were sloppy, uncoordinated, but each messy slide of his lips sent another jolt through your senses. The hug he’d enveloped you in loosened at last, hands wandering obsessively over your body until he found your chest. He paused for a moment, mumbling out something that made drool drip from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmph, c-can I? Wanna touch, please.”

Even now, he was clinging to the last few shreds of his rationality for you, thinking of you above all else when the promise of his climax was dangling right in front of his face. It took the arousal coursing through your veins to a whole new degree, so intensely that you had to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his lips out of raw affection. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured.

Chan cupped the soft flesh in an instant, sighing like he was slipping into a dream. His kisses became near-frantic, so drunk on you that he had trouble staying confined to just your lips, landing on the corner of your mouth, all over your cheeks, pecking and sucking any spot he could. Despite that, his hands were gentle, kneading at your flesh in a delicate back and forth pattern that calmed him and kindled a fresh warmth in your body. He was doing so well for you, trying his absolute best for you. You wanted to give him everything. You wanted to take his heart that he offered up to you so willingly, and give him yours in return.

“Ready to keep going, Channie? Can you take it?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, please,” he breathed. “Gonna do it for you. I’ll do anything.”

“My sweet boy.” You cupped his cheeks, steadying his clumsy kisses, but holding him just close enough to keep him content. He hissed softly as you began moving again, rolling your hips down so that his length grinded against your walls, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you. The heat building between your bodies became much harder to ignore, filling the air around you and seeping into your skin. It was heavy, thick, but it made you feel lighter than ever. Your high was drawing near, and, judging by the way Chan’s hips stuttered with less and less restraint, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer either.

The pads of his fingers dug into your breasts just as he let out a warning moan. “Oh God, ‘m sorry. Please, don’t wanna finish without you. So—ngh—close.”

You grinded down against him, spine tingling when Chan yelped in response, so sharp it almost sounded like he was in pain. “Mm, just a little more, baby boy. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-I…oh, please,” he swallowed hard, eyebrows scrunching together as you dragged yourself all the way up his length, mind-numbingly slow. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll be g-good.”

Your hands traveled up to his hair, tangling in his curls and pulling at them just hard enough to make goosebumps rise at his nape. “Channie listens so well,” you purred. “You were made to please, hm? Good boy, good boy.”

If your honeyed praises weren’t enough to push him alarmingly close to the edge, the way you squeezed around him as you sank back down, wrapping him in your heat all the way to his base surely was. Chan surged forward with a sob, head falling into your shoulder, fingers grasping at you helplessly.

“Your good boy,” he whimpered. “Please, please, ‘m not gonna l-last.”

You cradled the back of his head. “It’s too much, huh angel?” you pouted. “You can let it all out, now.”

“Together?” You could hear the strain in his voice, mere seconds away from losing it completely. “Together—ah—right?”

“Together.”

At that, you gave one last sloppy glide along his length, snapping the tension in both of you at once. Chan cried out, teeth grazing against your shoulder, hips surging up to push as far into you as your bodies would allow. A delicious heat seared through your senses, only amplified by the flood of his release coating your insides, stronger than ever from how long he’d been holding back. You tried to keep your own sounds under control, far more entranced by the ones slipping from his trembling lips. Mewls of your name, slurring out how much he loved you, chanting his gratitude like a mantra as you guided him through your shared high.

Minutes or hours could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have known the difference—you wouldn’t have minded either way. Eventually, the shivers in Chan’s body faded out, his panting evened into softer, more peaceful breaths. When he finally found it in him to pull his head from the comfort of your neck, droplets had begun to form in his eyes again. Not enough to spill down his cheeks quite yet, just enough to glaze his pupils over with happy tears, just enough to make them shine.

Your fingers danced absentmindedly in his hair, serving as a different pleasure from the kind that had just rocked your bodies. “You did so well for me, Channie. I’m proud of you.”

He blinked up at you. Slow, lazy, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re s’ beautiful.”

“Sweet baby,” you murmured. “I hope you think the same when you see yourself.”

Anything he planned to say trailed off when you reached down for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch, but he did his best not to squirm as you pressed kisses to his fingertips, paying extra attention to the fading cut on his thumb. The pain was long gone, now. Still, it made a few glistening tears trickle out delicately. You kissed them away, too.

“You’re still my favorite reflection.”

Shy, barely audible, but spoken with all the sincerity in the world. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a start, at least. Maybe the parts of yourselves that you loved in each other, you could eventually come to love in yourselves.

“Can we—?”

“Stay like this?” you finished for him, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Yeah, we can.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, letting out an exhausted giggle, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. He was glazed with sweat, skin sticky, damp curls pressed to his forehead, but he shone with every ray of light that slipped through your blinds.

The urge to check on him, to fuss over him, to care for him, still nagged at your mind. That was something that would never change. You wanted to clean him up, wash away the soreness and soothe the marks all over his body. But he didn’t need any of that right now. He just needed you. That was it. From day one, it had been as simple as that. You didn’t need to do anything. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed each other. Maybe, you could stay wrapped up in the mess you’d left on each other’s bodies for a while—bask in it, even. 

Chan’s innocent nuzzles inevitably led to another kiss. Soft, but just as hungry for you, just as desperate to stay immersed in this moment. You shifted slightly on his lap, making your heart jump and making him jolt against you. The poorly concealed sound that built up in his throat might’ve made you giggle if you didn’t need him just as much. No more limits. No more restraint. You didn’t have to worry about taking him in moderation.

You wanted each other endlessly. You fell into each other again and again.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

A sudden buzz against your nightstand cut through the tranquil rhythm of breath that filled your bedroom, pulling you from the haze of sleep that had been pricking at your mind’s edges. It was a brief, low vibration, but still loud enough for you to worry that it may wake the boy in your arms. For once, you allowed yourself to be unavailable, not daring to disturb his peace for even a moment to roll over and read the notification. You already had a good idea of who it might be, anyway: Changbin, triple checking what time you’d all be meeting up for jjajangmyeon on Friday. The thought alone made fondness bubble up inside you, lips curling into a private smile. After four years of tardiness, absences, and missed deadlines throughout his academic career, this was the one thing he was determined to be on time for.

Graduation was two days away. You and Changbin’s class ceremony would take place in the early morning, while Chan’s was scheduled for later that same night. Timed seamlessly with the rise of the sun and the moon. The finish line that you’d been terrified of for so long was a mere few steps away, but when viewed up close, it wasn’t quite so daunting anymore. Even if the path you walked next was still unfamiliar, uncarved by anyone before you to clear the way, you knew who you’d be walking it with, and you knew where it would lead you. You’d walk side by side with Chan, towards something better.

His family had flown in from Australia earlier in the week to visit, to attend his ceremony—to celebrate him. An occasion that was just as precious to them even with the bitter memories that surrounded it, even in its delay, even if Chan had spent the past two years of his life convincing himself otherwise. He’d been a nervous wreck before leaving to meet with them when they first arrived, you could see it in every awkward shift of his feet, every subconscious rub of his neck, every unnecessary adjustment of his clothes. However much you’d tried to comfort him beforehand, however many grateful smiles he’d given you, you’d known that there was no real way to ease his apprehension. He hadn’t seen them in person for over a year, and, even prior to that, it’d been two years since he’d had an interaction with them that wasn’t engulfed in shame.

But when he’d returned, he had a smile that almost reached his eyes; hopeful. It hadn’t been perfect, everything wasn’t okay yet, but the seed had at least been planted for it to blossom one day. He’d missed them so much. It made your heart sing and ache at the same time. You only wished that he’d believed he deserved to see them before now—to stand in front of them as the son and brother that they loved, not as the collection of faults and disappointments he saw himself as. 

Though, you supposed you weren’t exactly one to talk. Your family would be coming into the city on the day of your ceremony as well, a very blatant reminder that you had yet to visit your hometown again like you’d promised them over the summer.

You weren’t quite ready to return yet. But just like Chan, you would be, one day. And you would try again. Of all the things you’d come to learn in your time with him, the value of upholding a promise was undoubtedly the most important one. You weren’t going to run. You would try as many times as it took until your home felt like home again, until you remembered all the good times, until the memories laced in every crack and crevice didn’t add to the sting in your skin, but eased it. 

You eyed Chan’s form through the darkness, nestled against you with his head buried in the softness of your chest—sound asleep, for once. 

Your arm was still draped over his waist, lingering at the small of his back where you’d been rubbing as he drifted off. In turn, his muscular arm was wrapped securely around you. Holding each other, protecting each other. An endless cycle of drawing strength from one another without growing any weaker in the process. You could give him everything, and not lose a single drop of yourself.

For the first time, you could hold someone in your arms without that underlying sense of dread spreading its roots in your mind. For the first time, your heart was still. A calm and clear surface of a lake, one that you hoped could reflect Chan’s light in its truest, most unbroken form.

You were no longer held together by a butterfly bandage, an ill-fitted adhesive, forcibly closing your wounds without giving them the chance to heal properly. At last, you were stitched up. Stitched up by the very same thread of fate that had brought you and Chan together. 

You didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same. You could feel his emotions like they were your own, after all.

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #bang chan angst #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!bang chan #sub!skz #stray kids x reader #dom!reader #skz angst #bang chan fanfic #skz fanfic #sub!chan #bang chan x you #skz x you #skz imagines #bang chan imagines

[agendabymooner]

MASTERLIST by agendabymooner

note: what i had done so far... i think?

legends/genre:

a = angst g = general fic hc = hurt/comfort h = humour

s = smut (minors, dni) mc = mature content (minors, dni) f = fluff

ALSO CHECK OUT:

MOONY'S CHARACTER DIRECTORY

MOONY'S FILIPINO CHARACTERS DIRECTORY

alex albon (aa23)

keeper, smau: polly berkshire has obscure interactions with her thirsty boyfriend and it's safe to say that they love each other.

fernando alonso (fa14)

the breakup and makeup series

time to rock and roll, fic: the first time beatrice staedtlander and fernando alonso had broken up. (hc)

heaven, smau: back in 2000s, fernando alonso and beatrice anastasia 'trish' staedtlander were every racing and wrestling fans' couple. years after, trish alonso became a mother and a wife... and the grid's crush of the season. fernando was certainly not happy so what's a better way to remind everyone that he was hers? (f, g, h)

from the ground up, smau: tino and tiago alonso were the twins that trish had given birth to at the age of 40, and everyone understood now why she didn't make it to the 2024 canadian gp. (f)

bonnie and the fame

maneater, smau: bonnie catherine sutton was carlos sainz's ex-girlfriend who returned to the f1 scene as a different woman. turns out, she's fernando alonso's fiancée (f)

ego, smau: never underestimate a woman's self-esteem, it might end up wounding you more than it would her.

jenson button (jb22)

the mr. darcy type, smau: much like the popular love interest, jenson should have known better than to say things that wouldn't impress a woman he grew interested in. OR ada abbott made sure that he worked hard for her time and attention. (f)

affection, blurb: in which, jenson learned that he should just say it without being a little too drunk.

pierre gasly (pg10)

newsflash, smau: ensley soleil doesn’t like playboys. too bad, pierre gasly’s down bad for her (attention and love). (f, g, h)

lowkey, smau: fans thought that pierre moved on from ensley four months after publicly declaring his (love?) for her. funnily enough... (f, g, h)

indigo, chatfic + smau: there's really no reason for pierre gasly to be jealous over some man that ensley wrote 'high school in jakarta' about. not when she wrote one or more songs about the frenchman. (f)

high school in jakarta, fic: meeting ensley’s close friends would also mean that he’d have to meet her high school sweetheart, who he believed he couldn’t compete against until ensley ensured that his two-day attendance wouldn’t be spoiled by some guy who couldn’t let go of some memories she couldn’t even remember. 

dancing with the devil, smau: ensley soleil doesn't care about what people are saying about her relationship with pierre especially now that she's married to him. (f)

do i make you nervous, blurb: lesson learned: just date her first rather than being friendly in the bed.

lewis hamilton (lh44)

stevie and lewis (hearth sister!ofc)

thick and thin, smau + fic: lewis should know better than underestimating her and her capabilities to yearn for him for years. (hc)

where the bad girls are (kpop idol!ofc)

lifted, smau: lewis is married to a kpop idol who happened to be one of the girls to shape the image of female groups in the korean pop community.

melody series (x ofc)

summary: with her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of melody returned to rythme romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. still, a certain formula one driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. felicity vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her. 

one, million dollar man: monaco was a world of glitz and glamour that she left two years ago. returning to the principality clearly was a huge mistake as she found herself talking to the man who swore to nothing but his love for her.

two, this is what makes us girls: "decorum isn't something you can buy with money or fame." or what did lewis really want from her and why did he show up on the second night of her performance?

charles leclerc (cl16)

of long lines and names, fic: five kids with (almost) five names under six years. OR the three pregnancies that charles had witnessed told him how motherhood and memories could come in two sets of twins and a boy that looked so much like him. (f)

the leclerc daycare, fic: before his last set of twins were born, charles had to watch his boys on his own (not exactly by himself when he's got esteban and pierre acting as his right hand men). (f)

lando norris (ln4)

london boy, smau: nicola 'cola' alessandro moved to britain and what's a better way to introduce yourself to england than taking a trip around with a certain mclaren driver? (f, g, h)

i think he knows, smau: grazia nichols published her debut novel based off formula one, and a fan could have sworn that the the book bf - nolan langford - was based off of lando's character as a driver altogether. (f, g, h)

honey, honey smau series (x ofc)

summary: hannah-sue ‘honey’ lewis is so much like her sideman brother with the exception of the fact that she didn’t watch formula one as much as she used to back when she had her crush on mercedes driver michael schumacher in 2010.

introduction

one, who tf is lando norris: she knows who she idolizes (and have a crush on; mason mount), she knows that she’s looking forward to getting the hell out of the university after two years of her masters degree program, and she knows that she doesn’t care about the formula one teams that aren't mercedes amg - she also knows she cares about mick schumacher.

esteban ocon (eo31)

the royal wildcard, smau: the british media's good at getting the juiciest details of gossip from the palace, but much to their dismay, princess albertine spencer followed the footsteps of her brother harry and had done an amazing job at hiding her marriage with a certain alpine driver for three months. (f, g, h)

the royal resemblance, smau: albertine ocon lived to give her estranged family something to talk about because of her physical appearance that could be confused with her mother's ghost. too bad, ditty ocon was born into the world with the same heart attack-inducing features.

sergio perez (sp11)

she's beauty, she's grace, smau: in which carmella ayala perez, the miss universe 2018 winner, tied the knot with checo after their five years of relationship and the birth of their second child.

oscar piastri (op81)

jollibee, madrid and all that romantic fiasco, smau: paloma san pedro is carlos sainz's cousin-in-law who also introduced oscar to his newly found filipino fast food chain addiction. safe to say that he bought a ticket last minute just so he can obsess over her, too.

kimi raikkonen (kr7)

stop the world i wanna get off with you, smau: vera 'coppa' coppola-raikkonen is the only one who can make the iceman talk a lot. she's also the only one who can make the chatty versions of him as their three older children (romania, rooney and johann-lauri) make their presence known to the racing community. (f, g, h)

daniel ricciardo (dr3)

rush series (x måneskin member!ofc)

read your diary, smau: it's 2021 and everyone thinks that lester and daniel are dating. lesson learned: never underestimate a fan's investigation skills. (g)

mamma mia, smau: an interview with jimmy fallon gives a brief idea of how lester and daniel came to be. (g)

mamma mia (again), smau: a youtube playlist was created to compile clips of danny talking way too much about his beloved girlfriend (f)

gossip, smau: everyone thinks lester's only here to be a formula one girlfriend with a bad reputation. it's not her fault she's confident. (mc, hc, h)

kool kids, smau: lester and daniel are going to new york to see a musical... while babysitting their "kid" (feat. lando norris) (g, h)

timezone, fic: lester wasn't normally like this, but she's more than willing to pay twice the price just to get to the next flight to where he wanted her: his arms, her home. (hc)

if not for you, smau: messages exchanged between lester and others as she takes care of the wolff children and an ex with the poorest decisions to have existed. (feat. lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc and characters from a story) (f, g, h)

baby said, smau: many tweets are posted that they don't often mean. their fans thought that his marriage proposal was one of them. (f, g, h)

supermodel, smau: how not to cry when you're talking about the man who'd give you the wedding that you dreamed of? (f, g, h)

rush series: wedding special

london bridge, smau: the alessandro-ricciardo wedding week is nothing of a peaceful week, and the monday only proved that thought right. (feat. f1 drivers) (f, h) - wedding special 1

fergalicious, smau: the grid singles need to touch some grass… or in lando’s case, go swimming. (feat. f1 drivers) (h) - wedding special 2

l'azienda di famiglia (e le donnole dell'isola), smau + fic: the alessandro family arrived and lando and george found themselves alone with two of the sisters. (feat. lando norris and george russell) (f, g) - wedding special 3

rush: mrs. ricciardo special

part of you, smau: mrs. lester ricciardo asks her followers what to get her husband for his 35th birthday. little did danny know, she’s already got one ready to surprise him (f, g)

when emma falls in love, smau: as her pregnancy progressed, lester ricciardo made sure that her sanity wouldn't go the other way as she posted a thread of journal entries talking about her pregnancy. (f, h)

slipping through my fingers, smau: beau ricciardo was his dad's carbon copy and his mom's little heartbreaker.

george russell (gr63)

his family and her lover, smau: eleanora 'nora' alessandro was more than happy for george's willingness to step up as her children's father regardless of how people poorly reacted on their relationship.

carlos sainz jr. (cs55)

ride home, smau: the ferrari driver accidentally outed himself as a married man, so mona magdalena sainz stepped in to say hi to his loyal fans. (f, g, h) (extra)

dear, smau: nobody loved each other more than magda and carlos sainz. OR a series of tweets in which magda and carlos never took each other seriously. (h)

mick schumacher (ms47)

she's everything... and he's just mick, smau: barbara 'barbie' blanco is the vettel family's foster child that gradually turned to kimi vettel's nanny and mick's crush? (f, g)

"besties", smau: everyone swore that mick and barbie are more than "babysitting pardners" (f)

who is kenough, smau: mick nearly took the piss from arthur leclerc after the posts that the monegasque had of barbie. too bad, mick was already hers before arthur could even try.

kenergy unfolded, fic: written version of who is kenough OR arthur leclerc was only scheming just so mick could do something about revealing his relationship with barbie.

lance stroll (ls18)

gotta be you, smau: bora mckinnon made her presence known in the paddock one year after lance broke up with her. now, they're all over the media because of his presence in her three birthday celebrations. the question still stands: are they getting back together?

yuki tsunoda (yt22)

line without a hook, smau: pia ellis misses her mystery bf that everyone thought to be her delusions. it turns out he's a formula one driver who definitely misses her too.

max verstappen (mv1)

to loathe and to love series (x ofc) (wip)

summary: there is a massive difference between the two words, but sylvie was more than willing to blur out the line if it means for her to spend some time with what others called her soulmate, max verstappen.

one, it’s time to go: sylvie attended a christmas party and couldn’t seem to do what she normally did on the paddock: avoid max (a)

two, closure: her memories haunted her so much that the red bull team principal thought of her to be incompetent, so it was only ideal of max to face the music too. (a)

three, goodnight n go: she wasn't sure what was more surprising: toto's presence on her graduation celebration or max's expensive graduation gifts. (f)

four, gorgeous: there's nothing more satisfying than seeing christian horner own up to his own mistake. that, and max's office-warming gift that he dropped off in sylvie's new on-site office.

five, cinema: sylvie was left feeling unsure when she and max did things that friends normally wouldn't do after she was broken up with by another man. (hc, mc, s)

six, satellite: max verstappen might've avoided talking about what they had done before all of this, but he was certain he wouldn't get out of his way just to ignore her as he swore not to her one way or another ever again. (a, hc)

seven, mean: sylvie found herself with a million and a half pounds and winning against the boys who brought her racing career to an early end.

eight, long story short: they're friends, they said. they bought a house and adopted a dog together, they definitely did.

nine, mastermind: max wasn't going to admit that he was jealous. he wasn't going to tell her that he sabotaged her blind date, either. not that she didn't know.

ten, comfort crowd: ah yes, the first monday of may. when everyone speculated that sylvie was merely using him and when she finally admitted to missing him for the past four years.

eleven, matilda: they don't know much, maybe, but they know how they'll raise their children away from the toxicity that they grew up in, all thanks to their fathers who did nothing but set expectations. (hc)

extra: matilda volume two, smau: set years after the tltl series in which sylvie and max have the most adorable set of kids called emilia, lila and maximilian. (f)

to loathe and to love: extras (x ofc)

lost in japan, smau: just two lost souls (with a tour guide) travelling to japan to make up for the childhood they missed. (f)

sebastian vettel (sv5)

crazy rich wife, smau: everyone (some twitter account) wonders where the recently retired german driver had gone to after the 2022 season. thank god for bel vettel, his fans now know that he’s still alive and is being spoiled and pampered by his wife. (f, g)

sweet spoiled husband (+ son), smau: mick schumacher is a grown man that both bel and seb treat like their own child. (f, g)

sweet spoiled schatzi, smau: bel and seb introduce the newest addition to their little family, and mick seems to love kimi vettel as much as a godfather loves his godchild. (f)

sweet little similarities, smau: bel and everyone could tell that kimi vettel was becoming more like his father, sebastian's, carbon copy as days went on. (f, g, h)

sebastian and sons (and soufflés), fic: day in the life of a retired sebastian vettel, featuring his kids kimi and barbie (and a nervous mick). (f)

toto wolff

colour me your colour series (x ofc) (wip)

summary: tilly marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. everyone but one. and it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

one, what a beautiful sight that was: it was 2006 and she wanted nothing but to finish her research paper. their curiosity led them to a fifteen minute conversation that they would need to continue eight years after. (g)

two, tilly marie wants to go to hell: it's 2014 and she attended the british gp as a communication liaison for red bull. she didn't know that the man she met years ago was the team principal of mercedes, the rival team that her best friend drives for. lewis hamilton was more than amused to see her flustered, if you were to ask him. (g)

three, juliet's hit list: how can one give the heart eyes? daniel and lewis found tilly and toto flirting behind the cameras and behind the press audience and decided to mess with them. (g)

four, fast lane but not the race weekend kind: daniel and lewis might as well be attending a sleepover if they keep asking tilly about her relationship with toto. (g)

five, how to romance and cry in the same day: tilly goes on a date with toto for the first time and learns about her father's intention to pass ownership to her. (a, f, g)

six, love on camera: tilly and toto have a bad habit of flirting not so subtly.

seven, age is just a number and love is just a shame: tilly, while she believed her mother was right about the age difference between her and a certain mercedes team principal, is sure that she isn't falling fast and hard for him.

colour me your colour: extras (x ofc)

the paddock's resident it girl, smau: besides from owning three of mercedes' competitors in the track and being the mercedes team principal's wife, she's also known as the cool girl of the paddock for her taste in fashion and husband. (f)

the paddock's lucky husband, smau: with him being spoon-fed with love from his children and wife, toto really couldn't ask for more. OR tilly wolff liked to talk about fashion but her family? she might as well write a whole book about them. (f)

the paddock's resident menace and the dame, smau: tilly wolff was presented with a damehood and her daughter tia, the girl who tends to act on her mischievous way (all thanks to toto), celebrated her 7th birthday during the silverstone gp week. fans recall her best moments in sky sports and media overall.

f1 drivers (general)

9 to 5 series (x characters) (spin-off of cmyc and rush)

summary: lorelei hester ‘lester’ alessandro is a bassist first and daniel ricciardo's partner second. but it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in baku as toto wolff’s children’s babysitter.

the original five and the playlist

one, baby names and text messages: lester receives a text message from an unknown number, only for her to offer max verstappen's seat to her boyfriend.

two, max's lowered iq and linkedin profiles: max tries to defend himself as he experiences the morning wrath of lester.

three, the most toto coded children: toto gets ready for the baku weekend by styling his daughter's hair and thinking that he could just stay at home and talk business with his kids.

four, papa, soren and tia's promise hug: lester's more worried that she'll mess up her duties and upset the father of the two wolff cubs.

five, the little weapons of destruction distraction: the first half of her babysitting day consisted of reading too much, learning the word 'accident' and daniel ricciardo being a bad influence on toto wolff's shy son.

#formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #formula one imagine #formula one smau #formula one x oc #daniel ricciardo imagine #red bull racing imagine #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fic #f1 smau #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #lewis hamilton #fernando alonso imagine #f1 series #f1 instagram au #formula one x reader #formula one series #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc imagine #lewis hamilton imagine #formula one masterlist

[loliwrites]

September: Beast of Burden

part two of fountain of sorrow

⇢ pairing: javier peña x f!reader  ⇢ rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  ⇢ chapter warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], SMUT, oral [m&f receiving], unprotected p in v sex, blink and you’ll miss it anal play, choking, hair pulling, brief cum eating, one single solitary spank, cigarettes [are bad for you], post-sex photos, terms of endearment [querida], female reader, no physical description, protective!javi, no use of y/n. ⇢ word count: 5.0k ⇢ series masterlist ⇢ a/n: javi fully in his slut era. but the slut to girl dad pipeline is impending ❤️

The final month of summer was punctuated by more than Labor Day and fading heat. This year was marked by the bruises of fresh hickeys on your neck and chest, and the scratches you’d carved down Javier’s back. Emphasized by the lazy mornings that followed; all strong black coffee and subdued yearnings for lust that never went unanswered. You had come to learn that the rumors that trickled through The Tack Room about him – the ones that hung heavy and muggy in the air, like the inside of your car, steaming up the windows – were all true. A good time guy. Hung like a horse. Insatiable. The best goddamn lay ever.

Truthfully, you hadn’t had the wherewithal to pay much attention to the rumors before sleeping with him. There wasn’t the time to. In a world consumed with a day job that led into a weekend job and virtually single handedly raising a child, you weren’t afforded to pay too close attention to the local gossip about the playboy man-child. It seemed every other woman in town was talking about it enough for the whole lot. And though you were certainly hearing of the whispers at The Tack Room, it still didn’t dawn on you to pay close attention. Javier Peña, despite being the son of a cherished and valued member of Laredo, didn’t have the same distinction. He’d come back into town like a hurricane, whipping up the wind and rain, leaving broken windows and hearts in his path. And hell, a guy willing to fill the early hours of your weekend mornings and not take up any of your other already limited free time, was welcome. Especially the guy who was giving you the orgasms all these other women were reminiscing about. 

“I haven’t seen him. He keeps giving me excuses. Working on his dad’s ranch or something.”

The last bit of gossip you needed before clocking out that Friday night. A little dagger you could take and sink in between Javier’s ribs. Twist and turn, nicking arteries on the way. See, Javier could have any woman he so much breathed in the direction of. The line stretching through town seemed unending, all trying to get a glimpse of his attention. A glimmer of love for the night. What these women didn’t know, and why you only pursed your lips and smiled to yourself, was you knew why they weren’t hearing from him anymore. It hadn’t been intentional. There wasn’t some grand plan to get him off the market. In fact, there generally wasn’t too much meaningful conversation. But he spent most days of the week working in the sun, doing hard manual labor that was a far cry from his previous life in the DEA (not that he ever spoke about it to you), and his Friday night, Saturdays, and Sundays had been spent balls deep in you, knocking your head into the headboard. At least for the last month it had been.

You pushed through the heavy metal back door of The Tack Room and slung your purse over your shoulder. Hooking a left outside the door, the first thing you saw was the orange glow of his cigarette. The smoke wafted upward, curling around his nose and cheeks, obscuring the rest of his head like a shroud for the dead. He was leaned back against the brick wall in a relaxed posture. If only the women inside knew the man they were fawning over was just a handful of yards away from them. Better than that, you knew he had been for nearly an hour. While there wasn’t any intention in keeping him to yourself, you felt it important to know he was wrapped around your finger. And for him to know it, too. 

“Thought you were quitting,” you smirked, plucking the cigarette out from between his fingers. You brought it up to your lips for a puff. When he stepped closer, you blew the smoke out in his direction.

“You too,” he snatched it back and set it back between his lips. “Also thought you said you were off at eleven.”

You didn’t need to look at a clock to know you were an hour late. Wrapped around your finger. “I like things that are bad for me. And I thought I was,”

Turning for your car, you heard his boots clicking on the pavement behind you. Always in tow. You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was taking one last, long puff from the cigarette, holding onto the smoke and nicotine; one last hit of this drug before moving onto the next. He threw it to the ground in front of him and smothered it out with his boot on his next step forward. He stood close behind you, waiting for you to unlock the car door. You turned on your heels once you pulled it open. Not much could be said for Javier’s virtues but once he had something, or rather someone, he wanted in his sights, his patience was unwavering.

He slung his forearm over the top of your car door. A slanted smirk crossing over his lips, eyes glinting in the moonlight. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know the smug thoughts going through his head. For as much as you had him wrapped around your finger, he knew you were wrapped around his too. Not too many women turned down Javier fucking Peña.

“I’m exhausted so you better make it quick tonight,” you cocked your head to the side, giving your best attempt at disinterest, knowing it wasn’t very convincing.

The smirk on his face broadened, fully aware of your blatant lie. If he’d learned anything over the past month, it was that you were never too tired for him. Never told him no in four weeks. He raised his hand and caressed your chin between his thumb and index finger, “sure, querida.” Those deft fingers stroked down to its point before dropping back to his waist.

Well, shit. You were no better than all those other women in the bar. Reminiscing about his touch, knowing they’d melt with the gentlest of acts. The warmth that spread through your stomach, inching down to your most inner parts was a testament to that. Another unconvincing glare in his direction was the last thing you did before you ducked into your car. He shut the door behind you and took a step back when you all but peeled out of the parking lot, in a race back to your home. But he waited until you were out of sight before he reached into his back pocket, grabbed his carton of cigarettes, and pulled a new one from it. Took his time lighting the damn thing before he spun and made back for his car. If only you’d known the lengths he was going to, to make you wait.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

As much as you figured Javi was ruining other men for you, you knew you were ruining other women for him. However long this lasted (his reputation was evidence enough that this wasn’t someone meant for long term monogamy), you were taking up as much of his free time as he was taking up yours. Cocooned in this false sense of security. Bathed in a rush of dopamine and oxytocin. The last five weekends had all gone pretty much the same. Only a little variation in the order of events… positions… the absolute filth Javi whispered in your ear.

“You like having this tight, little pussy filled up, huh?”

“Look at me when you come,”

“Can you feel it, querida? My cock all the way up here,”

That last one was paired with his large hand wrapping around your stomach, fingers pressing in just below your belly button. What was even more astonishing was that yes, you could.

The nights always started with some form of pleasure for you. Long makeout sessions that had once been lost to adolescence were renewed with fervor. Lingering touches over the expanse of your body. Heavy handed things that ensured you felt the weight of his fingers long after they’d moved on. Along with the rumors of his exploits here in Laredo, there’d also been rumblings of what he’d gotten up to in Colombia. Not the nature or details of his job. But the details of his… extracurricular activities. And every night you found yourself in bed with Javi, those rumors started to sound more and more plausible.

And after the makeout sessions, Javi always oh so willingly dragged his mouth lower; lips giving attention to the skin his fingers had previously been responsible for. Never had to ask. Never had to convince him. He’d work down your body until he got to the apex of your thighs which had already spread to accommodate him. Hook those arms around your legs. Clutch those hands around your hips. And without fail – every single time – he’d take a long, deep inhale through his nose before his mouth set forth. First with his tongue broad and flat to your clit, rolling over it to warm you up (as if you needed it) before he gently closed his lips around it. He never questioned it. Never searched your eyes for reassurance that he was doing it to your satisfaction. He knew he was. Probably perfecting the move for the past fifteen plus years. If there was ever any anxiety about whether or not he was doing it well, that all vanquished by the time he migrated down further, to your entrance, lips and tongue working together to keep you on edge. The squeaks and moans that left your lungs didn’t leave anything up for debate. Worse, more than once, you noted the smug smirk he wore when he heard the noises from you. Face buried deep between your legs, tongue lapping and probing for entrance, and that fucking smirk was still obvious.

Like every man, he wasn’t one to turn down a blowjob. His eyes always seemed to light up when you started to inch your way down to his manhood. Eyes affixed to each of your movements. The way you started with soft kisses to the head of his cock. Always followed up by the tracing of the crown with your tongue before you let your lips kiss down his shaft. You were willing to take this slow – far slower than he probably would’ve preferred – but given the sheer amount of women he’d been with, his stamina was something else entirely. Raising a child didn’t exactly allow you the time or opportunity to get your stamina to the same level. But he never rushed you. Never pushed on the back of your head and forced you to stay with him down your throat. His hands were always present somewhere. Brushing your hair away from your face so he had a better view of the way his cock filled your mouth. Holding your hair in a ponytail to help set a rhythm whenever you started to veer off the path. Cupped beneath your chin, praising you. Look at you, champ. That mouth feels amazing, querida.

Going down on you was a standard occurrence. Whether or not he did it until you climaxed depended on the night. Most nights he was happy to stay there as long as he needed. Sometimes it was all that happened. Over and over again until your body couldn’t take anymore. Until your hand shot down and pressed back on the top of his head, trying to get some reprieve. Sometimes you couldn’t wait for him to be inside you, and though you appreciated his dedication, had to beg him to give you what you needed. It was something you’d learned quickly about Javier: with enough begging with the right amount of eyelash batting and pouting, you could get him to do just about anything you wanted. 

He was always slow with you to start. Never pressing too far too quickly. Always giving you the time to adjust to him; the cocky bastard knew genetics had heartily endowed him. Perhaps he did it just to get you to beg more. To fill you up. Harder. Deeper. And when he teased (or tortured) you enough and sunk fully into you, you always strained your ears for the sigh he released. It didn’t matter what position he had you in. There was always a steady exhale of pure contentment. A longing to remain just where he was, nestled deep in your heat. But he always managed to rile himself out of it. To get himself back on task. And only then would he allow himself to get lost in ecstasy. Tenderness wasn’t something you’d say was in Javi’s repertoire. Perhaps gentleness was reserved for someone else. He was there with one objective in mind: you get you both off. And if nothing else, Javier was very efficient at it.

On this night, like the others, he was quick hands and lips, and the pace he set once he was inside you made you really reconsider taking up a religion. You were face down on the bed, chest making contact with the mattress too. The only thing held up was your ass, thanks to Javier’s arm. Wrapped tightly around your hips to keep you up at an angle conducive for the debauchery he was committing. His other hand groped your fleshy backside, tugging and squeezing each time your anatomy fluttered around his length.

“Javi,” you whined breathlessly. Sweat beaded at your hairline, matting the strands to your face, making you feel even warmer.

He smiled to himself, thankful you weren’t in a position to see it. Normally that expression on him resulted in your hands flying at him to slap it off. “Yeah, querida,”

“You’re so good,”

“I know,” he grinned even harder to himself. And when that response had you pushing up on your arms to snap your gaze back to him, he released your ass and pushed your head back down to the mattress. Another smile passed over his lips; this one holding space for much more fondness. For he could get you, full of spice and vigor, to submit to him so easily. Willingly. “So good for me, querida. Get your hands back here, let me see how good you are.”

Without a moment of contemplation you reached back, more pressure on your chest and cheek as your hands went to obey him. Fingers latched onto your ass, replacing where his had just been, and you tugged softly to yourself, giving Javi the view he wanted. Unobstructed to watch his cock slide in and out of you, each thrust coating him a little bit more in your arousal and stretching you out. With his length filling one hole he set his thumb at the other. You choked on your breath at the feeling. Though he added no real pressure to push the digit in, there was just enough force that let you know he could. 

“Javi, m’gonna…”

You were being hauled up to your knees before you could catch your bearings. One moment you’re face down on the mattress and the next you were pulled up, your back pressed tightly to his chest. Your head tilted back and rested on his shoulders. Javier wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you down on him while the other snaked up over your breasts until his fingers found purchase around your throat. He squeezed tightly, smirking at the noise you let out.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna come already,” he mocked, leaning in closer to nibble on your jaw. Knowing you were too blissed out to answer, he snapped his hips forward with a particularly hard thrust, “just like the way I fill you up, huh?”

Nodding wildly, digging your nails into his forearm around your waist was all you could manage for a moment before, “love it.”

He growled in your ear. “Yeah? Show me. Show me how much you love my cock,” he kept his pace steady despite his own breaths getting more labored. He wouldn’t be long behind you. “Come all over me, querida. Let me feel it,”

The command became your ultimate undoing. Your body shivered, tensed, and a cry tore through your throat. The muscles in your core squeezed and released his shaft in perfect rhythm, though it didn’t slow him at all. He fucked you through the orgasm that overtook you until you crumbled out of his arms and back to the bed. Javier followed you down, never fully slipping out of you before you were pinned between him and the bed. Each thrust forced a little more of your release out until you could feel the wetness it left behind each time your skin met his again.

“Javi,” you moaned with pure lust.

One of his hands planted on the bed beside you to give him enough space and leverage to keep up his ministrations, while the other went to the back of your head and grabbed a fistful of hair. He tugged your head back, catching the sexed out sight of you. Jaw slack, skin tacky with sweat. He almost lost it there without warning. Choked out a groan and furrowed his eyebrows as he held on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he spat. His game plan was to pull out and come over your ass. But then the feeling of your hand gripping into his hip, clutching into him and tugging to keep him forward on you, let him know you had other plans.

“Inside,” you gasped, pressing backward to keep your core as far down on his length as possible. “I want it inside,”

The muscles in his stomach and chest flexed. He bowed his head, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,”

It was just one more snap forward. One last squeeze of your muscles to make the fit even tighter. He didn’t even have time to stick to his game plan even if he’d been so inclined. He buried himself as deep as he possibly could, coming inside you with an animalistic groan. Stuttered thrusts shot his load and then pumped it further into you. A bite landed on your neck as he finished, his length throbbing inside you, laying heavy. Still. The rest of his body laid heavy on you, too. Weight nearly suffocating on top of you, blocking out the rest of the world that wasn’t the feel of him and the scent of sex.

“Peña. Off,”

“Give me a goddamn second,” he huffed. There was no real anger or annoyance in his tone. Just the playful animosity for the use of his last name.

“I can’t breathe,”

“Got enough air to speak,” he exhaled. But he was quick to rouse when you clenched your core around his shaft, “okay, okay.” He backed himself up and looked down to watch as he pulled his length out of you, taking some of your shared release with him.

A whimper floated past your lips when he was completely unsheathed. The emptiness felt nearly unbearable. As if he could read your mind, he brought a hand to your center; nimble fingers collected the come that had leaked out of your spent hole. Then his middle and ring fingers pushed forward, spearing you yet again. Your legs shifted open to accommodate them. Another moan resulted from him curling the digits inside you, inching his come back inside you.

But his fingers left your gaping hole just as quickly as they’d entered it. And your eyes only opened from their comfortable rest when you felt his wet fingers on your lips. He was leaning over you again, eyes fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to obey him. You both knew you would. Keeping your gaze on him, you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his long, thick fingers. Tongue danced over them, licking away the come he’d collected. But he couldn’t let tenderness win, and instead of removing his fingers once you’d swallowed his offering, he pushed his fingers to the back of your mouth until you gagged on them.

You yanked on his wrist until he relented and pulled his fingers out of your mouth. “You’re an ass,”

He laughed and pushed himself off the bed. With a brief search, he located his boxer briefs and picked them up off the floor. But there was a pause. A moment where he just stood by the bed and stared at the form of your body. Stretched out on your stomach, laid out on display like some real-life work of art. But then you turned your head and spotted him, and all he could do was clear his throat and smack his hand down on your ass. “Best pussy I’ve had in awhile,”

You rolled your eyes and turned over just in time for him to throw his underwear at you before he left the room. Now left alone, with Javier walking naked through your home, you slid his underwear up your legs and settled the waistband around your hips. And as clothed as you were willing to get for now, you reached over for the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. Produced from it, the Polaroid camera.

Javier was already heading back down the hallway to your bedroom by the time you lifted the camera up and peered through the viewfinder. He had no time to conceal himself before you snapped the photo the moment he passed through the threshold. One hand held a glass of water up to his mouth. The other arm hung at his side. His manhood swinging between his legs. The photo printed and you set the camera aside. A disgruntled groan clued you in to the fact that he wasn’t particularly pleased you were taking another photo of him, but he no longer truly voiced his displeasure with it like he had the first time. For as much as the routine of your sex escapades became commonplace to you. This had become commonplace to him. Every single night you’d been together had resulted in you snapping at least one photo of him. Sometimes more, if you were lucky. Before sex, after sex… during sex. The collection you’d started of Javier Peña, DEA, would be something legends were made of.

He came back to bed and flopped down beside you, handing the glass of water over. You exchanged it for the new photo of him and took a sip of water while he admired the photo of himself. Never short on ego.

“What do you do with these?” He used the advantage of you having turned onto your side to set the glass on the nightstand to sidle up behind you. With his chest pressed tightly to your back, he held the photo out in front of you until you took it from him.

“I’m creating a mural in the women’s bathroom at The Tack Room,” then looking over your shoulder and offering him a wink, “the many faces of Javier Peña.”

“Don’t think anyone’s looking at my face,” his hold on your hip tightened.

You looked back at the photo – this one unfortunately had most of his face obscured by the glass of water. Feeling his teeth at the soft skin on your neck, you reached forward and tugged the nightstand drawer open again, “I am.”

He lifted his head again, but finding you’d already averted your gaze, followed the outstretch of your arm to where it dug through the drawer. It didn’t take long for you to find what you were looking for. It was placed in a spot all of its own; not mixed into the ever-growing pile of salacious portraits of him. “This one’s my favorite,” you rotated on your back and held the picture up so you could both gaze upon it.

You knew he’d question it. Going through the rolodex in your mind, you could pinpoint a handful of other pictures where he was objectively more handsome or more mysterious looking. Could think of any number where his manhood looked larger. Because this photo? It was simple. You’d left the room to retrieve the camera from your purse and had come back to him in this state. Snapped the picture before he could protest (like usual). And it was just so real.

Javi laid back on your bed, naked. A sheen of sweat over his face, neck, chest… hair skewed and wild. His member laid back against his stomach, no longer at its fully hard length, and he had one hand limply cupped over his balls. His other hand was splayed on his chest, fingers outstretched. Just prior to snapping the photo, you had noticed how he seemed zoned out. His eyes, unblinking and unfocused, staring off at nothing. Whatever he was seeing was no longer physically in front of him. You’d managed to get the photo in the same moment he looked up at you. His eyes, while now focused, were still heavy. Eyes that you had only ever seen as ravenously lust-filled, or overtly enigmatic, had given up their act. Forgotten they weren’t alone and had fallen to their true state. 

“M’not even smilin’ in that one,”

“S’why I like it,” you glanced over at him for the quickest of acknowledgement before returning your attention back to the photo. You ran your fingertip over the photographed version of his face, “your eyes look sad.” He traded in answering for pursing his lips together and you twisted over again to set the photo back in its rightful place. 

When you turned back, Javi was already getting out of bed. Done with his dutiful minutes of what could hardly be called cuddling, and was yet again looking for more of his clothes. You sat up too, familiar with this part of your dance. Rather impersonal sex, followed by rather impersonal and lackluster aftercare, completed by the awkwardness of him leaving though you knew you’d see him tomorrow night for the same song and dance.

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked, gaining confidence when he instantly looked at you, “if I ask you a question, can you answer me honestly?” He nodded, waited just a second before he snatched his jeans off the floor and worked them up his legs. The whole act caught you flustered. Those tight jeans worked up his thick thighs, over the swell of his ass. And the way they cradled his bulge… it had you salivating. “What’d you do for the DEA in South America?”

Javi sucked in a deep breath through his nose and held it. He wondered how much you’d overheard his dad share at different points… or how much his dad had blatantly told you. He adjusted himself in his jeans and then rested that hand on his hip. “Chased Pablo Escobar,”

It was a name you’d heard in the news here and there in mentions of the war on drugs. But all things considered, Pablo Escobar seemed like a character from fairy tales. His name, while known, held no bearing in Laredo.

“Did you catch him?”

“No,”

“Then why’d you come home?”

Javi ignored the question and bent back down to pick his shirt up off the floor. “That’s more than one question,”

“Then answer one more for me,” you cocked your head to the side. He flicked his eyes back to you. “Are you fucking me for information?”

He cocked his head to match yours, “do you have information?”

“No,”

“Then no, I’m not.” He slid his shirt over his hand. Eyebrows furrowed when he looked back at you, “what’d you hear?”

“Surprisingly not the moans of every prostitute in Colombia,” you snickered, though Javi looked less than impressed.

He shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth. “Look, every woman wants to know what I do– what I did for work, and truth is, it doesn’t matter. Not to this. And whatever you think you’ve heard,” he rounded the bed with shoes in hand and came up upon your side, making you feel smaller than you ever had before. “I paid those women for information, not for sex. The money was always exchanged afterward,”

“That doesn’t matter,”

“It does if you’re a prostitute,” he sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled to put his shoes on. 

You crawled up behind him and wrapped your arms over his shoulders. Buried your face in his neck and gave him soft kisses there. “I’m just trying to get to know you. You know, since you’re at my house every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night; the nights my kid’s conveniently with her grandmother, and you’re fucking me three ways to Sunday, so I just thought…”

“Well don’t,” he looked over his shoulder. The coldness of his gaze had you inching back off him. “Don’t complicate this by bringing up DEA stuff. I’m enjoying sleeping with you. I think you’re enjoying it, too. And I’d like to continue enjoying it with you instead of the other women in town… fuckin’ insufferable.”

“That’s not nice,” you tried to hide your grin. The other women were… rough. All hoping to get dicked down by the infamous Javier Peña but lacked all real substance.

“You think we can keep doing this without talking about Colombia?”

You nodded, relenting. He had his walls up. Tall, strong, and fortified. You figured they’d never been let down for anyone. Or worse… they had and it had gone terribly wrong. Javi pulled you out of your thoughts with a peck to your lips. Very noncommittal, and stood up from the bed, heading for your door.

“What time are you off tomorrow?”

Your eyes followed him, still reeling, “eleven.”

“Actually eleven, or are you lyin’ to me again?”

“Actually eleven,”

Satisfied, he turned his back to you and headed off down the hallway. You’d follow after him in a couple minutes, long after he was gone, to lock your front door again. But right now, he walked down the hallway alone, “see you tomorrow, querida.”

#javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena angst #javier pena fluff #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier pena fic #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Clawdia Koopa

Debut: Super Mario Bros.

If you’ve ever tried to take a closer look at the Mario series lore, you’ll realize one thing… it is not very consistent! Mario games are filled with little discrepancies, and of course, plenty of obscure and forgotten characters were practically retconned by the series! And of these, who has suffered a worse fate than Clawdia Koopa?

If you were a gaming fan during the 80s and 90s, you will surely remember Clawdia Koopa, the beloved and female wife of the fearsome King Koopa! She may not have shown up much, but her impact on the Mario world was felt everywhere!

Who could forget making it all the way to the end of the NES game, squaring off against the frightening Bowser himself… only to find out, he was even more scared of his wife than you were of him! As the king of the Koopas cowers before his nagging old ball & chain, Mario, who is in no committed relationship, is able to jump over their heads and grab the ax, sending them both plummeting into lava!

Though their relationship may have had a rocky start, it seems the two were still able to settle down and start a family. Just take a look at this letter Bowser sends you in Super Mario Bros. 3!

Yup, this game introduced the Koopalings, and as Nintendo made very clear, Clawdia was their mother! Not only did the game manual reiterate this fact, it also included some pretty detailed pictures of Clawdia in labor, giving birth to each of the seven! They’re a bit too graphic to reproduce here, but it’s awesome they went that far to flesh out the worldbuilding!

So, if Bowser was married, why did he keep kidnapping Princess Peach? Maybe their marriage wasn’t actually going that great? You see, if you were to 100% Super Mario World twice over, you would actually get to see a secret message written by Bowser:

It’s pretty heavy stuff, and Nintendo hid this message for only the most dedicated of Mario fans! And sure enough, things would only go downhill from here… In Hotel Mario, Bowser would build seven Koopa Hotels just to stay away from his wife, and Clawdia hasn’t been seen in any games since… All the fans who never got this message were pretty confused, wondering where Clawdia Koopa had gone… and they were even more confused with the release of Super Mario Sunshine!

This game introduced Bowser Jr., and he was supposed to be Bowser’s new child! Not only were the Koopalings not mentioned at all, but Clawdia was nowhere to be found, either! Instead, Bowser Jr. kept referring to Peach as his ‘mama’, but she turns out to not be his mother either! What’s going on? If Clawdia and Bowser really did get divorced, then where did Bowser Jr. come from?

Things got even worse when Shigeru Miyamoto was interviewed in 2012, saying “Our current story is that the seven Koopalings are not Bowser's children. Bowser's only child is Bowser Jr., and we do not know who the mother is.” When asked about Clawdia Koopa, Miyamoto ended the interview abruptly. So what’s going on here? Is there some sort of conspiracy to cover up Clawdia Koopa? Who would benefit from this, and why?

Well, it turns out the real culprit may have been right in front of us all along! Bowser actually DID remarry, and the mother of Bowser Jr. is none other than Miyamoto himself! After becoming Bowser’s wife, Miyamoto became jealous of Bowser’s ex-wife, suspecting he still had feelings for her. So Miyamoto went and changed the official story, acting like the Koopalings were never Bowser’s kids to begin with! It was quite a petty move on his part, but since Mario canon is in his hands, there was nothing we could do to stop him…

Clawdia may be gone, but I won’t let this revisionist view of history take place! Most Mario fans today have never even heard of Clawdia Koopa, and that’s sad… But I’m not afraid to say her name! This International Women’s Day, I will be changing my full legal name to Clawdia Koopa in her memory, and I hope anyone who stands with me will do the same! After all, if we let Miyamoto get away with this, who knows what he will do next? He might even try to sully the name of Morton Koopa Sr.!

#mario #mario entities #clawdia koopa #mod f boy #april fools

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter II : Prometheus

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Blood and gore; Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse; Description of injury; Angst; Possessive behavior

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 6.7K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II : PROMETHEUS

What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us?

-Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

As the days turned to weeks turned to months since that moment in the dark with the Mandalorian, there had been a steadily rising thrum of tumultuous, frenzied energy coiling within you. A ball of hissing, ravenous snakes ready to strike at any moment. Desire turned to want turned to a demand that you were ill equipped to deal with – emotionally and mentally.

You’d had many things in your life that you’d wanted but had not been able to have, and yet that did not mean that you’d ever been good at not getting them. Impulse control, a staying hand, were not things the Maker had blessed you with. 

You’d met an old Ugnaught female with a penchant for loving spotchka and Sabacc a little too much. More than she’d ever enjoyed keeping steady work or following the rules or anything else really. You and she had some things in common when it came to that pesky little issue of impulse control. After a brief acquaintanceship, she’d put you on to a group that met sometimes on Nevarro to… support each other… or better yet, to sit around and discuss your issues and vices together in some pseudo imitation of self improvement – the art of staying one’s hand, or whatever you wanted to call it – and if it was not with much success, it was with intention, which you thought was, in the end, just as significant. She said she found the meetings understanding or companionable or something you pretended to tell yourself you didn’t care about. 

And sometimes you went. 

If for nothing else, to feel as if there were at least a few people in the entire galaxy who knew your name, who knew you were alive, who knew you were alone. You sat there amongst the old and weathered humans and the other ragtag team of varying organics and even the occasional droid, and listened to their stories and their losses and their fear during the reign of the Empire – their struggle, their fight, their apathy now, to survive, to stay afloat in the bleak imperial aftermath. 

One such survivor with a nasty love for Spice, needled you the worst. His face was haggard, tired, and there was something so forlorn about him, something that sent a sudden flash of fear through you. Is that what I will be one day? Is that what I already am? I am a person, you think wearily, aren’t I? His voice was tough and ragged, as if he’d gone out into the lava fields and swallowed a chunk of ashen rock to fill his belly, savaging his throat in the process, grating your ears and your nerves.

“Nothing really feels better than when I’m drinking a bottle of spotchka, Spice humming through my veins, watching the sunset. My worries, my fears… they don’t weigh as heavily on my shoulders. And what else is there to do? This is easy. I am good at this. It is a simple thing, even if I must forsake all the rest. And I am tired. I want peace.”

You could understand this. 

What else had there been to do under the subjugation of a darker and more powerful force than you could have ever been? You had been young and alone and terrified. In possession of a power beyond your understanding. You had been enslaved, trapped, abused, and then, for a moment, on a precipice. One which you’d taken a leap off of at the first chance. Now though, you were tired, and you too, wanted peace. Even if you weren’t entirely sure if you still believed in the concept. Once, it had seemed easy to lay down and take it, do as you were told. Until it wasn’t, or… until there had been the opportunity for something different. When the Sith lords were crumbling into obscurity and failure one by one, until only you and your master remained. A singular darkness in the galaxy. A lone chance, a step too far, to run had been all you’d needed. A flash of beskar in your mind – screaming, the snuffing of a silver flame –  you blink the nightmare, memory, away, be honest with yourself, eyes pressed together tightly, spiky lashes crinkling between your lids.

And you, girl? What about you? What do you have to tell?

Me? Nothing. Nothing to tell – nothing you’d not burn me for.

Or the truth: it was discovered that I could wield the Force when I was a young child. I was hunted, my parents were slaughtered, and I was stolen. Turned and enfolded into their cult. I never had a chance. I never had a choice. I am trying to find my choices again. 

The Jedi, the Sith, the Empire, they all fell a long time ago. I need to let the past die, but I will not die with it. So, you do not share that which would get you killed. You could very well be taken for an Imperial remnant and hunted, executed. No matter that you’d been just as powerless, despite everything, just as tortured, just as subjugated as anyone else, in all the ways that really counted. Despite everything – sometimes this great power counted for very little.

They had wanted to make you a God, but a God muzzled, a God restrained. 

God struck, God swept, God nonsensical. 

Your dreams are always strange and violent now – nightmares of a terrible past coalescing with hopes of a better future. How to reconcile that hideous thing you had been once before with the better thing you were trying to be now? Too difficult to conceptualize. No matter how many times you listened to your strange group of fellow survivors and vice-havers – a funny thing for what would they say, do, to you, if they knew that unlike their spotchka or Spice addictions, your predilection was of a darker nature – to kill, to maim, to destroy?

You leave Nevarro for a time, after that realization. That no matter how much you might ingratiate yourself, no matter the connections you may pretend to make, there is still that, there is still the truth of you. 

The second time you meet him, you are where you should not be. 

You’d come to Corellia. Filled with a sick and twisted sort of glee that you could roll around in the worst underbelly of the galaxy and survive, hold your own. It was an exercise in restraint and brawn and arrogance, too, perhaps. The crime syndicates running untethered, spice trade, and the harsh reality of industrial life made for a cesspool of the worst sort of cretins. 

In some ways, it was exciting for you, and you knew you were looking for something. Something to whet your appetite, quench your thirst, fill the void. 

After all, it had been two months, what felt like millenia, since that dark storage alcove where he’d imprinted himself in you. Weeks of having the ghost of him haunt you, the memory of his rough voice whispering phantom-like in your ear, seeing him in your dreams, your nightmares. Desperate interludes in whatever cold and lonely bed you’d claimed for the night, your fingers rubbing frantically at your slippery, swollen clit, trying to chase that feeling he’d pulled out of you and failing. Mandalorian, Mandalorian, Mandalorian. And then, one late night, when you’re on the trail of one such lead towards self destruction, masqueraded as a good time, there, around the corner, in the distance – like a wound of beskar looming in the night – it’s your Mandalorian. 

You pause your skulking, stepping back to wrap yourself in the shadows, away from prying eyes. You take him in. Fucking tall and broad, outlined in pale flickering silver. He’s arguing with a young Corellian, sticking his finger in the male's face threateningly, other hand hovering menacingly over his blaster, and you can’t help but snicker. Surly beast, that he is. There is a large part of you that does not want him to see you, who had hoped you’d never again come across him, and then a quieter, but infinitely harder part of you to ignore…

The helmet snaps towards you suddenly, as if sensing your attention, cocks to the side –  very much like some predatory animal casting sights on its next meal – his next bounty. You don’t need further warning, you spin on your heel and start in the opposite direction. Heart knocking on the walls of your chest to be let out, let me out, let me out, I want to go with him, cunt going tight and wet, ridiculous, desperate.

A chant that sings: again, again, again, chase me again. Catch me again. I don't know you, but I missed you anyway. I remember you, and I want you. 

That dark, red thread snaps taut again, humming with the song of your fates. You already know how this is going to end. How you want it to end.

You always know how everything is going to end. 

You pick up your pace, trying to confuse him with your turnarounds, sliding through the alleys and archways and scurrying around corners quickly, and then on one particularly slippery turn, there he is. An impenetrable wall of beskar that you’re slamming into, jarring your brain within your skull, shaking your heart in the cage of your ribs, jostling an impish little giggle out of you. 

A pause to catch your breath, he’d cut around and surprised you somehow, “Mandalorian.”

“Brat.” You laugh, his voice is still the same. The depth of it, not a figment of your imagination. 

“Fancy meeting you here. On holiday?” You croon, dragging a single, provoking finger across his chest plate, stepping closer to him, pressing up on your tiptoes to grin up at him. You listen to his huff of vexation through the modulator. Oh, don’t pretend, shiny. I know you love this too. 

“What are you doing here? Corellia isn’t safe.” Stern, stern tone. If you’d let him huff and puff at you, you’re sure he would. 

You roll your eyes at him, as if anything on this planet could do any real harm to the likes of you. “Oh, don’t I know it. I’ve caused the greatest trouble while I’ve been here. It’s been terrible fun.”

He shakes his head down at you disapprovingly, one hand propped on his hip like he’s gearing up to chastise you, readying that menacing finger to shake at you too. You shimmy up against him some more, pressing your breasts up against his chest plate, and you listen to a whisper soft groan vibrate through that impenetrable mask. Not so impenetrable as to keep you out, though, so it seems. You tuck the tips of both hands into the top edge of his breast plate to pull your own face up towards his, and even then, he still has to crook his neck down to look at you. He doesn’t buckle, not even a little bit, under the weight of you trying to hang off of him. You feel one of his hands come up to cup the sharp edge of your elbow, and even through the thick fabric of your dark tunic and the leather of his gloves, his touch feels like fire, like the Force. Stronger than anything else in the whole universe. For some reason, you can feel that deep well of power within you stir at the sight of him, at his touch, like a swirling pool of magma, waiting to rise up and spill out unencumbered. You feel on edge, stretched thin and held together only by frayed seams. 

“Did you miss me, Mandalorian?” He tugs you slightly further into the shadow of the building’s side looking up and around the two of you for one moment, oh, yes, yes, yes, again, again, making sure your surroundings are clear. 

“You like to be chased,” he says back.

“I like to be caught.” 

“By me.”

“By you.” Truth.

“Only me.” It seems he’s finally learned to flirt.

You step up onto his big boot with the tip of one small foot, really trying to climb him in earnest now, bringing yourself up even closer to him, and he wraps his other hand around your waist beneath your cloak, the tips of his long fingers splayed over the top swell of your ass to press your pelvis into his. You bury your nose into the folds of his cape around his throat, breathing in the warm, masculine scent of him, hooking an arm around the back of his neck. You want to kiss him.

“Last time, you said, maybe next time. Is that now?” You breathe into that dark space beneath his helmet’s edge.

You listen to his soft groan, the two of you pulling each other in even closer, trying to meld yourselves to each other, liquid metal’s mixing, beskar melted and writhing amidst fire and flame, and as you’re about to beg him to find another dark alcove for the two of you, you sense them at the same time that his helmet snaps up and to the side, right as they’re descending upon the shadows where you’re hidden, too late to block their blaster fire as they open upon the two of you without any sort of protection to shield yourselves with. Your reaction time is delayed blocking their attack, distracted by him, by his touch, and too long since you’ve openly and freely wielded your power, and he spins, suddenly, huge frame hunching over your smaller one to protect you from the onslaught, to shield you. You hear the bolts of plasma make contact with the beskar over his back, and then his harsh, pained groan as they meet the unprotected places between the gaps in his armor. You spot the Corellian he was arguing with before, over his shoulder. 

A savage growl rips from his throat as his knees buckle, and you wrap one arm around his strong waist, trying to hold him up as he struggles to remain upright. He’s been hit badly in the side, you feel the hot seep of his blood spill. You raise your other hand over his shoulder then, a furious seeping coil starting to move through your body. 

“You’re hit,” you whisper up at him. One of his hands claws at your shoulder, he’s so heavy, while the other braces against the wall behind you, trying to remain upright. 

“My blaster,” he snarls, “Take my blaster. Run.”

“It’s alright,” you say calmly, even though you feel anything but. You can feel his life force literally seeping out of him, and you’re hit, square in the face, with the realization of how truly strong he is. He is so potent, so alive, that his presence in the Force is almost a physical thing despite his lack of powers. The Force lives through us all, and he is powerful, all in his own right, purely for the vitality of him. 

He is strong and good, and that seeping coil turns into a ravenous howl.

There is a group of five organics of varying species surrounding the two of you, frozen by that lifted hand of yours. It closes into a fist, and three of them fall instantly dead, minds pulverized under the force of your power. The edges of your vision go slightly dark. 

“It’s going to be alright,” you say gently to him again. His hand on your shoulder is twisting painfully into your clothes, your joint straining beneath his strength, and he shakes you sharply, trying to push you away. “Fucking go. Why aren’t you moving?” One of his knees buckles, his voice wavers. He’s bleeding out so fast. You grip him beneath his elbows and start to slowly help him lower to the ground. One of his knees suddenly gives out, cracking harshly against the hard ground beneath. “What are you doing?” There’s a flavor of desperation infusing his tone. As if he’s worried for you. As if he is worried for you. “There are too many of them, and I’m–” His voice cuts off with a choked snarl of agony. He’s hurt, he’s hurt. You need to move quickly, or he’s going to die. 

“It’ll be alright, Mandalorian. Wait here. I’ll be right back for you.” He says something more, something growled that sounds suspiciously like, fucking hate it when you say Mandalorian like that, can’t kriffing do as you’re told, but your attention is no longer on him. You step in front of him, blocking the sight of his fallen form from the two remaining, soon to be dead, males. You cast a wide net of the Force around the four of you. Besides the three dead bodies, there is nothing else awake and lurking in the shadows for about a two kilometer radius. Lovely. 

The Corellian is obviously the leader. You look towards the other first, a big, ugly Trandoshan, and as you set your sights on him, you release him from his paralysis, giving him a moment to get his bearings and reach for his blaster. He scrambles to pull it from its holster and fires directly at you. And at your once again raised hand, the beam of plasma freezes mid air in a thrumming, angry screech of red magma. You listen to the Trandoshan’s horrified gasp, watch his eyes go wide and terrified through your splayed fingers, “You’re–”

“Yes. I am.” You send the blaster beam back in his direction with a slight flick of your wrist, piercing him directly through the throat, and leaving a wide, smoking hole of charred flesh clean through its ugly neck. The body falls to the damp street with a harsh thud.

“And you?” You turn toward the Corellian. “Were you his bounty?” His eyes are frenzied, manic, terrified, “Ah, Sith got your tongue?” The acrid scent of urine permeates the air, and you let out a barking little chirp of a laugh. You can feel the Mandalorian fading behind you, struggling to stay alert. No time to play with your food. There is a part of you, small or large, you can’t tell now, in the haze of the Force overwhelming you after not having used it like this in so long, that is worried that this is a step in the wrong direction. You haven’t killed in a long time – not since that last one. No – don’t think of it. Not now. Not with him here. And perhaps, this is a step in the wrong direction, a step backwards, but there’s really no choice. They’ve hurt him. 

You have no choice other than this. 

You reach for your lightsaber strapped into a holster low on your thigh, an inconspicuous place where you can hide it in the dark folds of your clothes. You’ve not wielded one since your escape, since that last time. Your heart beats painfully in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s more of a blood hungry sort of excitement or out of fear for him, lying wounded behind you. 

-

“No… I’m just kidding.” A girlish little giggle, “I’m not a Sith anymore. Don’t worry. If I were still that, I’d draw this out. Make you suffer for a very, very long time for hurting him.” You pull something from your person then, and the night is filled with the crackling hissing sound of an igniting lightsaber. He’s never seen one in person before – only heard of them in stories. The dark street illuminated with the bright light of a violet colored plasma cross guard that sputters and wavers furiously, unstable, like the sound of metal being clawed to shreds. Despite the protection of his helmet, Din squeezes his eyes shut for an instant, afraid that the bright light would blind him, sear his retinas from their sockets. 

You are a burning effigy washed in the violet light of righteous fury as you stalk slowly towards his, soon to be dead, bounty. Din has no power, but if he did, he is certain that he would be able to feel your presence in the Force as surely as he feels the blaster hole in his flank. Even powerless, he’s sure he can feel the humming waves of your strength brushing up against his armor clad form. 

“She’s never been wet before.” Your voice is inexplicably lovely, soft and lilting. It had been the first thing he’d noticed about you, after those hypnotizing eyes that had terrified him for the intensity of feeling they conveyed, the two warring colors, one lighter than the other, one cast in perpetual darkness and the other so vibrantly bright it almost glows. The way they’d enthralled him, forced him to go after you that night on Nevarro, if only so that he could look into them one more time. “You’ll be my first blood with this – I made her just recently…” You say casually, lifting the lightsaber up to appreciate it between the two of them. The Corellian is frozen still, and Din assumes that you’re holding him so. You’d killed all the rest without so much as a blink. You’d stopped the fucking blaster bolt mid air. Din has never witnessed such a thing in his entire life. He thinks, for a brief moment, that perhaps, he should be frightened, or worried. He’s bleeding out, he’s dying, prone on the ground and vulnerable, and this girl is of a capacity he’s never encountered thus far in all his travels through the galaxy. 

But he is not.

For some reason, the Mandalorian is not afraid. 

“Pretty, no?” You croon at the Corellian, and if Din was of a sound mind, and not currently delirious from blood loss, he’s sure he’d not have felt that twinge of ridiculous jealousy twist through his gut at hearing you give that soft voice to another male. You twirl the blade so fast he scarcely catches it, then lets your wrist fall, the angry buzzing tip of plasma touches the ground so it screeches and hisses. You seem to deflate for a second, arms hanging limply at your sides, and shake your head at him. “You hurt him,” you say so softly he has to strain to hear through the haze of blood loss. He’s fading. He does not want to leave you alone. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

You should not have to face this alone.

Another lightning fast twist of your wrist, the violet beam an arc of pure light through the night’s dark air, and then: “He’s mine.”

You slice the Corellian diagonally from hip to shoulder. Din does not think the creature even has a moment to realize what’s been done to him before the two halves of its body are sliding clean and wet against each other and crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. 

When you turn back to look down upon him, your eyes are filled with so much fear and hurt and desolation, and Din must close his own eyes to shutter himself away from the terrible sight of your pain. He never wants to see that look in you again. 

You seem to be a complicated amalgamation of a woman. At once strange and mercurial and violent. Wholly unreachable, unknowable. And then at the next moment: frightened, tender, soft. With a vulnerability that brings every protective, fighting instinct out in Din. Everything that makes him a Mandalorian. Everything that he holds so dearly within his Creed, you call to, after only one meeting in the dark. To protect you, to care for you, to venerate you. And the shroud of loneliness, the air of other that surrounds you, as if you’d never known the soft touch of a caring hand, the loving embrace of a mother – calls to the very same things within Din’s own soul. The same things he’d never had but always wanted. They were the same, and yet, so vastly different. Existing on two separate ends of the galaxy's spectrum. Creatures meant to be enemies, perhaps, to kill each other. And yet here he found himself, prostrate and bleeding on the ground as you defended his life. Entirely at you mercy.

And now you’ve saved him.

His eyes flutter shut once again, consciousness winking away. 

-

He’s as heavy as a star blasted bantha, and you feel that your bones will surely crack and crumble to dust beneath the weight of him leaning over your shoulder while you try to get him coherent enough to move his legs and walk. While at the same time, as inconspicuously as possible, trying to use the Force to support him on his other side, a tendril of power applying pressure to the ragged, bleeding hole in his side without drawing too much attention to yourselves. And then, also, of course, with the added strain of tugging the two separate halves of his bounty behind you, wrapped in some discarded tarp you’d found because even bleeding out and two paces away from dropping dead he’d still had the wherewithal for a muttered, don’t leave my bounty. If you roll your eyes at him any harder they’d surely fall right out of your skull. 

You are a small human, and he is a big, big man. Who is currently providing absolutely no help. 

“Kriffing come on, Mandalorian. You’ve got to help me out here. You’re heavier than a fucking rancor covered in all this metal.”

You see him shake his head out of the corner of your eye, trying to stir himself into coherence, “How did you do that?” He slurs.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you whine, drawing out the vowel at the end and ignoring his question. 

You hear a small huff of air pass through the modulator, “You’re just too– too small.” His words are too slow, his voice too weak. You try and propel the two of you forwards faster. 

“Psshh, don’t provoke me, or I’ll drop you.”

“How’d you– you do that? T– Too small…” A pained, savage snarl as he stumbles. You exert more of the Force to prop him up. Fuck it, if someone notices the two of you, you’ll just kill them. What’s one more after you’d just gone and done away with five in one fell swoop after months and months of nothing – of peace?

You’re sure your mind, and that disgustingly soft heart that’s been trying to force its way to life inside of your chest recently, will make you pay for this later. 

“I’m a wizard,” you deadpan. You’re sweating beneath your heavy layers, slightly dizzy from exerting so much power so quickly. You’re beginning to think that going completely cold bantha steak and cutting yourself off from the Force had been a mistake. You feel wrung out and stretched thin and weak. 

“No– not, little one,” he stutters.

“That’s it. I’m dropping you.” But you clutch your arm tighter around his waist, pressing your cheek up against the space between his shoulder pauldron and the edge of his chest plate. You can feel the sweltering heat from his skin steaming through the heavy material of his underweave. 

“Are not.” You can hear the wet gasps of his panting breath under the helmet, and the sleeve of the arm you have wrapped around his waist feels soaked through with his blood. You don’t know how he’s still conscious and making the best attempt he can to walk after all this. 

“Maker, what do you eat, beskar for breakfast also? Just tell me where your damn ship is before more of those mudscuffers find us.”

“Landing bay seven,” And you thread your fingers through the hand of the arm he’s got slung over your shoulders, tightly. You have to move faster. You have to make him be okay. But despite your anxiety and desire to rush, the two of you make your way slowly through the Corellian alleyways. Him, struggling to remain upright, you, trying desperately to not make your invisible strength entirely obvious. 

And you fail to notice the slithery little Twi’lek, watching the two of you from the shadows, completely unaware that she will await your return to Corellia for a long, long time to come. 

-

Dragging his heavy ass in through the open hatch of his, believe it or not,  piece of shit pre Imperial gun ship, with a grumbled, nice hunk of junk, that all he’d been able to counter with was a defensive hiss, as your arms were about to snap off under his weight, feels like a singular sort of victory after what the two of you had just gone through. His feet stumbling over one another, he’s just on this side of consciousness when you finally make it within the safety of his ship. He melts into a crashing heap of beskar on the durasteel floor, and you finally let go of the disgusting weight of the dead Corellian, as you move quickly to shut yourselves inside, engaging the security system and motion sensors, lest someone else decide to catch the two of you unawares. Spinning quickly back towards him to start ripping the beskar plates off his chest to get to his injury. You quickly realize that the armor is held together by complex magnetics hidden beneath each piece and swiftly disengage those over his chest and abdomen. He’s got on a thickly woven underweave beneath the underplates, and you make quick work of unfastening the closures on that, as well, but when you’ve reached the last layer of his clothing, a thin, dark undershirt, you pause. The material is warm and soft and worn, something you’re sure he must don all the time and meticulously maintain and care for, like all the other pieces of the intricate uniform of his Creed. A Creed which you’re not certain you’d be breaking by looking upon the uncovered skin of his chest and abdomen. But he’s dying, you think, and you have to save him, and you can feel the physical and intangible manifestations of that slow crawl towards death in the spill of his hot blood on your hands, slowly drooling onto the metal floor, as well as the slow seep of his life force out into the ether. He’s dying, and you have to save him. 

You push the last layer, keeping him covered from your eyes, up his chest. The blaster wound is a ragged mess of blood and charred flesh, to his right flank. The trajectory positioned high in the upper quadrant of his abdomen so that you’re fairly certain it must have nicked his liver. You probe gently at the wound inside with a tendril of the Force, and your panic ricochets up to a shrill crescendo within you – yes, he’s hit badly, a laceration to the uppermost corner of the organ. You move to stand quickly, sweating and stumbling in your panic towards the compartments along the walls of the hull, ripping open drawers and cabinets until you come across his med kit. There are bacta injections, hard to come by, but of course he’s well supplied – you can only imagine the collection of injuries he must have gathered throughout his travels, and patches inside, and you return to kneel at his side, knees cracking painfully against the cold, hard floor as you fall next to him. Hands shaking, vision slightly blurry, you pop the cap off of the syringe, and try and take deep steadying breaths as you pull down the neck of his shirt to get at the uppermost part of his shoulder. When you press the aggressive looking needle into his skin he jerks, and the sound of the helmet rolling against the floor has your eyes shooting up to his face, “It’s okay,” you try and soothe. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to fix this.” You press down on the plunger slowly, watching the bacta slowly make its way from the glass barrel into his arm. He gives a low groan of pain as the thick substance enters his muscle. Please, please, work. Please, you have to be okay. You pause for a second once the injection is done, watching the shallow, quick hiccups of his breath, the rapid dip of his abdomen, as if he’s struggling to continue the act, in pain. Fuck. You rip open one of the bacta patches and carefully place it over the gaping wound, reaching for two more after that to make sure the entire large circumference of the hole in his side is covered, and then go still. His breathing is still rapid and shallow, almost gasping, and you take in, for the first time, the entire vision of his naked chest and abdomen. Thick, strong waist, tapering down into slim hips, smeared in the dark vermillion of his blood, you watch the shifting of his abdominal muscles beneath his smooth, golden brown skin. You’d pushed his shirt high up on his chest, but you grip the edge to pull it down a little lower, making sure he’s only as uncovered as necessary. You’re not entirely sure how quickly the bacta should work – why isn’t he waking up, why isn’t he saying anything, why isn’t his breathing normalizing?

“Mandalorian,” you whisper, and the helmet shifts the tiniest bit towards the sound of your voice, the fingers of his left hand twitch and curl inwards. You place your other hand low on his belly, the edge of his shirt still gripped in your hand and scoot closer to him, your bent knees pressed into his hip. “Please–” you whisper and you realize your cheeks are wet, tears making a slow stream down your face. Your voice breaks, “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You don’t know why you’re apologizing, but you know that this is your fault. You distracted him, led him on that ridiculous chase. He’d have captured his bounty and been safely on his way if it weren’t for you. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” Not again, please, I can’t have done this again. You let your head hang forward, your torso bending slightly so that your forehead is pressed into his hip as you let your desperate and pathetically terrified tears fall. This is your fault. One more terrible thing come at your hands.

If you could only – don’t even think it, you do not possess the capacity for that sort of goodness – but the hopeless thought worms its way into your mind anyway, if you could only heal him with the Force. But you’d never possessed that sort of ability, only the strongest of Force users could wield their power for healing, and despite the fact that you can still feel the deep well of your power churning in your veins right now, after your brutal display on the streets of Corellia, you know that such a thing is beyond your capability. Such an act only possible to those with great aptitude for light wielding or those dark siders who were willing to pay a great and terrible price, that of stealing vitality from another being to enact such a power.

And you hate yourself more in this moment than all the others. You wish desperately, painfully that you could be a different sort of person, a different sort of monster. That you could be good. That you possessed the ability to do good with this Force that roils through your veins, and that should have helped you, but had only ever truly hurt you. 

What is the point of this great power within you, you think, if you cannot wield it in this most necessary of moments? In this instance when, more than any other, you wish you had the strength of the Force to heal him. With your head still pressed to his hip and your hands still on his chest and belly you open your eyes to watch your tears roll over his tan skin. I’m sorry, you think again, I wish you had never come across me. You watch the slow journey of your tears as they slide across his hip and drip silently down onto the floor of the hull, mixing with the dark crimson of his spilled blood. 

You’ve never been one for much faith in any sort of higher power, too many times in your life when you’d wished for something greater than you to come and save you gone unanswered, but you pray to the Maker in this moment that the Mandalorian survive this, please, please, he is good, please, let him survive this. Your eyes flutter closed, you feel the sweep of your lashes against his warm skin, and you pray to the Force and the Maker and any other entity out there in the vast, unending galaxy that a creature such as this, one who is strong and valiant and good, not be felled by an association with the likes of you. And as you think, please, just this one thing, just this one time, I’ll never ask for anything else ever again if you only save him now, you feel that space deep within you, where the very nectar of the Force lives in your soul, shift and churn, and it is as if one of the very building blocks of the core material that makes you what you are, slides out of that place and slots itself into him. Plugging away at the gaping, life threatening wound and mending his torn flesh and healing that which had been savaged. You feel the very fibers of him stitch themselves back together at that outpouring of yourself into his own body, and he has a piece of you now, even if he is unaware, even if, perhaps, he would not want it, you’ve given yourself to him in a way you’ve not ever done with anyone else before. Slotted yourself within him and plugged his wound away to heal him. 

You feel your body sag into his, all strength suddenly leaving you, but you force your muscles into movement and push yourself up off of him so that you can look up at his helmet covered face. His breathing suddenly stutters, and you freeze, your heart screaming in panic, but then he takes one long, deep breath, the wings of his rib cage flaring wide, and the rhythm returns to a slow, measured cadence. You take in the expanse of his strong abdomen, muscled, but also slightly soft around his belly button, the tantalizing trail of hair that disappears into his trousers. There are old scars and rough patches of poorly mended skin scattered across him, but his skin is also still soft and smooth and warm. His body is a weapon all on its own, battle hardened and made strong and resilient out of a necessity for survival, and beautiful. Above all else, he is beautiful. His long limbs are splayed wide on the durasteel floor. His cape is tangled around his throat and shoulders, and you move to pull the trapped folds from around his neck, giving him more freedom to breathe deeply. You tug the fabric down to spread out at his side so that you can lay on top of it. Your head is spinning now, your heart beating so fast you feel the rebounding rush of your blood in your eardrums. You’ve overexerted yourself, drawn too much power too quickly. Head spinning, vision going slightly dark at the edges, you feel a sharp, piercing pain behind your left eye, and your arms give out as you let yourself curl into a ball at his side, tucked into the crook of his underarm beneath his splayed limb. Right before you lose consciousness, you remember to pull his shirt down the rest of the way. He should be covered when he awakens, you don’t want him to worry that you’d violated him in any way, looked at his face or seen more of him than was absolutely necessary. He should feel reassured. You do not want him to be worried or afraid. 

When consciousness finally winks away, like a singular dying star in the vastness of space, your fingers are still twisted in his shirt over his belly.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new fics!

#TCC fic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #din djarin smut #din djarin angst #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian smut

[yuriiofthevalley]

basic info

♡ . my name's yuri but you can also call me himmel or law. i really like all three of these names so you can use them interchangeably (if you'd prefer to use one over the other that's fine too) (yuri is what i personally prefer)

♡ . i was born and raised a 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩GIRL👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 and my pronouns are mainly she/her but i don't mind they .

♡ . i am the lesbian of all time ever. female same sex attraction began with me. i'm also on the ace spectrum and heavily demi + idemromantic

♡ . i'm west african and i really like my hair

♡ . if friedrich nietzsche and franz kafka and fyodor dostoyevsky had a child it would be me

interests & content

♡ . i am a huge fan of jojo's bizarre adventure,, madoka magica,, tbhk,, shadows house,, castlevania & so on

♡ . i play games a lot and my favorite game series of all time ever is the tales of series (i've only played two installments). i have a sideblog (@talesfairy111) dedicated to posting about tales of arise & berseria so you should totally follow me on there if you're into either of the games 🙈

♡ . i also play genshin. my NA UID is 621347121 and my EU is 717069979

♡ . i LOVE classical music i think it is so amazing to listen to and just such an experience. i don't have a fave composer right now as i mainly just listen to whatever sticks out to me

♡ . i like girls a lot and if you're a girl i think you should follow me and we can be mutuals

♡ . i also really like hearts (shocker) and pretty things // making things pretty

♡ . myself . i think it would've been really funny to leave this at one word but i need it to be known i am very deeply obsessed with myself and you will see proof of that very often

♡ . my less prominent interests are philosophy,, psychology,, astrology & astronomy. i'd like to learn more about these topics one day

♡ . i'm also a big fan of the obscure // unknown and anything ethereal. sometimes i like to pretend i exist only in nameless concept

dni

♡ . basic dni criteria

♡ . i don't have a lot to say here actually. if you're a weirdo i will just laugh in your face and move on

♡ . if you're a man i'm not exactly going to chase you away but there really isn't anything here for you so

♡ . i mostly have nothing against religion but if you're a super dedicated follower of an organized religion or actively post about it there isn't anything here for you either

♡ . there isn't a super strict age limit so feel free to interact regardless of how old you are. i'm a lot more willing to be mutuals and possibly friends if you're 17 to 20 though

♡ . previously @hearts444wren & @m00nlitzen1th

ending note

♡ . i might include my socials once i have something other than pinterest (yuriofthevalley). my tiktok is a mess so i will probably make a new one once i feel interest in that app again

♡ . it was really nice talking about myself. i should've written this sooner

#intro post #blog intro #reblog heavy #jojo's bizarre adventure #classical music #madoka magica #castlevania #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #shadows house #tales of #tales of series #tales #tales of arise #tales of berseria #2005 #this is what makes us girls #girlblogging #this is a girlblog #just girly things #just girly thoughts #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #mutuals

[the-great-british-blorbo-off]

Welcome to The Great British Blorbo Off!!!

Rules:

-Characters have to canonically be from the UK.

-If the UK doesn't exist in their world or it isn't explicitly mentioned, but they are clearly meant to be British or have some kind of British accent, I will likely include them too (e.g characters from the Xenoblade Chronicles series).

-Characters from Britain-adjacent places are likely to be accepted too (e.g places like Galar in Pokémon Sword and Shield).

-I don't want to write out a long list of banned media, as I think we all know the usual suspects by now. Feel free to ask if you're not entirely sure about your submission.

-No real people, and no fictional characters based on real people.

-Submit as many characters as you like! However, please don't spam the same one over and over again.

-This is all meant to be a bit of fun, so please don't send any hate or nasty jokes to anyone for their submissions or propaganda.

Submissions will be open until I get as many as I think I'll be able to work with. They could be open for days, weeks or months, so don't miss out and get submitting! Have fun, and if you have any questions, don't be afraid to send an ask :)

Some of my favourite tournaments that inspired me to make this:

(Let me know if you want to be untagged)

@swordswomanshowdown @top-fictional-unhinged-women @bizarre-blorbo-bracket @best-female-villain-tournament @animalcrossingshowdown

#polls #tournament #tournament poll #tournament bracket #uk

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It's Better This Way | Part Two

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Carwood Lipton x Enlisted!Female Reader

They say time heals all wounds, but your love for Carwood Lipton simply lies dormant until fate brings you together again under very different circumstances.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Pining For A Married Man, Alcohol Consumption, Language, Discussion of Divorce, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [fingering, hand job, unprotected vaginal sex, pull out method] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. This applies not only to the existence of female paratroopers but Carwood Lipton's personal life. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5242

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‘Go home to your wife, sir, it’s better this way.’ Your harsh words echoed through your mind as you blindly navigated your way through the dark streets of Buchloe, unshed tears obscuring your vision.

Thankfully, you knew the way back to your platoon’s billet, managing to make it inside and hand off tomorrow’s orders to Sergeant Martin before retreating to the room you shared with another female paratrooper, Norma, and having a good cry on her shoulder. She easily believed it was related to what the Battalion had witnessed that day and you submitted yourself to her mothering, too emotionally spent to protest as she found you some tea and tucked you into bed.

That day marked the last time Lipton tried to break through your defences, giving you a wide berth for the rest of the war. That is not to say you did not catch his gaze from time to time nor feel his eyes lingering on you when he thought you unaware. For your part, you put in a more concerted effort to behave as people expected, hoping to quash any concerns about your wellbeing. To keep the attention of the likes of Winters and Speirs on more important things like the occupation, the Japanese surrender, everyone’s return to the States.

The gaping wound in your chest faded to a dull ache, your friendship with Norma blossomed, and the pair of you ultimately decided to make a go of it in New York City after the war. The likelihood of two ex-service women, one with a facial scar, getting jobs in your respective hometowns was slim to none, and so you had found an affordable apartment to share in the big city before going on the hunt for work. Norma had found employment immediately at a department store while it had taken you quite some time to secure a position at a bank across from the docks, run by a man who seemed unfazed by both your gender and the mark on your face.

It was not long before Norma had found herself a beau, who quickly became her fiancé, and then her husband. Every man that you met had the misfortune of being compared to the spectre of Carwood Lipton and never had a chance of fully measuring up. You chose instead to focus your efforts on your career, securing several promotions and a nicer apartment of your own, leaving Norma and her husband to their newly wedded bliss. You stayed in touch with a lot of the guys from Easy, of course, exchanging letters with Luz and Randleman frequently. By the time 1947 rolled around, the location of the second reunion of the 101st Airborne was chosen as the very city in which you lived and so began Luz’s campaign to convince you to attend.

You finally relented in June, if only to stop the overwhelming volume of postcards he was sending your way, but as you stood outside the New Yorker Hotel that Friday in August, you still found yourself utterly unsure. Though you’d been back in the country for less than two years, Europe felt like another lifetime. You’d forced yourself to move on, to become another person, if only for the sake of surviving the rest of your days without Lipton. Shaking your head with a sigh, you turned to go, running smack into the chest of some innocent bystander on the sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry!” You gasped out at the same time as his hands gripped your elbows to steady you.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Lipton apologized and your eyes shot to his face to see him swallow in surprise.

In his defence he’d probably never once seen you wearing a dress as you were now, your hair styled, a touch of makeup on. An entirely different person to the one he would have recognized from the Airborne, while he stood there in his civilian suit looking every bit as handsome as he had in his Class A uniform.

“Liu–Lipton.” You corrected yourself quickly, watching a small smile pull at his mouth as he politely released your arms.

“It’s good to see you.” He glanced between you and the hotel before inclining his head curiously. “Not going in?”

“I, uh,” You looked over your shoulder before shaking your head as you turned back to him. “I don’t think so, no.”

His mouth pulled into a straight line, signalling his disappointment, but he made no verbal comment on it. “Need a cab?” He moved toward the curb, and you stepped forward quickly to stop him, shaking your head again.

“I live just a few blocks from here, I could use the walk. Thank you though.” You pressed your lips together as your fondness for him swelled to life beneath your sternum, reawakened by his presence.

“I’ll escort you then.” He insisted stubbornly and stood expectantly, waiting for your direction.

“You don’t have to, I’m sure you want to get inside…” You protested meekly, utterly out of character.

He raised an eyebrow. “I insist. Are we going left, or right?”

You pointed to your left and he nodded, turning to walk that way with you. You made your way together in silence for nearly a block, neither of your seeming to have any idea what to say after all this time. After the last time you had truly spoken to one another in Buchloe. Unable to stand the oppressive weight of the awkward silence between you a moment longer, you took a breath and turned to him as you waited for the walk light at the next corner.

“What’ve you been up to since you got back?”

“I’m working on that degree I put on hold.” He answered easily, arm hovering above your back protectively as a man darted behind you before dashing out across traffic, clearly in a hurry somewhere. “You?” He asked once you started walking again.

“Got a job, an apartment. The whole civilian life business.” You shrugged.

“All in New York City, very impressive.” He smiled softly and you looked to your feet quickly lest your eyes betray the way that melted your heart.

“Norma’s here too, working at Macy’s, got herself a husband.” You came to a stop after several blocks, standing in front of your building. “This is me.”

He looked up, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “You weren’t kidding when you said you live close by.”

“Yeah. Thanks again for walking me over, you ok to find your way back?”

The sound of a rowdy group of men spilling out from the bar across the street pulled his attention before looked back to you. “Could you bear to have one drink with me?”

“Bear it…” You repeated in disbelief, the gaping hole he’d left in your chest raw and aching once more. “Of course I can.” You swallowed roughly, willfully ignoring that pain beneath your ribs.

His smile grew a fraction, and he offered his arm, watching you carefully slide your forearm into the crook of his elbow before he led you across the street and into the busy establishment. The only open seats were at the very edge of the u-shaped counter, crammed into a corner, and he confidently weaved his way through the other patrons to help you onto one open stool before taking the other. You tucked your handbag against the wall with a huff of annoyance and he cocked his head.

“There are not many things I miss about being a paratrooper, but having a pocket for everything is certainly one of them.” You smirked a little as he laughed warmly, gesturing the bartender over.

“What would you like?” He turned to you to order first and then ordered a beer for himself. “So where do you work?” He leaned in to be sure you could hear him over the din of conversation.

“At a bank down by the docks, customers don’t seem to be put off by me, my boss is a stand-up guy.” You replied, nodding your thanks as your beverages arrived.

He nodded warmly, lifting his glass to take a sip. The movement caught your eye as you enjoyed the first taste of your own drink, gaze falling onto the bare ring finger on his left hand. Inhaling sharply, the burn of alcohol in your trachea set you coughing, and you quickly put down your glass lest you spill it all over yourself. Lipton looked to you quickly in concern before following your eyeline, holding up his left hand thoughtfully.

“Paperwork was finalized a few months ago.” He muttered once you calmed your spasming throat.

Guilt flooded you even though there had been no real transgression on your part aside from one half-accidental kiss in Germany. You looked at him with unmasked sorrow and shook your head, frowning as he set his hand over yours where it rested on the countertop.

“I’m a different person now and so is she, please don’t carry my burdens too.” He said gently, squeezing your hand in his.

“Lip I’m so sorry…” You uttered the well-worn phrase of sympathy, uncertain of what else you could possibly say.

“What about you? Anyone special in your life?” He asked as he lifted his hand from yours, reaching for his glass to take another sip.

You shook your head quickly “Hasn’t really been time, or worthwhile candidates.” You replied, taking a generous sip of your drink.

“Hmm.” He uttered noncommittally before glancing at his beer appreciatively. “It sure is nice to be back where they know how to serve one of these.”

You laughed softly. “Not a fan of tepid beer, Lipton?” You teased, leaning against the counter a little to turn and look at him better.

He wrinkled his nose a little and shook his head, making you laugh again. The pair of you began to reminisce then, reminding one another of funny moments you had shared, trading stories about the training you had endured separately. All the while the bar became more and more crowded, forcing you to lean closer together just to hear each other. You ordered another round as he seemed inclined to linger and you most certainly could not say no to more time basking in his presence. You had nearly finished your second drinks when he looked at you intently.

“You’ve never met a man you could spend the rest of your life with?” His knee brushed against yours as he turned closer to you on his stool.

“Not since I got home from Europe, no.” Your answer was careful, keeping it strictly truthful, hoping not to incriminate yourself.

“And before that?” He probed persistently and you pressed your lips together, looking at him meaningfully.

“I don’t know if you want the answer to that, Carwood.” You responded at last, fingers gripping your drink tighter as his eyes snapped to yours at the use of his preferred name.

“No, I really think I do.” He pinned you with a firm look and you took the final gulp of your drink, letting it sear its way down to your stomach.

“I did yeah, but the timing was all wrong.”

“And what about now?” He wet his lips with an almost-invisible flick of his tongue, but your eyes could not help but follow the movement.

“What about now, Carwood?” You challenged breathlessly.

“Keep using my name and it’s absolutely perfect.” He replied earnestly, leaning closer to you.

Your exhaled shakily. “You mean that?”

“I do.” He nodded firmly.

“It’s always been you, Carwood.” You sighed, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his forehead against yours, finger entwining to hold your hand tightly.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to understand it.” He muttered, breath fanning across your face.

You shook your head quickly and looked at him, voice thick with emotion. “It wasn’t you, it was the timing of everything.”

Carwood nodded, cupping your cheek with his free hand and you leaned into his touch. “Still have a lot to make up for.” He countered.

“Call me stubborn.” You teased him fondly, ducking a quick kiss to his cheek. “Would you like to come up to my apartment?” You murmured against his ear, holding your breath until he nodded softly.

Once the tab was settled, by a very insistent Carwood, you made your way back across the street and up to your fifth-floor residence, never once letting go of his hand. Unlocking the door, you led him into your modest studio apartment, toeing off your shoes at the door, smiling as he did the same.

“We never actually ate dinner, are you hungry?” You asked as you locked the door behind him.

He shook his head and stepped forward to cup your cheeks gently, pressing his lips to your firmly. Your hands gripped his forearms tightly, shifting closer.

“I’m sorry I’ve just…” He murmured as he pulled back.

“Been dreaming of that for three years.” You cut him off gently, leaning in to kiss him once again, arms sliding around his neck.

Carwood’s arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as his mouth moved against yours, the intensity of your kisses escalating to the exchanging of breath through parted lips before you slid your tongue against his wantonly. His fingers curled into the fabric of your dress as his chest rumbled in delight, years worth of simmering tension boiling over as you pressed him back into the door, tasting him thoroughly.

One of his hands slowly slid down to your lower back, making you arch closer to him still, gasping against his lips as you could feel the outline of his rapidly hardening length pressing against you. Hands shifting to grip the lapels of his jacket, you walked backward through the apartment easily, eyes locked on his, until you pivoted to press on his shoulders and sit him down on the end of your bed.

“Are you sure?” He murmured up at you thickly as you slid to straddle his thighs.

“Only if you are.” You swallowed, wondering if you were overwhelming the poor man.

“I love you.” Carwood smiled warmly and slid his fingers to the back of your neck to pull you in for a tender kiss.

Heart feeling as though it had broken free of your ribcage to soar through the clouds, you buried your fingers into his hair, returning the kiss fiercely. “God, I love you too.” You breathed against his mouth, voice rough with emotion.

A small noise of surprise left your lips as his hands gripped your thighs and he skillfully rolled you onto your back. Grinning with a hint of pride, his hands skimmed higher beneath the hem of your dress and slip to unfasten your stockings with practiced ease, rolling them down and off your legs one at a time, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of each calf once the skin was bared to him. He took a moment to shrug out of his suit jacket before crawling up your body to paint teasingly soft kisses down the column of your throat, working at the fastenings of your dress.

Not one to be idle, your fingers began to work at the buttons of his dress shirt, tugging it free of the waistband of his pants before pushing it down his arms. Carwood pulled back to deposit it onto the floor before gently sliding your dress down your body to join it. His hands skimmed along your silk-clad sides as he drank you in, features painted with wonder.

“All of this hiding under that uniform.” He uttered.

Biting your lip, you pushed up to kiss him warmly. “Could say the same about you, you know.” You traced your hands along the muscles of his shoulders and down his arms before shifting your focus to undoing his belt, delighting in the pink tinge of his cheeks in response.

He trailed open mouthed kisses along the neckline of your slip, brushing against the tops of your breasts, making you exhale shakily as you worked his pants open and off his body. Stepping free of them before crawling back onto the bed, he slid the straps of your slip down, revealing your lingerie to his heated gaze. “As if you couldn’t get any more beautiful…” He shook his head, slip discarded behind him before his lips descended onto yours once more, sealing off any glib reply you might have been able to muster.

Fingers skimming up your ribs, you whimpered into his mouth as his broad palm cupped your breast through the silky material of your brassiere, gripping at the back of his undershirt, insistently pulling the fabric up his skin. His tongue laved along your cleavage, shivers wracking your body at the sensation of his hot breath on your damp skin as he continued to knead at your sensitive flesh. Feeling him begin to sit up, you grabbed the gathered material of his undershirt in your fist and pulled it over his head, throwing it to the side somewhere as he worked your bra and garter belt free.

Caressing the still-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, you cried out softly as his mouth sealed around first one nipple and then the other, always keeping a balance of pleasure between the two that was filling your veins with scorching desire. Delving past the waistline of his boxers, your hand sought his cock impatiently, and as your fingers wrapped around him, Carwood pressed his face to your sternum with a grunt. You were honestly taken aback when he gently but firmly gripped your wrist and pulled your hand free of him.

“You first, beautiful.” He murmured, leaning up to peck your lips before his mouth returned to its teasing work, pressing your wrist into the mattress before he cupped between the apex of your thighs.

“Carwood!” You gasped softly, hips bucking to his hand slightly before you sunk your teeth into your lower lip, fingers grasping at the bedding in an effort to respect his wishes.

His hazel eyes looked up to yours across the planes of your torso, pupils dilating rapidly as he traced your folds through the silken material of your underwear, your body writhing eagerly beneath his touch. Unable to both keep your eyes open for him and your mouth shut, you whimpered loudly, hips bucking more insistently as you desperately needed more of him. His eyes closed briefly, his mouth pressing a damp kiss to your side before he pulled back to strip you of your underwear, shifting to lay next to you. His fingers resumed their torment, the skin-on-skin contact with your slick core making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Look so pretty like this, beautiful.” He breathed against your ear, making you shudder. “Content and enjoying yourself.” His thumb zeroed in on your bundle of nerves, wrenching a moan from you. “Making all the loveliest sounds.”

“Mm! Car… so good…” You panted in reply, turning your head to kiss him deeply, mewling into his mouth as he sank his index finger into your needy warmth.

Turning his hand to grind the heel of his palm against your clit, he worked his finger in and out of you smoothly before adding a second, your back bowing as you started to clench tighter around him, breathless with impending climax. “Please show me how you fall apart, beautiful.”

Your eyelids fluttered open as he propped himself up on his free arm to get a better view of your face, licking his lips hungrily as he added a third finger, sending you hurtling into climax with a ragged cry. His fingers continued their movements, prolonging your pleasure until you grinned up at him languidly. “Just when I thought you could never surprise me again, Carwood…what a gentleman you are.” Your grin widened at the scarlet tinge to his cheeks in response to your praise.

Your eyes widened slightly as he licked his fingers clean, your teeth sinking into your ravaged lower lip at the sight.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” He murmured, thumb gently easing the plump flesh from beneath your incisor before he kissed you warmly.

Rolling onto your hip, you tugged at the waistband of his boxers, fighting the friction of the fabric against the bedding before you finally worked them free. Your hand once again wrapped around the length of him, eagerly drinking in his soft moan against your lips as you stroked along the velvety flesh. Sliding your leg over his hip you shuffled closer, rocking your pelvis forward to guide him into your welcoming body.

“Oh!” He breathed harshly as he rolled his hips forward, nestling into you fully.

“Ah, Car.” You sighed, burying your fingers into his hair, pressing your forehead against his.

The intensity of his eyes boring into yours as he thrust into and pulled from your body was nearly too much to bear, the agony of ecstasy bringing the dewy cling of teardrops to your eyelashes.

“Ok?” He whispered, hips stilling.

“God yes, just so fucking happy.” You sniffled and buried your face against his throat shyly, moaning richly as he began to move again, his fingers gripping the soft flesh of your buttock.

“I love you so much, beautiful.” He groaned into your hair, pelvis grinding against yours as your muscles involuntarily clenched around him at those words.

“You too, Car.” You whispered, pressing salty kisses against his neck.

You could feel the muscles of his jaw clenching against your temple as he struggled to maintain his pace, your body responding eagerly as you felt yourself ascending towards release. Crying out against his skin as you orgasmed, he quickly pulled out, his own release spilling across your inner thigh. He’d barely made it, but Carwood still did his best to be a gentleman. You lifted your tearstained face to kiss him deeply, caressing his cheek and down his back warmly.

Carwood’s lips brushed against your cheeks, kissing away any trace of your tears tenderly. “That was incredible…” He murmured and you nodded warmly, pressing your lips to the scar on his right cheek.

“You’re incredible.” You replied softly, unable to stop your lazy smile as he ducked his head a little under your open admiration of him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?” He pressed a kiss to your scar in turn, knocking the wind out of you, leaving you staring up at him in stunned silence as he slid to his feet to find the washroom. “Bath?”

You simply nodded, having somehow lost the ability to form words as he grabbed your hands and led you there. Never having considered yourself ashamed of the mark you wore so prominently, you were honestly bewildered at your reaction to his tender gesture. Were still pondering it as you slid into the temperate water with him, neither of you wanting a terribly warm bath on a hot summer evening.

“You’re awful quiet, beautiful.” He murmured from behind you, fingers trailing water along the skin of your arms.

“Sorry Car, I just…when you kissed my face, I got all…”

“When I kissed your scar, you mean.” He corrected softly, pressing his cheek against yours and you nodded. “Did it bother you?”

“Not at all.” You breathed quickly. “It felt so lovely I just, never realized I wanted that?” You turned to look back at him, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips to the mark once more, letting them linger there.

“You’ll always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Carwood…” You sighed and turned in his arms to kiss him firmly.

It took a lot of determination on his part to get the pair of you clean, dry, and fed but he managed to prevail despite your wandering hands. Sliding into bed with you in a set of summer pyjamas and him in his boxers and undershirt, he pulled you to his chest, holding you warmly. “Tonight has turned out far better than I could have ever imagined.”

You laughed against him drowsily. “Much better than speeches from Generals Taylor and McAuliffe while eating hotel food…”

He laughed warmly and squeezed your shoulder. “Sleep well, beautiful.”

“You too, Car.” You murmured, nestling against him contentedly.

The firm knocking at your door the next morning had you snuffling awake against Carwood’s hair, brows furrowed, thoroughly disgruntled to have your peaceful slumber interrupted. He lifted his head from where it was tucked beneath your chin and blinked up at you blearily, confusion etched on his features. There was another string of rapping knuckles against wood and you sighed heavily, unwrapping your arms from around him to peel yourself from the bed and grab your housecoat.

“Just a moment!” You slung it on, doing it up quickly to preserve your modesty as you walked towards the door, Carwood following at your side.

You turned the deadbolt but left the chain in place, Carwood standing on the other side of the doorframe as you cracked it open just enough to speak to whomever was there without revealing him.

Your eyes widened as there stood George Luz, grinning broadly with a warm cry of your name.

“George?!”

“We missed you last night! Just wanted to stop by and make sure you were still coming to the lunch that Bill arranged for Easy.” He looked at you sternly and you nodded quickly, pushing the door shut to slide the chain free, opening it again more widely and smiling at him softly.

“Of course I am. Sorry about last night work got out of hand.” You swallowed, hating to lie, but you and Carwood hadn’t really discussed much. “By the time I got out of there the banquet was half over and I didn’t want to make a fuss showing up late.”

His eyes twinkled a little. “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. Hey by any chance you seen Lip? He came in from West Virginia yesterday but didn’t show up at dinner and he’s not in his room at the hotel, either.”

You blinked in feigned innocence. “Why would I have seen him, George, I was working and then here.” You swallowed as you could see Carwood grimace out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah right, of course. I’m real worried about him, might have to go to the cops…”

Carwood sighed deeply and grabbed the edge of the door, pulling it open wider to show his face as proof of life. “I’m here, Luz.”

Luz’s resulting grin was as blinding as the sun, making you bow your head. “Oh! Oh, I see this reunion is goin’ real well.”

“We’ll see you at lunch, Luz.” Carwood replied firmly, pushing the door shut in his face, turning to you slowly. “You ok?” He whispered, not wanting to be overheard.

You looked to him slowly before breaking out into a fit of laughter, nodding quickly. “Jesus, that man has been rooting for us since Haguenau…” You sighed fondly as Carwood’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

You cleared your throat and composed yourself, resting your hands on his shoulders. “I’m alright, are you?”

He nodded quickly before his brow furrowed. “George Luz knew before I did?”

“I didn’t tell him, if that’s what you mean, he just…figured it out somehow. Scared the hell out of me.”

Carwood frowned more and set his hands on your hips, stepping closer. “That’s why you left that day.” He breathed in realization, and you swallowed tightly.

“It was a contributing factor, yes.” You admitted, pulling your lower lip into your mouth with your teeth.

His thumb rose to gently free it, soothing the slight indentation. “Wish you would have talked to me, instead.”

Exhaling heavily, you pursed your lips in thought before replying. “I probably could have done things differently, I’ll admit, but at the time I felt like I had no choice. I am sorry for how much pain and confusion it must have caused you though, Car.” You pressed your lips to the pad of his thumb which had lingered at the corner of your mouth as you spoke.

“I’m sorry you felt that you had no choice – how lonely that must have been. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you sooner…” He swallowed harshly, blinking rapidly as his eyes grew damp.

“Hey, hey neither of us can change the past, Carwood.” You kissed between his brows warmly. “It’s behind us now, we have a whole future ahead.”

His eyes rosed to yours slowly, and he nodded. “What would you like that future to look like, beautiful?”

“I want you in it.” You replied easily, without hesitation, swallowing at his shy smile in return. “Don’t really care what it takes at this point.”

“Sounds perfect.” He nodded, sealing his statement with a deep kiss.

That afternoon as you sat surrounded by members of your old company, you nodded as Carwood excused himself to use to washroom, laughing brightly as Guarnere continued his story about their old commanding officer at Toccoa. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed each and every one of them until you’d arrived at the restaurant, greeted by a chorus of shouts of your name. Carwood was already there, having gone back to his hotel room to change beforehand, and no one but Luz seemed suspicious of how close the pair of you were sitting at the table. Couldn’t see the way your knee was pressed against his, unable to bear the separation.

“Can’t believe his wife ran off with some 4F milkman.” Guarnere shook his head and you looked to him sharply.

“Who…Carwood’s?!” You gasped out, eyes widening as he nodded in confirmation.

Carwood had had every opportunity to speak ill of his now ex-wife and yet remained a gentleman even after what she’d put him through. Impossible as it seemed, you somehow fell even further in love with the man right then.

Luz grinned at you knowingly from his seat to your right. “Sure seems like marriage just ain’t forever anymore these days, huh?” He winked and the other guys muttered their agreement.

You nodded silently, still processing the news, looking up as Powers started talking but sent a smile to Carwood as he slid back into his chair to your left. You were vaguely aware that Luz had risen from his seat but weren’t entirely certain what he was up to until his hand pressed against your right cheek, his other against Carwood’s left, pressing your neighboring cheeks together tightly to form one continuous line with your scars.

“See boys, what I’d tell ya? They were made for each other – their scars even match!” He crowed proudly as Guarnere and the others tilted their heads back to laugh richly.

You giggled softly while simultaneously swatting at Luz until he sat back down, jaw dropping as you felt Carwood’s lips find their way onto your scar, the boys roaring with glee. Turning quickly, you kissed the well faded mark on his cheek in turn, pressing your face against his shoulder as a few of them started clapping and at least one of them muttered ‘finally.’

“So, when’s the wedding?” Luz asked boldly and everyone leaned in with bated breath.

“I assure you your invites will be in the mail as soon as we know.” Carwood replied diplomatically and you gazed up at him in wonder as more cheers erupted around the table and someone started calling for champagne.

‘Ok?’ He mouthed silently and you nodded quickly.

“Everything is perfect.”

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It's Better This Way Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

#carwood lipton x reader #carwood lipton imagines #carwood lipton imagine #carwood lipton #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

[vibrantbirdy]

Hiii. Firstly, I just want to say how much I LOVE your work. I think you’re fantastic!

I was hoping to request an Obi-Wan Kenobi x Senator or Princess female reader (always a sucker for this). Maybe Clone wars or pre- ending of Revenge of the Sith. Peppered with Obi-Wan denying his feelings for the sake of the Jedi code, and then confessing true emotions in the Kenobi series era. (gotta love angst with some feels after a whole lot of yearning).

Thank you so much 💙

Thank you so much for your kind words and this wonderful request. I was so excited to write for Obi-Wan as it's been years since I have, and it's really cool to write for him in the wake of the Kenobi series. So thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

(Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first.)

(Masterlist of my fics can be found here.)

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Author's Note: It's late and I need to proofread this properly, sorry for any mistakes in the mean time!

Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Now

Inevitably, the Empire discovered that you have been siphoning off funds to various Rebel factions across the Galaxy for years. As Queen of Vitis, you planned to stay on your home world and face the consequences of defying the Imperial tyrants with your people.

But your Bodyguard, loyal to a fault, had other ideas. The night before an Imperial delegation was set to arrive, your Captain of the Guard, Old Paltrum, hired a bounty hunter to abduct you from your chambers in the middle of the night and drop you off somewhere "safe." This apparently meant any random, obscure world in the Outer Rim of the mercenary's choosing.

Seemingly, the desert planet of Tatooine was the farthest flung rock in the Galaxy that the brute could think of.

At night, you dream of home. Of Vitis. A beautiful planet, full of lush forests and green meadows where wildflowers gleam through the grass like little jewels.

Too often, these dreams turn to nightmares and you watch, helpless, as the rivers run red with the blood of your people and the Imperial flag flies like Death's victory banner above the royal citadel.

You fear you'll forever be known as the Vitisian Queen who abandoned her subjects in their most desperate hour of need.

Tatooine is not like home. The heat during the day is a constant, inescapable blanket of oppression. No matter what you do, the sand works its way into your eyes, between your teeth, into your clothes and tracks its way all the way through the small one room home you managed to purchase with the few credits Paltrum obviously appropriated for you from the palace treasury. And you are always so thirsty, no matter how much water you consume.

Still, you have been on the desert planet for almost three months now, and despite your belligerent determination not to, you are beginning to settle and acclimatise. Slowly.

You like Tatooine best in the evening, just as dusk falls. It's cooler and there is a rare, strange beauty to be found as the twin suns set in the sky which turns from blood red to pink to purple and finally to a deep, midnight blue.

You make your living selling the clothing you make at the stall you have acquired in the market in Mos Eisley. It is mid-afternoon when you catch sight of a man you know walking across the far side of the square. You jump up from your stool, knocking it over in your haste and sending your weaving unravelling to the floor.

Ducking and weaving and apologising to the people you bump into, you track the man making his way across the market through the obstructions of clothing and clutter and trinkets hanging from the stalls of your neighbours' and your own.

Your heart leaps. It is him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What is he doing here? Of all places.

You want to run to him, to call out his name but something stops you.

He looks older. Of course he does, it's been over a decade since you last saw him. But that's not it.

The Obi-Wan you remember carried himself with a charismatic air of confidence which, on other men, could easily have been perceived as arrogance. But Kenobi was always able to temper this with his good humour and dignified manner.

Now, he looks downtrodden, smaller, as if he's been on Tatooine so long that the years have started to grind him into the sand. His once well kempt hair and beard are scruffy and his dirty, torn clothes are little more than rags.

You are suddenly struck by the idea that he might not want you to see him like this. Then, you think about what happened to the Jedi Order and the rumoured purge said to have been commanded by the Emperor himself.

Obi-Wan must be in exile or in hiding. Just like you.

With this revelation, you are paralysed by indecision. By the time you come to the realisation that you can't let this chance to reunite with him slip away, he is already gone.

***************************************************

30 years ago

The Republic have sent a diplomatic envoy to Vitis to discuss with leading politicians from the surrounding worlds the increasing Separatist pressure on the system's trade routes. The delegation of two Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, arrive at the Vitisian royal citadel early in the morning.

Although you really think you should be sitting at the table with the other delegates, you've reluctantly agreed with the wishes of your parents, the King and Queen, to show Obi-Wan the palace grounds and some of the countryside beyond.

He's a young man about your age, probably eighteen or nineteen. Upon first introduction, you get the distinct impression that he feels like he should be present at the discussions too. But, following a brief period of stilted conversation as you lead him through the palace and out into the lush gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that you and Obi-Wan just click. Any interest in trade or commerce is soon forgotten by both of you.

When he speaks, his pronunciation is clipped and proper, but his voice is full of a charming vitality. He has a graceful, purposeful physicality and moves his body with a self-assuredness many young men his age don't seem to possess quite yet. And he's handsome. He has an open, honest face with well-proportioned features, adored with two impossibly bright blue eyes. He has sandy coloured hair which, apart from a small pony tail at the back of his head and a long, thin braid that runs down behind his ear and to his chest, is cropped short.

As you walk through Vitis's lush, green surroundings together, the conversations flows easily. You notice that he has a perpetual, good-natured smirk on his face, as if he constantly has an amusing quip on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes he speaks these out loud and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

His little barbs are never unkind. In fact, you find it refreshing, the way he makes you think on your feet in an effort to fire out your own witty retorts.

One time, you're too slow to think of anything clever to say, so all you can think to do is to pull, gently, at the strange braid affixed to the side of his head.

"What's this?"

What's what?" He asks with mock ignorance, and you shove him playfully.

"It's my Padawan braid," he explains, "It signifies that I'm not yet a Jedi. Once I've completed the trials, I'll cut it off as part of the ceremony when I become a Knight."

"Oh," you say, faltering.

It all sounds rather meaningful and symbolic.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."

He smiles reassuringly.

"It's ok, I have a bad habit of tugging at it myself when I'm nervous."

Hours have passed and you've wandered all the way through the grounds as far as the great lake before either of you notice the time. You take the short cut back through the woods and past the gargantuan Whispering Tree, which stands sentinel like a great, leafy guardian on the border of the royal forest.

Obi-Wan stops to admire the tree, his eyes following its massive trunk and he cranes his neck in a futile attempt to try and get a glimpse of the top as it disappears into the canopy. The tree is putting on a magnificent show today. Its peculiar white leaves are dazzling in the sunlight and the pale silver bark shines like precious metal.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice filled with awe, "I've never seen a tree like it."

"It's called the Whispering Tree because of the noise it makes in the wind. It sounds like someone speaking. It's the only one left of its kind - a white Vitisian Birch. Traditionally, first born royal daughters are charged with its care," you run a hand against the smooth bark fondly," and that happens to be me."

Obi-Wan smiles almost absent-mindedly as he presses his palm against the tree and closes his eyes.

"Are you talking to it? Using the Force?" You ask, excitedly, "What's it saying?"

"That's not how it works," he chuckles, but he stops immediately as he sees your cheeks redden and realises that you're embarrassed.

"Uh, but if it could talk," he continues, earnestly, "It would say that it feels very lucky to have someone like you to care for it."

You beam widely at him and, unable to stop yourself, you lean in and plant an impulsive kiss on his lips. At first, he stiffens, his eyes wide in surprise, but then he seems to melt into you and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you as his lips start to move against yours.

"Obi-Wan!" A stern voice makes you both jump and you leap away from each other as if you've been electrocuted.

The tall figure of Obi-Wan's mentor is striding towards where you are standing at the tree line, his Jedi robes and long silver hair billowing in the breeze together making him seem even bigger and more imposing.

"Master Qui-Gon..."

"You were supposed to escort the Princess to dinner an hour ago!"

"I know, Master, I'm sorry..."

Obi-Wan starts to explain, but Qui-Gon Jinn cuts him off abruptly.

"I don't want to hear it."

Side by side, you and Obi-Wan traipse silently back to the palace behind Master Jinn. You find yourself having to scurry to keep up with his long strides, but Obi-Wan appears to be used to it.

He looks rather crestfallen following Qui-Gon's admonishment, and you reach out to touch the back of his hand lightly with your own. At first, he doesn't look at you, instead just allowing the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he runs his knuckles back and forth against your own.

Then, you exchange a sheepish, secret smile, behind Master Jinn's back, before breaking the touch and you both return your gaze to the ground with suitably chastised expressions.

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

It becomes apparent over dinner that Master Jinn, mercifully, has not informed your parents of your little indiscretion with Obi-Wan. You don't know what story he has concocted to explain your tardiness, but you are grateful for it.

Over the course of the evening, as you observe him, you realise that Qui-Gon Jinn is a kind man. Although he appears slightly terse with Obi-Wan to begin with, his manner softens as time goes on and to you, the relationship between the two Jedi seems almost akin to that of father and son.

Although you still feel a guilty, watching the two Jedi helps soothe your worries that Obi-Wan might face some severe reprimand on account of your actions.

Soon, it is time to see the guests off and the Jedi delegation is last to leave. You take advantage of the long conversation Master Jinn and your father apparently couldn't possibly have finished over dinner to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sorry, did you get in trouble?" You say quickly and quietly into his ear as you give him a formal, chaste kiss farewell on the cheek. "Yes, but it was worth it," he whispers back and a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face as he pulls away.

You can't do anything other than return it, and you look at each other for just a moment longer before he gives you a courteous nod of his head.

"Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

********************************************************

Now

You next see Obi-Wan a few weeks after your first glimpse of him at the market.

You almost approach him this time, but again, something holds you back.

He is heading towards Mos Eisley's space port and he has a more purposeful stride to his walk than when you last saw him.

Yet it's still not the walk of the composed, dignified man you once knew. In fact, his sense of urgency seems alarmingly close to panic.

Presumably, he is going off-world for some reason. He's not carrying much with him.

You hope he'll be back.

******************************************************** 12 years ago You are arriving on Coruscant, the sprawling city covered planet at the heart of the Galaxy, the seat of the Republic's power. Your father has sent you to make a representation to the Senate to officially declare an end to Vitis's neutrality.

It's not what you or your people want. But the Separatists have been pushing in on Vitisian interests on all sides in the past several months, disrupting trade routes, placing droid garrisons on nearby worlds, even muscling in on mineral mining operations on several moons within the Vitisian system. There is now really is very little choice. Vitis needs the protection of the Republic.

As you step off your ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now a Jedi Master, strides across the landing platform to greet you. You are so high up it gives the impression that the Coruscant sun which hangs large and low and golden in the sky behind you is about to swallow you whole. There is a strong breeze, which catches your hair and sends the flowing train of your green travelling dress snaking into the air like an emerald river.

Obi-Wan has grown into a fine looking man, tall and broad shouldered. He is clothed in traditional Jedi attire, a long brown robe draped elegantly over a cream tunic, fawn pants, and knee length, brown leather boots. His sandy hair is neatly cropped at the back and sides, with more length on the top and he had grown a distinguished golden beard since you last saw him.

"Princess," he says with a warm smile, those piercing blue eyes of his just as full of life as you remember.

"Master Kenobi," you respond, beaming, as he stoops to kiss you on both cheeks.

You'd been concerned that, in the almost two decades since you last saw him, his long years at war in service to the Jedi might have dulled that bright spark you so admired in the young man you once knew.

But you needn't have worried. As he escorts you to your chambers within the accommodation wing of the grand Senate building, you find yourself falling back into easy, cheerful conversation with him, as if no time has passed at all.

Obi-Wan's youthful spirit is still present but it has evolved into a sort of refined, contained exuberance that sits elegantly on him. He is as quick to laughter as ever and the eloquent wit he possessed even as a boy is just as sharp.

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

You are sitting in the lavish parlour of the rooms you've been assigned. It is a fine suite, decorated in bright colours with a beautiful view out across Coruscant's endless cityscape. The arching floor to ceiling windows let in as much natural light at the metropolis' towering spires will allow.

Suddenly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss Obi-Wan again, now that he has that dashing beard.

"Princess?"

Obi-Wan is standing at the sideboard, holding a steaming teapot and a glass mug out towards you. From the amused, questioning look on his face, you get the distinct impression that he has proffered the beverage more than once.

"I apologise, Master Jedi, I was parsecs away, yes please."

"Oh really?" he asks, conversationally as he drops into the lounge chair opposite you, and hands you the glass vessel across the low, marble table, "Where were you?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about when we first met, do you remember?"

It's not quite a lie.

"How could I forget?" He laughs, "Master Qui-Gon was furious with me."

A shadow of uncharacteristic sadness suddenly passes over his face.

Remembering the rumours you have heard of the violence of Qui-Gon Jinn's death at the hands of a mysterious, fearsome warrior, you put down your tea and reach across the table to take Obi-Wan's hands in yours.

"I was so very sorry to hear about Master Jinn, Obi-Wan," you say kindly.

"Thank you, it was a long time ago now."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He squeezes your hands gently before he stands up.

"I'll let you get settled."

Obi-Wan makes for the door and as he reaches for the handle, he turns and grins at you disarmingly.

"It really is very good to see you again, Princess."

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

You had only planned to stay on Coruscant for a week. However, politics being as they are, you have ended up staying for much longer.

One day, during a gap in the Senate proceedings, Obi-Wan takes you to visit the magnificent Jedi Temple. He wants to show you the terraced garden, knowing that you are missing the greenery of Vitis.

It is a paradise. You can't believe that at the centre of this endless cityscape is this bubble of serenity. The variety of plants that are grown here, the vibrancy of the colours, the wonderful aroma of a hundred different blossoms all intermingled - it makes you giddy.

You and Obi-Wan stay in the gardens for hours strolling and conversing and sitting together, then strolling some more.

"Strange how so many years have gone by yet I feel as if no time at all has passed between us," you say plainly as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You don't mean it to sound quite so romantic, but then you realise you really don't mind if that's how Obi-Wan choses to interpret it.

"I feel the same," he agrees and you are surprised to see a hint of bashfulness in the smile he offers.

You allow the back of your hand to graze against his. He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at you, an amused smirk of recognition on his face. He runs his knuckles along yours as he once did so many years ago.

Unlike then, Obi-Wan allows his hand to stay resting against yours this time and you walk like that, not quite hand in hand, through the vast gardens of the Temple long after the sun starts to set and the descent of the cool, evening air releases the sweet, heady scent of Coruscanti night blossoms all around you.

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

The month you have spent on Coruscant has been stressful, busy, and filled with difficult negotiations and decisions which weigh heavily upon on you. Your father is in ailing health, ever since the death of your mother, and you know that soon you will be Queen. It is not a thought you relish, but now, at least, you know that when you take the oath to serve your people for the rest of your life as sovereign, you will be able to do so knowing you can hold your own on their behalf in the Rancor's den of the Republic Senate.

Yet, aside from all the worry, this has also been one of the happiest times of your life. When you are not working, and when he is not galivanting off-world on some Jedi business or another, you have spent every moment you can spare with Obi-Wan.

When the time finally comes to leave Coruscant, Obi-Wan volunteers to escort you back to Vitis. You'd sent Paltrum home weeks ago, poor old sod. City air has never agreed with him and you just knew his wife, Ina, would be worried sick about him.

As you finally land back on your home world, it is amid thunder and lightning. It is perhaps the most violent storm you've seen on Vitis in a decade.

You almost can't believe it when you and Obi-Wan step off the ship and see Old Paltrum soaked through, standing sentry at the palace doors.

"Paltrum, get inside, for the love of the Maker!" You scold the ancient Captain as you approach.

Obi-Wan is holding his cloak over your head in a valiant effort to keep you dry, but it is making not one bit of difference and you can feel the water seeping through your travelling clothes and into your bones.

"It's always been my job to watch for you, your Highness, I'm not about to stop now," Paltrum responds indignantly and you feel a pang of guilt for your rather patronising tone.

"I know, thank you, Captain," and you have to shout over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, "It's late. I'll see my father in the morning, don't disturb him."

"As you wish, my lady," Paltrum says with a gracious nod, and you stifle a laugh as a deluge of water floods off the peak of his cap with the motion.

The Captain turns to Obi-Wan as he opens the huge, ornate doors to let you through.

"Master Kenobi, there are guest quarters ready for you in the east wing."

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

Obi-Wan does not go to the east wing. Instead, you lead him towards your own chambers. Someone, thankfully, has lit a fire in your sitting room and you both sit cross-legged on the rug on the floor as close as is possible next to the roaring flames.

You've each taken off your sodden outerwear. If possible, Obi-Wan looks even more dashing wet through, his light undershirt clinging to his muscled torso underneath.

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down and as you both watch the flames from the fire reflect in the other's eyes, a tension-filled silence fills the room and sets your heart racing until you think it might burst.

When you can bear it no longer and you see no point in prolonging further pretence, you grab Obi-Wan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. It is not like your first, so many years ago. This is a deep and passionate embrace, full of desire. He responds immediately to your touch this time, his lips crashing almost roughly against yours.

The Jedi's hands are round your waist, at the nape of your neck, the small of your back, tangled up in your hair, seemingly all at once. You start to unbutton the fastenings on his shirt, tearing at them with one hand, while the other travels urgently down his chest towards his abdomen.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan leaps to his feet and turns his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling rapidly. As you've seen him do so often in recent weeks, he brings a hand to his face and rubs his beard. You think this new habit has probably replaced the old one of tugging on his Padawan braid.

"Have I upset you?" you ask quietly, the sting of confusion and rejection, worrying its way under your skin.

"No, Princess," his voice is an earnest whisper as he sits back down in front of you, grasping your hands in his, "Never."

"I still dream of that kiss we shared all those years ago," he admits suddenly, his voice low and full of longing.

Obi-Wan cups your face gently in his hands and looks at you, brows furrowed with emotion, his gaze penetrating right through your soul and setting it aflame.

"Now, seeing you again after all these years, I dream of what it would be like to hold you, to share your life, to....share your bed. These past weeks, I have yearned for you, you must know that."

Your foreheads are touching now, your nose presses into his face, and your fingers are suddenly entwined in his wet, golden hair. You can feel his heart raging against his chest as if it is fighting to escape, just as your own is.

"Obi-Wan..." you say, open-mouthed against his cheek, breathless with need for him.

He closes his eyes and brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn't quite allow himself to kiss you. Instead, after a moment of breathing each other in and out, he pulls away gently.

"But that's all they are," his voice has returned to it's usual refined timbre, "I'm sorry, but they are just dreams. It's all I can allow them to be."

His words are like a thousand tiny knives to your heart and you can't help feeling how cruel it was of him to give you hope and then tear it away like that. You stand up sharply and walk to the window, gazing out onto the storm raging across Vitis, a mere spring shower compared to the tumult now roiling within you.

"You must understand, I have pledged my life to the Jedi Order..."

"You were a child when you made that pledge..." you scoff and you despise the bitterness in your own voice.

He walks across the room to join you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

"All the same. It is made. And now we are at war. I have obligations, I have responsibilities to the Order and to the Republic"

You turn to him and place your hands on his broad chest. His heartbeat has slowed and you know you are losing him. It's like he's flicked some internal switch and raised a barrier between you.

"Then let us have each other, just this once," you whisper urgently, emboldened by desire and the fear that this chance to love him as you've always wanted is slipping away forever.

Obi-Wan touches your face and smiles sadly.

"If we did, I would never be able to leave you again, not for a single moment. I would be your prisoner forever."

"Then stay," you plead through tears, even though you already know his answer, "Stay with me."

"I can't."

***********************************************

Now

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting on a wall in Mos Eisley's market place. You are pleased to see that he looks much more like his old self. His head is held high and there is a look of calm on his handsome face. The clothes he is wearing are much neater than before, almost reminiscent of his old Jedi robes, and he has tidied up his hair and beard.

You walk towards him, but he doesn't notice you. You don't say his name. Instead, you quietly sit down next to him and let the back of your hand rest against his. You feel the strong tendons there tense.

He doesn't look at you. His head drops, and his eyes close as if he couldn't stand for it not to be you. Lightly, he moves his hand so that his knuckles rub gently against yours.

"Hello old friend," you say.

"Princess."

The use of your old title sounds natural and right on his tongue and you hope he never stops using it.

Obi-Wan finally looks up at you and his eyes, still dazzling shards of icy blue, gleam with tears. You reach out and touch his face, his stubble pleasantly rough under your hand. You take in the lines around his eyes, deeper now, and the distinguished flecks of silver in his beard and hair. The sight of him is more beautiful, more familiar to you than you can bear.

"You still look the same," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

He smiles and turns his face to gently kiss the heel of your palm that is resting against his cheek.

"And you are more radiant than ever."

He helps you take down your market stall early for the day and you take him into your home where you speak for hours in hushed tones and tell each other everything of your lives in the years since you were last together.

Then, as the twin suns of Tatooine set behind your little domed house in the sand, you lead him to your bed.

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

You are curled up on your side against Obi-Wan's solid, warm chest. For the first time in years you feel safe, entwined in his strong arms, listening to the steady, sonorous rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I have always loved you," he whispers tenderly in your ear, tucking away a stray lock of hair back from your cheek.

"And I you," you say and you mean it.

Still, you can't help but smile sadly as you think of the last time you saw him that fateful night of the storm of Vitis before everything fell apart.

"But of course, you already knew that," you add.

"I am sorry, truly."

"Obi-Wan..." you start to interrupt, worried that your words sounded resentful.

"For all the wasted years," he continues.

He needs to say this, you realise. So you let him.

"If I'd known how the Republic would fall, how the Jedi Order would fail, how the Empire... Well, I never would have denied us this."

He brings his lips to your shoulder and traces a trail of kisses down your arm. His beard tickles.

"No one could have known, Obi-Wan. You did what you thought was right at the time. We all did. And now here we are together again. We made it back to each other. Two old relics of a past age."

"Oh come now, we're not that old," he quips, and you are happy to hear that his tone has lightened again.

You grin mischievously and wriggle out of his arms to push him down onto his back and roll on top of him.

"Prove it," you whisper, as you come to rest on his abdomen and lean down to kiss him on the nose.

His eyes widen in surprise and then in boyish delight as he grasps you firmly by your hips. "Again?!" he laughs and he throws his head back in mirth at his own joke, his eyes squeezing shut so that they crinkle beautifully at the corners.

It is a joyful, youthful, transcendental sound and suddenly, you are back under the Whispering Tree in the green meadows of Vitis with a young Jedi, an unwritten future together stretching out endlessly in front of you.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan x female reader #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x female reader #star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

[hangesdarling]

Request for a oneshot of Hange who gets really horny and flustered from their vampire fem s/o feeding from them. Thanks 🥰!

a crimson kiss — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. You were a vampire lurking in the dark streets when you met Hange. CONTENT. a bit of slow burn to build their relationship, very suggestive, blood, biting, implied sex, light angst, open-ended hehe WORD COUNT. 2.6k A/N. fic request from @malorey-ethster :D this reminds me a lot of the vampire!hange series lingering in my head omggg

Dark shadows loomed over the village, making the darkest shade of black among the streets. People feared the night when criminals and monsters lurked as what rumors in the streets have told tales about. But as you stood perfectly still on a deserted alleyway among the darkness, you saw this strange being walking slowly, book in hand while the other held a small lamp.

People don't walk the streets late this hour but then again, this one is different. The perfect prey, too distracted by a book to think that you're standing still right across from them. Your claws clenched against your skirt, and the taste of blood from your previous meal still lingered, only prompting your hunger to take action.

You were about to pounce in that person's direction, trying to swallow your regret for another life lost in your hands but you felt a blinding light crossing past your eyes, making you retract from your stance.

Your arm shielded your eyes as the yellow glow of the lamp illuminated your face in the darkness.

"Oh, there you are," you heard the person mutter, a smile creeping across their face at the sight of you. But before you could run and disappear in the darkness once more, you felt a pair of arms restraining you.

-

The coach you were riding on had its small curtains drawn as you rode into the early dawn. You silently thanked how the velvet, embroidered fabric was thick enough to cover whatever sliver of sunlight began to creep in the sky. You tightened the thick shoal wrapped around you despite your bound wrists. This person who told you their name right after abducting you helped to fix your shoal so only a portion of your face could be seen. Hange.

"Sorry about tying you up like that," they muttered, almost apologetic as they offered you a smile. "But I won't hurt you, I promise. I was just tasked to investigate, that's all."

When the coach halted, Hange pulled you outside in wary carefulness, not letting the sun damage you. You found yourself in what seemed to be a library with a few laboratory materials, perhaps Hange's room.

Their table was strewn with sketches, and several stacks of reports detailing your nightly appearances and words from witnesses. It was clear that Hange had enough knowledge of all the forms you could take and even your whereabouts even before they crossed that alleyway last night.

In the days that followed, Hange fed and observed you, wondering to themself why you always requested animal blood even when it wasn't well-suited to satisfy your hunger. You tried to scare them off with a cold, obscure persona but nothing seemed to deter them even after your several attempts to bite their nose off.

Hange believed you would eventually soften up, earning your trust by encouraging you to talk without coercion. And even when you're trying hard enough not to yield, you find your mouth running, detailing what went before you became a heinous creature up to this day. Hange succeeded in pulling the words out of your mouth, even ones that you wouldn't want a soul to hear. Their presence felt like a dewy morning, a light breeze eager to get to know you out of pure curiosity.

"Ah, to think that there are more fascinating things than titans," Hange would smile at you, trusting you enough this time to untie your wrists. "Let's be friends, Y/N."

During the following days, Hange lets you lounge on their bed, keeping you comfortable as you lie down under their thick blankets. They don't sleep much themself as you have observed, maybe taking a few hours to sleep at their desk during the night and that was it. After a week of being together, you found them to be a heavy sleeper and took that advantage to carry them back to bed. You stared outside the window for the rest of that night, measuring how easy it would be to try and escape from this floor but decided against it. After all, only danger awaits you outside. If the townsfolk won't burn you at the stake, they would tear you apart bit by bit. Leaving you under the sun would be the least harsh punishment.

Hange was alerted the moment you disappeared from the bed, looking everywhere for you and thinking you might have escaped but they silently chucked to themself when they found you curled under their bed among the darkness. Hange crawled next to you despite the dusty floorboards.

"You seem a lot more comfortable in the darkness, huh?" they asked, tapping the underside of the bed frame and pulling away some webs from it. "We'll get this cleaned up if you like."

"Hm, thank you..." you mumbled.

Hange had gotten to know you better from then on. Physical contact became less strange as you let Hange touch your cold hands or felt the lack of pulse on your neck. A living dead creature. And even then as you lack the properties of a human, Hange never failed to make the space safe for you. They let you hug them at night, even if their warmth cannot meet yours, and let you hold their hand despite your insusceptibility to coldness. Every day, Hange brings a variation of animal blood to know what you like best. All felt like cold and tasteless cream crawling down your throat but you prefer them, knowing that your hunger wasn't hurting people anymore.

One night, Hange handed you a cup of blood, a shade darker than what they always give you. Your keen eye found the bandage poking beneath their shirt.

"Hange, is this your blood?"

"Uh, well, it is. I do think it's better if you drink directly from me but your insistence on drinking animal blood may cause a bit of shock to your system when you drink human blood again so try sipping from it first," Hange responded.

When you tilted the cup to your lips, it was cold but a sudden taste burst in your mouth, a hint of sweetness permeating the usual buttery taste of human blood. It has never been sweet before so what made it different now?

You told Hange how it tasted, quite in detail, and used several comparisons to help their research. However, the subtle smile and blush on their face couldn't escape your eyes. Maybe it was their excitement from the new information, but it's undeniable that there is something else.

-

Whenever night falls, your body does not crave long hours of sleep so you spend the night staring outside, counting people on the streets, or perhaps judging who the weakest prey may be just from their stance. But that night, Hange wanted to sit with you by the window, trading their few hours of sleep to be with you for longer. Your budding relationship came slow and subtle, the way midnight shifts to dawn to let the rosy rays of the sun appear in the sky once more. The hugs, the touch, the comfort within each other. Vampires cannot love humans this way but so are other things people tried to set rules upon. The peculiar cannot love or marry, forced to stay in the shadows and linger in their loneliness.

But even living organisms without consciousness like plants still sought companionship, you know, Hange told you one time, flipping through a book showing symbiotic relationships among living organisms. One has a better chance of survival with the other so it's only right for them to be together, right?

Hange leaned on your shoulder as they read by the moonlight. Your eyes followed the words and illustrations closed, exchanging a smile of two with them before trying to resist the urge to kiss them. Hange's rapid heartbeats near you only amplified that temptation as you turned away slightly. Hange may not have your keen sense, or hear a heartbeat and feel human warmth from you but their sharp intuition cannot deny what you both felt at that moment. Hange dropped their book by the side before turning you to face them in a soft, gentle kiss. Their warm lips linked with your cold ones and yet you found yourself pulling closer, as the companionship you desired all those years ago materialized before you. Hange kept a trail of kisses on your neck, pulling you towards the bed until you both collapsed on the soft mattress.

The curtains fluttered close as the wind outside calmed, little by little the moonlight could only bleed through an inch in that window. The flame on Hange's lamp by the table slowly extinguished but Hange kept kissing you in the darkness. Every touch, every time their fingers gripped yours against the mattress was a proclamation of the affection you've both tried to ignore. Both your worlds felt so distant but even if Hange could taste the blood from your mouth, they never wanted this kiss to end any sooner.

Hange had you spooned in their arms for the rest of the morning as they slept soundly against your neck. You wiped the blood beading on their lower lip from last night when your kisses got too passionate. Hange didn't mind and only laughed off their wounded lip, teasing you that it made them look more appealing in your eyes. You watched a drop of their blood dissipate through your finger, creating an intricate maroon pattern against your skin. You could taste that familiar hint of sweetness even as you brought it to your lips. And when you kissed Hange's lips, you felt their blood grazing your mouth, your tongue gently licking their wound until the bleeding stopped. Their blood tasted like a thin sheen of sweetened butter coating your mouth. However, the sweet taste only brought upon the bitter memories of your past. Of the human blood dripping from your chin as a victim lay lifeless on your lap, the sound of their diminishing heartbeat against your ear, and their last scream of help before becoming the food to satisfy your hunger.

You pulled away from their lips before they could even wake up, situating yourself to their chest so you wouldn't see their bloodied lip. You wrapped your arms tightly against their body, ear pressed to their bare chest where you could hear the rhythmic sound of the heartbeat you came to love.

-

"Y/N, why don't you feed from me this time?"

Hange's question broke the silence sitting between the two of you. Their eyes remained contemplative, bored through the wooden ceiling of their room.

"Why would you want that?" you asked cautiously.

Hange turned to give you a small smile. "I just noticed that you look healthier when you drink human blood. Your cheeks weren't so pale and you seemed a lot energized. It's your natural food after all so you don't have to insist on drinking animal blood."

Your mind wanted to protest, but all the reasons you shouldn't feed from them were stuck in your throat.

"But I don't want to hurt you..." you mumbled.

Hange tilted your chin so you could look at their reassuring face once more. "Come on, dear. You won't hurt me. It takes a few liters before a human could die from blood loss. If we regulate this properly, I won't die."

Their offer sounded tempting, after all, you were in a considerably better state after ingesting their blood. Almost like you have regained twofold of your strength from their blood alone.

Hange was overjoyed when you finally agreed, they pulled you into their lap before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. Hange's face was flushed when you began licking the spot on their neck you wanted to puncture with your teeth. Your mouth gently nibbled on their neck, leaving shallow bite marks that blossomed pink on their neck. Their hands roamed around your body, rubbing your thighs under that skirt until they wandered under your shirt.

You moaned softly against their neck with the way Hange was tugging on your clothes as if in permission to take them off.

"You're enjoying this a lot, Hange," you smiled as you helped them by unbuttoning your shirt. Hange groaned as you gave their neck another playful bite enough to turn them on even more.

"You bet I do," they chuckled, their voice shifting into a sultry tone as they brought both your bodies closer to the headboard. Hange leaned their head back, poising their neck where you could feed from them properly.

Your tongue glided along their reddening bitemarks, grazing your teeth to that particular spot before slowly digging in. Hange winced as they felt the puncture through their skin, their blood pooling on your mouth even before it dripped down their chest. Hange gripped your hips tightly, snaking down your rear to squeeze the flesh as your teeth dug in even more. Curses and praises spilled from their lips, suppressing an occasional moan or two as their hands were filled with the flesh of your bottom. Your tongue lapped desperately against the sweet buttery taste of their blood, the crimson gliding in thick gulps against your throat. Hange only pushed your head further into their angled neck as an encouragement, their every moan telling you how aroused they felt.

When you drank enough, your bloodied lips kissed their wound, patching it up with a cloth to staunch the bleeding. Hange captured your lips on theirs, their slender fingers wrapping gently around your throat. They could taste iron in your mouth, intoxicated and lightheaded from the blood you fed from them. Hange sucked on your plump lip, flipping you over onto your back before sliding their tongue in to lick along yours. As your kisses grew passionate, both your lips turned a crimson shade.

Hange stripped off the rest of your clothing, enraptured by your lips against theirs, and of the healthy color appearing in your cheeks. They wanted a taste of you, to return the bliss you gave them.

Hange's notes lay ignored by the bedside, discarded somewhere else along the pile of your clothes and theirs. Your intimacy was bloodied, full of bites and traces of drying blood after you finished. But you could care less about the thin sheen of blood coating your breasts or thighs as your lips rested on Hange's for the final time before they collapsed in exhaustion in your arms. The warm, bubbly bath you soon had washed away all the crimson and pinkish traces on both of your skins. You washed and nursed their wound, enclosing the fresh bite in a soft and dry bandage.

Hange slept on your chest until evening, perhaps tired from the ordeal. But as you stroked their hair's brown locks into neat strands, you remembered that familiar hunger coming in occasional visits, one that was never satisfied until the prey was lifeless. But Hange was never your prey, and you never wanted to be the monster to end them. You placed a long kiss on their forehead, gaze lingering on their sleeping form for a few seconds before pulling away to sit up on the bed.

The idea of departing from this place tarried your mind ever since you discovered the taste of Hange's blood. I trust you, Hange said multiple times, and yet you could never trust yourself to that extent. After all, you were still a monster of the night, even if you wore a human appearance. No matter how much Hange loved and cherished you like a breathing, living being deserving of good things, you couldn't keep them forever. You never wanted to subject them to this cursed life of aimless wandering and feeding on humans to save yourself.

You held Hange's hand around yours, cold diminishing against their warmth as you began to think and decide before the sun rose once again.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

#hange zoë #hanji zoë #hange zoe #hanji zoe #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe x reader #hange zoe x you #hanji zoe x you #hange zoe x y/n #hanji zoe x y/n #hange zoe smut #hanji zoe smut #hange x reader #hanji x reader #hange x y/n #hanji x y/n #hange x you #hanji x you #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #✂ rem writes____✍︎

[delirious-donna]

Series Masterlist

chapter 6: Kiss

pairing: Kakashi Hatake x female reader

warnings: angst, PTSD, anxiety, night terrors, Obito is very broken, fluff, overthinking reader, mentions of alcohol, Kakashi being a consent king at heart, SFW (for now…)

wc: 2.5k

synopsis: Kakashi Hatake, newly appointed Hokage, is struggling with transitioning from active duty to being sat behind a desk. Sure, he might not be placing his life on the line every day but perhaps now is the time he puts something else out there instead, his heart.

Meanwhile, things aren’t quite adding up. There is a discrepancy in the records that cannot be explained, and it falls to you to investigate. Never did you expect it would lead you to the door of the Hokage’s office, a man you had admired from a safe distance until now. What happens next leads you into a closely guarded secret that will change the rest of your life.

In a story where the past might be harder to let go of than usual, can two strangers find a semblance of happiness and peace?

beta reader: a huge thanks to @angelic-muse for being an amazing beta and friend! <3

Too late. He was always too late.

What had been a source of almost playful defiance in his youth had turned into some of his greatest regrets in life. Why couldn’t he get there in time? Why did he have to watch whilst those he loved were cut down because he couldn’t reach them quickly enough? Was it fair that he finally realised he was being used by those far more evil and manipulative than he only when he was knocking on death’s door?

Regret and confusion muddied together, painting a kaleidoscope of negative emotions into a hellscape designed for his personal torment. Looking down, his hands were stained in a blood so dark it was almost black. It crusted around his fingertips and stained the sickly white pallor of the skin beneath.

It was Rin’s blood.

He knew it with certainty. Her body wasn’t here, nothing was except him and the howling wind that wrapped around his body. The cold struck him, spreading out from the centre of his chest and filling every corner it could reach. It was a poison, a sickness.

Flashes of memories obscured his vision like fireworks. Blinded by brilliant white lights that stung more than his eyes, and then he was drowning. His chest was tight–a metaphorical band of steel encased his ribcage, squeezing with any attempted inhale. Obito clawed at his throat with his sullied hand, painting the column of his throat in a liquid far more akin to inky black oil than crimson blood.

Panic gripped his heart. Yells, screams and the death rattle of his victims filled his ears. He was drowning yet there was no water. He was blood-spattered yet there was no body. It ended as suddenly as it had begun.

He could breathe, and he did, inhaling great pulls of air into his starved lungs. Obito coughed, again and again. Tears blurred his vision, streaking down his cheeks and dripping fat drops from the tip of his chin. He shut out what he could, closed his eyes to the marks covering his hands, and he felt it, a hand beneath his elbow. It was warm where everything else had been frigidly cold. Small and delicate fingers touched him without shuddering in repulsion.

“He’s moving on… why can’t you, Obito?”

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. Obito blinked, awakening not to the hellscape he had been trapped in, but to a different type of prison. One he had willingly locked himself into. His bedroom was threadbare, but he liked it that way. Comforts were for those that deserved them, and he didn’t. He had refused every offer of a comfortable bed over the years, deciding it unnecessary. As long as he had a place to curl up and fall asleep, that was all that mattered and honestly, he had slept in worse conditions.

Carefully, he raised his arms and inspected his hands. There was no blood to be found, only the white skin of a man who had betrayed everyone in the pursuit of something futile. Did he have to be reminded of his mistakes every moment, not even safe in slumber?

Obito had long since learned that crying was a part of his penance. He was accustomed to the sensation of his throat feeling tight and rubbed raw from the thick emotions that did their best to choke him. He sat up on his thin futon, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his cheek on top.

Rin…

She had come to him, and not for the first time. The message was different, and he knew it was likely born of what was currently transpiring down in Konoha between Kakashi and this woman who was digging into the strange case of a man who had seemingly died twice.

It was barely 10pm he realised, glancing at the clock on the wall. Was something wrong? He didn’t know for sure, but he would hazard a guess that whatever ridiculous sentiment bonded him to his old friend was awakened because something was indeed happening–whether it be good or bad.

“He’s moving on…” Obito nodded. Kakashi, the man who had been closely guarded with his feelings and his heart since he was a child was letting someone inside his barriers. It still sounded like a joke.

He couldn’t decide if he was happy for him or jealous. The latter would be typical of him, but of which part? That Kakashi could move on with his life or that someone had been good enough in his eyes for him to even try? What woman could possibly turn the head of the legendary copycat ninja?

Sure, it was no secret that the man in question was a romantic at heart, perhaps with a touch of perversion given his reading material over the years, but it had never translated into reality, and Obito would know. For years he had watched from afar, hidden in his various guises and wondered why Kakashi continued to resist temptation. He found out the reason not until they reunited and buried old grudges.

Kakashi couldn’t bear losing someone close to him… again.

He chewed absently on his fingernails, lost in a maelstrom of the past and present. Obito was a part of the reason that Kakashi had closed himself off, he hadn’t been the ignition, but he still held a starring role. He shouldn’t be jealous, but jealousy was not rational. It didn’t listen to logic or abide by the rules of reason.

“... why can’t you, Obito?”

The hand of friendship had been extended so many times when he didn’t understand why he was being given the opportunity, and now, he had a shot at a second chance. Why couldn’t he take it?

So many questions and he didn’t have the answer to any, or any that he would admit to. Deep down in his withered heart, there was the small boy he had once been. The boy who longed for meaningful connections and love. The boy who had dreamed that he would be Hokage one day but had fallen for the trickery of the wicked and became the furthest possible iteration of what it meant to be worthy of the title of Hokage.

Redemption. It was offered like the leafy stem of an olive branch. If only he would reach out and take it, wrap his fingers around it carefully and allow himself the chance at a moment of peace. Wouldn’t it be nice to not be endlessly pursued by his demons? Obito sobbed quietly, the sound carrying only because the night around him stood still and silent as if it was watching—waiting—for what might happen. He was in a bubble of his own despair. A prison that was locked tight, but he alone held the key.

Like Kakashi, he could choose to overcome his fears and look to a future that wasn’t purely miserable. The fear of the unknown was daunting, and he knew that not everyone would be swayed by the words of their Hokage but he could understand that. Truly, it was not the unknown that scared him the most, it was the fear of being accepted. To be accepted despite everything he had done. All the pain and suffering he had inflicted on others. The people he had killed in his pursuit to achieve the impossible, the loved ones sent to their graves before their time. How could anyone look him in the eye and shake his hand after that?

He was broken.

So why did he hope that Kakashi wouldn’t give up on trying to fix him? Obito lay his head against his thin pillow and sent a silent prayer that he didn’t believe would be heard. He prayed that his friend had more strength than he, that whatever was happening with this woman would not leave him as bitter as Obito was. He deserved happiness.

~

You were scared. He could see the emotion swirling in the dark hues of your eyes, it mingled with the desire that was also present but the fear was threatening to overwhelm the other. Kakashi wouldn’t take what wasn’t willingly given. He wouldn’t push, but he would question it.

“What are you thinking about?”

His voice was barely a husky whisper, warm breath fanning your face and you licked across your lips whilst your eyes rose from his mouth to his eyes. So many things. You were drowning in thoughts, and honestly, you could use a moment of silence to gather your wits. For once, you spoke without running the words through your internal monitor.

“I’m thinking that I want to kiss you and that you want to kiss me, but–”

To be damned with whatever the but was going to be, you were correct, he did want to kiss you and he was going to.

Kakashi’s thumb caught beneath your chin to tip your face up and before you could blink, he kissed you. His lips were cool–pleasantly so–and so damn soft that it almost didn’t seem fair. Your arms wound around his neck exactly as you had desired only moments before, fingers tangling in the silky silver strands at his nape. His body was warm around yours, his hands respectfully at your waist whilst he offered another taste of his lips and you accepted greedily.

Never had you shared a kiss quite like this. Your brain could not process every sensation and emotion that was lighting up your insides like fireworks. How could you ever hope to express exactly what you felt at this moment? This was the Kakashi Hatake, and you were kissing him. Your lips cushioned his. Your fingers played with his hair and scratched lightly at his neck. Your body that he gently tugged ever closer to his own.

He wanted you.

Kakashi was tender and patient, leading you through a slow dance of kisses that seemed to never end, but the need for air would soon spoil that illusion.

You broke away reluctantly, blinking rapidly and hoping that the world would stop spinning so you could orientate yourself. His expression was pure amusement, lips twitching whilst you uncoiled your arms from their perch and pressed your fingertips to your lips. You savoured the gentle numb sensation of your lips, how they had filled with blood so easily and the lingering taste he had left behind.

“I... oh. We shouldn’t have done that,” you murmured, sounding as breathless as you felt.

“Mm, and why is that?”

“You’re my boss. You’re the fucking Hokage! Shit. I am in so much trouble. Can you just fire me now and get it over with?”

Kakashi chuckled, and dammit if you didn’t want to smack him in the shoulder. Didn’t he get it? This was… the best moment of your life. The thought was inside your head before you could squash it. Burning you alive with its presence.

“I have to go. I’m sorry… you’re so handsome. Shit–I mean, forget it,” you rambled, flushing from head to toe.

Twice in as many minutes you had cursed, and it sounded so perfectly ridiculous from your lips that he couldn’t not smile wider. It was at the moment he lifted his hand to his face to stifle the laughter in his throat that you tried to make a run for it. Kakashi watched whilst your eyes darted to the doorway that led back to the front door, and no sooner than the time it took him to blink, you were moving. Damn, you were fast. But he was much faster, naturally.

Not for the first time, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but this time he used a touch more force to bring you back to him. Your back collided into his chest with a soft thump, before you turned back to face him. Your eyes darted left and right, anywhere that wasn’t looking directly into his and he couldn’t have that.

“Breathe,” he directed calmly, dropping your wrist and bringing his hand up to your cheek. His fingertips were gentle on your skin, the ghost of a caress that made his eyes darken, and your breathing spike despite his best intentions.

“I am not going to fire you. I wish…” he paused, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “I wish you were not assigned with the task you’re working on, but actually, I think everything might work out better this way.”

Your nose scrunched in confusion, Kakashi was talking in riddles. His expression was a mask you couldn’t decipher. For as much as you longed to remain in his gentle hold, you knew that it was more crucial for you to reset your brain and that meant leaving.

You exhaled softly. “Kakashi, I’m not going to even try to understand what you mean right now. I’m too…” You wanted to admit you were falling for him, hard and far too fast, but you conceded in a small half truth for now. “... tipsy to think straight.”

His features sombred with a dip of his chin. The sudden, irrational desire to reach out and boop the little mole near his mouth was overwhelming. Your fingers twitched but you controlled the insane urge by biting the inside of your cheek.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you when you’ve been drinking, I apologise.”

Shit–no! That’s not what you had meant. Oh god, now he was regretting everything and you could feel the ground splitting beneath your feet.

“Wait, no. I swear I didn’t just kiss you because of the alcohol. You’re… well, look at you. I like you, Kakashi. Oh dear.” You really had to go before you said something else you’d regret later.

“If you put it that way…” Kakashi smirked, and you were grateful for it even if it was at your expense. “Can you be in my office at 11am tomorrow? I’ve taken up a lot of your time already and you’ve gotten nothing in return, it’s time I rectify that.”

Oh, you’d gotten plenty alright but you weren’t admitting it. Nodding enthusiastically, you moved towards the door and slipped into your shoes. “Would you like me to walk you home?” He asked, and when you glanced around his mask was back in place covering the lower half of his face. It made you pout but you understood.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t live far and I think I could use the peace, if that’s alright?”

With a final lingering exchange of looks, you bowed your head and stepped into the cool night. Away from Kakashi’s home and away from the bubble of happiness you had enjoyed for the past few hours.

You hadn’t lied, you did need solace from how maddeningly astute he was, but you missed him almost immediately and that was simply insane. It wouldn’t be for the final time this night did your fingers stray back to your lips in memory of the kiss you had shared. What any of this meant… you weren’t sure, but you needed a plan of action and thankfully, that was something you were good at.

It was time to play him at his own game and find out exactly what he wasn’t telling you.

Little did you know that your short trip home was not made alone. Two ninken trailed you discreetly, keeping to the shadows at their master’s instruction and finding your scent very appealing to their sensitive noses.

#delirious writes #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi fluff #hatake kakashi #obito uchiha #obito angst

[ghoul-slime]

Ghouls & Their Favorite Horror Movies (1980s edition)

In honor of Halloween being just a few days away (!!!) have some thoughts about the ghouls and their favorite horror movies. Narrowed down to the 1980s because that's probably my favorite decade for horror (shoutout to the 70s though).

Dew: City of the Living Dead, The Evil Dead, Pieces, Cannibal Holocaust

Resident horror snob and ultimate gorehound. The bloodier, sleazier, and more fucked up the better. Huge fan of the Italian horror directors, especially “Godfather of Gore” and king of onscreen eyeball trauma Lucio Fulci. City of the Living Dead (aka The Gates of Hell) is his favorite, it’s gory, blasphemous, and just obscure enough for him to feel smug when nobody else has heard of it. The biggest horror fan of the group, he’s seen it all and is always on the hunt for something weird and new that he hasn’t seen yet (a difficult task). Introduced pretty much all of the other ghouls to their favorite horror movies.

Aether: Return of the Living Dead, Re-Animator, Night of the Creeps, Killer Klowns from Outer Space

Lover of all the best 80s horror comedies. Silly and fun without being too intense or mean-spirited. The more over the top the better. Aether movie nights are always the most fun. Loves Return of the Living Dead because of the awesome punk rock soundtrack and 80s punk aesthetic. Secretly loves horror comedies the best because he gets to see Dew laughing the whole time. He and Dew are the most annoying about quoting movies back and forth to each other nonstop.

Mountain: The Thing, They Live, Aliens, From Beyond

Loves his horror with a side of sci-fi. Major John Carpenter and Stuart Gordon fan (who isn’t). Also a huge fan of sci-fi horror with amazing practical effects and The Thing is the king of them all (he loves the original too, for the plant-man monster of course). 

Swiss: Hellraiser, Videodrome, Society, Street Trash

Body horror enthusiast. If it's slimy, horny, and taboo then he’s all about it. Unsurprisingly the biggest Cronenberg fan of the bunch. Huge fan of the Hellraiser series, what with all the leather and the chains and the flesh. Will also sit you down and force you to watch Society if you’ve never seen it (you will thank him later).

Phantom: The Monster Squad, Fright Night, The Lost Boys, Near Dark

Of course it’s gotta be The Monster Squad. Phantom loves the classic Universal Monsters and Monster Squad has them all, wrapped up in a super fun 80s horror comedy with great writing and memorable characters. Will undoubtedly yell WOLFMAN’S GOT NARDS at the most inopportune times. Loves vampire movies the most and secretly thinks of his pack a little bit like the group of vampires in Near Dark.

Aurora: Night of the Comet, Slumber Party Massacre, Phenomena, Sleepaway Camp 2

GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. Loves seeing pretty women absolutely kick ass onscreen. And any horror movie with a female villain will almost always become a favorite. Loves Night of the Comet because why shouldn’t a couple of valley girl cheerleaders get to enjoy a mall shopping spree while also mowing down hordes of comet zombies with machine guns?

Cirrus: Possession, Altered States, The Shining, the Ninth Configuration

Queen of psychological horror. Her picks usually toe the line between horror and other genres. Cirrus movie nights almost always have to come with a “palate cleanser” movie right after (usually a Cumulus or Aether pick). Dew secretly thinks she has the coolest taste of the bunch.

Cumulus: Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers, Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama, Blood Diner, TerrorVision

80s horror comedies (horny version). Like Aether, Cumulus loves horror comedies. But for her, the sexier and more ridiculous the better. Always thinks a movie would do better with more boobs and full-frontal. Vocal advocate for more male nudity in movies. Linnea Quigley is her horror idol.

Sunshine: Slumber Party Massacre 2, Black Roses, Trick or Treat, Slaughterhouse Rock

Number one champion of the rock & roll horror subgenre. Horror and rock music were both public enemy number one during the Satanic Panic of the 80s, and Sunny loves movies that lean into it. Slumber Party Massacre 2 is the most fun with the leather-clad rockabilly slasher facing off against members of an all-girl rock group with his massive (unmistakably phallic) electric guitar-drill.

Rain: Jaws 3, Humanoids from the Deep, The Fog, The Abyss

Absolutely nobody is shocked to discover Rain is a fan of underwater/nautical horror. He doesn’t even care if a movie is “good” as long as it’s wet and full of weird monsters or creatures. Avid defender of Jaws 3 (it has dolphins, hello). His taste is all over the place quality-wise, from b-movie creature features like Humanoids, to the cozy coastal ambiance of the Fog. As the only ghoul who can breathe underwater, he loves to watch others squirm during the breathing fluid scene in the Abyss.

#nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss army ghoul #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #aurora ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #tag yourself i'm all of them but mostly dew and aether #ghoul-slime headcanons #halloween ghouls

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Twelve

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Twelve Summary: Marshall has some revelations.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 2.7k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Twelve Warnings: masturbation (male), angst

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

Sorry its a little late! And a little short. Its not edited very well at all, I'm so sorry! But I wanted to get the chapter out.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (Probably a lot in this chapter, I apologise)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Eleven Part Thirteen

Marshall

I woke before Lori and I was glad to. It seemed that neither of us had moved during the night; I was still on my back and she was still under my arm, her hand on my chest was curled into a fist, and her thigh was still across my stomach.

Some of her rich dark hair had fallen free from her loose braid and obscured her face. Careful not to wake her, I swept the wayward locks off her face and tucked it behind her ear to get a better look at her.

She was so beautiful. The kind of girl next door beauty that made most men turn their heads. I chuckled softly, she definitely turned all of our heads. Even Geralt, who always had women throwing themselves at him was dumbstruck by this girl.

But it wasn’t just that she was gorgeous that had me going crazy; my attraction to her was based on more than just her looks. For the first time in a long time, I found someone I couldn’t easily figure out. She grew up surrounded by bikers, and yet, she didn’t act like it. All of her friends were college buddies, and you’d think she’d never been around the life. But even that wasn’t totally true, when she was around them, she seemed to fit in as well as any woman could. She didn’t take their crap and knew what she could get away with. She was smart and not just street smart either.

My first thought was that she was a chameleon, that she played to her audience, unconsciously mimicking those around her. However since being around her the past few days, I could see that wasn’t true. It wasn’t that she was faking, she seemed to have many sides to her, and all were genuinely part of who she was. She was the college girl, she was the biker chick, she was the somewhat sensitive girl who seemed to feel intensely, and yet she could be hard as nails when she wanted to be.

Asleep she looked so young. At twenty-three she was probably too young for me. For all of us except Mike who was a few months shy of his twenty-fourth birthday. Just another reason to add to the list of why my currently throbbing cock was wildly inappropriate. I could blame it on morning wood, but the way she was clinging to me was absolutely adding fuel to the fire.

I groaned as my phone alerted me to a text message and I ignored the message; I didn’t want to move yet. But when my phone alerted me again, I twisted my upper body and reached for the phone, fairly certain I knew who was texting me.

The two messages confirmed I was right.

Sy: Walker really fucked me on this one, four days minimum, but probably seven.

Sy: How’s our girl?

Our girl. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know how we got here, how Sy was ok with this, how I was ok with this. I wanted her so badly that I no longer cared if she was Sy’s or ours as long as she was also mine.

I slid out of her arms as gently as I could. Her brows furrowed, she moaned softly and her breath hitched but she didn’t wake up. I wanted to soothe the crease between her brows again like I had last night, but this time banish it with a kiss.

My phone sounded again and one of her legs kicked out from beneath the sheets, revealing her bare inner thigh. When I held her, she felt so soft; her body was all gentle curves, plush and warm. A strong hunger bloomed deep in my gut, and I couldn’t stop imagining my lips on her skin, kissing a slow path until I reached her softest and most intimate place.

Breathing deeply through my nose, I lifted the edge of the sheet and covered her leg. My chest puffed as I turned away from her, and sat on the edge of the bed, shuffling to make more room in my already loose sweats.

Sy: Tell her hi from me.

Me: Your girl is fine. Had trouble sleeping last night. She needed a herbal remedy. Got her some from Mike and now she’s still asleep.

Sy: With you?

Me: Yes.

I watched as Sy wrote and deleted a message three times before I wrote again.

Me: She didn’t want to be alone. We only slept.

I paused and added more.

Me: She’s wearing your shirt.

Sy: Okay.

Me: Okay? That’s it?

Sy: I already told you how it is, Brother. It's up to her what happens.

“Is that Sy?”

Like a teenager who’s been caught looking at porn, my first instinct was to hide the phone. Bloody hell this girl was fucking with my head. I dismissed it as stupid and told her the truth.

“Yeah. He’s checking on you.”

She looked over my shoulder and I didn’t try to hide the messages. She frowned.

“What’s up to me?” Her breath tickled my ear as she spoke, and her voice was husky from sleep. 

Turning my head to hers and my heart thundered in my chest. She was so close, her full lips only a few inches from mine, it wouldn’t take but a slight movement of my head to feel her kiss. Her eyelids were heavy over her grey eyes, her cheeks were slightly reddened and I wondered if that's how she looks when she’s flush with heat and whimpering as she begs for more? I licked my lips and instead of seeing my lust reflected back to me, I saw genuine confusion on her face.

Sy should have been clearer, he is usually rudely blunt, but it’s obvious she didn’t know about the pact. I looked at her while I tried to decide how to tell her when I hardly understood how this would work myself. All I knew is that I wanted her and I would have her anyway she would let me.

I took a few moments to get it straight in my head, collect my thoughts in a coherent manner. I’d have to talk her through this, show her how and why we made the agreement we did and hope she understands.

“You grew up around this life,” I began. “You know how close MC’s can be. How strong the bond is between members.”

“Yeah…”

“We won’t let anything get in the way of that. Nobody is more important than the Brotherhood. Even Sy and Walker, there’s friction, but in the end, we’re family.”

Her frown grew deeper. I was making her more confused. I turned my torso to face her better, but she drew her knees up close to her chest and hugged them. She looked so vulnerable and blood flooded my already thickening cock. She wasn’t naïve though, she could handle this, I was sure of it.

“We all care about you, we all want to keep you safe. Not just ‘cause it’s the job. We’ve been watching you for a while, to prepare for the job, all except Walker that is. We all…” I stopped, wondering what the word was, love was a bit much, we weren’t there yet, except for Sy maybe.

“You all what?” she prompted.

“We all liked you. Instantly.” I cupped a hand to her cheek. “You’re beautiful, and maybe if that’s all it was, just a physical attraction, we wouldn’t have made the pact we did.”

“A pact?”

I ignored that for now, I wanted her to know how I felt first so she could understand why we did what we did. 

“You surprised me. From the research Walker did on you, I assumed you would be something else. You were nothing like I expected, smarter, braver, saner than I would have thought possible. You left that life behind because you wanted to make your own way and I admired the strength it would take to do that. You went to college, you got a job. You’re tough but not jaded, you’re young but not stupid, you’re…”

“You can’t know this,” she interrupted me. “You barely know me.”

“Am I wrong?”

She looked away. “You make me sound like I’m some sort of dream girl.”

“You are,” I said. “For all of us.”

“But Sy…”

“Sy cares about you, don’t you doubt that,” I said. Steeling myself for the next bit, I swallowed hard. “He cares about us too. He trusts us with you. We all agreed, it would be up to you.”

“What’s up to me?” she repeated.

“If you wanted to be with us,” I said. “If you wanted none of us, one of us, or all of us.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. I cursed Sy, I thought he’d prepped her better than this. The look of horror and disbelief on her face made it obvious that she knew jack shit about the pact.

Fuck. I’m going to have to fuck Sy up for this.

“As much as we all wanted you, we couldn’t let jealousy or competition tear us apart,” I continued, “We share everything anyway, our lives are so interconnected. If you wanted, you would be another part of that, another connection we had to each other.”

“What so all of you… and me? That’s what you want?”

“I want you, and I want to keep the Brotherhood together. I love my Brothers and want their happiness as much as my own. And I would be happy with you.”

She surprised me by standing up. “You know, if you all wanted a gang bang, there are easier ways to get one.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what this is isn’t it? I mean so little, I’m worth so little, that you just want to pass me around between you?”

“No. You’re not hearing me…”

“Oh no, I heard you. And I heard Sy too, I just couldn’t believe he meant it.” She wasn’t mad, she wasn’t yelling, it was the strangest thing, it was like she was resigned. “I mean, I didn’t expect it from you. Or from Sy. Or the club as a whole. When he told me… I never really believed… But he meant it. He actually meant it. I thought you guys were different from my brother’s MC, but you aren’t. You’re just a bunch of misogynistic assholes, like every other biker I have ever met.”

“Sweetheart,” I warned, in a low voice. I stood in front of her and folded my arms across my chest. I realised my error far too late.

“Yup,” she said. “First groom, then coerce, then intimidate. Well done Detective Marshall, you’ve just passed `How to be a Pimp, 101’.”

She turned to walk away, then stopped, stormed over to my bookshelf, grabbed a book from my bookshelf and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Fuck,” I growled.

Taking furious lunging steps towards the door, I had every intention of following her, making her understand she had it all wrong. Instead I swore, angrily snarling in frustration and headed towards the bathroom, leaning against the sink taking deep gulping breaths through my nose until the reddish tinge that edged my sight faded and the rush of heated frustrations ebbed to a manageable simmer.

I raised my head and looked at myself in the mirror, shocked at what I found. Sometimes I still couldn’t recognise myself physically, but the redness around my eyes, the drawn exhaustion in my features, those were perpetually familiar, although I hadn’t noticed it so starkly for the last week.

Sighing, I stripped off, and showered, hoping the cool water would further quell my irritation. Instead, as my immediate anger abated I was still left with an overwhelming frustration, and a raging hard on that hadn’t weakened since I woke up.

Throwing an arm against the wall, I reached between my legs, brushing my hand over the tight skin of my sack. My eyes closed with a groan and I leaned my head against the hand on the tiles as I abandoned any thought of making the act more than a way to expel the pent up fantasies of the past few days.

I let the suppressed images of Lori flood my mind, the sensation of her breath on my chest as she slept, the weight of her long smooth thigh over my hip, the smell of her hair.

Working my cock with a brutality that you can only inflict on yourself, my breath came in hard as the sounds of her orgasm rang in my ears. Images were replaced with fantasy, her body bare beneath mine, my mouth locked around her nipple as my fingers slipped inside her. Her legs open wide, my cock disappearing into her pussy, my hand around her throat as I felt the vibrations of her every moan.

Image after image rushed through my mind, each one lasting a brief moment but each one steering me closer to release. My skin surged with electrified tingles, lightning sparks of white hot heat rushed through my tightened, trembling muscles.

Then I could hear her moan my name, pitched low and husky in an urgent invitation, and my body rocked. Growling, I reached the point of no return and giving into it, I let myself get lost in the moment. Thick jets of relief rocketed up my cock in strong pulses that not only soothed my body but also purged and mollified my raging mind.

I stood panting, trying to push down the growing shame I felt before I hurriedly scrubbed away the evidence of my release. Lori is right. The position we are putting her in is wrong. I would have no further part in it, I don’t care what Sy and the others do, I’m not playing along with this any more.

I knocked on the open door to Walker’s office, my notebook in hand. After my shower, I had read over the notes I made while questioning Lori yesterday and those old cop senses kept tingling.

Walker was on the phone, but called me in with a jerk of his head and I sat across from his large, industrial, black wood and steel desk. He handed me a file with raised eyebrows and as soon as I flipped it open and started reading, I knew my gut instinct had been right.

By the time I read the few pages, Walker had hung up the phone.

“Thoughts?” he asked.

“Something didn’t sit right with me, but this,” I waved my hand over the file, “I didn’t expect this level of sophistication.”

“Agreed.��

“Do you have any idea of his real identity?”

Walker grimaced. “As far as my contacts can tell, the apartment Jake supposedly lived in has been thoroughly scrubbed, no prints, DNA, nothing. Like the whole thing was a prop to get close to her.”

“What about financials? Someone had to pay the rent.”

“I’m looking into that now, might take a day or two.”

“And nobody knows what he looks like? No security cameras at the apartment building?” I asked and Walker shook his head. “What about footage from the bar they met at?”

Walker inclined his head. “Look into it. You can start from there.”

“He can’t be working alone though,” I said, “The tracker, the scrubbing, the alias…”

“You hunt down his identity, I’ll work the finances,” Walker instructs, "We should be able to find who he's working for once we have that information."

“Have you told the client?”

“I spoke to the Sergeant At Arms,” Walker shrugged, and touched his nose, “He informs me that Hooks is a little preoccupied.”

“What do we tell Lori?”

Walkers lips press into a tight line. “Nothing for now. She’s smart enough to work out that he lied to her. We can wait until we have more, so she doesn’t have to be questioned more than necessary.”

I raised my eyebrows at the empathetic tone from Walker and decided to take advantage of his mood and spoke casually as I stood to leave.

“Oh. Speaking of Lori,” I said, “she wants to order some clothes and personal items herself.”

“Of course she does. She’s not going to do anything the easy way,” Walker grinned so broadly he was almost laughing, “Get Mike to supervise her. And don’t let her go overboard.”

“Shit. You do like her,” I said before I could stop myself.

Walker’s mood turned on a dime and his face grew hard. 

“I’ll get started on this then shall I?” I said.

“You do that,” Walker replied with a near snarl.

I raised my hands and backed out of the room. But from the look on his face I could tell I was right.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #syverson #syverson x ofc #cpt syverson #captain sy #august walker fanfiction #august walker #august walker fic #august walker x ofc #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fic #geralt x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia fanfiction #mike (hellraiser) #mike hellraiser #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) fic

[justalonelyslytherin]

Happy Father's Day - Nomad!Steve Rogers

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x female Reader

Warnings: fluff, a tiny little bit sad/angsty, he is a fugitive - having a kid as a wanted criminal isn't the easiest thing and not the best decision, reader knows that and is concerned and stressed out bcs of it

Wordcount: 1.117

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: This is part of a 4 series and is a request from the amazing @nana1000night for my 200 Follower Celebration.

The divider is from the talented @firefly-graphics

Steve and Sam were out together on a supply run. Standing in a supermarket, wearing their disguises. It was the middle of the week,  between late morning and early noon, yet there was a surprising amount of commotion.

“What’s going on?” Steve wondered a frown etched on his face as he felt surrounded by celebratory items. His cap was pulled down deep into his face, sunglasses obscuring his blue eyes, and the thick beard softened the edges of his jaw. Sam stepped up to him and pointed toward a big display.

“It’s Father’s Day,” he told him. Steve eyed the display with all kinds of cards and other junk advertised for the day. His heart painfully restricted, a heavy sigh sat in his chest. He felt a strange kind of longing in him. One he couldn’t help but feel whenever the topic of children and fatherhood was brought up. 

A house, a wife, and kids. That’s all he ever wanted. The idea of it never felt so far away as it did now. He was a fugitive, a criminal. Hunted down by too many governments for the most stupid reason. Even with his dream so far away, he couldn’t help but desperately want it, crave it, to wish for a chance to get to experience it. It was especially cruel and taunting because one part of the equation he already had. Her. He had found his other half. The one he would want to settle down with, the potential mother to any child he would ever want to have.  Thinking about it made him even sadder. It made it hurt even more to think about what he wanted desperately with her but wouldn’t get because the universe would never grant him his wishes.

Sam motioned for him to go. They were already there for too long and needed to finish this up, and get back to base. Shortly after they were back in the small hideout, stowing away their goods. Natasha was watching them - watching him - from the small kitchen table. The blatant staring ticked him off.

“What?” he barked, more annoyed than he liked to be at that moment.

“Just go to her. Go see her,” she told him. Steve froze. He was deep in thought before he shook his head. They were in the area and he wanted to go meet her, but he had only been there a couple of weeks ago. It was already a risk for them to come back to a base multiple times. Doing so in such short repeats was even riskier. He couldn’t pull her into the risk.

“Steve, just go.”

And so he found himself in front of her door. He hesitated just a moment longer, contemplating turning around before he knocked. It didn’t take long for her to open, but it was longer than usual. Upon opening the door she looked sluggish and exhausted. He was concerned immediately, quietly entering before he put a hand on her cheek. 

“Hi,” she smiled at him, tired. He took her in, noticing how pale and sickly she looked.

“Are you sick?” She shook her at first, biting her lip before she hesitantly nodded. Steve clicked his tongue, taking her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her crown.

“There anything I can do to help you feel better?” He asked her softly, simply holding her in his arms. She drew in a shaky breath, shaking her head this time. It made him frown as she pulled back and turned around. She flitted through the hallway, busying her hands in a way she only ever did when she was nervous or stressed. Sensing that something was off, he stalked after her.

Her bursting into tears wasn’t something he anticipated. 

“Steve I’m so sorry,” she sobbed and he had no clue what was going on.

“Baby, no, come here,” he cooed softly, making grabby hands for her. Yet she kept escaping his every attempt to draw her back into his embrace. They flitted around her kitchen island in a game of mouse and cat. 

“What’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated as her sobs continued. She was working herself up into a frenzy, he could tell, “I ruined everything.” Steve still couldn’t understand anything and kept shaking his head.

“Nonsense. You didn’t, you could never. Baby, come here and let me hold you, let me calm you down, and then you can tell me what’s going on, yeah?” He was pleading with her, the table between them making him antsy and fidgety.

Still, she refused, instead of coming to him, she fumbled with a drawer, grabbing something from within.

His heart nearly stopped beating as he recognized the small picture in her hands. Square and black and white. He had gotten familiarized enough with modern times to know what it was. The ultrasound picture lay between them on the table. Steve kept staring at it blanky, his heart beating rapidly, every sound drowned out by the rush of his blood. As he looked up at her, she looked heartbroken. Truly and utterly distressed. 

“Oh baby,” he mumbled softly, “C’mhere.”

Finally, he was able to draw her back into his embrace, strong arms around her still shaking form, one hand buried in her hair. 

“This is good,” he told her. He didn’t know how they would do it, how he would keep them safe, but they could do it. Even if he wouldn’t be able to return to her. That’s exactly what was going to happen. Everything in him was breaking as the realization settled in. He would miss everything important. There was no way he could be by her side or visit regularly without putting them at risk. 

“We’ll do it. We’ll manage,” he told her, even as his heart broke into a thousand pieces. She continued to sniffle as she leaned her head against his chest. 

They stood there for some time, quiet and basking in the other’s comfort until his phone started to ring. The tone blared through their emotional moment, ripping them straight apart. Steve was frowning again, looking at the unknown number. It was a burner phone he had. Both Sam and Nat he had saved and none else besides them knew of this number. Nonetheless, he picked up, a feeling deep down telling him he needed to.

“Hey, Capsicle. Long time not heard. Happy Father’s Day. Just wanted to give my congratulations and tell you that everything is handled. They won’t find you there. Go have your chance at luck.”

Steve was the one getting choked up now. He would have never guessed to hear Tony’s voice again. No less as a friend and ally, granting him a chance to live out his biggest wish. Steve put the phone down beside the sonogram and pulled her back against his chest. Hiding his face in her hair, his shoulders shook now. 

Turns out it wasn’t the universe that would grant him his biggest wish but his trusted friends and the love of his life.

#sly's 200 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #nomad!steve x reader #nomad!steve rogers #nomad steve

[dilutedconfusion]

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”

HELLO and welcome to my blog. I’m finally making one of these things so people can access my stuff easier so pls enjoy. My name is Alicia and I’m 19 and full of existential dread. I like One Piece (if that wasn’t already readily apparent) and that’s what this blog is mainly about!

Just for a few facts about me I’m going to college for a degree in graphic design (I’m in my first year so I’m still a baby), I’m real big on metal, rock, and folk music (the palette goes deeper then that but those are my mains), and if you want me to beat somebody up for you I’m the first person you should call <3 <3

I make art and I write so expect both of that splattered across this blog. I usually post art surrounding One Piece or more specifically the Kid Pirates. But I’m probably going to post some personal works as well.

I’m currently writing “A Moth to a Flame” which is my multipart Eustass Kid x Female!Reader series. Though I have some other multichapter stuff I’m working on as well. But of course it will most likely be Kid Pirates related because they bounce around in head like a bag of marbles.

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass Kid X Female!Reader (A whole lotta plot, slow-burn edition)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Lost Star

Eustass Kid X Female!Reader (Angst and Giggles)

Part 1

The Nameless

Eustass Kid X Female!Reader (SoftYandere!Kid)

Part 1

WEE WOO🚨 WEE WOO 🚨 ALERT INCOMING

REQUESTS: OPEN

I KNOW I KNOW. Alicia doing requests? CRAZY. But umm yea if any of y’all wanna hear me yap or use my skills to cook ya up something I’m down.

Rules for Requests:

Kid Pirates related (but I might broaden my horizons later who knows??)

No NSFW related requests (I might one day but not rn)

I accept any one shot ideas, x reader (personalized to the person requesting or non specific), imagines, and headcannon blurbs you might want me to talk about.

I am not SUPER into certain ships outside of the Kid Pirates and because of that I feel like I won’t do them justice if they are requested. But if you want (Kid Pirate Member) x (Non Kid Pirate Member) I’m down to try.

As for one shots you can ask for any gender! I’m comfortable doing male, female, or gender neutral pronouns.

OC x Canon (just give me like a description of your OC and I can rock with dat)

Platonic or Romantic relationships (I mainly just say that because I feel like fanfics are usually inherently romantic but they don’t have to be!)

I’m comfortable with writing different AU’s, slight gore, stomach wrenching angst, and darker topics such as violent relationships/yandere trope.

If you have very obscure or just emotionally rooted ideas I can work with those too! You don’t have to give me a well thought out prompt to receive good writing! I might as well be a improv master.

#alicia asks stupid questions #alicia requests #uhhh yeah I’m like cool or whatever

[ki-ka-katsuki]

It's 04:00am and he's thinking of you. ☆ character: Aizawa Shouta ☆ reader: female, aged-up ☆ rating: fluff, mature content / very slight nsfw ☆ warnings: suggestive themes ☆ word count: 1001

⇢ Bakugou's 04:00am thoughts ⇢ masterlist

a/n: this makes the second piece to my 04:00am thoughts series. if you want to, feel free to let me know whom I should do next. enjoy!

minors, do not interact! © all rights reserved to @ki-ka-katsuki​. do not repost or plagiarize.

Defeated and tired from yet another day of preparing exams and planning class trips, he drags himself up from his old armchair to grab the lukewarm cup of coffee from the machine. His eyes, barely opened, are dull with exhaustion when he takes a careless glance at the old alarm clock, counting away minute after minute in what feels like mere seconds. 04:34 am, it says, on a chilly Friday morning.

Normally, he tries to keep his Fridays as free from work as possible. Two days off in a week of seven is just nowhere near enough. You spend one of them recovering from plodding around non-stop and the other preparing for the repetition. What a stupid custom, really. If he had the power to change it somehow, he would. But he doesn’t, so instead, he makes time for just half a day more. As much as his schedule allows him to, at least. And he makes it clear to everyone that if they have business with him on a Friday, they better be quick about it. Because after his early morning class, he’s gone.

Though today is a bit different from that.

Taking a sip from his cup, Aizawa leans against the wooden cabinet and takes a look out the window. In about twelve hours he’s going to pick you up from that train station down there, right where the bakery’s old ventilation engines drone peacefully, greeting occasional passersby, without rest.

Sigh.

He’s too old for this. Waiting like a small puppy, impatient and fidgety, for someone to finally arrive. To ease that demand for attention. Yet it seems he can’t quite fight that feeling because you’re not just anyone.

You’re his little secret. His new-found spark of hope that love hasn’t completely desert his heart yet, and he wants to trust it this time.

On that train a few months ago, when you had the courage to ask him for directions, he was sure you would fade into the obscurity of his mind just like the rest of the passengers. Ever since he became a teacher, he couldn’t allow himself to waste his capacities on trivial things anymore. Like memorizing someone’s face, let alone their name. But then you thanked him so kindly, so genuinely and with such authentic relief that he couldn’t help but wonder whether there was even the slightest chance he would get to meet you again someday. So that he could help you out once more, like on that day. Just to hear you speak such honest words again, like a breath of fresh air, causing all of his daily stress and concerns to fade away for just a bit.

Aizawa chuckles lowly, the corners of his mouth raising into a gentle, tired smile. He can feel his breathing increase a little at the thought of how he found you two days after that train ride. In front of a grocery store by the station, crouching down to collect a bunch of oranges that had fallen from an elderly woman’s grip. Your cheeks were flushed pink from the glowing sun rays as you waved her goodbye. And you still wore that beautiful smile when you turned around, ready to go home.

But then your eyes spotted a familiar silhouette standing on the other side of the street. It took a moment for you to realize, yet when it hit you, the last thing you could hear was the sharp breath you drew before the thumps of your heartbeat drowned out your entire surroundings.

Slowly, your feet carried you towards him, parted lips turning upwards as the distance between you dwindled.

“It’s you!”

It’s you.

Truly, it felt like fate.

To him, your presence is like a blessing, one that wants to be cherished with care – and he’s willing to try again. He’s far from perfect, he knows that – and by now, you do too – but with the way you admire him every time you meet, with the way you bring his flaws to his attention so respectfully, it seems he has found a reason to hope.  

Today, on a rainy day at the end of September, he’s going to keep his promise and take you into his home for the first time. It’s ridiculous how the mere fact that he’ll be able to have you so close without anyone to see won’t let him sleep tonight. If it wasn’t for you, he might seriously fall asleep again during class – when everyone’s busy solving overly complex questions.

Another sigh escapes his lips as Aizawa turns his gaze over to his bedside table, a prickling sensation spreading in his stomach as he remembers how he made sure it wasn’t empty.

Again, he’s too old to be worrying so much, but you’re special to him. He wants to treat you right, so he lets you make all the decisions today. However you want to spend the night together, he doesn’t care as long as you’re alone and comfortable within the confines of his apartment.

Little does he know how you’re already tossing and turning in your bed right now, thinking of him in similar ways.

Your heart is beating with such force you wonder whether it might knock you out any second. No matter how hard you try to calm yourself down, the fuzzy feeling in your lower belly just won’t come to rest. You feel ashamed somehow, having these thoughts about a man you haven’t even kissed yet.

It's already 04:59 am, the rain has started pattering against your window as well, and you’re caught in that drowsy state between sleep and waking. A very abstruse and confusing state in which you find yourself struggling to tell apart reality from imagination.

Though one thing is certain: the man who has you feeling this excited and nervous in the middle of the night is undeniably real, and there are only 11 hours left until you’ll be able to make sure of that one more time – and afterwards, forever.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #僕のヒーローアカデミア #aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #4am thoughts #aizawa smut #smut #bnha blurb #bnha fluff #aizawa fluff #bnha fanfiction #retro aesthetic #vhs aesthetic #80s aesthetic