#pink & green fit so well together!
happyheidi · 13 days ago
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no-droids · 10 months ago
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gif credit: @javier-pena
Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 19.5K
Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!
A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕
Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!
Day 5–11:13am:
You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.
Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.
It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.
“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”
Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.
“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”
Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”
The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.
Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.
Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.
It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.
About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.
Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.
At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.
A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…
Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.
Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?
For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.
Day 5—5:04pm:
It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.
More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.
“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”
She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  
“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”
Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.
“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”
You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.
Day 5–5:17pm:
“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.
Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.
“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.
“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”
“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.
“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”
You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.
The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—
He’s here… isn’t he?
Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.
It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.
This… this is a taunt.  
The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.
“You okay, Nerida?”
The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.
“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.
“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”
Day 5–5:32pm:
Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.
Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.
Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.
Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.
Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.
“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.
“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”
“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”
Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”
Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  
Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.
And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.
And that’s when you see him.
But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.
You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.
You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.
Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?
No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.
Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.
You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.
Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.
You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—
A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.
Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.
You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.
“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.
Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.
Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.
Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.
“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”
They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.
“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.
You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.
“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”
There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”
You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.
Day 5–5:24pm:
Din is fucking furious.
He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.
But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.
He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.
Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 
No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.
But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.
Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.
Day 5–6:59pm:
This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.
It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.
That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.
You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.
Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—
It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.
As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.
Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.
You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”
It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”
The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.
“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?
“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”
For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”
He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”
So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.
“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”
The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.
“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.
“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”
“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.
“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.
“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.
“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”
It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.
But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.
“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.
It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.
Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.
“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”
Day 5–7:37pm:
After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.
Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.
“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”
“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.
“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”
You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.
But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?
There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.
It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.
“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.
“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”
Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”
Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.
Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.
You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.
Day 5–11:32pm:
You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.
The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.
It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.
When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.
“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”
You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”
She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.
Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.
Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.
A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?
You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?
Something catches your eye.
Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.
But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?
Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—
—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.
Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?
Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.
You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.
As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.
Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.
You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.
You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?
Behind you.
There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.
Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.
But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—
Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.
Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.
But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.
Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.
The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.
Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.
He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.
“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.
“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.
“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”
“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—
Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 
…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.
There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.
One o’clock.
You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.
But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.
Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.
Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.
But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.
You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.
“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.
Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.
Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—
Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  
“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?
Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.
“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.
Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.
When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.
“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—
Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.
This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.
You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.
You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.
Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.
“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”
“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”
“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”
“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”
You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.
“—ve you—I l-love y—”
He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  
When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  
Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—
The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.
You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—
Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.
Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.
How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.
Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.
Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.
“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”
You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”
“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”
It takes you a second.
“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”
He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.
“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.
You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”
“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”
You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”
“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”
And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?
“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”
His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.
“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”
Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.
“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”
Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.
“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.
After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.
Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.
When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.
Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.
It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.
“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”
The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.
“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”
Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”
You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.
“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”
He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?
“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”
Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.
Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.
You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.
Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.
So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.
“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”
It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.
Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.
You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.
About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.
“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”
“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.
“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”
Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”
He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”
If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.
“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.
“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?
“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”
Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.
Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.
You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.
The crib—he forgot the crib—
“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.
You raise your voice.  “Din?!”
“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.
“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.
“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.
Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.
Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.
What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.
Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.
“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”
Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.
“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”
The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.
You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.
“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.
Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.
“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.
“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”
He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.
So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.
“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”
“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.
“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”
From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.
“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”
Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.
“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”
So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.
You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.
“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”
After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.
You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.
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@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!
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j0succ · 8 months ago
can i request arranged marriage with toji and corruption please 🥰
wedding rings - toji x fem!reader (5k)
the zenin clan just can't stop meddling in toji's affairs. what's he supposed to do with the nervous little virgin who shows up on his doorstep and says that her family and his have said they have to get married? not fuck her?
warnings: not sfw/minors dni. arranged marriage. corruption kink. virgin reader. light cunnilingus, fingering, coming inside. light dub-con by nature of 'arranged marriage'. afab reader, fem pronouns.
[a/n: writing toji is always so much fun ;_; ]
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When you showed up at Toji’s door with suitcase in hand, trembling lip and eyes all wide and frightened, he had laughed outright.
It was just like the fucking Zenin clan to be meddling in his life even now, wasn’t it? Even though Toji has abandoned them and slaughtered their ilk, their bullshit about bloodlines still leaks into every facet of what they do; and clearly the idea that Toji, even with his flawed lack of cursed energy, might be able to pass on the technique and hasn’t got a pretty little wife to impregnate yet had rankled them so badly that they’d sorted the whole situation out for him.
If he didn’t hate jujutsu society so much, he’d almost feel bad for you.
You’re clearly in the bloom of life; fresh-faced and innocent, not expecting to find yourself in Toji’s messy shithole of an apartment (why bother making it nice, when he spends so long out of it for work?). He wonders who you’ve pissed off to end up here.
As it turns out, you end up telling him yourself, a frown on your face.
Turns out, you’re . . . not quite just like him, but you’ve been fucked over by your clan just as much for not being able to be useful. You can see cursed spirits, but you’ve got no cursed energy, no technique – despite your clan usually producing good, dutiful, powerful wives. Disappointment of the family. He can understand what that feels like.
So they were probably glad to get rid of you. Might even hope you’ll bear Toji’s kid and it’ll have no technique to speak of itself, too – so both families can forget about you.
(Well, Toji thinks to himself with a grin – his family can’t forget about him, much as they want to, considering both his nickname and his line of work.)
He takes a sip of the glass of water he’s holding in his hand, green eyes focused very hard on you. You’re not in traditional clothing, like most clan members he knows would be; you’re wearing a pale blue dress that you keep tugging uncomfortably down over your thighs. Toji lets his eyes linger on your thighs, too – he might as well appreciate the view, he supposes.
Your suitcase is full of, as well as a collection of clothes in modest cut and soft, pastel colours, documents. Toji flips through some of them, nose wrinkling at the boring jargon. He does linger on a caveat about if you bear him children, they all have to take the Zenin name, and Toji and you will be ‘compensated handsomely’ for handing over the kid’s education and raising to the clan--
Toji’s about to crumple them up on the floor and tell you to get the fuck out of his house, when he catches sight of you over the edge of the paper. You’ve drawn yourself in; shoulders tight, pretty mouth pressed into a tight line, eyes shining with a mixture between hope and fear. You look so lost. You look so innocent.
A little curl of heat makes itself known in the very base of Toji’s stomach; the thought of you being a good little wife, on your knees. The thought of him telling you exactly how to suck his cock.
He knows how the sorcerer clans raise women like you.
He knows you’ll be eager to please and obedient, falling over yourself to keep your man happy. He knows, too, that you’ll be pliant and agreeable – and that you’ll be pure as the driven snow. That thought gives him pause.
You’re seductive to him without realising it, in the totally guileless way you act, as if you don’t know that he’s considering how your tits would fill his hands and how tight your precious, untouched cunt would feel around his girth.
If he rejects you, what will your clan do?
You’re as fucked as him. He can see it in the shine of your eyes in his kitchen; you’re afraid he will throw you out, like he was thinking of. Leave you to fend for yourself on the streets of Japan, because there’s no way your family will want you back after even scum like Toji’s rejected you.
Would it be so bad?
He lets himself look at you critically. He takes in the curves, the dips, the contours of your body; the way you’d feel beneath him. Your face, and what it would look like lost in pleasure.
Perhaps it would be pleasant, to have someone to return to after a hit; to have someone warm his bed, curl around him, cook for him and take care of him. Perhaps it would be pleasant to take a pretty little virgin and break her into exactly what he wants in a woman. To teach her how he likes to fuck, how he likes her to act, to condition her until he can crook his finger at her and she’s bending over, presenting herself already slick and needy for his cock to use however he sees fit.
“Alright,” he says, draining the glass. “Sure, sweetheart. We’ll get married.”
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Later on that night, he creeps into the spare room. You’re asleep on top of the covers in a cute pyjama set that’s all frills and froth and pale pink; elastic in the shorts digging into the flesh of your thighs, top clinging to the curve of your chest. His cock stirs in his pants looking at you. You’re so . . . innocent. There’s no mark to you; Toji wants to cling to your hips until there are bruises in the shape of his hands, wants to worry love-bites into your neck like a necklace, wants to ruin you until you’re tear-stained and whimpering and arching your hips up for him--
Calloused fingers trail along your skin. You’re so soft. Where Toji is all scars and muscle, your skin is like satin. You moan in your sleep, pretty face furrowing, and Toji wants to see your face creased in pleasure too. Your mouth drops open and he imagines thrusting his cock in it; how pretty and shiny your lips would look wrapped around his shaft, almost too big for you to even take.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb skimming the exposed stomach where your pyjama top has ridden up. “Ripe for the picking, ain’t ya?”
Your eyes twitch. Eyebrows, furrow – and you blink your gaze awake, sticky-slow, to see your fiancee looming over you in the dark.
“What’re you—?” You ask, still sleep-laced, but Toji just makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.
“Just lookin’ at the merchandise, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Wanna make sure you ain’t damaged, that’s all--”
“I—I’m not!” The cute little burst of outrage is ruined somewhat by the yawn that you have to suppress in the middle of it, but Toji grins.
He didn’t think the Zenins would send you if you weren’t – they wouldn’t want to risk the precious possibility of a kid born with power and technique not really being one of theirs – but it’s nice to hear your mouth confirm what he’s been suspecting and hoping is the truth.
“Aw, baby girl,” he says, keeping his voice low and even, trying to comfort you even as his hand is sliding further up, cupping one of your breasts (his palm brushes your nipple and he feels it harden beneath his touch, stiffening to a peak – he wants to see what you look like under there so badly), “C’mon, it’s fine. I ain’t gonna hurt you--”
“M-Mr Zenin,” you say, and the tremble in your voice is so cute. His cock is straining against the boxer shorts he wore to sleep in. You’re wide awake now; your eyes meeting his. “I—I know, but--”
He’s on the bed. He doesn’t miss how your gaze strays to his veined forearms, where the muscles bulge in his biceps, the carefully sculpted and maintained abdomen and pecs – he sees the swallow in your throat, the way your cute little tongue reaches out to swipe nervously over your lower lip.
Thumb brushes your collarbone and you shudder, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. He sees your thighs twitch, squeeze together – he’s willing to bet if he dipped his fingers into your slit right now, he’d pull his digits back out with your slick glimmering on them.
“Just call me Toji.”
“T-Toji—” Your voice pitches, shuddering with arousal that you don’t know how to handle. He’s heard that note in women’s voice before; that desperate ‘I want to be touched, but I know I shouldn’t want it’ wobble. He’s been the cause of it more times than he can count.
“S’okay,” he soothes, his other hand rounding over your hip, his knees nudging your legs apart. “You’re savin’ yourself for marriage, yeah? We’ll get the papers signed in the mornin’, I promise, botha our families are the kind to make sure things can be rushed through quick--”
“I—” You’re a little breathless, all needy and hot under his touch. It’s adorable. “I shouldn’t, please, it’s only a few days--”
“You want to.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement, as he curls his fingers about your hip, as he settles his own muscular thighs between yours and he sees that there’s a damp spot on the pale pink shorts. Soaked through your underwear and your nightwear? He forgot how sensitive virgins can be. “Don’t lie to yourself, angel.”
He leans down, scarred lips brushing yours. You taste like his toothpaste; peppermint on his tongue as he swipes it over your lower lip and you sigh as you allow him entrance. It’s the first mark of him on you, but he knows it won’t be the last. He deliberately presses his knee against your clothed mount, grinding it just a little – and you whimper into his mouth, heated and desperate.
“We’ll be married soon as,” he murmurs to you, pulling back, looking at you with lust darkening his eyes. No man has ever looked at you quite as hungrily as Toji is looking at you right now. And he’s so handsome, his touches gentle-- “You wanna be a good girl for me, right? S’just what a wife does for her husband, yeah?”
“Yes,” you breathe, and Toji grins at you. It’s a feral, starving grin, that you feel deep inside of you as you clench around nothing and burn to be touched.
He kisses you again, hungrier. He nips at your lower lip, his tongue roughly demanding entrance – he dances against your own. You’ve never really understood the idea of kissing with tongues, but Toji knows exactly what he’s doing; hitting a spot on the roof of your mouth that makes you shudder and gasp, your hands coming up to grasp his biceps.
The muscle underneath them is so solid, and Toji can’t help but notice how soft your hands are on him. He knows you’ll be that soft everywhere else, and the thought spurs him on.
“I’m gonna undress you now,” he tells you, thick and throaty. His big fingers curve under the hem of the lacy top you’re wearing, gently tugging it up over your stomach and then your breasts. That sharp green gaze caresses every newly bared inch of you, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Fuckin’ hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.”
Your skin feels hot under the compliment, Toji’s flat palm sliding along the softness of your tummy to round over your breasts. Your nipples have pebbled and stiffened in the cool air of the spare room, and Toji flicks his thumb along one (making you shiver, again, he notices) before he bends his head to suckle the bud into his mouth, his tongue lapping at it in a way that has your back arching and thighs clenching.
He chuckles at the noise you make as his lips pop off, and he turns his attention to the other side.
“Responsive, ain’t ya?” He asks. “You’re adorable.”
You give him a trembling breath as a response, which he takes as a sign to begin a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down from your breasts to your stomach, tongue tracing the shape of your navel, teeth grazing your hips so gently that you barely feel them. He takes the waistband of your shorts in his mouth and tugs those down using your teeth, and the vision of him between your legs like that--
“Ha,” he says, as his fingers reach to tug them, expertly manipulating your legs so he can get them off without moving from between them. “Careful there, darlin’. You’re gonna soak right through the sheets.”
His mouth, again – kissing firmly against the wet patch on your underwear, his breath fiery hot. His mouth is solid enough that you feel the jolt that goes through you as his nose pushes against your clit, even through the cotton. Toji almost smirks at how much of a cliché the white cotton underwear trimmed with pale pink lace is, but the scent of you is too heady for him to want to do anything but bury his head between your thighs.
Lower. He kisses all over your slit, hard enough that you jerk, ruing the barrier between you two. His thumb strokes circles into your inner thigh--
He seems content to kiss at you through the fabric – but really, he’s waiting for you to give in. To beg him to take them off. From just how wet his face is even with the barrier in his way, he doesn’t think it will be long – and you do not disappoint. You raise your whips, softly mewling;
“Please, I –”
“Please, what, darlin’?” He asks you. “C’mon, you can use your words – no secrets from your husband, right?”
“I—” You’re so cute, squirming and feeling like a slut for him. He loves it. He loves the tremble of your body and the fact that your eyes are glassy with need. “P-please take my underwear off, I wanna--” You swallow. “W-wanna feel without it--”
“Aww, y’should’ve just said so,” Toji says. Fingers pry beneath the gusset.
He doesn’t bother manipulating your body this time. He simply tugs hard enough to split the seams, the fabric delicate from being saturated in your slick.
(Doesn’t matter, anyway. While he’s home, you won’t be wearing underwear.)
You gasp at the display of strength, swallowing – and Toji grins at you again. Oh, you like that? He’s got more shows of strength where that came from, don’t you worry.
He props up your knees with his hands and says;
“Wrap your hands around these, keep your legs spread for me like a good girl, yeah?”
You nod, shyly averting your gaze as you do just that and the position spreads you open lewdly; your velvet-soft folds bared entirely to Toji’s hungry eyes.
You’re already absolutely dripping, but Toji can see that you’re nervous.
“Don’t worry,” he soothes you, again. He can’t help but notice how small you look; the pearl of your clit nestled between curling soft petals, your pulsing hole. He knows you’ll take him, but . . . fuck, he thinks you’ll be a stretch. Not that that’s a bad thing. “I’m gonna open you up, darlin’, alright?”
“Y-yeah,” your voice is tremulous, soft – and sends a throb right to his cock. It’s been straining against his boxer shorts since the moment he saw you, but your eyes all big and glossy with trust and the vulnerable position you’re in and the knowledge you have never been touched like this are really doing a number on it.
But fuck it, he’s not gonna hurt you more than he has to if he’s really going to keep you around. He gently spreads your plump labia lips even further apart with his fingers, so your clit stands swollen to attention. You shiver under his calloused fingers, as he leans in and a hot wash of breath fans over you.
Toji’s tongue darts out to lap a long, slow stripe from perineum to clit, and though he can’t see your face any more, he hears the way you whimper.
Another. He lets himself soak his face in your slick; lets his tongue get deep between your folds. You taste so good on his tongue; honey-sticky and sugar-sweet. The tip of the wet muscle gently flickers against your clit and your hands are suddenly wrapped in his hair, your chest heaving in sensitive gasps. You keep your legs raised, so he decides to be kind. He eases his lips off of you for a moment to mumble, amused;
“Don’t pull too hard, I’m too young to be losin’ my hair--”
Before he dives back in between your legs, once more licking and sucking at the tender flesh. Your stomach explodes in fireworks, your heart beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. Toji’s mouth and tongue against you is a wet, lascivious noise that at once makes your toes curl in pleasure and cringe in embarrassment. Is it awful and forward of you to be enjoying yourself like this? Your family have always drilled into you that a proper wife isn’t a slut, but still does what her husband wants--
Toji’s not your husband yet, but this is fine, right? To have him eating you out like you’re a desert oasis? His lips lock around your clit and he sucks and your vision whites out for a second, your hands tugging hard at the dark hair in your grip--
And he comes away with a light laugh that still manages to shiver with seduction. His face is shiny with you as he looks at you with eyes half-lidded and still hungry.
“What’d I say, huh?” He teases you. “Angel, I could have fucked you with my tongue all night--” He likes seeing how the crude words make you flinch, nervous but pleased but ashamed all warring within you. Your lips are pushed forward, the moue almost petulant. His voice drops a tone. “Don’t look at me with that cute pout. You don’t know what it does to me.”
If he didn’t still need to stretch you out using his fingers, he’d take a moment to kiss you so you could taste yourself and just how needy you’d been for him on his lips. But he’s still driving a hole through his boxers, so . . . the sooner you’re able to take him, the better.
You’ve gone back to holding your legs apart with your hands. Excellent.
Besides. He hadn’t finished what he was doing, and he thinks it’ll be easier to fuck you if you’ve already come once. Your poor, swollen clit hasn’t had all the attention it deserves. You’re being so cute, so well-behaved for him--
“Relax,” he says, softly, as he eases his fingers from spreading you open, dipping them in the mess he’s made of your slit. “This might sting a bit--”
One finger finds your hole; circles the sensitive entrance, making the muscles in your thighs tremble. But you keep your legs spread open for him like a good girl, and he’s able to gently push his index finger in, first to one knuckle, then to the second, and then to the ones at the base.
“Good girl,” he breathes, barely able to breathe at how tight you feel around him. Your insides are silky and hot and wet, clinging to him like a lifeboat in the sea. He pumps the lone finger in and out of you, rubbing the pad against the inside of your walls until he finds the spot that makes you throw your head back and give him a long, choked moan. “There we go,” he keeps talking to you, softly, like you’re a spooked animal. “’M gonna put the second one in, yeah? You’re takin’ it like a champ, sweetheart. You wanted this, huh?”
You babble something that he doesn’t care enough to listen to but overall sounds positive. This one’s a stretch, his middle finger and index finger even tighter. But he needs to get three in you, he thinks, or you’ll never take his cock. You let go of your thighs, and he sucks in a breath – but your feet clearly need purchase on the bed, your fingers twisting in bedsheets now they can’t twist in his hair, and you breathe through the stretch so he figures it’d be churlish to tell you off for it now.
He keeps hitting that spot as he fucks you slowly on his fingers, until he can feel your cunt sucking him in, pulsing around him.
“Third finger,” he tells you, his own throat dry. “Next time I fuck you with this one, you’ll feel my weddin’ ring--”
You tighten around the other two at that. Cute. Three fingers opening you wide, scissoring inside of you, aches – but you’re being so good for him, the most that’s coming out of your mouth sweet little whines. Toji rewards you by crooking them inside you against that spot, his thumb coming to gently rub circles into your swollen clit.
He’s been teasing you for too long, and you are a virgin – it’s no surprise that the stimulation proves too much for you too quickly, and you arch your back at the same time as fireworks go off inside of you, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, tightening and loosening as waves of euphoria wash over you.
You soak Toji’s fingers with the rush of your release; the gush of liquid.
He whistles, low and impressed. So you’re a squirter, huh? Toji doesn’t mind that at all. It’s not like he’ll be doing the laundry – and it’s kind of hot, to look down at you and see what a mess he’s made of your little virgin cunt--
“That’s it,” he says, guiding you over the last low crests of your orgasm. “I think y’can take me now, sweetheart. Let’s get you comfy--”
He shows off his strength a bit, because he knows it will get you going despite the sensitivity of your body from your recent orgasm. You’re man-handled by him higher on the bed, so your head is on the mountain of pillows you’ve slipped down. He can pick you up as if you weigh nothing at all, despite the creak of the bedsprings clearly saying the opposite.
Your legs are urged to wrap around his hips.
“Don’t worry,” he tells you, again. He doesn’t think he’s ever reassured a fuck as carefully and constantly as he’s reassuring you; but then again, he’s never intended to marry one of his fucks before.
You, though – you’re so adaptable. So untouched. So different from women and men who come onto him at bars and flutter eyelashes and make soft little insinuations. He can corrupt you into exactly what he wants, and the thought of you knowing nothing but his cock forever and serving him like he’s the only man in the world--
It’s enough to make a lesser man come in his pants.
“You’re tired, yeah? I’ll do most of the work. You lie there and take it like the sweetheart you are.”
He’s shucked his underwear off in the man-handling, and now he shifts so that you can see the full glory of what he’s packing. Your eyes widen.
He gets that a lot. Even for a virgin who’s probably never seen a cock before, it’s obvious that Toji’s the real deal – you swallow, nervous, and whisper;
“I—what if it doesn’t fit--?”
(There’s a tremble of fear in there, that you’ve fucked up; that he still might throw you aside if you can’t take him, and now you’ve been utterly ruined.)
“Hey,” he says, all comforting and appeasing, “I ain’t hurt you yet, have I?” You shake your head, but your bottom lip is still trembling. “I’m gonna go slow with you, I promise.” He shifts forward again, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. “Just keep your eyes on me, darlin’. I promise, it’ll feel so good . . . you wanna keep your husband happy, don’t ya? I’ve already got you all stretched and prepped. Just breathe--”
He keeps up the steady stream of talk as he urges his hips forward, your cunt swallowing the head of his cock first before he’s able to push more of his shaft in. You keep your eyes on his, green eyes locked against yours – and though he can hear the shake in your chest, you don’t make any noise louder than a huff when he gets two thirds of the way in. He pauses there for a minute, letting you adjust – he can feel every minute tremble of your body, swears he can hear your heartbeat.
“Good?” He asks, and you nod – and he slides the last third of himself inside you in the same unhurried pace, until he’s settled hot and heavy entirely inside of you.
His eyes map your stomach, pleasure rushing through him at how big he must be inside of you; there’s the lightest shadow on your pelvis, as if he’s big enough to make your stomach bulge. He takes in the sight of you with all nine inches of him buried inside of you; the sore, spread-wide stretch of your cunt around him, the creamy ring of your pleasure where you’re joined.
He can’t fuck you vigorously – he thinks he’d fucking breakyou - but you’re tight enough that he’s getting plenty of stimulation just from keeping his cock in there.
“P-please,” you manage to form, through your swollen lips and your glassy eyes and your dry throat. “W-want you to fuck me, Toji--”
Oh, fucking hell.
You’re perfect.
“I will, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he instinctively leans down and presses a kiss on your sweat-soaked forehead, flexing his hips so they withdraw the smallest amount. “Just lie there and take it for me--”
You do.
He doesn’t fuck into you with abandon, though he wants to more than he can say; plenty of time for that in the future, as your cunt moulds to his cock and it isn’t such an effort to get it inside of you. Plenty of time for you to learn just how hard he wants to rail you, until you’re covered in his bruises and there are friction burns on your knees – plenty of time for him to show you every depraved thing you make him want to do to you and make sure that you enjoy it.
He fucks you with slow, shallow strokes, taking most of his pleasure from the way you feel around of him; your eyes, your mouth, your heaving chest. You’re hot and tight and wet and grip him perfectly – his fingers digging into your thighs where they’re wrapped around his hips.
He’s been hard for what seems like hours, so it’s no surprise, either, that he feels his orgasm come quickly up on him like a steam train – it’s not like you’re going to shame him for coming quickly, you’ve never even been fucked before. So he lets the heat all gather low in his belly until he can feel himself teetering on the edge – and then, he dips his head and pulls you into a heated kiss as he grinds his hips in a circular motion inside of you and feels himself tip over the precipice.
His cock shudders and judders inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his come deep into your body; thick and hot and full. His teeth worry at your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood, the groan vibrating through you as he comes and pushing you into another short, trembling orgasm as if trying to milk him dry of everything that he can give you.
(You like him coming inside? He can work with that too.)
Your thighs are tight around his hips, your arms draping loosely about his neck as he kisses you. Your tongue nervously probes at the scar; the slightly raised line bisecting his mouth, and though he usually doesn’t like it being noticed or touched (he knows it gives him an air of danger, but sometimes the events surrounding it’s acquirement sting), he finds that with you he doesn’t mind.
With you, his eyes flicker closed and he just enjoys the closeness and warmth of your body, even as he gently pulls his cock out of you (you leak slick onto the bedsheets, again. He’s gonna have to buy some more laundry tablets).
“How’s that, darlin?” He murmurs to you, not moving from his comfortable place on top of you. “Glad y’didn’t save it for marriage now, huh?”
Your cheeks radiating heat is enough answer for him, Toji’s smirk so wide and smug that it threatens to split his face in two. He flops to one side of you, pulling you in, cradling you against him like a little spoon. He can’t help but notice that the curve of your body fits perfectly against his.
The two of you will fit even better in Toji’s bed, he thinks.
“We’ll get all the paperwork and shit sorted tomorrow,” he tells you, as he feels your breathing begin to even out, the tremors from your orgasm begin to fade. He could get used to this too. Someone warming his bed. Someone to cuddle up to on cold nights. Someone soft, to ease the loneliness he hadn’t realised he was feeling.
He doesn’t want to get sappy on you, though. He lowers his face to the shell of your ear, breathing gently, murmuring in a voice that’s still dripping with desire for everything you represent to him;
“The other stuff that goes with a marriage too. I wasn’t kiddin’ about wantin’ to finger you with my wedding ring on, darlin’.”
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sluttyten · 11 days ago
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summary: you’re living in the city, having fun, being carefree and not tied down with your romantic life, and then you meet Ten and everything changes. 
length: 8,109 words
tags: non-idol au, fuckbuddies, mentions of johnten and doten, mentions of multiple partners, bisexual Ten, bisexual reader, casual sex, anal play, multiple orgasms, confessions
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The first time you hooked up with Ten was at a club. He was a stranger, you were both a little drunk, and it was fun hooking up with him in the bathroom. Just blowing him on your knees while he made out with his friend he’d dragged inside with you.
Afterwards the three of you went back out to keep dancing, keep drinking. And at the end of the night when the two of them helped pour you into an Uber, Ten had slipped you his number with the request that you let him know that you made it home safely and just in case there’s a possibility of meeting up again.
You saw him again a few weeks later at a different club. This one was themed like a rave with blacklights and body paint, and Ten spotted you before you saw him. He was already making a beeline for you when you recognized him under the neon green eye makeup, the fluorescent orange smeared around his lips, the pinks and blues and yellows of fingerprints streaking along his neck and his arms and disappearing beneath his haphazardly buttoned shirt.
He grins crookedly at you and says, “Hey.”
This time you’re less drunk, even more eager when Ten pulls you away into a corner, his hands working to paint your body with neon green and luminescent white, leaving orange lipmarks on your neck and streaks of pink through your hair. 
It’s fun and casual, you hook up there in a half-hidden corner, and then Ten pulls you away for more drinking and dancing. At one point in the evening you watch as he poledances, gracefull and beautiful, an otherworldly being as he spins above the crowd with the planes of his body illuminated and outlined with neon body paint. 
When he comes back down he’s breathless and sweaty and giggling, clinging to you again, shouting in your ear about wanting another drink, wanting to introduce you to someone, as he drags you back across the dancefloor.
You meet his friend Johnny who towers above the crowd a short way off, his bare chest glowing in the light, an easy grin falling over his features at Ten’s approach. You recognize him as the guy from the first time you hooked up with Ten, and you watch the way that they fit together with familiarity--the way Johnny’s hand settles at the back of Ten’s neck, the way Ten tucks into Johnny’s side. 
It sends a pang of desire deep into your heart--but desire to have that with someone of your own. 
Johnny’s not necessarily your type. You’re more into shorter pretty boys who dance well and smile like they’re up to something mischievous. But you don’t let that stop you when Ten invites you to come home with them, to join Ten and Johnny and the girl Johnny picked up.
You don’t mind at all.
The girl Johnny picked up is pretty hot. Her name’s Seulgi, which is whispered to you in the backseat of the car, and she’s more your type than Johnny is, so when you get back to Johnny’s place you makeout with her for a bit, wear her hands like a necklace while Ten eats you out, and then you lavish your attention over her tits while Johnny fucks her and Ten kisses her. It’s fun and great and good for all of you, each of you getting to orgasm multiple times, sharing each other, until you end in a pile of limbs and sweat and smeared body paint. 
You don’t see Ten for several weeks after that. You have a very casual fling with Seulgi after that night, and it’s right about the same time that the end of that comes around that you see Ten again.
It’s truly unfair that he looks so handsome, so pretty when you spot him mid-afternoon, a beanie pulled down over his hair which he’s grown out some since the last time you saw him. He’s wearing a loose white top, a pair of sweatpants that almost look too large for him, sneakers, a heavy padded coat. 
This time you spot him first as he steps out of a coffee shop, already dragging his mask down to get a sip of an iced Americano. 
“Ten!” You shout, squeezing through a throng of people to catch up with him. He half-turns at the sound of his name, and when he spots you, he waves and waits for you to catch up. 
You don’t really know much of anything about him other than that he’s fun and sly and talented and apparently a sexually liberated individual. But you find yourself intrigued by him, slightly enamored, and you just want to get to know him more. So when he tells you that he’s actually heading home right now to practice--”Practice what?” You’d asked, and Ten had thrown a sideway look at you, a soft smile, and said, “I’m a dancer. Mostly I’m doing stuff with musicals right now. Gotta go home to practice choreography.”--you’d found yourself sticking with him, hoping for an invite.
It was your curiosity you were hoping to satiate, but something told you that Ten thought that your persistence in walking with him was more to do with hoping to be invited back to his place to fuck. Which wasn’t entirely wrong. You would enjoy having that be where today’s leading you, but you’re also curious to see what kind of space Ten occupies, what he calls home looks like.
And you get the invite. Ten leads you home with him to his apartment.
It’s an industrial apartment, renovated from an old factory building, with exposed brick walls, hardwood floors, large many-paned windows that fill the space with lots of sunlight, which is nice because he doesn’t have much else to fill his apartment other than the sunlight.
There’s a scant kitchen area off to one side, a bed edged up right beneath one of the windows flanked by a bedside table with a lamp and a cat tree. There’s a sofa and an armchair floating around a coffee table, like an island in the vast sea of the room. A row of vinyls crowds under one window, leading to a bookshelf that doesn’t have many books on it, but it does have several paintings and framed sketches. He has racks heavy with clothes off to one side of the space, and as you leave your shoes by the door and walk deeper into the room, you notice that back over your shoulder, along the wall beside the door, there’s a row of mirrors and a stereo system.
There’s definitely plenty of space for him to practice choreography.
Ten drops his coat over the back of the armchair, and immediately he crouches down, holding his hand out and making soft noises. A cat appears almost instantly, appearing from nowhere, and then nudging its head against Ten’s palm with a soft mew. 
You’re not much of a dancer, not like Ten is. But you sit there and watch as he starts to dance, the music playing over the stereo system.
It’s different than when you watched him pole dance at the club, but it’s similar. He’s still fluid and graceful, powerful and mesmerizing to watch, but these moves are entirely different than when he’d performed on that pole. There’s an intensity in his eyes as he watches himself dancing in the row of mirrors, losing himself in the performance at times. You can feel the music just through watching him. 
“Do you want to learn?” Ten asks when he takes a break, tipping back a bottle of water. “I could teach you?”
There had been a time when you were younger when you dreamed of being a dancer. You’d had a lot of dreams then of traveling, dancing, eating good food around the world, falling in love, living a full happy life. And it’s not that you’re disappointed with where you’re at in your life, but you do know that you haven’t at all lived up to those expectations that the younger you had once set.
So you take Ten up on his offer.
You feel like you’re getting it, learning the steps, mirroring what Ten does, feeling him press up behind you with his body fitted to yours to show you the exact movements of this part of the choreography. The heat of him, the smell of him, his breath against your cheek all serves as a distraction and it’s not much later that you’ve knocked his beanie off with your fingers as you kiss him.
Ten bends you over the back of the sofa, fucking you right where you can see yourself reflected in that row of mirrors if you look up, and when your leg starts to cramp, he pulls you down onto the floor with him, and you ride him in the middle of his apartment, tasting the sweat that shimmers on his neck. 
You leave after that, satisfied and shivering as the sweat cools on your skin in the wintry air. 
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The next time you see Ten is at another club. You’re there with a new girl, Nayeon, that you’d met through a hookup app, and you’re dancing together, her lips against your neck and her fingertips just inside your waistband as she grinds up behind you. 
You feel like you’re being watched, which wouldn’t be the first time, but when you look up, you see Ten. He’s sitting at a table up on the balcony above the dancefloor, holding a drink to his lips as he watches. And as soon as he realizes that you see him, he winks and raises his glass. 
Maybe you put on a bit more of a show then because you love having Ten look at you. When you turn around in Nayeon’s arms her gaze immediately drops to your lips and she’s the one that kisses you, she’s the one that pulls you in and makes you forget everything else in the room with her hand that moves down to squeeze your ass. 
You like her a lot, like the way that she tastes like candy when she kisses you, like the way that you can feel her nipples against your chest through the thin top that she’s worn tonight. You like the way that she twists a hand in your hair and brings her lips to your ear, telling you that she’d love to finger you here where everyone can see.
Your knees go a little weak thinking about it, letting everyone (read: Ten) see you falling apart on her fingers, but instead the pair of you run off to the bathroom. She fingerfucks you against the stall door and then eats you out, all without even smudging her makeup. 
But the tragically annoying thing is that she’s so good and you like how things have been going with her the past few times you’ve seen her, but as you’re pressed up against the stall door with one thigh over her shoulder, her pretty bejeweled nails digging into your thigh and the other hand holding your skirt up against your belly, all you can think of is Ten and when you were on your knees in the men’s restroom next door months ago, blowing him. 
It’s the thought of that, the memory of his cum flooding over your tongue that brings you to your orgasm right now with Nayeon. 
And maybe it’s a little bit shitty of you, but when you dip your fingers into her soaked panties, and get her off on your fingers, you’re already thinking of how you’re going to ghost her after tonight. It’s shitty, but at least you gave her one last orgasm to remember you by. 
You head to the bar after leaving the restroom, needing a drink to wash away the sweet taste of her, and Nayeon leaves you there with one last kiss to the cheek because she has to be at work in the morning. “I had fun tonight,” she smiles, her hand gently resting on your arm. “Maybe we can do the same next weekend?”
And right there the words build up in your throat, and you let them out for some reason, feeling guilty as you do. You try your best to break it to her gently that you actually don’t see this going anywhere, and you feel all the more guilty when Nayeon turns abruptly away and shoves through the crowd on her way out, but most of all because you can still taste her sweet lipgloss on your lips.
And to top it all off, Ten’s there when you leave the club two drinks later.
“She was pretty.” Ten says, slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Why’s she not going home with you?”
You shrug him off. “It just wasn’t going to work out.”
He keeps up with you. “Do you want to come home with me instead?” 
The offer is tempting. Really tempting when you look over at him and see the sheen of glitter in the corners of his eyes, the flush in his cheeks, the glimpse of his chest tattoo through the sheer material of his shirt. 
You shouldn’t. You literally just broke it off with Nayeon.
But hours later you’re in Ten’s bed, his fingers still twisted in your hair and your bare leg thrown over his hips, and there’s a cat peering down at you from that cat tree, which should be a bit more off-putting than it is, but you don’t care because Ten’s scattering kisses along your arm and tonight you got to learn some more things about him, like that he encourages a little bit of penetration while you’re blowing him, just a finger if that’s what you’re comfortable with.
“You can stay, you know,” he tells you once you’ve both pulled a few orgasms out of each other. You’re sitting up at the edge of his bed, trying to locate your skirt in the dark. “You don’t always have to run away.”
“I’m not running away.” You spot your skirt, and you stand up to pull it on. “I’m just too aware of your cat staring at me like it’s going to try to suffocate me as soon as I fall asleep.”
Ten laughs and sits up, pushing the sheets away so he can stand on his bed and reach for his cat up in the cat tree tower. “He wouldn’t do that. Leon’s a little angel. Now, Louis, he’s the demon that might. He always hides when I have people over, so you might never see him.”
You didn’t even know that he had two cats, just the one that he now cradles against his chest, the one that’s still looking at you with big curious eyes.
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Ten invites you to the opening night for the musical he’s dancing in, and once you arrive you see that you’re in a section with several of his friends. There’s Johnny, who you’re seated beside. His friend’s Kun and YangYang that you’ve met a few times now, either on nights out, or on the more rare occasions when you and Ten actually meet up somewhere that’s not his apartment or a nightclub. There are more that you don’t recognize, but all the same, you’re glad to have been invited.
You enjoy the musical in addition to the parts when Ten is actually onstage. The music, the costuming, the stage design are all fantastic, and the male lead actor is very handsome in his costume, a fit French style uniform that ensnares your attention, and even moreso when Johnny leans in to whisper to you, “Ten says that costume is difficult to get off, not much easy access.”
And then you spend the rest of the musical envisioning Ten and the actor (who you can’t imagined ruffled at all in the way you’ve come to characterize encounters with Ten). 
But after the show is over, when the cast have all taken their bows, when the afterparties have begun, you and Johnny and a few of Ten’s other friends go to greet Ten at the afterparty that the choreographer is throwing for the dancers.
You notice a few more prominent members of the cast mingling, and you’re actually mid-conversation with Ten and Kun when you spot the lead actor stepping into the room. He looks around, and then his gaze settles on your little cluster. Most specifically, he looks at Ten.
“Doyoung!” Ten cheers. “You did amazing!” 
He hugs the other man, and you watch as Doyoung joins your little group, as his arm goes around Ten’s shoulders, and Ten lets himself be tucked into Doyoung’s side. It’s a fun party. Good food, good drinks, good people. 
Until you’re looking for the restroom and instead you find Ten. Specifically, you find Ten and Doyoung. Ten’s hands are buried down the front of Doyoung’s pants, Doyoung’s lips are locked onto Ten’s exposed shoulder in a way that’s definitely going to leave a mark. 
You pull back a few steps, back around the corner you’d just turned, and you freeze with your back pressed to the wall. You hadn’t meant to see that. You didn’t mean to hear it either, but while you stand there you’ve got the sounds of the party in one ear, and in the other you can only hear the familiar sounds of Ten’s moans, the less familiar sounds of Doyoung. 
You leave before you can hear much more, return to the party, and try to pretend like you didn’t walk in on that. And a while later when Ten and Doyoung make their reappearance, you notice that Ten keeps touching his shoulder, right at the spot where Doyoung surely left his imprint. 
The party winds down as dawn approaches, and you leave with Ten. Not with the intention of going home together, you just happen to be leaving alone at the same time. There’s no Doyoung, no Johnny. None of his other friends or the other dancers.
You wait together in the chilly morning air as the sun rises and begins to fill the city with a pale light. Your breath clouds in front of your faces as you stand shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting with you for your Uber. 
“So,” you finally break the companionable silence. “You and Doyoung?”
Ten laughs a little. “Yeah. He’s got a lot of pressure on him, and when he needs to relieve stress, I’m glad to help.” His hand bumps against yours. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m sure as soon as the first few shows are over, he’ll forget about coming to me. And he’s got another dancer that he’s hot for too; we’re both just waiting for someone real to come along.” His gaze flicks over to you before darting away again.
A moment later your car pulls up, and as you step away from Ten, he grabs your hand lightly. You look back, but he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with his mouth open, so you fill the silence, “You did great, by the way. I’ve never seen someone dance like you.”
Ten’s smile breaks across his face, and he releases your hand. “Let me know when you get home safe.”
The Uber door swings shut behind you, and you watch through the frosted window as Ten turns and walks away.
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You don’t know this guy’s name, but he’s had his eye on you since the moment you walked into the club tonight. He’s been flirting, dancing, buying you drinks, and he’s alright but you’re not terribly interested even though he’s overly interested. You’re not here alone, you’ve come with some of your friends, and though they try to put some space between you and this guy, it doesn’t seem to be working well.
They’ve just gotten you away from the guy again when you feel an arm sling around your waist.
You’re about to swing around, to actually throw hands at this asshole for not leaving you the fuck alone, but when you turn with your hand up, Ten makes a startled noise and grabs your wrist.
“Fuck, Ten, I’m sorry.” You glance around. “There’s been this--”
“Yeah, that big guy stalking you. I saw.” Ten tightens his hold on your wrist slightly, a tense set to his jaw as he scans the room. His gaze narrows when it lands on the man. “You’re supposed to be having fun tonight, but you’re clearly not.”
The guy looks up then, and he looks right at you and Ten. You shiver. Ten steps closer, putting his arm around you again, and he tilts his head against yours so his lips brush your ear as he says, “I can take you home.”
“To mine or to yours?” You reply. 
“I have cats at my place. What do you have at yours?” Ten teases.
So you let your friends know that you’re leaving, you’re going home with Ten (”With that guy?” One of them says, “He’s not even properly dressed.” True, Ten’s only wearing a velvety green jacket over his bare chest, a pair of black leather pants paired with it. He’s a sight, a very sexy sight, but not one that necessarily is reassuring to your friends who only have your best interests at heart. ”Yes, I trust him. I know him,” you tell them. They don’t know Ten. For the most part your fuckbuddy type relationship with him has been something kept entirely from your friends). They let you go with Ten without another word, and as you and him step out into the night air, you feel freed.
“Can we stop somewhere and get food?” You ask Ten, walking beside him with a little bounce in your step. “I’m starving.”
You stop at a 24-hour Indian place, get some to go, and you eat it together back in Ten’s apartment, sitting on the floor and trying to keep his cats out of it. By this point you’ve met Louis a few times when you’ve come over to visit, and he seems to like you too, or at least that’s what Ten tells you. 
You eat the food with Netflix playing on his TV in the background, and when the food is gone and the episode of the show you’re watching winds to an end, Ten disappears to his kitchen on the other side of the room, and he returns with a bottle of tequila and some mixers, though it doesn’t take long before the two of you are just passing the tequila bottle back and forth, laughing.
At some point, Ten gets to his feet and starts dancing for you to the music playing on the TV. He’s peeled off his jacket and the leather pants as the tequila heated his body, and he dances in just his underwear in front of you. You lean back and watch, finding his tattoos, enjoying the sight of his finely muscled frame moving to the music.
You leave the leftovers, the tequila, the cats on the floor as you get up to dance along with Ten. You laugh and dance and Ten takes you by the hands and twirls around until the room spins and spins and spins and you fall against him.
“Careful,” Ten laughs and slowly he brings you both down onto your knees, and from there he sits down and brings you to rest your head in his lap. Ten strokes your hair while you blink up at him, and everything is quiet as you just look up at him. 
Your heart thunders in your chest. You want to kiss him. You want to have him against you, inside you, to have him in a primal and feral way. You want to tell Ten that the last time you had sex with someone that wasn’t him, he was all that you thought about.
But you don’t say any of that. You just look up at Ten’s face and enjoy the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair.
“Can I kiss you?” Ten asks after too many long moments of silence. And then he blinks and looks away. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” You ask, reaching up for his hand that he’s begun to pull away, and you bring it right back to your hair. “When have you ever been sorry for kissing me?”
Ten makes a face like he’s considering what you’ve just said, and then he leans down and kisses you, not an ounce of apology in it.
The room had just stopped spinning, but now with Ten’s kiss it starts up again but in a delightful way, leaving you feeling like you’re floating and he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Heat sparks in your body, and your fingertips ache with the need to touch him, so you do lift your hands to his hair, holding his mouth against yours.
One of his hands drops down to rest at your side, his skin warm even through the layer that separates you. And you just want more; it’s not enough to just have his kiss right now.
You loose one hand from his hair and cover that hand at your side, attempting to bring it down to touch you. The moment that his fingers brush your bare belly, Ten sits up, slowly sliding his hand away.
“Not tonight. You’re drunk.” He bites his lip as he looks down at you, and you can see that he wants you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“No I haven’t,” you argue.
Ten carefully slides you off his lap onto the floor. “If you can stand up right now and show me that you’re not dizzy because you’re drunk, then I’ll see what I can do. Come on.” He holds his hand down to you as he stands up, and you take it and let him guide you to your feet.
Okay. So maybe the room does spin a bit. 
You hear Ten’s noise of I-told-you-so as he watches your eyes wobble and you shuffle your feet around trying to make it feel like you’re not about to tip sideways. He wraps his arm around your waist. 
“Let’s get you to bed.” You close your eyes and that helps with the spinniness a little, and all you have solid around you is Ten’s arm as he pulls you toward the bed, and you feel him tip you onto the mattress. He lays a hand on your cheek as you drop your head to the pillow. “Stay here. I’m gonna get you some water.”
It’s not fair. You didn’t feel like you drank that much more than him, but he’s fine. He’s capable.
Ten tips a glass of water against your lips, helping you sit up some so you don’t spill it everywhere. You swallow the Ibuprofen he hands you, and you sink back down into the bed.
“You’re pouting.” Ten can’t fight off a smile as he looks at you. He’s seated right on the edge of the bed. “Why?”
“How’re you gonna save me tonight and kiss me and make me love you and not have sex with me tonight?” You turn onto your side to face him.
Ten stares at you for a second too long before he clears his throat and looks away from you. “You’re drunk, like I said. Go to sleep.” He stands up, leans in to kiss your forehead. “And I’ll make sure neither of the cats try to suffocate you in your sleep.”
It’s not fair, you think. You want to be touched. There’s still the heat of lust simmering in your belly that even the dizziness hasn’t quelled. But Ten walks away and your eyelids are heavy, his bed is comfy. One of the cats meows softly and you feel the light addition of weight as it jumps onto the bed and curls up in the space behind your knees. And that’s the last thing you remember before you fall asleep.
In the morning you wake to too much everything. The room is filled with an enormous amount of offensively bright sunlight. Pins and needles are stabbing into your brain, your mouth is dry, and the cat is still tucked behind your knees. The other side of Ten’s bed is empty, and as you sit up (very, very slowly), you look around and realize that there’s no sign of Ten anywhere.
You’ve never been left alone in his apartment before. It’s a strange feeling.
There’s a full bottle of water as well as a bottle of medicine on a level of the cat tower right beside your side of the bed, and you take them both, pop an Ibuprofen to hopefully get rid of this headache, then you crack the cap of the water and down half the bottle right there, which only serves to make you realize how badly you need to pee. 
Your bare toes curl when they touch the cold hardwood floor, and you wrap your arms around yourself as you start to cross the room toward his bathroom. As you approach the door, you finally hear it. The soft patter of the shower running behind the slightly ajar door. 
Ten is still home. 
It feels rude to just barge in while he’s showering, so you hesitate outside the door for a moment.
You feel fur brush your leg, and you look down just in time to watch Leon moving by you and squeezing his way through the crack in the door, pushing it open even further on his way to the litterbox inside. Conveniently that also gives you a clear view into the room.
Ten’s shower is a doorless stall, the curtain is pushed open to one side, the steam billowing freely through the room. His back is to you, and you know you shouldn’t stare, especially since he’s not even aware that you’re standing there, but you can’t help looking appreciatively at him.
You’ve seen Ten in various states of undress numerous times over the last several months. But seeing him totally naked and at a distance like this is all new. His fine shoulder blades, slender waist, the small of his back which is truly nothing special but something about it sends a swooping sensation through your belly. 
He shivers slightly, and you don’t have the chance to move or anything before Ten turns his head and looks back over his shoulder at you. You look quickly away, as if you can convince him in that way that you weren’t just staring at him.
“Hey, Little Bo Peep, enjoying the view?” Ten teases. “How’re you feeling?”
When you look back at him, he’s facing away again, shampooing his hair. You take a tentative step into the bathroom. “I’m fine, I just need to....” You gesture wordlessly at the toilet, not that he sees because he’s not looking, but you’re once again staring at him. 
Namely, you’re staring at the hickey on his thigh, high up near his ass. And you wonder who left it there. Someone that you know? Someone new? It’s fading, but you can definitely see the shape of it. There’s an odd lurching jealousy in your gut as you look at that mark.
This time when Ten turns around, you’re still not quick enough to look away. 
“Do you want to join me?” Ten asks. 
The way he looks at you while you quickly step out of your clothes makes you feel a bit better about the way you’d just been looking at him. Ten looks like he wants to eat you. He pulls you under the shower spray and doesn’t even attempt to pretend that he just invited you in to actually shower.
He kisses you right away, his cock already half-hard where it presses against your belly. He backs up against the wall and lets you lean against him while the shower patters against your back, his hand traces the fall of the water down your spine to touch your butt, and you smile into the kiss.
Ten makes lovely quiet needy sounds as you kiss over his jaw, down the column of his throat. When you drag your tongue over his clavicle he groans, and when you drop even lower to trace your tongue along the curve of his chest tattoo Ten swears and grinds his erection against you. 
You take that as your sign to drop to your knees for him, sponging kisses all along the way. 
You avoid his cock for the moment, choosing instead to kiss his hips and thighs, to touch him in the same places, your thumbs dipping near to the base of his cock, but never actually giving him what he might want.
“Are you teasing me because I wouldn’t have sex with you last night?” Ten asks, rolling his hips forward when your teasing fingertips at last brush up his length with a light touch. “I’m sorry, but you’re a good girl, I didn’t want to do it when you might not really want it.”
You appreciate that, truly. That’s not why you’re teasing him with the light touches, you just think it’s fun. But it’s more fun to watch Ten’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open in pleasure, so you curl your hand around his cock and give him that contact he’s been craving.
You duck your head again to keep kissing at his thighs, and that’s when you come to find that hickey you’d spotted moments ago before you joined him. Again you feel that lurch in your belly. 
“Who gave you this? Johnny? Doyoung?” You draw your head back and brush your fingers over the fading mark. 
Ten feeds you his thumb, drawing in a sharp breath when you close your lips around it around suck. You keep sucking on his thumb, touching the mark on his thigh, one hand still stroking his cock. He doesn’t seem able to form an answer for you, not until you bite his thumb.
“Shit, it was you that did that. Do you really not remember?” Ten bucks forward into your touch. “Like, a week ago, when you came over to complain about work and brought over pastries from that new bakery.” 
Ah. You’d been eating pastries on the sofa, and when you bit into one of the cream filled donuts, it had squirted the white cream filling down your chin and onto your chest. Ten had licked it clean, but by that point you just wanted to blow him, so you had. And while you were down there you felt a little adventurous, which Ten had encouraged. 
You’d been drunk off the heady feeling of having Ten under your control when he flipped onto his belly for you. You’d only done ass stuff with him just the one time, just a little bit of finger action with his ass, but last week you’d gone a little further. He kept it clean and ready, so you’d gone for it in eating him out and jerking him off, and you really got carried away with it, so yeah, you don’t actually remember marking up his thighs, but now that he’s said that, you aren’t surprised.
“Jealous?” Ten laughs, pulling his thumb out of your mouth just so he can knot his fingers in your hair and tug. “If you really must know, I haven’t had sex with anyone but you in weeks. I think Doyoung was the last person that wasn’t you.”
That makes your heart pound in your chest. Only you for weeks now? And here you’d thought that he was still hooking up with some of his other regulars because sometimes when you came over he looked very ruffled and his sheets were a mess and he tried to hide the bottle of lube he left sitting on the bedside table, but you already saw it. So if he hadn’t been fucking someone during those times, he’d just been touching himself? Imagining what scenarios?
Ten lets out a punched out moan when you suddenly take his cock into your mouth, swallowing around him until your nose is pressed to his belly, his tip at the back of your throat. He twists his hands in your hair until you lift your gaze up to meet his. 
You hold Ten’s gaze as you start blowing him, bobbing your mouth on his cock, hungry sucking him off as if you have no other goal in life than to taste his cum on your tongue. He keeps his hands in your hair, and you love the way you can feel his fingers twitching against your head, tightening in your hair when you press him deep down your throat. 
If you had the time and the patience, you would gladly worship every inch of Ten’s body, but as it is, he doesn’t even have the patience to have you here on your knees sucking him off. 
There’s a burst of precum on the back of your tongue, and Ten drags you back off his cock by your hair. “C’mere,” he mumbles, tugging lightly again until you rise to your feet. “Don’t wanna cum yet,” Ten breathes out in the moment before he kisses you again, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue. 
You clutch at his waist, sliding your arms around his lower back when Ten arches into you, grinding against your belly. 
“Just fuck me, Ten,” you whine into the kiss.
He puts a hand between your thighs before you have time to process. Fingers tease circles at your clit while he continues to lick into your mouth and rut against your belly. You slide a hand down from his lower back, down to his ass, digging your fingers into the soft flesh. 
Ten sharply bites your bottom lip. You dip your fingertips lower, and when your fingertip brushes over his hole, Ten makes a surprised sound that turns into a laugh, especially when you stop kissing him for a moment in confusion. 
He’s loose.
“I’ve been in here for a while,” Ten explains, dropping kisses along your jaw. “Honestly, I was just cleaning up when you came in here.” 
You can’t believe you missed it. But that explains why he got hard so quickly while looking at you; he probably wasn’t even soft yet. But it’s also totally unfair that he’s already cum once this morning and you haven’t had anything. Somehow in your brain, with the warm feel of Ten’s body against yours, his erection digging into your belly, and his loose hole readily accepting as you press your fingertip inside, you think it’s a good idea to give him another orgasm now. You kinda want to see how many he can have before he gives out on you.
“Baby.” Ten sighs, kissing the sensitive spot just under your jaw. His breath stutters as you thrust your finger in, finding him still wet with lube from just before when Ten was doing this to himself. 
In return, Ten’s fingers slip through your growing wetness. He thrusts a finger into you at the same pace as you finger him, both of you gasping against each other’s skin. 
“Ten, more.” You murmur.
“Question or a request?” He asks, already giving you another finger. “Because I can take more too.” 
His lips linger there at the sensitive point under your jaw, sucking a mark into your skin as you squeeze a second finger inside him as well as fitting your other hand in between your bodies to wrap around his cock.
Ten lets you get a few strokes in, a few deep thrusts of your fingers in his ass before he groans, butting his head against your shoulder. “No, I want to cum with you. Knock it off.” His teeth scrape along your clavicle and he bats your hand away from his cock. When you don’t leave off from touching his ass, Ten brings his hand up to your throat, thumb pressing in just enough that a thrill goes through you. “Be a good girl for me, huh?”
You drop your hands to your sides, but you step impossibly closer to him, leaning into the hand around your neck, leaning into his fingers still buried in your pussy. “I wanna make you feel good, Ten.”
Ten pulls his fingers out of you to reach over and turn off the shower, but the hand around your neck he keeps there, bringing you in to kiss you, backing you out of the shower as he does, out of of the bathroom.
You leave wet footprints scattered, twisted and tangled with Ten’s, across the floor on the way to his bed. The sheets are sun-warmed when you fall into them, Ten sliding over you, his lips trailing down your chest, his hands twisting in the sheets on either side of you. 
“Ten, Ten,” you moan as he fills you with his fingers again, his mouth leaving marks on your chest. “Ten.”
“Love when you say my name like that.” Ten’s voice vibrates against your chest. He pushes up, coming face-to-face with you once again, and he keeps his voice low when he requests, “Say it again.”
You bring your knees up to his hips, trying to squeeze him in between your thighs, wanting him to put his dick in you at last. “Ten,” you whine, “Just give it to me.”
Ten melts into you then, his chest falling against yours, his lips covering yours, and he thrusts into you. You loop your arms around his shoulders, your legs at his hips trying to pull him deeper, but he moves slowly, giving you little more than just the tip.
You drag your fingernails down his shoulder blades. “Ten,” you moan, a plea hidden there for more and for deeper and harder. And he satisfies, holding himself above you as he fucks in at that new angle, hitting deeper and thrusting at a quicker pace. You drag your fingernails down to his ass, digging in and pulling him crashing back against you.
“Fucking pretty,” Ten puts a hand on your tits, still snapping his hips forward. “So pretty, all for me, isn’t that right? You’re my good girl?”
“Ten.” Your voice is fried around his single syllable, and that just makes him smile. Your pussy is so wet around him, growing wetter as he calls you his good girl again, wetter still when he slaps a hand against your tit.
You moan and arch up off the bed, and Ten takes that opportunity to duck his head and kiss up your sternum, his lips trailing across your chest until his nose rubs the soft, sensitive tingling skin he’d just struck, his tongue traces circles around your nipple, and you’re just trying to fuck yourself on his cock and not cum yet, but Ten makes that very difficult.
“I’m---I’m--” You clutch at him, rocking your hips up to meet each of his deep thrusts, and Ten lifts his lips from your tit so he can smile down at you as he slips his hand back down to rub at your clit.
“You’re what? Gonna cum?” He teases.
You only whine in response, and Ten swats his fingers against your clit in a way that makes you squeeze around him, your belly jumping, a fresh whine breaking through your lips. “Yeah, I’m gonna cum, Ten. Fuck, let me cum.”
He strokes his finger around your clit. “Just hold on. I’m close too.”
Wait for me, the words are there in the space between you, his eyes locked on yours as he twists his hips, stroking his cock against your G spot rapidly, and you can’t control it, can’t hold back, your orgasm crashes through you without waiting, and you bring Ten with you.
He flattens himself against you, hipbones digging into the back of your thighs as he presses you in half, and you can feel him emptying his load inside you, his cock twitching and pulsing as your orgasm continues to quake through you. Your hearts thunder together in your chests. 
Your nails are buried so deeply against his ass, you’ve probably drawn blood, but that doesn’t seem to bother Ten at all, not when he’s balls deep inside you, and not when he starts flexing his hips, pulling back slightly just to thrust in a little more, cockhead nudging just against that spot inside you, and you moan a little broken sound.
Ten kisses your neck when you roll your head to the side, your eyes shut tight as you feel the flush of heat through you as Ten keeps doing that little move with his hips. 
Another moan works its way out, soft around his name, and Ten sits up enough to look down at you and he keeps rolling his hips against yours, watching in delight as you roll your head from side to side, moaning and swearing, his name dripping honey-sweet from your lips as he brings you over the edge of your second orgasm.
He backs off then, pulling out slowly, kissing your throat, shoulders, down your sternum and over both of your nipples, down toward your navel. 
You lift your head to watch his head dip down between your thighs, and his warm tongue swipes over your too-sensitive clit in a way that makes your thighs twitch to close. Ten lays a hand on each thigh, pushing them back apart, and you sit up more to watch the moment that he uses that tongue to lick up his pearly cum as it drips from your pussy.
It’s unreal how quickly he brings you to a third orgasm.
Ten laughs when you reach down to shove his head away, and then again when you press your foot to his chest to keep him from coming back. He slides up the bed so his face is level with yours as he sinks onto his belly beside you.
He waits a few moments for you to come down from the high of those back-to-back orgasms. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you lick your lips, watching the rise and fall of your tits and the way that you press your legs together in an attempt to tame the hungry beast inside you that tells you that you can take another orgasm.
Eventually, you feel like you’re back in your own body, the tingly goodness of good sex fading from your limbs. You throw your hand over to hit lightly against Ten’s chest, and then you leave your hand there, knuckles soft against his skin as you say, “I don’t think it would’ve been that good last night.”
Ten touches your palm lightly. “No probably not.” There’s a brief pause and then he says, “You told me you love me last night.” Ten shifts onto his side and rests his head against his arm. 
You shoot a nervous look at him. Why is he bringing this up now? 
Ten just smiles softly. “Well, you said that I made you love me, but that’s basically the same thing, right?”
You look away, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. “Maybe.”
Ten’s hand slides over your belly, fingers digging into your side, and he pulls lightly to roll you toward him. “Can you look at me?” 
You turn on your side to face him, your voice very quiet when you ask, “What?”
“I’ve never told any of my relationships in the past that I love them. I think that’s a big move, a big emotion to feel.” Ten swallows and he looks down at your lips. “I enjoy you. Being with you, both in a sexy way and also just, like, being around you. You make me happy, like I don’t need to go seeking anything from anyone else.”
You stare at him, at his lips. What exactly is he saying here?
“I haven’t been with anyone else for ages now, just you.” Ten’s hand creeps cross the sheets and he clasps your hand in his again. “When I was with them I was thinking of you, anyway. And then when I’m with you, I don’t know, it just feels like coming home. I don’t know if that makes sense.” Ten clears his throat. “I’m trying to say I really, really like you, and I think you’re making me love you too.”
You push closer to him then, wrapping yourself around him in a hug, hiding your face against his chest. Ten holds you like that, a smile tucked into your hair, and his hand still clasped warmly in yours.
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an: this was a lot longer than I intended oops, but it could’ve definitely been longer if I’d elaborated on some scenes that I wanted to. I couldn’t help bringing Johnten and Doten into this when I decided I was writing bi!Ten, and I would have liked to have written more there, but since the focus is definitely on TenxReader here that didn’t seem too important. But one thing I really wanted to include was pegging, and I never quite got it there unfortunately.
I hope you liked this, and if you did I would really appreciate if you would reblog it to share, like it, let me know what you thought! Thank you!!!
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hawksrut · a year ago
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Synopsis: If you have received this invitation, then we cordially invite you into The Red Room Society, 
An honorable social gathering for pro heroes made by a pro hero. No cameras to follow your every move, no citizens to gather your secrets and critique you as a person. Only fellow heroes whom share in the privacy and desires to unleash their most inner wants and needs. From the moment your feet enter the doorway and mask comes on, you are but a stranger in the midst, happily kept company by our most trained and delectable sweetheart who will provide for whatever it is you most hunger for.
May you enjoy the night of ecstasy and put up the hero name you oh-so worked for to be the beast/beastress that has slumbered within yourself.
Pairings: Various x Reader
Genre: Smut
Warnings: high-class smut, everyone is a pro-hero, sex club, no true plot whatsoever literally just smut (cannot stress this enough), the reader is a champ, same reader through each oneshot, more warnings depending on which pro-hero, aged up characters (for some)
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The garden was beautiful when night reached its peak.
Your eyes scattered across the lot. Darkness suited well against the fairy lights decorated against the various emerald green bushes and watermelon pink cherry blossoms. Petals would fall as the winds took them and swirled around in a dance. In the center of it all, rested the old yet detailed fountain sprouted a rush of water before falling down into a stream where the pond resided koi fish. All clustered together and swimming among one another.
With your extended hours to yourself in the estate, you found a haven in the beautiful nature. Of course, when it wasn’t taken over by the moans and groans of parties enjoying each other’s company. A habit of being the personalized assistant meant you were at everyone’s beck and call. Subordinate to everyone’s whims and needs whether that be another glass of white wine and chocolates to another box of condoms. Present and judgment-free is what you were. The mere helper to suppressed desires of society’s heroes. Be the curtain that keeps them and media from being known apart from their daily personas.
Never in a million years did you think becoming the X-rated hero: Midnight’s assistant would grow to hoarding a group of heroes to live out their sexcapades but when two roads diverge into a yellow wood, then possibilities become endless. Cleavage. Sexual innuendos and sex toys were your expectations (all of which you received) but to have your boss start-up a heroes’ only sexual club hidden from wandering eyes was a different kind of shock. You couldn’t deny the curiosity of how heroes or any celebrity for the matter got it on without having it blasted to the papers but you didn’t think it would be something as wild as a sex only kind of exchange.
Then again you couldn’t be shocked could you? Not as being the right-hand woman to your boss’ exploitations. From narrowing down the estates Nemuri had selected, to interviewing, screening, and documenting the severely long contracts for all the sweethearts you and Nemuri admitted. Sweethearts: a term you yourself picked out simply for linking the term of endearment. A name to represent the many people exceptional in handling sexual service without question. The ones who donned an amassing of masks each to fit their sexual persona and in turn be easily identifiable for heroes and their acquired tastes.
As to help comfort the heroes and their identities, you too wore a mask to conceal your identity. Even if it was a pointless thing considering you were always right by your hero’s side, thus others could make a quick assumption as to who you were. Regardless, it was best to see only a mask rather than a face and see that same face in normal time.
Many times could you visualize the number of times you had been confused for a sweetheart. They usually attacked when you were away from Nemuri’s presence. Running an errand for a certain hero, one would usually stop you in your tracks and request a sweetheart’s service, or they would be the hero whom you were assisting. Though flattered, you would politely remind them of your status as the auxiliary and nothing more than that. They begged, oh how they begged. Some offered money, lots of it. Other’s offered power and some offered themselves. The chance to be in the same bed as an honorary hero was something many civilians dreamed of, touched themselves to. And while your boss didn’t forbid you from scoring a potential lay, it was a personal preference to keep yourself from being seen as one of their sex toys. It was an intimating thing to pleasure a hero. While you’ve had your fair share of sexual escapades, these were heroes you were talking about. The thought of fucking up sent daunting shivers to rake your spine.
However, you weren’t blind. You could feel the gaping stares sunken into your body. You could feel predatory eyes shape your form, follow you from one end of the room to another. They would stare at you as if they wanted to rip the barely covering cloth you called a dress and take you right then and there. Produce a show that would send fingers down their nether regions and absorb the pleasure you were outputting. Some would follow you, never talking or touching but like a shadow, they would be by your side with their gazes of lust trailing your form.
Was it the salacious gazes continuously following you, was it the want to be stuffed and filled to the brink or a particular man’s offering of a hefty amount of cash that sealed the deal? Made you switch from a simpleton subordinate to newly and temporary sweetheart. To be frank the whole thing was a blur. Nemuri’s squalls of glee and assurance that she would handle everything so that you could get the “most pleasurable night in human existence” had you free of any mingling with heroes.
Day and night you lived as Midnight’s assistant. She gave no details to her wicked plans and you made no move to question her. It wasn’t until the next scheduled “club meeting” was coming close that your boss greeted you first thing in the morning with a list of names. Each name holding a large set of numbers beside it.
A one-time event is what you were. One night of sexual gratification with the forbidden fruit. Not all good things came for free, and neither did you. Only those whose bank account could talk for them could have a piece of your time, and through Midnight’s harsh fist only a few selected were deemed worthy for you to spend your night with. Given by the seven names written beautifully for you to read.
‘That’s a lot of money.’ You fretted. Hands going back to the now crumpled paper once again. Within the span of a week were you given to mentally, physically, and emotionally prepare you for the night you were going to have. Day after day you would read the names, and yet it could still not properly sink into you that your night with them was going to happen. Not as Nemuri donned in a cloud feeling cerulean blue dress meant to accentuate your prominent features, a scorching red masquerade mask opposing the color fitted for your eyes. Not as your limousine ride to the estate with nothing more than the crumpled paper to keep you company. And not as you awaited in an empty room, on pins and needles until the heroine herself would greet you to the hungry heroes.
‘You are hot, you are a badass!’ You reminded yourself. The noir pumps seemingly clacking louder against the marble with each step. Nemuri besides you whispering sweet nothings to you, assuring of your night of euphoria. There was no need for worries. Not when at the end of the day, this was for you. You decided this for your own sake. The heroes you were set to meet were nothing more than mere pawns for your sexual release. The cards were held in your hands, you held the power. The reason this was all occurring was because you wanted it.
And you did want to go through with this, right?
“Now may I present to you all, the honorary feast for the night, my adorable little assistant and hero favorite: name!” From the lineup of sweethearts opposing the crowd of heroes, you were placed front and center. Much like yourself and the sweethearts, they garnered masks of their own. To uphold their forbidden agendas despite variables easily pointed out who was who.
Your chest rose and fell when all eyes dropped to you. Lust. Want. Desire. A combination of all laced into dark eyes. Several attempted to get closer but as the forbidden fruit Nemuri was good at keeping others at bay. No matter the urge to want to lace their fingers into your hair or let the straps of your dress fall from your shoulders.
Not one inch of uncertainty, only hunger, and the need to sink themselves onto you. And as your gaze fell on the seven men on your list, each with their own hidden carnivorous yearnings, you came to one conclusion-
This was exactly what you wanted.
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Synopsis: You couldn't deny that once or twice you've imagined what it would feel like to spend a night underneath a pro hero. The thought of them using their quirk or mutation against you sent quivers down your body. If the thoughts only sent you feel warm, you could only imagine what the real thing would feel like. And as your body went still, mind washed over, legs slipping down falling to your calves as a finger prodded you to look up at the hero in front of you. Thoughts could never come close to the real thing.
Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi (Mindjack) x Reader - 15 MILLION
Release date: October 25, 2020
Read here: link
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Synopsis: He was always nice to you. Offering warm smiles, asking how your day had been. Never once stepping out of bounds and overall a ray of sunshine. The thought of him craving a night with you never stepped into your head. Not until he had you alone. His mouth moving lower and lower, lips pressing on every inch of skin he could get across. 
Pairing: Kirishima Eijiro (Red Riot) x Reader - 20 MILLION
Read her: link
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Synopsis: He was a gentle man. He was never one for flash when it came to being a hero. An ironic thing considering his fusion of fire and ice. Sweethearts blushed thinking over their night with the ice and fire prince. He treated them with care and comfort, as if the day would be their last and added as much passion and emotion into his actions and reciprocation. Now you could understand why he was sweethearts favorite. Why he was so fought over. As his lips pressed against yours with ardor and his dual quirked hands gave you the heat and cold to run down your body. 
Pairing: Todoroki Shouto (Ice flames) x Reader - 39 MILLION
Release date: TBD 
Preview: here
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Synopsis: All the sweethearts knew of the explosive man and his reputation. Sweethearts swooned at the thought of a night with him. From rumors, he left them legs shaking, out of breath and tears coating their cheeks as they babbled nonsense to others. It  never occurred to you that he would be one to fancy you. Never did you see his eyes on you nor did you see any signs of him holding any sexual want for you. But, as your legs quivered, your inside thoroughly rearranged. Eyes streams tears blurring your vision of the sadistic man in front of your body. Again, you were proven wrong. 
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki (Dynamight) x Reader - 40 MILLION
Release date: TBD 
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Synopsis: Everyone knew of the number one pro hero Deku. The new symbol of peace, the great All Might’s progeny. A man of wide smiles and tinted redden cheeks hearing children praise him and look at him in awe. Women would toss their number his way and thank him for his service with hugs and kisses to his red cheeks. The beloved man who seemed to be goddess personified. That is what you thought overall. The man who hovered above you, emerald hues darkened to look almost black, gleam of mischief. The smirk on his lips, taunting you, encasing his power. The hand wrapped around your throat, sparks of green around his hand and all his form as he pounded in you without mercy. This was not the good man you see on your screen.  
Pairing: Midoriya Izuku (Deku) x Reader - 50 MILLION
Release date: TBD 
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Synopsis: There are just some heroes easily recognizable. Whether it be the color or style of one’s hair that can easily be picked out among the crowd. Or maybe a mutation of sorts has the spotlight shining on them a bit too soon. All you know is that it’s easy to spot Hawks even if he stood on the opposite end of the room. Those bright crimson wings of him gave it away over the man’s appearance. It’s why you recognize who it is standing behind you as two wings enclose you as he stands behind you. Lips breathing on your neck before they lean and give a bite.
Pairing: Hawks (Takami Keigo) x Reader - 69 MILLION
Release date: TBD 
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Synopsis: You could feel his eyes on you wherever you went. Guiding some to their respective rooms, handling the alcoholic drinks for some to calm their nerves. Always on the move and yet, with a sweetheart by his side, his eyes never deterred from your form. Were you surprised to hear from Nemuri that he had asked for you repeatedly? Fuck yes. Were you surprised to hear that he had asked for you several times. Going as far as to pull out a wad of cash for a night with you. Fuck yes. Were you surprised when you finally opened yourself up to the heroes that his name was neatly found on the list of heroes interested in you? The largest sum of money beside his name. Fuck yes.
Pairing: Aizawa Shota (Eraserhead) x Reader - 84 MILLION
Release date: TBD
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jobean12-blog · 6 months ago
Doodle Hearts ❤
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Word Count: 799
Summary: You and Bucky sit and doodle together with your favorite colorful gel pens. 
Author’s Note: This is just something that popped into my head when my lovely friend @thefallenbibliophilequote reblogged a story of mine 🥰I had so much fun writing it and thanks to @sidepartskinnyjeans I made the ending extra soft 😁❤ and @theycallmebecca for feeding my pen addiction! YAY!🥰 Thank you all so very much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤ Divider by the lovely @imerdwarf
Warnings: fluffy fun and soft fluffs :) 
Gif not mine: Thank you to @captaincentenarian for this one, a fave of mine :D
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“Your hearts look like butts.”
Your pen stops moving and you stay fixed in that position, staring at your little pink heart on the page. When you finally lift your eyes to Bucky’s he’s smiling and his nose is scrunched up with joy.
“You’re a butt,” you deadpan, looking back down at the paper and continuing to color your heart.
“Butt hearts.”
“Butt Bucky.”
The standoff only lasts for another few seconds before the two of you burst out laughing. In your fit of hysterics, you fling several pens at him, landing one right off his head. It makes you laugh harder and by the time you stop your sides hurt.
“You love my hearts,” you say as your giggles trail off.
“I love your butt,” is Bucky’s answer.
You start laughing again, stabbing him with the blue pen still in your hand before you go back to drawing another heart.
Bucky peeks over your shoulder. “Looks like a butt.  A blue one.”
You turn your head and bite down on his finger that rests on your shoulder. He doesn’t make a sound and ninja like reaches around with his metal hand and pokes your side, making you jump off the chair with a scream and release his finger.  
“You’re so predictable,” he teases, sitting in your seat and pulling you down into his lap.
He grabs the purple gel pen and starts drawing a heart next to yours.
“Well, your hearts looks like…like…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word.
“A heart,” he finishes for you, kissing just under your ear.
“That’s not what I was going to say,” you huff then take the yellow pen and start to draw a pineapple.
Bucky chuckles into your neck and grabs the lime green pen, adding the leaves to the top of your pineapple. You give it a smiley face and then move on to a strawberry. Once again he adds some leaves on the top and small black dots for seeds.
The two of you sit together for the next half hour, drawing different fruits with various faces. Some even have arms and legs. When the page is filled up you drop the pen and admire your work. Bucky kisses your neck.
“Wanna do veggies next?” he asks.
You giggle. “Perfect.”
He picks up your notebook and randomly flips it to a new page but this one isn’t blank. You let out a screech and push it off the table in a flurry of erratic movements. Bucky grabs your waist to stop you from falling off his lap.
“Woah baby doll. Careful!”
When he reaches down to get the notebook you squeal again and start to say, “no, no, don’t look.”
Bucky stops mid movement and turns to you.
“What’s going on doll face?”
His look of concern makes you deflate against his chest and you cover your face with your hands.
“It’s just…I don’t want you to see what’s on that page. It’s embarrassing,” you mumble.
“Ok. I won’t look then, don’t worry.”
He keeps his eyes on you and puts the book on the table, turning to a new page. You place a soft kiss on his lips before looking down at the paper.
“Oh, for fucks sake!” you sigh.
Bucky’s eyes fall to the paper and you watch as his face goes from worry to elation. You groan loudly.
“Mrs. James Barnes,” he reads, turning the notebook this way and that to see all you’ve scribbled. “Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.”
His smile only grows as he sees all the ways you’ve written your name with his last and all the different versions of Mrs. Barnes that litter the paper in every gel pen color you own.
He takes his favorite aqua blue pen and starts to write.
When you look down your face lights up at his ‘I love you, Future Mrs. James Barnes,’ written neatly in his block handwriting.
You take the pink pen and under his declaration you add, ‘I love you, Mr. James Barnes,’ with a little butt heart next to it.
“No i’s in there so I just put one next to it,” you giggle.
Bucky nuzzles your cheek, his beard soft against your skin as his lips brush along your jaw. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his warmth. You can feel his arm moving again as he writes but you stay in your nook and breathe him in.
He drops the pen and pulls your face away so you can look at the paper. You read the words several times before they register, your eyes blurring with happy tears as you vigorously shake your head yes.
‘Will you marry me?,’ complete with his best try at a butt heart over the i.
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@addikted-2-dopamine @book-dragon-13​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @hiddles-rose​ @jewels2876​ @jhangelface0523​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @loricameback​ @lorilane33​ @lookiamtrying @oceaniamaddness @nano--raptor @marvelgirl7 @mardema​ @randomfandompenguin @white-wolf1940 @bbl32 @tumblin-theworldaway @margowrites @allydrabbles @musicalmuffindog1410 @dreamlessinparis
932 notes · View notes
julek · 6 months ago
for @angry-apricot <3
"Jaskier," Geralt calls as he frowns at himself in the mirror.
"Yes, dear?"
Geralt makes a face before answering. "Is this shirt yours?"
Jaskier looks up from his book now, his brow knit in a tiny frown, and studies the undershirt Geralt's put on. "Hmm," he says, narrowing his eyes and abandoning his place on the bed to circle around Geralt. "Nope, this one isn't mine... Look, it's even got that tear from that, um—"
"Basilisk?" Geralt offers.
"Yeah! Remember? The one we sewed back together?" Jaskier looks at him with a smile. "This one's all yours, Witcher. Why do you ask?"
Geralt frowns, harder. He lifts his arms, stretches his muscles. "It's all... tight, now." He can see his reflection, the fabric stretched over his chest, straining, his shoulders barely fitting in without bursting the seams. "Must've shrunk."
He hears Jaskier laugh, a bright thing.
"What?" He asks, groaning in frustration as his head gets caught in the collar when he tries to take it off.
Still laughing, Jaskier says, "Here, let me," and frees him from the offending shirt, circling his arms around Geralt's waist instead. "There."
Geralt leans back against Jaskier a little, pressing a kiss to his hair. He looks at him in the mirror, the soft lines of his face, his green-blue eyes in the candlelight, too good and bright for him. Jaskier laughs under his quiet scrutiny, his fingers pressing warm circles on his skin despite the crisp air of their room.
"You know," Jaskier murmurs in his ear. "I think I know what happened to your shirt."
Geralt hums a curious hum.
"I think," Jaskier says, his fingers drawing a heart over Geralt's stomach, "It has something do to with all those meals we've been indulging in."
Geralt hums again, a considering hum. "Yeah?"
"Mmm." Jaskier presses a tender kiss to his cheek, and Geralt sees his ears go red in the mirror. "I'm glad. Seeing you like this... Healthy. Well-nourished. I can't see your ribs anymore, thank the Gods."
And if Geralt looks closely, he can see what Jaskier means. His stomach is softer now, no longer hard lines and sharp edges. His arms are bulkier, thick and heavy, pink-gold stretch marks next to his scars.
It feels good.
"You're spoiling me," he teases, turning in Jaskier's arms, facing him.
Jaskier kisses the smile off his face. "So I am."
"You're buying me new shirts, then."
Jaskier grins, happy and in love. Geralt can tell, now. He knows how it feels.
"So I am."
789 notes · View notes
bemylord · 8 months ago
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ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ + ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴄᴀʀᴇ │ ᴅɪʟꜰ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴛᴏᴊɪ
pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader.
warnings: nsfw, spit kink, spanking, slap on the cheeks [once], size kink, belly bulge, tears, creampie, marks, dom/sub, cockwarming, nicknames, butt plug, edging [mentioned], degrading, gagging, oral [both?], breeding kink + aftercare and praising <3 grammar issues.
word counter: 4.2k
butler's note: extra hot and extra big. it must a 4.7k but i though it'd be too long, so i deleted some parts. if you like dilf toji - butler's here to serve your thirst. i did toji in his 30s not in 40s bc megumi is three years old.
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'on your knees, slut' you swallowed, dare to have a quick look on your daddy before stood on the knees. toji will give you the punishment in a few seconds - you had given up on making excuses, yet preparing your throat and holes for his cock.
the playroom, which toji designated as the 'basement' for megumi, so that his son wouldn't enter, is arranged in relatively red colors: only the toy chest of drawers was made of wood, which had a shade of terracotta.
toji is into toys. edging you 'till your pussy will be soaked enough or else he'd turn the vibrator on the max, sat on the chair in front of the bed, putting his elbows on the armrests, making himself comfortable in the cushioned chair, to watch as how you're being a desperate slut for him.
trying to squirm from vibration on your overstimulated clit, as your legs have shaken as the toy brought you the new piece of the orgasm. toji commanded you to intently stare into his green lewd eyes as you feel the oncoming orgasm.
tears had come to the corners of your eyes, as you had reached the orgasm. you had given up counting the highest you've been reaching, but you knew toji hadn't touched himself - his balls are full of sperm to breed your pussy and mouth.
he turned off the toy, lightly rubbing your clit, as you arch the back for toji's caresses - he had enough to make a few circles as you milked on his fingers.
'your pussy so soaked, your juices are oozing all over your thighs,' he kissed the inner thighs, moving soft kisses to the succulent place. 'let daddy taste it.'
certainly, his tongue could bring you another pleasant satisfaction feeling in minutes due to the kind of torture he had placed you. he licked your oozing hole, tasting the juices, mooing into your bosom, causing vibrations.
you abruptly exhale, as toji moves his mouth to your swollen clit - you've been tortured and haggard, but you'll give your daddy the last creampie on his cock, will you?
of course, you will. you will milk his thick, hot cock when the tip literally touching your cervix, replenishing your vagina with his sperm. you had dig nails into his back, milking the cock, produce the white ring around the cock base, hearing as toji groans into your ear.
now, he won't be lenient. you had been a bad girl, very-very bad girl. you got daddy's permission to cum, didn't you? to be an obedient whore - is your role in the sex, so why did you disobedient the simple rule? you wanted a punishment.
toji sat on the upholstered chair, spreading his legs wide apart as if calling you to have your place. his cock is bulging from the sports pants - despite it was baggy, it seems that the cock would rip the material if it could do it.
you glare at him once again: green eyes are focusing solely on you, devouring, waiting for you to touch the cock with your tongue. he put elbows on the armrests, grinning - it's gonna be the rough punishment.
you placed palms on his knees, rubbing them slowly as if wobbling, should you continuing or you should have to stop. you're unhurriedly moving hands towards the bulge, lick the parched lips - soon, there will be his semen.
you touch his outlining dick with one finger, feeling how hard it is, how big your daddy cock is. the one thing that has been stopping his cock from being in your mouth - the elastic. you've lowered his pants, freeing up a fat cock.
you dare to look at the cock, before pulling it in inside your warm wet mouth: a small amount of precum on the pink glans and the protruding vein on the side of his cock, which you always had licked first. as usual - balls have a large amount of white, salty liquid to paint your mouth and pussy into white color.
fuck, perfect dilf in the prime of his life. toji in his 30s but his cock is fucking amazing. jesus, he's fucking good: he always pleases your needs with his cock, his fingers, his tongue.
fuck, what a perfect daddy you've gotten. primarily, toji hired you as a babysitter for his son, but lately, the both of you began to experience a completely non-working relationship, crossing the thin line of 'friendship' or 'boss and employee'.
do you mind when toji kisses your lips in the morning before making you a cup of coffee? do you ever put resistance towards his attempts to love you?
he snapped you out of your memories with a light slap on the cheek, more like a small touch of his palm on your cheek. toji put his chin on the palm as the little finger slightly covers the scar on his lip.
'suck my cock and gag on it.'
you wrapped your small palms around the base, licking the precum turning your head to lick the prominent vein. you had kept asking yourself, how does his fat cock fit in your little mouth?
although, toji fushiguro is definitely maddening by your small mouth that barely could fit the entire cock. the rare occasion when you managed to touch your nose against his pubic - after touching the bristle hair, you found yourself in tears as the glans touching the throat.
he'd lie if he tells he doesn't like when you get choked by his thick cock. toji feels like he's in heaven - doesn't need to use hands to press your head deep into the base. though, he could do it unexpectedly, take you off guard, overhearing as to how you're getting choked.
you're suctioning the cock as if it a lollipop with strawberry or cherry flavor, sucking as if you've been thirsty for weeks. scattering kisses along the length, pulling out the cock from the mouth with a pop sound.
the sound echoes through the room chugging and chomping. toji is smirking as seeing as his dick disappears inside your mouth, feeling as your tongue playing with the base inside. suddenly, you felt his big palms on your head, as he warned you with his giggled, suc as a telltale sign.
relentlessly, literally from the first second he had touched your hair, he fucks your throat without mercy as if you don't feel any pain. predilection of choke you with his cock.
you're trying to breath with a nose, but [forgive me] as toji replace palms to the throat and nose - this is what he calls a real suffocation. tears are running on your cheek as the glans touches your tonsillar.
'look me in the face, slut' he placed both palms on your throat, periodically squeezing and giving you few seconds to fill your lunges with the air.
you stare at the eyes full of lewd and the pleasure of your weeping face, he knows it hurts and throat will be sore in the morning - that is the reason why he will give you a day off on his large bed, where you'll be resting as toji will take of his son.
he will forbid you to get out of bed as if you could get out - the ass will burn as if you had been fucked by several men, not by one cock. by the way, you don't need several men as you've got toji. toji fushiguro and his cock will rip your pussy like you've been needy for it
there are times when the sorcerer killer is soft, his pace is slow as he covers your collarbone with quick hickeys that go away after a few minutes. he worships you like his queen, whispering that he will marry you one day.
'you're gonna be my little girl forever, only mine girl.'
don't think toji is a monster who loves to fuck you until you'll be a dumb as his cock breeding your pussy, you like it as well, when toji spanking your ass contemporaneously caresses your clit, reaching the new wave of orgasm on his cock.
'open your mouth little one.'
you pull out his cock, open your mouth wide, letting the saliva dripping down onto the chin, as you stick out the tongue. he cups your face, spitting in your mouth, mingling your drools together. you swallowed the mixture as a good girl, stick out again, asking for the supplementation.
'should daddy gives you more, should daddy kisses your lips?'
'yes, daddy, kiss me.' he squeezes the throat at your response.
'yes, daddy, kiss your slut, kiss her, please.'
he smiled, noticing how obedient you are by calling yourself his slut. he lowered his body down to kiss your mouth with a tongue, making you completely a mess, as you moan into the kiss. a small reward before the punishment.
he kisses your lower lip, slightly bites it, taking off your wet panties. not breaking the kiss, he runs the finger in your crotch, has a sensation of your dripping pussy - daddy's perfect slut. he entered with one finger without any warning, feeling your gooey walls.
you opened your eyes from the unaware action, staring into the green, loved one's eyes, feeling as his tongue is playing with yours, his finger tasting and preparing your hole for his cock.
'suck my finger and taste yourself'
you wrapped his wrist with a palm, taking in your mouth the soaked finger in your juice - toji's sperm is tasting better than any other liquid. he gets up from the chair, walking towards the drawer to get the toy.
'what color of the plug my slut wants?'
'whichever daddy chooses'
he put the one with a white, fluffy tail, lubricating hands, and plug. you knees on the edge of the bed, licking lips as anticipating the plug in your hole. fushiguro runs a finger along your hole, lubricating the ass, so it won't hurt too much - only his dick can bring the pleasant tingles.
he entered with one finger, feeling as the tight hole immediately squeezes it. he kissed your asscheeks, replacing into the toy. the sensation of the cool toy made you wobble your pelvis, but instantly you felt the strong hands of Toji, which calmed you down.
you had felt as the toy slowly coming inside the non-stretched, tight hole. you exhaled, arching the back, silently begging for the drooling pussy to be stretched with his fat cock. but instead of his cock you felt as his palms found themselves on your butt, squeezing them.
you screamed when toji spanked the right cheek. you've practically fallen as if toji's another palm which is holding you, so you wouldn't twitch and sneak away from the spanking.
another hit on your butt and another and another. your soft and once pristine skin is now covered with the marks of toji's palms, he marvels as he looks at the 'art' he has created - one touch and you shudder in suffering.
'turn around and face me.'
you hardly turn your body, looking from the bottom to meet his gaze - you've got a lovely opportunity to watch as he takes off the black t-shirt, he threw his arms back, pulling the fabric down, tossing it aside, placing his knee on the bed, opening your mouth with his hand.
he spits again in your mouth, as your hands found themselves on his stomach, outlining his sculpted abs with your fingernails. his muscular, athletic body feels so pleasant under your soft pads.
'give my dick a kiss before i'll rip your pussy'
once again you feel the hard cock in your mouth, salivating the base, pulling out to play with balls for a little. he groaned as felt your mouth has taken one ball then another, playing as toji loves, ogling at his foggy gaze and sanity. his cock twitched, when you kiss the head, turned your body.
his pads deftly find your clit, as the killer lay down on the stomach, moving your hips towards his face, forcing you to repeat his movement and lie on your tummy. he tucked the tail on your back, examining your oozing hole.
he couldn't help but bury his face on your pussy, tasting the arousal, knowing who your hole, body, and mind are belonging to. your arousal as well, tearing apart your pussy with fingers, entering inside with his tongue.
as if he could reach the spongy bug inside your vagina - he will wake you up every morning with a tongue.
going in and out in sharp movements, then lick the entrance such in a tease way. he had added two fingers simultaneously as you immediately squeezed 'em, quelling your moans with the pillow.
with one hand toji is stretching your gummy walls, feeling the friction when you adjust to his thick fingers; with another, he spanks your red butt cheeks, bringing you the discomfort.
't-daddy, i-i'm..'
'you've got my permission, cum on daddy's mouth.'
he caresses your clit with circles, anticipating for the liquid he'll lick. the euphoria had covered you surprisingly, when toji removed the plug, had kissed your ass. his strong hands were holding your legs widely as you were giving daddy the liquid he had been waiting.
licking the drooling cunt 'till your clarity is hazed and dazed by the marvelous feeling, you couldn't think clear, murmuring him different phrases.
'daddy, please fuck me rough, please, i need your thick fat cock in my pussy, daddy~'
you've purred like a cat last word, rocking the hips as you're still in the clouded conduction, unconsciously murmuring his nickname, stuck your butt.
'how can daddy say no to his baby girl.'
toji bent you over on the back, without hesitation threw legs over his shoulders. he spits on the pussy, smearing the saliva on the enterance. although you've been stretching before, his head had come inside with an effort, giving the moment to adjust to his size as the glance have touched the cervix, filling the space.
feel of being full by his cock definitely the best you had ever felt. you're melting by his warm and sweet body - drops of sweet starts to appear on the muscules as you're clenching the dick inside, attempting to adapting to his cock. he fucked your pussy almost every night, but tho you still fucking tight.
that's the thing toji loves - your hole as if renewal, making it difficult to fuck your relentnessly, so in the morning there will the pain between your thighs. he'll apologize with his tongue on your pussy, eating you as you like it.
the moment you clenched his wrists, leaving half-moon marks there, telltale sign for toji to move the pelvis. he pull his cock out to the glans, giving it back in a second, kissing your ankles, staring into your eyes, wrapping hands below the knees, using your legs to push into your wet bosom, stretching the walls to paint after in a white hue.
he moves the pelvis forth and back, beating out the moans out of your mouth, smiling to be the one who can and will bring pleasure to your body and mind. toji casts an insatiable glance over your body - with every thrust into your drooling pussy, your breasts bounce as your palms clutch the sheet, hoping to compensate for the blows.
as well, you glance over the man figure, staring as toji's chest rises when he goes all the way in. when he breathes out, his abdomen is visibly showing you the muscular. you clench the dick, as you have touched the abs, deftly touching his tense stomach.
you caught him twice in the gym, when you wanted to wake up megumi, had stopped by the crack in the door, had a peek on toji's body: wet, strong, and tense as he was standing in the plank position.
you had allowed yourself to watch as he exercises, had forgotten about the task to wake his son - wet strands of dark color fell on his face, if you pussy can talk, it would definitely say: 'fuck me, toji.' thank god your vagina is incapable of spilling your desire.
the goosebumps had covered your body as you saw toji's eyes were focusing solely on you, when you turned your head to look at the time - six in the morning, - you quickly ran to the 'gumi's room, pretending you weren't stalking.
does it count as stalking? toji should lock the door, you were just.. staring as he was exercising.
the next time he asked you to count his push-ups. you were happy. you nodded as the response, counting, as toji suddenly ask a question.
'lay on my back, y/n.'
you barely answered: 'yes, daddy.' again, you nodded uncertainly, afraid to make the slightest movement. can he hold you? but you wanted to feel his strong body more than anything else, and besides - he's your boss, you have to obey him.
you did as you told: first, you sat on his butt, then you lay down on his back with your stomach. surprisingly, he bent his arms faster, like you were a feather.
'one hundred, mr. fushiguro.'
you get on the floor, kinda upset leaving his body.
'you are so easy, have you eaten? i'll order us some food, you should eat more.'
the 'compliment' that toji had addressed to you made you blushed, as you found yourself smiling, looking at his face. you show by the gesture sigh 'okay', left the room.
'and it's toji, for you.'
you had murmured his name in the nights when you were closed as now, masturbating your little clit, pronouncing his name.
he suggested you move in with him because it was difficult to get to his house - he lived far from the city and transportation didn't go to the place.
you purred the boss's name, as the orgasm with a tremble covered your body, leaving you desperate to quell his name in your hand. you were thinking that the owner of the name is sleeping like his son is, therefore you could please your needs.
he was awakened as hell - being a sorcerer killer giving him the opportunity to sneak up on the victim quietly. especially to the mere human like you, who haven't got any curse energy or a good ear to overhear as he's jerking his cock, listening how you're cumming.
a kind of 'we're even' when you peeked at him.
the thing you didn't know is - toji always had peeked on you. in the shower, in the kitchen when you're wearing those fucking tiny shorts or when you just-just have awakened, aimlessly stretching your arms above the head, exposing your breasts as your top went up.
now you are thinking about his massive cock is filling the former empty pussy, thrusting harder when your harsh and resounding voice caresses his ears - a delight to 'em.
the squelches are filling the game room, as you put your legs around his torso, making him bend over towards your face and kiss you.
in this position he could kiss your peachy lips, demolishing the coil in your stomach by his cock.
as soon as you started to rock your hips towards his cock, he momentary started to fuck you mercilessly, feeling as you're dragging nails through his back - he wants to find in the morning a dozen of red stripes dotted on his broad back.
he moves on your neck, like a habit of marking your conspicuous collarbones with hickeys and bites, dragging your teeth across your shoulders, leaving through the way bites or kisses, groaned at your skin.
his back as a bare canvas and your fingers are brushed with which you skillfully paint indecipherable red patterns.
your hole is constricting as toji started to fuck you brainless, grabbing your thighs, leaving a trail of half-moons there, driving the cock all the way in, balls slapping against your ass, prompting squelches that echo around the room.
thanks, megumi had never see as his father fucks the babysitter. megumi once called you mom, but you explained that you ain't his mom, in the response, you heard:
'but my dada [dad] said i can call you my mom'
you saw as toji smiles, waiting for your answer. then you have begun to know each other as partners. toji had known you're gonna the perfect mom and wifey.
'megumi will wake up soon.'
'i will take care of him.'
he kissed your lips before distracted himself from your lips to rock your uterus hard. you're both at your limit, feeling the breath becoming short and the heart beginning to pound frantically - soon the both of you will reach your orgasm.
he put your arm on the tummy, entering as far as it goes, as you felt his cock protrude. he murmured softly through gritted teeth: 'i'm here, baby.'
toji tossed his hand back, when the strands have finally covered his view of you, staring at your cute facial emotions as you're closing your eyes tight, shrinking the hole, milking his cock to cover walls in the white hue.
'cum with me, doll, cum, cum, cum-'
you have come first, creating a ring around his base, sucking out his sperm. his groaning filled the whole room as he fills your walls with his semen. the cock still pulsing in your hole that has been squeezing.
he bent your body over, making you lay down on his chest with the cock inside. your heart beats frantically in your chest as you both try to regain your breath. you squeeze his cock once more, feeling your joined fluid oozing slightly from your hole.
he put his hand behind his head, the other holding your waist. your body trembles slightly in a post-orgasmic state - toji is ready for round two, you can see it in his smug face.
'my good girl, you are my little girl'
you kissed his chest, moving towards his lips, wiggling hips to tease your lover.
'say it again, toji.'
'that you're my pretty little girl or that i love you so much, which one?'
you like hearing toji saying he loves you, kiss your palms and one finger on which he wants to wear a ring that will bind you by the bonds of marriage.
he's certain right now - he had found his family. his wife. he gently kisses your face, as if afraid to scare you off, pulling out his flaccid cock, to bring you as soon as it possible to his face, letting you sit on his stomach.
you run your hands over his strong shoulders, giggling - how he will explain that scratches to megumi? he ran his pads over your tired body, touching you lightly on your oozing crotch.
'love, we should take a bath.'
'not before i dot your body with kisses'
he again bent you over on your stomach, kissing the back of the shoulders, slowly coming down on your butt. as an apology, he grabbed your butt softly, leaving on the red butt-cheeks kisses.
he might be a psycho while spanking you, although always making out with kisses through all your body.
'megumi is probably have woken up, toji~'
'lay down here, princess, i will take care of our son'
he pulled on his sweatpants as he left the room. sex with him at times like this - is exhausting. you didn't notice how he covered you with a sheet before feeding his son. megumi asked him where you are, but toji answered him in a manly way:
'she's resting now after having s-, after playing, 'gumi'
'playin'? why i didn't play?'
he only sighed as he helped his son to eat. a childish question that he could have answered, but he didn't.
when you woke up, you found out toji's head between your legs as he licked you. you didn't try to push him away, you just spread your legs wide.
'you're awake now, baby.'
he kissed your inner thigh, wrapping his teeth around your clit, not biting it, just feeling how tender it is.
'toji, where's megumi?'
you literally jumped out of bed if it wasn't for his hand on your knee. he kisses your hole, clearly hearing you purr.
'baby, he's playing in the garden. focus on the euphoric feeling.'
regardless of still being tired from the spicy hours, you gave yourself to his tongue, allowing him to bring you one more orgasm before you will walk to the megumi to say good morning.
the only thing better than toji's tongue - his thick cock.
you had enough for a few minutes, lavishing his mouth with liquid. he chuckled, licking up all the drops, moving closer to your face to give you a morning kiss.
'good morning, little one.'
* * *
i'm sorry again for the mistakes and the long oneshot, maybe, you don't like big ones and i should make drabbles? it must a drabble, tho. okay, 0.3 notes [because i know it's huge, and you love drabble rather than os] and i'll write abt dilf satoru gojo?
↳ back to the main master list.
1K notes · View notes
alonewithchi · 13 days ago
Summary: It becomes official.
Warning: Cursing language, Angsty, Fluffy, Fem!reader, Fake Dating Trope, Happy Ending :)
Word count: 4500+
Thank you so so so so much for the support on my previous imagine! If you haven’t read part 1, here is it. 
Please enjoy :D
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"Boo, you should really take a look at all of these," JB called out to you.
"Why do you sound so distressed?" You put off your iPad and crawled to his side of the couch.
"Oh. Boy." You gasped upon seeing all the fuss. "The world is scary." You laughed bittersweetly, still scrolling through JB's phone.
"No, the world SHIPS you two," JB sarcastically corrected you.
"Pffff, I got stuffs to do." You shrugged and swiftly popped back to your spot.
JB's rant was about to continue when your phone vibrated.
"Sup, my G?" You grinned widely.
"Hey Y/n! Is JB there?"
"Yup, sitting beside me and being all bitchy here," you glanced at him with a smirk.
"As always, hehe. Anyway, we got a Midsummer party in my house tomorrow night. Are you guys down to be Creative Directors?"
The title was music to your ears. JB jumped at the opportunity, “Hell yeah!”
You perpetuated the excitement. "Missing it is a sin. When do we start?"
"Y’all decide. This ain’t no Met," the caller chuckled.
"Got it. See you, DDG." You blew a kiss into the phone.
"Miss you lots."
This party was uniquely an annual event for your inner circle of friends. Besides DDG and JB, the remaining four members were blooming rappers and singers as well. While DDG, JB and you were childhood friends, the others became part of your life on a fateful winter night. It was an underground rap battle; you and JB were DDG’s cheerleaders. After winning the championship, he introduced you to his fellows, with whom you and JB hit it off immediately. As time flew by, you guys had been together through the highs and lows, the victories and the failures. One by one, each of your inner circle earned success.
“FINALLY!” JB stood up on the glass coffee table, “A TIME FOR YOU TO WEAR THAT OUTFIT!” He was screaming on the top of his lungs.
You knew exactly which one it was. It was a black fishnet, body-hugging turtleneck, accompanied by beige-checkered cargo pants decorated with square pockets and a green camo jacket. All pieces were crafted by the mastermind JB himself. JB spent nearly a year in secrecy designing, sewing and perfecting this whole fit just for you. You received this masterpiece on your most recent birthday; needless to say, you were overwhelmed with tears.
“Finally,” an adrenaline rush sent electricity through your spines when you uttered the word.
- - -
“We won’t have to arrive in the morning. I have directed all the staff. We just need a lil check-up before the party,” JB walked in your bedroom, his laptop dangling in his hands as he made the way.
“Oh great, I will send Benny to assist logistics then.” You typed the order into your phone, before falling back onto your fluffy pillows.
It was already dark outside. The city life below was blooming with lively traffic noise. Audible musical notes could be heard faintly from afar. The night seemed distant, yet not.
Suddenly your mind recalled the Met’s memorable night. Your heartbeat automatically increased when the flashback reached the destined dance.
You remembered his ocean eyes and his pink lips. You remembered the way he caressed your figure and the way his face lit up whenever he saw you. You remembered how-
“Thinking about him?”
JB brought you back. Your head conducted a light nod, followed by your attempt to change the subject. “Alright, let me-“
“Stop dodging your feelings, Y/n.” JB calmly said, before letting out a long sigh. “You two are clearly into each other. It is undeniable.”
You kept silent, feeling guilty. The last thing you would want on this Earth was your loved ones being bothered by your personal business. Yet, JB, being JB, had always cared deeply for you. He was a loving and affectionate big brother to you.
“I bet you’re feeling bad to see me so worked up with your stuffs.” He glared at you. Your lips formed a thin line; you nodded lightly. Your back leaned against the headboard.
“Y/n,” he scooted in and took your hands. “You might don’t want to be with him, understood. But let yourself feel. I’m tired of you being all unhappy in your love life.”
Suddenly, an urge to cry flooded your insides. Your vision became blurry, your throated clotted and your nose stiff. You burst out like a child into JB’s embrace.
“I do love him, JB. I do.”
“I know you do, kid.” He hugged your crouched body, hands patting gently on your back to sooth the surging pain. “You do.”
- - -
“DDG just called, party at his house tonight. Y’all down?” Lucci announced the news to his folks, who were chilling in the studio.
“How did you know him?” Jack enquired his friend, head tilting. Everyone else was mentally asking the same question.
Lucci shrugged. “Through some mutual dudes. But are y’all down?”
The team collectively issued an agreeing response. “Good, get ready. DDG has the best in everything. Weed, girls, food. Everything.” The enthusiasm was obvious in his voice.
“Dang, lucky guy, eh?” Jack pulsed his lips.
“Yeah, and dress up a bit. This party is huge. Y’all can make some connections.” Lucci said grimly, before laughing it off, “Or fuck some OG’s bitch. Who knows?”
After exchanging laughter, the circle gradually disintegrated. Soon, it was Jack and Urban left in the room. Urban stretched his long body on the comfortable couch, before opening up his phone and checking the IG. Meanwhile, Jack was humming and scribbling his lyrics onto a screen.
“YO! Y/n just commented on your post!” An exclamation from his friend shocked Jack.
He quickly opened his phone to validate the news. “Shave,” he muttered the comment with a smirk.
Jack’s newest post consisted of a mirror selfie. He was casually dressed in an all-white tracksuit. His blue eyes were lowly covered by a pair of dark shades, yet the former stared directly into his reflection. This had undoubtedly resulted in multiple thirst comments. Expecting this, Jack added a tempting caption to the picture: “Might try hitting it in front of a mirror like this. You down?”
Jack wondered if you had giggled when you saw such a post. He heart-ed your comment and brooded over whether or not to reply to it. If he had, the already surplus responses from fans on seeing your comment would have exploded.
“She’s such a tease,” Urban chuckled in his throat. “I’m glad y’all still friends. She’s intelligent, gorgeous and so fun to be around.”
“Not for long.” Jack flopped the phone onto the table and leaned back in his feather chair.
Urban tilted his head curiously, “The hell you mean?”
With his eyes shut, Jack confidently declared his next move.
“Imma win her back. This time, things will be official.”
- - -
“Here, let me carry some.” JB assisted you with your foodstuffs as you two arrived at the white condo. You smiled and handed him the brown bags.
“Jimmy, you can take the next day off. We will be staying here until the day after tomorrow.” You smiled to the middle-aged driver, who had been an asset to the journey of you and JB ever since the start.
The driver instantly had on him a concerned expression, “Will you kids be okay? What if you need something? I am available.”
Your heart warmed at the caring gesture. “Nah, no worries. DDG has like ten cars, we can manage. Plus, we’re grown-ups now!” Your mouth formed a dorky smile.
Jimmy laughed at your childish action. “Alright then. Bye Y/n. Bye JB.” He waved with an amiable smile, before driving off.
“Wow, DG really likes to start his party early,” JB stated as soon as you and him reached the entrance. Despite the closed wooden doors, you could hear clearly the blasting music.
After a few seemingly desperate attempts at the bell, someone finally answered. It was the owner himself.
“Wassup, homies?” DDG was grinning ear to ear once he laid his eyes on his best friends. “The setting y’all made is fucking nuts!” He wrapped his arms around you and JB and squeezed tightly.
“Good to see you too, my G.” Your words muffled under his embrace.
Giggling, JB switched to his “hood” mode as well. “My man’s out here looking like money!”
“Thanks JB. I appreciate that. Let’s get in and finish the setting. We have an hour to go.”
 One thing you had always loved about working with your team was how they perfectly managed to materialize your vision. The graphics, the holograms, the DJ sets, the liquors; everything fitted together in a wildly energetic manner, which embodied the young spirits.
Your mood, albeit already excited, was significantly lifted once you finally saw your team. Everyone went bananas upon seeing you and JB; they withdrew from their working positions and immediately ran to your position. You gave them your heartfelt compliments, before flexing your paper bags. “I GOT US FOOD!!!!”
Needless to say, the team went wild. With loud screams of joy, some of them even crushed you into their arms, “You are the best boss!” You could not do anything but reciprocate the affection. These talented people were increasingly becoming your closest ones.
“I bought Mexican, Chinese, Thai and Korean food. Pick your favorite,” you pointed to each bag.
The team looked at you with even more endearing eyes. “We don’t deserve you, Y/n. We don’t.”
You just shook your head lightly, before looking around for conducting your finishing touches.
 As it was Lucci’s desire to appear serious with the party, he insisted that his friend group would be among the earliest partygoers tonight. After arriving at the impressive mansion and being warmly greeted by DDG, the team retreated to the main balcony.
“I swear, G, you always have the best stuffs.” Lucci commented, which earned the owner a proud laugh.  In his hand hung loosely a blunt. Despite the on-going inside decorations, everyone was chilling under the late sunset. Groovy music was on; on the table served hard-hit liquors.
“You tryna smoke?” DDG nudged Jack, who was sipping on a blue drink. “Nah, I can’t. But thanks, bro.”
Despite this, Jack was of course vibing along. Indulging in the relaxing atmosphere, everyone was discussing about their careers. Jack joined the rappers in discussing the Rap Industry. The conversation was going well and upbeat, before an audible bell ring interrupted.
“Excuse me,” DDG excitedly jumped up and made his way inside.
 The commotion followed by his guests caught Jack’s attention. Being the closest one to the main door, he could not help but take a curious look into the floor.
They seemed to be some much-loved figures, Jack deducted. The decorators and operators were ecstatic upon meeting them. After chatting privately, DDG took the man to another room, leaving his companion behind. As the sun was setting, there was barely enough light to quickly make out the figure. Yet something inside Jack knew she was familiar.
As if his instincts were already quick enough, the female suddenly turned her back to look around the interior. Jack’s heart was out of place. His breaths hitched almost instantaneously. He felt his body jerk up once he caught her. It was Y/n, in the flesh.
Jack had no idea you would be here, which was partly due to the fact that your most inner circle of friends was not made public. Jack also had no idea what to do if you made eye contact with him, which you luckily didn’t. The sight of you made him panic.
It seemed ironic that earlier today he was bravely stating his plan to Urban. Yet right now, yet to meet your eyes, Jack was mentally trembling all over.
 You noticed a group of friends outside the main balcony. Assuming that they were DDG’s guests, you paid no more attention than a mere glance and focused on your task.
“Check, check, check,” you muttered and went along the walls. You mentally nodded in approval of the perfection, before being irritated by the tangled lights on a high corner.
You turned around, hoping to seize any offer of help. However, the sight of your teammates happily munching over their snacks put you off. Instead, you resorted to the guests whom you saw earlier.
As you gathered all courage to walk out to the balcony, a familiar green jacket caught your attention.
Before long, the mandem recognized you and became overjoyed. Urban immediately stood up and hugged you tightly, accompanied by greetings from the other members. Upon your entrance, Jack was back-facing you, which rendered you clueless of his presence until you darted your eyes to him last.
You cracked a soft smile, albeit a surprised one as well. Jack reciprocated the small gesture; his eyebrows raised ever so lightly, followed by his discreet smile.
“Why are you here?” Lucci asked after blowing a trail of smoke.
You sat on the arm of the couch in which Urban was sitting, directly facing Jack. “DDG’s my homeboy. We’ve been friends since forever.” You felt smug stating the fact.
Gasps of acknowledgement escaped everyone. “Anyway, any tall boy wanna help me?” You looked around; secretly hiding the excitement of seeing your fake ex-boyfriend here.
“Well,” Urban laughed, “the tallest boy happens to be Mr. Harlow over there.” The whole team chuckled under the liquor effect.
Smiling on the inside, yet apprehensive at the same time, you furrowed your brows at him. “Would you mind?”
“Anything for you.” Jack, unable to hide the joy derived from his opportunity to escape this crowd and be with you, shrugged confidently.
 “The lights are a bit tangled up there. Can you reach them?” You tentatively asked.
Jack attempted at a few jumps, before shaking his in frustration. “We might need a ladder.”
“I already looked around. Apparently, they didn’t use it.”
“Then climb onto my shoulders.”
His blunt offer startled you. You must have misheard him. “Wh-what?”
“Here,” he crouched down. “Don’t worry, I’ve been working out. My shoulders are strong. Hop on.”
Swallowing your throat one last time, you directed your legs onto its location in need. His fingers rubbed against your thighs; despite the fabric, a sensation went through your spine.
“You good?” Jack looked up; his hands firmly pressed onto your thickness to safeguard you against any mishap.
Trying your best to concentrate, you finally managed to solve the problem after a few minutes. “All set.” Hearing the words, Jack gently helped you get down. His puppy eyes were on display somehow, which made you stiff. It had been a while since you last felt awkward. Nonetheless, you patted on his shoulders, “Thank you. You’re always there to help me.”
Suddenly Jack felt his cheeks warm. He shook his head, making his dreads dance, “Nah, it’s nothing.”
“Can I offer you a drink?” You delivered your genuine request.
With a racing heart, Jack nodded with a wide grin.
- - -
“Wow, that’s strong,” Jack commented as he bolted down the liquor.
You chuckled slightly, “DDG’s very serious with his drinks, so yeah.”
As his hand put down the blue glass, you noticed a feature on his handsome face that completely astounded you. His porcelain skin was more visible now. “You did shave.”
The statement got Jack giggling, “Come on. You didn’t mean this shave, did you? You meant-”
“HEY-” you quickly stopped him from further, “I’m just surprised you did listen. Where you shaved doesn’t matter.”
Jack shifted in his seat, before leaning in to match your eye level. “You know I’m whipped for you, babygirl.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, not because of the fact that you were annoyed, but that Jack was comfortably again to be flirty around you. Your memory swiftly flashbacked to night of the Met, recalling his bashful actions towards you.
“How are you feeling?” You diverted the gaze to the floor, which was filled with people preparing to get the ball rolling.
Jack did not follow your gaze. Instead, he was focused on you. “I’m in my element. The atmosphere here is such a vibe.” He watched how your head nodded in agreement with his opinion, how the outfit you had on was complimenting your complexion and figure, how your aura was radiating through.
Jack was suddenly reminded of his promise to Urban. He was gonna win you back. The opportunity had appeared. He thanked the universe mentally for this unexpected occasion. He had not figured out how to approach this seemingly ambitious plant; yet something inside him knew that he would get what he wanted. Or, who, to be precise.
Again, he found his insides hyperventilating.
“Y/n?” His voice was soft.
“Hm?” You turned to him, unknowingly giving him the innocent look you always had when you were clueless. Your round pupils caught him speechless. No matter how many times Jack had seen this expression, he still struggled to be eloquent upon seeing it. Maybe, it reminded him of one of many reasons he fell for you in the first place. Jack had always perpetuated his type in interviews with a naïve assumption that such an ideal being was out of reach for him. Yet, here you were, sitting inches away from him, tilting your head curiously as to what he had to say.
“I’m here, Jay.” Seeing his dazed reaction, your mouth muttered the nickname that would comfort him.
Getting out of his thoughts, Jack shook his head. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”
“Are you sure? If you’re tired, I can get you home.” You touched his forehead to examine any unusual heat anomaly.
God, this is why I love you. Jack screamed in his mind. Your instant caring mode had always earned a special place in his heart.
“Nah, I’m good. Oh, the party’s beginning. Let’s go.”
Little did Jack know you were having the same thoughts as him during the brief chit-chat.
 After you parted your way with Jack, the party was getting in motion fast. Famous figures of the Rap Industry soon occupied the room, with some accompanied by their stunning women and men. You got the chance to greet a number of prominent OG rappers; you were jubilantly ineloquent when they told you how much they loved your work. “The future needs people like you, Y/n.” was an encouragement that washed over your soul like a rain of magic dust.
As the summer hits were blasting on the speakers, complemented by the professional remixes of the DJ, every participant was having a whale of time under the bewitching lights. The ambience aligned perfectly with the breezy weather outside. While enjoying yourself, you proudly glanced around the room to see the riot of colors brought by the partygoers.
Quality music, quality place, and quality people. Now, this, is life.
“Attention please, ladies and gentlemen.” DDG’s voice on the microphone captured the crowd’s attention. You, standing with your team and JB, turned around to the upper stage.
“First of all, thank you everyone so much for turning up tonight. I really appreciate it. Secondly, shout out to Y/n, JB and their team for their contribution to this setting!”
Once your names were mentioned, rounds of applause and lights followed to your spot. You smiled widely, hands resting on your chest for the appreciation.
“The last two years were a madness, no doubt. But that’s coming to an end. That is why I want everyone here tonight to enjoy yourselves as much as possible. It’s our night. Live your best night tonight!” He exclaimed loudly, earning multiple cheers from the crowd.
“Before the short talk ends, I wanna bring my new friend Jack Harlow over there up stage. He’s gonna present his people and have a few words too.”
Needless to say, that name sent electricity through everyone. Including you. You were extremely perplexed, what could this man possibly say? What needed to be delivered, you believed, was successfully conducted by DDG.
As Jack stepped on stage, your heart could not help but run its own marathon championship. The chills down your spine brought you back to the times when you went to his shows during your fake dating phase. It was this exact moment, seeing his broad figure entering the upper ground, your breath automatically held itself. You fingers turned stiff, and your mind sent lovesick neurons down to your chest, as if pushing your heart to rip out the ribcage. You remembered this sensation, this apprehension and this feeling. This particular feeling. One that only surfaced when you witnessed Jack being the most authentic version of himself as a rapper on stage.
“DDG is my dawg right here. Thanks so much for this, brother.” Jack began with his appreciative gesture towards DDG, who was now standing out of the limelight. “As DG said, the time has changed. And we’re here to celebrate that. For most of us here, we are still young, wild and free. We still have a road, a future ahead of us. So tonight, there’s only one thing I wish everyone will do now. If you love something, chase it. If you love someone, tell them.” He smoothly delivered his talk, eyes meeting every audience.
“Life is too short for being scared. Live your life, chase your passion and tell that girl you love her.” With his last words, his ocean eyes landed on yours.
- - -
“This one is for my homies,” DDG announced.
As soon as his voice left the microphone, “8Teen” was on.
The familiar beat swirled your heart, bringing back the memories. JB shook you violently, “Oh my god, this song!” You returned the same nostalgic happiness by pulling him out into the center of the dance floor. “Our song!” You proclaimed loudly, before being joined by your inner circle.
Together, eyes closed, you went hand in hand, locking each other in love and affection. You collectively vibed to the rhythm and sang the lyrics without messing up a word. You felt young and alive; your mind running back that old movie with your 18-year-old friends. You all had changed, in one way or another, yet the loving bond was still there, manifesting itself in these affectionate embraces.
Amid the crowd who was dancing along enthusiastically, Jack watched you as his body swung along the beat. This was the first time he saw you being this recklessly happy. While most of the time you oozed decency, tonight you were your truest self, at the age of 21 blossoming beautifully, ecstatically singing your heart and moving your body to the music.
Jack looked at you fondly. Seeing you this happy softened his heart.
Then, for a split second, your eyes met his.
The unnerving sensations of the Met Gala surged inside your hearts again.
As the circle disintegrated for more people to join in, you ran to his place and pulled him in. The song was on its second verse.
“Come on, dance with me,” you smiled into his ears.
Jack, flustered and overwhelmed by your impulsive action, brought his hands to your waist and swayed his body along with yours.
With your hands wrapped on his neck, you replicated the same enchanting dance that night. You did not care about anything, or anyone else at this moment. You knew exactly what you wanted right now. This sensation of being certain about your desires was addictive; it felt like the intoxicating sensation of success. Except this time, there was no success. It was love.
You and Jack drowned in each other’s eyes, scents and feelings. Your lips matched his as you two sang along to the song.
'Cause I was eighteen
And I still lived with my parents
Yeah they're not like yours
Well yours were more understanding’
You stopped abruptly to giggle at his goofy expression, only to be confronted with a confession.
One that was gladly granted in the right place, and at the right time.
‘I never fell in love
I saved those feelings for you
When we did all the stupid shit that young kids do
Just me and you’
Despite the boisterous music, you felt as if you could hear every single beat of his heart. Likewise, Jack could tell something shifted inside you. Both of you were commotions. A storm of feelings invaded your minds and hearts. The suffocating choke of emotion, the breathtaking gasp of realization, and the longing eyes of love; all was flowing on your bodies. While his lips parted with anxiety, yours parted with clarity. For the next five seconds, you decided to follow your heart.
Your mouth sang along the next words.
‘Let's do all the stupid shit that young kids do
It's me and you’
Your hands caressed his cheeks, your feet lifted their heels. You muttered one last time breathlessly the word, ‘You’ before bringing your lips to his.
Jack gave in immediately, melting into your brave action with all his might. Your bodies stopped moving; the kiss felt like an eternity. Neither of you knew how each other taste; yet the kiss tasted so familiar. It felt like longing stares, suppressed feelings and late confessions. His lips were soft, yours were wet; together they merged like long lost lovers who were finally united by destiny.
As you slowly pulled away, Jack finished the lyrics. ‘Just me and you.’
You blushed and looked away; yet Jack touched your chin and redirected your flustered expression to his face. A slight ting of shyness was occupying you. Yet Jack, having earned his long-awaited confirmation of your love, heartily kickstarted his last step of the mission.
“Y/n, be mine?”
The question brought a jerk from your chest. Your eyes suddenly felt sore. Your throat refused to operate. You buried your head in his embrace, nodding tentatively. You knew that even if your voice was functional, nothing would come out. For Jack, upon receiving the acceptance he was dying for, squeezed you into his broad figure. His lips met your forehead; his hands firmly planted on your back. As you plucked up the bravery to adore his eyes, a tear dropped onto your cheek. You gasped once again, which was soon followed by the same reaction from yourself.
Though flushed by his own scorching tears, Jack wiped yours off with this thumb. You and him finally let out a relieved laugh, breathless and sentimental all the same. Your eyes never left each other. Your orbs were tinkling, so were Jack’s. Every burden, every unsaid feeling, every doubtful thought, everything was now lifted. Love was finally free.
While you and him were lost in your own universe, everyone spectated the scene. It resembled that scene in a romantic coming-of-age plot, where fate and coincidence collided.
- - -
Next morning, Jack’s Instagram account uploaded a picture.
It featured your first kiss together, captured in the blinding lights of last night.
Under it attached a three-word caption, “Mission Rekindle: Accomplished.”
201 notes · View notes
raeynbowboi · 11 months ago
The Belchers and Color Design
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When you're watching Bob's Burgers, the Belcher family really pops off the screen, but there's a reason for this. There's an interesting through-line that connects the family together, and it lies in their colors. For starters, all of the Belchers have black hair, which helps them to feel like more of a unit than the Simpsons or Family Guy where few if any of the family members share a hair color at all. But it goes beyond them just looking like a unit that makes their use of color so smart.
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Bob's color palette is extremely monochromatic. His standard outfit consists entirely of white, gray, and black. Even when he does wear colors, they tend to be dull, washed out, or faded. In-universe, this can be explained as him just wearing old worn out clothes where the colors have faded, but it also tells us about his character. Bob is, for lack of a better word: boring. His tone of voice is rather monotone and flat, he's generally rather apathetic about most things, and he's usually the one complaining about the family's crazy antics. In comedy terms, Bob is the Straight Man. He serves as the 'normal' foil to the chaotic randomness of the other characters, and his sense of humor lies in his reactions to their intensity and insanity. Bob is very centering and grounding in this cast, and as such, his muted and dull color palette conveys to us how boring and practical Bob is.
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Lind'as main color is red, but Linda wears all three primary colors: red, blue, and a dull tannish yellow on her shoes. Where Bob's palette is dull and monochromatic, Linda's is loud and eye-catching. By having her in all primary colors, Linda stands as the injection of insanity and color into Bob's life. Linda is the spark of emotion and personality that Bob underplays. The three primary colors are the most intense on the color wheel, and mesh well together. Her main color of red speaks to passion, affection, and even aggression. Red in advertising is used to draw attention to itself, and invokes intense emotional reactions such as desire or power.
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Tina's primary color is blue, which she gets from Linda's pant color. Unlike Red and Yellow, which are warm primary colors, blue is a cool color. As such, it has stronger associations with being mellow and understated when compared to the intensity of red and the cheerfulness of yellow. However, while Linda's other colors are present in her yellow barrette and the red streak on her socks indicating optimism and passion, Tina's color scheme is the most like Bob's as her two-tone blue shirt and skirt make up most of her character design, showcasing that she's also inherited some of Bob's awkwardness and boring traits. Her glasses and knee-high socks along with her black-and-white shoes incorporate and accentuate Bob's white and black color scheme on Tina more than any of the Belcher kids. She even inherits his monotone ways of speaking, and serves as the Straight Man among the Belcher Kids, although she's still more chaotic than Bob himself. Thus Tina, in color theory, is the most natural combination of Bob and Linda's personalities. She has the understated color scheme and a downplayed monochromatic wardrobe showcasing Bob's boring traits, while she has the interjection of the colorful barrette and red streak on her socks to show that even through her awkwardness and boring side, Tina is still adventurous and passionate.
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Gene's primary color is yellow, and like Linda and Tina, his main color is a primary color. Where red is vivacious and intense, and blue is serene and calming, yellow is cheerful and optimistic. Gene is likewise very optimistic, always assuming things will work out in his favor. Gene's color scheme is almost the exact same as Linda's, just flipped on its head. Literally. Linda wears a red top, blue pants, and yellowish shoes. Gene wears a yellow top, blue pants, and red shoes, meaning that he keeps all of Linda's primary colors in his color design. Gene also has white in his shoes to indicate he has some of Bob in him, but it's such a small detail that it's easy to overlook. The fact that his color scheme is just Linda's on its head indicates that Gene is very close to and similar to his mother, and the reversal of colors could even suggest that he's the boy version of his mother, her gendered opposite.
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Louise is the odd ball out of the Belcher family. She's the only member of the family not wearing a primary color, and her outfit makes it clear that Louise is in stark contrast to the rest of her family. The use of green and pink are conflicting colors on the color wheel, such that she seems jarring and chaotic, fitting for the unpredictable nature of Louise's schemes. However, even while her outfit tells us that she's the black sheep of the family, it's also telling us the exact opposite. Louise's low pig tails give her hair a very similar silhouette to Linda's 1960's bouffant. While it's not red, Louise's bunny ears are hot pink, a lighter hue of red. Meanwhile, Louise's dress is green, a color made by mixing Tina's blue with Gene's yellow. So even in her departure from the family color scheme, Louise continues to wear her family's color theory, just hidden under a layer of pretending not to belong, which is fitting for Louise. She may not always like to say it, but she loves her family, and has sworn revenge on their behalves more than once.
2K notes · View notes
emyluwinter · 2 months ago
By the way, Onboro can be some kind of "salvation" or a comfort zone for other students if you think about it.
Vil wants to take a break from public life and the duties of a prefect? Yuu provides him with a room with everything he needs at any time.
Often, Vil speaks very tenderly to his father, while is in Onboro. About everything they see fit. He knows that no living or "dead" soul will hear him.
Vil is well aware of how Yuu respects privacy and how they diligently declare their presence if they need to ask him something.
How relaxed and serene he feels that he never "criticizes" or corrects Yuu or Grimm when they are doing household chores.
He loves with all his heart this home environment of these two.
Yuu now has a list of recipes for very tasty and nutritious smoothies from berries and fruits, completely free of charge.
Sometimes Vil feels especially "villainous" and criticizes everything he sees in magazines or on his phone.
- No, it's just a violation of all the rules!! Wearing those pastel pink shoes with a neon green beret?
Yuu very often can't stop laughing when Wil behaves like this. They have to stuff a pillow in their face.
And they also discuss the latest gossip together. Grimm, unfortunately, does not participate because of his long tongue.
Jamil needs a "quiet island"? Onboro is at his service. Neither Yuu nor Grimm will bother him for several hours and Jamil, to put it mildly, will feel like after a five-year wonderful vacation.
After the noisy Scarabia with its feasts and parties. Onboro became a healing balm for his soul and heart.
Although perhaps Yuu will quietly bring him tea and light snacks as good hosts.
Jamil greatly appreciates their understanding of the importance of peace and quiet of others.
Now Yuu has a recipe book on the dishes of the Country of Hot Sands and a set of spices.
Jamil also often cooks something very quickly in the Onboro kitchen, leaving it for Grimm and Yuu.
Sometimes Leona comes to Onboro to take a nap in one place or another. It's quiet here, quite presentable even for him. And no one will even think to look for him here.
Yuu literally had to fight with a pillow from this lion so that they wouldn't steal their bed for the whole day.
Leona was very surprised when Yuu flatly refused to be the "servant" of the prince. Even for money. The herbivore definitely has nerves of steel.
This is their home and Leona has no power here.
Leona looks with great curiosity at how Yuu is trying to equip Onboro. Or runs the kitchen.
For some reason, it calms him down a lot.
No instructions, no demands. Well, almost none. Yuu forbids him to rob the refrigerator or use more firewood than necessary. And also to involve them in their machinations. Leone is always a little cooler in Onboro than in Savanacklaw.
No royal husks and stuff. Isn't that how ordinary people live?
Leona couldn't resist teasing Yuu a little. He was secretly surprised by the Prefect's "sharp" answers. No one had ever dared to speak to him in such a tone and in such words. He definitely likes this audacity and bravery.
Damn, he should definitely come here more often.
Riddle comes to "blow off steam"
Yuu came up with a good way for them to release all the accumulated anger and irritation.
Well, there are a lot of carpets and heavy curtains in Onboro, aren't there?
Yuu is even a little afraid when he sees with what fury and frenzy Riddle hits the carpet with a mop to knock out all the dust and dirt.
Riddle of course does it in a rasp and a mask so as not to inhale all this.
At least even if the carpet breaks, it won't be such a loss. Considering that some have holes almost with the growth of a Grimm or Lucius.
After that, Riddle becomes very tired.
Yuu gives them a nice cup of tea with snacks and asks about the landscaping of their garden. Riddle is calmed by these conversations and he likes to discuss certain plants that will bloom very beautifully in spring and summer.
After this "fierce attack on carpets" and tea, Riddle feels fine.
Trey had to ask what happens to Riddle when he leaves in extreme anger, and returns a few hours later very peaceful.
Does Azul need a break from business and deals? Yuu just leaves him tea and coloring pages. No matter how funny it sounds, but Azul even liked just painting some areas in completely ridiculous colors.
Azul was extremely surprised when he was able to stroke the sleeping Grimm on the couch.
It seems he now understands why Idia is so fanatical about cats.
This silky fur is very pleasant when you run your fingers over it.
At first, Azul insisted very stubbornly on "paying", but Yuu threatened them never to let them in again if he continued talking about working in Onboro.
Azul likes to lie on the sofa in the Onboro living room, stretching his legs, taking off his glasses or hiding under a blanket and curled up in a ball.
Once, Azul used a box in one of the rooms as his shelter, it was dark and crowded and no one else. Somewhat resembling his favorite octopus pot.
Yuu spent two hours to find him.
389 notes · View notes
waybrights · 2 months ago
No one knew what happened to the trio that disappeared. There were rumours, of course, three children going missing in the middle of a school week was bound to pique the community's interest and get the school’s rumour mill up and running. For a while, everyone seemed to think that the three of them were just being dramatic, and ran away for attention only to show up a few days later when they got hungry or cold.
The trio never showed up.
Bedrooms were left to gather dust, meals were left in the fridge (‘just in case’ they would tell themselves as they made a plate of their daughter’s favourite food), schoolwork was starting to pile up because of course it would, not even three children vanishing off the face of the Earth could stop the board setting catch-up work and sending letters to three houses, addressed to grieving parents.
One of them came back, for a few months.
No one really saw her, she was kept out of school - some say it's because she was on the run from the police and couldn’t go out - and refused to even go near the desolate park around the corner, the last place the trio had been seen.
For a while, there was hope again, that the other two would show up as well. The three were always seen together, where one went the other two weren’t far behind. But neither came back.
(More meals were made, beds were cold and covered in a fine layer of dust, everything just as it had been when they left that morning. Questions were asked, so many questions, but no answers were given. One family moved away, they had to if they wanted to keep a roof over their heads, still it was a sign of giving up. After five months, and so many tears, they were finally starting to give up.)
And then she vanished again.
It was another four months of bitten fingernails and even more letters from the board before something happened.
A bright pink light emitting from the same park she’d disappeared from. A girl slumped against the same bench, holding something tightly in her shaking hands as she sobbed, refusing to even state her name for the police (they knew who she was though, it wasn’t everyday a girl fitting the description of one of the missing girls showed up in the exact place she was last seen).
No one knew what happened to Sasha Waybright.
Why she disappeared, why she was the only one to return.
She very rarely spoke anymore, not unless she really had to (though, apparently, some had heard her talking to herself, curled up on that damned bench, a green hair clip in her hands and tears streaming down her face).
For the first few weeks after her arrival, people had tried to get something out of her, the girls on her cheer team, her other friends from school, her parents, but no one got a response. No one, but her friend's parents. It wasn’t a spoken response, just a slight shake of her head when asked if the other two had made it, but it was the most anyone had gotten out of her on the subject.
When they realised she wasn’t going to tell them, everyone started to give up on her. Sympathetic glances turned into sharp glares across the classroom, requests turned into orders (it seemed to be the only way to get through to her at points. When someone used a commanding tone, she would straighten - much like a soldier - , her eyes would clear, if just for a few minutes, and she would do whatever she was asked as soon as she was asked. It was painful to watch for anyone that didn’t know her parents before, but to Sasha it was never that different) and pretty quickly, she found herself alone.
It was a strange thing to watch, how she walked through the corridors alone, her eyes fixed on the floor, so different to the loud girl that once used to speed down the corridors like a woman on a mission, her friends following closely behind with matching grins.
It didn’t come as a surprise when some girls found her in the girls bathroom, hunched over a toilet, gripping the porcelain with white knuckles as she sobbed. She always seemed to be close to crying, if anyone looked at her for longer than a second it wasn’t difficult to notice. Her eyes constantly rimmed red, unshed tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she passed the two lockers, glaring at the flowers and notes stuck to the doors like they were the sole reason for her change.
She would stay after school every day, pulling all the stupid notes off, stuffing them into her bag as she walked towards the park. She would sit on that bench, drop her bag next to her and read each note out loud, giggling through tears as if her friends could hear her (she knew they couldn’t, but there was always a childish hope that in some way they were listening and laughing along with her).
The notes would find their way to the box stuffed under her bed, never to be touched again, but a solid reminder that they were real and she hadn’t made them up. She felt like that a lot. No one would say their names aloud, and if they were going to talk about what happened it was done away from Sasha. Some nights she would lay in her bed, a worn down green clip pressing into her palm, wondering if she’d made it all up, if she’d made them up.
(If she wasn’t thinking about that, she would be curled up in a tight ball, trying her hardest to muffle her sobs for the nth time that night. Her parents had told her that she could come to them if she needed to talk, she never took them up on the offer. Not even when her screams of terror echoed through the house, did she utter a word about what she’d seen to her parents.
They wouldn’t understand, no matter what they said. She didn’t think anyone could understand why she felt the way she did, why she woke up screaming some nights, why she couldn’t say their names out loud unless she was on their bench, why she would hide knives under her pillow after a nightmare, why she couldn’t even look the Boonchuy’s in the eyes, the image of her friends eyes going dim fresh in her mind. So she always found it best to just not talk about it.
Her friends would call her stupid if they knew what she was doing. They always did care about her more than they should’ve. She could hear their voices sometimes, whispers in the back of her mind when she did something they would’ve commented on.
They would never know what she was doing though, so she never tried to fix it. It was easier that way, just sinking further and further into herself, pushing everyone who’s ever shown her kindness away. They weren’t them, they never would be, so why should she care?)
No one knew what happened to Sasha Waybright and her friends, but it didn’t take a genius to know that whatever it was had been too much for three thirteen year olds.
Three had disappeared, one had come back.
But, if someone were to ask the three couples, they would say that all three girls had died that year. Sure, Sasha had come back, but she was different… broken.
And no one knew why.
273 notes · View notes
avintagekiss24 · a year ago
one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber
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→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader
→ word count: 7074
→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)
→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​
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There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.
“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”
“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”
“Well, you could try a little harder.”
Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”
Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”
Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”
“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”
You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”
There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”
Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”
“Why would I get mad?”
“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”
“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”
“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”
“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”
You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.
Just wonderful.
She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”
“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”
He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”
He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”
“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”
“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”
“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”
“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”
You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.
Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.
“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”
Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”
You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”
“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”
Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.
Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.
One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.
Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.
You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
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The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.
There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.
A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.
“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.
“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.
His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”
“Smells good in here.”
Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”
Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.
He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”
He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”
You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.
“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”
He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”
He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.
A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.
There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.
You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.
Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.
“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.
“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”
Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.
There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.
Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.
“You like watching me, huh?”
Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.
He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.
Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.
A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.
“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.
A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.
“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”
A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.
“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”
You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.
“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”
Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.
He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”
His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.
Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”
You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.
Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.
“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”
The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.
Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”
You shudder at the thought.
He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”
You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.
“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”
He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.
Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.
You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.
Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.
“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”
He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.
“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.
Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.
His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”
Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.
“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”
You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.
Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”
A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.
He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.
His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.
“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”
The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.
“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”
You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”
He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.
“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”
And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.
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It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.
You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.
Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.
A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.
You 1:15am
You up?
Andy B. 1:17am
What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?
An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.
You 1:17am
I can’t sleep…
Andy B. 1:18am
Want me to help with that?
You won’t be getting much sleep tho…
You 1:18am
That’s what I’m hoping…
Andy B. 1:19am
LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open
You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.
Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.
The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.
You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.
The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.
You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.
“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”
You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.
“Well, come on. Come touch me.”
It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.
He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.
“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”
You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.
He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.
“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”
Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.
You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.
Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.
“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”
Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”
A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.
Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.
“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”
Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.
“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”
Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.
Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.
Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.
“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”
Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.
“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”
He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.
A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”
He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.
Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.
Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.
You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.
There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.
Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.
“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”
“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.
You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.
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There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.
Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”
“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”
“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”
A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”
Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.
“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.
His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”
3K notes · View notes
otakusheep15 · 2 months ago
Can I request an MC who made custom collars for the brothers and have them wear it for a day on MCs birthday? “I don’t want a gift, just wear this collar for me:)”
!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this sm anon. Thank you for suggesting such a wonderful concept.
MC Giving the Brothers Custom Collars
You make him a blue and black collar
Nothing to fancy, but it suits him
He acts like he can't be bothered to wear it
Pretends to not care about that much
You get upset about it, but leave the collar with him anyway
Throughout your birthday, you notice he doesn't wear it
When it's almost midnight and all of the brother's have gone to sleep, he sends you a text to come to his room
You get there and see him in the collar with a small blush on his face
You're so lucky he loves you
Enjoy this while it lasts MC, who knows if he'll do it again
If you try and take a picture he will kick you out
Although, you can tell that he secretly loves it a lot
You make him a gold one that shimmers in the light
It also has some white accents
He doesn't even bother with the tsundere act this time
He's absolutely in love with it
I hc that he's very into non-sexual pet play, specifically puppy play, so a collar is perfect for him
Wears it for the whole day are refuses to take it off when he goes to bed
This man is attached to the collar now
Blushes whenever someone brings it up, but still flaunts it around
Loves that it shows that he's yours, and will brag about it to his brothers
Probably wears it after your birthday as well
It's become more of a present for him than it is for you at this point
Not that you mind of course, since he looks absolutely adorable
You make him an orange and purple collar
If you add in any sort of anime reference, he will die on the spot
Might tear up a little bit
You make him feel so loved every time you get him a gift
And this one is especially sentimental for him cause it really hammers home the fact that he's your demon
Might not wear it outside out of embarrassment, but he wears it the entire time you're in his room together
Tries to spend most of your birthday in his room so y'all can watch anime and play games
And so that he feels more comfortable wearing the collar
Will attempt to fit it into a cosplay somehow, and you can bet he'll find a way
After your birthday, he'll put it on one of his shelves among some of his merch so that it stays safe
You make him a green and black one
Please add a bell so it can be like a cat collar
Another brother who loves non-sexual pet play
Unlike Mammon, though, he's more into kitten play
Wears the collar proudly to let everyone know he belongs to you
For sure flaunts it in front of Lucifer for the whole day
Takes you to a cat cafe for your birthday and wears it there
He sees a cat with a similar collar on and almost cries
Attempts to commit a crime and kidnap the cat from the cafe
Please stop him before he gets in trouble
Might not wear the collar around too often after your birthday, but he'll surprise you with it every now and then
You make him a pink and white one
It's all lacy and has a little heart charm on the front
He legit cries
It's so pretty and he loves that you got this for him
Puts it on with no hesitation
Coordinates a whole outfit around it just for your birthday
Or, you know, he could just not wear anything except the collar if that's what you prefer *wink*
But, for real, he does really love the collar
Wears it proudly for the whole day
Takes so many pictures for Devilgram and all of his followers are so jealous of him
Gets even more clingy with you throughout the day
He's so sad when he has to take the collar off for his skin care routine
Puts it back on first thing in the morning, and wears it almost every day
You make him a red collar
Please MC, put spikes on the collar, make him a scary guard dog
Is very happy you got him a gift despite it being your birthday
A bit confused as to why you want him to wear a collar so bad, but does it anyway
If it makes you happy, he'll do it without complaint
Goes to Belphie to talk about it cause he's so happy
Wears it around while he takes you out for some birthday lunch
If anyone comments on it, they'll merely get a shrug out of him
Literally does not care if he gets any attention out of it or not
You gave him the collar and he's gonna wear it for you
Keeps it on a high shelf in his room to protect it in case you want him to wear it again another day
You make him a cow print collar
The inside is lined with some purple fluff so it's comfy to sleep in
He's a possessive boy, so he loves the idea of wearing a collar for you
But only if you promise to return the favor on his birthday
Teases you for wanting him to wear it, but still puts it on and wears it gratefully
Also probably flaunts it in front of Lucifer
Likes the fluff on the inside of it since it's easier to sleep in
Cuddles up to you like a cat all day for your birthday
Most likely wears it to bed and just forgets to take it off
Now he just leaves it on unless he has to take it off
May act like he doesn't care about it, but he really is grateful that you took the time to make it for him
I hope you liked it anon. This prompt was really fun to write, and it's just such a cute idea
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pinkrelish · 2 months ago
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Student!Reader x Professor!Obito
Summary: Every teacher has their favorite student, even the surly unapproachable types. Lucky you, you had just the charm to work on your professor to ensure that position belonged to you. And if you happened to be exploiting his weaknesses to improve your grades in the meantime, was that so wrong? You didn't deserve that F and he knew it.
Words: 13.8k
teacher-student relationship, smut, porn with plot, under desk blow job, desk sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, spanking, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, cockwarming
Read: AO3 / FFnet
Bend the Rules for Me
“Class dismissed.”
Behind you, students clamored out of their seats and crammed their assignments marked with red X’s into their backpacks, or glanced over the scribble in the margins spotlighting all the reasons their paper was lackluster and crumpled it into the trash can beside the door as they stomped up the stairs and grumbled to their friends about how bullshit the grading was.
Everyone left. Except you.
You uncrossed your legs. Slowly. Reveling in the feel of the fabric of your skirt skimming your upper thighs; lingering in the position with your knees pointed outward while you gathered your things and stood up at the same time your professor turned his back to you and busied himself anywhere else.
Clouds of chalk dust fell from the green board, sprinkling his crisp dark blue dress shirt. Professor Uchiha brushed it off, then unbuttoned the sleeve cuffs, rolling them up his forearms until they fit snug under his elbows.
“I know you’re there,” he said, erasing the last of his sloppy handwriting detailing next week’s exam. “I imagine you’ve prepared an hour long speech about how unjust your grade was and how I should persuade my fingers to enter one a smidge higher when I log it in online?”
You didn’t reply; opting instead to simply shake your pages and pages of research stapled together on the whims of late nights stressing red veins into your eyes and the accompanying bags under them.
He dropped his head back and sighed. The eraser was tossed on the metal tray and he shoved his hands in his pockets before turning around to acquiesce your face: slackened in disapproval.
“I’m here to discuss why you think I’ve earned this when I understood the assignment just fine and wrote a, quite frankly, wonderful and well versed and well researched paper detailing the similarities in the plays down to the themes in how the women treat each other, the direction beats on stage, and use of Germanic language in the seconds acts.”
There was no use in sending you away.
Stiffly, he shuffled to his chair and fell into it, scooting it up to his desk and sitting so snug the wood edge dug into his solar plexus. Only then did he remove his hands from his pockets and clasp them under his chin, resting his elbows on the manila folders littering his desk next to the upturned mug of spilled pens crowding his mouse pad.
He regarded you with his blank stare--if not tinted pink across his nose--and goaded you with all the boredom in his tired voice after his lecture, “Well, let’s hear it.”
Professor Uchiha may have looked you in the eye, but it seemed difficult to do so. Like when someone averted their gaze to hide their true thoughts inside their brain from being seen, heard.
Or similar to when you’ve spotted someone you didn’t like from across the room and strove to ignore them at all costs, despite taking quick glances to ensure they were looking at you too.
Or when you both thought you were innocent gazelles, but you are the lion stalking the thin reeds of swaying yellow grass.
His presence dominated when class was in session. After? When it was just you two? You always got what you wanted.
“Well, considering I can’t read your wise remark under the very first sentence, let’s start there,” you posed, eyebrows raised.
A childish groan emitted from his throat. Ceased abruptly when you turned on the ball of your foot and strutted around his desk to the chalkboard. You picked up the stub of chalk he used that afternoon and wrote your comparisons in an easy to read bullet point list.
Professor Uchiha’s eyes followed your parading around his domain. Behind his desk. Touching his belongings. Assured in your cocky tone when addressing him; acting like you’ve done it dozens of times. Because you had.
Tracking your every graceful movement, he spun in his chair to give you the attention you wanted. But not before adjusting his trousers over his lap, deciding to lay an arm over that part of him while he cooled down.
It didn’t work.
You wrote sentence after sentence. Long loops of words. Vocalized in a purr to his ear. A delightful rumble in his chest as he hummed along. A growing desire forcing him to sit awkwardly.
He surrendered. Your back was to him. He stuffed his right hand in his pocket and grabbed the thing seconds from embarrassing him and wrangled it flat to his palm.
The smirk twitching at your lips was smothered as you moved on to your next point on the board. Pretend as much as he wanted; act aloof, be a hardass during class. Professor Uchiha was wrapped around your finger.
Absolutely no one dared approach him after red-inked grades were handed back. He never changed them. He never gave extensions. His office hours were spent alone, as was his lunch.
Unless you were there.
As you often were.
If only your classmates got word that all they had to do to improve their grades was wear a short skirt, a blouse missing its top buttons, and thigh high stockings.
Professor Uchiha had his weaknesses. You ruthlessly exploited them. Your speech was punctuated by bending over. Underlined by the flounce of your skirt hem swinging to and fro while gesturing at his bleeding red notes shouting about how your interpretation of the text was wrong. Emphasized by your automatic coyness to lace your hands in front of you when he was defending his ruling; your tits creating ample cleavage he only wished he was strong-willed enough to stop his eyes from darting to when stumbling through his rebuttal.
Poor Professor. He shifted in his chair and admitted defeat at the tilt of your head and batting of your lashes. Fight it as he did, he always acknowledged your argument in good faith and raised your points in the spreadsheet that determined your worthiness as Pass or Fail. They weren’t egregious changes. Just enough to score a C.
You beamed and thanked him for his time, clapping the chalk dust from your hands and giving him a sickly sweet smile before ascending the steps and leaving.
In a way, how you charmed the tent in his pants was its own reward. Your vibrator required charging yet again after leaving his class.
The following week you sat at your table in the front and held one of your usual discussions with your professor. Well, at one point it was a discussion. For months this routine quickly delved into talking about deeper topics, then surface; what you did over the weekend, what his hobbies were, reciting poems or lines from plays you were studying in class. All around laid back conversations. Always with his sleeves rolled up, his hair a disheveled mess like his desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and that goofy grin on his face.
It was criminal how he made you laugh when his personality during class was so opposite. No other student had this rapport with him. Naturally, this trivial fact inflated your ego. Being able to interrupt his lectures by uncrossing your legs and watching his cheeks flush. Such a simple man.
Seducing him to hide his blatant erections behind his desk fueled your lifeblood. Torturing him more by tugging at your shirt collar and testing the limits of your buttons crying out for relief over your lacy bra. He was so obvious, it was cute.
Professor Uchiha unbound his fingers from behind his head to read his watch. “Shouldn’t you be on your way?”
You tapped a manicured nail on your phone to check the time. “Seems so.” Stashing away the worn paperback you were conferring on him about for your dissertation, you walked up the stairs, passing rows and rows of tables and hard plastic chairs. “Have a nice evening, Professor.” You paused at the door attempting to read his expression from across the room.
He raised a hand and waved goodbye. “Lock the door on your way out.” You obliged, depressing the lock on the handle and closing the door behind you.
Professor Uchiha waited for the click, the jiggle of the handle. He had requested you to perform the task many times in the past. So many, in fact, you no longer tossed him a questionable brow before leaving.
Penetrating the silence of the empty classroom was the heels of your shoes clicking down the hallway for a few steps until they faded away altogether.
The top drawer of his desk ripped open--banging on its metal slides--and he grabbed his phone and bottle of lotion laid sideways. Smacked the drawer closed. Ignored the rustling of his things jumbling into one amalgamation inside. Lotion, box of tissues, phone. Mouse pad shoved aside.
He lured in the mug of pens closer to use it to prop up his phone and proceeded to go through his gallery.
“I thought I saved them..” he grumbled to himself. At this point the ache sending a dull pain to his stomach should’ve told him it wasn’t that important, but he opened Instagram on his second account and navigated his way to yours with one finger. Hunched over and trying to unbuckle his belt.
On your profile he scrolled down to find his favorite post of yours. A photoshoot from your summer vacation. Many pictures. Many angles. Many pouty looks at the camera wearing a layer of sand and a trendy micro bikini. The sand provided more coverage.
He swiped to a photo he hadn’t masturbated to in a while and finally! His hands were free.
His leather belt was threaded through the buckle. Button steered through the loop. Zipper cascaded over his rock hard cock warming his palm, wrestled from the confines of his boxer briefs.
After holding back for an hour, he needed it. Wanted it more than anything.
Two pumps of lotion smeared over his fingers. Tissues waved in the wind of his grunting. His skin was hot all over, uncomfortably so. Simmering blood wound rivers through his tense muscles. Boiling lust compelled his eyes to ravage the image, not deciding on which aspects the hormones in his brain liked best: the side of your tits, voluptuous ass, or plump pussy peeking out due to your writhing on your stomach on the beach towel. Arching everything so perfectly for him it was as if you were made to please him.
The rest of his concentration was spent fucking his hands.
Long inhale, shuddering exhale.
The rhythmic beat of sins pulsed in his ears. Taboo quickened his pace. Thrill seeking adrenaline coasted his twitching fingers over his reddened tip. The groan stirring in his chest unearthed all the restrained affection he had for you; it was demanding to be released. To moan your name where no one could hear him.
But he had to keep it stamped down. Try as he might to not show favoritism in class, his gaze wandered to you far too often. He chose you to stand and declare your snarky answer to his question while he hid himself behind his desk. The times you showed up early to see him and he made you write out the day’s lecture on the chalkboard--since your handwriting was legible compared to his.
All benign excuses to reel you in.
Mornings spent hanging out. Evenings spent arguing over your grades. Not like you were a bad student; your exams were what almost secured your position for passing his class, it was your papers that needed work. Riddled with disjointed thoughts, meandering points, and leaps in logic so incredible it could win gold at the Olympics.
None of it detracted from his allure to you. Quite the opposite. It gave you a reason to hang on to his every word, stay around after class, talk to him like a peer, and the familiarity of knowing each other on this level gave you the boldness to squabble with him during class.
To set his face aflame when you had the gall to wear those short skirts, legs opening and closing when speaking to him. Make him slip his hand in his pocket under his desk when you challenged him.
No one could hold his interest like you did.
No one.
Professor Uchiha pumped faster. Used a knuckle to swipe to the next photo. One with your tits on display for the camera. It was cruel how the strip of fabric over your hard nipples caused his jaw to tense and his nostrils to flare. Your tits in photos, your tits bouncing under the thin fabric of your shirt when you sauntered around his desk, your tits slick with his eager kisses, your tits covered in his cum.
Damn you for tempting him. And damn him for encouraging it against his better judgement.
He was in too deep.
The thick vein along the underside of his cock throbbed. His body went taut.
Release. Relax.
Professor Uchiha gathered the tissues. One, two strokes.
“Mm!” he stifled the moan, eyes flitting from working his cock to the photo of you. Devouring the contours, curves, dips, and swells of your body. Picturing you naked under him. Twisted in pleasure. Shouting his first name.
He circled his fingers, guiding them in smooth sprints over his cockhead, each graze of his digits sending him to the precipice of the cliff.
He emptied himself into the tissues. Milking his cock dry in long, slow strokes while staring at his phone.
The cleanup was made in haste. Tissues disposed of, a wet wipe on his hands as if it would wash away his delinquency, briefcase packed, and spent cock tucked away for another time. He checked his watch; he should still be home in time for an unloving, resentful, cold dinner left for him on the kitchen counter and moving boxes strewn about the living room couch where he slept.
Walking alone in the dark parking lot gave him time to think. And thinking allowed the insidious venom of self loathing to replace the endorphins tingling his nerves.
He developed feelings for one of his students. And he yearned for more than inappropriate hours he scheduled to be with you. More than the hours he expended in pondering your interactions, and the exhaustive state it left him in after he dumped his energy into idyllic scenarios with you.
Oh, how he reveled in it.
You were his escape, and he wasn’t about to change that.
You drummed your nails on the underside of Professor Uchiha’s desk; supporting your weight on it, ergo, bringing your tits together bracketed by your elbows to help persuade him to bump your grade up two points. That’s all. Two measly points.
“Oh no, looks like the program’s not responding,” he replied with a lopsided grin, running his mouse in circles and chucking at your frustration.
“Professor,” you whined.
He unglued his eyes from your cleavage after imagining his cock leaking between your breasts and redirected his attention to his computer screen. He furrowed his brows. Clicked around. Shook his mouse vigorously. Frowned some more.
“What is it?”
“It’s frozen.” He tapped keys on his keyboard.
“No, really,” he said, angling the screen at you and demonstrating the program he used to log your grades was static and the cursor was sitting in the same spot, unmoving.
You leaned over and spammed random keys as if by some miracle his computer would respond to your fingers and not his.
Professor Uchiha was entranced. Cleavage was nice, but his cup of pens.. One stuck out further than the others and its pointed cap was tracing your nipple. Coaxing it erect.
The sheer power of his fixation scorched you like the sun on a cloudless day. What a simple man. Tease yourself on one of his belongings and he’d cherish it forever.
You pouted your luscious bottom lip. Arched your back. Nudged the pen around your nipple until you were satisfied he couldn’t take it anymore. Your breath was light and tone airy, “Want me to take a look, Professor?”
“Great idea.”
His husky voice, heavy with arousal, imbued those two little words with a spell that bound you to them.
He pushed himself away from his desk with his foot, crossed his ankles, and shifted one hand to his pocket, the other on his armrest supporting his head. His expression was that of expectation. Yours was blank-faced trepidation, the sort of foreboding ingrained in your very bones telling you to comply, obey.
It wasn’t like him to be this serious when it was just you two. And it was equally unlike him to return even an ounce of your flirting. Not to this degree. When it was you and him, he dropped all pretenses of having authority over you, but now, the fierce lust in his eyes warned you that if you didn’t respect his commands, he’d punish you. The thought of which sent a zing of excitement straight to the apex of your thighs.
You walked around his desk--any other day this would include you tracing sleek a finger along the edge and a little swish in your step, however, at this moment your brain was in a tizzy under his watchful gaze. Giddy at the tendons flexing in his neck. Fascinated by his cutthroat stare appraising your body like you were for sale.
Bending at the waist, you mashed the control, alt, and delete keys. Harrumphing when nothing happened on screen.
Awareness prickled the hair on your nape at the sound of his chair creaking and an object disappearing from your peripheral. Whatever it was, it was forgotten when you gandered at the cables leading from his keyboard and mouse down the hole with the rest of the wires connecting from his computer to underneath his desk. They bulged oddly. You groped them, tugged.
Your suspicions proved correct as they dangled in your hand. “Sir, they’re not plugged in.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” he cooed behind you. “Care to rectify that for me?”
“Y-Yes, sir.” Submissive. Quivering. Anticipating. Wishing. Hoping. You crouched under his desk and peered into the dark. The wood panel on the front blocked all light from entering. Kneeling, you ran your hand up the back of his tower, prodding fingertips through dust, hunting the empty USB slots in pitch black.
Professor Uchiha couldn’t be happier.
On your hands and knees in front of him.
He opened the camera app on his phone--snatched from his desk when you weren’t looking--and started recording a video.
The phone was tilted down to his lap. He had threaded his cock through a hole cut out in his pocket and bunched the fabric of his trousers so that his engorged tip was visible outside. Swollen and in search of a reason to create new scenes in his memory bank. This time by his own accord.
On his phone screen played a close up of his cock encircled in his thick fingers. He stroked for a few seconds, a fistful of himself before panning to you. Face down, ass up. A strip of white cotton wedged between your cheeks like a blaze leading him to the parts begging for him to lick, to suck. Adorning a wet spot where it stretched tight over your cunt. You couldn’t have known this particular pair was his weakness. They were most visible in his dimmed classroom; the black lace pair became obscured in the shadows of your thighs. The crisp, stark white? He bathed himself in their radiance when you gave him a peek.
His heart pounded in the wide expanse of the room. He had his excuse prepared since the moment he concocted this plan over the weekend: if you turned around, he would hide his cock and click on the flashlight on his phone, like he was helping you see all along.
But you didn’t turn. You didn’t look. You weren't curious if he was up to anything. You were too busy gagging at the dust under your nails as you tried to line up the cables with the ports.
The chair creaked again. He shifted to the edge of the seat. Knees angled out on either side of your ass. Stroking his tip faster. Your heat inches from him. Heavy breaths linking the space from his cock, to his phone, to your panties.
Metal dinged metal. Cables knocked cables. You must’ve thought he was an idiot. He probably was. Swimming in the murky waters of student-teacher relationships. Antagonizing you to bicker with him, asking you to help file papers in his cabinet. Becoming too bold, too stupid in pushing his boundaries.
But if he were drowning, so were you.
You found the USB ports minutes ago. Actually, it was already plugged in, but teasing your professor like this.. Hearing the rustling of fabric the more you wagged your hips back and forth. The pure debauchery of the air cooling your soaked panties should’ve sentenced you to a lifetime of shame. It didn’t. It felt fucking good knowing he was looking. Captivating him.
Seconds passed.
You arched your back to an agonizing degree.
Presented yourself in all your glory.
The shame did come.
When he didn’t act upon his cravings.
He never did. Something held him back. It always did. But it felt like this time was different.. Despite your efforts week after week, Professor Uchiha was a lost cause.
Enough playing around; you crawled backwards from under his desk and stood, tapping away at the miraculously working program to change your score and hit enter.
Wheels squeaked. His knees bumped into the back of yours, causing yours to buckle, bend. “Oh!” You faltered and caught yourself on his desk, spinning to face him at the same time he decided to rise from his chair.
He used his body to box you in.
Surprised in the tangle of shoes knocking shoes, knees gone weak, and hips grinding on hips as you both lost your balance, you clutched onto his tie--earning a strangled cough from his cinched air pipe--and his arms fell to either side of your body, pinning you between him and the solid piece of wood that was his desk. The edge of which dug into your plush ass.
The silkiness of his tie rivaled only by the softness of his pink lips hovering over yours. The hardness of his charcoal black eyes boring into yours rivaled only by what was pressing into your stomach.
“Sorry.” Your whisper was so shushed your voice cut out as you let go of his tie and smoothed your hand down his chest, his stomach. “The computer’s working now.” Radiating body heat sweltered in the mingle of your two bodies united as one. Words were stolen. Excuses were lost in the passage of time. Impure thoughts raced. Ones saved for empty classrooms and toys that didn’t come with baggage and consequences if caught.
The coarse fabric of his trousers grazed your upper thighs as he advanced forward. Laying his chest on yours to better reach his mouse snug against your ass and close the program on screen.
Months of seducing this man led to his unresolved desire brushing over your mound. If you just tipped your hips it would apply pressure to your needy-
His half-closed gaze perceived your ruse. Strong forearms enclosed to your waist. No longer shy about expressing what he wanted. You weren’t the lion in the reeds. You were the sheep and he donned the wool over your eyes.
Professor Uchiha’s wolfish grin tweaked at your innocent mouth agape at his forwardness. His mischievous lips graces words, “I dismissed class over an hour ago. Why are you still here prancing around in front of me?”
His pride curled over the shell of your ear, swept the length of your neck, snaked down the collar of your shirt. Smugness coiled his tongue. Innocuous words worked like a spark to dry leaves, inciting an inferno to the areas of you insisting to be touched, ruined.
The longer his lips deemed you worthy, the more you knew this is what you wanted.
Gaining some autonomy, you shifted your hand from admiring his abs up the planes of his chest to his round shoulder and down his arm, skirting over his rolled up sleeve to the forest of coarse hair standing at attention under your guidance. You reached his wrist and settle your hand on top of his.
His left hand.
Lips at your throat. Breath down your dewy cleavage. Two lips resting on your fragile skin; just resting, not kissing. They were privy to your drumming pulse, certain it was caused by him. The twist of his mouth stopped short of the smirk it was forming.
A sense of dread overcame your embrace.
The low moan in the back of his throat stopped.
His body went rigid in places it wasn’t before.
He reeled back. Panic in his eyes. Vocal cords poised. Suspended in time. Preparing to create words of warning. Or maybe an explanation.
Your fingers explored. Roamed over his knuckles, mountains and valleys of protruding veins. You slipped down the slope of his left ring finger.
No bump of metal.
When did he stop wearing his wedding ring?
“Class was dismissed over an hour ago,” he repeated in a haunting whisper, an octave lower and devoid of emotion. The self-loathing at his impulses was evident in each shaky inhale. He used his imposing height as its own threat, bending your frame to his will, fingers gripping the desk with white knuckles of restrain, claiming the slice of air separating you as his own. The firm length prodding you surged against the pleats of your skirt with a cowardly roll of his hips. Testing the feel of you. Introducing his urges to yours, and hating that he had to stop there. “You should leave.”
He wound his fingers in your skirt above your thigh, refusing to let go of the fabric. Let go of you. The stubble on his cheek stabbed the sensitive skin of your face as he bowed his head to speak directly into your ear, “Go.” Heavy as the burdens he endured, he let your skirt slip free of his grasp. His arm hung limp at his side.
You were being dismissed from him.
Though he vocalized as much, he left you little room to do so. Your body was overtaken by his. Trapped due to his inability to surrender to his vices, nor give them up completely.
You wiggled out from under his looming presence, flourishing in the flattery of his sharp inhale and groan when you lurched your hips to drag along him, savoring the unmistakable sensation of your professor’s cock following your lead.
How insulting. Nothing would break this man. And it was another knife to your inflated ego.
You climbed the stairs in a rush, laid your hand on the handle. The cold metal seared into your hot palm, dissipating rapidly from his warmth. The chill seeped through your skin, mocking your affinity for him, erasing the weight of his chest pressed against yours from your memory.
Maybe it was better that way.
Surely ripe for punishment, you glanced over your shoulder. One last look before the winter break. A last impression of what you meant to him. Would he wave? Tell you to lock the door? Wish you a happy holiday?
Professor Uchiha was at his desk. Standing in the same position as before, slightly altered. His lush black hair hid his face from observation. Hands curled into fists, arms like pillars keeping him from collapsing completely as his shoulders hunched further.
Utterly destitute.
You twisted the handle.
He didn’t move. Didn’t address you. Didn’t explain, apologize, nor act in the ways you hoped.
He denied you.
You clicked the lock and left.
The grandiose holiday gave way to the lukewarm reception of classes resuming to an all out stomach churning response to his lectures. You stopped arriving early, Professor Uchiha stopped asking for you to stay late. You stopped speaking up in class, Professor Uchiha repressed any compulsion to interact with you. You ignored him, he ignored you.
A wonderful arrangement that lasted all of two weeks before one of you broke. He allowed his eyes to wander over your frame as you entered his room on the day he handed back graded papers and you found yourself packing away your things slowly after everyone had left.
In your time apart, he graduated from grumpy teacher to full on curmudgeon--scaring off students in record time with a single glare from behind his disorganized desk--but the giant red F bleeding into the crevices of your paper just wouldn't do.
“..So, in conclusion,” you ranted, circling two points on the board until the poor stick of chalk in your tight grip chipped to a stub, “I believe my interpretation is perfectly logical and that you, my astute Professor, could make an exception and bend the rules just the tiniest amount and raise my grade to a C, at the very least, as I deserve.”
You faced him for the first time since you sauntered up to his chalkboard. It was a good sign he didn’t immediately ask you to leave, but his only contributions to your conversation were in the forms of hums of disapproval or one word rejections. So, when you turned to him and he beamed his usual impish grin, legs straight out and crossed at the ankle, sleeves rolled up and arms tucked behind his head as he swiveled in his chair; you were unnerved, but grateful.
Silence fell thick between you. His eyes went unfocused, considering something in his head. You dawdled at the board, scrutinizing your points, seeking counter arguments for anything he may throw at you. Anything to get your mind off the way his gaze rendered you to the very nerves that summoned the gumption to wear your shortest skirt this morning after two weeks of jeans.
Professor Uchiha cocked his head. The silence broke. “I’ll bend the rules if you bend over my desk.”
Boldfaced shock slackened your jaw. “What?”
“It’s what I deserve,” he asserted, using your choice of words. “It’s only fair.” He jerked his chin twice at his desk, smirk pulling taut at his lips. “Bend over it and I’ll consider changing your grade.”
You hesitated. Face lashed with visible uncertainty. Tension as palpable as morning fog sticking to your skin. A gulp in your throat booming loud in the two feet that kept you from falling into his lap.
“Bend over your desk,” you repeated in a monotone voice. Somewhat composed on the outside, but head swimming in amusement, proving difficult to keep a shimmy out of your shoulders when you clinked the chalk on the metal tray.
You didn’t believe this man for a second.
Your shoes clacked on the wood paneled floor leading to his oak desk, rapping your knuckles on it. Knocking on it the same way you should be on your skull to check where your brain cells had gone off to. Professor Uchiha never made advances. Never followed through with yours. What could have changed?
You slid your pupils to him. He remained statuesque. Watching you, rapt. You tilted your head, pitched your voice in light innocence, “Going to give me a D, sir?”
“Stop talking and find out,” he said, invoking your compliance in his deep rasp.
His threats were all bark, no bite. Not until he made certain of them. Wastes of air on paltry promises. But surely, once you obeyed him, he would not be able to resist. Please, God, don’t resist. You needed to be fucked by him.
You pivoted. Spread your feet. Lined your hips with the edge of his desk and leaned until your fingertips made contact and your clammy palms arched like suction cups on the surface of his well made, durable desk.
Scratches and divots in the wood grain tickled your fingertips as you dropped your chest. Hard nipples excited by the cool veneer gliding along your thin blouse and unpadded bra. Your hamstrings woke up, stretching gaily from their long nap. At the end, you crossed your arms and rested your chin on your forearms. Getting comfortable. A sharp right angle bent over his desk.
“Going to spank me with a ruler?” Shuffling alerted you to Professor Uchiha sitting up in his chair; the menacing rubbing of his calloused palms together drew nearer and nearer. His warm sigh blew on the back of your legs.
“After you’ve teased my cock for months on end?” He ran his knuckles over the goosebumps on your thigh with one hand, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly with the other. “Not a chance in hell I’d stop there.”
Professor Uchiha dove his hand into his pants. Grasped his swollen lust determined to be released over his boxer briefs. Not now. Not yet. He had to ravish your first.
His hands cascaded up, groping your ass. One cheek in each. Giving them a hard squeeze and laughing at your pitiful whine. “Sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, “you’ll have to stay quiet if you want to have fun.” He reared his left hand back and smacked. You muffled your cry. His right slapped ripples in your soft flesh.
“Mmph!” At least he had the decency to hush the tears sparkling the corner of your eyes by following them up with a gentle caress.
Rolling his chair up to you, his knees inserted themselves between yours and your need was about even with his face. His breath graced your stinging skin. A shy touch of his lips on the sore spots as an apology. And yet, he raised his hand and spanked you again. Harder. Echoing in the empty room along with your cry.
“Professor!” The motion flung you forward, dragging your nipples over the rough texture of his askance mousepad. Knocking over his mug of pens. Arching your hips. Exhilarating sensations tingling from the top of your head to your curled toes.
“Shh.” His useless shushing lasted all but seconds until his puckered lips relaxed, then curled wickedly. He clamped down. Teeth, nails. Fingers digging for purchase. Canines bruising.
His hands roamed where they wanted. The front of your thighs up to the point of the desk impeding him, massaging the tight muscles responding to his dire affection. Climbing your legs to cup your cheeks and bring them to his mouth for more lovebites. Tasting. All the while running his thumb along the length of your white cotton panties. Prying your thighs apart, smashing them together. Coaxing your pussy to swallow the fabric in response to his kneading.
You had grappled the edge of the desk to anchor yourself there nice and steady while he had his way. His excruciating, aggravating slow way.
“You want my lips somewhere else, babe?” he asked after you huffed a wordless complaint and swayed your hips, not at all subtle in your longing to have his mouth on your wet heat. “Need your professor’s tongue to treat you well after failing your assignment?”
What a cruel man to fan flames of embarrassment to your already burning, panting state; bent over his desk and begging him to finally fuck you after he had the audacity to roll up his sleeves and taunt you with his obvious massive erection casting a mouth-watering shadow across his lap.
Your shaky utterance of that single word evoked something within him.
Quivering lips pressed to the arousal soaked cotton. Tender. Grazing but a moderate kiss over the fabric that riled his cock. Concealing what he coveted most.
Professor Uchiha’s teeming excitement exhibited itself in the way he kissed your cunt. Controlled kisses waning sloppy with the use of his tongue. Short flicks at first. Darting over his lips. Then full licks up your slit, tracing the outline and nudging the fabric stiffer over your bundle of nerves the more he opened his mouth and introduced you to his skill. His nose to your entrance and his tongue exploring down, down, down the slope, over the curve in pursuit of the reason you moaned his title so sultry and feebly it sent a throb from his balls to leak from his cock.
“Professor,” you sighed, fingernails denting semicircles in the underside of the polished edge of his desk. Rising to your tippy toes in order to elevated your hips and grant him access to feast where he desired.
And hungry he was. Starving. Weeks, months, years without a good meal to satisfy his cravings.
The tip of his tongue traced the bump of your clit held prisoner by your panties. Caged, locked away from him. He sealed his plush, full lips to it, gathered you in his mouth full of thick saliva, and suckled. The gratification was immediate. Your thighs clenched around his face. You shoved backwards in desperation. Stomped your foot. Your too-loud moan traveled down your spine to the deep hum vibrating from his throat to your clit.
When he spoke, he carefully enunciated each word, projected the plosive P’s. “Poor girl,” he jested, words muttered on your swollen need. “Can’t handle a few minutes of teasing after you’ve done the same to me? Pleading for my cock. Prancing around here begging for me to fuck you.”
A single finger slipped under your twisted panties. You went pliant.
“Bad girl,” he moaned, shoving them to the side.
“Bad girl,” he lauded, wheezing at your beautiful display of wanton lust glistening for him.
“Bad girl,” he praised with conviction, spanking your ass so hard your vision went cross and vestiges of stars danced in the foreground of the rows of tables and chairs.
“Fuck!” you groaned to the back of your hand, quieting yourself.
He performed a full body roll from his jutting cock to his supple tongue fawning over your clit up to savor your arousal, planting harsh kisses where he saw fit. Ragged breaths sending chills to the warmest intimacies of your body, gone vulnerable in his craze.
Your pussy was free from its cage.
He let himself go.
His arms weighed heavily on the dip of your back, hands rubbing soothing circles while he flexed his biceps; capturing you in his vise, hiking you hips, tilting them further. Ensuring your quaking thighs could no longer jerk you away from his benevolent mouth. He waited too long for this. Agonized as the seasons morphed and you reaped the benefits of his undivided attention. Took advantage of his fondness, only to deprive him of it when, at last, he almost gave in to his sins. He was so close. So close to taking you then. But he didn’t. And you made him pay dearly for it.
Now you had to endure his consequences.
The precious resource of his erudite tongue honed in on your undressed clit. Twitching the tip over it. Smoothing the whole muscle to cherish it. Pausing to swoon at what you spilled for him, lapping it up, and returning at once to adore you in kisses and sucking until you were gasping, writhing, squirming from his talent. Legs shaking past the point of holding your weight. Humid huffs panting over the wood desk where your cheek stuck to it.
You mustered what little voice you had left to stutter out a sigh of, “Sir.”
At your brink, he stopped.
Professor Uchiha commended you with an everlasting blissful lick before tormenting you in suspense, stopping just short of your peak, and instead offering you a lazy kiss as he adjusted his chair and pushed himself away--then crashed his knees into the hinge of yours, forcing you to flounder and fall into his lap.
His sudden switch in activities foretold his plan. You had a very long night ahead.
Orgasm delayed, you tried to tense your thighs to give yourself some scant amount of pleasure, enough to build the waves of impending release again, but his legs between yours was not an accident. His dark chuckle in your ear told you as much. He designed this from the start.
He nipped at your neck, heartbeat pounding pulses to your clit. “Does your professor’s cock feel good?”
You forced your focus from his overbearing hands ripping the buttons from your blouse and the palm curving over your mound to pull you along his robust length situated between your ass; the heel of his palm shaping just over where you wanted it most. His briefs stole your fluids that belonged to him, acting as a barrier from entry as he grinded you up and down, pussy lips straddling his cock.
“So good.” You dropped your head to his shoulder and kissed his strong jaw, both of you battling for control in moving hips and greedy lips. “I love my professor’s cock. It feels so fucking good.” You ground on his length, tipping your hips at the end to send his palm over your clit, arching to his fingers prodding under your bra. It spurred you on. You picked up speed. Delivered sultry gasps and moans to his neck. “It’s so big, Professor, please fill me. I need it.” You pouted your bottom lip and kissed the side of his sly mouth. “I’ve been bad. Punish me.”
“Oh, I’ll punish you-”
“Under the desk.” He ushered you with a slap on your thigh like an unruly animal he had to herd, and damn you for liking it.
Like a leaf caught in a raging stream, you slid from his bouncing legs and landed on your knees. Crawling into the darkness obscured by the wood panel on his desk and spinning around to look up at his approving smile, provoking a matching one to carve your lips as you shared a bubbling chortle escalating into a smothered roguish laugh.
“Shh!” He held his finger to his lips, shoulders jerking, suppressing the child-like devilry taking over his body seeing you down there. In the pause between another thump on his door he rolled his chair in and you backed up, giving him room to open his legs around your body. Before he averted his eyes to the door, they beheld you in a promise: this interruption would be short lived. A brief respite. Then he’d make it up to you.
“Come in.”
The words reverberated off the enclosure of your hiding spot. Rang in your ears. The door knob squeaked. Turned downward. He sat flush with the desk, securing himself to the edge and blocking his lap from view in a large shadow.
How often did he sit like this while in class, hardly able to contain his erection from witnesses? You couldn’t keep the noise from escaping; you pressed your lips together and exhaled faintly through your nose, but he heard your moan.
He heard your disobedience and reprimanded you.
Professor Uchiha ordered you to be quiet once more by pinching your bottom lip between his thumb and index; his thick fingers sparking the most sensuous harm to your mouth--the same as he did to your hurting ass. Pleased by your mute respect, he let go after turning your fiery blood to ice in your numb lip and settled his large palm on his thigh. Trousers struggling to bear constricting muscles and briefs tenting a cock featured most prominently in your eyeline.
The door clicked open. Swung.
His body slumped. Though you couldn’t see why, his sudden change in mood resulted in his frame curling in, and his wonderful, painful hand with fingers you were seconds from sucking on abandoned his thigh to lean on his forearms and stare down the one who invaded his privacy.
Leisure footsteps descended this stairs.
He grabbed a pen from his top-heavy mug that spilled at the slightest bump and expelled energy by removing, replacing the cap. Clicking the end again and again.
Whoever it was, whatever they were here for; it affected your professor. Going from energetic and lively--if not unabashedly horny--to exhausted and hosting a quiet growl of misery when the trespasser ruined his self-indulgence one step at a time.
He needed to be consoled, and you knew the best way how.
You settled into position, knees spread, and you wrapped your hands around his ankles. He shifted at first, wondering what you were up to, but relaxed when you started massaging up his legs. Hard caresses of your thumb into his calves. Squeezing your fingers. Watching the tension seep from his body; the weight pulling his chest concave lifting as time went on and you tended to him.
“You left your copy of the paperwork on my kitchen table.”
Stomach dropped.
Professor Uchiha clicked the pen. My table, he sneered.
The voice belonged to a woman.
Her table.
He left something at a woman’s house?
You cupped his calf and brought his knee in, favoring it in many kisses. Quick pecks turned to gradual open mouthed hushed touches of your lips on his trousers. Claiming him. He responded to your affections. He filled his chest with fortitude and plunged his hand under the desk, blanketing yours which was rubbing along his firm thigh.
“It’s important,” she chastised. “Might want to keep track of it?” She landed in front of his desk. Feet from the sweat rolling down your back.
You kissed your professor’s inner thigh, using teeth when necessary to divert more of his focus to you; accumulate all of his attention and hoard it like a shiny treasure. This woman didn’t deserve it. When you spoke to him that way it was in jest and he reacted in a lighthearted way. When this woman berated him in her nasally voice, it was to put him down.
His fingers swept over yours. His thumb slotted itself to your palm, infusing an otherworldly calmness into your temperament. Holding your hand when he was facing a point of contention in his life.
“Why’re you even here?” Disgust erupted from the pit of his diaphragm. “I gave you your keys weeks ago.”
Something was tossed onto the desk above your head.
Professor Uchiha’s hand left yours. Cold and lonely. Then scalding hot with desire when he pried your loving strokes from his thigh and guided your deft fingers to his lap. To the opening of his trousers, folded over and peeled away to reveal his greatest gift.
He enclosed your fingers over it. Tapped once. You understood.
“And you should’ve taken it with you then. I found it in the mess you left behind under a stack of schoolwork dated from last year. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so disorganized after all this time, but you still manage to amaze me. I mean, just look at your desk.”
Eavesdropping shouldn’t excite you like this, but the sheer magnitude of pressing a gentle kiss to his tip over his briefs and watching his stomach jump, and draining the insecurity from his meek voice was its own unique reward. Especially when you just started and already, those strong hands of his were grasping his thighs in effort to stay collected under the woman’s narrowed eye scrutiny.
Stuffing your mouth, gorging, a total glutton for his covered length, you stretched your lips over his girth and sucked on his tip. Cradling the underside and praising it in delicate rolls from the back of your tongue, drawing back to drench his head in you and him--tasting his precum and swallowing to hoard it as well with his focus and attention.
“Rin,” he exhaled; a grand undertaking to make it sound bored and not at all like he was seconds from moaning his student’s name, “unless you have something important to say, leave.”
You wound your hand around the opening of his briefs and unveiled your present.
He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet to cover the jangle of his belt buckle falling to the side.
His cock. His glorious cock with its leaking reddened tip and impressive size tempted you as much as it daunted you. Warming him up to your humble tongue, you lapped the precum cultivated just for you to enjoy and honored him with a silent kiss before delving in. Wetting your lips. Stretching them over him. Slowly. In no rush to have your hollowed cheeks break suction and bring the wrong kind of attention upon yourself.
It was difficult enough as is swallowing more than the first three inches. You wanted it all. To slather him in appreciation. Not to admit defeat and pump your hand the rest of what your mouth couldn’t handle without risking a moan of pure euphoria when he twitched, filling you whole.
“Are you ever going to explain yourself? Apologize to me?”
“You were the one who decided this in the first place. I have nothing else to volunteer, nor disclose.”
She shifted her weight. Bounced her heel. Clack, clack, clack on the floor.
Professor Uchiha scooted to the edge of his seat, shoving his hips forward. It was a true miracle you didn’t gag on him and blow your cover then and there, but by the glory of his thumb sweeping over your sunken cheek you unhinged your jaw and accepted his tip at the back of your throat with all the patience of a Saint.
“You should leave,” he said, scribbling nonsensical shapes on the important document in front of him. “I’m a busy man, as you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Always here. Never home.” She tutted, whirling around to the direction she entered from, briskly crossing a few steps before stopping at the stairs. “Bye.” A tremor of hope laced her voice. He eviscerated it.
“Bye.” He flapped his hand in a childish wave, doing his best to keep the smugness from coming through, and failing. If she heard it, she ignored it and climbed the stairs for the door.
Professor Uchiha’s thumb dug into your cheek, his index on the otherwise prodded into your gums. Cupping your jaw. Cranking your mouth open to his whims. Using it as leverage to abide by his wish. Gaping, welcoming his untamed urge to relieve him of the stress this woman caused.
Her footsteps faded.
He became brave. Overcome in the moment to challenge her in an unknown race. Your mouth versus her stride.
Rutting like an animal, micro-thrusts of his pelvis at the edge of his chair. Quickening the pace the further she walked away from him and his life. He released his iron grip on your mouth and combed his fingers through your hair, ensnaring the sensitive strands above your nape.
His heaving chest should’ve been a warning.
He shoved you down his cock. Driving you to the point where your hand stroking him in tandem was useless, instead using it to fist his trousers in your frightful clutches. You couldn’t hold back anymore.
You moaned. Cried, even. Tears building at the dam of your eyelashes.
“Lock the door on your way out,” he called to the woman.
She did as she was told. Depressed the lock. Clicked it shut behind her without a follow up question as to what caused the masturbatory gestures of his arm under his desk, what the sounds were of you choking on his cock, nor the high flush on his cheeks.
Professor Uchiha rolled his chair back and you followed his lead, stumbling forward on aching knees. Forever attached to his perfect cock.
He slouched, lulled his head to the side. Observing your face buried in his lap, your wet eyes meeting his. His kind hands brushing your hair out of your way with a sympathetic graze of his thumb on your temple while his other hand wiped away your tears. Guiding your head up and down, bobbing on his grand length, tongue pacifying his haughty nature after his spat with the woman. She was gone and you worked your charm on him.
“Such a naughty girl.” You locked gazes; his prideful and yours agreeingly submissive. “That was fun.”
Eager and vicious, you sucked from base to tip, swirled your tongue over his throbbing head and placed a kiss on the very tip, smearing his precum on your lips. Something that spoke to the primal best within him judging by the way he squirmed in his seat and his pupils bloomed black. Breathing heavy but silent.
“I love your cock so much, Professor, I’ve wanted you to fuck me with it for so long.” You laid his cock on your face so you could kiss the thick vein buzzing against your lips while begging, eyebrows pinched and overstating your pout by clasping your hands to your lap to prop up your cleavage. “Please fuck me with it.”
He pulled you up by your chin, doubling over at his waist to close the rest of the distance between you. He lifted your skirt, groped your ass, slid his palm over it, fingers exploring further to your sopping wet cunt, earnest in its need to be punished.
Two fingers slipped in. He tasted the sweat on your neck. Stretched you with a third. “You sure you’re ready for more, sweetheart?” he asked once he met resistance.
“I’ve been ready.”
His gruff voice, steeped in want, ordered you, “Then, bend over my desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Returning to the position you were in before you were so rudely interrupted, you flattened your chest to his desk, wiggling your tantalizing ass at him. He wrested his cock from his briefs and shoved all fabric away from hampering him and threw his tie over his shoulder. Skirt flipped to expose you, his rough hands ran over your curves, eyes drifted in their stead, admiring how you offered yourself up so willingly. And how you crumbled under the tease of his thumb gliding the length of your needy cunt. He placated you in slippery circles over your clit craving the friction you deserved after servicing his cock.
Tempting each other to the edge of relief, but never letting them fall.
“I’ll be taking these.” He gave you no pause to guess what he was referring to. Your panties tugged over your round ass and fell to your ankles where you stepped out of them and they were safely tucked away in the top drawer of his desk.
“Fuck, babe,” Professor Uchiha groaned the compliment. His raging hot cock nestled along your entrance. Clapping your cheeks to enclose it there. Dragging your hips, rolling his. Slow, sensual. Relishing the connection, the bond of his cock and your enthusiasm; no longer settling for his hands with a bit of lotion.
Your mouth, your hands, your pussy. All crafted for his pleasure.
He should be commended for his ability to not bust with you giving him a blow job under his desk earlier. He should be exalted for not cumming on your back like he was near to do with just a few more unruly thrusts-
Whilst he was busy dwelling on the topic of Edging versus Self-Imposed Torture, you couldn’t help but notice the manila folder stuck under your boobs. White papers fanning out over the top. Racing your heart. Shouting at you to peep, take a gander. Who was that woman and what was she here for? You peeled back the edge of the folder.
Professor Uchiha panted out a string of tangled cherry picked syllables to arrange between the jumbled consonants spilling out and punctuated them with a moan of your name. “So fucking- So fucking good. You feel so fucking good.”
Cock lubed so slick it slipped down your cheeks, his tip prodded your entrance. A silent plea to allow him to fuck you. To come. Finally. Please let him come.
“You’re fucking me on your divorce papers?” you snorted. “That was your ex-wife?”
Scalp tingling. Hair snatched in his mighty grip. Cunt throbbing. Receiving but only half of him. Muscles frozen. Carved to accommodate him.
He pressed his chest to your back and shoved the file, flinging it to the floor. Raining white sheets of paper, scattered. Pens, clattered. Metal paper clips, pattered. His carnal heat warming your chilled skin was all that mattered.
Again, your jaw belonged to him. Your mouth? His. The drool pooling over the edge of your bottom lip? Also his. Your moan when he pitched his hips, slapping them to your ass, mouth gaped in surprise? Most definitely his.
His smirk blurred before your half-lidded eyes--stinging from the initial thrust of his cock. “Knew you couldn’t handle me; I’m not even in all the way,” he rasped in your ear, grazing his teeth over your pulse. Kissed you gently from ear to chin. Removed his hand-muzzle to place his lips at the junction of yours, forehead pressed to temple, eyes soft, but intense. “You’ve been a naughty girl, going through your professor’s belongings,” he murmured. “You need to be taught a lesson.”
The world spun on its axis.
Empty between the thighs. Back on something solid. Legs stuck up in the air and being manipulated not of your own accord. Disoriented, you willed the yourself to zero in on his face: wild, erotic, and so blatantly aroused at your captivated self, legs wide open, and addicted to his touch.
He loomed between your legs encircling his waist. A tower of suspense reached the end of its rope, snapped. His cock a pillar of pent up urges leading to the end of his marriage.
And you and your soft body. Laying under him. Yearning for him to use it, ruin it, and have you coming back for more. Someone who wanted him as he was. Who returned his passion. Returned the new-relationship lust he so missed; starting something new and preserving the flames, not letting them snuff out, leaving him bereft, alone in the dark.
Your eyes were shining, longing, staring up at him. Subdued, he watched you want him more.
One by one, you unbuttoned the rest of your blouse. Finishing the job meticulously and pointlessly, considering the rest of the buttons were ripped off and lost to the shadows on the floor. The shirt fell away in stark halves. Shameless naked skin. Chest rising, stomach falling. Rolling onto your elbows to unclasp your bra.
Shirt and bra thrown to the litter of paper, pens, and metal paper clips, and your face heated under his adoring gaze, flattered.
Professor Uchiha’s thumb worked itself in consoling swipes on the curvature of your thigh to ass. Perhaps as an apology for pulling your hair. Perhaps communicating that this moment meant more to him than he let you believe. Perhaps to stall for time so this wasn’t over in a matter of seconds.
You waited.
His unwavering gaze took you in piece by piece. Observing features previously hidden, though he felt like he knew them by heart from your promiscuous photos. Now he could study his favorite subject in all its glory. Memorize the dip above your clavicle until he could stand it no longer and switch to fathoming the contours flowing from your breasts, down your stomach, over your bunched skirt, and to his hand lurking near the sharp peak of your sex kissing his.
He etched you in his mind palace for the future.
Goosebumps skittered in the wake of his docile trail over your pelvis. Eventually, he woke from his reverie and became aware of your thinning patience, and the ever present Siren’s song of your tits calling to him. A striking downfall.
“Going to stand there and drool over me, or are you going to fuck me?” You grinned, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “I thought you were hellbent on punishing me, Sir.”
Fuck your tits. He could have you contorting under the pleasure of his tongue any other day. Tonight was about him. And about you paying him back for all the favors you owed him.
Vengeful hands guided their way up your writhing body, fitting sensitive areas to his palms. Chasing the heady high he evoked in the simplest brushes of skin on skin contact. Your body opened up, greeted his, arms embracing him. Hands grasping. Fingernails tracing his spine to cradle the back of his head to your neck.
He drew his hips back. Cock sliding over your clit to rest the lipped edge of his tip perfectly where you requested. Thighs squeezing around his middle. Back arched. Hard nipples on his wrinkled work shirt.
“Sweetheart.” He petted your hair away from your face with a trembling hand, licking his lips, a rush of recklessness overcoming him. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll get straight A’s for the rest of the year.”
He kissed your cheek. Maybe an apology. Maybe something more. Maybe to give you a dose of wide-eyed preparation before reality split you in half.
“Fuck!” you cursed him, all muscles seizing onto the man who wrecked you like a spiteful God. Expelling expletives, you gasped at his evil, smitten laugh shaking your core so violently. “Professor,” you whined.
He bottomed out. One powerful pound of his hips to your pillowy ass. The desk drawer rattled. The computer monitor swayed ominously. His tie swung from his shoulder in the sudden exertion. He threw it back flippantly.
This was his everything. His shaft hugged you. His tip leaked to your very depths. Sore cunt stretched to its limits.
“Call me by my first name when you’re under me.”
There it was; that dangerous edge of gleaming tenderness in his gaze beholding you in the threat of his command. How dare he press a kiss to your temple like a lover when you were wrought with pain.
“Obito.” The feral moan after you whispered his name transferred from his chest to yours, mingled in the knot of nerves in your belly.
“Obito,” you repeated, more confident. “I’ve been craving your cock. Show me why that’s a bad thing. Show me why I’m a bad student for seducing her teacher for gain.”
He used his strained muscles to push himself off you. Laggard, prolonging the magnificent sensation of your fingers latching themselves in his hair, tugging it. But they fell away. Dropped your hold on him, your arms to the desk, like fine silk amongst trash he should’ve tossed ages ago. You surrendered to him. He rolled from his forearms to his hands on either side of you, flexing under the duress of not moving his lower half. Steeling the primal voice in his head that shouted at him to take it all. Take it now. Fast. Hard!
Soon, he would, soon. But he had more foreplay in store.
Insatiable fingers skimmed the peach fuzz standing erect on your ribs, up to your breasts. Walking each digit to the spot you hypnotized him with on days he forgot to turn on the heater during the winter, or on Fridays when you forgot to wear a bra and knew you bombed your exam.
He traced your nipple. One finger, two. Pinched it lightly. Pinched in harder. Fluttered his eyelids closed at the way you struggled to clench around his cock.
His other immoral hand sought lower. One finger, two. Rubbed down your clit, up. Side to side. Circles. Whatever the fuck made you squirm. Tense your thighs painfully tight. Clutch the air straight from his lungs. Open his eyes. Massage your inner muscles along his swollen cockhead.
Both of you too far, not far enough. On the precipice. Toes hanging off the cliff side. Not jumping.
“You’re enjoying this?” His hoarse voice cut through your moans. Breaths twisted in the space between you in their own heated tango.
“Yes, God, yes!”
He watched you. Head tilted to the side. Face neutral. Flushed pink from his cheeks to under his collar. “Hm.”
He retreated his hips, unsheathed his glistening tip, admired how wet it was with your want, and rammed it in; shivering in the near-orgasmic haze of your gasp of his name. Once, twice. Unyielding to the water in your eyes. Finding it adorable how your fingers hooked around his like a tourniquet, not used to accommodating his size.
Water leaked from your eyes, his tip. It slicked your palm, a sheen on your forehead.
Obito cranked his head back one pant at a time; the ceiling being the last thing he saw through the black curls of his lashes. Relentless thrusts burned the smouldering coals in his core. Long has it been since he experienced this fire with another person. One who lusted for him so obviously. Each smack of skin on skin and slip of his cock welcomed by your warm cunt reminded him of what he so thoroughly missed: Contact. A bond. Fulfillment.
When you opened your palm he inserted his fingers, lacing them with yours. Easy. Automatic.
He opened his eyes. Looked down.
His rhythm skipped a beat.
Attentive eyes beamed up at him; bright with passion, yet half-closed in ecstasy. Plump lips spouted encouragement to go faster, go slower, whatever the bundle of nerves stuck under his fingers ordered in between moans of his name and cries of pain-mixed-pleasure. Only now did it occur to him that he stopped rubbing your clit altogether--the drastic diminish of blood supply to his brain was affecting him.
It was hard to admit, but as much as he wanted this to be about him enacting a fantasy you wove for him since the start of school, to use you like an object to get off to before returning to your roles of student and teacher, the arching of your back and tightening on his hand holding yours swept him up into a whole host of confusing emotions he didn’t have time to comprehend.
It was all so appealing. And unattainable. Inappropriate.
His eyelids fell to slits, sure that your bouncing tits at his punishing pace would be enough to come while drowning out those pesky feelings. He increased his speed. Pressed his fingertips to your clit. Let the vigor of his pounding send them coasting over it.
Every buck of his hips sent the desk moving. Rocking items in the wake of his eagerness. Each one a witness to a teacher fucking his student because she owed him.
Black landscape. Eyes screwed shut. Only the sound of his guttural panting and your high-pitched moan-whines.
And his tie choking him.
And his shirt going tight.
And his torso being hurled forward.
He faced his reality inches from your nose.
His tie was snatched in your grasp. Your calves clamped over his hunk of ass, shoving his length to your pussy. Grinding on his cock. Rolling your hips in time with his now that you shocked him to a slower tempo. Much slower.. Physically close, mentally vulnerable. Your chest was curled to his, using his weight as a counterbalance to ride him though he was the one in the dominant position.
Names held power. You moaned his so freely and he uttered yours in full-body shudders.
His fingers said it in how they massaged your clit. His hand said it in how significant yours fit to it. His cock said it in a twitch against the place he wished to revisist over and over again. His muscles said it in how they held his orgasm ransom, not letting loose until he fell victim to the darkest reaches of his heart.
And he said it especially loud when his lips landed on yours.
Shouted it, even, when your back collided with the desk and he followed suit, possessive over your mouth; absolutely enthralled with the knowledge of what your lips felt like parting for his cock and, more recently, his tongue.
Your joined hands crashed to the solid oak, slid them up to your wild spread of hair. Jutting elbows set off a chaotic series of toppling folders, knocking the mouse over the edge, shoving the keyboard, leveling a stack of index cards, tumbling the mug of pens to an early grave, shattered.
Excruciating sprints of thrusts turned short and sloppy. And sweet. Your swollen clit was caressed in quick strokes. His thumb swept the glimmering trail where a tear journeyed from the corner of your eye to your hairline in a jagged line. Kisses became too burdensome on your lungs. Alternating between open mouth pants and held breath reserved for when you made eye contact.
You had let go of his tie. You had let go of his tie to cup his cheek slashed with scars from an accident in his youth. You held him there and slipped out a moan of his name while staring lovingly at him.
“Obito,” you sighed. “I’m almost-” You were interrupted by a jerk of his hips to change the angle, allowing him more room to swirl his fingers. “Ah! Oh, fuck, Prof- Obito!” He tried harder. He tried faster. Your head lulled to the side and he nuzzled. No teeth. No marking. No punishment. Just a simple rub of the bridge of his nose along your jaw.
You tensed around his fingers. Inner thighs quivered against his waist.
“Come for me,” he pleaded. He was at your mercy. Everything in your vicinity was up for grabs. You clung to him, his hair, the mousepad. Curved your body to his. Captured him. Consumed him. Stuffed his knuckles in your mouth, ran your tongue over them, drying the trail of spit with huffs of breath praising him.
“Haa- Mmm!” You shook. Unfurled. Unraveled.
“Good girl,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.
He guided you through the convulsions. Brought his hand from between your legs and cradled your head, rocked you back and forth as your limbs regained consciousness and the pulses in your cunt milked the last of his anticipation.
“Hold onto me, babe.” You followed his instructions; clasping his shoulder with the hand previously yanking at his scalp. Your other hand was still taken by his, his thumb ever vigilant in its conquest to stroke any part he could reach beside your face. He placed a firm hand on your hip, planting it there to keep you still.
You kissed his temple. All you could muster seeing as his face was confined to its hiding spot where it could escape the raw defenselessness of his gaze that showed all.
He picked his head up.
Looked you in the eye.
You gave a curt nod signaling you were ready for the horizontal dance he had in store. He offered a lopsided grin telling you he couldn’t last for another song.
It began in quick steps; brisk slaps of his hips, short strides to the finish line. Your ebbing orgasm squeezed him in sporadic pulses. Cheering him on. Smiling at him. From under him.
Steps developed to loping leaps, bounding canters of his cock dragging along your walls, base to throbbing head. He leaned on you for support. His forehead on yours. Nose nudging yours. Lips a hairsbreadth apart.
You endured the mad dash to his climax. Gushing on his cock. His name on your lips. His lips hovering above yours. His eyes invoking more than lust.
Sweat dampened his shirt. The desk scraped the floor. Something clanged in the drawer. The monitor tipped.
Obito caught it from crashing to the floor without taking his eyes off you. To do so, he let go of the hand he was using to hold yours. The monitor was placed safely on the desk. His hand was free. So was yours. Your wide eyes flashed in non-verbal communication, agreeing on the same thing.
Desperately, you confined the other’s face. Tracing, stroking, outlining scars, petting messy hair away, rubbing, caressing, and kissing. Oh God, so much kissing. Frenzied, unrestrained kisses. Disorderly, imperfect kisses where your mouths hardly aligned. Passionate, caring kisses fueled by moans.
A hard thrust. Another kiss. A short pump. He took your bottom lip in between his. Rutted his cockhead deep. Ran his tongue over the bruised flesh. Rolled his hips upward. Bit your lip as the sweet spot hugging his cock clenched.
“Sorry-” he panted.
One last plunge. Buried there to pour his soul. Spill his secrets.
Spasming muscles weakened his knees. Tightness relieved itself from his core. The thick vein throbbed as it filled you with cum. His cock had never been happier.
“Babe,” he whined. He closed the gap of inappropriate yearning keeping your lips from one another. You hummed an affirmation, gripping him in all the right places.
For not the first time, he could truly convince himself this was an act between two people without unfair implications. Not a favor done unto him. Not him failing to upkeep his morals as a teacher. Just two people having sex and being able to kiss during the height of it without emotional strings attached.
Laying there for some time, his kisses drifted to your chin, your neck. His hands crafted intricate patterns kneading themselves on your thighs, cupping your legs and stripping their warmth away. You remained draped over his desk like his tie of your naked chest. Lower bodies joined. Nothing wanting to part your faces further than your lips could reach. Still, you had studying to do. Sleep to catch. And he had an apartment that was in need of unpacking.
Regretfully, he pulled back his hips knowing he wasn’t going to use the momentum to push his spent cock back in.
He grasped your hands to lift you up and you grimaced. “As soon as I sit up everything will come out of me. Where’s my underwear?”
“Hm,” he drew out the sound and feigned a search. “Who knows.”
Your glare seared the side of his face very obviously not looking at you. “Sure, right. I guess I’ll just freakin’ waddle.”
“I’ll walk you to your dorm.”
You returned to your role of sassy student who got on his nerves. Obito, however, had trouble submitting to his. The kiss you shared at the end felt so right. So perfect. Validating how he felt when you spent time together, manifesting from an emotional to a physical connection. And all the harm it would cause the both of you if someone found out.
Difficult as it were, you put on a mask for him and denied your feelings before he could sense them.
“Oh, thanks. What a gentleman.” You made the effort to roll your eyes and hop off the desk using his help. A profound groan exhaled your nose in a mighty gust at the inevitable slicking your thighs.
Yet his hands remained holding yours, a playful smile ticking at the corner of his lips. And you tried so hard not to read into it.
“I should, uh..” He gestured to his pants and briefs around his ankles, but his words died out in a horrified survey of his desk and the floor in front of it. He let go of you to simultaneously pull his trousers up and reel in his keyboard and mouse you so expertly plugged in for him the other month. “This place is a mess.”
“Yup,” you agreed. You waddled around the desk at the sound of his zipper and jangle of his belt buckle going secure around his waist. He grumbled, checked his watch and you couldn’t stop the offer before it left your tongue, tumbling out like your heap of discarded clothing on the floor, “I can come in early tomorrow and help you clean up. If you want to go home now, I mean. Or I can help you now. Uh-”
“You don’t have to do favors like that for me anymore. We don’t.. We don’t have to do this again. I’ll just fix your grades, and-”
It was your turn to cut him off, avoiding his nervous stare and wringing of his hand on the back of his neck. You distracted yourself by putting your bra on. “You don’t have to give me A’s. I know it’ll look suspicious. I’ll just.. write better papers.”
You both sighed at the ceiling. This whole arrangement was a bad idea.
Obito hated himself, as he should have. It had been years since his ex-wife gave him the time of day for sex. Much less the allowance to please her, give her an orgasm. She found excuses to reject him. He found excuses to stay late at work. She found reasons to text other men. He found reasons to leave the house early.
Done with admonishing your recent awkwardness around your professor, you went to pick up your blouse, but there he was holding it out for you. In silence, you thanked him and dressed yourself. Feet shuffling. Fingers twisting around arms. Wincing.
“So..” you started.
“So..” he finished.
You ducked away and grabbed your bag from your chair in the front row. Patted around. Checked underneath the table. Turned around. There he was. Holding your coat open for you to slide your arms into. You did, and thanked him without words.
The absence of words and eye contact grew as stale as the sweat drying on your back. Obito rocked on his heels, glancing at his desk. Imagining what happened on top of it. You fiddled with the edge of your skirt and then just fucking went for it.
You reached out. Two hands snug around his tie. Wiggling it back and forth. Squeezing, cinching it up. You fixed it for him, smoothed it flat against his chest. Brushed invisible dust off his shoulder.
His shaky inhale was your only warning. Not that you required one.
Eyes locked onto yours, hand embracing your tilted head, arms crushing you to his chest; you jerked him by the tie and your lips joined in a blaze. Bodies lunging, snapping tight. Cozied together in one bundle of limbs threaded through entangled limbs. Secure. Content.
Giggling, kissing, wet smooches on his forehead, you climbed the stairs backwards to the door, never taking your eyes off each other. Exchanging flirtatious smiles.
Behind you, you grabbed the knob. Cold metal in place of his warm back you were clawing at moments ago. The knob swiveled down, clicked. The door was left in purgatory. Neither open, nor shut.
“Can we do this again?”
He asked, or maybe you asked. Air, breath, words, thoughts, ideas, wants, needs, desires, futures, hopes, and dreams were all muddled in one.
He answered, or maybe you answered.
Wintry ice melted. Spring petals stuck to the bottom of shoes carried by mud to dirty the floors of Professor Uchiha’s classroom.
Class was dismissed hours ago.
Your fingers ached from devoting exhaustive energy into your dissertation. So many hours spent staring at your laptop’s screen, brain stimulated by the copious amounts of disposable coffee cups flung around your dorm. Abhorrent, really, to put a student through this grueling work.
So why, oh why, did your Professor insist on you typing up his emails when you could be at your dorm shoving a pencil through your eye?
“Spread,” he commanded after your thighs encroached too far for his liking. His fingers started circling again once he was satisfied by the amount of prying open you did for him; making your complaints known at the top of your husky voice as he sucked on the flesh of your throat, eyeing the white box on screen to confirm you were still responding to a student about his question on the lecture he missed yesterday.
“Obi-to,” you whined some more. You stabbed the backspace button, typed, retyped the same line again. The bruises he left on your neck would be more obvious this time. You started wearing jeans and collared shirts to help hide them because the absolute terror on your face when a woman standing in line behind you pointed out the teeth-shaped marks on the back of your thighs mortified you to an early grave. “Can you please give me a second to finish this?”
He rolled your nipple between his fingers. Rubbed calloused fingers over your soft, needy clit. Bounced his leg. Clenched his ass to rock you up and down his lap. His rising chest pressing to your shuddering back.
Too late. You pressed enter.
“Now?” your tone turned insolent.
“Fine, hop off my cock, sweetheart.” He slapped your thigh as punishment.
He widened his legs. You slid yours between them and stood slowly, missing the way he filled you, but knowing he wouldn’t let you orgasm like this anyway.
Obito shivered at the sensation of his cock leaving you. Glistening in the light. A prelude to the evening. Warmed and waiting. “We’ll finish at my place,” he said, grabbing his keys from the top drawer of his desk. “I’ll make you dinner afterwards.”
You smoothed down your skirt and pulled on your opaque black tights, toeing on your shoes with a disapproving slant of your mouth. “You’re only saying that so I’ll answer the rest of your emails later.”
He laughed. A hearty chuckle at your demise.
Sauntering up to you, his smug grin taunted you. The outline protruding from behind his trouser’s zipper even more so. He cradled your aching hand. Pulled you to him. Depressed his thumb in your palm to open it. Curled your fingers to his throbbing cock, running them down its length as he moaned.
“Keep your hands and mouth busy and I won’t make you.”
“Fine.” You bent at the waist, forcing him to drop his hand from grabbing your ass to run through your hair, tugging it when you pressed hard kisses to his twitching cock, jolting you away and his hips back lest he finish prematurely after hours of teasing. “But you make the bed in the morning.”
“Fine,” he croaked, agreeing to anything you said. Wrapped around your finger. And you around his when he suggested you start staying the night. Accommodated by the deal, you stood and threw your arms around his neck, demanding kiss after kiss. “Let’s go before we have another incident like last time.”
You turned to the cracked monitor sitting beside his desk. Screen black and barren.
“Yeah, let’s go.” You walked, hand in hand to the door. Grinning. Taking sneaky glances at each other. Whispering dirty things you were going to do tonight all the way to his car. All the way to his front door. Using your key to get in. Sharing a kiss in the doorway. Shutting it behind you. Turning the lock.
Falling into the other’s arms. Completing the circle. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.
Bending the rules of student and teacher relationships.
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thesunicarusfellfor · 9 months ago
Mortal of Gold - Part 3
(Yandere!C!Techno x GN!Shy!Reader x Yandere!C!Philza)
Anyone want my list of the characters as gods? There were a few characters that I couldn't think of like Ponk, so I just left them out. ANYWAY. Hi, how's it going? ALSO I CANT EDIT THIS DAMN POST AND THE SPELLING ERRORS ARE SO IRRITATING
Part 1 Part 2 TW: Mention of amnesia, memories being altered Send me a message via inbox if you wanna be added to a general or series tag list. Make sure to turn off anon, please. ------- “They weren’t born… A mortal?”
A light wind brushed over your features, causing you to give a small sigh and roll over onto your side in an attempt to block the light from hitting your lidded eyes. It was nice and quiet for once… “(Y/n)?” A distorted voice echoed softly, causing you to flinch a bit. You opened your eyes slightly to see a silky blackbird sitting on the sheets beside you, a few golden trinkets laying beside it. Upon seeing your eyes slide open, the creature hopped up onto its legs and began making soft cooing noises, “(Y/n)! (Y/n), you’re awake!” Glancing around at the surroundings you had been placed in, racking your mind for any sort of familiarity but failing to come up with anything at all, even who you were. You sat up, slowly brushing your fingers along your ombre silk clothing before putting your hands on the sheets below your body, frowning as you didn’t recognize the bed as yours. “Hello…” You murmured softly, reaching your hand out to the crow who eagerly jumped forward to nuzzle your hand. The feathers of the bird felt… Odd. They felt more like grabbing at misty fog, but with a light staticky cotton texture that caused a buzzing sensation on your fingertips, “I’m sorry, my memory… Seems to be a tad faulty… Could you tell me your name?” “I’m Chat, Dadza- er… Philza’s familiar! I was a gift from Mumza, oops... Kristen, the Goddess of Void and Death.” It chirped, its voice having multiple layers in your head, causing you to shake your head a slight bit, “No, they’re not married, only parental figures to the souls that pass on to the afterlife or those they saved sometime before they passed on… I believe they have more of a co-worker relationship.” You nodded slightly, pursing your lips at how the creature’s voice sounded in your mind. It was unsettling and caused shivers to crawl up and down your back, but at the same time, it was incredibly calming and had a soothing aura. How that worked, you had no clue whatsoever. Brushing off the unsettling voice of the bird, you decided to focus on the name that caused a light to go off in your head, “Alright… Philza… I think I remember that name…” “Yeah! Dadza- Eck… Sorry. Phil, he’s the God of Survival and Crows! He controls not only every crow in the mortal land, but he also controls whether or not someone will survive a situation. If there is no way that the mortal can survive, he will send a crow down and have them guide the soul of the mortal to him! Then he escorts them to Kristen! He has gained the name Angel of Death because he works for Mumza!” You decided not to question why the crow called Philza and Kristen Mumza and Dadza, knowing that you’d probably find out later, but by the sound of it Chat seemed to be multiple children, “Okay… Makes sense…” You mumbled slowly, nodding your head up and down. With a sigh you slowly brought your legs over to the side of the bed, only now becoming aware of how large the soft mattress was. Lowlands! (Hell) You could probably fit six people who were ten feet tall in it with room to roam! Pushing yourself off the bed, you also realized how high the beautiful bed was off the floor, Gods, whoever lived here was tall! Behind you, you heard a small chirp, and you saw Chat watching you curiously. With a small shrug, you decided to pick the familiar up and hold it in your cupped hands as you walked out the door, “Oooh! Dadza never carries us like this, and Technoblade does only when he’s about to yeet us out a window!” “Yeet?” You scowled in confusion as you walked through the arched doorway, your bare feet padding silently on the quartz flooring, “I'm scared to ask. Technoblade? Is he also a god of some things? He sounds familiar as well…” “That’s its word for throwing something. Well, it yells the word when they throw something or get thrown, so I assume it’s yelling in excitement,” A deep voice spoke from in front of you, causing you to gasp and lift your head from the crow. The telepathic chirping and squeaks from Chat in your mind quickly formed the name Technoblade, so… You had a feeling that your answer was on its way past his
lips, “I’m Technoblade, or Techno, the God of Blood and War. It’s… nice to see you finally awake…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet as you curiously studied him. His appearance could certainly be described as godly if anyone asked you. His long pink hair was mostly twisted and tied into a braid with bits of golden chain and a polished golden crown adorned with rubies, garnets and diamonds. Upon his pale skin, dozens of scars of varying sizes decorated his skin in different areas, but they were displayed in an almost proud manner. Almost. When he spoke, his dark pink eyes hidden behind cracked glasses searched your form for any sort of injury, “I’m… (Y/n)... I think. I don’t know if this bird is exactly trustworthy in its information… Do you know where I am?” Techno snorted as Chat gave an offended squawk at your statement, “That’s very fair, to be honest. You’re in the Tundra of the Upperlands, and this is my palace. No there is no snow, I believe the person who named this place has never looked into the name or word Tundra, but it’s been like this for too long to change it-” He paused for a moment as he noticed you looking extremely confused, “Ah. Right. Desert. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh… Okay…” You frowned at the tusked male for a moment before shaking your head, deciding not to question it much, “Now, uh… How did I get here, and why don’t I remember anything about myself? Or, about you and this Philza guy, I was told about.” You lifted Chat slightly toward Techno as a silent indication that Chat was the one who told you about Phil. “That’s uh… Phil’s field of expertise.” He rubbed the back of his head with his black-tipped fingers before adjusting his crown, “I don’t understand much of what happened, and Phil will tell you what you need to know that will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he held his free hand out towards you making you realize that he was easily over seven and a half feet tall, “C’mon, I’ll take you to him and get you the answers you need.” His hand was extremely steady, you noticed as you stared down at it cautiously. Once you noticed that he didn’t seem to want to do you harm, you slowly shifted Chat into one hand and used your free hand to take the one extended to you, which you couldn’t help but notice, made Technoblade very happy, “Okay. Thank you.” The god held your hand in his calloused one for a few moments before beginning to lead you down the tan and white hallways that were turned a light golden hue from the rising sun. It was quite a long walk filled with a slightly uncomfortable silence, but you distracted yourself by looking around the palace curiously. It was obvious he was the God of War by how many swords hanging on walls and sets of armour he had placed on armour stands in the hallways. Eventually, he walked you through an archway that led into a wide-open room with multiple windows that had many crows perched on the windowsills, some chirping and singing some little tune in perfect unison while others shuffled around, seeming to do a little dance. You were quick to realize the whistling of one of the birds didn’t match up and noticed that it was coming from the man with the large white and green striped hat as well as massive black feathered wings dangling on his back, fluffing themselves up every so often. When you and Techno stepped in, the blackbirds started chirping loudly, losing the rhythm of the tune the winged man was whistling as Chat started telepathically squealing about… 2/4? Two out of four what? “Ah!” The hat-wearing male turned around and clasped his hands together upon seeing you standing up, “(Y/n), you’re awake. I was worried the injuries you sustained were enough to keep you out cold for a few more weeks. I’m glad to see I was wrong. I’m Philza, God of Survival and Crows, and I see you’ve met Chat and Techno. Pesky bird, I told it not to wake you...” You pursed your lips for a moment, analyzing the shorter god as the bird squealed out its protests. While he was shorter than Techno, he was certainly tall, standing roughly around six feet tall, his wingspan
probably double that for each wing! His blonde hair was long around his face but was pulled into a loose braid like Techno’s was, although instead of gold intertwined into his hair, it was silver. His outfit was made up of a loose green shirt and black pants, with a red heart-shaped pendant dangling off of a chain into the center of his chest. Why did that pendant… Look familiar? You slowly rose your hand up and clasped at the pendant around your neck, noticing how Philza smiled softly, “Technoblade… Said you could tell me why I can’t remember anything?” “You’re still wearing my gift, I see,” Philza gave a soft hum as Chat jumped from your hand and onto his shoulder, before gesturing for you and Techno to take a seat where he already had drinks and some form of cakes set out, but they certainly weren’t there when you came in. Upon seeing your confused blinking, he gave a soft laugh, “I’m a god, mate, magic is no difficult task for me, let alone creating some measly tea and desserts. Now, sit down and I will tell you everything…” - General - None Mortal of Gold -@generalalmond @binas-idea-vault @ohworm-writes
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its-deputy-caleb · 7 months ago
could you write how lords would react if Ethan killed the ray of sunshine lord you wrote earlier? how they would treat Ethan if they know that he killed their favourite person? will karl still propose him to team up? i really love these headcanons you wrote and i just want more <3333 plant soft lord is the best.
Firstly i want to say a huge ✨THANK YOU ✨ to the 500 followers i have, i seriously wouldn’t be able to do it without y’all and the love and support has been amazing!! Here is the plant lord and there’s already a part one so go and read that first bc these directly relate to it! also this is angsty af but i’ve left it open ended for some more hc’s to come :)) enjoy!
Alcina Dimitrescu
When Alcina learns of your death she is not the only one to mourn you. The whole Dimitrescu family is devastated and heartbroken at the loss of such a beautiful soul like you.
She’s filled with rage that some man-thing could just take away someone so powerful yet so kind. When her screaming finally stops, Bela can be heard crying in her room and at family dinner that night everyone is silent. It’s just not the same without you.
Alcina has a grave made for you, one with a large headstone and surrounding it she laid beautiful flowers from the indoor garden you all made together as a family.
While she grieves for you, Alcina notices how strange it was for moss to grow around the surrounding stones so quickly but grief had clouded her mind to really think or notice too much about it.
She becomes even more protective of her daughters, not wanting to see them suffer the same fate you did. Alcina promises you that she would kill Winters on sight if she ever ran into him again.
Donna Beneviento
Donna has never taken death too well and losing you was no exception. She feels completely empty without you, not even Angie can comfort her sometimes with how much she misses you.
When she saw what Ethan had done to you it felt like apart of herself died with you. Donna spent the next few hours crying into your chest, begging someone to bring you back but she knew it was no use when the flowers and grass you were laying on turned to ash underneath you.
With the help of her dolls she manages to carry you back to the forest where she lays you to rest under a huge willow tree. She places one last kiss to your forehead before she lays down the doll she made for you.
Donna spends a lot of time in the forest after that as a way of staying close to you. Somehow when the trees blow in the wind it feels like you’re hugging her.
In the forest, Donna finds little white flowers appearing all over, the exact ones you used to grow from your palm. She leans down to pick one and tucks it behind her ear as she remembers how you used to give them to her.
Salvatore Moreau
Your death was one of the most painful things Salvatore has ever felt. He can’t even bring himself to feel angry at Ethan when all he feels is numbness from your death.
His heart sinks when he sees the lush and green scenery around the reservoir being to rot and die, the view now resembling what it looked like before your arrival only somehow much more gloomy.
The trees no longer have leaves and are left hollow and dead inside. The grass that you used to spend hours laying on, watching the clouds together is faded and grey. All these things remind Sal just how much he misses you.
Salvatore often sits by your grave which is up on the hill overlooking the reservoir. You said it was one of your favourite places because at sunset the water reflected the pink and orange sky, it was only fitting that your grave be there.
He’ll often talk to you and tell you about his day while he sits there, a coping mechanism if you will. But it usually ends with him bursting into tears as he realises you weren’t there with him.
While he’s lost in his grief and tears, Sal fails to notice how the dead tree which you’re buried next to begins to grow its leaves again, with beautiful pink blossoms growing on the top.
Karl Heisenberg
Karl is fuming, absolutely enraged that Ethan Winters, someone who he was willing to trust and team up with could go and take away someone so pure and precious to him.
It actually pains him to continue his plan to get revenge on Miranda, not only do all his Soldats have your nature-like embellishments but you were someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
There’s so much of you around the factory that his heart breaks just looking at the flowers, the vibes and the moss that are scattered throughout the dark hallways.
He figures the factory, a place that’s so metallic and industrial is no place for you to be laid to rest so he carries you to your home in the forest.
After finding a nice quiet spot near a stream, he brings his large hammer into his hands and disassembles it using his powers. He reworks the cogs and pieces of scrap metal to make a large metal wreath. Karl would’ve been upset at losing his favourite weapon if he hadn’t lost you first, besides he could always make another hammer, you were special.
When he places the wreath down, little vines and flowers grow in between the crevices of the metal. The action makes Karl break down on the spot as he cries, the action bringing up so many memories of the two of you together in his factory which now leave him feeling empty and as lonely as ever.
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sugarcoatedjj · 2 months ago
bloody psycho
Rafe Cameron X FemReader!
a/n- I have used Emma Roberts/Brooke from AHS as the face claim as I thought she fit this story, but picture yourself if you wish.
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summary- Isn’t the saying ‘Those who kill together, stay together?’ No? Well, it is here.
warnings: murder, blood, swearing, unprotected sex, fingering, oral, choking, knife play, blood kink. [18+]
Your everyday serial killers.
"I did this for you, I did this for us”
Rafe's once mesmerizing ocean blue eyes were now dark and hollow, he stood back dumbfounded. The love of his life not even a meter away from him covered in blood, her favourite yellow jacket ruined with the blood of her victim. He watched the way the knife rolled out of her hand and dropped to the floor below her feet, blood staining her hands and beautiful face.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes surveying for his reaction. She had killed someone, she had just drove that knife through the body of Rose Cameron. The blonde step mom lay face down into the crisp green grass of Tanny Hill, her once perfect pink dress soaked with warm blood.
"I did this for you, for us" She cried, tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked between the body and her boyfriend. He too had blood running down his chin from the fight he had been in only 15 minutes prior, he hadn't expected to get home to see his girlfriend impale his step mom in the back. "Look at me Rafe!" She screamed, the blood of Rose rolling onto her tongue when she licked her full lips.
She didn't mind though, in fact she enjoyed it. She enjoyed plunging the knife so deep into Rose that the only thing she could focus on was the screams that were choked back by the blood flooding in her throat. She enjoyed watching her body lose its life and become limp on the ground.
The only reason Rose had fallen victim to Y/N and her knife was due to Ward Cameron's children, they each had expressed their distaste for the step mother. Sarah was the first one to complain, she made mental notes in the back of her mind when Sarah would ramble on about Rose ruining her life.
Next it was Wheezie, she came to her crying multiple times because Rose wouldn't let her stay over her friends. Yet both Rose and Ward would leave the mansion every night, leaving the youngest of the Cameron's to fend for herself.
Soon after it was Rafe, she had heard the arguments between him and his dad. When no one knew Y/N was around she listened in on Rose and Ward, she heard Rose spit horrible things about Rafe. Saying he was crazy, saying she had noticed signs since he was ten that he wasn’t right in the head.
She just couldn't take the blonde bitch anymore, so she devised a plan. Since Ward had blown himself up on the boat not long after she decided she would kill Rose, she chipped her phone and listened in on all conversations. Soon enough she found out about the gold and that Ward was in fact alive, she also heard her tell whoever it was on the phone that only four people would be joining.
She assumed as much that Rose wouldn't have her come along, so she typed up a letter and sent it to the Cameron's. She waited behind the bushes of Tanny Hill and watched as the woman ripped the letter open. Her eyes followed as she began running across the grass just like the letter had told her to do, instead of Ward hiding it was in fact Y/N.
Rose's face will be forever etched in Y/N mind until she dies, the way she jumped at the sight of the small brunette slumped in the bushes. Rose went to walk away but before she could Y/N plunged the knife into her back. Multiple times for good measure.
She will remember the strength she used to push it through the skin of Rose's back, the way the blood sprayed back up at her as she stabbed and stabbed. The wound was so deep her hands were sticky from the blood that seeped out of her back.
Rafe’s yelling brings her back to reality, she jumps at the volume and leans down to grab the knife again. Holding it between her hand she hides it behind her back as she takes a step away from the body when Rafe begins storming towards her. He wasn't angry at her; he was angry that he wasn't there to get the answers about the gold from Rose before she died.
"I love you" He's whispering, his fingers gripping her jaw firmly. Thumb wiping at the blood on her bottom lip, he's pressing his lips to hers and pulling her in closer. The knife still gripped in her hands as she reaches around to hold onto his neck, The mixture of his and Rose's blood seeping into their opened mouths. "You're a bloody psycho, I couldn't love you anymore than I do now".
Anybody listening in right now would be calling the police or the mental hospital, it was like a scene from a movie. Two teenagers covered in blood and a dead body under them as they made out on the freshly mowed grass. It wasn't normal.
“What are we going to do with her body?” He mumbles against her lips, eyes darting to the body of Rose. Y/N is pulling away and shoving the knife into her back pocket, wiping her forehead free of sweat only to smear more blood across her porcelain skin. “Get your truck, I will tell you where to go” she orders him.
He nods his head and begins to run towards his truck, driving it up and over the garden bed. Backing it up and stopping just before the body. He hops out and pulls down the trunk, a tarp already in the back from when his dad had him throw Gavin’s body in the ocean. “Help me lift her” she says, squatting down to grab a hold of Rose’s legs.
Rafe is once again shocked at his girlfriend, he never expected her to kill someone but now being able to carry someone double the size of her. His heart quickened as he locked eyes with her for a moment. “Are you going to tell me why you killed her?” He asks, he notices the way her body tenses and suddenly throws the legs she had been holding into the truck roughly, the sound of Rose’s head banging against the truck made him wince.
“You all told me how much you hated her” she starts, waiting for him to throw the tarp over the body and close the trunk. She walks around the truck and into the passenger's seat, throwing the weapon into the duffel bag. “And then I heard her talking about taking you all away from me”.
“What do you mean babe?” Rafe questions, his brows knitted together at the statement. What could Rose have been planning?
“Ward is alive”
Rafe’s head snaps towards his girlfriend, disbelief written on his features. Hands wrapped around the steering wheel causing his knuckles to whiten. “He is dead Y/N”.
“No, he isn’t, he’s alive and he’s on a boat waiting for you.” She calmly states, her palm comes into contact with his thigh and gives him a soft squeeze. Her fingers still sticky with blood but he doesn’t seem to care that she had just ruined his pants. “Once we get rid of her body, we will meet him”.
Rafe doesn’t know what to say, his mind all over the place with this brand-new information. His dad had faked his death? And was he still in possession of the gold? Rose was going to force him to leave without Y/N?
“Baby focus you're driving all over the place, you're going to bring unwanted attention” She demands, the grip on his thigh tightening until he could feel the dull ache from her blood stains nails leaving behind half crescent moons in his flesh. “Bit hard when you drop a bombshell like that” He mutters under his breath, she chooses to ignore his comments and points him towards a dirt road going into a forest.
The road is bumpy and you can faintly hear the sound of Roses body banging around in the tray, Y/N seemed unfazed by the sound as she stared ahead of them. Rafe however felt uneasy, his stomach acid bubbling as each pot hole they hit he could hear the sound of Roses skull hit the metal.
He was thankful this place was secluded, the tree’s dying around them and water on the edges of the car. He momentarily panicked when he seen the decomposing bridge ahead of them. Water already over the road as he came to a stop, one he didn’t want to ruin his car and two didn’t want to get stuck where they were about to bury her body.
“You need to go fast; we will be back before the tide rises. Your precious truck will be fine” Y/N bites, both of them as tense as one another. Rafe rolls his eyes at her attitude but chooses to bite the inside of his cheek then comment.
He backed up and pressed on his accelerator, his truck swerving ever so slightly but getting them over the bridge and onto the other side safely. They kept quiet for another 5 minutes before Y/N shouted stop, Rafe noticed water on the right side. Murky and deep.
She was already hoping out of the car and making her way to the back of the truck, pulling the door open to reveal the dead body. Scrunching her nose up slightly at the smell she began tugging at the legs of Rose. “Hurry up Rafe” She shouted, with a fairly big pull she managed to bring the body completely out for it only to fall into the mud below her feet, the mud splatters on her already ruined jeans.
“You could have waited for me” he says, grabbing a hold of Rose’s arms and follows the direction she is dragging him in. They stand directly next to the water, his eyes looking below to see slight bubbles appearing about 2 meters away. “Throw her in”.
Rafe doesn’t move at first and looks back over at his girlfriend, watching the way she showed no emotion as she looked down at the water. Her head snapped towards him when he didn’t move and she sends him a glare. “On the count of three” She adds, giving him a quick soft smile to calm his nerves.
The body of Rose Cameron floats face first in the water, Rafe’s heart hammering in his chest as he waits for it to disappear. His anxiety spiking when nothing happens, his wild eyes look back over to Y/N who still seems unfazed. “Nothing’s happening” he trembled, his hands coming up to grip the back of his neck as he began pacing on the spot.
“Just wait” she states, her eyes follow the small movement of water in front of her. The slight change in the water ripples has her stepping closer to the car now gripping Rafe’s wrist to pull him flush against her. His hands finding rightful place on her hips.
“Close your eyes” she whispers, leaning up to press her blood-stained lips to his. Her eyes taking a quick glance to see the alligator pounce for the body, her eyes squeezing shut when the sound of broken bones rattle through her skull. “Was that a fucking alligator?” He breathes as he pulls away.
He doesn’t look over to the water instead keeps his eyes on her, she nods and turns him so his back is to the water. “It’s done now” you begin, placing her palms on his chest as he hugs around her waist. “Now we just need to clean your truck and the garden”.
And that’s just what they do, they spend hours jet washing his truck and tarp that once had the dead body. They move onto the garden and clean to the best of their abilities. “We need to delete the security footage” Rafe speaks up as his eyes dart to the multiple cameras hiding on his house.
“I turned them off already” she whispers, wiping her face as sweat dropped from her forehead onto her nose. Smearing the blood mixed with cleaning products on her forehead in the process. “I should be worried how good you are at this”.
“But I’m so turned on right now” he admits, her eyes glancing over to her boyfriend. The corner of her lips turning up into a smirk, dropping the hose onto the floor and standing straight. “Yeah? What part turns you on the most?” She breathes, he’s watching her blood-stained shoes get closer to him.
“Is it the fact I just killed for you? Or is it the blood that’s staining my skin?” She whispers, her finger tips brushing over the apple of his cheek before sliding down to grip his chin.
Pulling his face up to look at her, her eyes full of lust as she scans his face. Usually, Rafe was the dominant one so this caught him by surprise. His tongue coming out to wet his lips before pulling himself to stand tall.
He towered over her small frame, her hand dropping from his chin to his stomach. His own hand now gripping her jaw. “It’s both baby girl, you're exactly like me and I can’t believe I found you” he says, thumb caressing her cheek.
“The fact that you killed that bitch for me” he starts, dipping his body lower to press his lips to her forehead and then the top of her nose. She held her breath and closed her eyes waiting for his lips to touch hers. “I owe you my life” he finishes, finally enveloping his lips with her.
It’s passionate and heated, fireworks go off behind her eyes and her fingers curl around his bloodied shirt. His hands gripping either side of her face as they let each other’s tongues explore one another’s mouth. “You taste like blood” He comments as they pull away.
“Does that bother you?”
He shakes his head and grips the back of her thighs. “Jump” he commands, her small frame meeting his body. Her lips attack his neck as he begins walking her to the doors of the conservatory, sliding open the glass and dropping her onto the day bed.
“Where is the knife?” He questions her, she brings herself up onto her elbows and nods towards the bag she had left next to the jet wash. He walks back out of the room and over to the bag, her eyes following his every move in anticipation.
Her breath getting stuck in her throat when he begins to twirl the weapon in his hands, when he stopped in front of her body, he placed the flat side of the knife onto her bloodied jeans.
“You have no idea how fucking sexy you look right now” he comments, eyes trained on her body that was covered in blood. “I just want to lick you clean”.
“So do it” she breathes, pulling herself out of the jacket she once called her favourite. Bringing her bloodied finger up to his lips. “Suck baby” she whispers as his wet mouth brings her finger in.
Her eyes closing softly at the feeling of his tongue moving across her skin, a soft moan escapes her lips as he bites softly. “So, fucking hot” he growls as she pulls her finger out and grips the collar of his shirt.
He wastes no time and begins leaving kisses on her stomach, moving her shirt out of the way to run his tongue over her belly bar. She grips the bottom of her top and brings it over her head, her perky breasts spilling out of her bra.
“How did it make you feel?” He mumbles against your skin, teeth nibbling along her breast until he ripped the two triangles apart to expose your breast. Blowing softly on each nipple until they hardened under his eyes. “What?” She stutters, mind only able to focus on the pleasure of his tongue.
“Killing her, how did it feel to drive that knife into her” he asks, tugging softly on her nubs until her back arches from the bed below her. “Exhilarating” she moans.
“It felt so good, to put an end her to shitty personality. To put an end to her ruining your lives”.
Rafe’s heart swells inside of him as he pulls away from her breast to press his lips to hers, he couldn’t describe the way he felt for the girl below him anymore. He was absolutely infatuated with her.
“The blood turned me on” she whispered; his darkened eyes watch hers hesitantly. He couldn’t deny he was also turned on seeing her one perfect outfit covered in the blood of his step mother.
“Seeing you covered in blood gave me a boner” he admits, she’s gripping the back of his neck and pulling him down on top of her. Her legs wrapping around his waist as their lips moulded together.
He grinds himself into her clothed heat, her legs tightening to bring him closer. She begins kissing along his jaw and down his neck, leaving behind harsh purple marks. “Stand up” she commands, he pulls away from her and nods.
She slides off the bed onto her knees, head tilted back to look at him. Her hands grip the waist band of his shorts and tug lightly. “Can I” she whispers, his head nodding feverishly.
She begins to undo the button and pull the zip down, eyes trained on the slither of his black briefs. She bites down on her bottom lip as she tugs him free, he steps out of his shorts and underwear. He also tugs off his shirt and throws it onto the floor.
His eyes stay trained on her as she wraps her fingers around his length, tongue poking out to lick his tip softly. A soft groan leaves his lips and he holds back the urge to thrust his hips forward, her eyes meet his once again.
He watches as she opens her mouth and takes him in, her cheeks hollowing as her tongue glides against his cock. She can feel the prominent vein pulsing against her tongue as she works against him.
Using her hand for the rest of him that couldn’t possibly fit, his eyes squeezing shut every so often when he hits the back of her throat and she gags around him. The sound of her wet mouth against his skin causes goose bumps to pebble on his body.
He can already feel his orgasm simmer in his lower stomach. He pulls out of her harshly causing her lips to smack together, her eyebrows pinch together as she looks over at him. “Get undressed”.
She begins tugging her jeans down her body, slipping herself out of her underwear and standing naked in front of him. Her pale body coated in the harsh red blood of Rose. He reaches out for her and pulls her into him, lips once again meeting rushed and sloppy.
He guides her back until the back of her knees hit the bed and he pushes her down, his hands roam her body before stopping at her calves. Pushing them up so her legs sat bent in the air, he spreads them and immediately drops his eyes to her soaking pussy.
Her arousals shine under the harsh fluorescent of the conservatory lights, he begins to kiss down the length of her body until he meets her pubic bone. Her fingers already finding home in his hair, his tongue meets her folds before pushing in deeper to lick the length of her.
A soft moan escapes her lips as his warm mouth sucks on her clit, the pleasure racking through her body. Toes curled and hips raised from the bed, she grinds into his face as he eats her out as though it’s his last meal on earth. His blunt finger nails dig into the flesh of her thigh to keep her still, he slides two fingers inside of her wet entrance and curls them. He can feel her already pulsing around him.
“I’m close” she warns, her eyes sealed shut as she gnaws on her lower lip. Her stomach muscles clenching as her orgasm bubbling in her belly. Her fingers grabbing at the blanket underneath her. “I know baby, I can feel you” he whispers into her thigh as he brings, he presses his thumb to her bundle of nerves.
She doesn’t hold back and lets her orgasm vibrate through her body, legs shaking and mouth a gape as she gasps for breath. He doesn’t let up until she physically pushes his fingers away from her sensitive pussy. “Fuck” she gasps, finally opening her eyes to look down at Rafe who has a smirk on his face.
“You're so hot when you cum around my fingers” He smiles, leaning back over her and capturing her lips with his. Her fingers find rightful place in his hair, pulling him in closer to her body. “Use the knife” She whispers into his lips; his eyes search hers for clarification.
“Just run it across my body baby”
He grabs the knife pressing it to her thighs once more, dragging it over her wet pussy until it sat on her stomach. “Like that baby” she breaths, her eyes closed once more as she relishes in the feeling of the cool blade on her skin.
He teases her nipples with the point of the knife causing her to squeeze her legs closed to give her some sort of relief. “Fuck me Rafe” she growls, her hands clamping down on his shoulders. He pulls the knife away and grips her waist spinning her body over so she sat on all fours, ass high in the air and cheek pressed against the bed.
“Going to fuck you so hard, your reward for getting rid of that bitch” He breathes against her ear, goosebumps rising on her body as she pushes back into him. She can feel his cock between her spread cheeks. His teeth nibbling on her ear ever so slightly.
“Go on then, fuck me Rafe” She sighs, he grips around her throat and brings her flush against his chest. Knife pressed against her skin as he slides himself into her with ease.
He is slow and steady as he presses the blade to her skin, her breath getting caught in her throat at the feeling of it pressed to her vein. One swift movement and she would bleed out on the bed, it was thrilling. She felt tingly and flushed as he drags it down between the valley of her breasts and back up. “Lick it clean” he demands.
Her tongue lays flat in the air waiting for the blade, he presses it against her softly careful not to cut her. Her tongue working against the cool steel, the taste of metallic fills her senses. “That’s enough” he growls pulling the knife away and throwing it onto the bed.
He grips her loose hair into a pony tail, pushing her body down slightly only to yank on her hair forcefully. “Fuck Rafe” she breathes, her neck aching from the grip he has on her hair. But it was a good ache.
He began to pound into her, his eyes watching as he disappears inside of her. Eyes rolling back into his head when she pulses around him. “Fucking Christ, your pussy will be the death of me”.
“Rafe, harder!” She exclaims as his movements started to slack; he’s pushing deep inside of her until she’s crying out under him. She can feel him in her stomach as she pushes back into him as he pulls on her hair.
“I’m close” she whines out, he drops her hair to grip onto the flesh around her hips. Her head dropping back onto the bed as she sticks her ass up higher. “Hold on baby, cum with me” He begs.
With all ounce of self-control, she holds onto her orgasm, her stomach muscles ache as she clenches. Her fingers digging into the bed below her for dear life, moans and gasps fill the large conservatory.
“Okay, cum baby. Cum hard around my dick” he groans out, her pussy throbs around him as she lets her orgasm ripple through her body for the second time. She screams into the bed as her body shakes from the force of her orgasm. Toes curling, his grip on her hips tighten as he too let's go.
His cock being coated with her juices as he comes inside of her, she can feel him twitch against her sensitive walls. “Fucking hell” he breathes as he slowly pulls out of her. Kissing along her shoulder blades before spinning her around.
“I fucking love you” he whispers, lips sponging kisses on every inch of her body. “I love you too” she smiles, her heart warming inside of her chest as she watches him.
They both gather their clothes up and she runs towards the bathroom while he cleans up the room, hiding the knife back in the duffel bag. He grips the bag between his hands contemplating where to keep it.
“Have you seen Rose?” A voice from behind startles him, he spins around with his hand pressed to his chest. Wheezie stands at the door staring at him. “No, I haven’t, why?” He lies, he watches as she huff’s loudly and crosses her arms over her chest. His insides churning at the thought of Rose’s body in the swamp.
“God she’s such a bitch! She said she would take me to my friends” she whines, her eyes darting to the bathroom door as Y/N walks out fresh as a daisy except for the dry blood on her jeans that no one would notice unless they had been there.
“We will take you! Let me just go upstairs and change my clothes” Y/N smiles, his eyes dart between the two girls. A huge smile appearing on his little sisters face as she rushes towards his girlfriend, pulling her into a tight hug.
“You're the best person ever”
“Yeah, she is”
A/N- I hoped you enjoyed my Halloween fic, please let me know as I worked really hard on this :) Also if you name is crossed out I couldn't tag you!
Tag list - @maybankforlife @novxturient @lilklr69 @typic4lpisces @glitterandpankow @livinfullpogue @drewsgfduh @capshoney @proactive-type-of-person @melissaxobx @sporadicpurseeggpalace @pogueprincessa
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watchmegetobsessed · 12 months ago
Risk it - Harry Styles
a/n: this came so fast and typed most of it out at work lmao, but i kinda dig how it turned out!! hope you’ll like it too! as always, feedback is very much appreciated!
pairing: professor!Harry x Reader
warning: sexual content
word count: 11.8k
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You shake yourself a little bit to get rid of the spicy coldness that’s been lingering around in the city in the past few days. It’s only the end of August, but feels more like late October, though they say the warmness will return for a few more weeks shortly. That would be much needed, you’d love to enjoy some more lunches out in a park or down near the river before you are forced to withdraw into the insides for the rest of the year.
Looking around in the packed pub you look for the familiar golden locks of Piper and you quickly spot her in one of the corner booths, laughing joyfully with pinked cheeks probably from the almost empty pint of beer in front of her. Marching through the place you slide into the booth joining the group of three.
“And there she is!” Piper cheers.
“We thought you’re gonna bail on us,” Abigail snickers and you just roll your eyes.
“I said I would come, just had some work to finish before,” you tell them, shaking your cardigan down your arms quickly, the air is thicker, mustier and much warmer in here, but it’s not surprising, the pub is packed, just as usual on a Friday evening.
“You work way too much,” Piper shakes her head in disapproval as she downs the rest of her drink.
“I’ll be working way less from September.”
“Yeah, but you’ll spend the rest of the week in school, so it’s gonna be the same!” Mona chimes in with furrowed eyebrows.
“They promised me a fat raise if I get this degree within the next three years, I could definitely use the extra cash so I can finally buy my own place soon,” you explain.
You know they understand the situation and they wish you the best. They want to see you succeed in life and in your career, they just love teasing you about how dedicated you are towards your work, having to say immediately yes when your boss told you you’d get a new position and a raise if you finish the masters you never got to two years ago. You already had a handful of credits done that you’ll be able to get accepted, meaning you only have about one year worth of credits to finish in two years while working. It might get a little overwhelming to have an almost fulltime job and go to school but you’re determined to do this.
“We know, we know,” Abigail chuckles. “Alright, no more work or school talk tonight. We are here to let loose, so let’s get another round!”
Soon enough you are nursing a beer of your own, enjoying your time with your friends. It’s been long all four of you were free on the same night. Piper got married last year, Abigail’s work forces her to travel around a lot and Mona has a bitch of a boss, making her work overtime a lot, so it’s been hard to fix up a date that fits everyone. It’s been like this since you all finished your bachelors three years ago. You like to think you’re still a fresh little young adult who just barely stepped out into the big world, but it’s not true, hasn’t been for a while. You’re 24, you have a career, you live on your own, you take care of yourself fully. You are an adult, whether you like it or not.
Drink after drink, the four of you are getting tipsy, having an amazing time talking about the stories you shared back in university. Piper was your roommate first year uni, Mona and Abigail were in the room next to yours and you quickly became close friends, moved in for the rest of your studies until you all went your own ways after graduation, but keeping in touch as much as possible.
“I’m gonna get another one, but that’s gonna be my last one, because I have some work to finish in the morning,” you announce climbing out of the booth.
“No work talk!” Mona and Abigail shout at the same time making you laugh as you just wave them off and head to the bar.
You’ve been waiting for the line to get shorter, now only a few people are lingering around so you patiently wait for your turn, clutching onto your card in your hand. You don’t pay much attention to the tall guy next to you, only when someone bumps into you from behind and makes you fall against his side.
“Oh shoot, sorry! Someone pushed me,” you apologize immediately as the guy looks at you over his broad shoulder and your gaze meets a pair of green eyes framed with long lashes and a curious look in them.
“No worries, Love,” he smiles and you almost gasp at the British accent that laces through his voice. You take a quick moment to inspect the man, he is standing almost a full head above you, wearing a simple black shirt and brown slacks, a set of bulky rings sitting on his fingers that are spread out on the counter in front of him, his whole left arm covered in ink and you feel the urge to examine every figure on his golden skin. His chocolate curls are kind of a mess, but still look well placed, you bet he is the type who only runs his fingers through his hair and makes it look breathtaking. He is handsome and definitely your type, looks older than you, but you wouldn’t think he is over thirty.
“What’s your order?” he asks and your eyes snap up to him, realizing he is still looking at you.
“What’s your order? I’ll get it for you so you don’t have to wait longer.” “Oh, I’ll just have a stout,” you tell him, feeling a little flushed from his offer. His eyebrows rise in surprise. “What?”
“Didn’t take you as a stout person is all,” he smirks at you as the bartender appears in front of him with his drink, asking if he wants anything else. “And a stout, please.” The guy nods and disappears to get your drink.
“I uhh—I only have card though,” you speak up realizing you can’t pay it back to him.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be fair,” you protest and he seems amused that you don’t just let him pay for your drink.
“How about this: you pay for the next round. Me and my mates are sitting over there, just come over when you finish this,” he offers, pointing at two guys sitting a few booths away from you and your friends.
“This was supposed to be my last round. I have to work in the morning,” you breathe out tilting your head.
“What? Work on Saturday? What kind of job is so cruel to make you work on a Saturday morning?” he asks with a boyish smile.
“One that pays my bills and most importantly my beer,” you chuckle softly.
“Okay, then make it just a soda,” he cheekily says and you feel giddy that this man is so keen on having another drink with you.
“I guess that could work,” you smile just as the bartender appears with your drink and the handsome man pays for the drinks, just then you realize you don’t even know his name. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” you tell him taking your beer. He tugs his wallet into his pocket before holding a hand out for you.
“Harry. Nice to meet you,” he smiles warmly and the moment you take his hand, you feel the tiny sparks. This man is surely something else. “I’ll be waiting for our next round,” he cheekily tells you raising his glass before the two of you part and go back to your own groups. As expected, your friends are already waiting for you with wide eyes and excitement, having witnessed your little chat with Harry at the bar.
“Who was that?! No, wait, it doesn’t matter. You need to go home with him!” Abigail smacks her hand to the table earning a chuckle from you.
“Don’t be dramatic, I just met him.”
“And you have to get to know him better. Deeper, you know what I mean?” Mona prompts.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you all. He is hot, but I’m not looking to day anyone right now.”
“You know, it’s starting to get boring to hear you say that you are just working on yourself these days. That’s not what you’re doing,” Piper gives you a look. “You are wasting your time on work and school and all these stuff that will be there when you’re older. Live a little, Y/N!” she begs.
“You guys make me appear like a no fun bitch, but that’s not who I am!” you defend yourself, though you know they just want the best for you.
“A fun bitch would ditch us right now and go over to their booth and then ride his dick all night.”
You gasp at the unfiltered answer you just heard from Mona, but deep down, you know she is right. You haven’t really let yourself be a little crazy in a while, your one night stands stopped the moment you graduated and stepped into the world of work. It just didn’t fit into your everydays, you had a lot to worry about, making a living and keeping your life on track, but you have it all now. What’s stopping you from hooking up with a cute guy?
“I’m not gonna just ditch you guys, came here to spend time with you!”
“Shut up, we are leaving then,” Abigail snaps, downing the rest of her drink in a blink of an eye and for a moment you’re speechless.
“What? No! We never get to spend quality time together, all four of us!”
“Honey,” Mona sighs. “We love you and we know you need this. So go, get the tatted hottie and we’ll meet up another time when you’ll get to tell us all about how good the D was.”
“Jesus, you guys are unbelievable,” you chuckle shaking your head, accepting the fact that they are really forcing you to do this.
They all quickly finish their drinks and get ready to leave, hugging you before they exit the place, leaving you alone in the booth. Staring down at the stout in front of you, feeling nervous to just walk up to the guys a few tables away, though Harry told you to go over, however he didn’t invite you to join their group, just promised another round.
You take a few long gulps, hoping the strong drink will bring out your courage and before you could talk yourself down you grab your bag and drink, heading over to Harry and his friends. He is sitting at the far end so he easily spots you walking over, perching up in his seat when he sees you approaching.
“Hey,” you greet them all with a shy smile, waving around. There’s a blond guy sitting across Harry and a brunette with equally as many tattoos on his arms as Harry.
“Hey, you haven’t finished your drink,” Harry observes with a small smirk.
“Um, no. But my friends left and I was wondering if I could… join you guys.”
“Oh, the honor is yours! Take a seat beautiful!” the blonde one immediately slides further into the booth so you can sit across Harry. “I’m Niall, what’s your name?”
“So very nice to meet you,” he grins at you, words thick with Irish accent. “That’s Louis over there,” he gestures towards the third man who nods in your way with a welcoming smile.
“Hi. I’m hoping I’m not interrupting though.”
“Oh, never,” Niall shakes his head immediately. “We saw you chatting up Harry at the bar, have been teasing him about going up to you since then,” he cheekily comments and you see Harry giving him a look, but Niall couldn’t care less.
All three of them are hilarious and you love the dynamic in their friendship. Niall is clearly the loud one, Louis is the cheeky who is always up for some mischief and Harry is somewhat the serious bloke, but it’s clear he doesn’t say no to any crazy ideas his two friends make up. You love the teasing and joking, they make you feel welcomed and as if you’d known them for longer than just an hour. As promised, you pay for Harry’s next drink, but you stick to just a lemonade, not wanting to overstep your own boundaries.
All while you’re sitting with the guys, you keep catching Harry eyeing you, your gazes meet over your drinks and at one point you feel his leg finding yours under the table, your ankles pressing together as he nudges you with his feet. You feel like a giddy teenager flirting with her crush, Harry’s effect on you is probably very clear too, but you don’t care.
Louis is the first one to leave and Niall follows not long later, leaving you alone with Harry. The nerves are raging in you as you try to figure out which way to take it. Though he seems like a nice guy, you still don’t want to take it any further than a hookup. Dating is just not in the cards for you right now. But how do you imply a one night stand? Do you ask him to come to your place? Or do you go to his? You would rather go to his so you can sneak out first thing in the morning, spare you an awkward talk over breakfast before you leave.
“We should… get going too,” you suggest and Harry nods in agreement, finishing up the last gulps of his beer. You take a deep breath and decide to just be straight forward. “Maybe I could go to yours? Have another round there?” Your suggestion comes out fainter than you intended, but you still manage to sound confident. Harry seems a little surprised, but he doesn’t voice it.
“Another? Thought you were done for the night,” he tells with an amused smirk.
“I’m sure you have something alcohol free,” you shrug innocently.
“I surely do,” he nods. “Alright, let’s get going.
He calls an Uber and the two of you sit close in the car, thighs touching and at one point his large hand finds your thigh, squeezing it gently that sets a fire in your core almost immediately. It’s been long you’ve been touched by a man, you were starting to forget what it feels like, but you know Harry will remind you well about it.
He lives in a nice townhouse and you note how it’s not too far from the campus you’ll be going to a lot in a week. He keys the two of you in, switching the lights on in his cozy home. It’s not messy, more like lived in. A lot of books everywhere, the furniture doesn’t match, but all together, the whole place is pulled together somehow. It’s very like him.
“So, what would you like to drink?” he asks walking into the open concept kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. “I have some tea, orange juice, water…”
As you watch his broad back, his muscles moving under the soft fabric of his shirt, you quickly forget about any drink. You want him and you want him now. Walking up to him you slide between him and the kitchen counter, catching him by surprise when you cup his face in your hands and pull him down into a hard kiss, but a moment later his arms wrap around you, lifting you up from the ground until you are sat on the counter. You open your knees so he stands between them, his crotch meeting yours as you kiss messily, all tongues, tugging and nipping, but oh my! You absolutely love it. The man has a mouth full of magic and you can only imagine what else he can do with those lips.
A whimpered moan leaves your mouth when you feel his growing bulge rub against your core as his lips travel down your jawline and throat, kissing and licking on your heated skin.
“Harry, bedroom,” you demand grabbing onto his shoulders and he doesn’t waste a moment, picking you up into his arms and heading somewhere down the hallway. You can’t quite comprehend what way it is, you’re way too lost in the feeling of his lips on your collarbone and neck, surely leaving marks on you.
He lays you down to a king sized bed and gets on top of you right away, following his wandering down your body. His ring clad fingers work fast on the hem of your shirt, pulling it off you in a moment before he kneels up and gets rid of his own shirt. He looks breathtaking, all the tattoos littering his chest and stomach, you just want to kiss all of them, feel his skin on your lips.
As he unbuckles his leather belt you push down your skinny jeans, throwing the item to the side without ever taking your hands off him. The man surely has all your attention.
When his slacks join the rest of your clothes on the floor he climbs on top of you again, kissing down the valley between your breasts that are still covered in the lacy bra. Your underwear doesn’t match, but something is telling you Harry is more eager to see you without them than to examine them. When he hooks his fingers into your panties and starts pulling them down, you reach to your back, unclasping the bra and in a blink of an eye, you’re lying completely naked in front of him.
“Fuck, you look so hot, Y/N,” he breathes out before those magical lips start working on your nipples, making you moan and whimper under him.
Kissing down your stomach he spreads your thighs wide, gazing down at your naked sex and for a moment you feel a little self-conscious, but the lust in Harry’s eyes quickly makes it disappear.
“You’re gonna let me have a taste, baby?” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine as you nod eagerly.
He is not a tease. Harry dives right in, his lips meeting your clit, working his magic and you cry out his name, fingers tangling into his locks to keep him in place, not that he is about to stop anytime soon. He clearly enjoys pleasuring you.
“Oh fuck!” you gasp when his tongue runs down your slit and he slowly pushes into you, making your back arch. You need him inside you, you need him to fill you up right now or else you’ll burst. “Harry,” you breathe out, tugging on his shoulders, urging him to come back up.
He climbs up your body, a satisfied smirk on his glistening lips and when he kisses you hungrily, you can taste yourself on him.
“Condom,” you urge him, hands pushing down on his briefs, lips still locked as he reaches to the bedside table. You hear the familiar sound of the package ripping before he leans back, your eyes falling on his naked erection for the first time and your lips part seeing his cock, knowing already he’ll feel you up so well. He rolls the condom on easily before returning to you, but you don’t stay in that position too long. You want to ride this man, see him come undone under you. Being on top is already one of your favorite positions, but with Harry, you just know it’s going to be amazing.
You push on his shoulder and he understands your intention without a spoken word, so he rolls to his back and lets you straddle him, glancing down at his cock that’s now grazing his lower stomach, so hard and throbbing just for you. His fingers dig into your hips when you wrap a hand around his length, positioning him to your center.
“Oh fuck!” he moans when you ease down, his cock filling you up inch to inch, feeling so amazing like nothing before.
“Shit,” you breathe out gasping when you sit on him fully, taking his whole length inside you, stretching your insides so nicely, your wet walls hugging him perfectly.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs lowly as you start buckling your hips, moving back and forth, up and down, the friction you’re creating swallowing you up entirely.
Harry can’t take his eyes off you, a hand wandering up to cup your breast and you cover his hand with yours, encouraging him to squeeze, making you moan passionately. He starts buckling his hips in sync with your movements, meeting you with every little thrust, hitting just the right spots, building up your orgasm so easily like no man has ever done before.
“Harry, oh God!” you moan, falling forward, leaning onto your arms next to his head, your lips meet in a hungry and demanding kiss as he wraps his arms around your body, thrusting up into you hard and so good, you whimper against his lips.
“You’re gonna cum for me, baby? I wanna see you feel good,” he pants, never slowing down. A few moments later he rolls the two of you around, your back hitting the sheets again as he moves one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, hitting a spot that almost makes you see stars.
“Oh yes! There! Don’t fucking stop!” you cry out so loud, you can only hope the walls are thick enough to keep your voice locked in the room.
“Not planning to,” he chuckles shortly before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You hold onto him for dear life, fingers digging into his sweaty skin, feeling as if you are melting into him.
Harry rocks into you relentlessly, your toes curling as you feel your orgasm finally arriving, making you gasp for air.
“Harry! I’m gonna cum!” you moan and he lifts his head, never stopping, not even for a second. His green eyes lock on your gaze, curls flopping into his forehead as he watches you in awe.
“Let it go for me, baby. Cum all over me, I wanna see how good I’m making you feel.”
“So fucking good!”
He picks up his pace just enough to make you lose your mind. It hits you like a pile of bricks, your orgasm washing over you in intense waves as you moan his name again and again. Your walls clench around him and it’s enough to throw him over the edge as well. His thrusts become uncoordinated and harder as his mouth hangs open.
“Fuck, Y/N! You feel so fucking amazing!” he whimpers through his pleasure and you watch him fall apart, panting and gasping for air, trying to remember every little detail about him. This is an experience you surely won’t forget and will probably fantasize about a lot when you’re alone at home, playing with yourself, seeking release.
A few more sloppy thrusts later he stops, kissing your lips passionately before he pulls out and falls to the mattress next to you. You both need a few minutes to recover from it, just panting and laying numbly next to each other, Harry’s arm thrown over your stomach. You turn to the side and immediately meet his glistening eyes, filled with satisfaction and bliss. When he finally recollects himself he pecks your lips softly before leaving the bed. You watch him remove the used condom, tie it and toss it into the small trash can near his dressed before he moves to the bathroom. When he reappears, he is wearing a fresh pair of boxers and he has a wet washcloth in his hand. Sitting beside you he gently cleans you up as you murmur your thank you.
“Want something to sleep in?” he asks then and you nod. He grabs you a t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts that you put on gladly. They smell exactly like him, soap, something citrus-like and a hint of anise.
He returns to bed and pulls you into his embrace, you gladly make yourself comfortable curled up to his side. Lying there, feeling his fingers gently running up and down your arm almost makes you want more from him. You could get used to share a bed with him and it’s not just because of the mind-blowing sex, but he is a lovable person. You feel bad you’re planning to leave without a trace in the morning, but then you tell yourself it’s what has to happen.
Harry doses off soon and you follow him right after, the warmth of his body puts you to sleep easily. When you wake up it’s still clearly early. Harry is sleeping soundly next to you, face squished into the pillow and you almost stay, wanting to see what he’s like in the morning, but you don’t let yourself change your mind.
You get dressed into your own clothes and leave the ones he lent you on top of his dresser. You tiptoe out of his room and grab your bag before looking for a piece of paper and a pen. You quickly scribble down a short note for him.
“Had fun last night. Hope you won’t be mad, but I only saw it as a one night stand. You’re an amazing man, Harry. I’m glad we met. Xx  –Y/N”
It’s more than nothing, than leaving without a word and you don’t let the guilt take over you. Taking one last look around, glancing in the way of the bedroom where he is still asleep, you pack it all up and put it to the back of your mind before walking out.
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The last week before your classes start passes by faster than you imagined. It’s your last week fully in the office so you try to work a little ahead, staying in afterhours so you won’t have that much to take care of while you get used to being a uni student again. You usually get home after nine and basically fall into bed right away, and you even work during the weekend before the Monday when school starts. You go to bed way too late so it’s not a surprise you wake up late. You get ready in a rush, throwing out your plan to get a coffee on your way out the window since you are way behind time. Running across campus you’re lucky you already know your way around so you don’t have to wander around, looking for the room you have to be at, but even when you finally reach the right hallway you’re ten minutes late to the class.
Introduction to International Relations, held by Prof. Styles, 8.30-10.00, it reads on the little timetable attached to the way next to the closed doors and you pray the man didn’t start in time, so you’d be late with just a few minutes. Taking a deep breath you push the door open trying to make no sound and unfortunately, you are met with an auditorium full of people, everyone looking at you as if it was against the law to be a little late to class.
What the Hell is wrong with students these days? Being late was usual when I was a freshman, you think to yourself as you step inside, closing the door behind you, getting ready to apologize to the professor.
“I’m so sorry, Professor Styles, I—Shit,” you end your sentence with a whisper as your eyes fall on the man standing on the podium. He hasn’t turned to you, his eyes are fixed on a paper in his hand, probably the syllabus because he must have been in the middle of introducing the class, but the sudden whispering that starts upon your apology that turned into shit, he finally looks up and his eyes fall on your frozen figure.
Professor Styles is none other than Harry. As in The Harry you met at the pub a week ago, had the best sex with and left without leaving your number to him in the morning. Now he is staring back at you with the same amount of panic and surprise as you.
“What—I uhh…” He clears his throat, looking around and seeing about a hundred pairs of curious eyes who are witnessing the awkward run-in. “Take a seat,” he then firmly says, clenching his jaw as you nod.
With your heart beating in your throat you keep your eyes down on your feet as you rush over to a free seat somewhere at the front, since the back is already kinda full.
“So, uhh—As I was saying this is an introduction so we’ll talk about a lot of different topics, I want you to have a view of the most important aspects before moving onto separate fields.”
You don’t dare to look up as Harry talks about the class, the syllabus, how the semester will be built up and what you’ll have to do to pass. Scribbling your wobbly notes, you nervously bounce your legs under the desk, flashbacks from your time with him popping into your mind through the whole lecture.
This feels like something straight out of a ridiculous movie. How is it possible, that the one time you finally decide to have a one night stand with a hot guy, he turns out to be your professor?! That’s just your luck, it seems.
Harry doesn’t drag the lecture long, dismisses everyone after an hour once every question has been answered. You plan to escape right away, but it turns out Harry doesn’t want to just sweep it under the rug.
“Can I have a word with you?” he asks stepping to your desk as you are furiously shoving your stuff into your bag.
“Uh, sure,” you nod, not like you have a choice. You’d love to run, but he is your professor, it would sit well if you ditched him on the first day of school.
You slow your packing down so you finish right when the last student has left the room. Grabbing your bag you turn to face Harry who now seems furious, vivid if you might say. He strides over to the door and shuts it before facing you.
“You said you’re working!” is the first thing he throws at you, making you raise your eyebrows.
“Because I am! I’m finishing my masters so I can get a promotion!” you defend yourself.
“Wait, so how old are you?” he asks with a puzzled look.
“I’m twenty-four, what did you think?” You feel offended, did he think you were younger or older? Neither would sit well anyway, so there’s no good answer.
“I-I don’t know, but when you walked right into my class I surely thought you were twenty or something,” he explains exhaling sharply. “Okay, so twenty-four. But still, you could have told me you are a student here.”
“Excuse you? Why would have I told you, we met that night, of course I didn’t share my whole fucking life with you! Besides, you didn’t say a thing about being a college professor either,” you spat at him and it seems like he realizes your argument is quite valid. He can’t blame it all on you.
“Okay, you’re right. Sorry.”
There’s a short silence as the anger dies down and the awkwardness and shock returns. It’s such an impossible situation, you never thought you’d have to deal with anything similar. Having an affair with your professor? This shit is straight out of some teenage drama.
“I can… drop the lecture, if you want. Only took it as extra credit, because I was interested in it,” you offer the first rational option that comes to your mind.
“No, I mean… you don’t have to. Messing around with credits at this time sucks, you wouldn’t be able to find something else.”
“Okay, so then what?”
“I guess we’ll just pretend like nothing happened,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Like you did in the morning when you left without leaving your number.”
His comment spikes, you can tell he was hurt that you didn’t stay, though now is probably not the best time to bring it up.
“Well, sorry. I didn’t think of it as more,” you dryly say.
“That’s not how you came off, however. Having laughs with me and my friends like we’ve known each other for years and then…” he doesn’t finish, but you have an idea what he wanted to say. And then you had insanely good sex and fell asleep cuddling. It feels illegal to even think about it in this building.
“Look, I’m really sorry I left like that, but look at it this way: if we would have taken it further, it would be way worse now, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe we would have talked more later and found out about this and wouldn’t have had to face each other under these circumstances.”
He has a point, but it doesn’t matter now. The past is the past and you have to figure out how to treat this odd situation.
“You think you can forget about it and we can be professional? I really don’t want this to affect my studies,” you truthfully ask. Harry stares at you for a long moment before nodding.
“I think we can make it work. We are both adults, let’s put it behind us.” You nod, satisfied with his answer. “So what’s your major and why do you need it for your job?”
“It’s communication. I’m set to take over our international partnership groups, but the board is set on having someone with a higher degree. I told my boss I started it back then but never finished when I started working. He said I would instantly get the position if I finished my masters, so… here I am.”
Harry nods, chewing on your answer. Suddenly, as you look at him, guilt washes over you. He is such a genuine and lovely man, yet you left so abruptly, never even giving him a chance. Not that it would have made this situation any different, but it seems like you hurt him.
“Harry, I really am sorry for leaving. I had a great time with you, but I don’t think dating just fits into my life right now. I felt like you’d want more and I didn’t want to deal with all the explaining and apologizing.”
“I get it. It just would have been nicer to talk it out. Not that it makes a change now,” he adds with a soft smile.
“So we’re good?” you ask hopefully.
“Yeah. Professional and all,” he smiles nodding and you feel like a rock has been lifted off your shoulders.
“Great. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, professor,” you add a little cheekily and you see the fire in his eyes instantly, but he holds his tongue, not commenting on how sexual it sounds from your mouth. You couldn’t miss out on the teasing.
“Dismissed,” he nods turning away from you as he walks back to his desk. You walk out with the longest sigh that’s ever left your lips.
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“Professor Styles! You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Piper screams at you over Facetime later that week when the two of you have your usual little chat. You’re making dinner while she lies on her couch, staring at you from the screen with the widest eyes. You just told him the whole thing with Harry and she almost choked. “The man is a professor? This shit is wild!” “Not just a professor, he is my fucking teacher, Piper!” you chuckle awkwardly. You still haven’t fully wrapped your mind around the fact that you hooked up with your professor.
“How old is the dude to be teaching at a university?”
“Well, he said he is twenty-nine. I might have done a little search and since he is british, schooling was a little different for him. Apparently, he finished high school early as a fucking genius that he is, then uni, masters and everything. He started teaching at my school two years ago. The guy is like a big name in the field of social sciences.”
“Damn, he is a gem. So what’s gonna happen now? Y’all gonna fuck on his desk after class?”
“Piper!” you snap at her.
“What? I hope you’re not thinking about passing on him.”
“I passed on him way before I knew he was my professor. We can’t have anything going on because one, he is my professor and two, because I’m not looking for anyone to date.”
“You are so full of bullshit, Y/N,” she snorts. “So what if he is your professor? Just for this semester. Keep it a secret and then it’s done. You’re not some eighteen year-old freshman, he is just five years older than you.”
“You can’t be serious,” you shake your head. “I’m not going to have an affair with my teacher.”
“Not an affair, a relationship! You gotta hold onto good dick if you find one. This is what I did with Ronan,” she smirks satisfied.
“Yeah, it’s not happening.”
“Why not?”
“Piper, have you been listening to what I was saying?” you ask in disbelief. “Yeah, five years is not much, but I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against teachers dating students.”
“Rules are for losers. You literally found the perfect guy and you’ll just throw him away? Said it yourself after your hookup that you liked the guy. Why are you being so difficult?”
“Sorry for not wanting to get myself or Harry out of the university,” you scoff turning the stove off under the sauce before you burn it all.
“Harry? So you’re just calling him Harry?” Piper wiggles her eyebrows at you, leaning closer to the camera and you just groan at her. How was this the only thing that stuck to her?
“I can’t fucking believe you,” you mumble under your breath.
“Okay, yeah, I get you. I truly do. But I’m also your friend who wants to see you happy. So I’m just saying that if he makes a move… be open. He is your professor for only one semester, so once it’s over you are free to do whatever. Fuck, date, anything.”
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Soon enough you fall into a pattern with your everydays. Mondays, Tuesdays and Friday mornings are for school. Wednesdays and Thursdays are spent on campus at your lectures and you usually go into the office on Friday afternoons to make sure everything works fine before you go off for the weekend. Having so many credits accepted from before, you have less classes meaning that you have less work to do with school as well. There are a few papers and assignments, but nothing too crazy. You genuinely enjoy your classes, each of them unique in a different way but if you’re being honest, Harry’s class is your favorite. He has done a great job at building up the lectures. Introduction classes tend to be shallow and boring, but not Harry’s. He has chosen interesting but still important topics and he makes sure the students are always involved and he isn’t just reading up his slides dully. There are a lot of discussions, everyone gets to tell their opinion and Harry genuinely seems interested in anything his students have to say.
You also came to realize his class is full of girls, only a handful of men dared to sign up. You didn’t pay attention the first time for obvious reasons, but as you looked around the next week you saw heart eyes and lustful gazes towards the man standing on the podium talking. You’re not sure if Harry doesn’t notice it or just chooses to ignore it, but he is doing a good job at staying professional. In the aspect of your situation as well.
For a bit you were afraid he would have hard feelings towards you or treat you differently, but it’s not the case. You are just another pair of curious eyes and ears at his lectures, only that sometimes you catch yourself daydreaming about that one night. When that happens you can always feel yourself blushing and an irrational fear that Harry can hear your thoughts invades your mind, though it’s stupid. But you always try to stay low just in case.
 It’s early October when an unexpected project lands in your hands at work, setting you back in your schedule. You work through the weekend just to get it right but that means that you couldn’t start working on your paper for Harry’s class that has to be turned in by the end of the week. So next Monday morning when class is over you walk up to him to ask for some more time.
“Hey, can I have a word with you?” you ask and as he glances up at you he seems surprised you initiated a private conversation.
“Sure, what’s the matter?”
“I just wanted to ask if I could have just a little more time to turn my paper in. I know it’s due Friday, but I’m a little behind and it would be amazing if I could work on it on the weekend. I’m sure I’d be done by next Monday.”
You’re afraid he might think you want to use your history and take advantage of it, but it seems like Harry looks more concerned than upset about your request.
“Yeah, sure. Everything alright though?”
Your eyes wander around the room, only a few more people are left inside and they are heading out as well. For some reason, you are a little paranoid that someone might figure out what happened between you and Harry though it’s nearly impossible.
“I’m good, I just got some extra work last week and it totally threw me off.”
“Oh, what kind of project?”
“I just have to put together a communication plan for three of our partners and it’s taking way more time than I expected,” you admit with a chuckle.
“I think I have an amazing book about international communication plans. I could lend it to you, if you’d like. It has amazing tips on sustainability.”
“That would be… amazing,” you say, surprised by his nice offer.
“Are you on campus tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I have a lecture. I can come by your office.”
“Fantastic,” he smiles warmly. “And don’t worry about the paper. You’re not the first one to ask for more time. If you hand it in on Monday it’s gonna be perfectly fine,” he assures you.
“Thank you Harry. I-I mean Professor Styles,” you correct yourself, feeling awkward that you called him by his first name, but he just chuckles.
“You can call me Harry outside class.” “Okay,” you smile nodding. “Then, see you tomorrow,” you say as you leave the room.
You spend the rest of the day working unfortunately, still a lot to do with your project. It’s hard to harmonize three different companies from three nations, working in different time zones. The next day you decide to skip your lecture in the noon. The professor is not too strict on attendance so you’re just gonna find a nice coffee place, set up a temporary office and work some more so you can finish everything on time.
You find Harry’s office easily. The door is open and you spot him sitting behind his desk right away, searching for something in a stack of papers. His office resembles a lot to his home, it has a cozy vibe but looks still very much academic with all the books lining on the shelves on the two sides of his desk. You knock on the doorframe as you arrive and his green eyes shoot up to your figure.
“Hey! Come on in!” he smiles at you. “Just a moment please,” he asks, still vigorously flipping the pages until he finally stops. “Here it is, I’ve been looking for it for ages,” he mumbles to himself and you smile. He looks a lot like the version of him you met at the bar. A fun, nice guy, clearly a little lost in his own world, but it amuses you rather then annoys. You wonder what could be happening in that brilliant mind of his.
He pushes himself away from the table and walks over to his bag that lies on the small sofa in the corner. Digging into it he pulls out a thick book that he hands over to you.
“Wow, lengthy,” you chuckle as you flip through the pages quickly.
“Yeah, looks a little dry but I promise it’s good. I put a note to the chapters that are the most relevant to you,” he explains and just then you spot a yellow post-it on one of the pages, a few more following behind.
“Oh, thank you. That’s really nice of you.” You smile up at him warmly, holding the book to your chest. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done.”
“Take your time,” he nods. “And how is it going so far?”
“Uh, it’s… going,” you say with a tired chuckle. “It’s a little tricky, but I’m sure I’ll solve it. I’m gonna work some more on it now, so hopefully I’ll be done within the next few days.”
“You’re not going to class?”
“No, I allowed myself a skip this week so I’m gonna find a café or something.”
“You could… stay here, if you’d like. I could even help if you let me have a look at it. I mean I’m not an expert in communication but I’m good with multicultural stuff.” His offer catches you by surprise and for a moment you want to say no, but then you realize he might actually be helpful. Another set of eyes is always beneficial.
“You don’t have a class?”
“Not until four, no.”
“And you sure I can stay? I don’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not. Please, I would love to take a look at what you’ve put together.”
You hesitate for another moment, but then let your bag slip off your shoulder as you walk over to the armchair in front of his desk.
You pull your laptop out of your bag and set it on the table so both of you can see from the two sides of the desk. You open up what you have so far, explaining it in details and Harry listens intently, nodding and humming along so you know he is following. At the end you tell him your concerns, the ones you’ve been trying to rule out these past few days so you can finish it all up.
“This looks amazing, Y/N. I’m very impressed by the way you synchronized it all.” “Thank you, but it’s not perfect, so I have a lot to work on. Any thoughts though?”
Harry asks you a few questions before he gives his two cents, telling you what he would do and change. His point of view actually helps a lot, allows you to see the whole thing from a different angle and he gives you some awesome tips. Before you could realize, the two of you are deep in the project, all kinds of books splattered across his desks as you work together to finish the thing. Two hours pass by as it was just two minutes, but at the end, you have it all figured out.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe it’s done!” you breathe out, scrolling through the document you put together for your boss. Everything is put together, well-thought and in place, thanks to Harry’s help. “Harry, thank you. You literally saved my life,” you chuckle softly, leaning back in the armchair you haven’t left in hours.
“You had a strong base, I just helped you find a few solutions, but it was all you.”
“Don’t belittle it, you literally had so many ideas even in fields you are not familiar with. You really are a genius.”
“I’m just good at using my sources,” he smiles at you, glancing down at all the books he has pulled out during the process. “It was fun working on something so practical, I’m way too used to literal things.”
“Oh stop, you want me to feel bad because you are this ridiculously smart college professor who doesn’t get to work on practical projects?” you tease him earning a boyish smile.
“Maybe I do want that.”
“Well, you’re not getting it,” you laugh and he joins you. Once the mood settles you realize how good it felt to be around him. The dynamic the two of you had was so great, working with him felt like a fun activity. And now that you’re done, you really don’t want to leave this office though you know you have to.
“You know, I might come to you with work stuff all the time. You just spared so much time for me, I really thought I wouldn’t finish before Friday.”
“My door is always open,” he smirks shrugging. “I’m glad we got to work together. You really are great at what you are doing. Your boss is lucky to have you around. I’m sure you’ll be an amazing group leader once you get your degree.”
“Thank you.”
His compliment actually means a lot. Aside from this weird situation, Harry is a brilliant mind in his field. Hearing him tell you that he thinks you are doing an amazing work is such a boost to your ego.
“Well, I owe you one for this,” you tell him as you start packing up.
“Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind for sure,” he smirks, watching you put your things away.
“Mhm, see you around, Harry,” you smile, waving in his way before walking out.
“See you, Y/N.”
Thanks to Harry you get to turn in your project in time and write his paper until the original due date as well. You send it in email and for your biggest surprise he answers later that day.
“Glad you could finish in time, can’t wait to read your thoughts on the topic! –H”
It’s a simple message, but what catches your eyes is the signature at the end. It reads his full name, Prof. Harry Edward Styles, the school’s name, his official office hours and at the very end… his phone number.
Looking at it you think it seems a little out of place, as if it doesn’t belong there originally, he just added it to your email, but you can’t tell. Is this a hint? Does he want you to call or text him? What if he puts it into every email, not just yours? Would it be awkward to text? Why do you even want to text him in the first place? You agreed to stay away from him!
It keeps eating you the whole evening, staying on your mind, doesn’t matter what you do. After you’ve drunk a glass of wine with your dinner you finally make up your mind, convincing yourself it’s strictly friendly as you type in the words.
Y/N: Turned my project in, my boss already emailed me he likes it so far. Thanks for the help again. –Y/N
His reply comes fast and luckily, he doesn’t question why you decided to text him.
Harry: Glad I could help! Ran over your paper, looks great too. You’re doing an amazing job, Y/N.
There’s no stopping after that. The two of you keep talking through texts and though it’s all casual and friendly, you don’t feel bad about it, because in class, you still keep it professional and you have no advantage. He treats you just like any other student, keeping your friendship away from whatever happens in the classroom.
The line slowly starts to blur, however. You think way more about Harry than you should and you actually find yourself regretting that you’re not able to get as close to him as you want. He fascinates and attracts you in ways no one ever could before and something is telling you he shares these feelings, but you are both keeping it at bay, afraid what would happen if you let your desires take the lead. You just wish you could go out with him, have drinks with him and his friends like the night you met him, forget about how he would always stand on the podium on Monday morning no matter what happens and he’ll be grading your papers. Mixing feelings with this impossible situation might turn it into a disaster and you know you have to stay strong, but it’s getting harder.
Harry is the kind of teacher who likes to finish his class before everyone else, so when December rolls around everyone already has their grades from the papers that had to be turned in through the semester, so when December rolls around it’s all just free talks, he starts interesting discussions about topics students want to talk about. His lectures feel like free time but still, no one skips them because they are always so entertaining and interesting.
“Alright, we’ll meet for the last time next week. As per suggested, we’ll talk about the European Union so get your questions and thoughts ready,” he smiles around, ending the lecture. “Y/N? Can we talk for a second?”
“Sure,” you smile at him. Putting your things away you walk up to his desk much more carelessly than before.
“So I have a question and you can totally tell me if you don’t want to go, but there’s this great International Affairs Summit next weekend just a few towns over, not more than a two hours ride. I thought that you might be interested in going? They’ll have some awesome presentations and displays, thought it might interest you.”
For the first time since you’ve met him, he seems nervous, stumbling over his words a little as he avoids looking into your eyes. He looks so much younger, not at all like the respected professor that he is. He is just Harry now, the guy you bonded over that stout he paid for.
“Sounds nice,” you answer smiling at him, he seems surprised at your answer. “I would love to go.”
“Really?” You chuckle at his disbelief.
“Just to be clear it’s not a school thing, it’s gonna be the two of us,” he clears and your grin widens.
“It’s clear. Still want to go.”
“Amazing,” he breathes out, a smile finally tugging on his lips. “I can pick you up in the morning.”
“Sure. Can we discuss the details in text? I have a meeting soon.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. We’ll talk later,” he nods enthusiastically, seemingly very joyful that you agreed to go on this trip with him.
“See you later, Harry!” you wave at him walking out of the classroom.
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Piper would be very satisfied to know that you are going away with Harry this weekend. Though you still try to tell yourself it’s nothing more than just a friendly thing, you’re not fooling yourself. You want it to be more and now that the semester is over, your doubts and fears are almost fully forgotten and left at the beginning of September. Soon Harry won’t be your professor and you now see that it wouldn’t be that bad if something more happened between the two of you. You grew close through the year even though you only kept in touch through phone, appearing publicly wasn’t really an option, but still, you got to know him better and you liked him. A lot. There was no use in denying that.
Harry picks you up early in the morning and so the little trip begins. You take control over the music and play some of your favorites to him while he drives, educating him on recent popular music. Then he shows you some of his favorites, playing a lot of Fleetwood Mac and you weren’t expecting anything else from him.
He looks great today in a creamy colored knitted sweater, black wool coat and grey checkered slacks. His hair is now longer than when you met him for the first time, but it just adds to his amazing look, he rocks it pretty well.
The two hours pass by fast and you arrive to the Summit. Checking out the program the two of you choose the presentations you’re most interested in, leaving some time in the middle of the day to have lunch somewhere near.
You choose a sandwich bar that has a nice winter garden at the back looking out to a little pond. You sit at a small table, the conversation hasn’t stopped since the morning, only paused when the presentations were happening, but you always picked up right where you were before. Harry tells you about his time at university back in the UK and you’re a little surprised to hear that he was kind of a wild kid for a while.
“You? Wild?” you laugh. “I can’t picture it.
“It was mostly the first year though. Felt like I can’t miss out on anything so I was at every party and gathering,” he chuckles softly.
“And why did you stop?” “I don’t know,” he shrugs, but you know he is not telling you the truth, so you gently kick his leg under the table. “Alright, but you can’t laugh!”
“I won’t, I promise!”
“It sounds very nerdy, but I fell in love with studying. I mean I was always a good student, that’s why I could finish high school earlier, but I did it to be done with it already. But then I grew an odd love to studying, to learning new things. I wanted to read every book there is, know everything in the world.”
“And do you know everything now?” you ask with a soft smile, completely in awe with how he talks about his passion for sciences. You don’t find it funny at all, more admirable.
“Not even a fraction of it,” he chuckles. “But I learn something new every day,” he shrugs.
“What did you learn today?”
“That Nicki Minaj and Miley Cyrus had… beef?” He is a little unsure about the last word that you taught him today in the car when you were listening to a song from Miley. It sounds so funny hearing from his mouth.
“Yeah, beef,” you nod chuckling. “Great knowledge you’ve learned today.”
“I learn a lot from you,” he smiles cheekily. “But really. I’m glad you could come today. Felt like I needed to take this step since you took the one before this.”
“Huh?” you ask, a little confused about what he is talking about. Then, as if he realizes he just said something he shouldn’t have, he chuckles nervously, keeping his eyes on his iced tea on the table.
“Well, I hope this won’t be too weird, but when you emailed me your paper back in October and I replied… I put my phone number into my signature and told myself that if you use it, I’ll take it as a hint that you… are open to more. And you did send me a text, took the risk so I thought I should be taking it next.”
You look at him in awe. So you were right, he did put his number in just for you and wanted you to use it. You’re amazed at how sneaky he was to find out how you’re feeling about him, but now you’re glad you took the risk and texted him.
“So you asked me to come today. I see where we are standing,” you nod smirking.
“You’re not mad? At the number thing?”
“Why would I?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, but we agreed to keep it professional and all along I yearned for something more and threw you this hint. When I sent the email I wanted to take it back immediately, thinking that you’d see through me right away,” he admits.
“Well, I didn’t,” you tell him making him laugh. “I debated for a long time whether I should text you or not and then just… said fuck it!”
“I’m glad you did,” he smirks and his gaze holds yours for a little, you can feel the moment you’re sharing. This conversation has definitely opened a door for the two of you.
The rest of the day passes by peacefully. You love having Harry with you and discuss the presentations with him later. He has a great mind, you love sharing your thoughts with him, get deep whenever something really catches your attention. It’s so easy to talk to him and you actually feel like he values your thoughts, unlike some men you had to deal with in the past.
During the ride back home you keep thinking about whether you should take it any further or not. You surely don’t want him to be just a one night stand anymore, it’s still very fresh but you actually feel like you’ve started falling for him and you wonder where he is standing in the situation right now. Today has changed a lot so when he parks in front of your building, you decide to just risk it again, like you did it so many times with him.
“Would you want to come up for a little? I could show you that article I talked about today,” you say, trying to sound calm though you see the surprise in his eyes, he wasn’t expecting this invitation.
“I… would love to. You sure it’s not too late?”
“Positive,” you smirk at him unbuckling yourself.
He follows you up to your apartment. It’s definitely not as big as his home, but you take pride in it. It’s the perfect size for you and you’ve worked a lot on making it your home. Harry is looking around, inspecting the place as you walk into the small kitchen and grab two bottles of beer, offering one for him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, following you to sit on the plush couch you adore so much. It feels like a cloud is swallowing you up. “This place suits you.”
“Thanks. You know, this is what I thought about yours too.”
“Yeah? I think mine is just a mess,” he chuckles, taking a sib from his beer.
“It’s a good mess. Liked it.”
There is some tension, but in a good way if you might say. As if you both were unsure about where it’s heading, walking on eggshells, not knowing where the boundaries are lying as of right now.
“You know, the semester is almost over,” you imply, giving him an innocent look.
“I’m very much aware of that, the pile of tests on my desk waiting to be graded reminds me every day of it,” he chuckles making you smile too.
“Mhm and it also means that very soon you won’t be my professor anymore.”
You scoot closer, your knees coming in contact with his thigh and he sucks on his breath, looking down at the spot where you two touch. You really hope he won’t turn you down, because you’ve already gotten your hopes up about making it work.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” you nod confidently. He doesn’t move and you’re losing patience. So grabbing his beer from his hand you place his and yours as well to the small coffee table before shamelessly swinging a leg over him, sitting on his lap. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders and his hands immediately find their way to your waist, his thumb caressing the skin that shows from under your ridden up shirt. However you see hesitation in his eyes.
“What’s going on in your head, talk to me,” you ask him softly, tilting your head to the side.
“I just… I know soon it’s gonna be alright for us to… you know. But I… I hope you know it’s not a game for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I’m all in, Y/N. I know it’s been a crazy few months, but I really like you. A lot. I love talking to you, I love it when you are talking so passionately about things that interest you. I love how open and hardworking you are. I think that you’re an amazing person and I don’t want this to just be some passing, quick thing. I’m serious about this. About you.”
You can’t hold your growing smile back as your hands move up to cup his cheeks. Leaning closer you peck his lips softly.
“Great. Because I’m serious too.”
Harry breathes out in relief and a second later he is kissing you hungrily, letting his desire take over after holding back for so long. You weren’t the only one having a hard time during lectures. He hated how he always found himself looking in your way, thinking about how beautiful you are, how amazing it felt to hold you in his arms and it ached his heart that he had to keep himself so far away from you. When you took the risk and texted him, he could cry in excitement and he knew right in that moment that he is fucked for you.
Though it started a little rocky, now that he has you in his arms again, he wouldn’t change a thing, because it brought him to this very moment and he is overwhelmed with joy. He is more than ready to show you how serious he is about you, not just with his words but his actions, so he is quick to leave the couch and navigate into your bedroom to relive that mind-blowing night the two of you shared back in late August.
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“Congrats, Miss Y/L/N. We are looking forward to seeing you work your magic as the leader of the group.” The executive manager shakes your hand and you see your boss from the corner of your eye, looking at you proudly.
“Thank you. I won’t disappoint,” you smile back.
You say your goodbye to everyone else in the room before finally heading out with the widest smile on your face. You did it. You finally got the promotion.
You finished your masters just a month ago and this meeting was scheduled almost immediately. For a while you were afraid they wouldn’t wait until you finish your studies, but they proved that they wanted no one else but you, making you feel so valued.
Walking back to your office you do the rest of your work left for the day, finishing up every pending task so you can be free for the weekend. When five o’clock finally comes you pack up and head out. Pushing through the double doors you step out into the warm July afternoon, immediately spotting a mop of curls you know all too well. Harry is waiting for you leant against his car with a huge bouquet of flowers, smiling at you with pride as he watches you cross the parking lot.
“What’s this for?” you ask teasingly when he pushes himself away from the car and kisses you softly before saying anything.
“A little something to celebrate your promotion.”
“How do you know I got it?” you ask, trying your best to sound serious. He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion.
“I knew you’d get it, who else would get it? Did they not fucking give it to you?” he asks, working himself up at the thought that you weren’t the one to get promoted.
“Relax, I got it,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him a little longer this time.
“I was ready to fight whoever I needed to,” he mumbles against your lips, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.
“What a gentleman,” you giggle pecking his lips again.
“That I am. And not just because I would throw a fist for my love, but because I knew you’d get it so I went ahead and booked us a mini vacation for this weekend. So let’s head home, you have thirty minutes to pack before we leave,” he smirks down at you, clearly satisfied with himself.
Harry is always full of surprises. In the one and half year you’ve been officially together, he never failed to surprise you with the tiniest things, make you feel loved and appreciated no matter how long you’ve been dating.
“Where are we going?” you ask in excitement, eyebrows shooting up on your forehead.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
Harry listened to every hint you’ve dropped how you’d love to spend some time away in some cabin in the woods, disconnecting from the world just for a little and he found the perfect place for that a few hours away. He knew you’d be the one to get promoted so he took the risk to book it weeks ahead, making sure you’ll have the perfect place for the celebration. You have a slight guess it’s gonna be like that because Harry is great at taking hints, but what you doesn’t know is that deep down his already packed suitcase, there’s a little velvety box with a ring inside it that he plans to put on your finger this weekend, hoping you’ll give him the answer he wants to hear.
And you will. Because you are head over heels in love with this man, have been for a while and you want to spend the rest of your life with him.
The two of you head home and your hand finds his over the shifting gear, lacing your fingers together with his. Glancing at you he kisses your knuckles, pressing a long kiss to your empty ring finger.
“I love you,” he tells you and the three little words never fail to make your heart flutter. While the lamp is still red you quickly lean over and steal a kiss from his soft, pink lips.
“I love you too, professor,” you tell him teasingly. He didn’t like it when you called him that back when he was still just your professor, but since the air has been clear, he grew a liking to it, especially because he can’t get enough of hearing you moan it in the bedroom.
You call him a lot of other pet names too. Baby, H, Har, Sweets, whatever comes to your mind while he likes calling you his baby, Angel, Princess or Love. And as the two of you head home he thinks about how he wants two new names to be added to the list. Husband and wife.
Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!
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mollygetssherlockcoffee · 8 months ago
Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve (Stucky x Reader)
Summary: Everyone is born with a Soulmate tattoo. Your tattoo consisted of a flower representing yourself and two other flowers...
Warning: Violence. Bit of angst. Possible swearing (honestly can't remember). Shower scene which isn't really spicy.
Words: 15,526
A/N: Massive thank you to @lokiscollar for Beta-reading this and to @sskhair for making the picture! Also, thank you to @buckyownsmylife for supporting me through this, and helping me when it got difficult. This was originally written for a request but, sadly, I can't find it - sorry!
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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a girl. She was born to a beautiful queen and a powerful king, and she was graced with the gifts of both her parents. Her beauty was unparalleled and power unmatched. They called her Valentina.
You threw the book to the ground, your nose scrunching in distaste. Even though you were bored to high hell, there was no way you could read an over-the-top fantasy romance novel. While you could read some of the trashiest stories known to man, but even you had a limit, and that limit has been met.
You pulled yourself up, swinging your legs off the dusty couch and standing to your feet. Fingers interlocking together, you stretched your arms over your head, moaning at the click in your back. Oh god, that felt good.
You had been cooped up in the safe house for three days. Following a successful mission in the south of France, you had travelled to west Austria to lay low for a few days. It wasn’t something that you were instructed to do, however, you like to take a few days for the news to die down slightly. Though there was no way of connecting you to the mission, you had been extremely careful, it was an extra safety measure that made sense in your mind.
As you walked over to the barely stocked kitchen, a beep sounded throughout the room. Abandoning your quest for the instant noodles, you walked over to the burner phone which laid on the coffee table.
Park Kultury i Wypoczynku.
Socks. Lerna. Snow.
Purple. Green. Yellow.
You deleted the message before dropping the phone on the floor, stomping on it with the heel of your boot. Grabbing the remains, you leave the small house. The woods behind the house are dense, expanding for more than ten miles. Grabbing a shovel which was leant against the house, you make your way into the trees, your mind playing over the instructions.
Park Kultury i Wypoczynku was a park located in Kielce, a city with over nine hundred years of history, within Poland. While you had never visited the area before, you knew it was only approximately two hours from the two local airports in Warsaw and Krakόw.
Tomorrow. 1800Hrs. That would be an easy time to make. There was no time difference to equate for and the plane would take no more than three hours, depending on which airport you chose. You would leave in the morning, scope out the park before the meeting.
Socks. The code words were ingrained within your mind after years of training. The first word always related to the amount of people who would be going on the mission. Socks, two, pair. There would be two people that would be meeting you in Kielce. It wasn’t uncommon for you to work in a team. You were known for being adaptable, able to fit in wherever and with whomever.
Lerna. The second word was the type of mission. Lake Lerna was located in the Mycenaean territory and was where the mythical Greek creature, the Hydra, lived. And that was what the word translated to: Hydra. Though nothing was detailed, you knew this would relate to the group which, over the years, had become smaller but was still prominent enough to be a threat. This mission could be to infiltrate a base, or a rescues mission, or a stake out, or something else completely. You wouldn’t know until you met with the other operatives.
Snow. The third word the location of where the mission would take place. Snow means Russia. Considering you would be starting your mission in Poland, that would mean you would have to leave no trace of ever being in Russia. It would be an easy task for you, you just hoped your soon-to-be teammates would be able to do it too.
Purple, green and yellow were the colours you would have to wear. They would be the identifiers to your soon-to-be teammates. They would also be wearing the colours in some way, allowing you to recognise them.
After burying the broken phone three minutes into the trees, you return to the safehouse. After adding boiled water to the instant noodles, you left it to ‘cook’ while you went into the box-sized bedroom.
The wardrobe in the bedroom was filled with clothes of various colours and sizes. Clothes could be taken by anyone, used to fulfil the colour requirements. Your normal wardrobe consists of dark colours, nothing that would stand out and draw attention, so you would need the aid of the safehouse wardrobe.
Searching through the wardrobe, it doesn’t take you long to find something suitable. A dark green coat, a yellow top, and a pair of purple gloves. It wasn’t exactly a good-looking outfit, but it would do.
The mirror beside the wardrobe caught your eyes as you were trying on the top. You hadn’t properly looked into a mirror for years, and the sight of the flowers drew your attention. Normally you would see them from an angle, your hand trying to flatten your left breast as you looked at the flowers which sat below, near your side.
Everyone in the world was born with flowers on their body. Some had them on their leg, their back, their arm. The places varied. While most people had two flowers, you had three, with the largest record being six, but that was over two-hundred years ago. One flower represented the person they were on, while the other, or, in your case, others, represented the persons soulmate. The soulmate flowers were a black and white outline until you met your soulmate, where they would bloom into colour.
Your eyes trailed over the flowers on your torso. Three beautiful flowers blossomed over your torso just below your breast. The only flower in colour was the Plumeria. The edges of the petals were a dark pink, becoming lighter as the colour progressed down the petal until it became almost white before turning yellow, which darked into its orange-red centre.
It was a beautiful flower, truly stunning. Growing up, you couldn’t understand how the flower represented you. when you looked at the flower, it brought forward a sense of calm and innocence. Two things your life was anything but. Your line of work was dangerous, full of death and with no view of innocence. With the fast pace of travelling and completing jobs, it wasn’t very calm either.
Now, however, you had grown attached to your flower. Perhaps you could see those qualities in yourself, now that you’re older. You have to remain calm in the face of a difficult situation, in the face of danger. And just because your job involved the death of others, that didn’t mean there wasn’t innocence to you. Those you had killed, there had been a reason for it. You had never taken an innocent life.
Or maybe there was no particular reason for the Plumeria being your flower.
The flowers of your soulmates were framing yours. Both to the right, one slightly above and one just below.
The one above was a beautiful rose, smooth edges of beautiful petals curling delicately. Currently black and white, you looked forward to seeing the colour it would become. Would it be red? Maybe yellow, or pink?
It made you wonder about the person it represented. In your mind, a rose was a traditional flower. Would they be a traditional person? A rose also symbolised love, strong love. Would they be passionate in their love for you? Though you had never been an overly lovey-dovey person, you hoped they would be.
The flower for your second soulmate has been harder to determine. You had looked at it for years, trying to figure out what it was. You still weren’t one-hundred percent certain, but your top guess was a sunflower. You loved sunflowers. You would only know when the colours bloomed.
A sunflower. Strong and sturdy. They seemed to persevere even through tough situations. Well, you had never actually seen a sunflower before, but that’s what they did in your mind. You wondered if your soulmate was the same? Were they strong? Were they tough? Did they persevere through tough situations?
Your fingers traced the lines of the flowers and you sighed. Would you ever meet them? Some people went through their life, never meeting their soulmate. Would you be one of those people? Saying that, in your line of work, maybe it would be better if you never met them. Meeting them would put all three of you in danger.
They would be a target for the enemies you had accumulated over the years. It wouldn’t be fair to bring them into your life, to put them in danger.
You pulled your shirt down, turning away from the mirror as your nose sniffled.
You would be fine on your own.
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You sat on a bench in Park Kultury i Wypoczynku, your eyes trailing over your surroundings as you sipped from the steaming paper-cup of coffee. Your purple gloved hands held the cup in clear view, your green coat left unzipped with your yellow top left on show.
Though the sun was setting, the weather wasn’t too harsh. A light breeze brushed at your hair. You shook your head slightly, making the brunette strands move over your shoulder. The wig sat snuggly on your scalp, blended in seamlessly, and the breeze was no match for it.
Something some people didn’t realise was that wigs didn’t have to be a completely different colour to your natural hair, for it to disguise you. You had worn wigs of all colours, various shades of a colour, and had even worn a wig the same exact colour of your hair once. The only thing you consistently changed was the style of the wig. Pixie cut, shoulder length… It always changed. Sometimes the best change was the most subtle.
The wig wasn’t the only change you had made to your appearance. Contact lenses changed the colour of your eyes. Extra pairs sat in the bottom of your bag, ready for you to swap.
Like you’d said, the smallest of changes could be the biggest mislead.
Your eyes wander over the park, which was sparsely populated. Children played on a climbing frame, parents sitting at a picnic bench and discussing their day. You watched people pass through the park, cutting through to get to the place they needed to be.
Then your eyes caught sight of the dark green shoes. A man walked towards you; head tilted down with a yellow baseball cap covering his eyes from view. Around his neck, trailing over his thick shoulders, was a dark purple scarf.
Blue eyes met yours as he looked up, and your breath caught in your throat. You recognised him instantly, his structured face being one that you had seen in a museum years ago. He was more breath taking in person, which is a feat considering how good he looked in the pictures.
“Nice evening, huh?” Steve Rogers said, taking a seat beside you on the bench.
“Pleasant” you agreed, nodding.
Moments later, a third person joins you both. Their green, almost black, bag drops to their feet as they stuff their purple and yellow stripped jumper into it. “Who picks the colours for this thing? I’m tellin’ ya, yellow is not my colour. Red, red, is my colour.”
Resting your paper cup between your knees, you zip your coat up, hiding your top. Your shoulders wiggled as you cozied into the warmth of the coat, your chest warming up. “It’s many other people’s colour too.” You nod towards the woman in a fitted red coat, then the man with the red scarf, then a young woman with red tights.
“Okay, well, red wouldn’t be the only colour, would it?” he sassed, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked around.
“Hmm, you would want to add grey, wouldn’t you Mr Wilson?” You smiled into the lip of your cup. “Though I’m sure Mr Rogers would prefer blue and white.”
“Oh, so we’ve got-” Sam began, shifting in his seat to face you, before he was interrupted.
“We seem to be at a disadvantage. You know who we are, but we don’t know you” Steve observed, his eyes flickering to you.
You swallowed the mouthful of coffee, swirling the cooling liquid at the bottom of the cup. “Valentina.”
“That’s not your real name, is it?” He sighs.
“Who knows” you shrug, standing and walking to the bin beside the bench. “There’s a safe house three miles north of here. I trust you can follow the directions you’ve been given.”
“Wait, what directions? I thought you would be giving us the directions” Sam asks, standing up as if to you follow you.
“I’ve given them to you” you smirk at him, patting the pocket of your jacket before you walk away.
For an Avenger, you had to admit that Sam Wilson was not very observant. It was too easy to slip the paper into the pocket of his coat without him noticing. Hopefully, this was because he was not ‘in the zone’, so to speak, rather than an actual lack of observational skills.
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“There’s a Hydra base in Russia, eleven miles from the Ukraine border. We can take the E105 partway, then deviate to cross the border. We get to the Polish border by car, ditch the car, cross, then we can get another car to Kharkiv” Steve said, leaning over the table which held the map. He pointed to a spot on the map, “We’ll cross into Ukraine here.” His finger paths a way across the map. “There’s a town here where we should be able to find a car. We can take that to the Russian border. It’ll take us roughly eighteen hours to get to the border of Russia. We’ll get a few hours rest and then move into position and take down the base. We’ll then travel north to Finland, which should take approximately twenty hours. Tony will have sent us a pick-up.”
“Who would have thought that America’s golden boy would be willing, well, suggesting, to steal a car” you chuckled to yourself, swallowing the mouthful of instant noodles.
“Borrowing, not stealing” he corrected with a firm glance.
“Why are we having to go there by car, why can’t we just take the jet?” Sam asked, picking at his own food.
“We can’t come up on Russia’s radar, or close to it” Steve informed him. “They’re still trying to get Bucky and it would look bad if we’re found on Russian soil, or in their air space, until that’s sorted.”
“And let me guess, I’m here as a scapegoat type of thing?” You guessed. “If we’re caught, I’m the distraction. We make it look like it was my organisation, rather than it being you guys.”
“Yeah” Steve confirmed with a heavy sigh.
You nodded. As soon as you had seen Steve, you had guessed that would be the plan. There was no other reason for you being part of the team. Why would the Avengers need your help for intercepting a Hydra base?
It was simple: they didn’t.
Though your organisation worked with the Avengers on occasion, this was the first time you had been involved in infiltrating a Hydra base. Missions involving Hydra were normally restricted to scouting and reporting information back to the Avengers, before they took the base down.
The thought of your organisation putting you up to be the scapegoat annoyed you, there was no denying that. You had been loyal to them for more than fifteen years, since you were a child. And yet, they were ready to throw you to the wolves, so to speak. If you were caught, your organisation would take the blame, but they wouldn’t endeavour to get you back.
This was their way of telling you that you were no longer of top use to them. You had gone from being their top agent, to being at the bottom of the barrel. And that made your blood boil. You were part of the top three agents, with a near perfect success rate and now, suddenly, you were disposable?
“We leave at first light” Steve ordered, looking between you and Sam. “Get some rest.”
Throwing his rubbish in the bin, Sam grabbed his rucksack and went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He would be sharing the lumpy double bed with Steve, though you didn’t know how they would both fit, while you would take the couch.
It was quiet for a few moments before Steve spoke again, “When this is over… you’re going to go after them, aren’t you?”
“Which no doubt means that we’ll be seeing each other again in the near future, when they send you after me” you confirmed, tipping the plastic container back to drink the broth.
“You don’t have to, you know?” he sighs.
“Steve, I’m expendable. You know what that means right?” your right eyebrow raised as your head tilted slightly. “They’re going to find a way to get rid of me. More dangerous missions with less back up. Hey, they might just send someone after me, who knows.” You shrug, leaning back in your chair. “Either way, if their plan, which I know they have, succeeds… I’ll be dead in a year.”
It was quiet as Steve processed your words. You were right, he knew you were. Your agency worked with the Avengers through the Accords and though Steve didn’t like what they stood for, at the present time, there wasn’t much he could do.
Your agency wasn’t bad, necessarily. Like the Avengers, they took out the bad people. When the time came for an agent of theirs to ‘retire’, they were either passed on to another organisation or they were disposed of. It wasn’t personal, it was business. It was just the way it worked.
If you went against them, like you planned, you would be labelled as ‘Rogue’ and, depending on how skilled you were at avoiding your own people, other organisations, such as the Avengers, might be brought it to take you down.
Steve didn’t know you, you’d met mere hours earlier, but you didn’t seem like the typical agent that he had worked with. He had worked with others from your agency before. They were cold, distant, hard. They gave off the I kill people, good and bad, and I like it vibe, as Sam labelled it. Steve was a good judge of character, he could get a natural feel of people, and nothing about you seemed to match with the others.
Steve wasn’t stupid though. He knew that you had killed people, that was your job. You didn’t give off the aura of particularly enjoying it.
Still, that didn’t matter. You were right. You would be dead within a year. The Avengers couldn’t take in everyone who had come to the end of their employment, but Steve found himself wanting to find a way of getting you in his team. Alas, that wasn’t his decision. Maybe he could speak to Tony, who would know the people who would be able to request you to join their ranks.
It would have to wait until after this mission though, they had a Hydra base to take down. Steve stood from his chair, making his way towards the bedroom. “Get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
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It had taken you two hours to get to the Ukrainian border. It was easy to cross the border, going through a field with a simple stone marker with no patrol. It would probably be the simplest part of the trip, with the border to Russia posing more of a challenge.
At a steady jog, you had made it to the outskirts of a town eight miles from the border within an hour.
“This is a small town, sparsely populated” you informed the two men. “Barely four hundred people within a fifty-mile radius. Minimal security, only actually in the buildings.” “And you know this how?” Sam asks, leaning around Steve to get a look at you.
“Steve planned the journey, and I researched the route” you reasoned, not even making eye contact with the man. “There are internet cafes that are open twenty-four-seven. You should be more prepared, Sam.”
“I’m prepared” he scoffed. “I just didn’t stay up all night researching a town which we’re just going to pass through.”
“Maybe if you had researched the town, you would have come to the same conclusion that I did: all three of us entering the town will draw attention. They don’t have many visitors” you say. “But it’s okay, Sam, I understand that you needed to sort your little bird’s nest out before bed.”
“Birds nest?!” he questions, his head tilts to the side, hands flying to his hips.
“Sorry, Falcon’s nest” you correct with an innocent smile. “I hope you found enough twigs.”
“Would you two pack it in” Steve scolds, shooting you both a look. He gives out a heavy sigh as he eyes Sam, “This is worse than when you talk to Bucky.”
“Anyway,” you bring the conversation back on track. “As I was saying, all three of us entering the town would draw unwanted attention. It would be best if I go alone and grab us a car. As a woman, I am less likely to draw attention. You two can circle the town and meet me on the other side.”
Agreeing with your plan, Steve took your bag. It was a simple enough plan, but you would blend in better without the bulk of your bag. You kept the little tool bag hidden within your coat and agreed to meet with the boys five minutes outside of the town.
You zipped your jacket up, pulling the hood up and wrapping your scarf tightly around your neck. You enter the town at a causal pace, keeping a pleasant smile on your face and returning the polite greeting of an elderly couple.
The town was quiet, as was expected at seven in the morning. Very few people lined the street, though you took note of a small coffee shop which seemed to hold at least five customers and two employees, one of whom was gazing lazily out of the window.
You knew you wouldn’t be able to pass through the town unnoticed, it wasn’t like they had a lot of visitors. However, you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself unnecessarily. So, you kept your hands in your pockets and your scarf pulled up. You avoided looking at anything for too long, taking a quick, by full, glance before moving on.
It didn’t take you long to pass a side street which had a car parked close to the edge. After a quick glance around, seeing no one in view, you slipped into the small street between two tall buildings. The side street held no surveillance, as you had expected and apart from the car there was only a large industrial bin.
Checking behind yourself, you slide your hand into your jacket and pulling out the small lock-pick tool kit. Within minutes, you’re driving the car out of the alleyway and towards the side road which leads out of town.
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“Hey. I stole – sorry, borrowed, a car” you grinned, leaning across the seat so that Steve and Sam could see you through the passenger window.
Steve gave you a look of disapproval as you climbed over the middle console, and he took his place in the driver’s seat and Sam got in the back. It was a long drive ahead and you were all going to take turns on who was driving.
Less than ten minutes into the drive, you heard a heavy sigh from the backseat. You glanced in the rear-view mirror, watching as Sam gazed at the screen of his phone. His thumb hesitated for a moment before sliding across the screen and he smiled at whatever he was looking at. He slid his thumb across the screen again and, this time, laughed at what he saw.
“You brought your phone with you?” you asked, turning in your seat to look at him.
“What? Is that a crime?” he asked, face still turned down, but his eyes lifted to look at you.
“Well,” you sighed, shrugging as you turned back around. “It’s not advisable. If you lose it, god knows who could find it and use it against you.”
“You’re a bundle of joy, aren’t you?” he snorted. “It’s heavily encrypted, you’d have to be a technological genius to get into it. Stark level.”
You twisted slightly, holding your hand out behind you. “Give it here.”
You heard the click of the phone being locked and then it’s placed into your hand. Your fingers grasped the edges of the phone and you bring it around to your front. With the screen black, you lifted the phone to your eye level and titled it back slightly. Squinting slightly, you can see the grease marks on the screen. The largest spots show the area which has mostly been touched.
You woke the phone up, watching as the numbers came on the screen. Tilting the phone again, you took note of the numbers which correlate with the grease prints. One, six, seven and nine. The lock code was comprised of seven numbers.
You thought for a few moments, staring out of the window blindly. There were multiple combinations which could be made with these numbers. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the phone.
“Angela says that she expects you to take her to a Broadway show” you inform Sam after a few minutes. “And after, she wants to f-”
“Okay, that’s enough” he quickly leaned forward, grabbing the phone from my grasp. “How did you do that?
“The grease prints show which area is mostly pressed, which I attributed to which numerical button was pressed for the passcode” You explained. “Numbers one, six, seven and nine. Your passcode is made up of seven numbers. If either the day or the month is that of a single number, it could be a date. No offense, Sam, but with your age, a date would naturally be your go-to. However, you are smart. You wouldn’t use your date of birth, so, you’d use another important date. I just had to run the numbers, took me a few tries but… I got there. It was basic psychology and mathematical evaluation.”
“But there were hundreds of combinations that you could make from those numbers” Steve protested in astonishment.
“Mmm” you agreed. “Like I said, it took me a few tries. I got lucky because I started with the earliest possible dates. Eleven-seven-nineteen-sixty-nine. I would suggest changing your password and making it a code which isn’t date related. What did the date mean, anyway?”
“So, what, you studied psychology or something?” Steve questioned.
“Not really” you explained. “In my line of word, you need to be able to read people.”
And it was true, you did need to be able to read people. You needed to be able to read peoples intentions within moments of meeting them and failure to do so could get you killed. Reading people was key to getting the job done, to progressing in your career. A career which seemed to now be coming to an end.
Still, that wasn’t something you should focus on now. With a mission coming up which could turn bad at any moment, you didn’t need to dwell on future possibilities. Being stressed could lead to a lack of focus during the mission, something which you didn’t need. You needed to keep your mind light, off of the stress which was sure to come in the future.
“So, Angela, who’s she?” you distracted yourself, watching Sam closely.
Throwing a glance over at Steve, he muttered, “No one.” “A fling?” you asked. His jaw tense minutely, you barely caught it. “Not a fling… Girlfriend….wife?” he was slowly becoming more tense. “Soulmate.”
Sam looked back at you for a moment, and you knew you had it. Sam had found his soulmate, and her name was Angela. Smirking at being right, you reclined in your seat, head lulling to the headrest as your arms crossed over your chest.
“Change your password periodically, change her name in your phone, don’t have a picture of her as a lock screen… and don’t bring your personal phone on a mission again” you advise him. “I wouldn’t use her against you, but I know plenty of people who would. And those are the people who work for my organisation, who probably wouldn’t hurt her, just hold her from you… never mind if someone else go hold of her.”
You may not know Sam well, but you were not a cruel person. You respected him. Yes, you had bantered throughout your short time together, but he was never rude, and he had never threatened you in anyway.
And soulmates were something you didn’t touch. You would never use a person’s soulmate against them.
You didn’t think you would get your future with your soulmates, but that didn’t mean someone else should miss out on their chance. Sam was a nice man, seemingly a good man. He had found his soulmate and, by all appearances, was very happy with her. In his line of work, it was fair to say Angela would be in a fair amount of danger. If you could help Sam protect her, even in such a small way, that would be good, you think.
“What about you Steve? Have you found your soulmate?” you ask.
“Yeah” he confirms, obviously not one to lie. “And you?”
“No” you shake your head, glancing out the window. “I don’t think I ever will. It’s not in the cards for me, Cap.”
“Why do you think that?”
You rub at your nose, sighing heavily. “I’ve met hundreds of people, from all around the globe, and nothing. I spent years looking for them but… nothing. And with the way this mission is likely to go, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever find them.”
“Well, you’re a bundle of joy” Sam broke the tense silence after a few minutes.
“That’s why people call me ‘Sunshine’” you joke, giving a fake-cutesy smile.
It was true, though. You didn’t think you would get the opportunity to find your soulmate.
Before, you had been okay with that. But that was when it was your choice. When you had decided that you didn’t want to find them because it would be better for them, safer, it was okay because that decision was made by you. But now, with how things could go, it felt like the choice was never with you.
And that was something you had to accept.
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The rest of the drive was relatively quiet. Steve and Sam had conversations here and there, but you kept mostly to yourself, either pretending to sleep or focusing on driving when it was your turn.
It had taken just over seventeen hours to make it to the Russian border, thanks to a heavy foot on the accelerator which Steve didn’t appreciate. You abandoned the car in a parking lot of an old supermarket, the shop rundown and the neighbour sparsely populated.
It took another hour to find the right spot to cross the border without being seen. Crouched in front of the metal fence, Steve and Sam huddled around you and kept an eye out. You accepted the small compact blow-torch from Sam’s pack – “One of our guys came up with the design. Nice, right?” – and pulled out your wire cutters.
You weren’t going to lie, this was significantly easier than you thought it would be. Once you had found the right spot, it has taken you less than ten minute to create the hole, go through, and repair it. Now, you we’re hugely invested in border control but honestly, you were expecting more security.
“There’s an abandoned gas station a few miles from here, we can rest in there for a few hours before making our move” Steve decided, shouldering his bagged shield before moving.
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“Do you want to meet your soulmate?” Steve quietly asked a few hours later.
Sam was asleep, resting while Steve kept first watch. You were meant to be asleep too, but your brain couldn’t shut off. You wanted to get this mission over and done with, you wanted what was going to happen, to happen. Then, you could move on. Deal with whatever consequences appeared.
“I don’t know” you reply honestly. “I mean, why would I want to subject them to this kind of life? To having me, a trained killer who brings danger with them everywhere they go, as their soulmate? It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, they’d be okay without me. They have each other.”
It took a few seconds for Steve to process your words. “You have two soulmates?”
“Yeah. They’ve found each other, I think. I just… I can feel it, you know?” you sighed. “I can’t describe it, but I just know they have one another. But anyway, what about you? Tell me about your soulmate, what are they like?”
“His name is Bucky” it comes out as a near whisper, a hint of a smile on Steve’s lips as he thinks about his soulmate. “I met him when I was a kid, we knew without even looking at our flowers… then… I lost him. I found him again though. It took time but… I got him back.”
“Bucky as in…Bucky Barnes? The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes?” you questioned, sitting up from your position curled up on the floor.
“Yeah” he tensed at the name given to his soulmate.
“They searched for you, you know? Hydra. They saw his tattoo, they knew that you would be able to bring him back from their control and they wanted to destroy you, prevent that from happening” you told him. “I remember finding the documents in a long dead agents’ office. They gave up searching for the Soldier’s soulmate in the eighties.”
Steve sighed as he rested his head back against the wall, arm laid on his propped-up knee. Through the shadows which were casted across the gas station, you watched as he closed his eyes in thought.
Growing up, you had heard stories of the relationship between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. As far as you were aware though, they were just best-friends, boy-hood friends who had an unbreakable bond. Nowhere had it said they were soulmates. In a way, you understood. Soulmates were a private matter; the whole world didn’t need to know about them. Especially in their field of work.
“I was still in the ice” he sighed eventually. “He waited for me… for years. Whether he knew he was waiting or not. I suppose… we were lucky they had never found me.”
“The Winter Soldier did some terrible things” you observed. “But that doesn’t make him a terrible person. If they found you… well, you would have lived but you would have been part of Hydra. From all accounts, Bucky was a strong, loyal man… If they could change him, there was a possibility that they could change you and if that happened… anyway, I think you came out of the ice at the right time. It was the time when Earth needed you, and it was in time for when Bucky needed you to get him out.”
Steve was quiet for a moment, taking your words into consideration. You were right. Bucky was one of the strongest men that Steve had ever known, and if Hydra was able to break him… well, honestly, Steve didn’t want to think about that.
“And what about your soulmate, you said you hadn’t met them yet?” Steve inquired, shifting to face you better.
“No” you shook your head. “I think it’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to bring them into this lifestyle.” “Wouldn’t it be better to let them decide?” he asked.
“If you could have stopped Bucky from going through all that hell, would you have?” you questioned. He nodded and you continued, “I don’t want to put them at risk. Besides, as I said, I might not even make it through this mission.”
“Valentina…” he said your fake name softly. You raised a brow, giving him a small, sad smile. “You’re one of the top agents in your organisation, you’re not going to go down on this mission… and you don’t have to go after your boss, we can see about moving you to join our team.”
“Steve… Do you honestly think your bosses would take me on? You can’t take in every stray puppy” you sighed. “You should get some rest. I’ll take over until its Sam’s turn.”
Steve wanted to argue, you could see it on his face, but he knew you were right. So, he slid down the wall and laid on his back, staring at the stained ceiling for a few moments before closing his eyes.
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The base was small and seemingly deserted. The small field was bare, covered in a layer of snow which partly covered the entrance to the Hydra base. The entrance was inside of a small hill, the door partially covered with the frozen rain but still visible enough for you to find.
Your knife was held in your hand, which rested at your hip. Crouched slightly, you made your way through the base. To your knowledge, this base should have minimal agents, if any at all. It was a quiet base in a secluded area, it was meant to be a ‘pass through’ for agents but that didn’t mean it was deserted.
As you were making your way through the entrance corridor, you heard voices at the end of the hall. It didn’t seem to be talk of anything important, just about their plans to go out into the closest town and find a woman to bed. The typical talk of men starved for attention.
Your small group of three stopped just before the opening, standing with your backs to the walls and peaking to see the Hydra agents. You gave a nod to the boys before stepping around Steve, making your way towards the agents.
It took less than a moment for them to notice you, but it was enough for you to get close. Your right arm reached out, grasping the agent on the right and pulling his towards you as you kicked the other agent back. Off balance by you suddenly pulling him, stumbled slightly before regaining his footing.
His hand grasped your wrist, twisting and pulling it to the side. You allowed it, sending quick jab to the throat which had his hand flying to his neck as he choked for breath. You turned to attention to the other agent, dropping down and spinning your leg out. As you moved to stand up, you pulled your knife from its holster and quickly stabbed it into the agent’s chest. Without missing a beat, you removed the knife, walked to the other agent, and finished him.
“Clear” you called, barely loud enough for Steve and Sam to hear.
The men came out into the open, stepping over the agents and continuing down the hallway.
Steve turned back to you and Sam, giving quick signals before breaking off to the left. Sam, being grounded as they didn’t want to chance someone catching sight of his wings, took the corridor straight ahead. This left you to go right.
Going through an area with possibly numerous enemies wasn’t necessary new for you. You have been in the business for years and had gained an impressive set of skills. You were often sent on missions with numerous targets alone. However, the level of training those targets had varied.
Hydra agents were known for being well trained, mainly because if they weren’t, they would be used for bait by their own team. You had heard of stories before. Agents not trained to the standards Hydra requested were sent to higher ranking agents to be used as target practice.
Your steps were even and steady, your mind clear. The mission was simple. Scout the base for any agent and, if you find them, take them down. On the way out, plant the explosives. Once clear, detonation. It was a simple plan.
“I’m in the security room” Sam’s voice came through the earpiece. “One security guard, down. Cap, you’ve got four agents up ahead. Valentina, you’ve got three. There’s another three in my section. All else looks clear.”
“Copy” you and Steve confirm quietly before the line goes silent.
The corridor turned left at the end and you stopped and turned your back against the wall. You crouched down, peering around the corner. The corridor opened into an open space where three agents sat at a round table, playing cards. It was clear Hydra didn’t have a lot of work available for them at the moment.
You reached into the holster around your ankle, pulling out the small throwing knife. You flipped the blade, grasping the tip between two fingers as you assessed the situation, working out the best method to take them all out.
You waited until they were slightly more distracted. The agent facing you was looking down at his cards, smiling at his dealt hand while his comrades looked at him in, seemingly, disbelief. With quick steps, you rush around the corner and straight for the men. As the first agent begins to look up at you, you throw the knife.
His two comrades, who had been sitting either side of him, looked towards you upon seeing the knife impaled in the agent’s chest. They reached for their guns and as you went towards the man on your left, you kicked your leg into the chest of the agent on the right.
You knocked the first agent’s gun to the side with your arm, his hold was weak where he’s using only one hand. His other hand comes to you in a first, which you duck, bringing your knife forward to impale between his ribs and into his heart.
In the seconds it’s taken you to disarm the first agent, the second has pulled his gun free of his holster. You’re able to dodge the bullet, his aim slightly wide, and grab for the first agent’s gun. While guns are not your go-to weapon, you’re proficient. Your aim isn’t wide, and the bullet hits the agent’s throat.
You dropped the agent’s gun at his feet, he was dead, it would be of no use to him.
You pulled a small device from the attachment at your waist. Your finger trails over the small surface, your nail catching the tiny switch on the side. You attached it to the wall, pressing firmly to make sure that it stuck.
You returned to the hallway, pulling out more of the small explosives and attaching them to the walls as you went. The explosives were linked to a detonator in the possession of Steve, who would activate it once you were a safe distance away.
“All set here” you report into the earpiece, heading back to the entrance of the base.
“Sam?” Steve checked up.
“Downloaded the intel and heading back now” Sam confirmed.
You turned the last corner, jogging to the crossroad section. You met with Steve, the Captain holding the detonator in one hand, with the shield on his back. Less that a minute later, Sam was joining you both and you were making your way out of the base.
The sun was a fair distance in the sky as you left. The three of you running to the treeline before Steve activated the detonator which took out the base. The small hill shook and for a moment, you thought it would crumble in on itself. It stood firm, though a puff of dirt and smoke drifted from the hidden entrance door.
“There goes Bilbo’s house,” Sam commented. He seemed to realise who he was standing beside then, and quickly went to explain, “That’s a character on-”.
“The Hobbit, I know” Steve nodded. “That was one of Bucky’s favourite books.” “They’ve been made into movies now” you inform him, following after him as he walked away from the destroyed base and further into the trees. “Lee Pace plays Thranduil, the elven king. Super-hot, by the way. Loved the hair.”
“You’re into long hair? Seriously?” Sam asked, leaning around Steve to look at you.
“Need something to hold onto,” you shrugged. Your eyes flickered to Steve where he had the beginning of a smirk on his lips. “He knows what I’m talking about.” “No, no” the Captain denied quickly, holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence.
“Doesn’t Bucky have long hair? He did in the pictures. Or has he cut it?” You teased, biting your lip to stop the giggles.
“Can we stop this sexy-time talk? I don’t need to think about Steve and Tin-man” Sam pretended to heave.
“I thought you’d be kinkier” you commented, sending him a wink when he glared at you. You changed the subject after a moment, “Anyway, we need to find get our bags, get ourselves a car and start heading North.”
It took you another two hours to retrieve your bags and then find a town that was large enough for you to steal a car without too high of a chance of being noticed. You followed the same plan as you did in the Ukrainian town, leaving Steve and Sam to wait while you entered the area alone.
It took you less than twenty minutes to find a suitable vehicle and hotwire it. You stuck to the backroads to get out of town, picking up Steve and Sam before hitting the main highway to get away from the town.
“Valentina will drive for three hours, then I’ll drive for a further three, then Sam, it’ll be your turn,” Steve instructed, moving around in the passenger seat to find a comfortable position. “Then we’ll repeat the cycle.”
“Valentina,” Sam repeated slowly, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before you turn your focus back onto the road. “You gonna tell us your real name?”
“Does it matter?” you asked him, throwing on the indicator and switching lanes.
“Come on, you know ours,” he said, kicking at the back of your seat. “You’re an Avenger, whose face has been plastered on surfaces around the world” you rolled your eyes. “Of course, I know your names.”
“What harm could it do to tell us your name? I mean, we could find it out anyway,” he argues. “I’m just being polite and asking you.”
It was true, they could easily ask your organisation for name. Being the Avengers, they would be given the information, especially considering you were no longer a valued asset. You knew that while Steve probably wouldn’t look into you after this mission, not until he was potentially ordered to take you down, you knew the curiosity would overpower Sam and send him searching for your name.
“Y/N,” you finally told them. “My name is Y/N.”
Steve softly repeated your name to himself, while Sam just nodded in acceptance. The car was silent then, and you focused your attention on the road ahead.
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“Y/N, Y/N,” a hand on your shoulder shook you awake, and you were quick to slap it away. “We need to ditch the car, then it’s a two mile walk to the border.”
Running a hand over your face and releasing a large yawn, you pushed yourself to sit up. Blinking your eyes awake, your body shivered as the last of the peaceful sleep left you. Reaching forward, you opened the car door and slid out, grabbing your bag from the floor.
“How fast we’re you driving?” You asked Sam, taking note of the sun not being as high as you expected.
“Angela is waiting for me” he defended with a shrug. “Come on, the quinjet it three miles from the border, five miles from here.”
“I need a hot shower desperately,” you groaned, rubbing at the base of your back before putting your bag over your shoulders.
“You need it,” Sam jested, poking your arm. “There are showers on the jet.”
“If you think I smell bad… Angela won’t want to be anywhere near you,” you snarked.
“Calm it down, kids” Steve commented, shaking his head at the two of you.
You took a few moments to cover the car with a few branches, just enough to conceal it for a few hours. Then, you jogged to catch up with Steve and Sam. The Finnish border was sparsely patrolled, and it was easy for you all to cross the border.
It didn’t take long for you to travel far enough into Finland, to spot the quin-jet which had been sent to take you back to America. The quin-jet was large and imposing, standing out amongst the Finnish landscape.
At the top of the ramp, a man stood watching your approaching group. Even from a fair distance, the man was imposing. He was tall, with broad shoulders and thick thighs. His hair was cut short, and even from this distance it looked fluffy. You could see he had a strong jaw, hidden under a light scruff.
As he took a step out of the shadows of the quin-jet, a low ray of light could his arm.
His metal arm.
You had to fight to not freeze at the sight of him. Though he was no longer the Winter Soldier, fist of Hydra, he was still a threat. He was the world’s most successful and prolific assassin. There had never been someone as successful in the business as him, and there probably never would be.
Yes, he was reformed now, and it wasn’t his fault that he had been forced to kill people. However, he still has the skill set to take you down without breaking a sweat. It was a normal human response to be cautious of a predator. It wasn’t about whether they were going to hurt you, but rather that they could.
Beside you, Steve released a breath, as if releasing the tension from his body, as he saw his soulmate.
From the stories that you had heard from those who had found their soulmates, being separated from your soulmate was not a happy experience. There was the usual matter of missing the person you love, but your body would also be filled with pent up tension until you were reunited.
“Buck,” Steve greeted, pulling the other man into a hug. Their foreheads touched, noses brushing together gently. They pulled away from each other, Steve taking a step away from Bucky.
“You’re early” Bucky observed, looking from Steve to you and Sam. “Sam driving?”
“He’s got a hot date to get to” you playfully punched Sam’s arm before introducing yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Barnes, I’m Y.N.”
“Mmm,” he nodded at you before turning to Sam, “Hurry up, Bird-brain.”
Bucky headed back into the quin-jet, softly bumping Steve as he passed in a way of acknowledgement of his partner. As he took the shield from its place on his back, Steve looked at you over his shoulder.
“He’s not very trusting of new people” he explained.
“It’s okay” you excused, shrugging the apology away. “But like we said before, I want a shower. As soon as possible. I feel gross.” “Wait until we get in the air. Then, go down there” Steve directed, pointing to a small corridor. “second door on the right. The jets only big enough for one shower, so don’t take too long.”
“Yeah, I want some of that hot water, Valentina” Sam teased, pointing at you warningly.
“You know that’s not my name” your eyes rolled, glancing back at the ramp lifting to close when it made a slight noise.
“It’s cute, though” Sam shrugged, walking backwards away from you and further into the jet.
Snorting softly with a shake of your head, you left to go to the showers as you felt the jet start to take flight. You entered the small shower room, locking the door behind you. The room was small, holding a small shower and single cabinet. Attached to the back of the door was a full-length mirror.
You set your bag on the floor, pulling out a change of clothes and setting them on the counter. Opening the cabinet, you pulled out a thick, soft, cream towel. You ran your thumb over the towel, letting out a pleased hum before setting it on the counter with the clothes. You glanced into the shower cubical, checking to see that there were shampoo and soup in there.
You quickly stripped your clothes, dropping them on the floor and stepping into the shower. You couldn’t hold back the shriek when you turned the shower on, jets of ice-cold water hitting your skin. You jump back, your back against the wall to try and avoid the cold water.
The water heats up within seconds and then you’re quickly wetting your hair. It felt like it had been ages since you had last washed your hair. The strands heavy against your shoulders as the water-soaked in. Quickly washing your hair, you ran palmfuls of conditioner into your hair.
You lowered the head on the shower to chest-level. You twist your body slightly, letting the water run over your showers. You moan as the heat hits your tired body. You had been cooped up in a car for days and your muscles were strained and tired. You ached, muscles slightly twisted from the position you were in, in the car.
Now that the mission was over, you would have to go underground for a while before taking your next step. You would need time, however long or short, to decompress before moving forward. You would need to confront your organisation, find out why you were suddenly expendable when you were one of their most successful assets.
That was the plan. Go to a safehouse for a few days and let your muscles relax, then your new mission would start. You would need to get access to the files, which contained the information you needed, was located in a secure location. First, you would need to attend base, to find that location. You would need to scope out the area before infiltrating it.
It was going to be a lot of work.
Grabbing the soap, you quickly wash the grime off your body. As your hands pass over your body, you fingers massaging the tired muscles. You lifted the shower head back to its original position, stepping under the spray. Your fingers brushed through your tangled hair as the conditioner washed out. The strands aren’t as soft as they would have been with your own brand of conditioner, but it was much better than it was previously.
Squeezing the access water out of your hair, you shut the water off. Exiting the shower, you quickly grab the towel and crunch your hair in it to remove as much water as possible. You brought the towel to the front of your body, bring it over your arms and wiping the water away.
As you run the towel down your torso, a flash of colour catches your attention. It can’t be.
Pulling the towel away from your body, you step closer to the mirror. Your soulmate flowers were fully coloured-in. The rose is a vibrant red, standing out brightly against your skin. The petals had slight shadows from where they curl over themselves. The other flower was exactly what you thought it would be, a sunflower. The centre was a dark black and the petals were a beautifully bright yellow.
They were beautiful.
You’ve met your soulmates, but who could they be? You’d been with Steve and Sam for the past few days, but you’d never been in a position to see your flowers. You had also come into contact with a few people in the towns you passed through and the Hydra agents you had taken out at the base. Oh god, what if it was one of them?
No, it couldn’t be them. Flowers were a representative of the people they were attached to.
Roses were traditional and often represented love. Those values had to represent someone you knew, or had met. It wouldn’t represent the Hydra agents, nothing they did was to do with love, and it wasn’t traditional in the true sense of the word.
You hadn’t been in contact with anyone in the towns long enough to determine whether they were like a rose. However, something told you that they weren’t a fit. Sam was not a rose at all, with his youthful playfulness, you wouldn’t be surprised if his flower was a purple crocus. And so, that left one person.
Steve would be perfectly represented perfectly by a rose. He was a traditional man. He followed and believed in the tradition of his country, which was also shown on his Captain America uniform. White, purity and innocence. Red, hardiness and valour. Blue, vigilance, perseverance and justice. Those were values which shone through in Steve clearly. He was pure, brave and just, fighting for what was right, even if it broke the rules.
Of all the people you have come into contact with, Steve was the mostly likely to be your soulmate.
Yet, he already has a soulmate, Bucky. Then again, you had a second soulmate… it was possible that you’re the second soulmate to the both of them, even though Steve didn’t mention having another soulmate.
Your knowledge of Bucky Barnes was limited to that which you had learned by scouring databases. He was a survivor of Hydra, having survived the brainwashing and torture they put him through. If that wasn’t a show of strength, you didn’t know what was. Like a sunflower, he was strong and sturdy, he managed to stay standing when Hydra and, at times, the world tried to bring him down.
So… as an educated guess… Steve and Bucky were your soulmates.
Your aversion of soulmates was because of the danger that you could bring them. In an attempt to be used against you, they could be harmed. Though Steve and Bucky were both super soldiers, there were still ways that they could be hurt in order to get to you.
There was no way that you could keep this from them. They would see their soulmate tattoos and would know that it was you. You would need to get away quickly, before they put the pieces together and realised it was you. You had to get away before they convinced you to stay with them.
You had to get moving.
Shaking your head, you quickly finished drying off before getting dressed. You dropped the towel in the small cubby just outside of the bathroom, labelled ‘laundry’. You quickly grab your bag and hurry back to the main area of the jet, dropping the bag near the jet’s door.
You headed towards the cockpit where Steve, Bucky and Sam sat together. As you got closer, you could hear them talking to each other, and you slowed your pace to be able to listen to their hushed conversation.
“No, I don’t think we could stop her,” Steve sighs. “Her organisation has listed her as expendable, and she’s going to want to know why. She’s either going to find them and find out why, probably resulting in us getting called in to deal with her. Or they’re going to send her on a suicide mission before she gets the chance to start investigating.” “Or they’re just going to put a hit out on her” Bucky suggested. “Either way, she’ll be dead within a month.”
“Guys, come on, there’s gotta be something we can do” Sam pleaded, his voice filled with disbelief.
“I don’t think there is anything we can do” Steve replies.
“There’s not” you say, stepping into the cockpit and gaining their attention. “Every road leads back to me being dead. I can either die knowing why I became expendable, or I die without knowing.”
“That’s not right, man” Sam shook his head.
“It’s just business” you shrugged before changing the subject. “The shower’s free… Better get in there, might not be much hot water left.”
For a moment it seemed like Sam wanted to argue but then he sighed heavily and stood up, leaving the cockpit. You took Sam’s vacated seat, looking between the two seats in front of you and out of the cockpit window. The sky was mostly clear, a sparse patterning of fluffy white clouds across a bright blue sky.
Your eyes trailed from the window to the people sitting just in front of you. Steve and Bucky. Your soulmates.
When you were younger, you had looked for them. You had wanted to find them, to have the other parts of your soul. And now here they were, right in front of you, and you were saying nothing to them. It was very unlikely that they knew you were the missing piece to their puzzle, or they would have said something. At least, Steve would have said something.
You would need to find a way to survive this trip and disappear before they could see their tattoos.
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Bucky’s eyes followed you as you left the cockpit after asking how long it would take to get back to New York. You seemed to be impatient to return, sighing when he had told you it would be just over an hour.
“You going to speak with Tony?” Bucky asked, turning his gaze back to Steve.
“Yeah” he confirmed, glancing over his shoulder towards where Y/N has disappeared. “Gonna see if Tony can pull some strings and get her transferred to us, also see if he can find out why she’s now ‘expendable’.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to do it?” he questioned, leaning forward to flip a switch on the control panel.
“We’ve gotta try, Buck. She’s a nice girl. I think… I think she wants a quiet life. She hasn’t found her soulmate yet, she doesn’t want to bring her soulmate into this kind of work” Steve told him. “If we could get her out of this situation, she could retire and find her soulmate.”
“Okay,” Bucky nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “I’ll make sure Tony is at the compound for when we get back.”
Bucky wasn’t known to be the softest by those on the team, but Steve knew different. Steve and Bucky were soulmates, and they had been best-friends for years before they decided to take their relationship to the next logical step.
Bucky was the romantic in the relationship, at least behind closed doors. He would cook Steve dinner whenever they weren’t on a mission, a mixture of old favourites and new dishes they wanted to try. Steve would often find little notes around their brownstone house, sometimes Bucky reminding him of something Steve needed to do or, other times, just telling Steve that he loves him. Steve was never a big dancer, back in the day, but Bucky loved to put on the record player and pull him into a gentle sway, both of their eyes closed as they enjoyed the company of each other and the music. Every time Steve was getting close to finishing his book, a fresh sketchbook would appear with new pencils.
The thought of living without his soulmate was not something Bucky wanted to experience. He loved Steve, loved him more than anyone in the world. A world without Steve was not something Bucky would ever be able to think about.
If this woman had the chance to find her soulmate, however miniscule that chance was, then he wanted her to go out and take it. You could live without your soulmate, especially if you hadn’t met them yet, but you shouldn’t have to.
Bucky and Steve went without each other for seventy years. Yes, Bucky was unaware for most of the separation, but it was still something which made him grimace and his stomach turn. He could never go without Steve again, and he would never want to.
Finding your soulmate changed your life, though it may not be realised at first. Everything stays the same and yet, at the same time, everything changes completely. Bucky could hardly remember a time before Steve, but he knew that changes occurred. Just before he goes to bed and as soon as he wakes up, his thoughts are of Steve. He knows that before he met Steve, his bedtime and morning thoughts always changed from day-to-day.
But there was something missing. Bucky loved Steve more than anything in the world, more than life itself, but there was one thing missing. Bucky and Steve were missing a soulmate. One of their flowers was yet to gain its colouring.
Bucky has come across many people in his long life. He’s met people, fought beside people, fought against them… killed them. Bucky thought it was a miracle that his final flower had yet to colour. He thanked whatever god was out there that his flower had never bloomed after one of his Winter Soldier missions.
It was one thing to lose your soulmate, but to be the cause of that loss… Bucky would not have been able to survive it, not even with Steve by his side.
Luckily, he hadn’t hurt them, whoever they were.
Both Bucky and Steve couldn’t wait to meet their final part. There was one piece missing until the puzzle of their life was complete, until their little family was complete.
They had no idea who their soulmate could be. While they were obviously attracted to each other, they could both admit that their attraction was not limited to just guys. They were comfortable enough in their relationship to be able to appreciate the appearance of others without jealousy.
While on missions, it could be said that Bucky had the patience of a saint. However, when it came to finding their final ‘piece’, Bucky couldn’t wait. Steve had often said to him ‘It’ll happen, Buck, you’ve just got to wait’ but Bucky struggled. He wanted them to all be together, and he hoped it would happen soon.
“You know, she hacked Sam’s phone in five minutes” Steve told him, pulling him from his thoughts. “She was picking on him a lot, actually. Reminded me of you.”
Bucky let out a small, breathless chuckle. “Bet he wasn’t pleased with that.”
“Hmm” Steve chuckled. “She teased him with bird jokes.”
“I feel like you’re trying to get at something” Bucky said after a couple of moments, eyeing him carefully.
Steve sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Buck, it’s… strange? She has similarities to you but, at the same time, is different… If it’s possible, spending the last couple of days with her made me miss you even more.”
“Really?” Bucky smiled, reaching for his partner’s hand. “Can’t go a few days without me?”
Steve’s thumb passed over the back of Bucky’s hand, giving him a fond look. Bucky grinned at his boyfriend, lifting his arm up to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. Steve shook his head, a blush still coming to his cheeks after all these years he’s been besides Bucky.
“Don’t worry, Stevie, we’re both off of missions for the next few weeks. You don’t have to go without me for a while” Bucky assured him, tugging him into a sweet kiss.
“The poor guy, he’s gonna get sick of you” Sam said, coming back into the cockpit.
“I’m already sick of you” Bucky said, looking at the other man over his shoulder.
“Na, I know you’ve missed me” Sam teased before turning his attention to Steve. “The showers free.”
“We’ll be landing in twenty minutes” Steve glanced at the clock. “I’ll just wait until we get back to the compound.”
Bucky smiled to himself at Steve’s decision, glancing at his partner who gives him a smirk back. Steve could shower in twenty minutes, however, that would be twenty minutes separated from Bucky and he didn’t want that.
“Flip that switch” Bucky instructed Steve, nodding to the panel in front of him, as they got ready to land the quinjet.
The quinjet landed with a gentle jolt, the engines beginning to power down as Bucky reached up to press the button to open the jet’s doors. Ensuring that everything was switched off, Bucky got out of his seat and offer Steve a hand up.
Steve groaned as he stood up, stretching his arms above his head and letting his back realign into place. He’d been sat in stiff seats, nearly constantly, for over twenty-four hours. He was more than happy to be home and to have the next few weeks to decompress and let his body relax.
“Come on, you need that shower” Bucky said, resting his hand on his partners shoulder, leaning down to grab his bag.
“Mm,” Steve smirked, looking him up and down. “You going to join me?”
Bucky smiled, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you.”
“I need to direct Y/N to a guest room first, then we can go. We’ll talk to Tony after” Steve decided, leading Bucky from the cockpit.
As they moved towards the exit, Steve and Bucky looked around for you. You weren’t there and your bag was missing too, and when they got off the jet, you weren’t on the landing bay. Steve lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked for you. Bucky walked around the side of the jet, but it was as if you were gone.
“Where is she?” he asked, spinning in a circle to see if he could spot you.
“Sam, have you seen Y/N?” Steve asked, seeing Sam talking to another pilot.
“What?” Sam said, taking a moment to process the question. “She was here a moment ago.”
“The woman?” the pilot interjected, looking between the three men. “She went that way.”
The three men turned to look towards where the pilot had pointed. It was an open area, leading towards a forest that back onto a major highway. They couldn’t see you in the field, and you were probably deep into the trees by now. Bucky didn’t know much about you, but he knew you were well trained. Though you had a head start of, at most, ten minutes, there was unlikely a chance that they would be able to find you.
“Well, that’s just great” Bucky nodded, turning back to Steve and Sam. “How are we gonna get Tony to arrange a transfer if she just disappears on us.”
“We know where she’s planning on going” Steve protested. “We’ll talk to Tony first and then go and get her. It would be better to find her once Tony agrees, at least then we can tell her that she definitely has somewhere to go.”
“I’m go find Tony and get him started at looking into her” Sam said, heading towards the compound.
Bucky followed Steve back to their allocated room in the compound. Though they didn’t live onsite, Tony had ensured they had their own room on the compound. Sometimes they arrived back from missions in the early hours in the morning and rather than travelling back to their home in Brooklyn, they would spend the night at the compound. It also came in handy when they needed to shower the dirt from a long mission away.
The room was fairly simple. A king-sized bed rested against the wall opposite the bedroom door, framed by two bedside tables. A door on the left wall led to a small walk-in closet, holding a mixture of clothes which could fit both Steve and Bucky. A door to the right led to a bathroom which had a double-sized shower and a counter with two sinks and mirrors.
Upon entering the room, Steve went straight to the bathroom. Bucky placed the bag on the bed, pulling the zip open. Grabbing the dirty clothes from inside, he threw them into the wash basket beside the door. The small sketchpad was set on the bed, along with few pencils which were at the bottom of the bag. Finally, Bucky took out Steve’s phone and the charger, plugging it in and setting it on the bedside table.
Bucky entered into the bathroom, eyes focused on the shower where Steve was facing him with his head tilted back, washing out his shampoo. His eyes travelled over his boyfriend’s body, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as he felt a warmth flood through him.
Steve was a beautiful man, and Bucky thought he was beautiful even before the serum. Though the serum made Steve healthier, and to gain a lot of muscle and strength, he was still the same Steve Rogers. Though his face had widened slightly, he still looked the same. When Bucky looked at him, he still saw that skinny guy who used to pick fights, but that was in a good way.
He loved the way Steve used to be, but he loves him just as much now. What Steve looked like, small or large, didn’t matter to Bucky. He would love Steve no matter what he looked like; he would be by his side until the end of the line.
Bucky toed off his shoes and socks, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. Within seconds, his pants were dropped, and he was pulling the door of the shower open. He stepped into the shower, his hands falling to his lover’s hips and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Steve’s collarbone.
Steve let out a small sigh, his hand falling to the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers threading through his hair. He tugged gently, pulling his head up and pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s. Bucky moaned into the kiss, his flesh hand travelling to the small of Steve’s back to pulling him closer.
Steve broke the kiss, trailing his lips down Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s grip on Steve tightened, his head tipping back and his eyes falling closed. His lips travelled to Bucky’s chest, biting gently at the skin just below his collarbone.
His tongue came out from between his lips, tracing the red petals of the rose on Bucky’s chest. Steve’s rose. He remembered the first time he saw it, how happy he was that it was Bucky, his best friend. Honestly, they had known they were soulmates before even seeing their flowers, they could just feel it in their souls. At the time, they both knew they wouldn’t be together, not for a while yet at least, but it strengthened their friendship even more.
And now, Steve got to see his mark on his lover every day. It has developed from being a sign of their friendship to being a sign of their love. They were soulmates in every sense of the word.
“I love you” Steve pressed a kiss to the rose before travelling further down. “Bucky….”
“I love you, too” Bucky said, giving his hip a squeeze.
“No, Bucky, your chest” Steve pulled away, eyes focused on his boyfriend’s soulmate tattoo.
Bucky’s soulmate tattoo was fully coloured in. Between the rose belonging to him and the sunflower belonging to him, was a plumeria. It had once been a colourless outline, but now it was coloured in. The edges of the petals were a dark pink, becoming lighter as the colour progressed down the petal until it became almost white before turning yellow, which darked into its orange-red centre.
“Bucky, it’s coloured in” Steve told him, tapping the other side of his chest to get his attention.
“What?” Bucky asked, looking down at his chest and blinking the water out of your eyes.
“You’ve met them, Buck” his eyes were focused on the flower, wide in disbelief. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know” Bucky shrugged, running his fingers over the newly coloured flower. “I haven’t met anyone new except…Steve, turn around.”
Bucky didn’t wait for Steve to do as he was order, and physically turned his partner around. There, in the centre of Steve’s back, was his soulmate tattoo. All three flowers were coloured in, a mixture of reds, yellows, pinks and whites. It was beautiful.
Bucky and Steve had met their missing piece.
Bucky’s mind was both hectic with thoughts and yet completely clear. A part of his brain was clear enough to put the pieces together. He knew it was you, who else could it be? Bucky’s soulmate tattoo wasn’t coloured in before he left to pick up Steve, Sam and you, and you were the only new person he had met since leaving his room to begin his small mission.
“Well?” Steve asked him, looking over his shoulder.
“Yeah, its coloured in” Bucky confirmed. “Oh, Stevie, it’s beautiful… It’s Y/N, it’s got to be.”
“Y/N” Steve repeated, nodding at Bucky’s conclusion. “She’s the only one we’ve both come into contact with.”
“Steve…she’s gone” Bucky reminded him, turning Steve around to face him. “She left.”
Steve reached behind him, shutting the water off, and brushing past Bucky to get out of the shower. “But we know where she’s planning on going. Come on, we need to speak with Tony.”
Bucky followed Steve out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around is waist. They went into the bedroom, Steve going to the closet. He pulled out an outfit blindly, throwing it to Bucky before reaching back to grab a set of clothes for himself.
After quickly drying themselves and getting dressed, Bucky and Steve left their room to find Tony. They found him in the compound’s kitchen, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee while listening to Pepper, his soulmate, read something from the tablet in her hand.
“Tony,” Steve greeted, walking straight to the island that Tony sat at.
“Hi, Pep,” Bucky greeted, giving the woman an apologetic smile for his partner cutting her off.
“What’s up, Capsicle?” Tony asked, sipping his coffee.
“We need to find Y/N” he replied. “She’s going after the leader of her organisation, and she’s going to get herself killed. We need to get her out, Tony, you must have a way of getting her out.”
“Y/N Y/L/N” Tony began, pulling his phone out of his front breast pocket. “She was recruited, if you can even call it that, at nine years old. She was transported routinely throughout facilities for training; Soye-en-Septaine, Vilyuysk, Letlhakane, Keswick, Feliz Natal, Wildrose…. The list goes on. She completed her first solo mission at fifteen. They continued to send her on missions while keeping up with her training.” He placed his phone on the island, turning to look at the two men opposite him. “I started as soon as Sam found me. Why the sudden rush?”
Steve and Bucky shared a look, a silent conversation taking place before Bucky gave a subtle nod. Steve sighed, looking Tony, to Pepper, to Tony again. With a final glance at Bucky, Steve explained the situation.
You are their soulmate, the final piece to their puzzle. They needed to find you, and quickly. They knew you were searching for the person who ran your organisation and, in their position, with Tony on their side, they would be able to find them before you. If they could get to the leader before you, figure out why you’re now consider expendable, and get you transferred to work with them… Then maybe you could all be together.
“So, we need to find the director of the organisation which ‘employs’ her” Tony nods. “That’s a tightly guarded secret. The highest person of authority I know is Amelia Strauss, but she’s nowhere near the top of the food chain. I’ll get FRIDAY on it.”
It took thirty-seven hours for Tony to find the director of the organisation, which would be considered an extraordinarily long time for him. However, Tony had found the director, Michael Schabas, after scouring through hundreds of documents.
After finding his name, it took a further ninety minutes to find his whereabouts, and for Bucky and Steve to board a jet. While the two super soldiers went to visit Mr Schabas, with the hopes of intercepting you, Tony would continue to dig into the organisation in the hopes of finding out why you had become expendable.
Bucky switched the auto-pilot on before turning to Steve. “Tell me about her. What’s she like?”
“She was careful not to reveal too much of herself” Steve replied, rubbing at his hair with a sigh. “But… she was nice, smart. She made Sam change his phone’s passcode and Angela’s name in his phone. she told him not to put her picture as his lock screen. She teased Sam a lot, like I said before. It was like you were there, except it was more obvious that it was friendly. And she knew that we had found each other. I don’t know how, but she said she could feel that we were together. And when you were mentioned… she said you deserved to be happy and live your life.”
“So… you think she would be okay with us being her soulmates?” Bucky asked quietly, biting his bottom lip in worry.
“Yeah, Buck, of course” Steve reassured his partner, taking his hand. “The only reason she didn’t want to find her soulmates was because she didn’t want them to be in danger, us to be in danger.”
“You’re sure?” he checked.
“I’m sure” Steve nodded. “It like how we’re worried for her now… And she doesn’t want any of us to be used against each other. Once she knows that we won’t be in danger, she’ll accept us, and we’ll be together.”
“Okay,” Bucky accepted with a small, hesitant smile, squeezing Steve’s hand.
“Hey, guys, there’s something you should know” Tony’s voice came over the radio, drawing them from their conversations. “I figured out why they want to get rid of Y/N and it’s not good. Natasha, Sam and I are suiting up and we’ve getting on the fastest jet to catch up with you guys.”
You let out a heavy breath, sitting back in the desk chair. Your elbow rested on the arm of the chair, your hand covering your mouth. Your mind buzzed at what you just read, struggling to comprehend the new information.
It was so well hidden; it wasn’t surprising that you didn’t see it.
But now you knew, now you understood why you were expendable. And you weren’t just expendable, they wanted you to be taken out. As soon as possible.
It didn’t take much longer for you to find him. Michael Schabas.
You slammed the lid of the laptop closed, grabbing the gun from the desk and standing you from the desk. You left the room, stepping on the papers and over the dead body of agent who had opposed you.
You stood in the empty elevator, stone faced and back straight. Michael Schabas was a highly respected businessman to the wider public but, behind closed doors, he was the director of your organisation who called all the shots. His office was located on one of the top floors of a high-rise building in central London.
The silver doors of the elevator opened, revealing a small reception room which held a desk with two love seats and a coffee table in front of it. Just behind the desk and to the left was a door which led to Schabas’ office.
You left the lift, walking around the couches where a woman and two men sat. You ignored the woman sitting at the receptionists’ desk as she tried to call you, opening the door to the office and entering.
Michael Schabas was a small, light skinned man with dyed brown hair with the silver roots coming through in patches. As you closed the door behind you, Schabas stood up. His shirt was tight against his large stomach, the belt obviously on the loosest notch and trousers had a button extender.
“Who are you?” He questioned before turning his attention to shout for his secretary. “Gina! Gina! Call security!”
“I would expect you to know the name of the woman you signed a death warrant for” you said, pulling a handgun from the back of your jeans and pointing it towards him. “Take a closer look at me… are you sure you don’t recognise me?”
Schabas lifted his hands, holding them level with his head as he watched you carefully. He took a step back, stumbling over his feet and grabbing the back of his chair to steady himself. Sweat beaded along his hairline, his breathing slightly laboured as he watched you.
“You’re scared” you observed, scoffing in disbelief. “It ironic, considering everything.”
“I don’t know who you are” he insisted.
“Y/N Y/L/N” you informed him. “Does that ring any bells?”
The office door opened behind you and you quickly stepped to the right, turning so that you could see both the door and Schabas. You quickly pull out a second gun, pointing it at the men who enter the office.
“Whoa, Whoa,” Steve hurried to say, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. “Its us, Y/n, its Steve and Bucky. Put down the gun.”
You lowered the gun that was pointed at the Captain and Soldier but kept the other pointed at Schabas. Steve and Bucky entered the room properly, keeping their eyes on you. They watched you carefully, though made no move to rush you for gun.
“Y/N, put the gun down” Steve said softly, his gaze going from you, to the gun, to Schabas and back.
“He’s the one who decided that I was expendable, and do you know why?” You asked Steve, your voice shaking with the anger which coursed through your blood. “Did you know he has a whole list of people he wasn’t ‘written off’ because he knew they wouldn’t follow the same ideals as him? Did you know that nearly half the people on that list are dead already?”
“We know, Y/N, we know” Bucky assured you. “We began looking into the organisation as soon as you left, Tony ran extensive background searches. We know about it all. But, doll, trust me, you don’t want to shoot him. We need him, we have to know about the others involved and we can only do that if he’s alive.”
“But he’s with Hydra, Bucky!” you protested through gritted teeth. “He’s with Hydra, and he’s been carrying out their missions using the organisation, using me. He wanted Hydra’s been getting more power in the organisation which means they needed to weed out opposition, like me. That’swhy I’m expendable.”
The very thought that you had been indirectly working for Hydra made you feel sick to the stomach. You weren’t, by any means, an angel but you would never willingly, knowingly, act for such a thing as Hydra. You moral against such a group was what led you to be made expendable and while the whole situation angered you, you took pride in knowing that they considered you a threat.
“And that Hydra base we took out?” You spoke to Steve, kissing your teeth and rolling your eyes. “That was a cover. They were the fall-on guys to hide the ‘bigger picture’ of what was really going on… That my whole organisation is full of Hydra agents, over two hundred of them.”
“We know,” Steve said. “Sam, Tony and the others are after them. We’ll all be after them and we won’t stop until every one of them is caught but, Y/N, you can’t kill this man.”
“Trust me, doll,” Bucky took a step closer, reaching for you. “Killing him won’t make any of it better. I know that, and I need you to know that too. I know you want to kill him, I understand, but killing doesn’t solve everything. And it won’t solve this… Give me the gun.”
You wanted Schabas dead for the treason he had committed against humanity, you really did. Bucky’s words ran through your head though. If a man who was controlled, tortured, by Hydra for seventy years was telling you to not pull the trigger… surely you should listen.
Your eyes stinging, you allowed Bucky to take the guns from your hands. He turned, passing them to an agent who was stood just outside of the office. Steve steps up to Schabas, turning him around and shoving him against the glass wall, the man letting out a groan of pain as his nose hits the glass. His hands are cuffed behind his back and then Steve is telling another agent to have him transferred to a jet to go back to the US.
You’re left alone with the super soldiers, both of them standing together and watching you as you sniffle. You wipe at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve, unable to meet the eyes of your soulmates. They had to know by now, it had been almost two days.
You didn’t know what to say but you know that they wouldn’t want you, why would they? All they knew about you was that you were their soulmate, and you were, though unwittingly, an agent of Hydra all along. You probably made them sick.
“So…” You began, staring at your feet. “You came.”
“Of course, we did” Steve sighs, taking a step closer to you. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “We know that you’re our soulmate, Y/N.
“I’m sorry” You burst into tears, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you tried to contain the sobs which wrecked your chest. When Bucky moved to step closer to you, you stumble back into the wall, curling in on yourself. “You don’t deserve to have someone like me as your soulmate, I’m so sorry. I know I’m not good enough, I’m sorry.”
With your eyes focused on the floor, you missed the look of absolute heartbreak pass over the men’s faces. How could you think that of yourself? To them, evening having known you for the equivalent of mere hours, you were perfect. You were beautiful, kind, smart, brave. And there was probably a lot more to you that they would need to learn. You would no doubt exceed their wants and dreams for a soulmate.
“Don’t say that about yourself, Y/N” Bucky’s voice was hard, though you could hear the hurt. “You’re perfect. You’re all we’ve ever wanted. We’ve been waiting for long for you.”
“I know you’re scared, we’re all scared” Steve began, watching you carefully. “It’s normal to worry about your soulmate, especially in our line of work, but we want you, Y/N. And, sweetheart, believe me: you’re good enough for us. Too good.”
“Please, let us prove that this could work. That we can be together and be safe. Let us show you that we deserve you and that you deserve us” Bucky begged.
Steve and Bucky were super soldiers, some of the strongest men in the world. You suppose, thinking on it, it may be silly for you to worry that they could be used against you. They were some of Earth’s mightiest heroes, more than capable of protecting themselves. Protecting themselves against their own enemies and any which may whish to use them against you.
And you couldn’t lie, you wanted them. You wanted your soulmates. You hardly knew them and yet the ache you had felt over the last two days was still strong. You had missed them, without really knowing them, and had longed for them. You wanted them to hold you, to love you. Would it be so wrong to be selfish and to give them a chance?
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you gave a slow nod.
Bucky rushed forward, pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. Your nose was buried into his neck and his scent filled your senses, calming you in a way that only a soulmate could. Steve stepped up beside you both, wrapping his arms around the both of you.
“We’ve got you doll, its all going to be okay” Bucky assured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
Steve’s hand rubbed over your back in soft, soothing motions. “We promise, Y/N, everything will be okay.”
The future was going to be difficult, but your soulmates accepted you, wanted you, and you were more than willing to try and move on with them. You had a future ahead of you, where you could be Y/N, not a pseudo, and where you could live your life, happily, with our soulmates. It was a life you intended to live.
Tagged: @sskhair @buckyownsmylife @ladyfallonavenger @sagechanoafterdark @wandering-spiritash @pinkdiamond1016
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