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dameronology · 3 years

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rescuer {din djarin}

summary: din djarin rescued you - and then you rescued him {for @drinksomecoco !! i hope u enjoy}

warnings: brief mentions of torture, swearing

this is like....4k words?? it got a little out of hand, i won't lie to u.

- jazz xx

It wasn’t often that The Mandalorian found himself becoming attached to bounties.

Twice. He’d done it twice.

The first time, he swore to himself that it would be the last. Adopting his little green surrogate...frog? Son?

Okay, adopting his little green surrogate Grogu had brought enough tension into his life. It had gotten him back onto the radars of both the Empire and the New Republic; thrown him into some weird form of fatherhood that he wasn’t quite ready for and tipped his entire way of life upside down. Despite all that, he never stopped to question if all the exhaustion was more trouble than it was worth, because he loved his kid. Completely and entirely in ways that no parenting book or fairytale could ever quite describe. It was an intense form of love and attachment - and Din knew it was going to hurt when he would eventually have to return the Child to his own people. That was a little far off though, because he couldn’t investigate any further til he had the means to do so. Money and resources weren’t limitless and even The Mandalorian had to find means to an end.

Going back to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild wasn’t ideal, especially not with the kid in tow - but did he have any other way? Din didn’t know any other way of life, let alone another way of earning money. Besides, he figured it would only be a quick few months. A couple jobs here and there until he had enough in savings to travel far enough to find where Grogu really came from.

But it was two bounties; two bounties that he would find himself becoming attached to. Grogu was the only one.

It was through that decision to return to the Guild that Din Djarin would find himself stumbling across the next one. He was offered five pucks - the first four were easy. Standard jobs, really. Runaway criminals and Imps who had crossed people so many times that trying to work out their loyalty was head-ache inducing. He found them all in a matter of days, really. They were good at hiding but it didn’t count for much when The Mandalorian was good at finding.

Then there was you; the fifth puck. The one he thought was going to be the easiest.

Finding you wasn’t a problem. Tucked away in a corner of rural Tatooine - maybe twenty, twenty five minutes shy of Mos Eisley - you were hiding in plain sight. It would have been enough to protect you from anyone else but Din was an unrelenting expert in finding those who didn’t want to be found.

He never quite knew what to expect when he closed in on a bounty. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they hid. A few of them had tried to appeal to his humanity; to try and connect with the man they hoped was behind the mask. Because aside from the husky voice that occasionally escaped the helmet, there was no proof that The Mandalorian was anything other than a very convincing droid. That was, until, someone would lay a hand on his son or ship and suddenly, a wave of pure human rage would burst out from beneath the beskar.

You couldn’t have hidden from him or run away, even if you wanted to. Not because you were scared, but because you were chained up; wrists and ankles in shackles, keeping you tied to the walls of a filthy docking bay. From the sand piled around your feet, it was clear that you had tried to kick up a fuss at some point.

But based on the way that you looked at him - with tired eyes and a hopeless expression - that made Din realise: you’d lost the will to fight. He knew that you weren’t going to wriggle away or try to engage in combat.

“Are you…” The Mandalorian trailed off. “Are you alone?”

“Probably,” your eyes flicked up from the ground, unknowingly capturing his gaze. “I think I’ve been left for dead.”

He sighed. “I’m looking for a...Kan Durant. Is he here?”

“No,” you shot back. “He left me here for dead about a week ago. Probably knew that a bounty hunter was going to come after him at some point.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“I’m chained up,” you said. “Isn’t the answer to your question a little axiomatic?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But if you know anything, it might be helpful.”

“Try Corellia,” you muttered.

Corellia. That was...doable. Not too far and not too hard to search. That would be his fifth and final puck and then Din could set off for the sunset in search of his kid’s home planet. That’s what this whole thing had been about.

But...you. You’d been left for dead - and based on the bruises around your eyes and on your limbs, that was the least of what you’d gone through recently. What kind of man would it make him if he left you? A fucking awful one, obviously, but what was he supposed to do?

Din slowly leant down, pulling a thin tool from his belt. He fiddled around with your cuffs for a moment, until there was a low hiss. They fell from your hands and onto the sandy ground - he expected you to get up, or to run, or do anything but sit there and stare at him with gaunt eyes. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that merely freeing you of your restraints was doing his part for the greater good.

“Is there anywhere around here where you can go?” he asked. “An inn? A cantina?”

You snorted. “No. I’ll die.”

“You can get food and medicine out there.”

“Mos Eisley is swarming with Durant’s men,” you explained. “The minute I step foot in any town or port here, they’ll know.”

Maybe being with Grogu had softened him, or maybe The Mandalorian genuinely couldn’t find it himself to leave you. But, he found himself doing the unthinkable: sticking his hand out to you, lifting you up, and leading you out of the docking bay and back towards his ship. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it but really, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. His main focus had been on keeping you alive until you were within the safety of the Crest.

You stumbled slightly when he put you down, tripping and falling towards the control panel to shut the loading bay doors. At least you were intuitive.

With that, you fell back to the ground. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were in a bit of a state - how long did you say it had been? A week since Durant had left - so that was at least seven days without proper food or water. It was a miracle you were alive. Din had got there just in time.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked. “What do you want?”

He glanced over in your direction. “I don’t want anything.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you shot back.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there,” Din replied. He paused for a moment, before turning to face you. “I’ve heard Durant’s name before. I know what he does to people.”

“Aren’t you more worried about finding him and getting the bounty?” you pushed.

Truth be told, Din wasn’t that bothered. He had enough money from the last four pucks to get him where he needed to be. The fifth had just been a little extra, so he had an easier time letting go of it. He certainly wasn’t the only hunter going after Durant’s ass and worst case scenario, Karga would give him a little bit of shit for not completing the job. All of that was a lot more manageable than living with the guilt of leaving you in the dark to die.

“Someone else will get him. I’m sure.” Din muttered. He reached for a ration pack stored away on a shelf and tossed it in your direction. “You should eat this. I’ll get us in the air and find some bacta-”

“- you really don’t need to,” you cut him off.

“Eat,” he pushed again. “You’re weak. You’ll need it.”

Over the next few days, you would come to find that forceful-but-caring demands were The Mandalorian’s main language.

He didn’t talk much - or at all really. He didn’t need to, not when you kept to yourself on the lower deck of the ship whilst he dealt with everything else. He didn’t seem to mind that you weren’t helping; after all, you’d been in a weak state when Din had found you and standing up had been hard, let alone maneuvering around the flying hunk of metal. You were beginning to feel a little more spry, thanks to the food, water and bactaspray. The combination was hardly an elixir of life but you’d found yourself feeling a little more human.

Sleep was the hard one. A combination of confusion - at the situation, at Din, at where you were going - and nightmares made it hard. Every time you closed your eyes, you found yourself hurtling back in time to when Durant had first captured you. You’d been a test dummy for all his weapons and experiments and really, you were just lucky to be alive and in one piece. It didn’t count for much though, not when you couldn’t get a single fucking second of shut eye.

You would have been a fool to think that Din hadn’t picked up on it.

He was observational by nature and even more so by craft. A man who was constantly looking over his shoulder and straight ahead; a warrior who had been raised to keep a weapon by his side at all times. Of course he was going to notice your insomnia, and the way your eyes seemed even more sunken and dull than when he’d first found you.

You were sitting in the hull when he approached you. Not a lot had been said, other than the occasional eat this or put this on your bruises. Again - all a little forceful, but with a sense of genuinity behind the words. You still had a hard time believing that he was legitimately just a man who wanted to help you.

“I find that noise helps.”

You glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat. “When I can’t sleep, and when I have nightmares, I find that being in a room with white noise helps distract my brain.”

“Oh, right,” you gave him a small nod. “I s’pose it is pretty quiet down here.”

“It’s noisier up there in the cockpit,” he replied. “We’re going to be in hyperspace for a while so if you want to get some sleep, I’ll stay down here.”

“Thank you.”

For the first time in days, you finally showed a glimmer of emotion. It was just a smile - and one he figured was a forced one - but still, it was a good sign.

Din’s eyes followed you as you stood up, heading for the ladder up to the cockpit. You stopped in front of it for a moment, palms wrapping around one of the rungs. At first, he thought you were just pondering, or taking a moment to rethink your actions, but then a light bulb went off in his head. You were too weak.

Moving slowly, The Mandalorian positioned himself behind you.

“Is it okay if I put them here?” he quietly asked, large, gloved hands hovering over the side of your hips.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied. “Thank you.”

With Din’s support, you were able to grab onto the hatch above and pull yourself up, boots hitting the ground of the cockpit. He followed you up, guiding you over to one of the pilot’s chairs. The lights of hyperspace were flashing by, illuminating the entire room in a white-gold glow. It felt odd to be up here after so many days of confining yourself just to the hull - forbidden, even with the invite from The Mandalorian himself.

“How did you know that I get nightmares?” you asked, turning around to face him.

The helmet tilted slightly. “I get them too.”

“I’m sorry,” you softly sighed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“It’s okay,” Din brushed it off as though it were nothing. “We have about four hours til our next stop. I’ll wake you up before we get there.”

“Is that where I get off?” you asked.

“No,” he firmly replied. “It’s not safe there either.”

You had more questions that you wanted to ask - now more than ever that he was finally talking - but you were far too exhausted to even try. Once you’d fallen back against the chair and been handed a blanket out of nowhere, the noise of the surrounding machines practically dragged you out of consciousness.

---

One question you had wanted to ask Din had been about the duration of your stay.

How long were you supposed to stay on board? How long did he want you there?

You were almost scared to ask, for fear of the answer. After all, you barely knew him. He could get up at any moment and demand that you left, and you wouldn’t have been able to argue. All of this - this looking after you, this roof over your head, this care - felt too good to be true. Like it was all part of some elaborate ruse.

But it was funny, because you were even more scared that it wasn’t. If Din - or The Mandalorian, as you knew him - was truly just a nice person with pure intentions, then that was about to be dangerous territory for you. The minute that you started trusting him, and the minute you started to see him as someone who could protect you, would spell trouble. You had never intended to become attached, but it was only natural. You hadn’t had a single person look out for you - not once in your life.

Every time he made you food, or helped you up into the cockpit, you felt yourself slipping that way. A six-foot pile of beskar should not have been a sign of comfort, but the helmet came to symbolise...something. You didn’t know what. Attachment, maybe? A little inkling of affection for whoever the hell was below those inches of steel?

A few weeks passed and the tension slowly began to falter. It was probably the proximity more than anything, but the time proved to you more than anything that Din was genuine. He was helping you because he wanted to - there was no personal gain for him, nor monetary. He actually, honestly just wanted to do good.

And doing good, he was. Whilst he still kept his distance, he looked after you. He made sure that you ate enough to recover from your periods of deprivation and once a day, he would clear out of the cockpit for you to get some rest. He still helped you up the ladder every time -and even when you told him you were strong enough, he still stood back and watched just to make sure.

Because, truthfully, The Mandalorian was beginning to see something in you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what, but he was intrigued by the way you were slowly beginning to show him parts of yourself. Where your eyes had once been gaunt and lifeless, they now had a spark in them. You were quiet when you’d met, but now you spoke to the kid and you hummed to yourself. It was like the life that was sucked out of you was slowly being breathed back in, day by day and bit by bit.

“Do you wanna get some sleep?” Din asked you one day.

“Yeah, sure,” you glanced up at the Child, giving him a small smile. “When did you last sleep, Mando?”

Another helmet tilt. “I get enough sleep.”

“I don’t believe you,” you thinned your eyes at him.

The Mandalorian sighed slightly - normally, that would have been a sign to literally anyone else to drop it. But with you? Nope. You saw that as a sign of progress; that the little, tiny display of emotion meant you were beginning to chip past those godforsaken layers of beskar.

“I get nightmares about Durant,” you continued. “Every time I panic and wake up in a cold sweat, I remind myself that I’m safe, because I know that you and the kid are here.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You can tell me anything and I promise I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me.”

He pondered for a moment, before releasing another deep breath. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Really?”

“Last time I did, I woke up and my parents were gone,” Din explained. “So I wait til the kid wants to go to sleep and I just go with him, so that I’m not alone.”

Your heart dropped a little at that - partially because he’d opened up to you, but also because the Child rarely ever slept. If Din only ever waited around for their exhaustion to coincide, it must have been months since he’d last got a decent night’s rest. It was the least he deserved.

Nodding, you stuck your hand out towards him. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna sleep and so are you,” you replied. “You need it and if I’ve done everything that you’ve instructed so far, I think I should have the same in return.”

Din didn’t want to admit it to himself at first.

It being multiple things: the fact you were helping him, the fact your presence on his ship had made the place seem better, the fact that his heart skipped a beat every time you brushed past him.

Bar his surrogate son, Din had never been close with anyone before. He’d never even slept in the same goddamn room as anyone else, even. That was a fucking mammoth step for him, but when you took his hand? It felt like a baby step. Just a tiny hop from A to B. Not a massive milestone, or a moment of personal progress. You had made it seem so simple.

Maybe that was it.

You never over-complicated anything. Your intentions were always clear and simple - there was no moral ambiguity, no moments where Din had to question whether or not he could well and truly trust you. He just knew. It was funny, because it was the exact same situation you’d had with him - questioning why he was helping you, trying to work out what he wanted. This whole time, Din had been helping you solely because he thought it was the right thing and it’s what you were doing for him too.

Din liked when you sat close to him. There was a little wave of warmth he felt every time you shuffled a bit nearer to him when you both crashed on the floor of the cockpit, and a tiny swarm of butterflies that flew through him when you stuck by his side in busy towns and cities. It was clear that you found comfort in him after so many years of going without it.

In turn, he found comfort in you. Not just in the way you unintentionally looked after him, but just...everything. Your presence had been a little odd on the Crest at first, but now it felt weird to be without it. Hearing you single quietly in the shower and have one-sided conversations with the Child filled a hole in his life that he hadn’t even realised had been there.

It was as though he’d had a missing puzzle piece his entire life; a gap between all the interconnected parts that hadn’t been integral, but certainly inconvenient. And now that it was filled, he could take a step back and finally look at the bigger picture that had been forming. All the pieces were finally there - you and the kid and whatever odd family unit that made you - and the galaxy didn’t seem so nonsensical anymore.

A little over two months after he first found you, word got around that Durant had finally been captured. Not by Din, but that hadn’t mattered - because killing the man who had hurt you, even after everything, would never amount to everything he’d done for you.

The relief didn’t last long for you, though - because as soon as you realised you no longer had a reason to hide, it dawned on you that you no longer had a reason to stay with Din. Or, at least not one you were willing to share with Din. Begging to let you stay just for the sake of being near him didn’t seem like a very convincing argument - at least not from where you were standing.

But from where Din was standing, it was a little different. You were part of his life now, even if you had no idea. That wasn’t your fault, though. He wasn’t exactly the best at vocalising it. Admitting it to himself had been hard enough, let alone to you.

“So,” you spoke softly, clearing your throat. “I suppose you’ll drop me off at the next planet?”

You were both sitting in the cock-pit; the Child was asleep downstairs and the Crest was soaring through the last stretch of hyperspace before Nevarro.

Din didn’t want to drop you off. He didn’t want his ship to be silent all over again or to sleep without you by his side. The thought alone of not having you around anymore was enough to make him a little watery-eyed beneath his beskar barrier. You’d grown on him, and in return, he’d kind of, accidentally fallen in love with you.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

You peered over at him. “If you can think of a reason for me to stay aboard, please do let me know.”

“I want you to stay,” Din replied. He gently reached out a hand and took it in his - it was the first time that he’d given you such a vast gesture. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “It is.”

Staying aboard the Razor Crest was one of the best decisions you’d ever made.

Not only because it meant you were well and truly safe, but because Din’s direct request was a sign to you that you weren’t imagining things. Whatever attachment you felt to him, he felt it too - but it ran deeper than that. There was a mutual concern and respect for one another. Something born of two lifetimes spent on their own, finally coming together in one.

Things had been a little slow before then; the way that you danced around each other, like two magnets that were meant to come together - just with a little hesitancy. There had been a lot of late nights and long trains of thought about the signals that the other was giving off; about whether you’d misinterpreted the way his hands lingered over yours, or the way you’d practically passed out on his shoulder.

But, after that - after Din had openly asked you to stay, and you’d happily agreed, things began to move a little faster. Where you’d once been slowly walking down that hill and towards each other, you were now slipping, tripping and falling.

With each passing night, you inched closer towards each other. God forbid you ever found out, but Din even found himself pushing the pilot’s chairs closer to each other when you weren’t in the room, just so he could properly feel you next to him when you dozed off. He enjoyed your presence at the best of times but it was those dark, quiet moments when he genuinely and fully needed you.

It came to a head one night when you’d laid down with the Child beside you - not upstairs in the cockpit, but in the tiny cot in the hull of the ship.

There wasn’t room for one person, let alone one person and a tiny creature. Even worse, for two people - one in a beskar suit - and the creature. It just didn’t work. It shouldn’t have worked.

But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and the moment that Din saw you dead to the world with the Child in your arms, he was certain that he was going to make it work. Maybe with a bit of reshuffling there, and if he just moved the kid here - and that was when Grogu bit him pretty hard on the finger.

Disregarding his reshuffling plan, he knew there was only one option left.

It was something he’d never dreamt of doing before, simply for how terrifying and exposing it was - but he took one glance at you, and once glance at his kid, and he knew it was going to be worth it in the long run. It was merely a necessary step to getting closer to you - physically, mentally emotionally.

You stirred slightly at the sound of metal clattering to the floor - not enough to wake up, but enough to be a little more aware of the room around you. A moment later, there was a quiet hiss, and then everything went black.

In your sleepy state, your brain reacted a little slowly - but then the mattress beneath you dipped, and you felt someone’s skin against yours. Not just skin, but stubble against the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to it, and warm fingers tangling with yours.

“The armour,” you murmured. “You took it off.”

“It was the only way,” he softly replied. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” you let out a sleepy hum. “Good night…”

“Din,” he quietly said.

“Good night, Din.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin reader insert #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian reader insert #mandalorian imagines #star wars reader insert #star wars fan fiction #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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missgeniality · 4 years

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A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonnafor hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again. Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids.

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.”

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want.

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink.

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand.

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it.

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all.

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in.

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation.

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek.

“Sooo I was watching Filter…”

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through.

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away.

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces.

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way.

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come.

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup.

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly.

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast.

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions.

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance.

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge.

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs.

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word.

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time.

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him.

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up.

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in.

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks.

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!”

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.”

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him.

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line.

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up.

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either.

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed.

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition.

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost.

But you’re not done being an idiot.

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient.

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!”

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one.

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral.

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go.

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night.

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow.

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams.

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder.

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now.

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone.

So there is no reason for you to be able to move.

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too.

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known.

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise.

You were a sucker for the whole man.

But the sucking will probably have to wait.

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.”

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this.

“You know my favorite part?”

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body.

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream.

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward.

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm.

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general.

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work.

Well, you must get to work.

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties.

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard. Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack!

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness.

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes.

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him.

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips.

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result.

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth.

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines.

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering.

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs.

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away.

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you.

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him.

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you.

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now.

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you.

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion.

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside.

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue.

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want.

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either.

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.”

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech.

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish.

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole.

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans.

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well.

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours.

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot.

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable.

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping.

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down.

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do.

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

#bangtansorciere #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bangtanuniversity

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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years

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For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

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unpopularwiththepopulace · 3 years

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Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

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xbunnybunz · 3 years

Text

Daybreak (7/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

——

There were three messages from Alex on your phone for you when you got back home.

One concerned for your wellbeing, one worried for whether you got home, and another apologizing for being brash.

You skimmed all of them and opened none.

Night turned into day, and that day into another night, until eventually a week had gone past.

He hadn't messaged you again. Even though you weren't expecting anything, you still waited for something, anything, to happen.

You knew you had to be the one to reach out again, but whenever you opened your messages and stared at his name, a stone would sit itself in your gut and weigh you down, heavy, burdensome and unrelenting until you put the phone down.

The thought that perhaps allowing yourself to become close to Alex Go wasn't such a good idea, the thought that maybe someone like you, so stuck and still hurting in the past would only serve to anchor him down, ran through your mind.

You tried everything to distract yourself.

Within the week you had been thrust back into loneliness, you were a fish out of water. You tried to grasp at anything to occupy the space in your mind, jogs in the morning, after school, in the middle of the night. It tired you out, but never enough to placate your mind.

Between the bouts of exercise, you tried to understand the situation. You think about Alex Go and his friend Ben in middle school, and you thought about Alex Go and you in the present. You think about the broken the stoplight, and how it connected to the night everything changed.

He had been the one to destroy the traffic light.

You had many days and nights to ponder about this, alone in your room. He was the reason that on that fateful night, on that sad, dim street corner, the light flashed erratically between "go" and "stop." He was the reason it was brandished forever in your mind, your mourning heart, and on blood stained hands.

Your chest ached with regret, so deep and harrowing that you wished you could tear it out. It was curious how reckless life was with passion, sincerity and good will. It stung especially painfully seeing indifference and injustice can convene so sharply right before your eyes. One second there, the next gone.

When you closed your eyes, you could still see your hand, bleached with moonlight and stilled, reaching out to him. A whisper on your lips, dying on your breath to fall upon deafened ears.

All bitter memories.

Dampening your eyes and shaking your core, but no matter where you looked, how many reasons you turned over, you could find no spite for Alex Go. The same Alex Go who, when smiling, parted the clouds and called off the rain. Alex Go, who could never wish harm on anyone, not intentionally.

In a desperate attempt to salvage peace of mind, you had picked up the pen again despite knowing what would happen.

You'd just write whatever was on your mind. It wasn't a story, or a continuation to a novel, it was just pages and pages of nonsense with no exact order. And though it was indubitably the voice of your mind, you felt nothing while writing it and it frustrated you to no end. It couldn't be helped, these words had been bouncing around your head so long they had made refuge in your skin, your fingers, controlling your life long before they were on paper. But you didn't need to see your thoughts to understand them. You needed solace. Needed peace. Needed someone to tell you that you would be okay.

But you didn't have these things, so you kept pressing on, like pouring out these words could help you find the ones you wanted to send Alex when the basin was empty. Poised and pen in hand, for as long as you could, like endurance training, until your wrists burned and your body ached.

It never lasted long, those bouts of writing. So when you could no longer run, or think, or write, you would toss in turn in bed, skimming the brink of sleep and consciousness. There would be moments of clarity, and they always hit you hard and fast. Made you grab for your phone, adrenaline roaring through your veins when you typed out a response to him, something, anything.

Sometimes it was an apology or a simple hello, but other times the sensation would give you an intense high.

You'd remember his laugh, the fierceness to which he defended you from the bitter taste of blame, and it was then that your heart reached out to him, a cacophony of white noise and static that would always die at your fingertips when you hit backspace, remembering the hurt on his face, the pain because of you.

Then you'd think of Wolf. Somehow, at the end of every restless night you spent rolling in bed, hazel eyes flashed in your vision, watching you inscrutably. Hot like fire, icy like a tundra. Almost close enough to touch and feel the burn, the chill.

Tonight as you lay in bed, you ponder the weekend ahead of you. Wonder how many nights you spent alone in your room. Think about your classmates making more memories while you keep reliving your own in a nightmarish daze.

You think about these things until you exhaust yourself, but even then, sleep refuses to claim you.

So you pick yourself up, dust yourself off. Pull on some clothes, comb through your hair. Then you're out the door again, in search of something to make you feel alive.

When you arrive in front of the bar, the moon is strung high and the stars hang far below it, dipping into the darker crevices of Yeongduengpo. It's later than you'd normally show up and catching Wolf at this hour would be nothing short of a miracle, but you were willing to take your chances.

And then like magic he's right in front of you, before you even open the door, before you even enter the bar.

He's with his friends, the same ones that had seen you the first night and a couple more.

One of his hands is braced on the door, and for a second you think that perhaps he's taken by surprise as much as you are. There's a glimmer in his eye, a quirk of his lip. Then the bell chimes above your heads and pulls you back to reality, suddenly feeling quite small and vulnerable in front of so many prying eyes.

Your fingers tingle so you reach up to tug at your top, the chill of the night air biting into your flesh and raising gooseskin.

Your eyes dart from Wolf to the men behind him, wondering if you should address him, if being associated with you in public was damaging to him.

Before you can think too much, Wolf gives a feral grin. "I'll catch up later. Don't wait up."

It only occurs that he isn't speaking to you when the intimidating crowd moves past him without further question, muttering about which internet café was open 24/7 and who had enough money to pay.

They give passing glances as they saunter past you, though none of them seem to suspect you were the reason for Wolf's sudden change of plans, or even recognize you as the wayward drunk from the weeks prior.

You turn and watch them make their way down the block, spitting and cussing and scaring people into crossing the street. Only when they're specks in the distance to you turn back to Wolf Keum, who's lavender hair gleamed nearly silver in the moonlight.

He's still propping the door open, more leaning on it now than anything else.

"Well?"

You swallow thickly, still a bit stunned from the parade of delinquents he showcased just now.

Just who was Wolf Keum?

The men who you had seen just were no doubt untame, with their school uniforms unbuttoned, hair dyed and tongues lashing obscenities. Yet still with all these pugnacious men in one place, Wolf had managed to command them without even turning to address them directly.

You wondered what about this man could be so powerful, so strong that he could instill his rule as absolute with even such fearsome crowds.

His lips curve into a salacious smirk at your gaping, and only then do you realize he's waiting for you to come in.

You slip from the crisp autumn air into the thrumming atmosphere of the bar with a murmur of an apology, Wolf following not too far behind you.

"You an alcoholic or something?" It's a jest, but the tone of his voice is buttery and dark and makes it much less funny and more nerve-wracking.

"Worry about yourself." You bite, and it comes out curter that anticipated so you chew your lip, trying hard not to look too ashamed.

Wolf isn't deterred, falling in stride beside you and not missing a beat. "It was a business meeting, can't drink through that, as much as those fuckasses make me want to."

You want to respond to his quips, but your mind is preoccupied with the hordes of people swarming the premises.

There's a larger crowd than you're used to, much more mature individuals, faces lined with wrinkles, exacerbated by the yellow lighting, palming at their temples. The usual low hum of conversation is replaced with occasional shouts and crashing glass, though no one seems to think this is unusual but yourself. You push onwards until you see that there's a tired looking businessman in your usual seat.

Wolf senses your hesitation and follows your gaze, catching wind of the situation. He leans over a bit, hands in his pockets, breath hot on your ear.

"You seen the billiards room downstairs before?"

You shake your head no and you can feel him chuckle, exhaling air through his nose. He takes one step forward then another, ambling through the mass of people without another word. For the brief moment he leaves your side, time slows down. You watch Wolf's retreating back and feel almost alone. The bar, usually your place of comfort, had turned unfamiliar and foreign, leaving a cold sensation in your chest.

Your heartbeat comes slow and heavy in your ears, like a beating drum. You wonder why you're even here, what you have to prove to yourself, or anyone else. Fingers clutch at your bag, feeling the outline of your phone, cool and solid in your grasp. You wonder if you had any new messages.

"You coming?"

Wolf calls to you over his shoulder, waiting in the middle of the crowd that seems to part for him naturally.

He extends a hand to you, fingers still, gaze unwavering. His dark eyes dance in the lights, lips pulled into a curve echoing a crescent moon. A man of the night, shining amongst the stars, brightest in the darkest hours.

"Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

You reach out and your fingers graze his hand, a gossamer touch, his skin calloused and soft to the touch. A blush works its way across your cheeks and you're glad he doesn't catch it, already turned away to make his way to the crowd. He wraps his hand around your fingers and tugs you along, guiding both of your bodies through the restless throng, past the bar, past the tables and to a staircase shrouded in darkness, illuminated by a single golden lightbulb.

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #weak hero webtoon #webtoon #webcomic #wolf keum #alex go #wolf keum x reader #alex go x reader #reader insert

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elthadriel · 3 years

Text

Boosting Morale

It's been too long since Rex and Cody were together to let sharing a room with a dozen other men stop them from having sex.

And if their men want to watch, well maybe that can just be part of the fun.

Tags: Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Begging, Anal Sex, Consensual Kink, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, sub Cody, bottom Cody, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Roleplay-ish, SubCody Week 2021

Read on Ao3

It hadn’t even occurred to Cody to not to give up his quarters when Kenobi had mentioned there were going to be a total of six Jedi and twice as many Senators on the Negotiator for a couple of nights. It was sensible even if it hadn’t been proper procedure. He could find an empty bunk in the Trooper barracks easily enough, an event he doubted a non-clone would ever recover from.

Still, he was disappointed to be on the same ship as Rex and not have the privacy to enjoy it. At least they could still curl up in the same bunk, which was a whole lot better than being light years apart for weeks at time.

And, well, Cody hadn’t realised he’d missed sharing a room with his brothers. Private quarters once he had left Kamino were a luxury he could never have imagined and not one he wanted to give up, but there was something oddly nostalgic about being in barracks with a couple dozen other clones, a near even mix of the 212th and the 501st who had been invited to double up. He’d even missed the unashamed sounds of loud sex happening all around him as everyone settled in for the evening. The only thing that had really changed from when he shared a room with other CCs was that he wasn’t able to pick out exactly who was fucking who based on the precise sounds they were making.

That was probably a good thing; he didn’t need to know any of his men that well, or any of Rex’s for that matter.

And it turned out his frustration at not being able to enjoy one of the rare nights he had Rex got to spend together had been unfounded. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get so handsy in front of men they were expected to lead into battle, but if their vode had no concerns about getting off in front of them, it seemed only fair they got off too.

Rex kissed him like he was trying to drag Cody’s soul out through his mouth, hard and unrelenting. He was in a rough mood, teeth catching on Cody’s lower lip, tugging and sucking, drawing soft noises from Cody.

He was on his back, Rex above him, one leg pressed between Cody’s, rubbing up against him with any movement. Cody still resisted actively rutting against it, but he was more than aware the opportunity was there if he wanted it. Rex had an elbow either side of Cody’s head holding just enough of Rex’s weight to get the angle Rex wanted, the rest of Rex’s bulk heavy across Cody’s body.

Cody sighed into the demanding kisses, holding the front of Rex’s shirt to stop any chance of him pulling away; not that it was a risk he was particularly concerned about.

“Hey, Captain, nice of you to slum it down with the rest of us. Who’s your hot piece of ass?” A Trooper called out across the room with the confidence of a man who had just earned his paint.

Rex broke the kiss and Cody opened his eyes, getting a good look at him before he turned to address the Trooper. Rex was a little flushed, eyes dark, mouth quirked up in amusement.

“That would be Marshal Commander Cody,” Rex said. “Something you’d like to say to him?”

Cody turned to catch the man’s expression, the added bonus being that twisting his head displayed his distinctive scar. The Trooper went a rather dramatic shade of white.

“No Sir. Sorry Sir- Sirs,” the kid said, snapping his heels together and saluting. Around him his friends seemed torn between laughing at his misfortune and being appropriately deferential. It probably wasn’t the sort of thing they were going to let him forget anytime soon. It was an important lesson in being overly familiar with officers.

Not that it was always a bad thing for soldiers to be familiar with their COs. Cody tugged Rex’s attention back to him before the poor boy combusted. He liked how familiar Rex was with him.

“You’re a fucking moron, Vector,” one of the clones said, voice not quite low enough to prevent it from carrying.

“Gonna get your shebs sent for reconditioning. Gonna have to tell the Kaminoans you said a Superior officer could get it,” another said, Blue, a 212th man on a list in Cody’s office for potential officer training. He went a little pinker realising he was going to know exactly which of his people had watched Rex feel him up.

“Nah, the Commander’s always in a good mood when Rex is around, no rewards for guessing why. He’ll probably just put you on cleaning detail until you die.”

“It is a hell of a show though,” Blue said, and Cody knew he wasn’t supposed to have heard that part. He let it pass unchallenged. Rex’s hand was slipping under his shirt, warm even against his heated skin, and everything else seemed unimportant.

“He’s right,” Rex mumbled, breaking the kiss to suck at Cody’s neck instead. “You are a hot piece of ass.”

Cody rolled his eyes, but smiled despite himself. Their kisses were growing more heated, and the leg sandwiched between his own a more distracting presence. It was one thing to make out in a shared space, full of subordinates who were already paying more attention to them than they would any Troopers fooling around, it was quite another have sex with another officer right in front of them.

They could probably get away with frotting against each other at least. Except-

“Force, I want to fuck you so bad.” Rex said, mouth hot against Cody’s neck.

Cody groaned, shifting his hips, rubbing his semi-erect cock against the thick meat of Rex’s thigh. The muscles in his groin clenched at the suggestion, pre-come leaking from the tip of his cock, staining the front of his blacks. It had been almost two months since they’d had the time for penetrative sex, and now the idea was in his head he wasn’t sure he could settle for anything else.

Rex nipped at his jaw.

“You’d like that, huh? I could strip you out of your blacks in front of our men and fuck you while they watch,” Rex shifted from his elbows up onto his hands, looming over Cody.

“Rex,” Cody moaned, his hips twitching without his permission.

“What do you think they’d make of that? Watching the great Commander Cody spreading his legs and begging for it like a slut?

“Please.” He could already picture it, how he would look to them, reduced to a needy mess by the promise of a hard cock in him. He had such a carefully built reputation of control and unbending professionalism and there was something deliciously filthy at revealing to the men who respected him that he was as human as the rest of them, throwing all propriety aside in exchange for good hard fucking.

“Please what?” Rex asked, smirking ever so slightly. The only saving grace for Cody’s pride was the flush rising on Rex’s neck, making it clear he was as turned on at the thought as Cody was.

“Fuck me in front of them. Show them who I belong to.”

Rex’s breath caught in his throat. He pressed his thigh more firmly between Cody’s legs and Cody failed to muffle his cry. He buried his burning face into Rex’s shoulder. Fuck. The silence in the room was palpable, and he could feel the eyes of what must be everyone in the room turn to him.

He wanted this, the tent in his blacks made that more than clear, but the sharp embarrassment was dancing between exciting and too much.

Cody wrapped his arms around Rex’s back, holding him close as he decided where he was going to land on this. They’d played with this sort of fantasy before, toying with the intoxicating mix of humiliation and excitement of being watched, but fantasy and reality were two very different beasts.

Rex kissed the point just under his ear, voice more breath than sound. “We can go find a supply closet if you want?”

It certainly would be easier. They could steal from the room and find a private little corner of the ship, it wouldn’t even be the first time. But he wanted to do it here. He wanted everyone to know exactly how well Rex took care of him. He wanted the burn of humiliation fuelling his arousal.

“No. I want to do it here.”

“You sure?” Rex asked, because he worried like that.

“Positive.”

Rex bit the shell of his ear, giving a tug just the right side of painful. “You’ll let me know if it becomes too much?”

Cody nodded.

Satisfied, Rex sat back on his haunches, pulling his upper black up off over the top of his head, dropping them onto the floor by the bed. He had mostly healed burn from a too close for comfort blaster bolt along his shoulder where there was a narrow gap in their armour. Cody sat up, pressing a kiss just by the edge of it.

Before he could enjoy the rest of Rex’s newly exposed skin, Rex was tugging insistently on Cody’s own blacks, his shirt quickly joining Rex’s on the floor. Rex did exactly what he had just denied Cody, pushing him back into the mattress and ducking his head to suck a dark mark into Cody’s collarbone. Cody closed his eyes, sinking into the pillows, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Rex’s mouth was hot against his skin, and a deep satisfaction curled around his chest knowing how marked up he was going to be by the time Rex was done with him. He’d have fading bruises to trace long after Rex was gone.

Pleased with his work, Rex abandoned Cody’s collarbone in search of somewhere else to mark him only to be very quickly distracted by Cody’s left nipple. He licked a stripe over it before sucking it into his mouth, while Cody made a soft, pleased sound. Rex’s teeth teased the nub, a sharp pain that had him clutching at the back of Rex’s head to keep him in place.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” said one of the troopers said from a bunk over. They were slowly gathering closer, even those that had been actively fucking each other suddenly more interested in what Cody and Rex were up to. It was understandable, it wasn’t the sort of show that happened very often, if ever. “The Commander looks good all messed up.”

Cody wondered what Fox would have to say if he knew about this, Fox who claimed he intended to fuck his way through the entire GAR but wouldn’t so much as be seen in a state of undress more scandalous than removing his helmet by the men he directly commanded. If he and Ponds had ever managed to agree about anything it was that it was an officer’s responsibility to maintain an unshakable sense of integrity to his men. Cody somewhat doubted they would consider letting Rex fuck him as meeting that standard. This was going to make it back to the other CCs, it was inevitable, and the promise of their judgement did filthy things to Cody’s insides.

He hadn’t known this about himself, how hot he would find this.

“Check in with me?” Rex said, removing his mouth from Cody and leaving the wet skin to cool against the air.

“They think I’m hot,” he said voice already a little rough.

“You like that?” Rex asked.

Cody wanted to hide his face, somehow more embarrassed to admit that he liked being watched than in the being watched itself. There was nowhere for him to hide from how well Rex knew him however, so he just nodded.

Rex looked at him like Cody had hung the stars and planets beside. He kissed Cody with bruising force, before taking full advantage of Cody’s confession.

“They’re jealous,” Rex said. “They would do anything to be in my position right now. You spread out under them, desperate for their touch. If I wasn’t here, would you let them? Would you offer up your tight ass to your men?”

Cody whined, fisting the sheets under him.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Rex was back at his throat, pausing his verbal torment to add another bruise to Cody’s growing collection. Only when he was satisfied with the angry mark did he continue. “Face down on the bed, ass in the air, let them take turns with you until you’re fat with their come. You think a single one of them could resist an offer like that?”

“Fuck, Rex.” He tried to grind his ass against Rex but he had no leverage flat on his back, Rex’s hands holding him in place.

“Ask me for it,” Rex ordered. “ Nicely.”

Cody let out a breathless laugh. Like he was in any state to be rude to Rex right now.

“Please, Rex.”

Rex rolled his hips, the hard line of his erection rubbing up against Cody and his thigh pressing teasingly down against Cody’s, but he made no other move to progress things.

“Louder. So our men can hear you.”

Heat throbbed sharply in Cody’s crotch.

“Please,” he said, barely any louder than the first time. Rex kissed him, mouth closed, surprisingly chaste considering the filth he had been talking only moments before. Cody squeezed his eyes shut and tried again.

“Rex, please. I need you in me. Stop teasing. Please. ” There was a tremble to his voice, but it carried across the room, and he heard someone off to the side let out a low groan accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a hand working slicked up flesh.

Force, they were jerking themselves off to this. To him.

Rex let out a low moan of his own, kissing Cody again with more force.

“You’re amazing,” Rex breathed. “I love you.”

He smiled, bright and warm, made braver by Rex’s words.

“Fuck me, please, please, Rex. ” He shifted his own leg, deciding it was only fair Rex experienced the delicious friction he’d been teasing Cody with, pressing his leg up against Rex’s bulge. Rex gasped, arms almost buckling in surprise, but while a couple of Troopers moved to sit on closer bunks for a better view, Rex wasn’t taunted into returning to their game just yet.

“I want them to see how perfect you are for me. I want them to hate me for being lucky enough to have you.” He said, voice low, speaking just for Cody. Rex threaded the fingers of one hand through Cody’s, holding his face with a gentleness that didn’t match bite marks littering Cody’s body.

They looked at each other for a moment, Rex smiling fondly, running his thumb down the scar on Cody’s face. Cody wanted him far more deeply than physically, wanted to whisper terrible vulnerable things to him, but while he was learning all sorts of new things about himself in that moment, like his apparent kink for being dommed with an audience, that was something he wasn’t willing to share with anyone but Rex.

Instead he kissed Rex’s palm and hoped that he knew.

Rex closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them his smile widened and turned more mischievous.

“If we don’t move this along I’m going to come in my blacks like a shiny,” Rex said. He released Cody’s face to trace a line over Cody’s ass through his blacks instead.

Shit.

“We don’t have any lube,” Cody realised. He’d left it in his room, hidden among his clean underwear. He hadn’t considered this as an option.

Rex hesitated for only a moment, before his expression turned smug. He dug his fingers into the flesh of Cody’s ass, teasing the waistband of his blacks lower on hips. “I’m sure one of our roommates would be happy to donate some to the cause if we ask.”

Cody was more than aware it should be embarrassing to have to publicly ask one of their subordinates for lube but with Rex’s obvious arousal at the idea pressing against him it was impossible to care.

He nodded his consent to the suggestion and was rewarded with a playful slap to his ass, though the angle was wrong for any real force.

“Hey, Fives,” Rex called across the room. “You got any lube?”

Five’s reply came quickly enough to make it clear his attention, seemingly like every other clone in the room, was already on Rex and Cody. “I thought being prepared for all eventualities was what separated good leaders from great ones?” He asked, in what Cody was positive was a reference to something he’d said. It sounded like the sort of bullshit he sprouted around shinies. Making that kid an ARC had been a mistake, that much recognition had given him a dangerous amount of confidence.

“Delegation is an important part of efficient leadership,” Cody said, which was perfectly true, but this was probably not what anyone had had in mind when he’d been taught that. There was a smattering of laughter across the room and Cody had to imagine it was less because they suddenly found him so very witty and more because his attempt at his officer voice was rather undone by his riled up state.

“Enough with the lip,” Rex said, with a hint of his own officer voice slipping through. “Do you have some or are you going to be the reason Marshal Commander Cody doesn’t get fucked tonight?”

Cody was absently surprised that he was even able to maintain an erection with how much blood was rushing to his face. Rex made him sound like he was gagging for it. It wasn’t inaccurate, but having it shared with so many people twisted his insides in delicious ways.

“I’ve got some, give me a second.”

Cody didn’t pay any attention to Fives trying to fish out the lube, his attention suddenly taken by how Rex’s pecs looked from this angle. He wanted to lick them. Rex had a head start on marking him up, but Cody would make sure he returned the favour, if not tonight tomorrow. Rex’s chest was beautiful, but it would look even better covered in dark bruises.

There was the sound of bare feet on the hard floor and a shadow fell across the bed. Fives could have thrown it from where he was sitting, but Cody had to admit that if it had been his superior officer in this position, if it had been Alpha-17, he probably wouldn't have turned down the opportunity to get a closer look either. Fives stared down at him, lube held loosely in his hand, largely forgotten. He hardly seemed to notice when Rex reached out and took it from him, placing it down beside Cody’s hip.

Rex twisted Cody’s nipple sharply, pain blurring with pleasure and Cody arched off the bed with a hiss.

“Say thank you,” he said, before dipping his head to press an apologetic kiss to Cody’s chest.

“Thank you, Fives,” he said, turning only enough that he could see Fives out of the corner of his eye. Fives didn’t meet his gaze, his eyes locked on where Rex’s hips were flush against Cody’s, between Cody’s spread thighs.

“You’re welcome, Sir.” Fives wanted to touch him, it was clear in the tension in his hands the effect it was taking to hold himself back. Cody wished he would try. It was impossible in that moment to have any interest in anyone’s hands but Rex’s, but Rex could play the possessive partner when the scene called for it, and Cody wanted to see Rex remind Fives of his place.

He rolled his hips fruitless up against nothing, the drag of his blacks against his cock nowhere near close to enough.

Fives had just enough self-preservation not to try, but he also didn’t leave. He sat on the bed next to theirs, his dick tenting in his blacks, hands in white knuckled fists on his lap. For a second Cody considered asking him to join them, he could take Fives in his mouth while Rex fucked his ass.

“Eyes on me, Cody,” Rex said. He’d sat back up, one hand down the front of his blacks, stroking himself, the material clinging to the outline of his dick. All thoughts of Fives slipped from his head.

Rex gave him an almost bashful smile, dropping his voice again. Fives might be close enough to hear, but it was enough to mark the conversation as not part of the game. “Last chance to think better of this,” Rex said, though of course it wasn’t. Cody had no doubt he could end this at any time. He had no intention of ending anything.

For all the bluster Rex was putting on for the role, he was far from unaffected. The paper thin skin at Rex’s throat fluttered with his rapid pulse and Cody pushed himself up onto his elbows to kiss it. Rex lifted his head, giving Cody easy access, sighing happily as Cody pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to his skin.

“If you weren’t so pretty flustered and on display I might be the one thinking better of this,” The teasing tone was back, Rex’s throat rumbling under Cody’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful, I almost can’t stand the thought of sharing you.”

“You can’t get us all riled up and leave us hanging, Sir.” Steel said, ignoring the elbows from his brothers.

Rex shot Steel a look that made it very clear how little he thought of Steel’s commentary.

“He’s right, Rex, bad for morale.” Cody nudged Rex’s side with his knee. He was aroused and excited, and wanted suddenly to goad Rex into action, face the consequences of a little cheek.

Rex caught on immediately, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice and Cody was abruptly shoved back down flat to the bed. “Want to make this a regular thing? We can have bi-weekly showings? Send holovids to the other battalions of me reducing you to a needy mess, begging for cock. See how good morale is when they have regular access to Marshal Commander Cody being fucked like he was built for it. They haven’t even seen how prettily you suck dick.”

“Big word for a man who still hasn’t fucked me.”

Rex grinned, wide and excited, before he pulled himself back into his role. He grabbed Cody’s balls firmly through his blacks, enough to tumble over the line from pleasurable into uncomfortable, boarding on painful. Cody scrambled at the sheets, arching up into the touch, the air punched out of him.

He loved it when Rex was rough with him.

“What was that, Sir?” Rex asked. “If you’re unhappy with how I’m doing things I’m sure someone else would be happy to take over. Get a little Trooper over here who’ll fuck you exactly how you ask. Do you think that would satisfy you?”

“ Rex, ” he croaked, barely managing to make a sound at all. His lungs were empty and he couldn’t pull in more air. Rex’s grip on him seared like a brand and he squirmed, desperate to be released and desperate to be held tighter. No one had ever been able to ride his limits the way Rex could.

“We both know that I know what you want more than you do, don’t we?” Rex eased up, just enough that Cody remembered how to breathe.

“You do, Sir.” The title spilt from his mouth without his consent, the scene getting twisted in his head, forgetting what game they were playing. He was going to come if Rex wasn’t careful, make a mess of his blacks and their plans.

“Then would you like to apologise, Cody?” Rex’s voice was perfectly level and it made Cody’s toes curl.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I need you, Rex. Just you.” It was more of a whine than words but it was apparently enough.

Rex released Cody’s balls and he could think again. He was achingly hard, throbbing painfully already pressed up against the point of no return. He had to hope the foreplay was turning Rex on as much as it was turning him on, because he felt he wasn’t going to last long when Rex started fucking him.

Rex ran his hands over Cody’s thighs soothingly.

“ Fuck.” Fives sounded almost as ruined as Cody felt.

“Something to say?” Rex asked, returning to the game at hand.

“The fucking noises he makes, Rex. Do you mind if I…?” Cody couldn’t see what Fives gestured to, but he could imagine. There was something almost comical about Fives asking for permission to do what half the other men in the room were already doing.

“Would you like that?” Rex asked Cody, and perhaps Fives just understood the scene a little better than the others. Cody didn’t know what to do with that information.

Cody nodded, probably too eagerly.

“I don’t think he heard you,” Rex said, conversationally, but he had that same ability that all officers had, to make his voice fill a room.

“Yes,” Cody said, trying to use his officer voice too, but there was a tremble to it that he couldn’t quite bring under control.

Rex took hold of Cody’s hips, applying just enough pressure to make sure Cody wouldn’t be able to forget Rex was in control.

“Yes he can masturbate to the noises you’re making while I fuck you?”

Cody’s pulse pounded in his ears, almost enough to drown out everything else. “Yes he can wank to the sounds I’m making.”

“Him or all of them?” Rex asked, still not done forcing Cody to admit exactly what he wanted.

“All of them.” Cody couldn’t get his voice steady but no one could fault his volume. “Fuck, Rex, every fucking clone in the GAR.”

Rex’s hands tightened on him, betraying his own need.

“Well if you’re the entertainment, we really should give them something to see. Wouldn’t want to lower morale.”

Sometimes when Rex took control like this Cody was left feeling like he was floating but this time he felt grounded, hyper-aware of every sensation he was experiencing. The sheets, damp with his own sweat, sticking to his back, the too tight cling of his blacks around his crotch, the achingly familiar calluses of Rex’s hands on his skin, the way the room was already filled with the distinct smell of sex, the scattered noises from their men pleasuring themselves.

He was on the brink of drowning in it, trusting Rex to keep him from sinking completely.

“Going to get you out of the rest of your clothes, show our boys how pretty you are. Bet they already fantasise about your thighs, I know I did while you were still playing hard to get. I think you owe them a proper look after flaunting yourself around for so long.” He dug his fingers into the muscles of Cody’s thighs to prove his point, squeezing once before he shuffled back a little and pulled at the waist of Cody’s trousers.Cody lifted his hips to help and Rex pulled his blacks out from under his ass and down his legs. The air wasn’t particularly cold, but being suddenly so exposed caused goosebumps to raise across his skin. Rex’s hands returned to his bare thighs, running his fingers lightly up the inside and despite applying almost no pressure, Cody spread his legs wide under the touch, lifting his hips, drawing attention to his erect cock.

For a moment he was at the edge of genuine embarrassment at displaying himself so thoroughly, at being so visibly desperate for Rex’s touch, but while the approving noises from the troopers did nothing to soothe him, he was also successful in gaining Rex’s complete attention.

Rex took Cody’s cock in his hand, and Cody moaned, falling back into the pillow, eyes closed, and any risk of shame was consumed by the heat of Rex’s hand. No one should be ashamed of wanting this. He wrapped his legs around Rex’s back, knowing full well he would have to release him almost immediately so Rex could finish undressing, but in that moment needing Rex to be flush against him too much to care.

It was hard to care about much with Rex slowly jerking his dick, rubbing up against his ass, and giving him a look like he was the most beautiful thing Rex had ever seen.

His focus fixated on where the skin just above the waist of Rex’s blacks met the sensitive skin of the inside of Cody’s thighs. He needed more of Rex’s skin against him. He reached up, touching Rex wherever he could, running his hands over Rex’s throat, chest, waist, any part he could reach.

“You’re wearing too much,” he mumbled. “It’s not fair.”

Rex grinned cheekily at him.

“What was that, Cody?” He was still stroking Cody, with slow deliberate strokes that caused heat to pulse through him in encompassing waves. But it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Take your blacks off. Promised them a show,” he said, and then because he’d learned his lesson, added, “Please, Rex. I want to feel you, it’s been too long.”

Rex lent forward to kiss him again, hooking an arm under Cody’s knee, pulling it up with him as he moved, spreading him obscenely open, pressing their cocks together, only a thin layer of material still separating them. It was pressure that had no risk of having him shoot off early, like Rex’s careful handjob had, but the physical proof that Rex was as turned on as he was pressing against him was at least just as arousing.

It was also a deliberate denial of what Cody wanted and caught himself pouting into Rex’s kiss.

“I think the Commander gave you an order, Captain.” It was a 501st boy, one Cody thought he should recognise but couldn’t put a name to. He would have to learn it, give the little shit a medal.

“Don’t think the Commander is in any position to give orders right now,” Rex said, grinning as Cody sulked.

“Think that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment, Sir. Blue-balling a senior officer.”

“Forget cruel to him, what about us? Gonna get a kriffing friction burn on my dick,” another 501st Trooper added.

“Your boys are as desperate as I am,” Cody said, awed.

Rex shook his head, not even really able to argue with that, but he was always one to recognise an opportunity when it presented itself.

“The 212th have been very shy,” Rex said, sitting back up, “What do you think, Clover. Want to see me fuck your CO? Want to see him squeal?”

Clover let out a sound that was more squeak than word.

Rex let Cody’s leg fall heavily back to the bed.

“Look at him, he’s desperate for it, wants to know how pretty you think he is like this, how pretty the highest ranked clone in the whole damned army is when his subordinate makes him beg,” Rex wore his achievements humbly, but smug pride at how wound up he had Cody was oozing off him in waves and Cody couldn’t get enough of it.

Rex rolled his hips again, pressing their cocks hard against each other and Cody choked out a desperate please. His head felt light, the excitement of the role catching up with him. It was so easy to let everything but his clawing need for Rex to fall away, shove any lingering sense of shame from his head. He needed Rex like he needed air, and he found it hard to care if everyone knew it.

He wanted them to tell him how gorgeous he was like this, not because their opinions mattered, but he needed to hear how perfect he looked to Rex, how jealous they were of what he provided to his partner.

“You’re keeping him waiting, Clover.”

“Yeah, I want to hear him beg, he’s so kriffing beautiful, Sir. Think they built him differently from the rest of us,” the trooper finally managed, without the confidence of his 501st brothers, but lacking none of the eagerness. “Give him your cock, Sir. He’s earned it.”

Rex pressed a finger up against Cody’s entrance, teasing the rim but refusing to push into him.

“You have been very good,” Rex mused, and then his hand was gone. “Seems to me your boys want to see you get fucked just as much as mine, yours are just politer about it”

He lent in very close, mouth brushing against Cody’s ear. “I’m desperate too. The things you do to me, Codes.”

Cody keened, twisting and catching Rex in the briefest of kisses before Rex pulled away.

Rex stood from the bed, kicking off his trousers before in record time before he was back between Cody’s legs, his cock rubbing up against the cleft of Cody’s ass, finally a promise rather than a tease.

He was gone for only a moment, but for those handful of seconds, alone without Rex’s body to shield him from the room Cody took a proper look around, and fuck, they really were being watched by everyone. His heart clenched in that perfect mix of nerves and excitement, the same feeling he got the moment between jumping from a LAAT/i and his jet-pack kicking in. He spread his legs a little wider, rolling his hip up into the air, delighting in how wanton he looked.

His eyes locked with Janad who had shed his own blacks entirely, shamelessly jerking himself off with one hand, the other wrapped around the dick of the vod next to him.

He winked and Cody blushed furiously, heat spreading quickly up his neck, but didn’t look away, not until the second Rex was back between his legs and demanding his full attention. He collected the almost forgotten lube, pouring a liberal amount out onto his fingers, some slipping off and landing on Cody, offensively cold against his heated skin.

“You know that’s the good stuff right?” Fives asked, almost disguising the shudder to his breathing. “Please don’t waste it.”

“Consider it the cost of entry.” Rex grinned, his fingers back at Cody’s ass, trailing his slicked up fingers down between Cody’s cheeks over his hole. “He likes it messy, likes it leaking out of him and down his thighs. Don’t you, Cody?”

He paused his exploring, touching the tips of his fingers against Cody’s entrance, a promise of what the correct answer would bring.

“Yes, Force. I love it when you make a mess of me. Fuck me hard and then send me off to a briefing, leaking slick and come, staining up my blacks.” They’d only done that once, and the discomfort had only just been outweighed by how hot it had made Cody feel. Rex however had been very taken with it, and fucked him again the moment he had returned to his quarters.

Rex made a choked off sound that was almost a curse and finally, finally , pushed two fingers into Cody. He let out a low moan, reaching blindly to hold whatever part of Rex was closest. His cock jumped against his belly as Rex gave him almost no time to adjust to the intrusion, pulling his fingers out to the first knuckle barely as heartbeat after he had pushed them in, only to shove them right back in again. It was a far cry from the stretch of Rex’s cock, but Cody was worked up to a point where he felt he could have fucked himself to completion on a single finger if it was all Rex was offering.

It felt so good to have something filling him.

Rex’s other hand rested on the inside of Cody’s thigh, keeping his legs parted as if Cody would close his legs for anything other than a Sep warship at this point.

Cody was up for a lot in bed, and liked to think he was flexible to whatever his partner wanted, but there was nothing that got him going in quite the same way as being fucked. He’d been utterly taken with the sensation from the very first time he’d pushed his own fingers into himself, face down in his pod back on Kamino, with medical jelly he’d stolen from the medbay as lube. He’d been so caught up in the thrill of this new way of pulling pleasure from his body he’d forgotten to catch his orgasm in the napkins he’d taken from dinner and he’d had to sleep in stained sheets for the next three days.

His own clumsy attempts had nothing on Rex’s fingers stroking against his insides.

“Love doing this to you,” Rex said, Rex found Cody’s prostate with practised ease, curling the ends of his fingers up into it, pulling punched out gasps from Cody. He wanted to fucked, craved the fullness of it, but with Rex’s clever fingers working him open, he almost forgot that, ready to be brought off just like this. He groaned, struggling to keep himself still under Rex’s attention; he wanted to buck into that hand no matter how fruitless.

“That’s it, let them hear you.” Rex said, continuing his careful massage of Cody’s prostate, dragging more noises from him.

Cody wanted to hear them too, he wanted to know if their thoughts were as filthy as he imagined they must be. But they’d fallen silent again and Rex's efforts were making it hard to think straight.

“Rex,” he gasped.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t- fuck, I don’t know.” He forced out between desperate breaths.

“Need more?” Rex asked. He could have let up, let Cody get his thoughts in order but instead he redoubled his efforts, moving his hand from Cody’s thigh to tease his balls, heavy and full beneath his straining cock.

Cody made an inhuman noise. “Please .”

“From me or them?” Rex sounded so calm, and it was driving Cody wild.

“Both, please, Rex, more.”

“Fives?” Rex asked, trusting their resident ARC to be able to run his mouth.

“Sir?” Fives was less successful in sounding unaffected.

“Is this the first time you’ve gotten off to Cody?”

Cody sucked in air sharply at the thought, Fives making the exact same noise across from him.

“No, Sir. Not the first time,” Fives admitted.

“When was the first?”

“Couple weeks after Rishi. Echo and I got each other off and all we talked about was the Commander. How fucking hot he looked fighting those droids, his voice, his kriffing legs.”

Cody made a noise he didn’t have a name for, something desperate and eager.

“Look at him,” Rex said, and Cody could only obey.

Fives had pushed his blacks down his thighs, stroking his dick with slow deliberate movements, eyes fixed on Cody. Pre-come leaked from the head and trickled down his cock and over the back of his hand. He grinned at Cody, twisting his hand up over the top of the head of his cock, pulling most moisture from the tip.

“You want to taste it, Commander? I’m sure if you asked nicely the Captain would let you.”

“Careful, mir'sheb ,” Rex said, twisting his hand inside Cody in that particular way that sent a jolt of pleasure though Cody’s lower half. “Not sure that’s what the Commander-”

“No,” Cody cut him off. “I want to hear more.”

Fives finally looked away from Cody, but only to look at Rex, checking everyone was on board.

Rex seemed amused more than anything else. “You heard the Commander, Fives.”

Fives’ gaze snapped back to Cody, eyes darkened with lust at being permission to continue.

“You want to lap at my cock, Sir? I bet you look so pretty stuffed from both ends, can’t imagine one man is enough to satisfy you.”

Cody laughed. He’d been on some strong ass painkillers in his time and none of them had left him feeling as high as this. “Rex is.”

He shot Rex a smile, who managed to look almost bashful, ducking his head to kiss the inside of Cody’s knee. Funny that was what made him blush.

“He never shares?” Fives asked. He was getting close, jerking his hips up into his hand, his coordination abandoning him. Cody wanted to push him over that edge.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Sometimes he invites the other CCs into bed with us, see how much I can take. Last time- Ah!”

Rex pulled his hand almost all the way out only to shove them roughly back into Cody, taking his cock in his other hand. The sudden sensations were enough to short circuit Cody’s brain, any hope of coherent sentences forced out of his head in favour of the dual pleasure of being filled and held.

If Rex wasn’t careful he was going to abandon the game entirely. He could flip them, pin Rex to the bed instead, ride him until his legs gave out. He could have Rex in him that very second. Waiting would be better; the tease was half the fun, and Rex always knew exactly how long to make him wait, but if Rex didn’t start something soon he was going to be too horny for something that required as much brain power as delayed gratification.

“Sharing all our secrets, huh?” Rex asked. The hand around Cody was lax, and Rex kept it perfectly still even while he continued to work at his passage.

“You tell him then,” Cody said. He bucked his hips up against the loose grip, desperate for any friction he was allowed, even if it was far too little. “It’s better when you say it.”

Rex smirked and pulled his fingers out with a wet sound that seemed impossibly loud to Cody’s ears. He allowed Cody one firm jerk of his dick before that hand too was removed. Cody whined at the loss, his attention well and truly back on Rex.

Rex however was still looking at Fives.

“The last time I was generous enough to let someone else touch him,” Rex said, picking up where Cody had left off, “we worked him open until he could fit both of us in him. He could barely keep himself upright, even pressed between both of us. It took ages to make him loose enough, and he was so fucking proud of himself when we were both inside. Came all up himself.”

Fives wasn’t looking anymore, his eyes closed, fucking frantically into his hand, consumed by the image Rex was painting for him. Rex picked up the lube from the bed, dripping more down his crack and then slicking up his cock.

“I fucked him again the next morning, he was still wet from the night before, and so loose I just slipped right in.”

Fives swore, hunching over on himself, ropes of come messing up his hand and the floor at his feet.

“And after all that talk.” Rex made a dismissive huff. “You couldn’t keep up, ARC.”

Cody wanted to kiss Rex, would have if he could have done it without distracted Rex from were he was finally getting ready to fuck him. His blood burned in anticipation, hot and pulsing under his skin. Fives panted to the side, seemingly run out of things to say.

Back on mission, Rex rearranged Cody to his liking, pulling him down the bed, lifting his thighs up onto Rex’s lap, forcing all weight up on his shoulders. It lined him up nicely, and deliberately denied Cody any angle to push back against Rex from, leaving Rex in control. Cody was spread completely open, entirely at Rex’s mercy and his heart pounded.

Rex gave him a hungry once over, eyes dilated. Cody wished he felt suave enough to smirk up at Rex, but with anticipation heavy in his chest, it was all he could manage not to start begging again. Rex traced a line down the v of Cody’s hip, his cock pressed hard up against Cody. If Cody had even a little leverage all it would have taken was the slightest shift to have Rex sliding into him.

Rex apparently had one last game in mind before he allowed that. “Vector, you wanted to see the Commander’s ass, come over here.”

Vector made a startled sound, jumping to feet in surprise. He shared a nervous look with his vode before stepping closer, wearily like he was expecting the offer to be withdrawn if he drew too much attention to himself. He wet his lips, eyes raking across Cody. He was hard in his blacks, the line of his cock obvious through the material and the seal of his blacks wasn’t lined up correctly, like he had had his hand shoved down them only a moment before and hadn’t had the time to lay them flat when he had hurriedly pulled it out.

Vector edged closer, until his knees were up against the bunk, looking over Rex, directly down Cody’s spread legs. One of the 212th boys, Sunny, if Cody remembered right, cautiously followed him, staring at Cody over Vector’s shoulder with an equally appreciative gaze.

Cody squirmed under their scrutiny, feeling a primal urge to cover himself. His cock pulsed with each beat of heart, a small pool of his pre come collecting on his abs. Rex moved, his cock head nudged against his entrance, but Rex seemed content just to tease him and Cody was in no position to do anything about it.

Well, almost no position.

“Please, Rex,” he whined, giving Rex the most heated look he could manage.

Rex gives Cody an unimpressed look, completely aware of what Cody’s game was. That didn’t mean he was immune.

“Please,” Cody said again, and Rex couldn’t hide how his dick twitched at the pleading. “It’s been weeks, Rex, please. ”

“He’s gorgeous,” Vector said, awed.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s not here, Vector,” Rex warned.

“You’re gorgeous, Sir,” Sunny said, before Vector had a chance to correct himself. “Never knew you were hiding all this under your armour.”

Cody was going to split into pieces if Rex didn’t fuck him that very second.

“Ready?” Rex asked. He was looking at Vector and Sunny, but Cody nodded anyway, squirming in Rex’s lap.

The head of Rex’s cock pressed up against his rim, until his body gave up its futile resistance and Rex breached him. He pushed into him in one smooth stroke, a motion that managed to be as breathtaking no matter how familiar it became. His mouth parted and his head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck. The only sound that escaped him was a shaky, extended exhale. So much of Rex’s bare skin was against his own, and he still wanted more, even filled to his limit he ached for more.

There was always something so utterly overwhelming about knowing Rex was inside him, touching him places he couldn’t touch himself even if he tried. Rex’s cock filled him in a way his fingers couldn’t, a perfect heat stretching him open and he didn’t think he would ever have enough of the feeling.

Were Vector and Sunny looking at where Rex’s body met his, where he stretched tight around Rex’s cock, his most intimate parts on complete display for them. Or would they have stared at his face, wanting to know exactly what expression Cody made when he was penetrated. Force, these men had to follow him into battle, trust their lives to his judgement and strategy. And now they would have to do it with the image of him being thoroughly fucked burned into their memories.

He wondered if he would be able to live it down if he came all over himself right then and there.

He could feel the weight of all the eyes on him, but couldn’t look away from Rex, and the way he was biting his lip to hold in his own groan, and the way his eyes had fallen shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure Cody’s body could give him. Cody was becoming rapidly addicted to how hot his men found him like this, but he wondered then how many of them wished they could be in his place instead of Rex’s, could be the person causing that expression on his face.

Anyone who wasn’t was an idiot; Cody was convinced he was getting the better end of the deal here.

“You feel so good, Codes,” Rex said, voice a little thin. “Fuck, you’re always so good.”

He pulled back slowly, dragging his cock against Cody’s insides until the head was catching on his rim. He thrust back in with a grunt and Cody arched up off the bed, keening high and frantic, clutching at the sheets with one hand and tugging hard at his own hair with the other, needing the bite of pain to make the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked open bearable.

“So tight,” Rex managed, between uneven breathing as he began a punishing pace with his hips, shoving deep into Cody each time.

“Rex,” Cody whimpered, “please.”

“Are you always this needy?” One of the troopers asked, and Cody couldn’t look away from Rex to check who. It didn’t matter much at this point.

“Yes,” he gasped. Rex slammed back into Cody, and Cody let out a choked off groan. “Every time.”

And he was, he supposed. Even over a year into their relationship, the fire Rex lit in his chest every time they fucked hadn’t faded. Every time they were together Cody was as eager for him as the last.

“Fucking desperate for me,” Rex said somehow making it sound dirty and sweet all at the same time. Cody reached out blindly, grasping at Rex’s hand on his hip, squeezing it firmly before Rex pulled it away. Before he could complain the hand circled his cock again and all possible complaints were consumed by the burning heat in his groin.

“More, Rex, harder, please.” Cody was only vaguely aware he was babbling, every passing thought that crossed his mind leaving his mouth. He wanted Rex to fuck him so hard he would feel it for weeks and something to that affect tumbled from his lips.

“You will, Cody, I promise.” Rex pressed deep into him, stretching him to his limit, making it abundantly clear he intended to follow through. “And everyone here is going to know why you’re walking funny.”

Cody moaned, deep in his chest.

“Harder” he demanded. “I want more, please. I can take it. Don’t hold out on me.”

Rex laughed, voice hitching every time he plunged into the tight heat of Cody. “I know you can.”

Rex shifted, putting his arms under Cody’s legs, pushing himself up onto his knees, lifting Cody’s lower half completely up and off the bed, folding him almost in half. The new angle was perfect.

Rex fucked into him with fresh force allowed by the position, dragging over his sensitive prostate with each thrust. His whole body felt taught, his orgasm building each time Rex bottomed out into him and each time Rex’s hand twisted over the head of his straining cock.

“Gonna make you come all over yourself,” Rex promised. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t stand. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Rex,” he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t imagine anything beyond Rex.

“You ever get bored of him Commander and I’ll be happy to give you what you need. Trade him in for a younger model, ya know?”

Cody had almost forgotten Fives was even there and if he had any breath left in his lungs he would have laughed at the very possibility of what Fives was offering. The goading wasn’t meant for his reaction however, even if it was ultimately for his benefit. Rex snarled, slamming his cock back into Cody with an aggressive jerk of his hips.

Words abandoned Cody completely and he let out a wordless cry.

“Didn’t we already prove you couldn’t handle him, Fives?” Rex was setting the sort of relentless pace he would normally never be able to maintain but he was as encouraged by their audience as much as Cody was and seemed to have found new depths to himself.

In the very corner of Cody’s vision Fives gestured at his cock, already erect again. That man didn’t know when to quit; it was going to get him in trouble one of these days.

“Maybe you can’t go twice this quick, but they gave me a little extra.”

Rex laughed, sharp and mocking. “He has the entire Command batch to pick from, and he still picked me, what do you think that says about how well I fuck him? But you, three months out of ARC training thing you could satisfy Commander Fucking Cody? He’d eat you alive.”

“Rex,” Cody said, it felt like the first conscious choice he’d made about what left his mouth in a while. Rex was getting distracted, and Cody was feeling greedy; he wanted all of Rex’s attention for himself, he wanted the attention of every man in this room, but he needed Rex’s.

“I’d help,” Vector said suddenly, apparently rediscovering the conference he’d had at the start of the night. “Hold him down while Fives fucks him. Sunny could suck him off.”

Sunny made a pleased noise that made it very clear what he made of that idea.

Rex growled, fixing Vector with a glare, one he had learnt from Cody himself, that was normally enough to scare anyone with an ounce of self-preservation into silence; Cody was almost honoured that the desire to fuck him was enough to make that include almost no one in the room as the increasingly detailed mutterings of how they would take him apart didn’t pause even for a second.

“Can you imagine the sounds he’d make if you edged him? He was begging almost before Rex touched him, imagine if you denied him for hours. He’s be so fucking pretty that desperate,” a 501st man said.

“Forget that, I want to see how he looks three orgasms in and being worked up to another one, so thoroughly fucked he can’t even hold himself upright.” And that was definitely Lieutenant Janad.

Rex pushed deep into Cody, balls resting up against Cody’s ass, abandoning the promised hard fucking to grind deep inside Cody while he put their increasingly bold audience in their place.

Cody bit back a grin, everything felt so good, Rex surrounding him, Fives posturing, the impossible mix of reverence and debasement from his men. But he wanted to come, and Rex needed to be brought back to task. Di'kut the lot of them.

“Hardly a brag that you need three men to do the job I do alone. If you thin-”

Cody clenched hard around Rex’s cock and he interrupted his monologue with a shocked gasp, curling forward, almost losing his balance and toppling onto Cody. Fives failed to fully stifle his laugh and Rex gave Cody a betrayed look.

Cody laughed breathily, pulling Rex down to kiss him.

“I was doing a thing,” Rex grumbled, but accepted the kiss.

“You’re an idiot.” Cody kissed him again. “I love you.”

Rex huffed out a laugh of his own. He held Cody’s face between his hands, their audience momentarily forgotten. The warmth in Rex’s eyes, and the fond curl to his lip affected Cody more than perhaps anything else Rex had given him that evening.

“That’s kinda sweet actually,” Janad said to some murmured agreement.

“Show them,” Cody said, hands roaming across Rex’s shoulders and down his chest, touching him everywhere he could reach. “Show them how well you fuck me, please, Rex, I’m close.”

Rex bit at Cody’s mouth, catching his lip between sharp teeth and tugging before pulling back to give him the best angle. Rex had brought him close a couple of times already, each time backing off before Cody could come, but there was a determination that made it clear Cody wasn’t going to have to wait much longer.

“I want to see him break,” Nebula said. He had stood from his bunk, him and a couple others joining Vector and Sunny crowding the bottom of the bed, leering at Cody over Rex’s shoulder. Cody glanced at each of them but his gaze was pulled back to Rex as his partner hiked his hips even higher.

It was barely even a stretch now when Rex pulled most of the way out of him only to slid that burning heat deep back inside. There was lube leaking out around Rex’s cock and coating the inside of Cody’s thighs and a line of pre-come sliding down from his cock towards his chest, more pumped out with each thrust of Rex’s hips and slide of his hand.

It didn’t take much before he was right on the cusp of coming again, each time Rex moved inside him punching a sound out of Cody’s throat. He felt like he had been hard for hours. He jerked up into Rex’s hand, muscles tightening as his orgasm grew, his thighs trembling with the strain of it. Rex was close too, could feel it in the way Rex was holding him and see it in the set of his jaw. Cody tightened around Rex’s cock, his own dick twitching at the low groan it pulled from Rex.

“Just like that, Cody,” Rex said, “You feel so good.”

“Rex,” he managed, the tension throughout his body growing to almost too much. He was already past the point of no return, caught between the heat of Rex inside him, and the heat of Rex’s hand around him. He grabbed at Rex’s shoulders as he came with a wordless moan, the building heat and strain across his body hitting the edge he’d been chasing all night. He tumbled over it, his muscles relaxing all at once as his orgasm hit him, an intoxicating mix of relief and intensity. Pleasure coiled outward, his whole body suddenly warm and lax.

One of the watching clones swore colourfully.

Rex’s pace stuttered, as Cody broke underneath him, the scene all but forgotten. He managed only a couple more thrusts into Cody before he hit own limit and came with a choked off cry of Cody’s name. He spilt deep inside Cody, hips flush together, dropping Cody’s legs as he was overtaken by his own pleasure.

Come streaked up Cody’s chest almost to his neck, hands dropping from Rex, eyes closed as he rode out the aftershocks. He collapsed into the damp sheets, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Rex hunched over him, his own breathing equally laboured, head resting on Cody’s shoulder. They were still for a moment, the room either finally stunned to silence or Cody was just too out of it to hear. Rex pressed a clumsy open mouthed kiss to the side of Cody’s neck, the strength in his hold on Cody evaporating in post-orgasm bonelessness.

Cody clutched at Rex’s shoulders, to ground himself, a reminder that he was flesh and blood and not about to slip away into nothing. It had been a long time since he’d come like that.

The noise of the room around them slipped back in, the familiar sound of masturbating and men following their example and finding someone to help them get off. Cody felt lightheaded.

He clasped his hands behind Rex’s head pulling him out from his neck to kiss him, as uncoordinated and lazy as Rex’s own attempts.

“Love you,” he mumbled into Rex’s mouth, feeling Rex’s lips curl against his.

“Love you too.” Rex paused, and made a face. “But I’m also going to cramp, hold on.”

Cody grinned, laughter bubbling in chest.

Rex pulled out of him, bringing lube and come with him, dipping out down the inside of Cody’s legs and onto the bed below. One of Rex’s favourite tricks was to turn Cody over and eat his own mess out of Cody’s sloppy hole, but even after sharing far more of his sex life with his men than he had ever intended Cody felt he would rather that habit remain between just them. The sheets were already filthy with sweat anyway, what was a little more bodily fluid?

Rex didn’t seem up it either way, as immediately upon extracting himself from Cody flopped back down on top of him. Cody stroked the softness of his buzzed hair. Rex hummed happily.

Someone came with a loud groan of what Cody suspected was his own name. He had assumed that once he had come, and he was no longer thinking more with his cock than his head he would feel embarrassed by his actions - real embarrassment, the sort that tied his stomach in knots, not the embarrassment they had played with in the scene, where the scandal was half of the fun - but despite his concern he was still utterly relaxed. He was going to get shit for this once the CCs found out, and they would, they always did, but he felt like he would be able to shrug it off and very honestly say it had been worth it.

It might even be better for how annoyed Fox would be.

“You good, Cody?” Rex asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah, just, uh, it was a lot.” Cody said. “You?”

Rex hummed again, a deep, satisfied noise. “I’m fantastic.”

There was the sound of footsteps and Blue was standing over him, normally messy hair even messier. Rex propped himself up on one elbow, glaring at the man who had dared interrupt their post-orgasm bliss. He was mollified almost immediately.

“Here, Sir.” Blue handed Rex a damp cloth and Cody remembered exactly why this man was being considered for a promotion. Cody decided to pretend he was imagining the dark spot on the groin of Blue’s blacks.

“Vector and Sunny look like they are doubling up if you want a clean bunk.” Blue gestured to a bed across the room.

“Thank you,” Rex said, also seemingly a little lost on how he should interact with everyone now the scene had ended.

Blue had no such reservations and saluted Rex, rotated just enough so that he was facing Cody’s straight on and clicked his heels in a second salute, as though Cody wasn’t still naked on his back, lube and come dribbling from his asshole.

Utterly unflappable.

And he would rather like to take Blue up on that offer of the bunk; he had outgrown sleeping on dirty sheets.

The cloth was cool against his overheated skin as Rex wiped up first the mess he’d made on his stomach and then down between Cody’s legs. He inhaled sharply as the cloth passed between his checks and over his sensitive rim, but even the most insatiable parts of him agreed that they were done for the night. Finally, folding the cloth over on itself to find a still clean section Rex gave his own crotch a once over. It wasn’t really enough, they were both still covered in a fine sheen of sweat, but Cody didn’t think his legs would hold him long enough to shower, even if he could face the communal freshers.

He’d been naked around enough of his men for one night.

“You want some water, Commander?” Fives asked, because apparently everyone was desperate to be helpful now. It was reassuring in a lot of ways, he wouldn’t know if he’d completely fucked up the chain of command until later, but now the scene had ended everyone seemed to be falling back into something that resembled polite interaction.

“Thank you.” He pushed himself upright, untangling himself from Rex only after reminding himself it would only be for a minute before he could cuddle up against him again, all the better for a clean bed and a cold drink.

Rex didn’t let him go very fair anyway, shifting to sit up against him, pressed together from thigh to shoulder.

Cody took the offered water bottle, noting absently that his hands were shaking just a little. He drank the cold water gratefully, very aware of his body’s needs now that they had finished. He wouldn’t have said no to something to eat either but sleep, and crawling back on top of Rex felt more immediately pressing.

He passed the bottle over to Rex who took a grateful couple of mouthfuls of his own.

“Something to be said for delegating the aftercare,” Rex said, nudging Cody’s shoulder with his own.

Cody snorted. “Maybe we should always have a shiny on hand to bring us fresh bedding and hand feed us fruit after sex.”

Fives opened his mouth to say something, but Cody shot him a look and he wisely snapped his mouth shut. Wordlessly, Fives took the empty water bottle back. It was nice to know publicly begging for cock hadn’t robbed him of his ability to glare men into silence.

“Fresh blacks for both of you on Vector’s bunk, Sir,” Janad called from across the room.

“Not sure about morale, but it certainly seems to have improved inter-battalion coordination,” Rex said, sounding genuinely impressed.

Cody rolled his eyes, painfully fond. “The 212th and 501st worked together just fine before I got my dick out.”

Rex laughed and stood, pulling Cody after him by his hand as he crossed the room over to Vector’s bunk

“I don’t know, I certainly feel like the inter-battalion coordination of certain officers is improved when you get your dick out.”

Cody groaned but didn’t try to hide is smile

Passing Rex the bottom half of one of the sets of clean blacks before climbing into his own, struggling with sluggish limbs that didn’t want to work the way he expected them to. He left the shirts folded at the bottom of the bed, sinking down into what passed as a mattress, tugging Rex impatiently after him. It only took them a second to arrange themselves how they wanted, cuddled up against each other.

“That was good,” Rex said, tracing aimless shapes onto the skin of Cody’s back. “Didn’t expect to get so into it.”

“If they don’t keep us up all night with their attempts to recreate our best hits, maybe we can give them another show in the morning,” Cody teased.

Rex’s chest rumbled under Cody’s head as he laughed. “Don’t say that too loud, they’ll get ideas.”

Cody grinned. He could think of worse outcomes.

#my fic #codex #cody x rex #rex x cody #codyrex #star wars #tcw #cloneshipping #I forgot to cross post this #because I was still only lurking #but I am writing again #this is more wholesome than the tags imply #because there is nothing better than kinky sex than kinky sex when they love and respect each other so much

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cosmicjoke · 3 years

Text

Alright, onto chapter 5 of “No Regrets” and then I’ll do the last three chapters tomorrow.

The first thing I took note of was how after everyone gets to the castle ruins, Levi reminds Furlan and Isabel that they’re still outside the walls, and that anything could happen, so they should “stay sharp.”. Once again we see Levi being concerned with the safety of his friends, remind them not to put their guards down. This leads into the next scene, where Furlan remarks that he never thought they’d be able to stop a titan so easily, and reaffirms his faith in Levi’s strength by saying as long as Levi’s with them, they’ll survive somehow. Levi responds to this with some self-doubt, which is really interesting and will tie into some other observations I’ve made about this chapter, later on. He says if there’s more than one of those abnormal titans, he’s not so sure they’ll be alright. Clearly, he’s concerned for the wellbeing of his friends while they’re on the outside like this. He doesn’t feel totally confident.

He then asks Furlan if he’s sure Erwin’s brought the documents with him outside the Walls, which tells us that they’ve obviously had previous discussions about this, that it was a group decision between them, of the necessity of leaving the walls in order to get close enough to Erwin to get the papers. Furlan says he made sure, talking about how he searched Erwin’s office top to bottom, observing that he found a bunch of unrelated documents, and in particular, a locked drawer which he found suspicious. Now what I find interesting here is Furlan’s internal thoughts, because I think he realized Erwin’s intentions already, but he dismissed his suspicions based on them seeming unlikely to him. But in his memory, he thinks, when he sees the locked drawer, that it’s almost like it was made to be searched, and upon opening it, he finds plenty of secret looking documents, but not the ones they need. He then wonders if Erwin is trying to tell him that they’re not there. What’s so interesting about this is just how deep is shows Erwin’s manipulation of this situation actually goes, and how many steps ahead he actually is. We saw in chapter 3 how Erwin was standing at his office window, observing Furlan, which tells us that he was always aware that Furlan was going to try and find the documents, which in turn lead to Erwin arranging his office to nudge Furlan in the right direction, of thinking the documents aren’t anywhere at HQ. Furlan picks up on this possibility, that Erwin is in fact manipulating them, wondering to himself if Erwin WANTS him to think he has the papers on him, giving him the “run around”, but he dismisses the thought out of hand a moment later. What this tells me is just how in control Erwin is here, and it made me think that it’s possible Erwin influenced Furlan’s thinking in this direction, to assuming Erwin had the papers with him, as a means of keeping him, Levi and Isabel there in the military longer, delaying their escape, so that he could intentionally force them outside the walls on an expedition, so he could see what they were actually capable of. At the end of chapter 4, after seeing Levi take down that abnormal titan, he observes to himself, “So your wings are the real thing, after all, Levi.”. This is just speculation on my part, but given what a masterful manipulator Erwin really is, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his plan the whole time, knowing Levi and his friends wouldn’t and couldn’t leave until they had the documents.

Alright, next observation. It’s kind of funny how, after laying out his plan to search Erwin’s bags with Isabel, and asking Levi to guard the passageway Erwin went down with Shadis, and to stop him if he started to come back before they were finished, Levi’s first assumption is that he should start a fight with Erwin, lol.

More interesting is when Furlan says to Levi “Don’t kill him, even by accident. After all, if we lose an officer outside the walls, we’ll be in trouble, too.”. Because it tells us that they weren’t ever planning on killing Erwin outside of the walls when they went out on expedition. The goal was to try and find the documents, and hoping going beyond the walls would yield an opportunity to do so. This is another, vital change from the visual novel. In that, Levi is still obsessing over killing Erwin, over any consideration for the original plan, ranting even that he’s going to make Erwin get down on his knees and beg for his life before killing him, and that just struck me as wildly out of character for him. They wisely took out that entire piece of dialog here, and instead we lead into a scene of Levi guarding the passageway, and remembering the whole reason for why he agreed to come to the surface in the first place. We go into a flashback of Lovof’s messenger making contact with Levi and the others, propositioning them with Lovof’s commission. What’s really important in this scene is Levi’s initial reaction to the proposal. He’s immediately skeptical and disbelieving, and doesn’t want anything to do with it. He tells the messenger so, and tells him “Go back up there and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”. Levi shows great instincts here, sensing the danger present for him and his friends, and outright rejects any association. It’s Furlan, then, who steps in and shows interest in the deal, calling the messenger back. Levi’s clearly confused, but yields to Furlan’s look, and Furlan proceeds to tell the messenger that they’ll have to think about it, but that they’re interested. Levi’s clearly not happy about this, and once the messenger leaves, he begins to protest, but Furlan cuts him off and starts to lay out his plan to tail the messenger to find out who his employer is. Isabel expresses disbelief that Furlan actually means to go through with this plan, and Furlan again brings up the dream of making it out of the Underground, talking about how rare a chance it is, to actually live in the Capital, obviously trying to entice both Levi and Isabel with the notion. Levi points out that even if they get the documents, it’ll just lead to them being Lovof’s next targets, and Furlan responds with his plan to blackmail Lovof instead. Levi’s still dubious on this idea, asking Furlan if he really thinks “those pigs will care about a threat from the Underground?”, and Furlan responds that it’s worth a shot. He then implores Levi and Isabel again, saying “Come on, you two, don’t you want to make it up there?”, and we cut back to Levi in the present, contemplating Furlan’s words. Again, we see Levi thinking long and hard on Furlan’s dreams here, over any thoughts he has of Erwin or revenge. He’s prioritizing Furlan’s wishes over his own still, thoughts occupied by what his friend wants.

Now, this leads into a really interesting and meaningful encounter with Erwin.

Well, the first thing I notice in the exchange is when Erwin calls Levi’s friends his “subordinates”, and Levi responds with “They’re not my subordinates…”. This tells us so much about how he views himself in relation to Furlan and Isabel. He doesn’t see himself as their leader. He doesn’t want to control them. He just sees himself as their friend, and protector.

Now the conversation between Levi and Erwin gets really interesting when Erwin starts talking about having seen Levi take down the abnormal titan from earlier, and he observes that with a natural like Levi around, the others must feel safer. Levi looks at Erwin with wide eyes, before responding to him that the reason he was able to figure out how to fight that titan before was because he watched how it moved as it ate another soldier. I think Levi’s feelings of guilt here are pretty obvious. He feels bad for having watched another soldier die, and using his observations while watching to figure out how to kill the titan. It’s like he’s arguing with Erwin here, telling him the others shouldn’t feel safer with him around, that they shouldn’t rely on him. Levi is showing doubt in himself here, again, just like earlier when he pushed back again Furlan’s claims that as long as he’s with them, they’ll be safe. Interestingly, it’s Erwin who essentially tells Levi here that he shouldn’t feel guilty, that the SC is built on those types of sacrifices, and that as long as they’re fighting to take back the world for humanity, none of the soldiers there would feel regret for dedicating themselves to such a cause. I think this is actually the start of the turning point in how Levi views Erwin. He looks at him here with an almost astonished expression, like he’s seeing Erwin in a sudden, new light. Like he’s starting to doubt his own, initial impressions of him, and wonder if maybe he wasn’t totally right. But before he can think on it further, Isabel shows up and calls him away.

Levi then learns that Furlan and Isabel weren’t able to find the documents, essentially confirming that if they’re anywhere, they have to be on Erwin’s person, which leads to the inevitability of having to kill him if they want to get their hands on the papers. Levi’s find with this, because it’s what he wants to do anyway, even as Furlan shows continued apprehension.

And then we get the scene with Hange.

It’s pretty funny that Levi was about to gut Hange, for real, when he thought she had overheard their conversation. It tells us how far he’s willing to go though to protect his friends.

Still, this whole scene is actually pretty moving, in its way. Because Hange is really the first person to express genuine gratitude towards Levi and his friends, and treat them as genuine equals, to which we see Isabel in particular respond after seemingly being unimpressed. Even Levi seems stunned, muttering out “thanks”, like he doesn’t know what else to say as Hange heaps praise on them. It’s also funny how Furlan has to remind Levi to “be nice.”. Poor Levi just doesn’t know how to socialize.

But the important part of this scene is when Hange points out how everyone there is wanting to know how Levi was able to take down a titan so easily, drawing their attention, and Levi’s in particular, to the other soldiers watching them. Hange affirms what Erwin had said to Levi earlier, about how his presence there made the others feel safer, when she says “You’ve given them hope that humans don’t have to lose to the titans if we fight correctly.”. And we see here, I think, the first seeds being planted in Levi’s mind that he might be able to do more, that he might be able to actually help these people. He’s been told as much twice in quick succession. I think this is where Levi starts to get the idea for the first time that he might have found somewhere where he belongs. We’ll get more into this next chapter, when I talk about his conversation with Isabel. But for now, after Hange asks him again if he has any advice, he tells them he just has his own way of doing things, and he can’t teach it to anybody. When she tries to insist, he blows her off and looks away.

Furlan asks Levi, after Hange leaves, what the big deal is in just showing them some simple trick, and Levi says he doesn’t want to be responsible for the loves of anyone other than you two. This is really important, because it again tells us a lot about Levi’s psychology here. He doesn’t want to teach these people how to fight because he doesn’t want to be responsible for them getting hurt or killed. Just as he expressed discomfort earlier with what Erwin said, and his own sense of guilt over how he figured out how to fight the titan, Levi really seems to me like he’s afraid here of failing to protect others, and actually harbors deep doubts about his own ability to do so. So even as we know people tend to flock around Levi and follow him in the belief he can protect them, Levi himself is afraid that he isn’t strong enough to help them the way they want him to. It’s indicative of someone who’s experienced deep loss in their life, which we know Levi has at this point. Someone who’s afraid of making attachments because he doesn’t want to have to experience the pain of that loss ever again. And it shows a painful insecurity in Levi. He wants to help people, but he doesn’t want to end up failing them, or doing something which could lead to them getting hurt or killed. He doesn’t want to be responsible for their lives, because he’s afraid he can’t be.

Furlan tells him not to be so dramatic, and Levi doesn’t say anything in return, but we see a resigned, saddened look on his face, like he knows Furlan wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain how he feels.

Then we get Isabel’s comment about not understanding trying to take back the world for humanity, but her starting to realize the Scouts genuinely believe in what they’re doing. We see Levi’s silence again in response, but this one is more contemplative. He himself is starting to realize the same as Isabel. That these people really believe in what they’re saying. And again we go back to the first seeds of a sense of belonging starting to develop in Levi, even before his big moment with Erwin at the end. He’s starting to sense that maybe he’s found a place where he belongs, where he can actually use his abilities in a way that could make an actual difference in the world. It’s subconscious at this point, but Levi is starting to get that sense I think.

Anyway, I’ll be making observations about the last three chapters tomorrow. Thanks again for reading guys!

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #No Regrets #Levi Ackerman #Furlan Church #isabel magnolia #Erwin Smith #snk analysis

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wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen · 4 years

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Can I send a request for a fic with venti and a gender neutral mc? It's not really meant to be romantic or anything along those lines. I've just been constantly thinking about how the mc was stripped of everything, including their wings when they lost their fight against the unknown god, and how the gliders might have brought them a bit of comfort when trying to get accustomed to Mondstadt.

Something more heartfelt, maybe the mc just talking to venti after a late night out, or just waking up in the middle of the night to take a stroll in peace away from paimon, amber and the rest of the Chaotic knights of favonious.

This is more of a prompt if anything- I dont usually send requests so I dont know how to format them- sorry about that :'0

A/n: first time writing Venti. Oof. Hopes it's alright and anon I hope this is close to what you wanted.

Genre: Angst. Some fluff. (The power of friendship.)

Warning: It gets a bit angsty before it get softer.

Summary: The reality of your circumstances of the trapped traveler get you and Venti offers you some advice and comfort as your friend.

Word count: 1,420

In The Days To Come (How Much Will I Miss You?);

It was a series of perfect events, little coincidences, Paimon got distracted a while back by the smell of food, fluttering off with 'Delicious. Tasty food! Paimon will be back' before vanishing from your side. The knight of Favonius had no urgent problems to ask for your aid with now that the Dvalin has been saved and Mondstadt and its people can rest easy. You finally had time to yourself, time to feel and think of your new reality.

It was the gentlest tug, pull of melancholy it crept up slowly, slowly, slowly all day nipping at your heels until you felt it from your toes to your head. Numbness, so empty at first then came sadness buried deep, ignored for days for the sake of saving others, making sure others were happy, living in their home, with their family-- while you were still missing yours. It felt unfair. Resentment and anger reared their ugly heads, howling like starving, ravenous beats.

What an overwhelming torrent of emotion, waves after wave, lapping at your chin, your mouth, your nose. Sinking. Sinking. Sinking. No. Drowning.

Until there was nothing but a muffled, muted haze of the world around you.

If you nodded and 'hm', 'yes', 'sure', 'okay' your way through passing conversations no one noticed. Oh, how kind, brave and stoic the traveler was! Our hero! Maybe you didn't want to be a hero. You just wanted your sibling back.

Gliding from the highest building in Mondstadt in the dead of night, you could close your eyes, imagine it, see it, your wings, the wind through your hair, the laughter of your best friend, your constant companion, your sibling-- 'I am absolutely certain, I can beat you!', 'Ha! How hilarious. You just try to keep up!'

Then your feet hit the cobblestone of Mondstadt, your eyes snap open and that dream, that wish, all of it shatters into the most fragile fragments, fading away, slipping out of your mind, no matter how hard you try to grasp onto it, hold it close. Gone.

You just want to cry.

Figures it would be Venti who just so happens to find you. In the late hours of the night, every minute passes towards that too late but also too early threshold of time.

He is whistling, then humming a gentle, soft song. Lyrics and melody unknown to you, deft, nimble fingers strum quiet, easy notes from his lyre.

Quiet footsteps approaching your seating form, nearly hunched over a ledge outlooking most of Mondstadt from this peak near the cathedral and the statue of your friend, it was still a little odd to think of Venti, the whimsical, chaotic bard as a god but easier to wrap your mind around given the fact you had traveled to many different realms and worlds in the past.

"How lucky I am to find a lone traveler, perhaps I could provide you with some company?" Venti interrupts his little performance to sit down beside you, cradling his lyre in his hands, you don't really have the energy to even answer or protest his presence even if you wanted.

"Did you catch a bit of my new tune? I must work on something that will blow away even Master Diluc! Perhaps enough for a night of free drinks in the tavern in exchange for the request of my music!" Venti exclaims rather determinedly as always, especially when it came to getting the best wine possible, for free as well. The lengths he'd be willing to go is almost admirable in a way.

Your answering silence, no laugh, huff or even a scoff at his expense nor a head shake, roll eyes. Nothing.

"Ah poor traveler, your gloom could bring down even the brightest flowers bloom, what has doubled your trouble?" Even his joking yet sincere rhyming can't bring much of a reaction to your face and that eats away at Venti. Never one to want his friends to suffer, not if he is there to help in whatever way he can.

Venti loses his playful, mischievous nature for the moment in favor of being serious. It's then he is more Anemo Archon then Venti the bard.

"What is wrong, friend?"

One tear is followed by many others, everything rushes to the surface, you shake, tremble, break under the weight of your own sorrow. Sobbing out to the blinking stars far, far away.

"What if my sibling is gone forever? What if I never find any clues, signs? What if I spend the rest of my life trapped here, searching and searching?" You sound half hysterical with grief and worry, rambling out every doubt, insecurity you have kept so tightly hidden away. Because everyone else had their own problems and all the problems they wanted you to solve.

"Years side by side, through every trouble, every battle, every adventure, journey, they were always with me. Now? I am alone. My power, my wings, my sibling taken from me." You sniff and cough, squeezing your eyes shut as the world around your blurs and become a mess of colors.

"I am tired. I am scared. Why do I always have to be brave? Strong? My whole life has been turned upside down and I have barely had time to adjust! To take all of this in, it feels like every person I meet needs my help for something unrelated to finding my only family!" You can't help the way your words turn exhausted and bitter.

Venti waits and listens to your venting without interruption. It's only once he is sure you have let it all out that he speaks.

"There is no shame in your sorrow, your pain. You have been thrown into a situation unfamiliar and unless anything you have experienced before and you are being forced to endure this without your closest friend, your sibling." Venti's tone is slow, decisive as if he is giving every single word meticulous thought.

"You are incorrect to assume that means you are alone. You have new friends here, people who care about you, your journey and your goal. Paimon, Me, Jean, Lisa, Diluc, Kaeya, Amber, we all care for you. And you will have our support whenever you need it. Without question." The finality and firmness of his statement leaves no room for argument.

You realize and recognize the truth in his words and Venti stays by your side, in the quiet night as you cry and cry, relieving the tangled knot of everything you had let grow, fester and linger for so long, even before you found Paimon.

Venti plays a soothing harmony, a mellow, delicate dance of the strings of his lyre and his soft voice, singing; something just for you, for the moment of trust and sharing between two friends. It is a lovely, comforting song as your tears begin to dry and the burden on you is lessened for now.

It's easy to smile and hum along with Venti as if you've heard this a dozen times.

You have no idea what is awaiting you on the journey, what struggles you will face, what obstacles and hardships that will cause you to stumble and fall but you do have friends who will be there to pick you back up again and again.

"Paimon just enjoyed a juicy, sweet, savory meal! (Name) you should have join- wait a minute!" Paimon takes one look at you and her cheeks puff out in anger, it's too cute to be truly scary but the glares she shoots at Venti is fiercely defensive.

"What did you do tone-deaf bard?!"

You laugh, reaching out to take hold of Paimon, you hug her gentle. Paimon squeaks out in surprise but you feel her tiny arms gently squeeze your neck.

"I have done nothing wrong, this time." Venti had paused his private little song, ensuring it was something meant to be shared between you two just like this night would be a shared memory to look back on.

Paimon wiggles away from you, floating before you, you watch her stick her tongue out at Venti, blowing and making a hilarious show of her disbelief. "Paimon doesn't believe you! Apologize to them now!"

In the ensuing 'fight' between Venti and Paimon, you watch Venti reach forward and pinch her cheek and the small girl lunged at him in a failed attempt to choke him, you are sure, Venti holds her back with a hand over her face.

You laugh.

Yeah, you had friends and you weren't alone.

#genshin impact #genshin impact one shots #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact venti

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general-kenobi357 · 3 years

Text

Someday Soon-Chapter 5

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Fem!OC

Summary: John B creates a plan to get the Pogues back together to find the gold. At Midsummers Iz takes a leap of faith that she might regret.

Note: Can anyone tell me why I struggle to much to write a two sentence summary that makes sense, meanwhile I can plan out and write a book in a week. The math is not lining up. Also on an unrelated note, I wrote in that Iz is wearing JJ's Mom's dress they found, since I figured that we haven't seen JJ's Mom so she could be the same size as whoever you imagine Iz to be :)

Word Count: 4k

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All morning I had been pacing around my room, I hadn’t slept all night. John B was MIA, JJ had been arrested and I had no idea how to help either of them.

Suddenly a sharp knock on my window dragged me out of my thoughts, as I practically jumped out of my own skin. Realizing it was JJ and John B, I made my way over to the window.

“Jesus, you two. You scared me half to death.” I told the pair as I opened my window.

“Sorry, Sweetheart.” JJ apologized with a smile on his face, as I got closer to him I noticed the fresh bruises on his face that he hadn’t had yesterday. I didn’t have to ask where they were from as my stomach turned just thinking about Luke Maybank. “We’re getting outta here, you coming?”

“Uh yeah.” I replied, grabbing my bag before climbing out my window. No one else was home but I knew that the cops who were staking out John B’s house were probably also watching the front of mine.

“John, Iz, hurry up. Come on, come on, come on.” JJ rushed us as we all wadded through the water to reach the HMS Pogue.

Once we had all climbed in, John B turned the key, starting the engine and we were off. I sat catching my breath as we watched the Château fade into the distance.

🔅🔆🔅

“First, I almost get strangled to death by Kooks, and now I'm on the hook for 30 grand.” JJ explained bringing John B up to speed on everything he had missed. “We should just dip.”

“Okay, where do you wanna go?” I asked half on board, other than my Mom and Emmy I wouldn’t be leaving behind much.

“Yucatan.” He answered confidently.

“Yucatan? Seriously?” I asked, slightly less on board now that I realized how serious he was.

“No, I'm dead serious right now. Surf all day, and then we can just live off lobsters we catch with our bare hands.” JJ reasoned.

“You just wanna leave 'cause you got your ass beat?” John B spoke up.

“You didn't see the photos.” JJ shuddered.

“Think about it. They're willing to kill for the gold, then it's gotta be out there.” John B said, still holding out hope.

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked, I couldn’t believe he still thought we could find it.

“One hundred years, man. One hundred years, people have been tryin' to find this Royal Merchant, and no one succeeded. And you think you are gonna be the one that actually finds it? When will you get it in your thick skull? If you keep goin' down this road, you're gonna end up just like your dad!” JJ demanded, his voice getting louder as he moved closer to John B.

“I can't give up, you guys!” John B explained, his face full of guilt at the mention of his father.

“What happened to your dad wasn’t your fault.” I spoke softly, resting a hand on John B’s shoulder. We all knew about the argument John B had had with his father before he disappeared, hell I had heard it from my house.

“It doesn't matter whose fault it is! Do you not understand that? I can't give up on the hunt, you guys. I don't care who's out there, who's gonna try to kill us. Do you understand that?” John B told him. “Look, I've got a plan. You comin' or what?” he asked looking between us. “Four hundred million, JJ. How much do you owe in restitution?”

JJ looked back at me before following John B back to the Pogue where he began explaining his plan.

🔅🔆🔅

‘This is an awful plan’ was all I could think as I rang the doorbell at Kie’s house. John B had explained to me that I would go to Midsummers with Kie and make sure JJ got in fine, so that he could deliver a note to Sarah Cameron. I had asked why I couldn’t just deliver it if I was already there to which John B explained I would have to distract Kie so that she wouldn’t find out Sarah was involved. I was about to ring the doorbell again when Kie’s mother opened the door.

“Oh, Isabella.” She said, the smile dropping slightly from her face. “How are you?”

“I’m good thank you. Um Kie invited me to join her at Midsummers tonight, so I’m here to get ready.” I explained holding up the old dress we had found in JJ’s attic, I assumed it had been his mother’s.

“Oh really?” She asked, pasting a clearly fake smile on her face. “She didn’t warn me.”

“Well, she asked me weeks ago, maybe she forgot to tell you?”

“Of course, come in. Kiara’s in her room.” She said opening the door wider.

I walked through the huge house and towards Kie’s room, I wasn’t over here much but it always reminded me of the house my parents used to have which was just down the street from here.

“That’s not a party face.” I teased as I walked into Kie’s bedroom where she was sitting at the end of her bed. She looked up with a scowl before realizing it was me.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, pulling me into a hug. “Here to break me out?”

“Unfortunately I’m here to break in.” I responded.

“Kiara, you didn’t tell me that you had invited Isabella to join us.” Kie’s mom said as she walked into the room. “Here, we ordered a couple extra hair pieces, I’m assuming you just brought the dress.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know those were a requirement.” I answered with an awkward laugh.

“Well, we're leaving in 30 minutes.” She said leaving the room again.

“Hair pieces?” I asked, I couldn’t help but smile as I turned to Kie who was laughing at my question.

🔅🔆🔅

As much as I didn’t want to be there, I was amazed at everything I saw as we entered the club. I couldn’t believe that the Kook’s were spending their nights dancing without a single worry meanwhile my house still had no power or hot water going to it.

“Oh there’s Pope.” I pointed out to Kie as we made our way outside.

“Excuse me, sir. Do we have to shuck these ourselves?” Kie asked in a terrible English accent. “'Cause it might mess up my costume.”

“We wouldn't want that now, would we?” Pope responded, playing along once he realized it was us. “That accent was bad.”

“It was.” She agreed as we all laughed.

“You ever seen this many Kooks in one place?” I asked, looking around the crowded club.

“Yeah. Last year.” Pope informed us. “We're in the lion's den.” He stated, he was still pretty shook up from his last visit to Figure Eight. “Hey, have you two heard from JJ?”

“Uh yeah, he should be joining us shortly.” I told them cryptically. “I’m gonna do a lap.” I said before I left to give the two some space.

I made my way over to the bar hoping that they would be willing to serve a minor.

🔅🔆🔅

The bartender that the Kook’s had hired didn’t seem to care who she served and had poured me a rum and cola without a second thought. I had already downed one and was now taking a second drink with me as I walked closer to the dance floor to watch all the Kook’s. As I finished my drink I noticed someone walk up beside me.

“You know somethin’ tells me you aren’t 21.” I heard JJ accuse as I set down my now empty glass.

“What?” I laughed while he took my hand and led me to the middle of the dance floor. “They would never serve a minor, that might tarnish the clubs perfect reputation.”

“You look beautiful, Sweetheart.” JJ complimented as he spun me around before pulling me back to him.

“Yeah you clean up alright.” I teased him. “What is this a clip on bow tie?”

“Yeah John B made me wear it.” He explained looking down at his feet.

“I’m just teasing you, it’s nice.” I smiled. “I wasn’t sure how long I’d survive without you here.”

“Eh, you woulda been fine. I’m sure the Kook instincts that you’ve suppressed, would kick in eventually.” He told me, I couldn’t stop laughing at everything he said but I figured that was because of the two drinks I had just downed.

“I’m so happy to see you, I could kiss you.” I confessed boldly, after we danced in silence for a minute.

“Why don’t you?” He asked, a smile playing on his lips.

So I did, before I could think about the repercussions or about what would change. I closed the gap between us as our lips met. For that one perfect moment everything seemed alright as I melted into the kiss.

But as I pulled back it all shattered, JJ’s face had a look of shock written over it as his arms dropped from around me.

“I have to go, find Sarah.” He explained turning to go search the rest of the dance floor, while I stood watching him go. Immediately I regretted what I had done, I wondered if I had just lost my best friend as I watched him disappear into the crowd.

After snapping myself out of the trance I was in, I pushed my way through the crowd looking for Kie, hot tears threatening to spill over onto my cheek. I had just kissed JJ, something I had wanted to do for years and yet it felt like the biggest mistake I’d ever made. I found Kie after a minute talking to some Kook I didn’t recognize.

“You’re gonna have to excuse us.” I apologized as I pulled Kie away and towards the edge of the party.

“What’s up.” She asked once we had stopped, the smile dropping from her face once she finally looked at me.

“I kissed JJ.” I answered, my voice quiet.

“What.” Kie blurted out, shocked.

“He showed up and we were dancing and he was complimenting me and I had just been drinking and so then I told him that I was so happy I could kiss him and he said <why don’t you> so then I did and then he ran away.” I rambled.

“Oh honey.” Kie muttered, pulling me into a hug as the tears finally left my eyes, trailing down my cheeks and onto her shoulder. “JJ is dumb, okay and I’m sure he has no idea what he did. You said John B had a plan so he probably just had to do that, right?”

“Yeah.” I answered unsure. “But what if this messes up everything?”

“It won’t. I promise.” Kie reassured me as she wiped away my tears. “Come on let’s go get something to eat.”

Kie led me back through the crowd, her hand never leaving mine as we went back to the table her parents were sitting at.

🔅🔆🔅

Sitting next to Kie, I was eating some kind of fancy food that I had forgotten how to pronounce when we heard shouting from behind us. Turning to see who it was, we saw JJ being escorted out.

“Look... look, man, I can walk myself.” JJ tried to explain. “I got legs. Can you see that, brother? Come on. I really appreciate what you did back there. Let me just walk out by myself.”

“What the Hell?” I heard Kie’s Dad mutter from behind us as JJ was pushed past our table.

“It's okay, everybody! Do not panic.” JJ addressed the crowd. “Leave it to the men and women in uniform. Let's hear it for them. Rose! You look like Lady Liberty.”

“Let go of him! You can't boot him! I invited him here. I'm a member of this club.” Kie told the guard as we both stood up. But the guard continued to lead JJ through the crowd away from where we stood.

“Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon's, Kie, Iz.” JJ pointed to us. “Pope, you as well, all right?”

Kie looked at me with a smile before grabbing my hand.

“No. Kiara! Hey, Kiara!” Kie’s parents yelled as we ran off to join the boys.

With all of us ditching the party, the Pogues were reunited.

🔅🔆🔅

“Hey, guys. So, like, my dad's already gonna kill me.” Pope told us as we gathered around the fire John B had made. “So what's this mandatory meeting about?”

“Might as well tell him, man, before we're gaffed.” JJ said to John B.

“You ready for this?” John B asked looking at us all. “So, the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant.”

“Oh, my God. Here we go again with this.” Kie rolled her eyes from her spot beside me.

“No. All right, wait. Hear him out, okay?” I said, hoping John B would get on with his explanation.

“It's been here the whole time.” John B told us. “It's on the island.”

“I'd like to voice my skepticism.” Pope spoke up.

“I'm sure you would, Pope, but can I please present you with my evidence, sir?”

“Proceed.”

🔅🔆🔅

“Okay, so, guys.” Pope began after John B explained everything he had learned. “What's the plan?”

“Good question.” John B answered. “Sarah Cameron's coming tonight. She'll bring an original survey map…”

“Hold on.” Kie stopped him, I could feel her tense up beside me. “Sarah? Wh-why Sarah?”

“Um…” John B started, stumbling over his words.

“This is gonna be good.” I muttered.

“Sarah, um, she... she got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday, and that's where I got the letter.”

“You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?” Kie asked, shocked.

“He was mackin' on her.” JJ told us.

“I wasn't macking. I wasn't macking on her, okay? I was using her for access. I was trying to get into the archives.” John B attempted to explain.

“There was access all right.” JJ muttered.

“Is that a yes?” Kie demanded. “You let a Kook in on our secret? What about Pogue Lyfe?”

“I was just using her for information.”

“Why don't I believe you?”

“I'm trying to make us filthy rich here. Okay, so that we can pay off a boat, or... or, uh... send you to autopsy school to study dead bodies, or move to Hawaii. Look, you guys know me. Do I look like the type of person to fall for Sarah Cameron?”

“Uh... Do you want us to answer that, or…” I asked him.

“Look, you don't know her yet. I do!” Kie explained. “You can't trust her.”

“What did she do to you, exactly?” John B finally asked, we all were curious, she had only told me pieces of the story before.

“She's like a... like a spitting cobra. First, she... she blinds you, and then…” She stopped as Pope poked holes in her analogy. “Listen to me! Whatever we get, she's gonna try to take.”

🔅🔆🔅

The lights of the van turned on as we stopped at the Hawks nest, waking me up again, it felt like days since I had last slept well making it easy to doze off.

“All right.” John B said, turning off the van. “So, uh, I think I'm gonna do this one by myself... tonight.”

“Really?” Kie asked, shocked.

“What?” John B asked as if he had done nothing wrong. “I don't want to spook Sarah with the peanut gallery.”

“I just don't understand why we're involving her at all.”

“Kie, we're not involving her, okay?”

“Promise me nothing's happening between you.”

“Nothing is happening, Kie.”

“That was really believable.” I spoke up sarcastically from the back of the van as John B climbed out.

“A hundred percent believable.” Pope said, backing me up.

“Anyways, um... I'm gonna take care of business.” John B concluded before closing the door.

“We'll just sit here…” Pope started.

“...in the hot-ass car.” JJ added.

“Kiara, holding onto your grudge is like drinking poison and thinking Sarah will die.” Pope informed Kie after a few minutes.

“Exactly.” JJ added backing him up. “You alright back there?” He asked me.

“She’s great JJ. Really doing awesome thanks to you.” Kie responded for me, which brought a smile to my face as I drifted off to sleep again.

🔅🔆🔅

I woke up again when the rest of the Pogues started to scramble out of the van, which is when I heard Sarah Cameron screaming for help. I got up with my friends and we all went running to go see what had happened.

Everything was a blur when we finally found them.

John B was lying on the ground as Sarah cried over him. He was moving but barely as Pope rushed back to get the van and get him to a hospital. After we got John B to the hospital a nurse told us to go home and that he would be fine. After some convincing we all finally left. Pope drove us all to our houses, the ride was silent.

🔅🔆🔅

When I entered my house it was dark and everyone else had probably been asleep for hours, I went straight to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As I walked back into my room from the bathroom, I heard a knock on my window. But from inside my dark room I couldn’t see anything, I figured it was just the wind until another unmistakably human knock shook the window. Grabbing the flashlight which was my only light source I crept closer to the window, worried about who might be knocking.

Once I got to the window though, JJ’s golden hair lit up on the other side of the glass. I pushed open the window before taking a step back so he could climb through.

“What are you…” I started to ask before he interrupted me.

“I um, I wasn’t sure where to go. I’d rather not be at home right now.” He explained, looking anywhere but my face.

“Oh, yeah. You can stay here.” I knew he didn’t want my pity but I couldn’t help the sad expression my face held.

“Listen, Iz. I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have run off after we kissed. I just-I wasn’t sure what to do.” JJ began rambling, this time it was my turn to interrupt him.

“Can we not tonight? We can talk about it later.” I was too exhausted to have a serious conversation. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Oh okay.” He responded, I walked across the room to my bed before I watched him take one of the blankets off the bed and begin laying it out on the floor.

“JJ, what are you doing?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“You said you wanted to go to bed. I’m making myself a bed.” He explained confused.

“You’ve been beaten up how many times this week?” I asked. “I’m not making you sleep on the floor when there is more than enough room in my bed.”

Without another word he stood back up and made his way to the other side of the bed. Once he was under the blanket I turned off the lamp before turning so I was facing him. I could barely make out his features, the only light coming from the bright moon outside, but I knew he was there.

“Can you tell me a story?” He asked, I smiled, his question reminded of when I would help put Emmy to bed.

“About what?”

“Hawaii, tell me about what it’s going to be like.”

“What are you moving with me?” I joked.

“Well, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will.” I stated before pausing to think about what our life would be like if we could move to Hawaii. “We could buy a big piece of land, with a waterfall and a path that leads right to the beach, and we could build a little house right beside the waterfall.”

“You mean I could build us a house.” He interrupted, trying to be realistic even as I told him a story about our imaginary future.

“Hey I’m the one telling the story.” I complained. “And besides I’ve been getting good at holding tools, I could probably identify upwards of five different tools.”

“Okay, proceed.” He stated, impatiently waiting for me to continue.

“We could spend all day surfing and get a hammock, the best that money can buy.” I continued, adding random details.

“Do you think our friends will visit?” I heard him ask sleepily.

“Yeah, we’ll have a little guest house on the other side of the waterfall for them. John B can bring Sarah, I’m sure they’ll get married as soon as they possibly can.” I said, imagining all our friends grown up.

“Oh definitely, he’s already in love with her.” JJ added.

“And I’m sure that they’ll have a herd of children that follow them around everywhere they go like little ducklings. And Kie and Pope will be together.”

“That is if Pope ever works up the courage to ask her out.”

“That or Kie will just give up waiting and ask him out.” I joked before going back to my story. “I don’t know if they’ll have kids though, I think that they’ll just be the really cool uncle and aunt for awhile.”

“What about us? Are we gonna get married and have kids?” JJ asked after a minute.

“Well that depends if you ever propose.” I pointed out thinking about our future.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to propose to me. Ever think about that?”

“No I hadn’t.” I paused for a minute before I kept talking. “JJ Maybank will you…”

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m only sixteen, at least take me out on a date first.” He interrupted my question.

“How do you know that I was proposing you didn’t let me finish.” I explained before asking the question again. “JJ Maybank will you, pass me some more of the blanket, you’re really hogging it and I’m getting cold.”

“Oh that was just cruel.” He pouted, as I laughed at my dumb question.

“What you didn’t even want to be proposed to yet.”

“Well I wasn’t going to say yes but I would have liked you to ask.”

“Oh my gosh.” I shook my head at him before I continued to talk about our family. “I think we’d have three kids and they would all look exactly like you. A girl, who is ridiculously smart and kind and helpful. And twins, boys, who are absolute terrors.” I paused looking at JJ whose eyes were beginning to close. “But every night, just as they fall asleep. They look so peaceful and you remember why you love them so much.”

Once I had finished talking I turned so that my back was facing JJ before I finally started to drift off to sleep. As I closed my eyes I felt a warm arm snake around my waist and pull me closer while JJ nuzzled his face into the back of my neck.

“Jade, Jesse and Jacob.” He mumbled, his breath fanning across my neck. It took me a minute to realize he was naming the kids that I had just described.

“Of course you would want all of their names to start with J.” I smiled, on the brink of falling asleep.

“It’s the best letter of the alphabet, Sweetheart.” He responded just before I fell fast asleep.

🔅🔆🔅

#outerbanks #outer banks #jj maybank #jj obx #obx #jj x oc #jj maybank x oc #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader

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