#I’m in the last 6 chapters now and I’m going through it

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 6]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist

mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

no good deed ever goes unpunished

cw: minor depictions of violence, shady activities, non-con touching/groping, non-con kissing, a lot of hurt, no comfort, playfully shitting on people from Birmingham.

wc: 5k

Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right; a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night. 

If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth, either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to the club like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall. 

Shady activities in an alleyway. 

Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit. 

About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body that’s ingrained in his mind. Your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit — too overwhelmed to keep conscious. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps Mrs. Price is to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he could only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you was obvious. Short words, awkward exchanges, yet the impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you were trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door so he couldn’t follow you home. 

However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands — as promised — you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you had now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he didn’t look at you while you did it. He would ask you questions and you would respond with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke. 

I’m just… glad you’re not doing it just for me.

He still wonders what you meant by that.

“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny quips.

Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes — one which still carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone — and pushes the thoughts of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give. 

“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” Simon playfully retorts. 

“Right,” he replies, rubbing his hands together, “so I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothin’ on the media or anythin’ like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.” 

A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?” 

Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a smirk. “Come on, Riley, when have I ever wasted your time?” 

Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to wind and rewind through footage from a few days ago. Everything happens fast; speedy bodies darting across view, and the comedic speed up of light snow falling on the ground, but not sticking. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps, before it suddenly pauses again. 

“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through this video again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…”

The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before. 

The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s when Johnny pauses the video. 

“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shovin’ cash into his pocket like he struck a deal,” he concludes. 

Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs. Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character. 

“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters. 

“He outta. Fucker works here,” Johnny drops. 

A rancid, sour taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense to the point the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught on to the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago. 

“Who is he?” Simon demands. 

“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Only twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.”

“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts. 

Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some more dark than others.” 

It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it. 

“He here tonight?” he then asks. 

“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head at Simon. “You’re brewing something up in that head of yours. None of it looks too cheerful.” 

Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes. 

“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit. 

A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny spins in his chair to watch him leave. All he can make out are straight set shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood. 

“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him, his voice too saccharine to truly mean it. 

There are very rare times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through John’s club. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder, and the mass of pulsing bodies splits for him like the Red Sea. 

This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the other night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him.

“Marcel!”

Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music, and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd. Smart kid. Everyone knows not to mess with Riley. 

He leads the boy out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly questions anything besides an is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Frigid wind attempts to cut through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on Marcel. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security. 

A flickering security light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of the winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until he realizes it was only a pack of cigarettes he was searching for, and not something nefarious. 

The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel. 

“You smoke?” he asks. 

“Yes sir,” Marcel answers. 

Simon shakes the pack, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips.

“Cheers.” 

As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smoothed face kid. Besides, he’s got a Brummie accent, and Simon fucking hates Birmingham. 

“What d’ya do outside of workin’ here?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation — but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette. 

“School, mostly,” Marcel replies. 

Simon hums. “Uni?”

“Greenwich.”

“Smart.” 

Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter, the boy can warm up soon enough — Simon intends for this interaction to be quick. 

“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?”

Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel’s lips. There’s no exhale of smoke, or the embers brightening at the tip to show he’s inhaling; there’s nothing. 

“Bloke?” he repeats. 

“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient. 

Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing. 

“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.”

“And what did he want?” Simon presses. 

“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly. 

A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s from the cold biting his skin, or the rage boiling through his veins. “What did she look like?” 

“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant, but I don’t know which one, I swear.” 

Sapori. Teeth nearly cut through the filter of the cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches, and he rips the thing out of his mouth to toss it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man — this Andrei — is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what else has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly. 

Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering. 

“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues.

“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? Like when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel answers.

Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that and sent me on my way.” 

Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach as the chips he ate before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the raging storm barreling straight for him.

“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads. 

“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth. 

Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him, and he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound. 

“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out, ya hear?” 

Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods.

“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here again askin’ about it, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod,” Simon continues, and Marcel complies. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?” 

After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head. 

“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…” 

“Good, and don’t fuckin’ forget that.” 

Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter — a shitty attempt at an apology.

“Take a breather, then get back to work,” he orders while he turns to leave, but Simon only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel as his attention is quickly brought back to the boy. “Keep in mind, that’s not even half of what I’ve got.” 

Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his late father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too. 

Violent, angry, sinister — his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to fight against. A stereotype he’s been trying to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage. 

Something he can use to help you. 

Except while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast. Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of Cat’s Cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from.

Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your payment days because you don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei. You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. There’s something you’re still missing. 

But you’ve run out of time. 

Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver even though you’re already shaking. Marco's cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone — but you’ve learned that you’re never safe, not even when all the cameras in the city are trained on you. 

Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands. 

“Long time, no see,” he greets. 

He’s friendlier than he normally is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap up into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it. 

“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other night,” Marco then prompts.

You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?” 

“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. Face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.” 

Images of Andrei’s face from the other night sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone able to put him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. You never do.

“What were you even doing there, anyway? At that club?” Marco then asks. 

“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully. 

“You a delivery driver now? Thought you were a waitress,” he digs. 

“Hostess…” you correct. 

“Who were you delivering to?”

“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you lie. 

Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer, and you try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.”

Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric. 

“You know him?” you venture to ask. 

A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.” 

His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away, like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process. 

“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? The man who fought with Andrei?” Marco asks.

As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thigh as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist. 

“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us. Thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside the VIP entrance during that time. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together. 

“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply. 

Something in you wants to press him for an explanation of what he means, but you keep your lips sealed as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed — nothing but faint scars and scabs. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon. 

“Well, it doesn't matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, pet,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mothers phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?” 

Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal to you. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. In fact, you had planned to be hurt in some type of way. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail, and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure if you even accomplished that much. 

“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree. 

Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month.” 

The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision when you open your eyes. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t. You can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.”

You’re crying now, and you hate it. Hate how weak and pathetic you are. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face — he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere, but his eyes are too hungry for it to be real. 

“Look at you,” he shushes. His hand moves up to cup your cheek as his arm keeps steady and firm around your shoulders.“Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.” 

It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself. Never really belonged to anyone or anything but him.

Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes ten times louder — the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but he only pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake. 

Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you now, too afraid to fight back. 

Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. Using his thumb, he wipes a stray tear from your face, and you can tell by his slick snicker that he savors the feeling. 

“For that, we’ll drop it down to three fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips — something chaste and quick — before he releases you and stands to his feet. “See you next month, pet.” 

Marco leaves just how he arrived — with a gust of bitter, frigid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything, that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless as the day you were when you first got yourself stuck in this mess. 

Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin and look up at the source of the sound. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she’s holding the boy's hand to lead him out of the laundromat. There’s a look of disgust on her face, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure. 

As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished. Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes after she leaves, wiping your face clean before you brave the cold streets of London to make your way back home. You promise yourself that once you get home, you’ll wash your mouth out with soap, and then call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift for tonight. 

No matter what, you can’t take Marco’s offer — that terrible promise he made you all those years ago. Maybe one day you won’t have a choice, but for now, you’re content on working until your hands bleed.

[asteroids-and-tractorbeams]

Shout out to the High Republic books for somehow always making me CRY over the dead Jedi who only appear in the story long enough for someone to identify their body or to feel them die

[atticrissfinch]

Always on the Tip of My Tongue | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

Part 6 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you see joel flirting with another girl, you start to lose your head. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, phone sex, smoking, alcohol consumption, light ~sexual touching~ with an OMC (some of which could be considered dubcon but is ultimately consented to), some angst besties :), jealousy, pettiness, Feelings, all that fun stuff!!!  word count: ~7.6K | ao3 a/n: life has been kicking my fucking ass, and so has this chapter. for like 5 months. but I’m so glad to finally have it out.  title is from Hate to Be Lame by Lizzy McAlpine. listen if you want to cry over these two. enjoy friends :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

Blonde. Skinny. Around 5’3”. Flouncy little dress that’s too skimpy for the 40-degree weather outside. A six-pack on the counter and a pointed chin nestled in her palm propped by her elbow.

The last time you’d seen this charade, it had been you.

You flex your hand on the door handle, peering through the glass. Joel’s forearms are resting on his thighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head at her.

Something claws at your stomach, propelling you forward. The door chimes. Joel doesn’t look.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. No ID, no booze. Just how it goes.”

Darlin’.

You slip between aisles, keeping a watchful eye on the counter – on Joel’s expression – as you pretend to scan the chips.

“I promise I’m twenty-one! Don’t I look twenty-one?” You can hear the pout bending her lips, the shrill lilt to her voice, the vocal fry that grates across her words. She bends steeper over the counter, the hem of her dress kissing the bottom curve of her ass.

Joel’s thumb swipes at his lower lip as you see his eyes light up in what seems to be a subconscious response to what is surely a devastating view in front of him. “Don’t matter what you look like, sweetheart. No ID, no booze.”

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” The enticing drag to her voice sets off a flurry of something in your stomach again.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. It has to be something else.

Your hand closes around a bag of chips absentmindedly as Joel dips further forward onto his forearms.

“You think you got what it takes to convince me, darlin’?” Joel smirks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Cause I—”

The bag slips from your hand and plops to the floor with a squeaky, crumpling sound against the linoleum, and Joel’s head jerks up.

When his eyes meet yours they go wide, a fly nearly caught in a web. He straightens up, stiffens like a board, and makes a show of clearing his throat as he glances back at the girl at the counter. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave and come back with ID. I can’t help you. That’s final.”

You see his fingers fidgeting against his jeans as he sets his jaw and avoids your gaze.

“Fucking seriously? Fuck you, old man,” the girl bites back, shoving the Coors Light across the counter so hard Joel has to shoot his arms out to catch it before it smashes to the floor. She’s out the door seconds later, leaving you standing in the aisle and Joel staring down at the case clutched to his pudgy stomach.

For a long moment the only sound is the buzzing of the lights on the ceiling. Then your footfalls clatter against the linoleum as you make your way to the counter. You slap your retrieved bag of chips in front of Joel and begin rifling for your wallet.

“Darlin’…” Joel starts, falling flat in the air between you. The absence of the telltale beep from Joel’s barcode scanner has you looking up.

Darlin’.

“Just the chips,” you state, brandishing your debit card between your fingers.

You spot something in his eyes. Hesitance. Anxiousness. You don’t dwell on it.

“Please,” you punctuate, signaling your disinterest in whatever the fuck is happening between the two of you right now.

“Darlin’, I didn’t know you—”

“Joel?” You interrupt firmly, and he almost flinches. “It’s fine. Just the chips, please.”

He eyes you warily as he takes up the bag, scanning it, and watching you slide your card into the reader. You stare down at the tiny screen taking an abnormally, cruelly, long time to process.

The lights buzz.

“Pretty young thing,” you mutter before you can stuff the words back into your mouth.

“Don’t be mad, sweetheart.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise, it wasn’t nothin’.”

“Wasn’t my business if it was.”

“You seem a little mad.”

You exhale heavily out your nose, fixated on the tiny spinning wheel on the screen that you’re begging to finally chime and tell you to remove your card.

“I’m peckish.”

“Hell does that mean? You wanna peck at me?” Joel asks, his stool creaking under him as he leans back.

You look up at him from through your lashes for a moment. “Means I’m hungry.”

“Oh.”

You arch your eyebrows once in acknowledgment, and the blessed machine finally beeps at you. You snatch your card back and shove it in your wallet.

“Thanks,” you throw at him as you gather your spoils and head toward the door.

“Sugar—”

“Later,” you call casually in dismissal over your shoulder and let the door snick shut behind you.

You slam your car door shut and collapse against the back of your seat, chips tossed to the passenger side.

It doesn’t matter. He can flirt with whoever he wants. He can proposition whoever he wants. The two of you are nothing. This is nothing.

You wrap your arms around the steering wheel and bang your forehead against it with a thud, groaning.

The hell is this shit? Whatever you’re feeling. This churning sensation that’s tightening your insides. Because it cannot be what logic is telling you it is. Because that would be fucking stupid. You are fuck buddies. Nothing more than that.

You fumble around inside the median compartment for a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, roll down the window to a burst of frigid air, and light up. The first puff only minimally tamps your nerves, so you keep inhaling. You pull out your phone, idly scrolling, cascading smoke out the open window from the side of your mouth as you tap ash onto the asphalt.

The sound of scraping footsteps on the pavement next to your car has your attention swiveling to the left, where Joel is traipsing closer and closer.

That feeling starts up again.

With no pretense, he plucks the smoldering cigarette dangling from your fingers and leans his arm against the frame of your car, taking a lengthy drag.

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, a hint of annoyance infiltrating your words.

“I’ll let you finish,” he mumbles around the filter, only removing it to billow smoke from his lips. “Always let you finish, don’t I?”

“Whatever,” you mutter, reaching out to retrieve your stolen cigarette and attempt to resume your stress relief. Unfortunately, the “stress” in question is tapping his fingers against the hood of your car.

The silence stretches on as the white fizzles down to dull copper and Joel’s eyes monitor the front of the store. The taptaptap-ing of Joel’s fingertips grinds at your nerves.

“Didn’t mean to upset you, sugarplum.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Seem upset.”

“I already fucking told you, dickwad. I’m not fucking upset,” you snap, chucking your spent smoke on the ground at Joel’s feet. “You can fuck who you want. No skin off my nose.”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh and snuffs the ashen cherry out under his shoe. “Just didn’t mean to…rub shit in your face like that. ‘S’all.”

“There’s nothing to…rub,” you insist, dropping your head back against the seat. “You’re fucking other girls. I’m fucking other guys. This is a non-issue.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Joel presses his back flat against the car, folding his arms across his chest with a wide stance. “Ok. Good.”

You stare out the windshield, the salty streaks of ice melt marring the surface of the parking lot.

“I’m… I’m bein’ safe. Just so you know. With anyone else.”

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, but when they do, you do a mental double-take. “Wait, like… protection? Like condoms?”

His head nods steadily, eyes staring off in the distance.

“You hate condoms.”

Joel nods again, turning his head to the side to peer at the back of the lot. And your ears are playing tricks, the wind is blowing too loud, the cars on the surrounding streets too noisy. Because you swear to god you hear him say something that sounds eerily similar to, “But I like you.”

But you’re sure he didn’t, because when he turns back he just says, “Just tryna be more careful. Don’t need any little critters crawlin’ around the family jewels, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, that’s smart. I, uh, I am too. Having them wear protection. Just so we’re clear.”

Joel nods resolutely once more. “Okay then.” He springs himself off the car and starts slowly walking backward toward the entrance. “You wanna…pop back in for a bit?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever turned him down before. He’s always got that naughty glint in his eye, that charming smile, that bulge in his pants. But this time…you do. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe more to yourself than to him. “Another time.”

Joel nods deeply and twists about-face on the heel of his boot, his hands tucked in his pockets.

The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you roll up your window.

-

It starts to fester. The absolute last thing you want it to do. A constant frustration clouds the back of your mind, slowly creeping forward.

It takes significantly more effort to focus on work, to go out with friends, to run errands. You see the inside of more than a couple men’s bedrooms, hoping the right fuck will clear the fog.

There is one guy. A friend of a friend of Mandy’s who tagged along to a bar one weekend and finessed his way inside you by the night’s end. Nate. He’s a douchebag, but he’s hot and his dick isn’t entirely forgettable.

It’s not his. It could never compare to his. But it’s something. So you’ve allowed Nate to become something of a repeat offender. An expendable piece of arm candy for when you’re with your friends. He fucks rough and dirty, he calls you a good girl.

He fills gaps. The gaps that have been left by him molding your body to his cock. The gaps that persist from you decidedly avoiding falling into bed with that disgustingly foul, devastatingly well-endowed man again for the umpteenth time.

Seeing him flirting with someone else that night set off an alarm in your head. Something that now persistently buzzes under your skin. You feel it sting when you think about him directly. Like your body is punishing you.

It’s been about a month since you’ve seen him. The cold winter has given way to a slightly warmer spring. He’s texted you sporadically since that night.

February 19

Joel: really didnt mean 2 upset u sugerplum

Joel: really srry

February 26

Joel: is it one of them wierd jumpy years???

Joel: LEAP YEAR

Joel: how do they exspect us to know wen those r???

Joel: checked the calender in the office. is feb 28 the leap day?

Joel: miss u

March 14

Joel: whether is real nice 2day. bet ur wearin one of ur skanky sundresses huh?

Joel: woudnt say no 2 a sneek peek 😉

Joel: no presshure tho

March 17

Joel: cant stop dreamin bout that tite fuckin slit

Joel: wanna b inside it again soon

Joel: ill make it sooooooo good 4 u

Those last ones come in quick succession late on a Friday night while you’re hanging at Mandy’s place with a smattering of friends, your leg draped over Nate’s as his hand slides up your inner thigh — as high as he’s willing to go in the present company. He’s not quite as bold as…some people. But you like that he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.

Nate’s preoccupied even as he strokes your sensitive skin, locked in a spirited debate with another guy about some inane bullshit.

Despite the typos, Joel’s words have your core pulsing. Flashes of his massive cock splitting open your pussy flutter across the backs of your eyelids as you attempt to soothe yourself and the stupid, horny bitch between your legs. Your eyes snap open in response to the unwelcome images and you take a steadying breath, adjusting your seat and covertly palming your clit as you tug down on the hem of your denim shorts. That gets Nate’s attention, and he squeezes your thigh, giving you an appraising look.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “You think Mandy would disown you if we fucked in her bed?”

“Yeah, she would,” you mutter back. “Let’s get out of here?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckles, giving your leg a final squeeze before stretching his arms above his head with a fabricated yawn. “Getting a bit tired. We’re gonna dip,” he tosses to the group, knocking his knuckle against your knee to indicate the we.

“Ok, I’ll see you later, babe,” Mandy throws to you from the couch opposite, giving you air kisses. You reciprocate the gesture and let Nate lead you out, his hand solid at the small of your back.

As soon as you arrive at the car, your back is pressed against the chill of the passenger side door and Nate’s mouth is on you. His hand wedges between your legs, rubbing up against your pussy through your shorts. You whimper quietly, but cup his jaw, pushing his mouth back from yours.

“Not here, dumbass. You’re gonna jizz in your pants again.”

“I only did that once,” he grumbles, huffing as he shoves off from the car and rounds to the driver’s side. You’re on the road soon after, his hand tickling at your inner thigh again over the center divider.

It’s not the hand you want. It’s the hand you should want. The one you want to want right now. You hate that it’s not. All because you bent over for that stupid fucking cashier one time, and now you’re here. A perfectly handsome man’s hand is making its way up toward your aching clit, hindered only by distressed denim, and you don’t give a shit about it. Because it’s not the hand you want. It’s not the cock you want. Not the filthy mouth you want.

Didn’t mean to make you upset, Sugarplum.

Fuck him. For so many things. The life-altering, reality-shattering dick. The soft, torturous glances when he thinks you’re not looking. The sly, knowing glint in his eyes when he thinks he catches something in yours. The stupid turns of phrase.

The shameless flirt in him, aimed not only toward you, but toward any pretty girl he sees.

Fuck. Him.

Ok, so maybe you’re a tiny bit upset. You’re dealing with it. And you’ll continue to deal with it. In whatever way you see fit.

“Can we make a pit stop? I’m dying for a soda,” you say, rolling your head against the leather of the seat to face him.

“You wanna stop for a soda?” He replies, a whine apparent in his voice. “I’m trying to get you naked as fuck as soon as possible. Don’t cockblock me.”

You roll your eyes. “But the more hydrated I am, the more hydrated she is,” you inform, tapping two fingers against your crotch. “Don’t you want her juicy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Quick stop.”

“Perfect. Take a right up here.”

–

You spy a sliver of his truck around the side of the building, so you know he’s here. You hop out of Nate’s car, and you have a few seconds to peer inside before Nate’s hand is at your back again.

Joel is right where you’ve always left him.

You can see the jiggle of his knee peeking over the countertop from his boot bouncing on the crossbar of his stool. His phone is discarded by the cash register, but he’s got a clipboard and pen in his hands this time. You see the flick of his wrist as he checks something off on it.

For a fleeting moment, you second-guess yourself.

But then Nate is at your back, hauling the door open for the two of you.

Joel perks up as the bell chimes, but you’re too attuned to the features of his face to overlook the slight drop in expression when he sees you. Sees Nate with you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. But he did it to you, right? Let him see how it feels.

“Evenin’, folks,” Joel gives a courteous nod, eyes snagging on you and taking hold.

“‘Sup,” Nate replies in passing, guiding the two of you back toward the soda fountain.

You want to turn and look back at him as he clears your view. You want to see the expression on his face now that you’re not observing him. Because you can feel him observing you. Like his eyes are piercing through the cotton of your shirt, through your skin, right to your heart that feels like it’s beating far too fast for a casual drink stop.

But you don’t. You grab your cup and start filling it with ice. You dispense your soda. And when it’s almost full, you feel the slide of Nate’s hand down your ass. He gives you a light squeeze, and it makes your face start to heat. Normally you wouldn’t give a shit. You’re not opposed to PDA. But he is watching. You know he is.

You’re securing a lid onto your cup when Nate’s hand slips lower, down the center of your ass, until you feel his fingers start to stroke over your pussy again from the back.

Before you can say anything you hear a sharp interjection from behind you.

“Hey.”

You both turn back as Nate snatches his hand from between your legs. Joel’s attention is trained on the two of you, a look of bored annoyance on his face.

Not exactly what you had expected.

Joel leans forward onto the counter and reprimands in a jaded tone, “This ain’t Friskies Night at The Calico Kitten. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Huh?” Nate responds, a bit dumbfounded, turning fully around to face him. You follow suit hesitantly biting your lip as the guilt of this entire situation starts to set in. You wanted him to feel guilty. To feel sorry for making you feel bad. You’re not so sure you want that anymore.

“You heard me. ‘S a public fuckin’ place. And private fuckin’ property. Keep your hands off her.”

Nate takes a step forward. “You’re really telling me how I’m allowed to touch my girl?”

“Nate…” you warn softly, putting a hand on his arm.

“Why the hell are you even looking at my girl to see how I’m touching her, huh?” Nate continues, slipping his hand around your waist possessively.

Joel’s eyes flit over yours, and you’re not even sure how to react. You feel foolishly caught in the middle of a situation that you crafted. You don’t offer anything but a subtle shake of your head to Joel.

I’m not his girl. I’ve never been his girl. Please don’t make me say it.

“Part of my job’s to make sure beautiful women like her are safe,” Joel asserts, pointing a finger at you. “You feel safe, darlin’?”

Darlin’.

You swallow slightly and nod, your voice caught in your throat for some odd reason.

“You want him touchin’ you like that?”

“She’s totally fucking chill with it, dude,” Nate butts in, but Joel throws up a hand in a stopping motion.

“Don’t remember askin’ you a goddamn thing, son.”

You clear your throat and, with shaky conviction, announce, “Yes. I’m fine with him touching me like that.”

“Hear that, old man? Told you she’s chill with it,” Nate brags, giving you a swat on the ass that makes you jump. You restore your resolve quickly, sizing Joel up with your eyes and your renewed confidence. He doesn’t reveal anything to you that he hasn’t already let slip, and it almost disappoints you. His own gaze seems to be scrutinizing you in return, like he’s daring you to make a move.

“Come on,” Nate mumbles, grabbing your drink from the counter behind you and starting toward the cash register.

You see Joel shrug and chuck his pen onto the counter like a dart, skidding across the surface. As the two of you approach, he unmistakably says, “Far too pretty for a little boy like that, sweetheart.”

“Please,” Nate scoffs, plopping your drink in front of Joel absentmindedly as he tilts his head toward you with a smirk. “Says the dinosaur over here, running his mouth and playing the white knight like he’s got a shot in hell of scoring a sexy piece of ass like you.”

Joel snorts at that, eyes fixed on the barcode he’s scanning on the side of your cup. “Son, you are stumblin’ into a dick-measurin’ contest that you are embarrassingly unequipped for.” Joel glances directly at you with a smug look cemented on his face. “Ain’t he?”

Nate takes in your vague expression, then narrows his eyes slightly at Joel. “Why are you asking her like she’d know?”

Joel gives a little upside-down grin and a shrug, focusing his attention on his monitor. “I’ve found that girls have a pretty good sense for that kinda thing. Don’t they sugar…” he starts, meeting your eyes from beneath his eyelashes, “tits,” he concludes smoothly.

You see the glow in his eyes. The knowledge of what he wants to call you, but knows better than to divulge in front of an outsider.

Your heart throbs in your chest.

Even now, when you’re very blatantly trying to make him feel insecure, that unique Joel self-assurity shines through. Not only that, but the respect for you and the privacy of your little trysts stands unwavering between the pair of you. He could blow up your spot. He could tell Nate how unabashedly you scream on his cock, how your eyes roll back in your head every time he sinks inside you. How he’s trained you to call him “daddy” and trained your cunt to slide down onto his generous length with humiliating ease and reasonable grace.

But he doesn’t.

And that alone would win him any dick-swinging contest, if his staggeringly large cock hasn’t already.

“Fuck it, it’s on the house,” Joel says, waving his hand at the soda and jabbing his finger onto the touch screen on his monitor. He plucks a straw out for you from the cup stocked with them by the register.

“Wait, what? Why?” Nate challenges, skeptical.

Nate secures his hand around your waist again, but Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give it any attention at all. Just scoots your drink closer to you and says with a wink, “Don’t say I never did nothin’ nice for ya.”

You wrap your hand around the base of the cup, and when your fingers don’t meet each other around the circumference of it, your mind is flooded with images. When you glance up at Joel, it’s apparent that he’s already plagued with the same vulgar recollections.

Joel clicks his tongue against his top row of teeth and winks at you again in sendoff. He doesn’t say it, but the message is clear.

We both know what’s going on here, sugarplum.

–

Nate doesn’t get any. He doesn’t even make it out of the car at your place before you shut it down. And he is comically distressed about it. He calls you a bitch and a tease before peeling out of your apartment complex with screeching tires.

It sits heavy in your stomach how mortifying it would be for Joel to have seen that kind of behavior. But honestly, Joel probably pegged that attitude in him within seconds. He’s smart that way. Intuitive. God, it enrages you.

You saw the shift in him when he realized you were parading around with a sorry excuse for a man. Suddenly the threat he’d initially perceived was neutralized and it became more of a game to him than anything else. He was toying with Nate. While you stood there, battling with yourself over what you were doing.

Your phone vibrates when you step inside your apartment.

Joel: dont gotta b doin shit like that to get my attenchin sweetcheeks. u alreddy got it.

Something about the cocksureness in his demeanor earlier and the matter-of-factness in his text has frustration flaring up inside your chest.

You: Sure didn’t have it the other night. Some random blonde bimbo walks into the store and your cock is practically out.

You fling your phone onto the couch and head to the kitchen, pulling out a hard seltzer and cracking it open to down a generous gulp. Your nails clack against the counter as you see your phone screen alight over the back of the couch.

You don't particularly want to see what he has to say to your text. You had just wanted to say it. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. But you wanted to. You needed to. That’s the downside of texting shit like that, you suppose. The other party is probably going to respond.

Bitch, this is what diaries are for. Get a fucking diary.

Too late now.

You drag your feet over to the couch and drop heavily onto it, staring at the text notifications from Joel on your lock screen. Five of them. You take another healthy swig of your drink and take the plunge, unlocking your phone and swiping to your text thread with Joel. But you are not prepared for the deluge he smacks you with.

Joel: u excpect me to b a monk when ur not gracin me with ur presents princess?

Joel: shure askin an awfull lot of a guy who dicks u down like hes paid 4 it

Joel: ya its been a while but i kno 4 a fact taht lil creamie gusher btwn ur legs remembrs how ur daddys cock feels squirtin his lode deep inside it

Joel: u bein petty aint as cute as u tihnk it is little girl. ur fuckin with a grown man. not some pussy boy like that chode u was flawntin around me with

Joel: if ur planin on keepin this up u better at leest try a little harder

Fuck.

You’ve never heard him talk like this. Like he's pissed off. He’d seemed so calm and collected at the store. Like he couldn’t give two shits about who you were hanging around or who was touching you. Your eyes start to burn with tears as you read the texts over.

You responded to his sexts by dragging your fuck buddy into his place of work. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react to that? Of course he’s pissed off at you. Why didn’t you take two seconds to think through your shit before reacting?

Bitch. Get. A fucking. Diary.

The fist around your gut clenches when more text bubbles pop up.

Joel: fuck. im sorry sugerplum. idk y i just threw all that at u. that wasnt polite.

Joel: just a dumb ol basterd shovin my whole goddamn foot in my mouth

Apparently you both need diaries.

Your heart hurts reading his texts. You’re enraged at yourself for driving him to this, running him through the whole gamut of emotions that a person experiences when they see someone they have feelings for giving attention to someone else.

Someone you have feelings for.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The fist around your gut is now joined by its twin around your heart.

You have feelings for Joel.

Deep down, you’ve known this for a while. It’s been brewing, whirring around your brain. You’ve shut it down every time it’s cropped up, wrapped your hands around its throat and squeezed until you’d sufficiently silenced it for the time being. Beat it into submission, starved it of oxygen, stuffed it into a box and set it ablaze.

Then you’d see him again and it would burst out of its charred prison, bigger, bolder, better than before. An exhausting cycle that you were only vaguely aware was occurring.

But that’s it. You have feelings for Joel.

So, you respond to him in the best way you know how, the way that you think would make him smile to himself the most.

You: Doesn’t even come close to what I can shove in my mouth

You bite the side of your thumb, a grin pulling at your lips as a weight seems to lift from your chest, as the fists begin to loosen. Your stomach flutters when the next message flies in.

Joel: cheeky girl

Joel: wheres ur boyfriend

Your smile broadens and you take another sip of your drink.

You: Got lost in the cavern you’ve made of my pussy. Might never see him again.

Joel: atta girl

You slap a hand over the cheek-bursting grin expanding across your face and toss your phone into your lap. But after a moment, when it dawns on you that you have no one to hide it from — not even yourself — you let your hand fall from your face and into your lap, your head leaning back against the couch as you beam up at the ceiling.

Another buzz.

Joel: hows about u make it up 2 me by showin daddy his cavern 😏

You giggle to yourself, hand already working on the button of your shorts.

You: Been a minute since the last excavation, might have caved in a little

Joel: daddy can fix that in a jiff. hes always got his tools with him

Joel: gonna jackhammer that little bitch rite open again while u scream on it. mine ur cave with my shaft til daddy finds gold

You whimper as you shove your shorts and panties off your legs, your mind rifling through all the sensory memories you have of Joel’s cock plowing through you in that relentless rhythm he’s perfected with you.

You spread yourself wide for your camera, your heels mounted on the couch cushion to maximize exposure, and even you are taken off guard from the wetness seeping from your opening just from his trademark filth. It’s like your pussy is hardwired to drench itself the second he speaks in that particular brand of dirty talk only he can pull off.

Your hands are shaking with eagerness and arousal as you send off a photo, your fingers descending onto your clit hastily as you await his response.

You feel so keyed up you accidentally drop your phone when it starts to buzz aggressively in your hand, Joel’s name and photo popping up on your screen with an unexpected call.

You recover and accept the call, fumbling to hit the speaker button to hear his voice.

“Shit, never locked that goddamn door so fuckin’ fast. Jesus Christ, baby. All spread and smilin’ at me like that.”

“Just from thinking about you, daddy,” you sigh, lying fully onto the couch and hooking your leg over the back of it to make room for your brazen depravity.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’ girl,” Joel groans, and he already sounds wrecked over the phone as you hear the muffled scrapes and scuffles of him releasing his length from his jeans. “Gash is dripping like a leaky faucet. Who’s it for, baby? Tell daddy who’s it for.”

“You,” you whine desperately, bucking into your hand at the grit and authority in his tone.

You hear a light tutting over the line. “You know better’n that. Tell me.”

You give a breathy whimper as you abandon all dignity for him once again. “It’s for Daddy Joel.”

A reedy groan travels through the speaker, followed by the easily identifiable sound of him spitting shamelessly into his palm. “Fuck yeah it is. That’s a good little slut.”

You can feel wetness dripping between your asscheeks as you rub at your clit to the reedy groans Joel gifts you with as the sound of slapping skin exposes his hand jerking his cock.

“Are you stroking yourself for me, daddy?”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I am, baby. Right on our dirty little couch in the back. Can’t wait to bust you open on this bad boy again.”

You give a breathy laugh and say, “Is ‘bad boy’ referring to the couch or your cock?”

Joel lets out a low chuckle in return. “How’s about both? Wanna sit on this couch while you sit on me. Feel you bounce on it like the naughty fuckin’ bitch you are.”

You moan in response, your brain supplying you with memories of how it feels to drop down on his thick length until he bottoms out inside you. A wave of pleasure pulses through your body at the flashbacks, and you’re hit with how much you miss this man and his dick. How you crave the way he infiltrates your mind and your body in the most sinfully grotesque ways. You wish you had more visuals on your phone of what it looks like when he gapes open your cunt on his cock. That’s the first thing you want to do, you think, when you get your hands on him again. Make him film your defiling, showcase the stretch of your hole around his thickness as he retrains your body to take him after so long without him.

Your toy collection cannot do him justice. Maybe you bought a dildo that rivals his size, but it could never replicate the warmth of him inside you. The absolute control he has over you in those intimate moments when he lays claim to you. You can suction a silicone cock to a mirror and fuck your demons away as often as you’d like, but you can’t cup your own jaw with a heated, rough-hewn hand. You can’t fill your own ears with vile odes to the ways your bodies meld together, enrobed in that gritty southern drawl. Your imagination is only so colorful, and even if you had a thousand years, you could never amass the range of shades you would require to successfully capture his essence.

No, you could never paint him, even in your mind. You’re content to instead be a canvas for him. And as nit-picky as you are over your own appearance, whenever he gets done with you, a part of you feels like you could put an O’Keefe to shame. And he would undoubtedly agree.

But for the moment, you offer what little you can as your thoughts scramble by your own hand. “Yes, daddy. Wanna feel you fucking everywhere.”

“You stuffin’ that cunt full for me, sugarplum?”

You whine and tease two fingers down to your opening. “Not yet. Nothing compares to you.”

“Little boyfriend don’t stretch you out, huh?” Joel taunts, laughter in his voice as he baits you.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. And no,” you admit, not terribly concerned with how easily you crumble over this man. You could argue back, stoke the jealousy, make Joel wonder exactly how he measures up next to Nate. But you’re done playing that card. Really the whole hand is blown at this point. He sees through you so effortlessly, you may as well have never had a poker face at all.

“Mmm, yeah, daddy knows how good he gives it. I told ya before. They all come crawling back to daddy Joel. You crawlin’, baby? You on them hands and knees for me?”

Your tail firmly between your legs like the bitch you were tonight, you whimper and say, “Yes, daddy. I’m crawling.”

“Lemme see.”

A whine escapes you, but you open your camera and maneuver yourself onto your hands and knees on the cushions, balancing your phone against the armrest to capture your compliance. The timer ticks down quickly and your wanton gaze stares back at you in a still image, your tits falling with gravity between your arms, your nipples peaked, your lips glistening from biting them subconsciously through your lascivious acts on this sofa tonight.

The picture whooshes off to Joel, and a gravely moan announces its reception. “Fuck me, little devil. Need you to drop those girls in daddy’s mouth so I can suck ‘em ‘til they’re raw.”

“Should punish them for getting us into this mess in the first place, shouldn’t we?” You purr, situating yourself on your back again to continue why you started.

“Damn well should,” Joel agrees, a grunt sliding into his words as he pulls at himself. “‘F’it weren’t for those knockers, you’d be down a twelver, some smokes, and a shit ton of good daddy pipe.”

“Especially the pipe,” you sigh, your fingers working ravenously at your clit. “God I love that big fucking cock, daddy. I’m gonna come thinking about it.”

“And I’m gonna blow my load all over my fist thinkin’ about your tight little gold mine. Shit,” Joel grunts out, the smacking sounds on the other end getting louder and faster.

“Oh, fuck, daddy,” you cry out as you feel that telltale warmth start to trickle through your limbs and the pulse of your pussy under your fingers.

“Yeah, fuck, come for daddy,” Joel growls out, followed by a series of curses and deep moans through the speaker as you assume he’s experiencing similar results.

As your adrenaline fades, you sink into the couch, and the weight of all your actions today start to sink with you.

“Shit, babygirl,” Joel exhales heavily as his own high dwindles. “Missed those sexy noises of yours.”

“Me too,” you admit, swallowing as you catch your breath. “Missed yours too.”

You hear a light laugh over the phone. Then silence starts to settle between the two of you. Time drips and each second feels like a drop into the pool sitting in your stomach, rippling and sloshing as you fight against being the one to spear through the quiet.

“Broken record here, but I’m sorry if I upset you flirtin’ with that girl, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were there. If I’d’ve known, I’d never…”

Something in your stomach goes tight again, and a burning starts behind your eyes. You hate that he keeps bringing this up. It had felt embarrassing enough in the moment. Mortifying enough to shut him out, to try and sort out the bullshit in your head about him. You’d made the mistake of trying to shove it back in his face, and it only made you feel worse. Every ounce of you just wants to move the fuck on from that night, from this evening, from this weird fucking limbo the two of you are stuck inside.

The words might have a little more bite to them than you mean for them to, but before you can pull them back you say, “Stop saying you made me upset. You have no idea how I feel.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, and it feels like your heart is palpitating to the passing seconds. When he speaks, his voice is bordering on defeated. “Startin’ to think you might be right about that. G’night, beautiful girl.”

A lump forms in your throat almost instantly.

“Joel,” you try to reassure, to prevent tonight’s exchange from ending on a sour note, but you watch the call end on your screen as you say it. That tightness in your stomach squeezes, the wetness brimming your eyes reluctantly spilling over.

You roll onto your side, drawing your legs up closer to your chest as you let your emotions overcome you for the first time in a long while. You beg the universe for him to call back so you can tell him what you discovered about yourself tonight. You can’t bring yourself to do it. You need him to do it.

He probably thinks I hate him.

I could never hate him.

You give yourself over to the sorrow and allow yourself to feel.

—

The skin around your eyes feels crusty and tight with dried tears when you blink awake. The apartment is still mostly dark, and you’re still half-naked on your couch.

As your memory from tonight pieces back together in the fog from your sleep, you pat around for your phone. 5:02 AM. No missed calls or texts.

You sigh, tossing the phone onto your coffee table and curling in on yourself again. The sleep has you thinking clearer.

You need to tell him. You can’t keep it inside when it feels like it’s boring through your chest. Especially when he’s sitting in that dingy store, likely thinking you can’t stand him. The hurt in his voice when he hung up a few hours ago is haunting. You never want to hear him sound like that again.

You wrangle your shorts back on, spruce up quickly in the mirror, and grab your keys.

You’re at the gas station in minutes, pulling up to the front. You allow yourself a single deep breath, not enough to second guess, and head to the front door.

The bell chimes tinnily, but the store is quiet. And Joel isn’t sitting on his stool. You don’t let it sway you.

You pass the first aisle. Nothing.

You pass the second aisle. Nothing.

Then you approach the third aisle, and you swear your heart skips. Joel is at work on the floor, kneeling on a foam pad and restocking the shelves.

“Be right with ya,” Joel says dismissively, reaching into the box behind him.

“What if I was upset,” you blurt out before he even has time to look at you.

Joel freezes for a moment as the sound of your voice flows from his ears to his brain. He twists back around as his gaze gravitates to yours, eyes widening in surprise as he pulls his hands from the box. His eyes roam over your body, toes to tits, then finally to your face. “Well, hello there, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you rush through the word, fold your arms across your chest just for somewhere to put them. “What if I was upset.”

Joel studies you for a long moment, his eyes squinting slightly in scrutiny. He falls back onto his ass, wincing gently as the pressure is taken off his knees, and drapes his arms over the clearly aching joints.

“What if you were upset, you’re asking?” He repeats, his tone prodding for further explanation.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

His eyes float to the side, drudging up what exactly you mean by that, before nodding to himself once he thinks he understands. “Upset at me tryin’ to slip it in another girl?”

A flash of disgust splashed across your face before you can school it, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Well,” Joel starts, his eyes shifting to the ground between his legs before meeting yours again, “What if I didn’t like you flittin’ around here with some dipshit punk? What if that really fuckin’ pissed me off, actually?”

“It pissed you off?”

Joel raises one eyebrow and sets his jaw firmly in response.

A creeping satisfaction radiates in your bones at this revelation. It had worked. He played it off, but it worked. So your behavior hadn’t been all for nothing. The crudeness of which you’d allowed Nate to touch you in the dim light of the store, the sting of the slap to your ass, the tingle you’d felt when Nate brushed his undeserving fingers over your pussy under Joel’s surveyance — it all burrowed under Joel’s skin.

“I wanted it to.”

“I know,” Joel says lowly, almost like he’s ashamed he’d fallen for it.

The heels of his boots squeak on the linoleum as he fixes his attention on the half-stocked shelves.

Moments drag by, and it becomes apparent that Joel is leaving the ball in your court on where this conversation leads.

You sigh, kicking your foot nervously and barely grazing the floor. “What if I don’t want to see you fucking around with another girl like that again?”

Joel’s eyes are drawn back to you again. You can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he says, “What if I don’t give a fuck about any other girl, even if they tried?”

A spark of light ignites in your chest as you battle with the smile pushing at your own lips.

None of this is even a solid answer. Not even a solid question. The open-ended what-ifs rallying back and forth, all at once saying nothing and everything you want to verbalize. But it feels right. It feels good.

Joel leans forward, a broad hand cupping around your calf, and your heart swoops. “Sugarplum,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours as his mouth brushes above your knee. Your eyes drift closed, luxuriating in the plush press of his lips on your skin, the gravity of the act somehow infinitely more magnanimous than it would have been at any time before now.

You’re both startled out of your skin as the bell chimes again and a breeze wending its way through the open door, a man in a suit heading straight back toward the coffee dispenser.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath, pressing another kiss to your thigh before shoving himself off the floor and dusting off his jeans. You take a steadying breath and stem the heat in your cheeks with your palms.

Joel’s hands find your hips, stroking just under your shirt with his thumbs as a soft smile plays on his face. “Let’s talk later.”

You nod at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, suddenly feeling very bashful. “My place after I get off work? I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joel affirms, his greedy eyes crinkle with his smile, and you’re not positive whether he’s undressing you or admiring you with them, but you ultimately figure it’s both. Always both. Joel’s lips find your forehead and it’s a losing battle to train your face into anything but exhilaration.

“Guess it does,” you reply softly, unable to stop yourself from raising your fingers, touching his lips that very well might be yours now, just as much as your own are.

Joel hums against the pads of your fingertips, pressing a delicate kiss to them and whispering, “My little sugarplum.”

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[twice-inamillion]

The Company

Peeping Tom

Smut and Story Building (Blackmail, Deep Penetration, Defloration, Creampie, Rough Sex, First Time, Choking, Light BDSM, objectification)

Chapter 6

3,585 Words

(You encounter a peeping Tom as you have fun with one of your assistants. She tries to use her newfound information against you, but instead, you end up using her. By the end, you found yourself a new toy to play with.)

You return to your office with IU after a business meeting outside the company. The two of you talk about what just occurred during the last few days and how busy it’s going to get moving forward. 

“How does it feel receiving your first private jet, sir?”

“I’m excited; I remember riding on my father’s jet when I was younger and always wanted one of my own. Now I just need to get it customized, and I’ll be able to use it.”

“Before that, we need to hire a flight attendant.”

“That’s true.”

“What about asking your father for one of his?”

“No, I'd rather get someone that has nothing to do with my father. I don’t want them to tell him anything about my business.”

“I’ll try to put a post online to hire an assistant.”

“Sounds good.”

“Any requirements?”

“Someone not too old, eye candy. You know my tastes.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best.”

“Also, any news on Big Hit and JYP?”

“I’ve heard that they are suffering a bit money-wise, so I think they are going to accept your offer.”

“Let’s see what they say. I don’t want to buy them outright, but I do want to hold a good chunk of shares, especially Big Hit. Bang Si-Hyuk seems like a pretty cool guy. He gave me a tour of his small building and even introduced me to his debuting group a while back. I really want to help the guy.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy with anything you give him, sir.”

“Let’s see how it goes.”

IU then hands you some documents and says, “This is some information I found out about JYP Entertainment. If you look at the third page, you can see that JYP was going to debut a new girl group under the name “6MIX,” but it fell through.”

“Oh, it seems like they had a hard time debuting due to one of their members leaving.”

“Yes, they added another member, Sana. It seemed like they were going to debut, but another of their leader also left the company, so they ended up scrapping the whole thing.”

“Poor girls, so much hard work and training to debut only to have it scrapped.”

“Yes, one in particular has been in their company for a long time. I heard she’s a very good singer.”

“Oh really? If JYP accepts the help, maybe I can ask him to release them from their contracts and send them my way.”

“I’ll keep you posted if there is any news, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I have a meeting with one of the girls, so I’ll head to my office.”

“Actually, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, so I’ll walk with you.” 

The two of you walk towards the hallway, slap IU's ass, and walk the opposite from each other. Little did you know that you were seen by someone, the person IU was going to have a meeting with.

———— 

You get a message from IU that she has received some inflation about the deal with Big Hit and JYP as you are coming from the gym. It’s been a few days since you got any information, so you’re excited to see what’s going on. Without changing, you walk into her office, sit on the couch, and listen to some good news. 

You might not have noticed that Jennie has been curious about the relationship you and IU have since she’s a higher-up than you. She doesn’t know about your real position in the company and only thinks of you as one of the staff members. She was shocked when she saw you slapped IU on her ass and decided to follow you after that. 

Today, she had another meeting with IU and planned on having a light snack at the cafeteria before meeting up with her. Since she finished early, she decided to head up to the administration floor and relax on the outdoor patio before the meeting. She exits the elevator and makes it to the top floor. Jennie walks down the hallway and notices how quiet it is. She wandered around and found Irene’s and the CEO's office before hearing a faint noise coming from the hall. She quietly makes her way to the noises and gets to IU’s office from where the noise is coming from. 

Jennie tries to listen and places her ear by the door. She hears moaning coming from the other side. She tries to make up what the people instead are saying and can only decipher the male voices yelling that he’s going to cum. 

After some silence, she notices that the voices are getting nearer and runs towards the opposite side of the hallway to where the patio is. She peeks her head out and sees you coming out the door and IU fixing her skirt. 

“What the fuck, were they fucking in her office?”

“Omg, he’s getting it on with a higher-up in the company. Maybe I can use this.” 

———— 

Later that night, you get a message from Jennie from your staff phone. You read the message, and it is asking you for help moving some items around the house. You’re not in the mood to message her that you can do it tomorrow, but she is persistent. 

Somewhat annoyed, you put on a shirt and head down the elevator to the floor where their apartment is. You ring the doorbell, and Jennie opens the door within a few seconds. She wears a loose crop top and small shorts that show off her petite body. 

“You said you needed to move some stuff, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the living room.”

You walk to the living room and see the items she was referring to. You spend about ten minutes moving the things, and Jennie is watching you up close the whole time.

“Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Alright, I’m going. I’m tired.”

“Okay, but I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Please, don’t. The stuff wasn’t that heavy. Maybe try moving it between the five of you before calling me.”

You can tell that Jennie got upset by this based on her facial expression. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it's part of your job.”

“It’s not. I was just doing this as a favor since you all just moved into the apartment, but that was a few months ago. You girls can figure stuff out,” as you grab your phone and head for the door. 

Upset, Jennie yells, “If you’re going to be a douchebag about it all like the CEO, you’re messing around with his assistant.” 

You turn around and see a grin on her face, blackmailing you. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know that the two of you were fucking in her office the other day.”

“Lies.” 

“I saw smack her ass a while back, and this time, you were leaving her office, and she was skirted and had a smile on her face.”

“If that’s true, how would you know?”

“I heard the two of you doing it.”

“No one is going to believe you.”

“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have the CEO’s number.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have his number.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, holding her phone out.

“Alright, do it.”

“Okay, I will” and is about to press the call button but then says, “actually, he might be busy with important stuff. I don’t want to bother him.” 

You know she doesn’t have your actual work number, so you tease her, “I don’t think he’s busy. Why don’t we go visit him and tell him the situation? I think he would be more than happy to hear about it.” 

You can see her expression change, and she says, “No, I think we can just leave it like that.”

You grab her waist, “Let’s clear things up. I don’t want rumors that I’m messing with the CEO’s assistant.” You pull her hand, exit her apartment, walk towards the elevator, and press the button for the top floor.

Jennie looks nervous but tries to hide her expression. “He’s going to be upset that we’re bothering him.”

“I don’t think so, plus you’re blackmailing me.”

When you arrive at the top floor, the elevator rings, and you both exit and walk towards the hallway. You ring the doorbell, but there is no answer. 

With a faint smile of relief, Jennie says, “See, he’s not here, so let me waist go.”

“Hmm… let me try something.” You press the numbers on the keypad and hear a ring, unlocking the door.

“How did you do that?”

You pull Jennie and lock the door. “Seems like no one is home. CEO-nim! Jennie and I are looking for you!”

“Stop, he’s going to be made that we’re inside his home. Let’s go.” 

“No, I don’t want to; let’s have a bit of fun.” You walk towards the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a beer. “He has some good taste, nice.”

“Leave it; he’s going to get mad!”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he is. I heard that he’s mean.”

“Really? They said that?”

“Irene said that he makes them work to the bone.”

“No, I don’t. Wait until I see her tomorrow.”

Jennie’s reaction changes, and she says, “What did you say?”

“Nothing, forget about it.”

“You said something.” She stops, looks around, and walks to the living room. She sees pictures of you and freezes. 

Frozen for also a minute, she turns around and says, “Are you CEO-nim?”

You want to play it off, but know that the gig is over. Instead, you smile and say, “Dang, you caught me. Surprise!”

Many things go through her mind, like how she ordered you around the apartment, teased you, and even tried to blackmail you. 

“So what’s this about having my phone number and blackmailing me about fucking IU.”

Jennie gets on her knees, rubs her hands together, and begs, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I didn't mean it.”

“It wasn’t funny. Why did you do it?”

She bites her lip and tries to come up with a reason, saying, “I don’t know. I just wanted to tease you a bit and got jealous.”

“Jealous? What for?”

“You’re my type, and when I saw you and IU, I wanted to blackmail you so you can do whatever I say.”

“You know, that could have really gone bad and gotten someone hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“If you’re sorry, how will you take responsibility?”

“Ehh?”

“You said I’m your type, and you’re pretty cute yourself. How about we have some fun?”

Jennie can’t believe what your words. She knows she said that you’re her type, but that was as a staff/trainer. Now that she learned you’re the one in charge of the company, she doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger her chance at debuting but, at the same time, finds it kind of hot. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” giving her a smirk.

Jennie knows what you’re thinking; it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. You come close to her and grab her small behind, causing her to yelp.

She’s being this close to her. You know that she’s small and petite, “too, like a doll.”

“What?”

Instead of replying, you pick her up, carry her to the guestroom, and toss her onto the bed. 

“Wait… what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were. I’m telling you what I’m going to do to you.”

Jennie is stunned by your words. The image of you has been turned 360 from ordering you around to the other way around. Deep down, she can’t help but feel small and submissive by someone so huge and powerful enough to change her life.

“Okay, I understand.”

“Since you do, then strip. I want to see what I’m going to be working with.”

Jennie gets off the bed and stands in front of you. She slowly begins to undress herself, taking off her crop top and her small shots.

Now in underwear, she shyly takes off her bra, revealing her small, cute breasts. She tries to cover them, “Don’t forget the bottom.”

You smile as she hesitates to pull down her panties and whines, “Do I really have to pull them down?”

“Do you want me to do them for you? Just letting you know that I won’t be gentle.”

“I…I’ll do it then,” as she slowly pulls them down until it drops on the floor and quickly cover her cunt. 

“Take your hands off.”

“But…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

 Jennie removes her hands, revealing her semi-bare cunt. 

“Fuck, you have a pretty-looking pussy and a nice pair of tits. Lay down on the bed and spread that pussy for me.”

Jennie feels embarrassed but does what you told her. She lays on the bed and puts her legs up. She tries to spread her legs, but the idea of spreading them open and showing her pussy to someone for the first time is nerve-wracking. 

“Spread them more!”

She widens her legs until you see her whole cunt in view. With both her index and middle fingers, she slowly spreads her pussy lips, giving you a view of her unused cunt. “How’s this?”

“Hot. You’re making me hard.”

“Really? I’m making you hard?”

“Yeah. Want to see?”

Jennie has never seen a cock before in real life, only on the internet when she would masturbate while in the dorms. Seeing one in real life is making her both nervous and excited, “yeah. I want to see it.”

You undo the bottom and drop your buttons, leaving only your boxers and a large bulge in sight. 

Jennie can feel her heart beating faster as you pull down your boxers, which makes your cock springs out. “Wow, it’s so big. Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” you say with a grin.

Jennie, with her index finger, touches the tip of your cock and throbs, “Haha, it’s likes me.”

“How about grabbing it with your two hands?”

“Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my hands around it.” With her small hands, she tries to wrap her hand, almost touching her fingertips.

Turned on, you ask, “Can I take a picture?”

Jennie looks up at you and smiles, “Sure, you’re the boss, right? I have no say.”

“Glad to see you know your place.”

You grab your phone and take a shoot of Jennie handling your cock. “Try putting it in your mouth.”

“Like this?” as she uses the tip of her tongue to lick the head of your cock. “Yes, just like that.”

You record her slowly licking your length, your shaft, pulling the head in her mouth, and even her trying to take a bit of your cock in her mouth as she plays with her cunt.

“Fuck… I knew you were a slut” you say as she has your cock in her mouth. “Hmmm… I’ll be your slut, Daddy,” giving you a devilish smile. You grab her chin in between your hands and say, “We’re going to get along very well.” 

She stands and lays on the bed once more and willingly spreads her legs for you, spreading her pussy, and says, “Make sure you get a picture of this.” 

“You know how to turn on a guy, huh.”

“I just want to please you, Daddy. Plus, I want everyone to know that you’re going to be my first.” 

You can’t wait any longer; you need to fuck her now. You set the phone down, walked back, and spread her legs. She grabs your cock and presses it against her belly, and asks, “Is all of that going inside of me?”

“It’s going to go right in here and reach all the way up here,” as you trace your finger and her wet cunt all the way up to her belly button. 

“Fuck me already, Daddy. Make me a real woman,” begs Jennie.

You grab your cock and rub your shaft against her wet lower lips, spreading them and covering them in her sticky nectar. “I’m going to put it in; just relax.” She balls up her waist against her chest, “Okay.” 

Jennie nervously watches as you align your massive cock against her small entrance, waiting for you to be her first and only cock she’s ever going to taste. 

You press the tip on your cock and slowly insert yourself until you reach her thin barrier, which separates her from womanhood. You look directly into her eyes, signaling that you’re going to go all the way into it. She nods back and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come. 

You grab her small waist and, without mercy, put your weight onto her petite body and slam yourself into her fresh womb. “Fuck!!! I’m cumming; you’re too big; you’re making me cum!”

Jennie’s body spasms, and she tilts her head back as she feels her orgasm overwhelming her. 

“Haha, you just came from me putting it in? Let’s see how many times you cum.”

You don’t let her rest and put her into a mating press. She groans from not being able to ride off her orgasm, “Daddy, wait. You’re going to make me cum again. Let me rest.”

“A girl like you doesn’t deserve to rest; you’re my sex toy. I get to use you however I want,” slamming yourself inside her once again. 

Jennie cries as she feels her insides being rearranged by your cock, “Ahh, you’re messing me up inside! I won’t be able to with anyone beside you! Fuck…you’re stretching my small pussy out!”

Watching her becoming a mess is getting you more turned on. Even if it’s her first time, she’s a natural. You place your hand on her neck and firmly tighten your grip. Jennie panics when she feels your hand choking her, puts her hands around your arms, and looks at you in terror. “Shh… baby girl, calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, just something the both of us to enjoy. Trust me.”

Directly looking at you, she lets go of her hands and instead focuses on you, thrusting inside of her. “You feel so tight, Jennie; I feel like cumming already,” as you tighten the grip of your hand around her neck. 

You see Jennie trying to speak, so you loosen your grip, “Ahhh… cum… cum inside me, Daddy. I… I want to feel your cum in my tummy.”

You tighten your grip on her neck again as you fuck her roughly, only hearing the sound of both your flesh against each other. Little by little, you feel your peak approaching, a cold sensation in your back. 

“Fuck… I’m going to dump all my cum in your tight little pussy!” 

You feel all your cum shoot deep inside Jennie’s womb with your thick cum. Her eyes roll back from how tight you’re choking her as you pump a large load. Her body starts to go limp from the lack of air, so you let go of her neck and see the imprint of your hand around it. 

Immediately, Jennie gasps for air and comes back to her senses. “You’re such a good girl, Jennie. I think you’re going to be my favorite toy from now on.” 

She gives you a weak smile, grabs your hand, and places it back around her neck, “Keep fucking me, Daddy. I’m your dirty like toy.”

The two of you keep fucking all night long, every time you pump your cum in and on her body. At the end, you take a series of photos and videos of your work, Jennie’s body covered in cum and her cunt oozing out a mixture of both your juices.

—————

You wake up the next day and see Jennie under your arms. You try to get up, but she’s holding on to you. Rubbing her eyes, she turned around and said, “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Jennie. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. I can still feel some of your cummies in my tummy. I feel my pussy gaped. I don’t think I'll be able to get married anymore, haha.”

“Good. You’re mine, anyways.”

“Jealous?”

“No. I just got like sharing my toys.” You grab her by the neck with a firm grip and say, “Don’t forget that, okay? You’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” as she feels your strong hand choking her. 

You let her go and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Jennie looks at her phone and sees text messages from her group mates asking if she visited her mom since she didn’t sleep at the apartment. 

Jennie replies to them and immediately gets an idea that makes her smile excitedly, “Daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Since I’m your sex toy, how about making the rest of us your toys?”

“You mean your groupmates?”

“Yeah, how bout it? Sounds like fun, right?”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea; I’ll think about it.”

[igbylicious]

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt 2

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: You follow through with Wooyoung’s suggestion, but it looks like things aren’t ending there.

wc: 7.4k

ch. warnings: hard dom San, bratty sub Wooyoung, voyeur reader, consensual voyeurism/exhibitionism, kink negotiation, m x m, anal sex, rough sex, spanking, masturbation, dirty talk, blowjob, handjob, dumbification & degradation (@ Wooyoung), a hint of dacryphilia, praise kink (@ reader), safeword colour check (it’s green), aftercare

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns

(also the first 2k of this chapter is basically kink negotation i got carried away i’m so sorry lol)

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

“Hey. Sorry, it’s just me today,” San says, opening the door to let you inside. “Wooyoung got called into an extra shift at work.”

It’s just a mere few days after the memorable incident that capsized your entire relationship with your friendly neighbour Choi San, and here you are again, walking into his apartment.

He is still your friendly neighbour Choi San, of course, but now he is also the Choi San that you accidentally walked into while he was fucking his boyfriend — and he will soon become the Choi San who fucks his boyfriend in front of you with full consent from all parties involved.

And right now? Right now he is the Choi San who invited you over for a friendly chat about establishing ground rules.

This is totally fine. You are totally fine.

Somehow, some absurd chain of events has led you to this point, and you can’t quite work out how it happened. You are inclined to blame Byeol for it all, though you’re not sure yet how. It’s her fault for needing to eat, or something like that. If she could just go a week without food, you never would’ve been in San’s apartment that day.

Yeah. This is all on Byeol. Rock-solid logic right there.

“No Wooyoung? Oh, no sure, that’s fine,” you tell San, like it does not take a godlike amount of strength to meet his eyes directly. Like your brain doesn’t conjure up the memory of him sucking and biting at Wooyoung’s neck every time you see him. “Or should we do this some other time, when he can be here, too?”

While you are struggling to keep a tight hold on your one last thread of self-composure, San seems remarkably well-adjusted, especially considering how flustered he had been that day. Now that the initial shock has passed, his mannerisms are relaxed and easy — but you?

Your unexpected surge of Wooyoung-induced boldness had run out of juice approximately two seconds after leaving San’s apartment, and you’d only grown more antsy since then. Your days were spent second-guessing the whole thing and fighting back the urge to look up new apartment listings.

(You can’t decide if San’s ability to stay calm and composed is ridiculously unfair, or if it is for the best. At least one of you has their shit together.)

San looks casual and homey today, dark hair still wet from a shower. He’s wearing comfy socks with grey sweats and a simple black shirt that should, in theory, be oversized; but the fabric clings onto San’s broad chest in a way that is very distracting, his collarbones exposed by the wide neckline.

(That shirt is definitely unfair. Does San have no compassion for your poor nerves??)

“Wooyoung gave me the okay to go ahead without him,” San says, gesturing an invitation for you to step into the living room. “I know what he wants out of this, what his limits are. Is that alright with you?”

You hesitate for a moment — but honestly? If you already struggle this much to keep yourself from bolting out the door with just San in the room, you can’t trust how well you’ll cope with Wooyoung here too. It might take a few extra days to gather the mental strength required so you can face the memories that he conjures in your head. Like when his— (NOPE. Stop! Stop that right now, brain!! Cease and desist!)

“Yeah, if Wooyoung’s okay with it, then I’m okay with,” you say, smiling back at San. Nailed it; you are being so normal about this. “Let’s talk.”

And so you do.

San sits you down on the couch where he joins you, a literal arm’s length away to give you some personal space. He also hands you a mug with a hot drink — your favourite, and you feel a flattered burst of happiness that he remembered from some random smalltalk ages ago.

You weren’t sure what to expect out of this conversation — or actually, you had not expected a conversation at all.

It seemed simpler to just…dive in, as it were. They fuck, you watch; high fives all around afterwards. Probably the most awkward fives that were ever highed but still; pretty straightforward, right?

But San insisted on laying out some ground rules beforehand, and as the conversation unfolds, you understand why.

It’s not that San overwhelms you with a multi-page kink inventory (“Maybe for some other time,” he jokes), nor does he take all the spontaneity out of it with a five-step business plan, laying out what will happen to the smallest details. He just…answers some of your questions, asks some questions of you, forcing you to actually solidify your thoughts about what your boundaries are — even as ‘just’ a spectator.

No, you don’t mind if they get a bit rough. What does ‘a bit rough’ look like to you? Oh, that’s a good question, actually. No, no you’re down for that. Umm, oh that’s quite… Yeah, of course they can talk to you during the scene; you’d feel weirder if they ignore you completely.

You’re no longer surprised that San is so calm today; he is obviously in his element, experienced in this type of kink negotiation. He does let out the occasional self-conscious chuckle — but that only makes him more endearing, his warm nature blanketing the strange formality of hashing out these limits.

Somehow, he strikes a sweet spot between keeping the dialogue casual enough that you don’t feel pressured, but thoughtful enough that you know he is taking you, and this whole thing altogether, seriously.

It helps to put you at ease; San knows what he’s doing, makes you feel like you are in safe hands. He explains how exactly he and Wooyoung use the traffic light system for safe-words, and he is quick to take anything off the table that you waver on, never pressing your boundaries.

Gradually, you find an inner calm in the reminder that you want this to happen, while San’s lack of judgement is a soothing assurance that it’s okay to want this to happen. Every person involved has given their enthusiastic consent — you may have stumbled into San and Wooyoung the first time, but this is different.

This time, you are making the conscious decision to step through the door, knowing what will be on the other side; and you can turn around any time you want to. You just don’t want to.

“Hey, thank you by the way,” San says at one point, “for being so open about this. Makes it a lot easier for me.”

“It does?”

He nods, his eyes curving. “Less stressful when I know what everyone’s expectations are. I don’t mind improvising, but it’s comfortable to have a baseline to work off, you know.”

Huh. You hadn’t thought about it from San’s perspective, but yeah, that makes sense. You tell him this, and thank him for making it easy on you, too. San’s eyes shine as he lets out a small, breathy laugh, like he is the one endeared by you right now.

“What about touching? Did we cover that yet? Maybe it goes without saying, but just to say it anyway,” he continues smoothly. “Off the table, right? Keeps things simpler. We don’t touch you, you don’t touch us. …We’re alright with you touching yourself, though, if you want to.”

San adds the last part so casually that it takes a beat for the suggestion to sink in — but then your breath catches at the thought, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth. For weeks you had held back from touching yourself to their muffled noises, and now they themselves are giving you permission to do so right in front of them? Oof.

“Oh? You hadn’t thought that far ahead, hm?” San says when he notes your dazed reaction, and the curve of his smile goes just slightly cocky. “Give it some thought, I’ll trust you to make up your mind on your own.”

“I think I already have,” you blurt out, resisting the unbidden urge to rub your thighs together.

San leans back, his grin showing a flash of teeth. “Good, I like that,” he says, and the simple confidence of his words does something to you. Something that makes you feel more than a little bummed that you’ll only be there as a spectator — but hey, at least that means you don’t have to bring up your IUD and clean bill of sexual health. “One last thing,” San goes on, “then I think we can wrap this up.”

You give him a curious look, encouraging him to continue.

“Wooyoung can get…mouthy,” San says, cautiously.

…

“No way,” you deadpan. “You’re joking.”

San gives you an exasperated look, one that you’ve caught him giving Wooyoung from time to time, but moves past your comment. “He likes to rile me up, likes it when I’m rough with him.”

This isn’t exactly news to you; where is San going with this? “So, uh, kind of like what was going on when I walked into you guys?”

It’s the first time that you’ve acknowledged what happened, and you can’t tell if saying the words out loud makes you die a little on the inside, or if it sets the most cringe-ridden part of you free. There is something strangely liberating about just speaking frankly; perhaps that is the secret behind Wooyoung’s bold audacity. Shame loses some of its power when you own up to things.

San does fluster a bit; apparently his miraculous recovery from the embarrassment of that day is not as complete as it seems, his endless composure not so endless after all. “Y-yea, no— It’s not…not always that mild,” he says, “the way I talk to him, that is.”

Mild?

You have vivid memories of how San had mocked Wooyoung for cumming untouched, the look on his face, the taunt in his voice. A stark contrast with the soft-hearted man sitting next to you now. So that was mild for them?

…Huh. Interesting.

San manages to recompose himself, while you mull over this new piece of information.

You feel curiosity, but also an instant discomfort that you can’t quite explain. The discomfort causes an immediate reflex to push it all down and ignore it, to pretend that you are fine with anything that San and Wooyoung want to do.

But San sees the hesitation in your face, and you know that you cannot hide your gut feelings from him. He will not let you. You try to relax, and remember that San has literally just thanked you for being open with him; this needs to be an honest conversation. Not only for your comfort, but for San’s.

“It’s not a judgement thing,” you immediately rush to reassure him. The last thing you want to do is imply that you’re kink-shaming him or Wooyoung. People like what they like, it’s got nothing to do with you. (Except this time it does have something to do with you, since you will be right there.) “I’m fine with anything like what I already heard, but hard name-calling or something like that… I’m not sure. It’s just—”

It’s just that San and Wooyoung have built a foundation, able to lean on their experiences and mutual trust when the harsher words come into play. They know that every degrading insult has the purpose to make the other feel good, even if it may seem counter-intuitive on a surface level. You are an outsider looking in — and you struggle to predict how you’ll respond to anything less ‘mild’; whether it will be just as exciting to you as it is to them, or only upsetting.

(Rationally you also know perfectly well that San would never say anything that Wooyoung isn’t on board with; but the connection between rationality and arousal is shaky at best.)

“No need to explain yourself,” San says, waving your concern away with his hand, “it’s all good. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go too far. There’s more than one way to deal with Wooyoung.” He adds a wink at the end, a cocky undertone in his words, but there’s still a hint of shyness burning at his ears. The dichotomy of it all is ridiculously endearing.

San walks you out the door, where he stops you for just a moment. “Sorry again for forgetting to text you,” he says. His smile is apologetic, but the sharp edge of embarrassment seems to have worn off of him too, the words calm. “I’m happy we’re doing this, Woo and I had been trying to think of a way to bring it up with you, I just— It would’ve been nice if we’d figured something out before…you know.”

You pat his arm, reassuring him that it’s all good between you. The catalyst to this turn of events had shaken you, but now? Now you feel steady in walking forward. Still a bit nervous, but (mostly) good nerves. Steady.

(Maybe you ought to buy Byeol some extra treats.)

“What would that conversation have even looked like?” you ask with a small chuckle. “‘Hey, want to watch us fuck?’ I mean, yeah, but that’s still pretty wild to ask your neighbour out of the blue.”

“And there we were, so worried about scaring you off,” San says, laughing.

“Well,” you say, puffing up your chest, “as you can see, I don’t scare easy.”

It’s just a line to poke fun at yourself and the whole situation, but San gives you another of his easy, confident grins, adorned by dimples. “No, you don’t. I like that too.”

You had worried that your discussion with San would take the excitement out of things, but those worries are unfounded. With the worst of your stress out of the way, anticipation has a chance to build up — and in a way, it’s kind of refreshing to have some idea of what to expect out of this, even if you won’t participate directly. No fumbling around blind to figure out what works for everyone, where the limits are. Just clarity.

Besides, it’s not like you have a play-by-play of what will happen. The only thing you know for sure is that you’re in for a memorable night.

Wooyoung confirms the latter as soon as he opens the door to greet you with a sly grin, biting his bottom lip.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says playfully, completely unbothered that he was buck naked the last time you saw him. Now he is wearing tight leather pants with a simple short-sleeved black shirt that shows off his arms — and again with the wide neckline! What is it with these damn men and their stupidly attractive collarbones!

Wooyoung notices how you check him out and preens immediately. He pushes his hair back with a suggestive wink, striking a little pose. “It’s a sexy look, right? Right?”

“Woo, don’t tease her,” San calls out from inside the apartment.

There is something about San’s voice that has you on alert, an edge of authority that you never heard from him before; but Wooyoung appears immune to it.

“I wasn’t teasing!” he calls back, rolling his eyes while he gestures you to come in. You note how his gaze lingers on the short skirt you’re wearing, but also that he does not touch you on the way to the bedroom; is he already taking the ground rules into account? You feel that slight pang of disappointment again; Wooyoung’s ass just looks so pinchable in those pants.

The lights are dimmed in the bedroom, and you step through the door with a mix of excitement and nerves — but they still are good nerves, only enhancing the excitement. San is already inside, waiting for you and Wooyoung.

This moment marks the first time you’ve ever seen Choi San shirtless.

You suck in a sharp breath, unable to help yourself.

You should not have been surprised; you’ve seen his arms on hot summer days where he hangs out in a sleeveless shirt, you know how wide those shoulders are just from seeing him in his regular clothes. And with the knowledge that San is one, a martial arts instructor and two, a certified gymrat to top it off; no, you should not have been surprised.

Not by the shadowed definition of his abs, not by the smooth expanse of his chest, tapered down to a slim hips where a faint treasure trail disappears into the waistband of his baggy, faded jeans. Add the tension in his jaw, his sharp narrowed eyes, the imposing posture; and San has undergone a total transformation, unrecognisable from the gentle guy next door.

You have always thought of the two men as gorgeous, but fuck. Whatever the you of a previous life has done to earn you this today, you send her a silent thanks.

San is unfazed by your moment of stunned admiration, simply showing you the comfy chair he’s readied for you. You sit down meekly; you may not be involved in the scene directly, but his dominant air still wraps around you. Usually you would describe San’s appearance as masculine handsomeness balanced with a perfect dose of cuteness, but now there is an edge of roughness to him, even by just standing there.

Wooyoung looks from you to San, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“What are you doing, showing off like that?” he says; bold words for a man who just posed to show off his (admittedly fantastic) ass in those leather pants. “You really want to impress her, trying to look tough, huh? Just do what you always do, geesh, that’s already fucking hot enough.”

The compliment slips past almost unnoticed, but Wooyoung turns to you before San has a chance to react. “Did you know,” he goes on, with the grin of a born troublemaker, “Sannie seriously did push-ups before you got in here. I think he’s nervous, isn’t that cute?”

His grin widens when you crack into a smile, so caught off guard by Wooyoung’s reveal that you have to muffle a laugh. It is cute.

San’s face goes dark while he watches Wooyoung mouth off. Your sweet neighbour would be flustered by the callout, but San isn’t your sweet neighbour right now. He has slipped into a different mode, and won’t be knocked out of it by Wooyoung’s antics.

Instead he takes two long strides across the room and without warning, grabs Wooyoung’s chin, tilting it up. “I think it’s time you shut your mouth and use it for better things,” San says, his voice rough.

Wooyoung softly gasps a surprised ‘ahh’, his body instantly reacting to San’s forceful touch. San’s eyes flash at the way Wooyoung’s back arches, a sharpened half-smile on his lips.

(“He likes to rile me up,” San had told you — but clearly San likes to be riled up, too.)

San pulls Wooyoung forward, mouths clashing in an aggressive kiss. Immediately he palms the crotch of Wooyoung’s leather pants, kneading at the growing bulge. Wooyoung groans, his teeth digging into San’s bottom lip while his hands cling onto broad, bare shoulders to keep his knees from buckling.

You rub your thighs together at the sight, a familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen. Your breaths go shallow, eyes unsure of where to focus.

Down to the smooth roll of Wooyoung’s hips as he humps into San’s hand, up to the way their jaws shift as the kiss gets messier; giving you more and more sloppy peeks at their tongues sliding together with wet, eager moans. San’s grip on Wooyoung’s chin is still unrelenting, manoeuvring the shorter man in whichever way pleases him.

A slow hand travels down your thigh, knees parting by instinct as your fingers slide in between. You’d wisely foregone on underwear, and you can feel the easier slide through just one layer of fabric, a growing damp spot where you rub the skirt against your clit. Your inhibitions are lowering rapidly, a soft whine joining Wooyoung’s loud one when his hips begin to stutter — and San immediately pulls away.

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung hisses, chasing after San’s hand. “C’mon, just let me—”

“And let the show end so quickly?” San asks, finally releasing Wooyoung’s chin to give him a condescending pat on the cheek. “That’s real greedy of you, Woo.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “You know I can go for more than one round, you’re just being a— f-fuck, San—!”

With a sharp smack, the flat of San’s hand strikes against Wooyoung’s ass. Just from the sound, you think even San’s palm must hurt from the impact against leather. Wooyoung jolts forward, mouth fallen open as he pants for hard breaths. He lets out another moan when San tangles his hand in those fire red locks of hair, forcing Wooyoung’s head at an angle.

“You think you deserve to cum more than once, after mouthing off like you just did?” San says, his voice cool, an almost detached expression on his face. “You’re lucky I don’t call the whole thing off right here.” His free hand undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet bedroom. He is not wearing anything underneath. “Here, prove that you’ve earned one at all, or do you want to disappoint our guest? On your knees. Now.”

For a moment Wooyoung looks ready to balk — but then his eyes dart to you and he visibly swallows down a retort, obediently getting down.

Obedient, for you.

Your fingers press down a little harder into your cunt, aching at Wooyoung’s compliance, all to please you. The barrier of fabric becomes increasingly frustrating, its damp spot growing outright soggy as you whine a soft moan.

Wooyoung’s eyes immediately snap back to you, glittering as he watches the swirl of your fingers, the tensing of your thighs, partially covered by the skirt that is slowly riding up. He licks his lips, eyes hungry.

San chuckles at Wooyoung’s meeker demeanour. “So eager to have her watch you suck my cock, hmm? Would’ve done this much sooner if I’d known how quick you’d be down on your knees.” He runs his hand through Wooyoung’s red hair, forcing him back to the task at hand.

Wooyoung stares up with a glower, wrapping his hand around the thick, half-hard cock. He parts his lips and leans in — for a small, rebellious bite on San’s hip.

San hisses, his grip on Wooyoung’s hair tightening. “Play nice,” he warns in a low growl. “I can still change my mind about all this.”

Silently, Wooyoung simply laps his tongue at the bite; to soothe the mark, but also to take pride in it. A last act of defiance before his mouth closes around San’s cock with a soft wet sound, and he hollows his cheeks as he sinks down.

You’re spellbound, watching how Wooyoung noisily sucks and bobs his head. Moaning decadently, heavy-lidded eyes transfixed on San’s face. San takes shallow breaths, staring right back at Wooyoung and the glossy shine of spit that spreads over his hardening cock with every pass of Wooyoung’s mouth. You swallow thickly when Wooyoung’s cheek bulges, his fingernails lightly scratching the exposed skin of San’s thigh. It must be sensitive; San bites his lip, his hand balling into a fist in Wooyoung’s hair.

“Little faster, Woo. Work for it,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “You think I’ll take it easy on you just because we have company?”

Wooyoung lets out a whiny noise but eagerly follows the lead of San’s hand guiding him, now working his cock in earnest as his speed picks up. Drools escapes the corner of his mouth, more dribbling down with every muffled wet moan.

Desperate for friction, Wooyoung’s hips roll forward uselessly — but San stands still as a rock in contrast, content to make Wooyoung’s swollen lips slide up and down his thick length. He’d look utterly unaffected if not for the rise and fall of his chest with hard breaths, his jaw clenched as he watches Wooyoung go deeper with every pass.

Your last shreds of inhibition crumbles away, the sharp pulse in your cunt harder and harder to ignore. You are burning, and your boldness grows in direct proportion to your desperation for relief. A hand slips underneath your skirt, and you sigh at the direct contact, greeted by a slick mess.

San’s eyes flicker to you at the sound, his eyes piercing into the point where your wrist disappears underneath your clothes. You aren’t sure how much he can see, your skirt hiked up but still providing some cover — but you are sure he can hear the faint squelch of arousal as you fall into a rhythm, fingers sliding across your clit in familiar, toe-curling patterns.

You can’t even feel shy anymore at San’s enthralled stare, so deep in the chase for pleasure that his attention only spurs you on. Soft gasps for breath, your lips parting to give free passage to a shameless moan.

“Fuck,” San curses softly, and pulls Wooyoung’s mouth off of him.

Wooyoung is dazed, his eyes a little glassy, and he is reluctant to part his lips from San’s cock. He looks up in hazy confusion, lifting a hand to wipe his smeared face clean.

“Leave that,” San snaps, lightly smacking Wooyoung’s hand away. “Clothes off. On the bed.”

Wooyoung is too far out of it to even consider disobeying, his movements rushed and clumsy as he strips down. San is more controlled as he shucks off his jeans, then grabs for a bottle of lube from his nightstand. He watches approvingly how Wooyoung get on all fours, squeezing the base of his cock to take the edge off before he joins his boyfriend on the bed.

“Here,” he says, grabbing onto Wooyoung’s hips to manhandle him into a position where you get almost a full profile view, then roughly turns Wooyoung’s head towards you. “Let her take a good look at that face, what a pretty mess you made of yourself.”

Wooyoung is a pretty mess; eyes unfocused and mouth hanging open, lips and chin glistening with saliva and precum, his red hair unruly but pushed back to expose his forehead and the small studs of his eyebrow piercing. He is breathing shakily, bent down on his forearms; his back arches prettily, pushing his ass up into the air, and he rocks back in anticipation of having San’s hands on him.

But Wooyoung’s eyes slowly come back into focus when they fall on you, mesmerised by the same view that captivated San only a moment before. He hisses when you bite back a moan, deliberately shifting your thighs to make the skirt ride up higher. “Talk about pretty messes,” he groans. “Fuck.”

You whine, the praise blooming hotly in your abdomen. It’s hard not to squirm under Wooyoung’s heated gaze; so you don’t bother to try and stop yourself, hips rocking forward to meet your fingers as one trails down to press inside you, just a shallow dip, teasing yourself — and Wooyoung.

He groans unabashedly and burrows his face in the sheets, like the sight is too much for him to handle, his back arching deeper.

“That’s it,” San says in a silk-smooth voice, running his hand across Wooyoung’s spine, before drawing back to squeeze at his ass. “You’re enjoying yourself like this, aren’t you? Putting yourself on display like—” San bites something back, shaking his head. (You realise that you wish he hadn’t held back.) “How is it, Woo? Is it just as good as you thought it’d be, hm?”

“Better,” Wooyoung rasps, a crack in his voice. “It’s better, f-fuck, San…”

San chuckles, coating two fingers with a generous amount of lube. “See? That’s what happens when you behave. Never say I don’t reward obedience.”

You can’t quite see from this angle, but you still know exactly when San pushes inside Wooyoung. He shudders at the intrusion with a pleased moan, turning his head to glance back at San. He grins, just a little cheeky, when San’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Did you—?” San blinks, but then his eyes curve into a pleased smile. “You already prepped for this, babe? So considerate,” he purrs, squeezing Wooyoung’s ass in approval. He goes for another finger, just a few passes, but quickly pulls back to slick up his cock instead. “I could get used to this, you’re spoiling me today.”

“It wasn’t for you,” Wooyoung retorts. “Don’t get carried awa-aah—!”

The words are knocked out of him when San lines up and buries himself in Wooyoung’s tight hole in one smooth thrust.

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that, Woo,” San says, panting slightly. He palms Wooyoung’s ass, then strikes with just enough force to have Wooyoung garble a choked moan. “I’d almost think you were mouthing off again, but that can’t be right, can it?”

“You’ll know when I’m—fuck, nghh!”

San quickly sets a hard pace, and your eyes go wide at the aggressive snap of his hips, brutal and hypnotising. You stop teasing yourself, two fingers picking up speed to match him, the heel of your hand rubbing against your clit. It’s not enough, not nearly enough compared to what you see, and you groan in frustration, pushing yourself to stretch around a third finger, arousal smeared on your thighs and dripping onto the chair.

Wooyoung moans and whimpers loudly with every thrust — noises that you are already familiar with, but never heard so closely, so clearly before, no more walls in between you and him.

San’s teeth are gritted, sweat falling down his chin. He keeps up the punishing slam of his hips as he fucks into Wooyoung, whose upper body crumples into the bed under the relentless onslaught. His knuckles are pale from how hard his fingers clench onto the sheets, prominent veins in his forearms.

Shamelessly, you flip back your skirt entirely and use your free hand to press at your clit at a better angle, wishing desperately for a vibrator; for Wooyoung’s thighs to hump and grind against; for San’s cock plunging inside of you. Their mouths on you, devouring you whole. You whimper as the fantasies pile onto the reality in front of you, augmenting each other and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Wooyoung looks close to that edge too, his brow knitted, eyes squeezed shut; a faint glimmer of tears on his lashes. Drool gathers on the sheet under his mouth, nothing but garbled nonsense leaving his lips.

“Any smart words, hm?” San demands, grunting tightly from keeping up his pace.

Wooyoung can only moan, squirming in San’s hold. San’s fingers dig harder into his hips, forcing him to take and take and take his cock, over and over again.

There is a triumphant glint in San’s eyes at Wooyoung’s incoherent state, barely able to string two words together. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, laying down another smack on Wooyoung’s ass. You can see the reddening imprint even from where you’re sitting. “Never takes long before you’re fucked dumb on my cock.”

Wooyoung sobs, teething at the bedspread as a thick tear rolls down his cheek. You inhale a sharp breath at the sight, shooting through you like lightning.

San hears your gasp and freezes for a moment, immediately turning his head to you. His hips slow down to a shallow rocking, much to Wooyoung’s frustration, but San is focused on you; unsure whether your response is rooted in arousal or something else. “Colour,” he asks, firmly.

“Green,” Wooyoung whines loudly, “it’s green, you fucker, don’t stop now—”

San smacks his ass with a sharp hit. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he warns and Wooyoung shuts up — though he does not stay quiet, whimpery moans escaping him as he pushes his ass back.

But San pays him no further attention right now, looking at you. His expression is somewhere halfway between the hard dom of tonight and the gentle neighbour that you know; wanting to know for sure that he did not overstep in his degradation of Wooyoung.

You nod, vigorously. “Green,” you say in agreement, “very green.”

The way Wooyoung is losing himself in the thrill over this treatment, the way he revels in pushing San just to make him push back; he visibly gets off on the consequences of his bratty actions — and that is getting you off too.

San holds your gaze a moment longer, like he is gauging the honesty of your answer. Then he nods, with a wink so quick you almost miss it.

“You hear that, Woo? She likes me talking to you like this,” he purrs, leaning over to catch the tear on Wooyoung’s cheek with his tongue. He briefly rubs his nose against Wooyoung’s temple and straightens back up, quickly picking up the pace again.

But Wooyoung has lifted his head, coming just slightly out of his stupor at the sound of your voice. He looks in your direction; at perfect eye level with your leaking cunt, and the three fingers sunk deeply inside.

His face contorts with a pained groan, fingers twitching in the sheets. The lewd display of you fucking yourself on your fingers breaking through his last shred of self-control. “Oh fuck,” he hiccups. “Look at that wet pussy. F-fuck, been so long since I last buried myself in a juicy cunt like that.” He is full-on rambling now, his tongue thick and speech slurred.

You whimper, clenching around your fingers. No touching, you remind yourself. It’s just talk.

“Wanna suffocate between those thighs, god you’d taste so good I just know it,” he babbles, high on the thought of you, and the mental images blaze through your head like wildfire.

He would tease, you are dead certain of it; he’d drive you mad on purpose until you grab his hair and grind into his face, exactly as he wants you to — fuck, that gorgeous slope of his nose looks just perfect to ride up against your clit—

“Woo…” San says warningly, but he is deaf to it.

“Can I—” Wooyoung sobs, repeating the words like a chant, Can I— Can I— Can I—

“Y-yes.”

It slips past your lips before you can think it through. Quiet and desperate; but Wooyoung hears. San hears. He tuts sharply, mercilessly intercepting the shaky hand that Wooyoung reaches out to you.

“You know the rules, Woo,” he chides, but even without him looking your way, it still feels partially directed at you too. “Or are you so drunk on my cock that you can’t remember something that simple? Tell me what the rule is, now.”

“N-no touching…” Wooyoung whines.

San nods in approval, and rewards Wooyoung by reaching around to wrap a firm hand around his neglected cock. “Good,” he coos. “Look at you, you poor thing. So drunk on cock but still starved for pussy.” San’s eyes are on you now, and you’re taken aback by the hunger there, like he has mixed feelings on reinforcing the rule.

“Can’t even blame you for forgetting,” he says with quiet intensity, the smooth roll of his hips losing their aggressive edge, his hand working a little faster instead. Wooyoung makes a noise of complete debauchery, burrowing his face back into the bed with a desperate moan. “What a mess she is making, dripping on my chair,” San goes on, licking his lips, “all just for us. So cruel of me, dangling her in front of you like that. A pretty cunt like that deserves to be worshipped.”

The praise blooms hotly in your core, and with a flash you realise this is San’s way of reassuring you he is not upset about the push against boundaries. Suddenly the heat wraps into a sharp coil, and you’re not sure what does it; San’s hungry praise or the desperate stutter of Wooyoung’s hips as San jerks him off, slick wet noises mingling with shaky whimpers. They pick up in speed as Wooyoung rushes towards his own peak, dragging you down with him into his unravelling.

You fall apart right after he does, broken by his choked up sobs; by him futilely twisting and wriggling against San’s strong grip. Your thighs shake, toes curling, the slide of your fingers against your clit just right — but the sight of the two men in front of you even more potent. Your hips jerk up as pleasure surges through you, mouth falling slack in a silent cry.

Desperately, you try to keep your fingers moving, to ride out this wave for as long as you can; all while watching how San’s palm glistens wetly as he lets go of Wooyoung’s cock and grabs onto his waist, yanking him back as San fucks into him, shifting focus to his own release. Wooyoung is nothing but a crumpled, snivelling mess but still he groans eagerly, encouraging San to use him.

San does just so, leaning over Wooyoung’s prone body to bite at his neck as San ruts into him, panting for breath. San’s moans grow higher than you expected, his low grunts fading away; if he was putting on a tough front when you first came in the bedroom, he no longer is now, too preoccupied with chasing his high.

Somehow it feels vulnerable, his dominant coat slipping off his shoulders. Like it’s something you’re not supposed to see — except he does let you see, lets you watch how the persona falls away as he slowly comes undone. Your breath hitches, a sharp moan catching in your throat as suddenly the aftershocks of your first orgasm stir with renewed life; and just like that you cum again, biting down your noises as though not to disturb San, trembling quietly in the chair as you watch, entranced. San’s hips finally stutter with a loud whine and then he stills entirely, pressing his face between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades with a drawn-out shudder.

With a weak moan your hands fall away; your body spent as though you are the one who just got fucked within an inch of your life.

The bedroom goes silent, almost.

Everyone is catching their breath, and Wooyoung makes an unintelligible sound when San pulls out and gently lowers him onto the bed. San’s eyes go soft as he brushes the hair out of Wooyoung’s face, kissing him on the forehead before he straightens up.

While you and Wooyoung lay boneless, slowly recovering, San rolls his shoulders and stretches his limbs with a quiet grunt, then grabs a robe to put on. He goes back to the nightstand, this time for a bottle of water. You never even noticed the two glasses that he clearly prepared beforehand, along with a few washcloths. He fills a glass, dampens a cloth, and returns to Wooyoung’s side.

Wooyoung hums in thanks as San helps him upright and hands him the glass of water. He takes a slow sip while San starts to wipe the sweat and other bodily juices off his skin, a grin bubbling up to his lips as his energy recharges. “Did so well, Sannie,” he says, stealing little touches with his free hand while San cleans him up. Eyes glittering with pure adoration. “Took such good care of me, you always do.”

“Shush. Drink your water,” San chides him, but his cheeks glow red at Wooyoung’s steady babble of praises.

The intimate sight of San and Wooyoung in their little bubble causes an unexpected fuzzy warmth to bloom in your chest; touched that they also trust you as an audience for this part, the quiet aftermath. It’s making you strangely timid after all that just transpired, smoothing down your skirt almost subconsciously.

Finally San takes the now empty glass back from his boyfriend. He pulls a blanket across Wooyoung’s body and helps him settle on the bed, where Wooyoung immediately snuggles up against a pillow and lets his eyes rest. (For a guy who made a point of ‘being able to go more than one round’, he sure is out like a light.)

San leaves a final peck on the top of Wooyoung’s head and sits back up, then goes to fill the other glass. He brings it to you with a fresh cloth, and hands you the drink. You take it with a grateful nod, but blink in surprise when San leans in to dab the sweat off your forehead.

He seems to suddenly realise what he has done, freezes instantly, then yanks his hand back as though burned. “Sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly, whispering so he won’t wake Wooyoung back up. “Forgot the damn rule myself.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, taking the cloth off his hands with a small, tired smile. You really didn’t mind. Did it even count now, during the aftercare?

San returns the smile. “Don’t tell Wooyoung, will you? I won’t hear the end of it,” he jokes, and you raise your thumb and forefinger to your lips to ‘zip’ them closed.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promise solemnly, but the serious expression does not last for long; pushed out by the undeniable urge to tease San. “Besides, it’s nice to have some blackmail in case I ever need a favour from you.”

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “You’re as much of a handful as Wooyoung, aren’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“Don’t tell him that, either,” San says with a soft laugh, shaking his head.

It is silent again, and you wonder if you should feel awkward, cleaning yourself up right in front of San. You should, right? But he isn’t watching you anymore, simply keeping you company in the quiet, and somehow the whole thing just feels easy and natural. So you wipe the washcloth across your thighs with a ginger touch, avoiding the places where you are most sensitive. Just a quick pass to clean the worst of the dried arousal and sweat sticking there. You’ll take a proper shower at home.

“About what happened…” San says after a while, when it’s clear you have settled and are breathing a little easier, “what Wooyoung said. What you said—”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. We did agree on no touching beforehand, I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

He snorts. “You weren’t the only one pushing. But no, it’s fine. I told you, I don’t mind improvising, but in this case…” San hesitates, like he’s not sure how much to say. “Woo is a bit more impulsive than me during a scene. I… like clarity. I like knowing for sure that nobody does anything they might have second thoughts about later. Maybe I’m too cautious sometimes, but that’s how it works for me. So I didn’t shut it down because of you, I want you to know that. That was for me.”

“I understand. You feel responsible for him during a scene like this, right?”

“I am responsible for him. And for you too,” San gently corrects. “That’s how I see it, at least. It’s part of what I signed up for.”

“‘Signed up for’?” a hoarse voice echoes from the bed. “What am I, a job?”

“A full-time one, Woo,” San fires back without missing a beat, smiling fondly as he says it. “How long you’ve been listening in?”

Wooyoung’s head pops out from underneath the blanket, his red hair in complete disarray. But his eyes are already clearer than they were just a few minutes ago; maybe you should give him some credit for his recovery time after all.

“I don’t have second thoughts this time,” he mumbles, his speech still a little slurred.

San just nods in acknowledgement, and turns to you with an inquisitive look. The implied question is all too clear.

“No second thoughts here either,” you agree. No point in getting shy now.

“Well,” San says, and that easy, confident grin is back on his face, “then I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Mm, good,” Wooyoung says, turning over to his other side to get settled again. Then he glances back at San, a spark of trouble in his eyes. “Do you need a refresher on the ground rules before that happens, Sannie? Just in case you forget any?”

“Dammit,” San groans under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Brow furrowed in pain, he gives you a reproachful look for the laugh that you unsuccessfully try to muffle. “So much for your blackmail,” he sighs.

[st-eve-barnes]

Bad Girl

(modern Aemond x fem Reader)

Summary: Aemond gets a little (sexually) frustrated with his shy girlfriend. Based on this post: "Hold her down by the throat and put her vibrator on the max setting. That'll fix her, I promise."

You can all thank @arcielee for inspiring me to write this! So it came out a little different than I initially planned but I hope it's still okay ;) This was written quickly so I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language and all that. Enjoy!

Word count: +2800

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Teasing, dirty talk, mild degradation/praise, masturbation (fem), soft dom Aemond, shy reader. Use of sex toy & orgasm denial. Choking, multiple orgasms and p in v sex.

***

All my fics are also on AO3 If you love my writing you can Buy me a KoFi or feed me with a lovely comment ;)

***

Aemond tried his best to focus on the words on the page in front of him. He wanted to finish this chapter but your hand on his thigh was starting to distract him.

You were both lying on your bed, him reading his book while you absentmindedly scrolled through Netflix while checking your phone. It had been over an hour now and you still hadn’t picked anything to watch. 

You were distracted as well, Aemond had noticed it the moment he’d walked in but as usual you chose to stay quiet and not let him know what was on your mind.

But he knew you inside and out now, after 6 months of dating. You were a closed book and it took a lot of patience and the right kind of attention to get you to open up to him. Tonight was no different.

Looking at your blank facial expression one could never tell but the way your hand kept clinging to his leg, Aemond knew everything he needed to know. You were just as horny as he was right now.

“Do you want me to pick something?” he asked, not looking up from his book but his lips curling into a little amused smile.

“Oh, no, why?” you asked, waking up from your thoughts.

“Because clearly you are never going to,” he pointed out.

You sighed,”I’m sorry, I just…I don’t really feel like watching anything.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?”

“I didn’t want to annoy you,” you sighed, turning off the tv.

It took only a few seconds for Aemond to snap his book shut and look up at you.

“What did I tell you just last night? You can never annoy me, sweet girl,” he placed his book on the nightstand and turned his attention to you,”Okay, here's what's going to happen…we’re going to set up a few ground rules, just between us.”

You looked at him with intrigued eyes.

“You need to tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he spoke softly,”I can’t read your mind, love.”

“You might wanna be grateful for that,” you joked, putting a smile on his face but it disappeared quickly when his one good eye met yours.

“Rule number one,” he then stated,”You don’t put yourself down, ever.”

Your eyes softened at his request and you smiled while nodding your head,”I’ll work on that.”

“Oh, you will,” he confirmed and you were taken aback by the hard tone in his voice.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Rule number two,” Aemond continued,”You need to talk to me, about what you feel, and what you want, whatever it is. I don’t want to have to guess it.”

You nodded but sighed quietly,”Aem, you know I…I have a hard time opening up.”

“Not with me,” he insisted,”I don’t want you to feel that way with me.”

His eye stayed locked on yours, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to stare deep into your soul. ”You know you never have to feel that way with me, right?”he then added softly.

You smiled, reassured,”I know.

“Good,” he nodded,”Then let’s try this, shall we? Tell me what you want right now.”

You couldn’t help but blush, your words already stuck in your throat.

“Come on, don’t be shy, sweetheart,” Aemond encouraged you,”Your hand’s been on my thigh the entire time, what is it? Do you want to cuddle?”

You knew he was teasing you but you still couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words.”No, I don’t want to cuddle,” you confessed instead.

“Then, what do you want?” Aemond covered your small hand with his much larger one, his thumb caressing your skin,”Don’t make me drag it out of you, sweet girl, you know I will.”

His threat was making your heart beat faster and your skin was burning up under his soft touch.

“I want…,”you bit your lip, willing yourself to just say the words but failing again. “I want you,” you eventually let out.

Aemond clicked his tongue in disappointment”You want me? Want me to what?”

“Aemond,” you whined.

He took his hand off you, making you want to whine some more but the serious look in his eye stopped you.

“I think it’s time to tell you about rule number three then,” he stated.

“Rule number three? What’s rule number three?”

“Girls who don’t comply with the first two rules will get punished.”

Your heart was definitely beating loudly in your chest now. “Aem,” you whispered, shaking your head with a shy smile.

Before you could even think of saying anything else he had you pinned down to the bed, straddling your legs and leaning over you, his face mere inches away from yours.

“Oh, you think I’m joking?” he asked.

“No, I…I don’t…”

He nuzzled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin while his long hair tickled your neck, putting goosebumps all over you.

“I won't ask again,” he whispered firmly,"Tell me what you want."

“I want you to fuck me,” you finally blurted out, putting a satisfied grin on his face as he leaned back to look at you.

“There’s my girl,” he smiled,”That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You bit your lip. Aemond's hands were softly caressing your waist and you could feel the weight of him on you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh through his sweatpants. You couldn’t help yourself from trying to move against him but he was quick to grab your wrists and pin them down on the bed next to you.

“Nuh-uh,” he teased,”Keep still.”

“Aem,” you breathed,”Please.”

“No, no, that took you way too long, sweetheart,” he pointed out,”If I give you what you want right away how will you learn your lesson, hmm?”

His hands moved back to your waist, slowly pushing up your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin. A smirk played on his beautiful face when he discovered you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Look at you being all slutty for me,” he grinned, pushing your shirt up all the way and exposing your tits fully to him. You couldn’t hold back your moans when he started kissing your stomach. His mouth was so soft, his kisses featherlight, teasing, making you shiver all over.

When he finally worked his way up to your tits his tongue curled around your nipple, making you squirm underneath him. You kept your hands on the bed, digging into the sheets now. You were afraid if you touched him he'd stop what he was doing to you and you would break if he did.

“Aemond,” you breathed,”Please…please…baby.”

You could hear him laugh as he licked your other nipple,”Oh, no, you don’t get to be impatient now, sweetheart. You made me wait for over an hour while you kept browsing that stupid Netflix menu. Rubbing my thigh like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”

He moved up higher to kiss your neck.”You’re going to do exactly as I say now. And maybe when you do, I’ll fuck you afterwards. Maybe. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“Use your goddamn words, sweetheart,” he growled, grinding his erection against your panties.

“Fuck, yes, I understand,” you moaned.

“Good,” he grinned,”Good girl, you’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Say it.”

Your voice came out as nothing more than a pathetic whimper,”I’ll be…a good girl…for you.”

Aemond moaned loudly and pushed his cock up against your soaked panties, letting you feel every inch of him but then he pulled back, an evil smirk on his lips. 

He leaned over to your side of the bed and opened your nightstand.

“What are you…?" your eyes widened when he pulled out one of your toys.

“Just the one I was looking for,” he grinned.

“Aemond,” you warned him but it only encouraged him.

“Show me,” he whispered, putting the toy in your hand and moving back a little to give you room,”Show me how you use it on yourself.”

“Are you serious?” you breathed.

“Dead serious,” he placed his hand on your thigh, tracing his fingers towards the edge of your panties,”You’re not getting my cock tonight, love, or my fingers, this is all you get. So get yourself off while I watch.”

You just stared at him in disbelief for a moment.

Aemond was licking his lips while he looked down at your panties and then he leaned in to place his lips on your ear,”I can see how wet you are from up here, my sweet girl, those panties are fucking soaked right through. You need to come really bad, don’t you? So fucking do it.”

You finally managed to shut off your brain and looked at the toy in your hand. Of course he had chosen one of your favorites, not an actual vibrator but your pink clit stimulator, the one that always got the job done.

But it was a little different with him watching you.

You slipped the toy in between your legs and into your panties and clicked it on, the sudden vibration enough to make you let out a quiet whimper.

Aemond didn’t take his eye off you, his one leg still wrapped over yours, now spreading you open, watching as you started bucking your hips against the vibrations. Your breathing was picking up quickly, your cheeks flushed and your other free hand was clutching the sheets, desperate to hold onto something.

Watching you like this was turning Aemond on beyond reason and he was dying for some sort of relief himself. But he held back, only focusing on you and your pleasure. He wanted to see you fall apart so badly, to see you finally letting go of that control and give in. But another part of him also wanted to snatch that toy from your hand right before you could succumb, letting you feel some of his frustration.

But he showed mercy on you, watching as your legs started to shake and your back arched off the bed when your orgasm rushed through you.

His mercy was short lived though and before you could ride it out the toy was pulled from your hand, making you look up at him with a disappointed whine.

“My turn,” he grinned.

He pulled your panties down in one swift motion and then the toy was on you again. You almost wanted to back away at the sudden sensation on your now sensitive clit but Aemond held you in your place.

“Look up at me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. He waited until your eyes met his before he turned the toy down to the lowest setting. “You alright?” he checked.

You nodded,”Yeah, I’m alright.”

He cupped your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing your lips ever so briefly.”You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered,”Surrendering to me so easily. God, it's everything....you’re so perfect.”

You smiled and felt tears sting in your eyes, his sudden softness combined with the aftermath of your release making you feel emotional.“Can I touch you now?” you begged.

Aemond nodded instantly,”Of course you can, my sweet girl.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips and your arms finally wrapped around him, caressing his neck and his hair and holding him close to you. Aemond reciprocated your hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck for a moment and breathing you in. But then he leaned back, that teasing smile back on his lips.

“Okay, where were we?” he asked and he laughed when you looked at him,”Oh, you didn’t think I was done, didn’t you?”

“Aem,” you shook your head,”Just fuck me.”

“Oh no, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, sweetheart,” he insisted and he turned your toy up a notch. He didn’t move it, just held it against your clit, teasing you with it.

“That feel good, baby?” he purred,"Oh, I bet it does, your poor little clit must be so sensitive right now, hmm?"

His lips moved down to softly kiss your neck. The combination of his warm, wet mouth on your skin and the vibration between your legs was quickly building up your need for another release.

This time Aemond showed no mercy, pulling the toy away as soon as you got too close, making you grip his arm in frustration at your lost climax.

“Fuck...please,” you whined.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he smiled, kissing the spot right below your ear,”Do it again. I want to hear you beg for it, use your words this time.”

He placed the toy back on your clit and back on the lowest setting, enough to tease you but not get you off.

His tongue traced patterns on your neck and collarbone and then he gently sucked your skin while upping the setting, higher and higher until he felt your legs starting to shake and he pulled away again, smirking against your neck as you cried in frustration.

He repeated the same process a couple of times, making you whimper and moan beneath him, tears running down your face now. Your hands were tangled into his hair and clawing at his back, underneath his shirt. 

“Come on, sweetheart, tell me what I want to hear,” he breathed into your ear.

Aemond’s voice was rough and you could hear it in his breathing, he was turned on just as much as you were. When you looked down you could see him palming himself through his pants, desperate for some friction.

“Please let me come,” you begged, finally finding your words,”I need to come so bad, Aem, please, baby.”

“Yeah? You want it?” he teased, licking into your mouth. You pulled him into a deep kiss, grinding your hips against your toy, which was now completely soaked in your arousal.

Aemond turned up the settings, one by one, pushing you closer and closer to that edge, moving it over your clit so perfectly you could feel your orgasm so close within reach.

"Tell me you want my cock," he breathed into the kiss,"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart...fucking say it, please."

All reason had left your mind and you finally gave into your most primal needs, and words.

“I want your cock,” you whimpered,”Please, Aemond…I need your cock, please…I need it inside of me so bad, need to feel you.”

“Oh, you do?” he grunted, moving his own hips against the mattress in his own desperation but he was not going to give in yet,”I don’t know if you deserve my cock, sweetheart.”

“I do, I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Yeah? You’ll tell me what you want next time? Before I have to drag it out of you?”

“I will,” you whimpered,”I promise I will.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that next time, won’t we? For now you’ll just have to take what I give you.”

He turned your toy up even higher, it was almost on the maximum setting and your legs were shaking in anticipation already.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

“Will you take what I give you and accept your punishment?” he breathed against your lips.

You nodded,”Yes, yes I will.”

“Good girl,” he smirked and he watched your reaction when he clicked the button and pushed your toy to it maximum,”Show me how desperate you are for me, sweetheart, ride your toy like you would ride my cock.”

He placed himself over you again, pinning you down on the bed, his cock rock hard and pressing into your inner thigh. As you bucked into your favorite toy Aemond started rutting against you, his breath heavy in your ear.

“Come on, my pretty little slut,” he growled into your ear while his hand made its way around your neck, gripping it tight,”Fall apart for me, I want to hear you…see you…feel you. Come for me, sweetheart...come for me, right fucking now.”

Your legs finally gave out and you came with a silent cry, clinging to his back and biting down on his shoulder. You didn't get any time to recover because Aemond pulled down his pants and in one desperate move sank his leaking cock deep into your pulsing heat. You climaxed again right away and it only took Aemond a couple of hard thrusts to follow suit, filling you up and collapsing on top of you with a quiet whimper.

You both lay in silence afterwards, letting your breathing calm down and enjoying the warmth of his body close to yours.

You couldn’t help but smile after a while. “I thought I wasn’t getting your cock tonight?” you then teased,"What happened with that?"

He looked up at you, blushing and biting his lip and then he gently nuzzled your neck, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder,”You make me weak, what can I say? Besides...I couldn't bear it any longer, I’ve wanted to fuck you as soon as you walked in tonight.”

“So did I,” you confessed.

Aemond gave you a surprised, warm smile,”Next time you tell me that right away so we don’t have to waste time pretending to find shit to watch on Netflix.”

You nodded,”I will, I promise.”

“Good,” he whispered,”I wouldn’t wanna have to punish you again for being such a bad girl.”

You hesitated for only a moment before you looked back at him and bit your lip,”What if I want to be your bad girl?”

You watched Aemond swallow hard, his hold on your waist tightening and his pupil growing darker.

“What if I liked being punished?” you added in a whisper, a smile forming on your lips at seeing Aemond squirm like that for once.

”Yeah?” he breathed,”You…you liked that?”

"Very much," you nodded and you giggled when he pushed you back down on the bed, his lips finding yours in a deep, desperate kiss. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, he was hard again.

His mouth moved to your ear, whispering heavily while his hand reached for your nightstand again,”Let's see what other toys you have in there, shall we, my beautiful bad girl?”

[flemingsfreckles]

Better Boyfriend than Him (18+) pt. 4

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: you and Jessie have your first date

Warnings: some discussion of sex, suggestive, mention on masturbation, some cursing I think

WC: 3.2k (short and sweet)

A/N: this is the most tame chapter so far, it’s also the shortest chapter so far, limited sexual content (sorry to disappoint), more smut is coming in the next part

You were in the middle of getting ready, deciding between shirts when an aggressive knocking came from your door. Checking your phone you saw it was 5:38, you had to leave to pick up Jessie in 7 minutes. You could just ignore whoever was at the door, maybe it was just a solicitor and they’d leave when they decide no one is home. That plan fails as the banging becomes more harsh.

With a frustrated huff you throw on your sleep shirt that was lying on the floor and head toward the front door. You open the door and much to your surprise, Jessie is standing in front of you. It takes a second for you to register that she’s there. She’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks and has a sport jacket in one hand and a large handful of flowers in the other.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t mean to accuse her but you were supposed to be picking her up at 6, and here she was at your doorstep.

“These are for you.” She holds out the bouquet of flowers to you. She has a shy smile on her face, for a second her appearance doesn’t seem to resemble your best friend at all. For one she rarely was dressed up like this, you had maybe seen her in a dress shirt once when she had to give a presentation and she complained about not being able to wear a regular shirt all day. She also looks nervous. Nervous wasn’t a look she expressed often, she usually was oozing with confidence, but here she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hand extended holding the flowers as she looked at you.

“Thanks.” You take the flowers from her and she follows you inside and to the kitchen. You dig around for a vase to put the flowers in and end up just picking a large water bottle, not having a vase as a college student. Before you’re able to scold her for being so early and throwing off your plans Jessie starts to explain herself.

“Sorry I’m early, and I know you were supposed to be picking me up, I just got nervous at home and I panicked and you’re the one I come to when I’m nervous so that’s what I did.” She’s playing with her fingers, cracking her knuckles and picking at her skin on her thumb.

“That’s okay.” You can tell she’s nervous and unsure so you decide against telling her off for messing up your scheduling. “I just need to finish getting ready, I thought I had a few more minutes. Just give me a second, okay?”

“Yeah, sorry again.” Jessie apologies as she moves over to your couch. Giving her one last look with a smile you head back into your bedroom.

Back in your room you rummage through your closet, still not being able to pick out what to wear. If this was any other day and you were unsure of an outfit you’d call Jessie You’d FaceTime her, shower her the options and asking which top you should wear on your date. Only you couldn’t call her now since she was the date. She was waiting in the other room, you couldn’t call her.

Nerves were starting to build in your stomach, maybe this was a bad idea. You take a deep breath, feeling lightheaded suddenly at the realization that you were about to try and date your best friend. Moving across the room, you sit down on your bed. You sit for a minute, trying to not think of all the things that could go wrong, except it seems all you can think of are all the things that could go so very wrong.

If this goes poorly you could never see her again. You’d never be able to text her, you’d never talk with her late into the night. No more coffee runs, no more drives in the car, no more studying and helping her with classes, none of it. She’d no longer be your friend, your friend with benefit, she’d become a stranger. No more passing notes in class when you’re both too bored to pay attention. No more sharing a blanket on the couch where you both fall asleep and you wake up nuzzled into her. No more calling her when you need advice. She’d be gone from your life if these dates fail. Feeling your chest get tight you lay back resting your head on the bed, trying to force air into your lungs as you breathe.

Focusing on breathing, a usual mindless habit, becomes harder than you ever thought it could be. Your small panic attack is interrupted by a soft knock on the door. You don’t say anything and the door handle turns and in walks Jessie.

“Are you alright?” You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, it was nearing ten past six.

You sit up looking at her, you can feel the tears welling in your eyes and you probably have red cheeks from struggling to breathe for the past couple of minutes.

“Hey what’s wrong?” Jessie says seeing your appearance. She moves over to sit next to you, wrapping her arm around your waist. She holds you tight, it relaxes you for a moment. The relaxation is quickly replaced with more nerves when you have the thought that if your date goes poorly, you wouldn’t be able to get this comfort from Jessie anymore. You stand up, out of her grasp and move away from her.

“I just don’t want to ruin this.” You gesture between the two of you. “What if we go on this date and you decide you want nothing to do with me and then we’re not friends anymore. I can’t lose you, you’re everything to me, I can’t lose my best friend.” The tears spill over as you explain yourself to Jessie.

“You’re not going to lose me.” She shakes her head at you.

“You can’t guarantee that.” A bubble of anger builds up inside your chest, she can’t just sit here and claim everything will be fine, that’s impossible for her to know, she can’t just make that false promise to you.

“I can, because I know I’m not walking away from you.” She stands up to move in front of you. “Look, even if this dating idea doesn’t work, I’ll need you in my life too. You don’t think I’m nervous too? Fuck, I’m over here worried that you’ll realize you don’t even want to date another girl.”

“Oh.” You let a small laugh escape from your lips, you hadn’t thought about the fact that Jessie would be the only girl you’ve attempted to date. Listening to her admit her own concerns make yours seem less scary, you both are in this together. Suddenly your fears start to slip away.

“Why are you laughing?” Jessie’s tone seemed upset.

“Just this feels silly, that we’re both nervous, like we already practically act like we’re dating, just without the label. We get dinner together, we hang out everyday, we sleep at each other's houses, and now we have sex. Is it silly that we’re being so nervous?”

“Yeah I guess it is.” She gives you a smile. “Are we still doing this then?”

“Only if you want? Because I do, I want to.” You respond to her.

“I want to too.”

“Okay then get out, let me finally pick a shirt and I’ll be out. Maybe we can pretend this part didn’t happen?” You gently shove her toward the door.

“As a friend, I’d wear the white top.” She adds before she walks out of your room, closing the door behind her. You smile to yourself realizing she knew that your concerns and panic had stemmed from being unable to pick between two shirts, the two shirts had been laying on your bed next to where she had sat. It made you feel reassured, at the base of everything, she was your friend first, your date second.

You move over, throwing the white top on before looking in the mirror fixing your hair and taking a deep breath looking at yourself, the tears that came down your face tried, leaving small streaks. It’s not like you had to hide that you had cried, she was there when the tears came out. You give yourself another look over before walking out and back into the living room where Jessie was standing, pacing across the room.

“Hi.” You get her attention. She turns to look at you and you see her eyes scan up and down your body.

“You look good, especially that top.” She winks at you. Her eyes trailing back down to your shirt.

“Thanks, my best friend helped me pick it. Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” You grab her hand and your keys and pull her out the door. What Jessie didn’t know was the second you left her apartment earlier you had called in an order to your favorite local restaurant, ordering a small feast of sandwiches, sides, and desserts for you to pick up.

You walk to the car and Jessie drops your hand running head of you and attempts to open your door for you. She pulls on the handle but the door is locked, you hold her keys up in her direction.

“Unlock it, I’m trying to be romantic and open your door for you.” She complains to you. You unlock the car, letting her open your door. She closes it once you’re in and does a quick run to the passenger side before getting in herself.

You drive to the restaurant, parking and telling Jessie you’ll be right back. You run in and grab the food, coming back to the car and placing it in the trunk where you had already packed drinks and a blanket. You hop back in the driver's seat and start up the car again. It’s quiet between the two of you, not uncomfortable silence but just quiet, the music playing filling the car.

After a few minutes of driving you pull into a vacant parking lot on a golf course situated on the top of a hill.

“You know I play soccer not golf right?” Jessie says, realizing where you were.

“The course is closed anyway, we’re not golfing.” You say to her.

You park and unbuckle before getting out of the car. Jessie meets you at the trunk and helps you carry the food along with the drinks and blanket.

“Go ahead and just put the blanket down over there.” You point at an open patch of grass.

She lays out the blanket and you place the food down before taking off your shoes and climbing onto the blanket.

“Sit.” Patting the space next to you to get her to sit down. She listens and removes her shoes as well before sitting next to you.

“This is my favorite place to watch the sunset.” Telling her why you brought her to the top of an empty golf course. “I figured we could have dinner and watch it.” You gesture to the picnic in front of you.

As time passes you feel yourself relax, feeling like it was less of a date and more just spending time with Jessie. You talk about school for a bit, bringing up the exams you have coming up. The two of you pass food back and forth, sharing nearly everything you had ordered, each having a beer from the pack. Jessie talks about soccer, you both talk about your families, excited to go home and see them at the holiday break. You break open the desserts just as the sun begins to hide. It was easy being with her.

You both watch the sunset, the sun disappearing and leaving behind the cold night. You shiver, without the sun you wish you had brought a jacket. Jessie must have noticed and she’s suddenly removing her sport coat and moving to wrap it around your body.

“Thanks.” She just smiles back at you. When she sits back down she sits closer, your legs touching.

“You know,” you nudge her knee with yours, “for someone who claims they don’t know how to date you sure are doing all the right things.”

“What does that mean?” Jessie can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic with her or serious by your comment.

“You brought flowers, opened the car door, and gave me your jacket. All those things, very chivalrous of you.”

“I’m just trying, is it too much?” You realize maybe your intended compliment has not been received well.

“No, no Jess, I really, it’s been, you’re doing perfect.” You turn to her, putting your hand on her arm to reassure her. She turns and now you’re face to face.

It was funny, as she sits here looking back at you, you suddenly feel the nerves of the first date coming back. It’s as if you had never kissed her before, as if just a couple of hours ago she hadn’t had you bent over naked screaming her name. You were frozen, wanting to lean in and put your lips on hers but feeling unsure of how to. You find your eyes moving between her lips and eyes. Her tongue quickly peaks out, wetting her bottom lip. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you both lean in.

Something about this felt so different, you had kissed Jessie maybe 100 times at this point through the weeks, but there was something so soft and gentle and innocent about the kiss you shared.

Her lips were soft, gently pressed against yours, no intention behind them, no slip of her tongue, no wandering hands, just her lips against yours. Her hand is placed on your cheek, it’s cold from the nighttime air and is a strong contrast from her lips. She pulls away after only a couple of seconds, a smile pulling at her lips.

You don’t say anything, both of you just silently processing your first kiss, not as friends. That’s when you feel the first rain drop. It lands on your nose and then you see one hit her face as well. Within seconds the sky opens up and rain comes falling down.

You both let out a squeal and jump up, grabbing the remains of your picnic as quickly as possible and making a dash to the car. You throw everything into the car, not caring where it ends up before jumping in the front seat slamming the door behind you. Just the sound of you both breathing heavily from running and the initial shock of the rain fills the car.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say this was intentional. You were trying to make me wet.” Jessie gives you a suggestive glance.

“No actually, just forgot to check the weather. Sorry about that.” You peel off the coat she had given you and pass it back to her. You start the car, turning on the heat to warm you both up before you pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction of Jessie’s apartment.

“Let me at least walk you to the door.” You say as you pull in front of her house. You couldn’t lie, you maybe had the intention of walking her to the door, and following her inside and into her bedroom, but you weren’t going to say that out loud. You both get out of the car and make a quick dash out of the rain and toward her door. You follow here and you both squeeze under the small awning above her door. She places her hand on the doorknob and then turns back to you.

“I had a really nice time tonight.” Jessie then laughs at her own sentence. “Sorry that sounded too cliche. But really, I know we hang out all the time anyway but, I enjoy spending time with you, a lot.”

“I like spending time with you too Jessie.” It felt funny to be saying this to her, she obviously knew you liked spending time with her, that’s why you were friends in the first place.

“Can we do this again?” You were a little taken aback by Jessie’s question, sure you figured the date went well but with her history of not dating, you weren’t fully expecting her to initiate further dates.

“Yeah, we can.” A huge smile breaks onto your face as you look at Jessie, this could work.

“I’ll send you details then.” She holds up her phone, giving it a shake before sliding it into her pant pocket.

She takes a step closer to you and her hand finds your chin. She tilts your head up gently and meets your lips with hers in another soft kiss. You try to push her, letting your lips open a bit for her tongue to meet yours, but her lips stay tightly closed against yours.

“I don’t fuck on the first date.” She whispers in your ear as she pulls back from your kiss. The feeling of her breath on your ear has goosebumps trailing across your skin. The words she spoke sounded so innocent and yet so dirty coming from her mouth that it made you want to jump her bones in the hallway of her apartment. You knew she was just throwing your own words about not kissing before the first date back at you so you roll your eyes at her.

“Have a good night.” She gives you one last look, a cocky smirk across her lips before she turns back and opens her apartment door.

“Thanks, you too.” You say before her door finally shuts and you’re face to face with the wood panel. That was definitely not how you had expected the night to end. If you were confident about anything going into the date it was that you were going to end up naked under Jessie with her name falling from your lips at the end of the night. And yet here you stood, alone, fully clothed, with nothing more than a kiss to hold you over until the next date. For some reason you were filled with warmth even though you were going home to sleep in an empty bed, it felt like the opposite of lonely as you walked away from her door.

While you would have loved to be under Jessie at the moment, something felt reassuring that you both hadn’t immediately jumped into bed. She was treating you differently than other girls and she was treating this differently than when the two of you had just been friends with benefits.

You’re only a few steps away from Jessie’s door when she texts you and her cocky personality returns.

Jessie 🦖: feel free to dream about me tonight when you go to sleep

Jessie 🦖: or when you’re touching yourself later, I don’t mind ;)

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

--

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home. 

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal. 

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos. 

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day. 

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface. 

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight. 

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work. 

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus. 

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you. 

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two. 

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck. 

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning. 

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day. 

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates. 

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite. 

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling. 

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place. 

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water. 

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on. 

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too. 

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light. 

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.” 

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.” 

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers. 

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.” 

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break. 

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get. 

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference. 

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief. 

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe. 

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch. 

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning. 

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.” 

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think. 

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him. 

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs. 

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key. 

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again. 

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings. 

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right.  You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson. 

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!” 

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie. 

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again. 

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort. 

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head. 

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.” 

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida. 

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys. 

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand. 

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?” 

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there. 

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat. 

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that. 

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one. 

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning. 

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful. 

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then. 

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion. 

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.” 

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment. 

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns. 

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner. 

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this. 

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister. 

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.” 

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent. 

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.” 

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations. 

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

--

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[nexysworld]

Chapter Summary: Leon wasn't sure what to do after your last encounter, he knew he messed up. He'd do anything to get you back to him, even if it meant more scheming under the guise of helping you get better. Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, Dead Dove, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Stalking, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, violence, gore, MDNI, masturbation, murder, slow burn. Psychological manipulation, abuse of power, etc. no use of y/n. WC: 6.5K

A/N: Thanks so much everyone for the support on this story. I'm sorry this update took forever, but we're back swinging and I've already started chapter 6. Hope you like it! (tag list at bottom :) )

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He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He expected you to warm up to him again, what he hadn’t expected was the way you were looking at him like that, how quickly you fell into his touch, his kiss. Your skin felt electric under his fingertips, your mouth heaven.

He had waited so long for this very moment that he lost control of himself – he knew this was too soon. Knew you needed to be coddled longer, doted on, cared for until you were finally his. But he couldn’t help it, the sadness in your soft voice, begging him to make you forget, to make you feel better. It was too much even for him. Countless years of government training down the drain the moment you pleaded for him. But then – then you’d scurried out like a startled rabbit, and he knew he fucked up. That was too much for you, especially after such an emotional day. It left him with only two choices now, to play another long game or to force you back to him. Sighing, Leon leaned back into his couch, cock now softened and brain clear. He ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them out of his face, the image of your sad expression burned into his retinas. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he had the mental fortitude to play another long game, he needed you, and that outburst of emotion showcased how badly you needed him as well.

And speaking of said outburst, should he go to you now, try to offer comfort? Or is space what was best for you? He pondered on that thought for a few minutes, knowing the next move was crucial in making everything come together. He settled on not wanting to push you, but at least letting you know it was alright.

Lifting himself off his couch, Leon made the short journey from his apartment to your own, feed padding against the scratchy carpet of the hallway. He stopped just outside of your door, fist ready to knock when he heard your soft voice sobbing icing him to his core. Regardless of what was necessary, you being so sad never left him with a good feeling – it was like an ice pick slowly cracking at his heart every time he heard it. He pushed that feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand, knocking against the door. “Hey.” He said. “Hey, can I come in?” There was an unintelligible response from the otherside, a mix between a muffled sob and an attempt at coherent words. “Look, I’m not upset.” He called again through the door. 

When no clear response came, he tried the knob, unsurprised to find it unlocked. He twisted the brass, the door creaking open loudly as the sound of your upset became louder. He found you on the floor, slumped against the wall, not far from the door. Kneeling over you, he cupped your face in his hands. Your glassy eyes looked exhausted, face swollen, red, and tear stained – it didn’t bother him though as he held you there, locking his gaze with yours. “It’s alright.” He said assuringly. “S’not.” He watched you croak out from your puffy lips, gasping between tears to get some of the air back into your lungs. “It is.” He moved from kneeling, to sitting, coming completely down to your level. “I know things don’t seem that way right now. But it’s going to be alright – whatever happens.” “I can’t do this.” You exclaimed, clutching at his shirt, bunching the cotton fabric in your hands. He moved his own over yours, patting them gently against his chest. “Can’t do what?” He gave you a second to formulate a reply. “This!” You said, as if that would clear things up for him. “You…I can’t. I can’t keep doing this with you Lee. This isn’t right… things aren’t right. Maybe we should stop seeing each other entirely – I’m not stable. And I can’t keep using you to bail me out, or to alleviate my feelings. It’s not fair to you, and it leaves me feeling… god I can’t even describe it. I’m sorry.” 

Those were not the words he wanted to hear. He knew you were still emotionally delicate, but hadn’t he shown you time and time again that things were better with him? Right with him? He felt his knuckles twitch at your words, squeezing your hand a little tighter, but not tight enough to hurt you. He resisted the urge to snap, swallowing down the lump in his throat, trying to maintain a sense of steeled calm as you let it all out before him. ‘You don’t even know what you’re going on about, saying this shit to me while you cling to me for dear life? Oh baby…’’ He thought  to himself, trying to de-escalate his own brewing internal storm. 

His mouth twitched slightly before he relaxed again and smiled at you. “Hey, don’t say that.” Releasing his hold from your arms, he pushed closer to you, wrapping an arm around your back before pulling you into his lap, tightening you into a bear hug. He buried his nose in your hair for a moment, taking in your scent, just holding you there like he always does, before finally speaking again. “I’m a big boy. I can decide what’s fair for myself, you know? I’m here because I want to be.” He felt you relax into him as he stroked your back, running his hand up your shirt to make more skin to skin contact as he soothed you. 

“But I left you blue balling over a psychotic break. I’m hung up on someone who –” “It’s alright.” He said again. “ There’s worse things in the world than being blue balled, like knowing someone you care about is hurting.” He didn’t entertain your second point with a response, instead he kissed the top of your head. “Don’t worry about earlier, you were emotional, it wasn’t cool of me to let things go that far. You needed a distraction for sure, but not like that.” Leon leaned back a bit to run his fingers through your hair softly. “You’re too good to me.” You said softly, not moving from your spot, keeping buried into him. “I’m just as good as you deserve, baby.” He said with a soft chuckle.

“I’m still sorry.” Your voice was low, but more stable now, the quivering gone. He studied your face as you pulled away just enough to look up at him. “Would it help if I said I forgive you?” Leon, tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe a little.” “Well then, I forgive you.”

You leaned back fully now, resting against the wall again. “Thank you. I feel like all I do lately is cry and lose my mind, you know?” “Sometimes that’s just what you need to do, until you process things.” “I don’t know what there is to process. No matter how much evidence slaps me in the face, a part of me just can’t let go of the idea that he was real….that he is real.” He didn’t answer immediately, not liking how this conversation was going at all. It seemed like a rollercoaster, one moment you were slowly inching towards where he wanted you to be, so close to being his, before torpedoing back to this fucking topic. It was infuriating to him, boiling rage bubbling just beneath his skin. ‘Just forget about him already, I’m right here!’ 

“You know I don’t have an answer for that.” He said flatly, hoping you didn’t pick up on his change in mood. He leaned back, resting on his hands as he thought. He didn’t want to have to go down this path either, but he felt you were leaving him no choice. “I think I know someone who could help.” The way you perked up immediately was adorable, that’s the type of reaction he would never grow tired of seeing. “Who?”

“A doctor I know through work. His name’s Anthony Birkin.” He’d had the man’s number on speed dial since the last incident. A familial connection of the late William Birkin, he’d been working as a psychiatrist handling those who were testers of experiments for neo-umbrella. Of course with enough cash, pretending to be a personal psychiatrist made a decent side-gig too, and a biased one at that. Though it was true Leon had met him via his work connections – you didn’t need to know the other details. It’s not like you’d even be able to understand the necessity of it anyway. “A doctor? Leon you know why I –” “Yeah, I know. It’s scary, you don’t want them to think you’re crazy or hold you there, right? That wouldn’t happen.” “How could you know that?” “Like I said, I know ‘em from work. I could pull a few strings, make sure that doesn’t happen. You’d be surprised how many politician’s kids are allowed outpatient treatment when they likely should’ve been committed…not saying you should be at all.” He backpedaled a little, realizing the way that came out. “I’m just saying, maybe it could help.” He studied your face, intently watching every muscle movement, the way you bit your lip in thought, trying to get a read on you. If you agreed, everything after would go so much smoother for the both of you. “Maybe.” It wasn’t the answer he was looking for, he wanted something definitive, something he could really work with. “Maybe?” “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” You said quietly, rubbing at your sore cried out eyes. “You’re probably right, I think I just need a little time…” Close, so close – then you had to go and ruin it. ‘What the hell does she mean she needs time?’ The disaster that was this conversation was almost making him wish he just stayed on his couch for the night, but he would never be so selfish as to not tend to his bunny. “Of course, take all the time you need!” 

An awkward silence washed over the pair, Leon didn’t avert his gaze, but dug his fingers into the rug as a way to relieve some sort of tension. Your eyes darted around the room, looking like they wanted to land anywhere but on him, just one more thing that added to his already soured mood. He let out an awkward cough to clear his throat before speaking again. “So uh,  are you going to sleep here tonight … alone?” “Yeah, I think so. I think it’s time I learn to be a little more self-sufficient.” “Alright, just call me if you need anything. Don’t worry about the time – or feel free to let yourself in.” He reached out to gently stroke your cheek again. “I mean it. Please don’t feel bad, I’m here for you.” “Thank you.”

He nodded, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. He didn’t want to leave you alone at all, ever again. If he had it his way you’d be curled up in his bed already – or better yet miles away in your own little corner of the world together, free from all of this. Despite that, he wasn’t going to push his luck tonight. He pushed himself up and off the ground, stretching for a moment, letting his joints  pop and crack from the awkward way he had been sitting. He reached a hand out towards you, to help you off the ground, another pang of irritation swept through him at your mild reluctance.  “Come on, it would make me feel so much better if I could at least help you to bed. Your ankle is still hurt after all.”

Despite the lingering negative feelings, his heart still fluttered the moment your hand made contact with his and you let him pull you to your feet. He wrapped an arm around your back to help support you in the short trek to the bedroom. 

Once he made sure you were safely deposited on your bed, he lingered for a bit taking in the sight. The way you looked tucked into those covers, your slew of stuffed animals on the shelf, some scattered onto the bed. It was so very fitting for you and so much better than witnessing it through a small camera – like seeing an animal in its natural habitat for the first time. 

“Is everything alright?”

The soft sound of your voice pulled him back to the moment, ironic how he’d caught you staring so many times before but now it was his turn to be caught off guard for a change. “Oh yeah. Everything’s good.” “You’re staring?” Your face held more amusement and confusion than anything else. 

“Sorry, I just realized it’s the first time I’ve seen the inside of your room while you’re in it.” The words left his mouth on auto-pilot, escaping the filter that should have told him not to implicate himself. He hoped you hadn’t picked up on the specific words he used, but it was too late. “What?” “Nothing, just that it’s the first time I’ve seen your room, that's all.” “That’s now what you said.” “That's what I meant.” He added a short chuckle to the end of his words hoping you wouldn’t push the subject further. He walked over kissing your cheek. “Have a good night.” He made his way out of your room and apartment as fast as he could after that. 

Leon collapsed down into his own bed, heart pounding from the entirety of the interaction with you. It hadn’t gone well, and it left him reeling a little. Letting out a sigh, he opted to try and sleep it off, just hoping you’d reach out to him soon just like you always did. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the days that past he kept a close eye on you like he always did – there wasn’t a place in the world you could be where Leon wasn’t close behind both physically and metaphorically. Even technically being there didn’t help that the remaining  gap between you two still felt like a chasm of despair within him. He couldn’t believe how much you stuck your guns about “needing space,” as he watched you waste away. Work. Home. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat. 

‘That’s not my bunny!’ He thought to himself, as you slumbered on your couch for another night. The fact you hadn’t even eaten dinner made him queasy, you weren’t taking care of yourself. You weren’t acting like yourself. All of this was wrong, so very wrong. Each time you twisted and called for him in your sleep, a nightmare reminding you of things you were better off forgetting, he wanted to go to you. None of this was right – this was exactly why you needed him, and he still couldn’t have you yet. 

Leon tried to check in a few times, his texts were spurned with simple one word answers, and his in-person meetings at the door were kept brief, so brief he wasn’t able to work in the soft touches that he was so used to. The feeling of your skin ghosted like a phantom pain on his fingertips. The sound of your voice a lingering whisper in the distance. 

He hated it. No mission or distraction was enough to help the overpowering and ever consuming thoughts he had of you, nothing could abate his need or his worries. Leon wasn’t sure what his limit was, but he knew you were close to it. All it would take is one more push for him to snap. 

Luckily for him, and his slowly diminishing psyche his phone finally buzzed. There you were, a matching picture to his,  hands tossed hip in the peace sign with your tongue stuck out making a silly face. It sent his heart soaring.

‘Hey are you up?’‘Of course :)’‘Can we talk?’

‘Always. When?’‘Now?’ He could hardly contain the excitement as he slammed the green button down, dialing your number. He felt giddy for the first time in a while, like all of the pent of feelings he was harboring faded away at the very notion of you wanting to speak with him.

“Leon, hey.” The sound of your voice was like raindrops on the window. “It’s been awhile. Everything alright?” He sat up from his couch, alert in case he needed to head over to you.

“Oh yeah, I was just thinking about everything.” There was some shuffling and movement on the other end before you finally continued. “I miss you, for one.” Those words alone set Leon’s heart rate skyrocketing. “I miss you too.” He replied, doing his best to keep his composure, not wanting to sound too giddy. “I’m glad.” Despite your words there was a slight mellowness to your voice he picked up on. “Are you sure everything is alright?” “No. No they’re not… listen could you put me in touch with that doctor you were talking about? I think, you were right, I really need to talk to someone.” “Yeah, yeah absolutely.” He confirmed, tilting the phone to a more comfortable position between his neck and ear. “I’ll give him a call today and put you in touch.” “Thank you Leon.” 

The conversation wasn’t everything he’d been hoping for, expecting at least a request for reconnection, but he’d take it. It was close enough to what his was pushing towards, and it reinvigorated  him to know that he was again inching closer and closer to having you right where you belonged – with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another call, another mission a world away. Leon wished he could’ve been there in person, wish he could’ve watched through the double sided mirror as you spoke with Dr. Birkin, seeing all those minute little facial expressions you always displayed. Watching how you reacted and responded to each question, hearing your voice crystal clear again instead of through the low speaker of a phone or a hidden microphone. 

As he sat on the bench outside some official’s office, he pulled his phone close to his face, turning up the volume, headphones already in. He watched on the small fingerprint smudged screen as best he could – the video feed black and white, hard to see in the sunlight. 

There you were in all your glory, relaxed back  on the little couch. The audio wasn’t as clear as the mics he had placed in your apartment, but he could still make out the conversation still. 

The good doctor sat across from you in his chair, notepad in hand. “Mhm. Mhm.” He nodded in reply to something you’d said. “So you say you’re having false memories of this … Derek? You said he was your long term boyfriend, until he passed away under mysterious circumstances?” Leon cringed at the name. “Yeah…yeah that’s right.” You said, a somber lilt to your voice. “I swear I remember everything. But it’s like he’s a ghost. I went to his job, his parent’s house. Everywhere I could think of just to prove he was real, and they all acted like I was insane.” Dr. Birkin scribbled a few more notes down. “These memories, how vivid are they? And are they continuous, for example do you have any large gaps in your recollection?” You readjusted in your seat, picking at the arm of the couch you were on. Leon could see your leg shift and bounce as you tried to decide how best to answer the questions. “Extremely vivid. I can remember his face, the smell of his cologne, his voice. I can remember the way the air smelt and the rain against my face the last time we took a road trip – I wanted to get out and take pictures when it started pouring.” Your face contorted into one of pain, grabbing a tissue from the box on the side table before dabbing it at the bottom of your eyes. Leon wished he could’ve been the one wiping them away again. “As for gaps… there’s none. I could tell you about every major holiday, every birthday, the first time I met his family. Our first date, our anniversary, I can tell you what I saw when he – I’m sorry. I can even tell you what happened when he –” Dr. Birkin leaned forward to put a hand on your shoulder. “When he what? Take your time, deep breaths.” “When he died.”

Dr. Birkin gave you a moment to collect yourself before continuing. “You had mentioned at the start you recalled witnessing his death. Can you tell me what you remember from that?” For a moment you looked like the wind was knocked out of you despite your spot on the couch. Leon wanted to keep watching, wanted to hear more, but like always the video feed cut to Hunnigan’s name ringing in to him. “You have the worst timing, you know that Ingy?” “Well you know my favorite part of the job is getting to hear your annoyed voice at the other end of the line.” She said with a laugh. “Anyway, we need to talk about details. We just received intel that –” The sound of her voice slowly drowned out for Leon, he found himself replying with the usual responses, only taking in the most important information being fed into his ear. He was more focused on wanting to get back to your session, desperate to know if there was any important detail he should know about. Desperate to see the outcome of everything, and of course to make sure Dr. Birkin was holding up his end of the deal.

The call continued and he tried to appease that inner anxiety and boredom by bouncing his leg rapidly and looking around, taking in the trees and the now cloudy sky. The smell of rain was in the air from the morning, and the shuffling of people nearby was a decent enough ambient noise that it helped keep him from being entirely on edge. “Yeah, yeah. Warehouse….later today…..yeah I hear you. I *am* listening.” He insisted through the little speaker on the phone. 

He wasn’t sure how long the call lasted but the moment Hunnigan’s voice quieted, he slammed the red end button as fast as he could before pulling up the video app again. “Come on….come on…” He said frustrated as the video feed took forever to load again. Finally, the small black and white view appeared on his screen again, you were sitting up on the couch, legs criss crossed as you blew your nose with another tissue. “Good work today.” Dr. Birkin said, setting his notebook down on the table next to him. “I know that was hard and a lot to go over in such a short time, but you did very well.” Leon watched you nod before speaking. “So uh….do I have a diagnosis or I guess, where do we go from here?” “We’ll talk more about that in our next session. A case like this is quite complicated, to say the least. I need to go over my notes and discuss with a colleague of mine before offering a diagnosis. I want to make sure you have the best and most accurate care.” Leon sighed as he cut the video feed, realizing he’d missed the rest of the session for the day. His watch buzzed indicating that he needed to get going, sighing he pushed himself up off the bench to make his way inside the giant white bricked building for what would be a boring meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This mission had taken longer than usual, longer than Leon had wanted. What was supposed to have been just a two day warehouse stakeout wound up becoming an entirely new situation. A bio-disaster so big it could’ve rivaled Raccoon City. While nothing he hadn’t handled before, it left Leon exhausted as  he collapsed into the hotel room bed – despite the luxurious rooms provided to him by the D.S.O nothing was as restful as being at home in his own bed, and definitely not as restful as the nights he got to spend with you in his arms.

He checked the clock, it was only around 5pm, if his timing was right your next session with Dr. Birkin should have started already. Sitting up for a moment, he began to tug all his work gear off, leaving only his boxers and tshirt before settling back down one more time. He grabbed his phone again, opening up the video app and sure enough the feed was live again and to Leon’s delight, it was near the start of the session. “Thank you for coming again Miss. Please take a moment to relax and get comfortable. I know our last session was quite intense.” Dr. Birkin brushed some of the blonde hair away from his face and adjusted his too-big glasses against his nose before taking his seat. “At the end of the last session I told you I wanted to discuss with some colleagues before issuing a diagnosis. I was able to make a few calls over the past two days and I think I can say with certainty that I’ve reached a conclusion.” “Really?” You asked, looking up at the doctor, almost excited but still reserved. 

Dr. Birkin nodded before continuing. “I believe what you have is called False Memory Syndrome. It can be caused by a traumatic event – of course given the nature of your memories, we don’t quite know what the trigger was in this case yet. Regardless, we can still manage the symptoms.” He pulled a few papers out of the folder on the side table before handing them over to you. “These are some printouts with more information, if you want to check it out.” “Thank you.” You said quietly, quickly scanning over the information before tucking them into your bag. “What's the treatment like?” “Like most things with therapy and medication. But for something like this we also want to make sure you have a support system, someone you can trust, rely on. With conditions like this, some of the things you see or remember can seem so real, having someone who can tell you the truth can really help keep you focused.” “Right, that makes sense.” You looked to the side out the window, zoning out. The doctor spoke a bit more but you weren’t replying to anything. Leon’s brows furrowed watching it play out. ‘Bunny, come on now….’ “Miss? Miss, are you alright?” “Oh yeah, sorry. It’s just a lot to take in.” “I understand. Why don’t we move forward, let’s talk about some things that might help.” Readjusting on the couch, you sat up and nodded at the doctor. “Alright, I think that sounds good.” “I’m going to prescribe you something to help you sleep, it should also help with general anxiety.” He scribbled something on what looked like a tiny notepad before handing it over. “Now, I’d like to talk about your support system next. You mentioned before that you were having trouble with friends, but there was someone who you do connect with and trust, Mr. Kennedy?” “Yeah, Leon. He’s been a huge help. He’s kind and out of everyone doesn’t directly accuse me of being crazy, even though I know he probably thinks it too.” Leon’s heart burst with warm love as he heard you speak about him. “It’s good to have someone you can depend on. How much do you trust Leon?” You paused for a moment before smiling. “A lot. He’s never given me a reason to doubt him, and he’s always there for me. Like my own personal super man, you know?” “Would you trust him if he told you when something wasn’t true?” “Yeah, I think I would.” “Do you trust Leon to keep you safe, including safe from yourself?” “Definitely.” “And lastly, do you think he would be alright being your support system?”

There was another pause in response. ‘Come on baby, you know me. You know I would say yes. Come on . . .’ he repeated to himself as if it would speed up your reply. ‘Don’t disappoint me baby.’

“You know, I can almost guarantee he would say yes and do it. Even if he didn’t want to, because he’s just a nice person like that. The best person actually.” 

“That’s good, that’s very good. I’m glad to hear that. Not everyone comes in with someone who can support them like that. Next, we’re going to make a short list of rules to follow with Leon, just as a reminder or affirmation, to help keep you grounded.” He grabbed the notepad and pencil from the side table before handing it over to you. “It’s best if you write them as we go along.” “Ok, I’m down with that.”

“First – remember that Leon only wants to help you, he has good intentions. Second – let Leon ground you, what he’s saying is true. Three – it’s ok to lean on him as much as you need, in fact it’s encouraged. Four – he knows what’s best, listen to him.” “Alright, got it.” You said, penciling down each of the reminders. “But the last one…I mean, I understand the others, but he knows best? I was hoping to still be independent at least as much as I can. That one just feels… I’m not sure how to put it into words.” “I can understand the hesitation. Giving up control can be the hardest part of these conditions, but sometimes false memories can lead to irrational thinking, emotional decision making, etc. It’s important to have someone not only to ground you, but who can act as a caretaker when needed, a guardian even.” “Am I going to be giving up rights to him or is it just something I should keep in mind? I guess I’m just confused, it’s a lot to grapple with.” “Well, I was going to ask if you’d be comfortable signing some consent forms just in case anything ever has to happen. It would allow Mr. Kennedy the right to decision making – but realistically, it shouldn’t come to that. Any inpatient treatment or conservatorship is something I use as a last-ditch effort for my patients. I prefer to work with my patients towards having as much autonomy as possible, but having back ups will always be my recommendation.” Taking in that information, you let out a sigh. “Gotcha… alright. I think I can be ok with that, but I’ll need to think on it more..” “Of course, take your time. Once you’re ready, make sure both you and Mr. Kennedy sign the forms. For homework, I want you to practice repeating these to yourself each day. If you can, also repeat them to yourself when you’re unsure of something.” 

“Noted, Doc.” Leon was ecstatic, making a mental note to add a bonus to the good doctor’s salary for that session. Every moment of it got him his money’s worth, and sunk you further into his grasp, just where he needed you to be. ‘Such a good girl, baby.’ He cooed at you in his mind, lovingly looking at you through the small handheld screen. It was enough to help him sleep easily that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The return home from the mission was uneventful, same as it always was. He wrote his report on the flight back, gave his debriefing in front of some officials with Hunnigan at his side, and then he was off on his way back home. 

This time though, his lead foot was in action, slamming the jeep’s so fast it nearly squealed out of the D.S.O building as he barrelled down the highway, wind tossing his blonde locks back. All he wanted was to get home to you, see you face to face again after everything that happened. Were you alright? How were you doing after therapy? Leon had a million questions running through his head as he made that drive back.

The moment the jeep was parked, he hopped out of the side, not bothering with the door. Booking it to the elevator, he stood in the confined metal enclosure, squeezing the hand railing tightly with anticipation. He felt like a cat gearing up for a chase, he was antsy ready – and the moment the silver doors slid open he was off down the hallway, careful not to move too fast, not wanting the neighbors to hear him thudding down the hall. Leon checked the time on his watch twice as he stood outside your door, just to make sure before he knocked that you’d be there. Knuckles itching he beat his hand against the door. “Hold on!” Your voice on the other side of the door was soothing for him, especially after the past few days he’d spent apart from you. 

“Hey.” He said with a smile as the door opened revealing you there, pajama clad. You looked simply exhausted in a way Leon couldn’t quite understand. No bags under your eyes, or physical showcases of it, but something about you just screamed tired. “Hey Lee.” You replied softly, opening the door for him to step inside. One of the first times you’d done so in a long time – he could smell butter and garlic wafting through the air into his nostrils.. “What’s up?” He walked inside, following you to the small kitchen, leaning against the counter while he watched you cook. “I just got back from a work trip.” He said plainly. “Wanted to stop by and check in, make sure you were alright while I was gone and all that.” “Oh yeah, I think I’m doing better, all things considered. I had  a few therapy sessions too.” 

Leon grimaced at how you were holding the pot handle, no holder while stirring the pasta up a bit. Another reminder to him that you weren’t safe even when it came to the smaller things. “That’s good.” He said with a nod. “How did that go?” “They went well. Doctor Birkin is really nice – I owe you one for hooking me up like that.” And there, for the first time in who-knew-how-long was a smile on your face. Small, but there.

“Glad to hear it. Are you going to be seeing him regularly?” “I think so – some of the stuff he said left me feeling a little strange.” “Like?” “Just… he told me I had something like false memory syndrome? I’ve never heard of it before, but I guess it makes sense. He told me I should listen to you, since I trust you, to tell me what’s real and what’s not…” “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it either – but it’s good to have an answer.” “Yeah, I guess that’s true. But it’s a lot you know? Feeling something so real and having to accept it’s not.” “I can understand that, for sure. Not exactly the same, but I’ve had my fair share of realizations about things I thought were true but turned out not to be.” “Really? Like what?” Leon froze in response to your question, he’d blurted the words out to connect with you, offer sympathies. He hadn’t directly thought about an answer too it. So many things ran through his had at a rapid pace. He considered explaining Raccoon City, or as much of it as he could. He considered just saying working for the government taught him much of the safety civilians expect is a lie – that he learned being a good person wasn’t enough to protect others. Then again, now wasn’t the time for all of that. He tried to come up with an answer but was left empty handed, he was about to stumble out an ‘ummm’ when you spoke instead, much to his relief. “Oh before I forget, there was something else I needed to talk to you about. Oh shit –” You said, turning to the pasta that had now boiled over. “Fuck.” You yanked your hand away from the bubbly mess to turn the stove off, quickly ripping the lid off the pasta letting the white mess return to normal liquid. Sticking a fork into the hot mix you let out a disappointed sigh. “Damn, turned to mush.”

Leon chuckled, putting an arm on your front and gently pulling you back from the stove. “Careful now before you light the place on fire too.” “Oh shut up.” But there was that smile on your face again for a brief moment, a steady reminder that this was all worth it again. “There goes dinner I guess.” “Don’t worry about it. Let me order something instead.” “You sure?” “Yeah, of course. When was the last time we watched a stupid movie and ate junk?” “Good point.” You conceded, following him over to your couch. You laid down, legs draped over his getting comfy in your spot while he opened some delivery app on his phone. “How’s your ankle?” “Much better, still a little sore if I put too much pressure, but I don’t have to wear a cast anymore. Just a brace and I can walk without crutches at least.” He nodded, putting in your regular order. “Chinese alright?” “You know me too well.” You sat up supporting yourself on your elbows for a moment. “Hey Lee? I know it’s been awhile, but would you mind staying the night? I’ve missed you.” “Sure. Would never turn down that offer.” He went to look back at his phone, surprised by how you sat up to move closer, resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around him from the side. “I’ve really missed you.” You said more firmly. “I’ve missed you too.” He tossed the phone to the side, order now placed before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him. He looked up at you, waiting, giving you the chance to decide how you wanted things to go. “Can I kiss you again? I don’t know if I want to do more, but…” “Go for it princess.” Your lips were soft just like he remembered, plush and warm against his own, like they were just meant to meld together. He could feel you relax in his embrace and it was as if the past several weeks were erased from the fabric of time. He knew better than to push you this time around, instead, he let you linger there above him, head resting on his chest as he rubbed your back – the moment only being ruined by the sound of door being knocked on and his phone buzzing to indicate the food was left outside. “Sweetheart?” He called softly, but you hardly responded, lulled nearly to sleep in that awkward spot on top of him. He didn’t have the heart to move you, nor the want. He shrugged mentally deciding the food could wait awhile, having you here and close to him was enough for right now. You were where you belonged, with him, and soon that’s where you’d be permanently. “Good night baby.” He said softly before adjusting just slightly to make the positioning less uncomfortable himself, upcoming plans drifting through his own mind as he did his best to fall asleep.

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[bosbas]

Chapter 6: in a world of boys he's a gentleman

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pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, Eloise being the best, Colin finally having brain cell(s), but then very quickly losing aforementioned brain cells

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

May 30, 1816 – One week has passed since the unfortunate revelation of Lord Barlow’s true nature, and Lady Y/N Montclair has yet to make an appearance at a ball. Could it be that the Duke’s betrayal has left her too disillusioned? Perhaps the eligible gentlemen of London have failed to meet her exacting standards. One can't help but wonder if Lady Y/N be present at tonight’s ball, where the ton's most eligible bachelors will undoubtedly be vying for her attention now that she is decidedly searching for a new suitor. Who among them shall be lucky enough to capture her attention? This author does not know, but hopefully, this evening reveals more of Lady Montclair’s intentions.

Colin was grinding his teeth, his right eye twitching slightly as he glared at Eloise, with whom he had been arguing for the better part of the last hour. 

“It’s not like I haven’t tried to be agreeable! She’s just impossible,” he ground out.

Colin was about finished with having to face criticism from his sister when you were the one who had ignored his attempt at a truce.

“It certainly doesn’t help that you rile her up every single time you see her. She’s trying to find a husband, mind you!” Eloise shouted back. 

She had grown quite close to you in the past weeks, and she knew the kind of pressure you were under tonight. It was your first ball after finding out the Duke had sneaked away from the Bridgerton ball with Miss Barrington, and your full focus would be on finding a new suitor. Eloise generally preferred to stay out of your neverending conflict with Colin, but she knew he would never understand what you were going through. The very least she could do was ensure that he acted decently toward you, though it seemed like even that would prove a challenge. 

“Exactly! I was the one who wanted to warn her about Lord Barlow’s betrayal, and now she thinks I’m the one who gave him access to our courtyard,” snapped Colin. 

He couldn’t believe Eloise. How could she not see that you were one of the most infuriating, unpleasant, and insolent people in the ton? Why was she so intent on defending you? Colin was irritated beyond belief, and he wanted nothing more than to never speak with you again after the horse races. You had promptly ignored him after accusing him of orchestrating Lord Barlow and Miss Barrington’s escapade, and he spent the rest of the afternoon angrily stealing glances at you as you chatted pleasantly with his sister. 

And to learn that you still wanted to find a husband? You could become a spinster, for all he cared. And he didn’t. He didn’t care. About you or about Lord Barlow, or frankly, about anything that had transpired since the Bridgerton ball. All he knew was that tonight, he would be forced to watch you bat your eyelashes and giggle softly as you talked to countless men when all he got from you were angry stares and sarcastic laughs. 

“She’s the one who doesn’t want to be on good terms with me,” he added stubbornly, crossing his arms. 

Eloise let out an exasperated groan and rolled her eyes. “Colin! Can you not find it in yourself to set aside your dislike for her and understand that she is an unmarried lady who just lost a titled man she was practically guaranteed to marry? She is in a precarious situation, not to mention feeling heartbroken and betrayed.”

In truth, Colin thought, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t even begin to. He had never faced that kind of pressure before, certainly not about something as trivial as marriage, and suddenly he felt guilty for wanting to spend the entire evening tormenting you so he could avoid watching you amass suitors. 

Sensing that her words had struck a nerve, Eloise took advantage of her brother’s waning resolve. “You are Colin Bridgerton, Mayfair’s sweetheart! I don’t understand why you can’t act that way with her.”

“She doesn’t want that! She doesn’t want me!” Colin yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he screwed his eyes shut in frustration. 

But Eloise didn’t let up. “I’ll wager she wants that tonight. You don’t need to kiss the ground she walks on. Just be civil and refrain from any ungentlemanly conduct. It’s her first ball since the Lord Barlow scandal, and she doesn’t need to look bad in front of a crowd of eligible bachelors.”

“I don’t ever do it on purpose!” he defended. 

“You could’ve fooled me,” scoffed Eloise. Then, softening her tone, she added, “Just tonight. Please.”

“Fine,” he relented. 

If it was so important to Eloise, he would do it. He supposed he would want someone to do that to Eloise if she was ever in your same position. But he was already dreading the night. He had never particularly enjoyed balls, and he knew tonight would be especially dreadful. Usually, your arguments provided prime entertainment, and if he wasn’t allowed to fight with you tonight, he would just have to endure the monotony of the ballroom without any respite. 

---

You drew in a sharp breath as you entered the ballroom, looking around at the crowd nervously. Charlotte placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and led you toward the back of the room. Had she chosen to go to the furthest place from the entrance simply to torture you? You were nervous enough as it was; you didn’t need the added anxiety of having everyone’s eyes on you as you walked through the crowd. 

You had opted for an elegant white gown tonight. Well, your mother had suggested it and you had inevitably agreed to wear it. 

“It’s meant to look like a wedding dress!” she had exclaimed earlier. “It shows you’re still in the marriage mart despite everything that’s happened, and you’ll have gentlemen queuing up to dance with you.”

Whatever the reasoning behind the gown, you had to admit that it was beautiful. It accentuated your figure, and you could already feel plenty of keen eyes on you and more than a few furtive whispers. Though you couldn’t make out exactly what people were saying, you were sure you heard your name mentioned several times. However, you smiled gracefully at everyone anyway, wanting to avoid being seen as a complete laughingstock after losing Arthur. The Duke, you corrected yourself. He was no longer Arthur to you.

“Y/N,” you heard Eloise’s excited voice beside you.

You turned to see her smiling face and squeezed Charlotte’s hand to let her know she could go on without you. 

“Hello, El,” you greeted, smiling wide. 

“The balls have been torture without you! I’m so glad you’re finally here,” she gushed, taking your hand and leading you to a less crowded part of the ballroom. 

You relaxed slightly. At least one person here didn’t hate you. But perhaps she was the only one. As you kept speaking with Eloise, you realized that not a single bachelor had come to ask you for a dance. Usually, you had to reject quite a few gentlemen within the first few minutes of being at a ball, but your dance card remained empty tonight. 

Swallowing nervously, you looked around the room and assessed the gravity of your situation. Plenty of people were staring at you, but no one had moved toward you. Were they waiting for someone else to walk up to you? Did they not want to be the first to dance with you? Or did this mean that Lord Barlow’s actions had well and truly ruined you? Feeling the familiar beginnings of tears forming in your eyes, you quickly started to panic. What would your parents say? 

You were trying to focus on Eloise’s words, but all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat, and you were surprised people around you couldn’t hear it, too. Your stomach flipped uncomfortably as you realized that you might have truly fallen out of favor with the ton. The thought made you feel sick. This wasn’t how you wanted the season to go. How you needed it to go. 

Just as you were ready to bolt outside in search of fresh air, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your stomach clenched, and for a fleeting moment, you hoped it was Colin Bridgerton. As much as you weren’t looking forward to the inevitable antagonism you would face from him, and as much as you knew that he wasn’t interested in anything from you other than an argument, the thought of engaging with someone of the opposite gender provided a fleeting sense of relief. Anything to momentarily divert your thoughts from the Duke's betrayal and the disheartening realization of your diminished standing in society. Although knowing Colin, he would probably bring up the subject just to spite you. 

However, as you turned around, you came face to face with your brother. A tiny rush of disappointment coursed through you, and you crinkled your face in confusion. It was a disconcerting realization, indeed, to find yourself yearning for the company of Colin Bridgerton, the very individual you despised most in the ton.

Leaning down close to you, Louis asked lowly, “Ça va?” (Are you alright?).

“Louis,” you rolled your eyes and nodded, trying to convince him­–and yourself–that you were fine. “Ça va” (I’m alright). 

“Excuse me just a moment,” spoke Eloise as she looked between you and your brother. She squeezed your hand and turned around, leaving you with Louis.

You cringed, internally hearing your parents scolding you for speaking French around her. But Louis, unphased by Eloise’s exit, spoke again. “Non, j’suis serieux. On peut y aller,” he insisted (No, I’m serious. We can leave). 

It was nice of him to check up on you. But it only left you feeling worse, a sobering reminder that your situation was dire enough that your brother was actually being sweet to you.

As much as you would have liked to, you knew you couldn’t leave the ball. It would only make it worse to flee now. Your parents had already allowed you a weeklong break from social events, and they would be most displeased to find out that you were giving up so soon after your re-entry into society.

So, you steeled yourself, forcing yourself to keep your tone light. “Leave the ball? For me or for you?” you asked Louis, poking him teasingly.

He relaxed upon hearing your light tone, letting out a breath as he smiled down at you. Your parents had asked him to be especially careful with you tonight, and he was left with sickening worry. You were his little sister, and as much as you had your differences, he still thought himself in charge, at least partially, of your wellbeing. 

The worst part was that he knew exactly the kind of man Andrew Barlow was, and he was beside himself with guilt that he had even let the man near you. But you seemed to be getting through it, he noted, relieved. 

Colin was rooted to the spot across the ballroom, staring at you as you engaged in easy conversation with your brother. How you could be so disagreeable toward him, and completely pleasant with everyone else was absolutely beyond him. 

But what really caught his attention tonight was your attire. You were wearing a white gown, and he briefly wondered if that was what your wedding dress would have looked like. He couldn’t help it; you looked positively stunning, and he was angry because he knew if he even attempted to talk to you, you would most likely bite his head off. 

Colin jumped as he felt a tap on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed at having been discovered staring at you. He turned around to face his mother and Eloise smiling far too innocently for his liking.

“Colin, go dance with Y/N, please.”

“Can’t Benedict do it?” Colin pleaded. He would do anything not to have to speak with you right this moment. It was far better to look at you from a distance, where he could pretend you didn’t completely despise him. 

“He’s dancing with Penelope Featherington at the moment, so no. Colin, it’s one dance!” Violet responded, exasperated.

“It’s not like she won’t have anyone else asking her,” grumbled Colin unhappily. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t actually seen anyone ask you for a dance tonight. 

“Colin,” Eloise pleaded. “If they see you dancing with her, they’ll be more inclined to speak with her.”

Remembering his conversation with his sister from earlier, Colin accepted defeat, mumbling a low “just this once.”

He found himself growing increasingly nervous as he made his way over to you, and he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. What had gotten into him? This was merely a dance like any other. He’d done it many times before, and he could do it with you. 

He cleared his throat as he reached your side, drawing you out of your conversation with Louis. 

“Not you, too,” you sighed upon seeing him. “I’ve had enough of a difficult time today without your input.”

Colin was momentarily unable to speak, though he quickly recovered. At this point, he didn’t know why kept being so surprised that you thought so lowly of him. 

He was not like the rest of the cruel members of the ton, he thought defiantly. And he would show you just how unlike them he was. This was the real Colin Bridgerton, not the insecure, combative version of him that seemed to slip out whenever you were near.

“A dance, Lady Montclair. I came to ask for a dance,” he said patiently, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t act like you’ve got a full dance card,” he rolled his eyes. Alright, maybe he couldn’t completely shake his hostile demeanor.

"Mr. Bridgerton, that is-” 

“Please.” 

“Why?” came your indignant response. 

“We can say we’re both doing it for Eloise if that will make you feel better,” he said, eyebrows raised. 

Unsure, you turned to look at Louis beside you, who gave you an unimpressed look and gently nudged you in Colin’s direction. 

“Fine,” you huffed.

He let out a breath and reached for your dance card. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Colin became hyperaware of his surroundings. Every sensation was heightened, and it was almost too much for him to hold your hand as he led you toward the dance floor. He had never had this much physical contact with you, bar the times you had not-so-accidentally stepped on his foot, and he was struggling to maintain his composure.

Your hand felt so delicate in his, and he was actively resisting the urge to interlock your fingers with his. Where had that come from? Why was it that he could never get a grip when he was around you?

Colin was forced back to the present moment as you reached the dance floor, and he carefully set one hand on your waist and used the other to hold your hand, getting into position before the music started playing. 

His stomach was in about a thousand knots, and he awkwardly shifted his hand placement, unsure about whether he was making too much physical contact with you. With the way you looked tonight, Colin would have been happy to keep his hands on you all night, but he was sure you did not share the sentiment, and the last thing he wanted was to inadvertently make you uncomfortable. If he was going to make you upset, he would much rather have done it on purpose and off the dance floor. But that’s not what Eloise has asked of him, so he settled for gingerly holding your waist, his fingers carefully touching the smooth fabric of your dress.

Much to his chagrin, Colin stumbled slightly as the music started in an attempt to begin dancing with you. This was not at all how the most charming member of the ton was supposed to act, he scolded himself, cringing. Perhaps it was a good thing you had never agreed to dance with him before this, and that he never got the chance to properly pursue you as a suitor. If merely a turn about the dance floor with you had him feeling so out of sorts, he couldn’t even imagine what kissing you must have felt like. 

Except now he was imagining what kissing you would feel like. His gaze suddenly fixated on your lips, and he wondered why he had never noticed how inviting they looked. It would be so easy to simply lean down, ever so slightly, and touch his lips to yours. Perhaps it would cause a scandal, given that you were in the middle of a ball, but he rather thought it would be worth it. Just a few- 

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Bridgerton” your sharp voice cut through his musings. 

Colin blinked, brought back to the present moment in an instant. It appeared that, in his rather improper daydream, his hold on your waist had tightened considerably. Irritation bubbled up inside of him as he softened his grip. It seemed that nothing had changed between the two of you, after all. His attempts at playing nice had been, as per usual, futile.

“I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept of dancing, Lady Montclair, but it necessitates at least some level of physical contact,” he snapped, glaring but still unable to look away from your lips. 

Unfortunately, his words were punctuated by another stumble as he fought to stay upright and keep moving to the music, and he had to hold onto you to avoid toppling over. 

“What is the matter with you?” you hissed. “Did you never learn how to dance?” 

Colin looked down at you, grimacing and expecting to find the furious glare on your face he so often received. But your eyes were elsewhere. They were skittishly looking around the room, and your mouth was settling into a deeper and deeper frown. 

He noticed you anxiously chewing on your lip, your hand slightly shaky in his, though you were doing well to hide it. He felt like an idiot. Of course you were uneasy. It was your first dance trying to find a new suitor, and he was making you look like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. Colin felt his own anxiety melt away, replaced by a strange protectiveness he wasn’t sure he was familiar with.

“Just look at me,” he whispered as he twirled you.

You were too anxious to do anything but follow his instructions, and your eyes shifted to him instantly. He looked concerned, and you wondered whether it was concern for you or because he had almost fallen face-first in the middle of the dance floor. Either way, you were grateful you had something to focus on that wasn’t the constant obvious stares you were getting from everyone around you.

But, as Colin twirled you once again, you made eye contact with a man you had danced with on a few occasions. Before you could smile politely, he turned away to whisper something to the person beside him, and your face fell. As you returned to face Colin, you couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to see who would be the next person to prove that you were ruined.

You felt a squeeze at your waist, and your eyes came back to Colin’s.

“They don’t matter. Pretend it’s just me and you,” he said softly, reeling you in effortlessly. “Well, perhaps your sister as well, just in case you attempt to murder me.”

You couldn’t help it, you let out a soft giggle and bit your lip to keep from bursting into laughter. And though you were still surrounded by people surely itching to see you stumble and fall, you felt the rest of the ballroom fading away. As long as you kept looking at Colin, and he kept looking at you, there was nothing that could distract you. 

“I haven’t been in England that long, but I’m fairly certain murder is illegal here,” you quipped, smiling warmly at Colin for what was probably the first time.

“I’m fairly certain it’s illegal in every place I’ve been to, but I’m not so sure that would stop you,” he said back, a positively rakish smile on his face. But you were far too distracted by his mention of his travels to notice.

“You’ve traveled? Eloise hasn’t mentioned much,” you said curiously. 

“I’ve mostly traveled by myself,” he explained, now completely composed, previous stress forgotten, and finding himself enjoying your company. “My family doesn’t have the same penchant for adventure as me, so I usually set off on my own.”

You hummed thoughtfully. This, you hadn’t expected. Now you knew that you and Colin shared a love for travel, and it was a very unpleasant feeling, indeed. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, and it was slightly disconcerting to know that the two of you had something in common. Especially something so embedded in who you were.

“Where was the last place you went to?”

“Greece,” he answered, smiling down at you. “I came back just before the season started. My mother was quite upset with me when she saw my tan.”

You laughed, perfectly picturing Violet’s hand over her chest as she saw her son after spending weeks in the sun. “You’re mad! If I had your kind of freedom, I certainly would not have stayed in England for as long as you have. Why haven’t you left since?”

“I- I’m not sure,” Colin answered. Why had he stayed so long? Usually, he liked to travel during the summer months, but he had stayed put so far and had no upcoming travel plans. “I suppose I am enjoying the season this year.” Was he really, though?

But you had already moved on to your next question. “The language is quite challenging, no? Did you learn at all? How long were you in Greece?”

Colin could have kissed you then and there. His family rarely showed interest in his travels, seldom responding to his letters, and once back in the ton, no one else bothered to inquire about his time abroad. Thus, he found himself pleasantly surprised by your curiosity, even if it was you—of all people—who displayed it.

As your conversation unfolded, Colin realized he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The effortless banter, combined with the tingling sensation that coursed through him whenever your hand grazed his neck, made him feel as though he were soaring high above the ballroom floor.

What if you had said yes that night at the Danbury ball? What if you had accepted his invitation to dance? Would it have felt as remarkable, as natural as this moment? Or was the allure of having you in his arms heightened simply because you had already rejected him?

Colin supposed he might have fallen for you that very night at the Danbury ball, had the circumstances been different. He could have seen himself, in a fit of romantic fervor, asking for your hand in marriage mere days afterward. Perhaps, then, it was lucky that you seemed to have an instant disdain for him. It likely spared him from acting the fool. Though truth be told, he often found himself behaving quite foolishly in your presence regardless.

As the dance ended, Colin found himself yearning to continue speaking with you. He grabbed your hand in his, feeling much more composed this time, and led you away from the dance floor. But he barely had time to turn back around to face you and continue your conversation before a trio of suitors came up and asked you to dance. Before he knew it, you were being swept away once more, this time on the arm of someone else. 

Colin congratulated himself on a job well done as he made his way back to where Eloise stood, deftly declining a gentleman's offer to dance. It was a triumph, he thought, that Colin had gone more than five minutes without arguing with you, and you had even laughed at something he said! It felt far better than whatever hostile rapport the two of you usually had.

“Thank you,” Eloise smiled gratefully at her brother. “Now, was that so difficult?” she added in a teasing tone. 

“I will have you know that yes, it was,” answered Colin stubbornly, but he knew he was lying even before the words came out of his mouth. Gliding across the dance floor with you in his arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Even now, as you twirled gracefully in the arms of another, Colin found himself not seething with jealousy as he might have expected, but rather in a state of awe. There was something enchanting about the sight of you, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Then, unexpectedly, your eyes met his over the shoulder of your current dance partner, and you bestowed upon him a heart-stopping smile, silently mouthing a 'thank you'. Colin had to feign a cough to cover up the giggle he had just let out. A giggle? From Colin Bridgerton, certified rake? What on Earth were you doing to him?

—

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[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 6

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, sexually charged conversations, teasing/banter. Smut, sex toys, minor bondage, spanking. A guest star of Anthony DiNozzo! I didn't really want to bring in a whole THIRD fandom into this but it ended up working out really nicely and I can play around with it in future chapters too! It feels like it's been ages since I've updated this so clearly the last week was a long one lol. Remember how I said I wanted to be a chapter ahead from now on with my series? Yeah that quickly did not happen. LOL. I'm gonna try to keep up with it, and I promise y'all won't wait longer than a week between chapters, I just need to hunker down and write!

Working for Heather meant that you worked insane hours that could change at the drop of a hat, but it also meant that you could essentially make your own schedule whenever you wanted. You could do most of your job from home or a hotel, as long as you had Wi-Fi you were in the clear, you spent a lot of your time gallivanting around D.C to finish whatever tasks you needed to. Shuffling your schedule around constantly meant that you were more than given the liberty to a Thursday afternoon off and that is exactly why you were meandering down Wisconsin Avenue with Tony in tow. Some of your friends questioned why you always went shopping with him, but the truth was he knew style, understood expensive taste, always told the truth if something looked bad and the entire experience was more efficient. If you went out with your girlfriends on a shopping spree you got dragged into twelve stores you needed nothing from and had to wait while they tried on countless amounts of outfits. With Tony the most that would happen would you’d have some extra browsing time at L. Priori because he got distracted by the watches.

“You got some big White House party coming up or something?” He asked, taking a sip of the coffee you’d bought him earlier.

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulder as you picked up the small bag, “no.”

“We’ve done jewels, we’ve done shoes,” he pushed the door open for you, holding it while you crossed through the entry way and back out onto the street, “you dropped off three dresses for alterations and looked through the catalogue of what’s coming in…”

“I just want to revamp my closet a little bit, make sure I’m prepared for summer, you know how many extra garden parties I end up at.”

“And your boss is okay with that amount of cleavage?” He asked with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, “I think you’re bullshitting me.”

“I got a little carried away doing spring cleaning and tossed half my closet.” You bluffed, “I work so much I forgot I actually wore the other shit and now need to replace it.” Veering off to the side your hand tugged open the door to Jaryam and Tony followed you inside.

“When’s your next date?” He asked with a grin.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“Then why did you just drag me into a lingerie store?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I didn’t drag you anywhere, you love this shit. I just want some new pieces; you’ve got the right eye for colour and the masculine fetishistic imagination to tell me which ones I’ll look the best in.”

He chuckled darkly, not bothering to disagree with you as you made your way further into the shop, he was a pace behind you, fiddling with a price tag when he scoffed and you turned back to him with a raised brow, “I’ve heard you complain about the prices in Victoria’s Secret and that’s got nothing on this, a thong for a hundred and fifty dollars?”

“It’s… about the quality.” You shrugged, “thirty dollars for a scrap of fabric that falls apart in a month made in a sweatshop isn’t a good investment.” You picked up the pair that he was looking at, reading through the tag, “something hand stitched made with quality fabric that’s going to last? Worth it.”

“Hmm.” He replied, surveying you for a minute as you put the thong back on the rack, “you know, I noticed when you picked up the coffee that you used a black card…”

“You’re really working those sleuthing skills today, aren’t ya?” You teased back with a grin, moving onto a wall of lace bras.

“It’s not exactly a difficult mystery.” He smirked, following you, “fancy shoes, nice jewels, new clothes, expensive lingerie,” you turned back to face him, an unimpressed look on your face and he practically caged you into the wall, “who’s your daddy?”

“Ew, Tony, fuck off.” You groaned, shoving at his chest as he laughed, “coffee and meals can be turned into a write off. I used Heather’s card.”

“Bah! Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just run your financials when I get back to the office.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “they call you a very Special Agent DiNozzo?”

“Why yes, yes they do.” He smiled, getting a little smug about it and you shook your head at him.

“Then explain to me how running my financials would let you in on whose card I’m using.” You asked, watching as he opened his mouth to give you some witty response but he couldn’t find one, gaping for a minute before he let out a defeated huff and you tugged him in the other direction, “now c’mon, I know you have a good eye for lingerie.”

“Now that, I will not deny.” He replied with a smile and you did roll your eyes as he followed you deeper into the shop.

You combed through practically every shelf in the place, trying to figure out what kind of styles you were going to settle on before Tony started to share his opinions. He reminded you how good blue looked on you when you picked up a soft pink set and suggested the lace florals over lace butterflies. You were narrowing it down between a handful of choices and he was quick to intervene when he noticed you were eliminating all the variation.

“Wait,” he cut in, swiping the one you were trying to put back on the shelf, “keep that one. Get rid of this one.” He plucked the peach set from your collection, tossing it into the return pile.

“It’s cute!” You protested.

“Exactly. Everything you’re keeping is ‘cute’, you’re playing it too safe and I know that’s not you. The lilac one is the nicest, little hint of lace for a bonus, so get it.” He started flicking through the rack you had your favourites on, “keep the teal one for the crystals, plus it matches that pair of heels you bought. The rest of this batch can go but add these to your buying list.” He picked up a lacy black and red set that was mostly see through and included a garter belt, handing it off to you, and a gorgeous deep green set. “That’ll look great with your skin,” his brow furrowed for a second as he examined it, “wait it’s not your size, you’re what?” His eyes were suddenly on you and you groaned,

“Stop staring at my tits.” You stated dryly as he turned around, grabbing another one of the green set from the shelf.

“Thirty four C, right?”

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or grossed out that you were able to figure that out.”

“They don’t call me Very Special Agent DiNozzo for nothing.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to go try these on.” You scooped up the remaining sets, “not for your viewing pleasure! Occupy yourself.”

You weren’t surprised in the least when all of Tony’s recommendations were right and you were happy to be leaving with a variety of options. Returning from the dressing room you found him near the till looking through accessories and he shot you a cocky grin as you placed all of his choices down on the counter. You shuffled the shopping bags in your hand over to the other one,

“Can you hold this?” You asked, handing him your purse as you pulled Emily’s card from within it, passing it off to the cashier. Once the purchase was completed and the cashier was wrapping up the lingerie, she placed the card down on the counter and out of the corner of your eye you saw Tony making a move for it, managing to swipe it up before he could get to it.

“Hey!” You swatted the back of his head and he grimaced.

“Ow. That was worse than Gibbs.” He muttered.

“You fuck around and you’ll find out.” You returned but he was too busy on his phone to really pay attention.

You took your purse back from him, tossing it over your shoulder as you thanked the clerk and added the bag of lingerie to the others with your shopping and the two of you made your way back onto the street. You jumped when Tony’s fingers prodded at your side, digging into your ribs.

“C’mon… let me know something, please.” He batted his eyes at you, “I just helped you pick lingerie; I deserve to know something. Doctor? Artist? App developer? Congressman?”

“Nope, nope, nope and hard nope.” You replied with a huff and he groaned so you finally turned back to him, stalling in your steps, “what I will tell you, is that she most definitely outranks NCIS, so you can officially drop it.”

“Ohoho… a new lady friend…” It was his turn to slow in his tracks, eyes lingering in the window of the next shop, “you need any special accessories for that?”

“Tony you’re insane if you think I’m taking you into a sex toy store.”

“Meh, doesn’t really matter since you’ve already covered that step.” He grinned and your brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Swiped your phone and went through your emails.” With a laugh he tossed the device back to you as you let out a gasp, “peach flavoured lube, nice. Nipple clamps? Kinky, didn’t realize you were into that kinda pain.” That earned him a hard punch on the arm, “but that double sided dildo with vibration? Now that sounds like a real party.”

“Anothony DiNozzo!” You scolded and he let out a small whine of a scoff, gesturing toward the sex store.

“I’m the perfect person to give sex toy recommendations, c’mon.” He protested and you sighed.

“Tony. You are a straight man. What could you possibly known about sex toys for me to use with another woman?”

“One of those wand things, Hibachi?”

“That’s Japanese barbecue, but nice try.”

“The wands!”

“You’re going for Hitachi.”

“Close enough!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands, “the big one’s better but I think they sell smaller ones too, more portable.” He waggled his eyebrows at you and you sighed.

“Think? Tony, pull your head outta your ass. Any self respecting person with a clit already owns one of those.”

“Really?” He smirked at you and you did your best not to groan.

“I’ve got three, a mini pink, a mini green and the big one, which yes, is far superior. Can we go now?”

“Fine.” He groaned, feigning annoyance, “you dragging me to a nail appointment next?”

“No, I was gonna buy you a late lunch.”

“You were? Or is your mommy dearest gonna buy lunch.” He exaggerated the word, nearly moaning as he said it and you immediately grimaced.

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

“Yup, that one felt wrong coming out. My bad, that’s on me.”

**

Emily turned down dessert service, asking for the cheque instead as she gave the server a soft smile, picking up her cocktail once again as she turned back to you. In turn, you finished your drink, placing the glass down on the table as you stood, your hand coming to squeeze at Emily’s thigh softly as your lips brushed against her cheek.

“Give me a five minute head start, I’ve got a surprise for you.” You scooped up your phone, shooting Emily a wink as you sauntered away from the table in the direction of the elevator.

Her eyes followed you through the entrance of the lounge, narrowing in on your ass as you pushed the elevator button and the sparks began to fly through her body. It hadn’t been a particularly long week, but it was very safe to say that you had been on her mind more often than not. Images of your naked body strewn across the bed floating into her brain, making her cheeks flush while she was torturously bored with paperwork. A too long tedious conference call lead to her zoning out, daydreaming all the things she wanted to do to you, the noises you made echoing through her mind. It was almost a given that night that she had a rather self soothing shower when she got home, pulling her laptop out when she finally crawled into bed to take a look at what fun things she could buy to occupy your time with in the future weekends.

Emily settled the bill, slowly draining the rest of her cocktail until she was certain she’d given you enough time to do whatever it was you had planned before she finally left the restaurant. The key card beeped against the lock and she stepped inside the suite, letting the door swing shut behind her before she made sure it was locked. She stepped out of her heels, dropping her purse on the side table in the entry way before rounding the bed into the suite, catching a glimpse of you laid out on the bed and her lips twitched up into a grin.

“Well that certainly is a welcome sight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sitting up and shifting onto your knees, “you see something you like?”

“I see plenty I like.” She walked up to the foot of the bed as you crawled on your knees to greet her, your hands settling on her hips as one of hers curled around the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers for a kiss.

Her tongue easily slipped into your mouth when you let out a satisfied groan, both of you relaxing into the kiss, lips dancing with grace against each other. Her hand slipped into your hair, pulling out the pins to let it fall loose around your shoulders, pulling at it lightly. When her teeth scraped against your lip you couldn’t help but moan, your hands drifting up her body as you slowly began to unbutton her shirt. She broke the kiss to help you untuck the fabric from her pants, letting it drop to the floor behind her before her fingers began to trace the lines of the teal lingerie set, floating over the gems decorating your chest.

“You like the crystals?” You asked, small grin on your lips and she nodded.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re Swarovski.” You replied with a near smirk and she let out a huff of a laugh.

“You really went all in, hey?”

“Just wanted to make sure I looked nice and pretty for you.” You shrugged coyly and she chuckled, giving you a once over.

“Well you do.” She leant down, kissing you gently before her hands nudged at your shoulders, “you’re not the only one who brought something fun, lie back princess.”

“I noticed.” You replied, a gleam in your eye as you dropped into the pillows, an arm extending to the nightstand where you picked up a silk tie, “multifaceted, curious as to what your intentions are.”

“First…” Emily rounded the side of the bed, “I want to see what’s under that gorgeous bra.” She nodded at you and you sat up, hands flying behind you to unclip it, gently tossing it to the side, “good girl.” She plucked the fabric from your hands, picking up a longer one from the nightstand before kneeling on the bed. “Give me your hands.” She instructed and you held your hands out for her, wrists gently pressed together as she began to wind the fabric around them, “is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” You replied, looking up at her with darkening eyes as she tightened the silk.

“Do you have a word?”

“I’m fond of peach.”

“Perfect.” With a wicked grin she placed a gentle kiss on your wrist before guiding you to lie back with your arms over your head and she looped the shorter piece through your bonds, securing the other end to the golden bar of the headboard. “No surprises there.” She purred as she slid off the bed, letting out a satisfied hum as her eyes dragged over your body.

“Hm?” You raised a brow, watching as she moved back to a spare chair.

“Just how pretty you look tied up like that.” Emily tossed a grin over her shoulder, “but you are going to need to roll over for the second part of your treat.”

You nearly let out a whine when her hands came to her belt buckle, eager to be able to see both what was coming next and what she had under her clothes. Instead of risking it you decided to behave, rolling onto your stomach, your arms stretching over your head as you twisted it to the side, just barely able to see Emily under your arm. She had busied herself with getting rid of her clothing, a neat pile forming on the small bench next to her bag as she pulled out the strap, swiftly stepping into it and securing it around her hips. Your mouth was practically watering already and then she reached into her bag again, pulling out a crop with a cute little heart on the end and you had to hold back a moan.

Emily could see the way your body tensed, how your hips ground down into the bed as she reapproached it and a dark chuckle escaped her lips. Kneeling on the bed behind you her hand grasped your ankle, spreading your legs further apart and you did your best to arch your back, presenting yourself to her.

“Such obedience.” She murmured, letting the crop lightly trace up your inseam as you let out an airy breath.

Emily slowly trailed the crop up and down your legs, just the slightest hint of touch that she knew you were absolutely begging for in your head. She could see the way your body twitched whenever it got close to the heat between your legs and a wicked grin took over her lips. The crop finally came up over the swell of your ass, softly circling and tracing patterns on your skin and you finally let out a whine. Since this was the first time you’d actually made a louder noise, Emily figured this was the time to both give in and start to really tantalize you now. She raised the crop, swatting it down onto your ass and you let out a low moan.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm.” You eagerly nodded into the pillows and the crop trailed across to the other cheek, repeating the circles before coming down harder on that side and your breath caught in your throat.

“Ohh…” Your fingers interlaced, squeezing tightly, “harder, please.”

“My little princess likes it rough.” Emily husked from behind you, “somehow I’m not that surprised.”

The crop came down on the same spot harder than the first before she flicked it over your other cheek, swatting just as hard, watching the way your body reacted, jolting at the touch before grinding your cunt down onto the bed. She brought the head of the crop between your legs, pushing the fabric of your panties into your pussy, rubbing the leather up and down your folds as you moaned, arching into the touch.

“Fuuckk…”

Emily chuckled darkly, bringing the crop up before hitting your ass with more force, smirking at the louder moans leaving your lips, the way you were pulling against your bonds, wishing your hands were free. The sounds of the spanks echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as your moans grew louder and longer, every time the crop was brought down onto your body it grew from a tingle to a pleasurable burn. Emily continued to trail the leather across your skin, occasionally her hand gently rubbing across the spot to sooth the burn, little praises and coos leaving her lips. The tingles each time she spanked you began to build, growing together with each hit of the crop until there was a fire building right under your skin, whimpers and whines leaving your lips as you buried your face into the pillows. Every swat of the crop made your entire body shiver and you were nearly about to start begging for more when she moved it back between your legs.

“You really like this, hmm?” She asked, pressing it against your cunt again, “making such a big wet spot on these nice panties.” She rubbed it harder against you, watching the way your wetness continued to soak the fabric, “you know, I’d take them off and stuff them in your mouth if you didn’t make such pretty noises…”

You groaned softly, your hips rocking back toward the touch, a little whimper leaving your throat when the crop nearly rubbed against your clit. Emily hummed softly, lifting the crop up before bringing it back down, this time onto your pussy and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped you.

“Oh fuucck…” Your head buried deeper into the pillows, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your pussy fluttering around nothing, your clit nearly pulsing already, juices smearing across your underwear.

Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, flipping you onto your back watching as your legs instinctively fell open for her to see the growing wet spot on your panties. She brought the crop back to your cunt, rubbing it harder against you as you started to whine, resulting in another swat that brought a gasp from your lips.

“You like this even more, don’t you princess?” She asked with a grin and you nodded, “you want your pussy spanked too?” Spank. “Think you can come from just this?” Spank.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “more, please.”

“Always such nice manners.” She praised, her fingers slipping into the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your legs and tossing it behind her. Her hands soothed up your legs, spreading them even further apart from each other as her thumbs dared to brush the edges of your cunt. “Such a pretty pussy. God you’re just fucking drenched already.”

Emily picked the crop back up, rubbing it through your slick folds, pressing harder as she brought it to your clit.

“Please.” You whimpered and she chuckled softly.

The first hit was on the gentle side, her eyes tracing up your naked body, watching your face for any sign of discomfort but all she found was a look of sheer pleasure. Your eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as breathy moans escaped them, it was all she needed to bring the crop down even harder the next time.

“Fuck.” Your body twitched off the bed, cunt pulsing as more juices dribbled out of it.

“That’s it princess.” Spank. “You’re doing so good for me.” Spank.

“Oh god…” Your hands clutched at the silk ties as your body shivered, pleasure building higher and higher with each time the crop hit your cunt.

“I know you’re close.” Spank. “Just a few more.” Spank. “Pussy’s so wet.” Spank. “Let go for me.” Spank.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your back arching off the bed, pulling against the restraints as your orgasm shot through you, pussy pulsating around nothing as your juices dripped onto the bedspread.

“That’s it.” Emily cooed, the crop gently rubbing against your cunt, smearing your wetness all around it and your thighs. “So pretty when you come for me.”

“Please…” you whimpered, “need you.”

“You want more?” She asked, gently spanking your pussy again and you whined.

“No, please! Need your cock.” You were absolutely begging, pussy fluttering, feeling so entirely empty. Despite the powerful orgasm you needed to be filled, stretched around Emily to finally feel completely satisfied.

“So needy tonight.” Emily teased, dropping the crop to the side as she climbed over you, running the tip of the toy through your folds, “this what you want?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously, “please.”

“Alright.”

Emily didn’t hesitate, knowing you were absolutely drenched she sunk her cock fully into you until her hips met yours and you let out a very satisfied moan. She pulled back just enough to sneak her hand between your bodies, turning on the vibration on the base of the toy, just against her clit and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She rolled her hips, pulling out until just the tip was left inside you and set a steady pace, fucking you thoroughly. Each thrust of her hips had your body twitching up off the bed, pulling against your restraints as you ached to touch her, pleasure shooting through your limbs.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “feels so good.”

Each thrust of her cock the head brushed right over your g-spot, pulling louder moans from you each time as your pussy began to clench down around her. You could feel your juices smearing across both of your bodies as she fucked deeper into you, picking up the pace as she knew you were getting close again.

“Are you going to come again for me angel?” She cooed, her hands gliding up your body to toy with your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in time with her thrusts.

“S-s’close.” You moaned, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet hers with each thrust.

Your hands tugged against the silk ties again, gasping when Emily’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking it into her mouth for her tongue to flick patterns across it. The double, nearly triple sensation if you counted the vibrations hitting your clit each time your bodies met was nearly too much, your pussy making almost more noise than the ones coming from your mouth. All you could do was whimper and whine, your head too fuzzy to get actual words to come out, the coil inside you got tighter and tighter until Emily’s teeth sunk into your chest and it burst through you.

“Fuck!”

Your body trembled, the tingles shooting all the way from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes as Emily continued to fuck you. Her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a low swear, now focused on chasing her own release. She sunk fully into you, pressing the vibrating part of the toy directly against her clit and it gave you the opportunity to roll your hips against hers, grinding the base harder onto her. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as your eyes scrunched shut, another orgasm bursting through you from the sensation and Emily let out a soft cry.

“Oh god.” Her hand slipped between your bodies, switching the vibrations off before she sat up.

Emily panted slightly, attempting to catch her breath as she reached out, swiftly undoing the ties and your arms were finally free to drop to the bed. You let out a soft groan, flexing your hands before Emily caught them in hers, examining your wrists to make sure you hadn’t pulled too hard and hurt yourself. Once satisfied that you hadn’t she let them drop and shifted on her knees, slipping out of you and watching your juices dribble onto the bed.

“Mmm…” you sighed, your lips curving up into a grin.

“What?” She asked with a raised brow.

“That was hot.” You replied, “kinda wish you could come inside me though.”

“Well…” she leant over you, kissing you before nipping at your lower lip, “I’m sure that can be arranged for next time.”

_____________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sires-blog

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 6 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | other parts here

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: nate brings you breakfast to help w/ your hangover & then you have your first time.

— tags: breakfast in bed, looking around nate’s room like he did w/ yours, admitting your feelings for one another, & then making love

— tw: eating, lying, major manipulative move on nate’s part, sex

— word count: 4,577

— a/n: me while writing this: i’m simultaneously turned-on, & also feel like maddy: ooh, he is such a cunt!

i know this installment is a bit shorter than the previous few, but i felt like what happens this chapter needed its own post.

i messed up a few posts ago when i put that the writing on the back of the pic that nate stole said ‘05. he was born in 2001. so, they, for one, wouldn’t have been in kindergarten yet, and, for two, wouldn’t have been 7-8 yrs old. i was thinking about myself, who was born in ‘98 when doing that math. please ignore lol.

GIF by bakerolivia

When you wake, your headache has dissipated marginally. Nate’s strong, warm body is still wound around yours, and the TV against the wall is on low volume, some action movie playing.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, wishing you could remember the events of last night.

You’d had strange dreams. You’d been in the bathroom with Cassie again, and had woken with a jolt at one point at the sound of something shattering, someone trying to beat down the door, screaming your name. You’d felt trapped in there, you and Cassie staring at each other in terror. Only when the door opened did you hear the sound of glass breaking and wake.

You’d fallen back asleep again after that and had dreams of you and Nate in the pool. You’d been naked—skinny dipping—and only when you had lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him, did his features shift into something menacing—something terrifying—and he shoved your head under the water.

You were drowning.

Suffocating.

You couldn’t breathe.

You’d woken again, heart pounding, but relaxed at the feeling of his arms around you, knowing you were safe.

You told yourself the bad dreams were just a result of the alcohol. Nothing more.

You slowly sit up, Nate’s hand sliding down your side, onto your bare thigh. He sits up with you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Morning, angel.”

You press a small kiss to his nose, making him smile before you get up, padding into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

Once you’ve relieved yourself, you hear a light knock on the door. “Are you okay, do you need my help?”

“No, thank you. I just need a few minutes.”

He hesitates for a moment before finally stepping away.

Once you’ve showered, brushed your teeth—thoroughly—and ripped through the tangles in your hair, do you emerge from his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

You find him lying back on the bed, eyes now on you, watching as you select a plain gray t-shirt from his closet, sliding it onto your torso.

You then walk over to the bed, climbing into his lap, resting your head against his shoulder while he holds you.

“How do you feel?” He asks, lips against your hair.

You shrug. “A little better.”

He slips one of his hands under the shirt, rubbing up and down against your bare back. “Are you hungry?”

You groan. “I don’t know if eating is a good idea.”

He chuckles. “It’ll help soak up whatever alcohol is left in your system. And your stomach is on empty right now.”

He gently moves you off of him, deciding for you.

“Just stay up here and relax.” He hands you the TV remote. “You can watch whatever you like. I’ll go make you something to eat.”

He pulls on a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt before stepping over to the door. He turns back to you after opening it. “Any special requests?”

You shake your head. “Whatever you want to make is fine. Thank you,” you say with a sweet smile.

He nods, heading downstairs.

You lie back on his bed, opening Netflix to find something more preferable to your tastes to watch.

When Nate enters the kitchen, his mom is just heading in from outside, hair tied back as she removes her gardening hat, tossing it onto the kitchen island.

“Someone is a late riser today.”

He walks over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Powerade. “Y/N is.” He seats himself at the island, unscrewing the lid. “Hungover.”

Her eyes widen. “Getting her drunk already, sweetie? Or is that just the way she is?”

She hopes not. She’d thought her a good girl.

He rolls his eyes, taking a drink. “I fucked up. Took her to a party last night that someone like her had no business being at in the first place.”

She feels relieved to hear it.

She pulls the Britta out of the fridge, retrieving a glass and pouring. “Trying to corrupt her already, huh?”

He slams his bottle down. “Jesus fucking Christ, why am I always the villain?”

She puts the Britta away, raising her hands. “Jeez, sorry, don’t bite my head off. Just trying to joke with you.”

She takes a sip of her water. “Has she eaten yet?”

He shakes his head.

“Would you like for me to make her some lunch?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on the countertop. “I’d appreciate it.”

She turns around, retrieving a pan. “How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound? Would she like that, or should I make something else?”

“That’s fine.”

Once Marsha has retrieved the required cookware and ingredients, she turns her back to him, facing the stove. “So, I know I’m about to be a mom, but bear with me.” She’s quiet for a moment and Nate braces himself for whatever nonsense might be about to come out of her mouth. “I know it’s still a little early, but: do you have feelings for her?”

He takes another drink. “Yes.”

She nods. “And does she have feelings for you?”

He thinks about how you’d had your naked body pressed to his all night for comfort and security. About the way you look at and touch him. “Yes.”

She smiles to herself.

“I don’t want you to think that I was eavesdropping, because I wasn’t,” his back immediately stiffens. “But I heard the two of you in the kitchen yesterday morning. The things she said to you.”

She stirs the tomato soup, glancing to him over her shoulder. “I really, really like this one, Nate. She’s good for you. I know I once said that I liked Cassie, too. But that was before I heard her ranting and raving in your room one night screaming about how crazy she is. Y/N seems…different. Mature, sweet, good-hearted, even…” She trails off for a moment. “Unless she turns out to be insane, too. I mean, clearly I know how to pick ‘em.”

She briefly wonders if he inherited his poor taste in romantic partners from her. Not that Cal is all bad. But sometimes…sometimes when she looks at him all she sees is a stranger.

Not the man she had once adored with her entire heart. Not the man who she sometimes spent entire weekends in her bed with as a teenager. Not the man she had married.

Not the man who she had made two children with.

“She’s nothing like Cassie. Honestly, she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He looks at the back of her head. “You do realize I’ve known her since kindergarten, right?”

Her brows furrow. “Really?”

“Mhm. We were just never really friends before now.”

She slides the sandwich onto a plate, then dumps the soup into a bowl.

“What changed?” She asks, retrieving a spoon and a napkin, setting it all onto a small portable tray, sliding it in front of him.

“I finally realized what I needed, instead of what I thought I wanted.”

When Nate returns to his room, you’re lying on the bed, pillow bunched up underneath your head, arms wrapped around it. Your left leg is bent far enough up that your pussy is on full display for him; your right leg stretched out straight as you watch the TV with interest. Some fantasy movie, of course, playing.

He kicks the door shut behind him and you sit up then, taking the tray from him once he’s at the side of the bed, with an appreciative smile.

He pushes some hair from your face with his hand, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “Just try not to get anything on the bed.”

You nod. “I won’t.”

He never eats in bed himself, the thought of rolling around in crumbs makes his skin crawl.

Before you take a bite of your sandwich, you look up to him. “Did…did you make this?”

He nods. “I’ve never cooked for anyone else before today.”

You feel warmth bloom in your chest at that. You smile shyly. “Between this and letting me drive your truck I’m starting to feel like a special exception.”

That’s the reason I did it, he thinks. He looks at you with a smile. “You are, baby.”

As you eat, Nate picks up his room, throwing your laundry and his both into his hamper, straightening up here and there, even if his room stays organized enough that it’s not really needed. But he hates any sort of disorderliness.

It was one of the first things he came to appreciate about you when it came to seeing your house: everything was clean and tidy and in its place.

He hates slovenly people.

Finally, he sits in his computer chair, leaning back, watching as you eat.

You take small bites, sipping at your soup, occasionally taking a drink of water.

“How is it?” He asks.

You nod, swallow, then reply. “Really good. It’s one of my favorites, actually. Thank you.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome. I just feel like shit for letting you get so loaded.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry: I never plan to drink ever again,” you say with a small laugh.

He smirks. “That’s what we all say until the opportunity inevitably presents itself again.”

You take another sip of your soup, licking your lips. “Not me.”

Once you’ve finished eating, you stand, picking up the tray from his bed and heading to the door.

He stands as well. “I can get that.”

You smile. “It’s okay.” You shift from one foot to the other. “I was actually thinking… Since you’ve gone through my room, and I haven’t really looked around yours very much,” not that there seems to be much to it in terms of personalization to begin with, you think. “Maybe I can browse a bit when I come back up?”

Just the fucking opportunity I need, he thinks with excitement. “Yeah, sure.”

You head downstairs and he panickedly looks around his room. “Fuck, fuck where is it? Where the fuck did I put it?”

He throws himself on the floor, looking under his bed, which is spotless.

He stands, ready to pull his goddamn hair out from frustration, until his head jerks toward his hamper, which hasn’t been emptied in awhile. How the fuck could he have forgotten to take it out?

He digs through the dirty laundry, until he’s nearly reached the bottom and he wrenches out a pair of jeans, digging through all the pockets, until he finally finds it in the last one he looks in.

He quickly walks over to his desk, grabbing a roll of scotch tape and sticking the object to his bedroom mirror.

He then sits down, heart hammering, and he waits.

When you come back upstairs, you’re grateful no one had seen you wandering down to the kitchen in just one of Nate’s t-shirts…again.

You shut the door behind you and wander over to his bench press first, looking at the weights. You look back to him then, where he’s now sitting on the edge of his bed, watching you intently. “How many pounds do you normally lift?”

He nods toward the barbell. “That one is two-hundred and twenty pounds.”

You flush, liking that response. So strong, you think.

You sit down on it and position your legs under the leg lift and try to push…and fail miserably.

He looks at you with an amused smirk. “Having trouble?”

You push again and then promptly give up. If anything, it just makes heat pool between your legs when you think of how easy it had been for him to do it.

You stand then. “I was just warming up.”

He chuckles.

You walk over to his desktop setup. “Do you ever play games?”

Not that kind, he thinks. “Not really. I mostly use it for schoolwork.”

You nod, refraining from going through the cabinets to the side.

You then look at his fancy stereo system, then the basket beside it, which houses a couple footballs and a basketball.

You glance at the storage at the foot of his bed, which is full of Nikes, then come to stand in front of his dresser and look at him over your shoulder with a raised brow before opening the top drawer.

He smirks, watching you imitate how he looked through your top drawer yesterday.

And you find nothing of interest, just some boxers, briefs, socks, and some wife-beaters. You shut the drawer then.

You look at the picture of the F-16, which hangs behind his bed. “Is being a pilot something you sometimes think about?”

“My mom is the one who decorated in here.”

Explains the monogrammed pillows, you think.

Besides the photo and a jersey which hangs on the wall, you finally realize just how minimalist and non-personal his room really is. You wonder why there’s no knick-knacks or d��cor of any kind. Then again, he seems to be a bit of a neat-freak, and sometimes despising clutter comes with the territory.

You look at the mirror against the wall and your brows furrow.

You step over to it, pulling at the Polaroid stuck to it, taking a closer look.

And your heart stops.

The one personal thing he does have—the only thing—is a photo of the two of you from when you were little.

Tears sting your eyes. “Where…where did you get this?” You ask in a whisper.

“Found it a few months ago in a box of old stuff I had. Decided to hang it up. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure why I did. Just…I just like looking at it for some reason.”

You look at him.

“Maddy fucking hated it. Cassie acted jealous, even if we were only a few years old in it and we weren’t even talking at the time when she and I were…doing whatever the fuck we were doing.”

You look back down to the picture, turning it over, looking at the writing on the back, then looking at the picture again.

“Do…do you remember that day?”

He stays silent, hoping to fucking God if he does, you’ll continue, and give him some clue as to when it was taken exactly. So he can try and fill in blanks to pretend like it’s a day he could never forget.

You look at him.

“You do, too?” He asks.

You nod, looking at it. “It was the last day of kindergarten. And my birthday. My…” You swallow, throat tightening. “The bear on my bed was your gift to me.”

Nate’s jaw drops, just slightly. He didn’t remember any of it. And he’s sure the gift was most-likely selected by his mom, but it was the fact you’d kept it—something that had come from him so long ago—it meant…he’s not sure what it means. Just that whatever it is: it means a lot of it.

“I wasn’t sure if it looked familiar or not.”

You let out a teary laugh.

“The cake was good, though.” He adds, hoping there was a fucking cake.

“Ice cream. We got so messy.”

“Vanilla, right?”

Your heart melts that he remembers. “Yes.”

“Do you remember that we fed some to each other? Well, kind of shoved it in each other’s faces. After your mom cleaned us up, my dad took this picture.”

He comes to stand beside you. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but it was one of the best days of my life.”

You press the picture back against the mirror, then look up to him. “I-”

You stop, shutting your mouth. And then you do it. Say it. Because you mean it. “I love you.”

His heart swells with pride. He’d done it—it’d fucking worked. And you’d believed every lie, every word, that left his mouth so easily.

He leans down, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“I know it may seem soon. Really soon. And-”

“I love you, too,” he replies softly, the look in his eyes only further confirming that he truly means it.

He presses his lips to yours then and kisses you so achingly soft. He doesn’t use tongue, doesn’t deepen it, just…kisses you, pouring his heart into it.

When he pulls away, the way he looks at you…no one has ever looked at you like that before. Not even him. Not before this moment.

“I feel like we were meant to find our ways back to each other,” he whispers, brushing the pad of his thumb against your lower lip and you see his eyes grow glassy and you know he’s fighting back tears.

And one slips from your own, which he wipes away.

“Nate, do you-” You pause for a moment, heart pounding. And then you continue. “Do you have any condoms?”

He studies you for a moment—his mind practically fucking exploding from excitement that this had played out exactly as he’d hoped.

God, you really are a sentimental creature.

He nods. “Baby, are you sure about this?” He hates questioning it, but hopes that doing so will only draw you in closer. That instead of him running across the room to grab one, he’s instead more concerned for you, ensuring that this is what you truly want.

You reach up, running your fingers through his soft brown hair. “Yes.”

He considers you for a moment—rather, pretends to—before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your forehead and stepping away, taking your hand in his as he leads you over to the bed.

He reaches down, slipping his t-shirt from you, before looking over your naked body. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Do you even understand how beautiful you are?”

He cups one of your cheeks again, his other hand holding your hip, rubbing his thumb against it.

You only look at him.

He pulls his shirt off, then lowers his body onto yours, the both of you settling comfortably against the bed. He helps you scoot back, until your head is resting against his pillows. He first kisses your forehead, maybe half-a-dozen times, then each of your cheeks, your nose, your chin, before giving you his lips. You open your mouth, your tongue searching for his. And you find it, his dancing against yours gently, tenderly.

And then he moves to your neck, giving extra attention to that one sensitive spot that he likes to favor. You sigh, arching your back, and his hands slide under you. And he holds you against him for a moment, your bare chest pressed against his.

“I love you so fucking much,” he mutters into your shoulder.

“I love you, too.”

He can hear that you’re now crying. So he pulls back just the least bit, kissing away your tears.

He smooths some hair from your face, your chin wobbling. “You’re so perfect… You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N.”

You let out a small, happy sob, smiling.

He then begins to kiss your breasts, taking one in his hand, and then the other, lightly trailing his tongue along the valley between them and your body shudders.

He then kisses down the soft skin of your stomach. Until, finally, he’s reached your perfect pussy which he’ll claim in only a few minutes as his very own.

He begins kissing your inner thighs, seeing that you’re already completely soaked and you sit up a bit.

“Nate, I…I wanted to-” You weren't wanting oral today. You wanted more. Wanted him.

He looks up at you. “Trust me, sweetheart,” he says softly, quietly. “If I take my time…it won’t hurt as much. Please let me take care of you, please.”

You nod, your lower lip wobbling from how much love and care and tenderness he’s treating you with.

You lay back again.

He then places his mouth against you and you gasp. He reaches up, twining his fingers between yours, holding tight.

“I love you, Nate,” you whisper.

He responds by pressing a kiss to your pussy before going back in with his tongue, running it along that seal that he’s about to break.

Once you’re warm and flushed and trembling—crying—does he stand, removing his shorts, and you take in the impressive length of him, licking your lips.

He pads over to the door, locking it—knowing he’ll kill anyone who tries to interrupt you. He’d once considered doing this at your house, to ensure there would be no interruptions, but he needed for it to happen in his bed. Needed to claim your virginity here, in his room.

He then opens the top drawer of his nightstand and retrieves a condom. You sit up a bit, watching as he peels open the wrapper, then feel your core tighten as he rolls it onto his throbbing erection.

You feel nervous, and a bit scared, but also eager to have him inside of you.

To have him teach you what this is like.

After you’d spent so long wondering about it, too.

He then lies his body back down on top of yours, hand lacing between the long, soft strands of your hair. “Are you ready, angel?”

You nod, kissing him.

He reaches down, rubbing himself against your entrance and notices when you tense up. So he stops.

“The only thing I need you to do is relax for me. Let me do everything else. This is about you, not me. I want—I need—your first time to be perfect. Let me give that to you. Please.”

A tear slips from your eye at his sweet, loving words.

You spread your legs wider, tension releasing.

He rubs himself against you again and then finally, finally, eases into you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he presses his lips to your own, your hands tightening into fists as you feel a painful pinch, something breaking perhaps, and then he slips inside of you.

You whimper against his lips, trying to ignore the pain. You move your hips, until he pulls his mouth away from your own. “Stay still for me, baby. Just let yourself adjust to me.”

He gently lifts one of your legs onto his back and he sinks deeper, moaning at how wet and tight you are. So this is what a virgin feels like, he thinks. And it feels so fucking…perfect.

He looks at you, doing his utmost not to finish right then and there. He needs this to last for as long as possible. “Does that feel better?”

You nod.

He eases out a couple inches, then back in and you moan in pleasure. “Does that feel good?”

You nod again. “Y-yes.”

He kisses you, deeply. Then presses his forehead against your own. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He presses his lips back to your own before he begins to ease in and out, in and out, over and over.

He goes painstakingly slow, even as his body protests, wanting nothing more than to fuck your brains out. But he needs to be gentle with you. Needs you to think that’s who he is. Needs for every second of your lovemaking to be what you’ve always surely imagined—hoped—it would one day be like.

He looks down at you, staring into your eyes as he continues easing his cock in and out—you’re so wet now that he can hear it. And he loves you all the more for it. How easily your body responds to him.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I want this to be perfect.”

You shake your head. “It is.”

He kisses you again, then slowly—slowly—lifts you until you’re in his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist, encouraging you to move your hips against him. The other comes up to cup your cheek, tangling in your hair as he kisses your lips, your neck, your right breast, then left. He looks at you again and you whimper. “Shh, that’s it, angel. Just like that. Take your time.”

You reach down to touch your clit and he gently takes your hand in his. “Don’t. Please. I want this moment to last for as long as possible.”

You fight back tears again as you lie your head on his shoulder as he continues helping you move your hips against him.

In reality, he wants you to come from his cock alone—to find him to be that good of a lover. He knows it’s not easy to achieve—female orgasms from penetration alone—but he’s more than willing to try.

Finally, he lies you back down on the mattress. “Fuck,” he mutters into a pillow as he slips out for a moment, then eases back in. You shudder from how good it feels, him filling you.

And he enjoys your walls clenching around him.

He places both of your legs over his backside, making you as small as possible beneath him. Dwarfing your small, feminine frame. He loves how much larger he is than you. The fact that he could easily throw you around like a ragdoll.

And you stay like that. For awhile. Silence, just the sounds of your ragged breathing, his occasional moans, your whimpering and sighing. Each of you saying each other’s names or that you love each other. His skin slapping against yours.

Finally, he repositions his hips—his cock touching against some part of you that you’ve never touched before and you jerk. “Ah, right there.”

He knows he’s found what he’s been looking for. So he keeps his hips positioned exactly where they are as he continues to fuck himself inside of you.

Your breathing quickens, your kissing becomes more fervent, your fingers tangling in his hair. And your walls begin to rapidly clench.

He fights back against how fucking good you feel, refusing to be the first one to finish. No. He needs to give that to you. He can’t come off as being selfish in bed.

That will come later.

Until, finally, finally, you cry out, pressing your mouth against his shoulder, your body shuddering, jerking against his fingers trailing along your hot, bare skin. Your walls squeezing and squeezing him.

You begin to cry and then he falls over the edge, following right behind you.

He buries his face In your neck. “God, baby. Fuck, Y/N.”

He moans as his seed fills the condom wrapped tightly around him.

Finally, he stills, his body collapsing on top of yours, cock still twitching inside of you.

You cry silently underneath him and he presses countless kisses to your hot cheeks, your swollen lips. “I love you more than anything,” he says.

And he believes it.

And so do you.

[joonsmagicshop]

Stress Relief Series Part 7- JHS

Summary: A couple months ago Taehyung asked a favor. For you to have sex with his bandmates to relieve some tension and stress. How can you say no to that.

Paring: Hoseok/Reader (all members are mentioned)

Rating: M/18+

Word Count: 5k

Tags: smut, FWB, jerking off, eating pussy, dry humping, hobi's hands (cause come on that mans hands...oof) fingering, anxious hobi, dancer teacher hobi, taetae and hobi sweet moment, penetrative sex

Authors Note: Hobi!!!!! I had so much fun writing this one but the fact that the next chapter will be the last chapter is very bittersweet. This series will always hold a special place in my heart and even though I am excited to finish it off with my bias....I also don't want it to end

In case you missed it

Intro Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

“Taehyung you were supposed to move on five not six.”

“Namjoon you need to move in a wider circle so you don’t bump into Jungkook”

“Jimin can you please help me explain these steps.”

“No Yoongi we aren’t taking a break until we get this right so stop scrolling through your phone.”

Jung Hoseok was at his wits end and it was only Tuesday. He watched as the other members started arguing amongst themselves, not bothering to pay him any mind or the dance cues he had been trying to give them for the last ten minutes

It was only two weeks out from the opening night of their tour and everything had to be perfect. Hoseok knew very well that his bandmates were perfectionists like he was but they all seemed to be a little burnt out from all the prep for the tour and therefore a lot more wasting time was happening.

“Okay okay!” Jimin shouted as Taehyung carried him in his arms around the dance studio, giggling while the others watched fondly.

“We should get back to work before Hobi Hyung has steam coming out of his ears!” Jimin shouts between giggles as Taehyung finally puts him down and they start elbowing each other and laughing behind their hands.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was sitting on the floor with Namjoon pulling out his phone and showing him a video that had Namjoon smiling fondly at the youngest member.

Hoseok looked around to see that Yoongi and Jin had completely disappeared and right as he was about to ask where the hell they went the door burst open and Jin announced very loudly that they had ordered food and it was going to arrive in ten minutes.

Which had everyone cheering loudly and Taehyung scooping Jimin up once more to twirl him around as they both laughed.

Hoseok didn’t know when this impromptu break happened but he was going to put a stop to it. They had to get this dance right and only had two weeks to do it, and while ninety percent of the time they did get it perfect there was still a small chance they could mess it up, like today.

Hoseok clapped his hands to get everyone's attention but it seemed only Yoongi heard and he quickly paled when he saw the look on Hoseok’s face.

Pure frustration

And no one liked a frustrated dance teacher

Yoongi nudged Jin and with just one single look the room seemed to quiet down as they all stared at Hoseok.

“Good now can we go over this again and can you actually listen to me this time? We have to get this right and we only have two weeks to do so.” He said with his hands on his hips as they all stared at him.

“Hoseok relax we have this. Today was just a small accident. I had a misstep and Namjoon didn’t go wide enough. We are okay. You don’t have to do the scary dance teacher face.” Taehyung explained as Jimin giggled from behind his hands.

“Well, Taehyung it seems someone has to. You all are goofing off or texting and I’m the only one caring about this routine. I’m so tired of you guys messing up all the time!” He nearly shouts feeling his frustration bubble over.

Hoseok is hardly ever a yeller so when he raises his voice everyone knows something is very wrong

Namjoon stands up first and holds out a hand to Taehyung who is about to open his mouth and retort.

“No Taehyung no arguing. We all had a nice dinner last night and all got along and we are not starting this again. We are a team and Hoseok is right. After we eat we are going to perfect this dance. I know we just want this tour to start and to get to the fun parts but we have to do this first. We all know the prep is the worst part so please no more fighting.” Namjoon says as the room grows quiet and the only sound is the ticking clock above the wall of mirrors.

“Foods here,” Yoongi mumbled checking his phone as they all stood up and slowly began to filter out of the room.

Yoongi patted Hoseok’s arm and muttered an apology as he left, the others hung their heads and avoided his piercing gaze as they walked past him to get to the delicious food that was waiting.

Jungkook was second last to leave and he stared up at Hoseok with his big dark eyes and apologized before dropping his gaze and leaving.

That alone made Hoseok feel worse.

Taehyung finally walked up to Hoseok and stood in front of him, fluffy hair all messed up, teeth biting into his lip.

Hoseok crossed his arms.

“I’m sorry about the dance mess up, I’m also sorry I was goofing off with Jimin so much Hoseok. You know how is it. Things get too much and I just wanted to make everyone smile. I didn’t mean to make you upset. Honest.” He says shyly a Hoseok pulls him in for a hug.

He can feel Taehyung smiling against his shoulder when they embrace and when he finally releases Tae he has a silly grin on his face.

“I don’t mean to be a hard ass it’s just. You know how it is.” Hoseok says, knowing his apology isn’t the greatest but he’s starting to feel the weight of all the other things they have to perfect and get done before the tour and his whole body just felt tired and heavy.

“I know how it is. That’s why I have Y/N. Honestly, she keeps me sane.” Taehyung explains heading over to the table that was set up in the corner to retrieve his sweater.

“Don’t you just have sex with her? How can that take away all this…ya know.” Hoseok asks waving his arm around as if showing Tae all the other stress he has.

Taehyung just laughs and pulls the sweater over his head messing up his hair even more.

“Well yes but also. You know. She’s a companion. We have dinner, we talk, we hang out. I just don’t fuck her and leave. I mean. I used to but now I’d say she’s a friend. I trust her. The other guys do too. I know Namjoon doesn’t like it and he doesn’t have to. He’s going to crack soon enough I can feel it. Nothing is as stressful as being our leader.” He explains as he looks in the mirror to fix his hair and Hoseok stays frozen in place watching him.

“The position we are in, the life we chose. It’s not easy. Y/N is like a vacation after a very long work week. It’s someone I can be myself around. And not just me. Jungkook and I have talked about it too. She’s just…that person you know.” Taehyung says finally getting his hair the way he wants it and staring at Hoseok through the mirror.

“Namjoon’s going to kill you if he hears you talking about her. I’m not sitting through another one of his lectures.” Hoseok says rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not trying to convince you or anything. She already said she’s there if we need it and if not…” He let his voice trail off and he shrugged as the door burst open and Namjoon stood there.

“Okay, you didn’t kill each other? Good. Now please come eat before Jungkook takes it all. I already had to swat his hand twice because he was grabbing too much and not saving any for you This kid I swear. He’s going to give me wrinkles.” Namjoon explains as he leaves down the hall and Taehyung shoots Hoseok a knowing smile.

“Told ya. Namjoon is stressed.”

The next day Hoseok had off from work.

He woke up later than usual and spent a long time in bed just scrolling through his phone. He let the sunlight fall over his naked torso as he lay there, not bothering to get up and close the curtains as the beams of sunlight crept up his body and eventually rose to illuminate the walls above him.

Once he got out of bed and went to the bathroom he made his way to the kitchen to have some food. His house was very spacious and very quiet at this time of day and Hoseok drank in the calmness as he ate his food.

The day dragged on and around dinner time he found himself restless.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong but he knew something was wrong.

He paced room to room trying to look for something that would entertain him. He grabbed a book and then put it down. He tried to cook dinner instead of ordering but gave up. He paced back and forth from the front foyer to the bedroom.

He turned on some music but couldn’t find something that he liked.

Eventually, he flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

The sun was starting to set casting everything in a vibrant orange glow and Hoseok took out his phone to take some pictures of the way the sun hit everything just right.

He also took some selfies smiling as the sun highlighted his beauty

He sent the shots to Namjoon, minus his selfies, locked his phone, and threw it on the bed beside him.

Namjoon would love those pictures because nature always calmed him down.

And Namjoons stress was reaching an all-time high lately with all the pressure he had as their leader.

Hoseok thought back to what Taehyung had said yesterday about how Namjoon would crack soon and he felt terrible. He didn’t need to add to the stress by yelling at them yesterday. Even though he did apologize at lunch he still felt guilty.

Hoseok’s long fingers aimlessly ran across his collarbones as he let his thoughts spiral. He knew he had been too hard on everyone yesterday but the whole thing was just so frustrating.

His hands continued to wander as he tried to memorize the dance steps in his mind. Usually that helped with his spiraling thoughts and he let his hands wander up and down his sides, caressing himself as he did so.

Hoseok was so lost in his thoughts and in trying not to let them spiral he hardly noticed just his touches alone were making him hard in his shorts.

His cock was starting to stiffen as he lay spread out on his bed, hair a mess on his pillow as he tried to calm down the storm going on in his brain.

There was still so much to do before the tour and what if they messed up on tour and what if something bad happened like someone got sick? Army would be so disappointed and what if he messed up? He would be so embarrassed.

Hoseok felt the anxiety bubbling up and he quickly wrapped his arms around himself to give himself a much-needed hug.

He buried his face in his elbow and rolled over on his stomach to cover his face with his pillow when he felt it.

The hardness between his legs.

“Oh,” Hoseok whispered as he rolled onto his back again and stared at the impressive tent his dick was making in his pants.

He wasted no time cupping himself and a soft groan left his lips at the contact. His thoughts seemed to silence as he took his time stroking himself over his shorts. Squeezing his length when he needed to and teasing the head just right to have his hips jolting off the bed.

Hoseok quickly sat up and discarded his shirt. Letting the late day rays of sun hit his bare skin as he trailed his fingertips lightly down his chest, teasing the skin and making his hard cock throb.

When was the last time he took care of himself?

He wasn’t sure so he decided to take his time and enjoy this.

His hands ran up and down his body as he closed his eyes and let his last hookup replay in his mind. The memories were foggy as it had been so long but he was already hard so it took no time at all for his deft fingers to undo the button on his shorts and peel them off his legs.

He rubbed his bulge over his boxers and hisses at the contact. The girl he hooked up with was some brunette, right? Or was she blonde? It didn’t really matter to him as he pictured a naked sexy body on top of him.

Hoseok let out a moan as he palmed himself and added more pressure. He couldn’t picture her clearly but he could imagine her hot wet pussy sitting on his cock as she kissed down his skin.

How good it would feel to have lips on his body again

How amazing it would feel to be buried in a hot wet pussy.

Hoseok had enough of his teasing and he slipped his hand into his boxers to grip at the base of his cock. His eyes fluttered open for a moment as he pulled his boxers down, only to close his eyes again when he got comfortable.

His hand lazily stroked his cock, the precum making the whole thing glide so much easier as he let out a shaky breath and tried to imagine his last hookup.

It had been so long however that the details were fuzzy, the whole thing was fuzzy and hard to imagine and his cock was still angry and throbbing but he couldn’t come up with a good image to jerk off to.

Hoseok could try porn but he didn’t feel like spending an hour finding a good enough video for that.

He let go of his aching cock and smacked his hand on the bed in frustration. He couldn’t even jerk off properly anymore. And this was adding to the stress he already had.

Hoseok rolled over and grabbed his phone. Namjoon had responded to the pictures but Hoseok ignored those. Instead, he texted a phone number he was given two months ago, a number he told himself he would never…ever use.

The drive over was torture. Hoseok was still hard and trying to fight the guilt that was starting to burn up inside of him.

He could hear Namjoon’s lecture as clear as day as the car navigated the busy streets. Hoseok tries to block that out. Instead focusing on the fact that he was about to be with a real person and not just his hand.

The driver pulled up and Hoseok smiled at him before exiting. He purposely wore baggy pants to hide his raging hard-on that still had not gone down and throughout the drive, he kept palming himself to alleviate the ache.

You opened the door to find Hoseok standing there looking equally excited as he was terrified and you welcomed him in.

His brown hair was a mess atop his head and his heart-shaped lips were drawn into a thin worried line as he looked around, slowly placing his designer bag by his shoes at the front door.

“Hi Hoseok.” You say softly as you stand there and give him time to adjust. He looked so out of place and so nervous to be around you.

“You can call me Hobi. I mean. If you want.” He stammers and you smile as you sit on the couch and invite him over.

He sits down and plays with his long fingers not meeting your gaze.

“Hobi you seem…. stressed. Or extremely nervous. Want to talk about it?” You ask placing a hand on his knee and you smile when he seems to relax even if it’s only a small amount.

“I…I don’t know why I’m here. I’m sorry.” He says in a small voice as you rub your thumb along his knee going slow as if not to startle him.

“Okay let’s start from the beginning. Are you okay?” You ask giving him the time and space to answer

“I…I’m horny.” Hobi says finally looking at you and you smile softly at him.

“Okay…”

“I got mad at everyone yesterday because they were goofing off and not doing the dance correctly and then today I didn’t work and I think I was left alone with my thoughts for too long because now I’m all anxious and I got horny so I wanted to jerk off but I don’t even know what to jerk off too because it had been so long since I hooked up with someone and I know I shouldn’t be here but I am and I’m so hard. And now I’m dumping all my problems on a stranger oh my god.” He says running his hands through his hair and looking at you with wide eyes.

You slowly sit up on your knees on the couch and put your hands on his shoulders.

“Hobi It’s okay. It’s all okay. We can just hang out if you want a friend. Or we can do more if you are up to it. I don’t want to push you or pressure you.

“I… I don’t know what I want.” He breathes out.

“Actually, I do. I want this tour to start already. I want everyone to get along. I want all the stress and the pressure to go away and I just want to be on stage and perform. I just want this whole thing to begin. We are always happier when we see our fans” He says with a small smile on his face.

“You guys really love your fans huh.” You answer as you inch towards him and throw yourself over his lap.

His hands come up to grab at your hips and you stay far enough back that you are not directly over his cock.

“This okay?” You ask softly as Hobi nods.

“Yeah, our fans are the best in the world. And that’s why this whole thing is frustrating. I want to put on a good show for them and no one else seems to be taking it seriously!” Hobi complains as you nod and bring your hands up to his hair.

He freezes again as you tangle your hands in the hair at the back of his head and softly play with it. His eyes start to soften and he blushes.

“That feels…really good.” He breathes out.

“Good. I want to relax you. Keep talking Hobi.” You say as he smiles up at you.

“And Taehyung and Jimin kept goofing off and the whole thing was a disaster. If Namjoon just went wider with his step and Tae didn’t mess up we would have nailed it.” Hobi complains as you continue to play with the hair at the nape of his neck and hum as he speaks.

Hobi continues to pour out his frustration to you and you let him, softly stroking his hair.

Soon enough the room is dark and Hobi is quiet, resting his head on your shoulder as you move your hands to the top of his head to comb the hair back, lightly grazing his scalp with your nails.

“Thank you. Also, I’m sorry you're kind of a stranger and I just dumped a bunch of stuff out on you.” He mutters, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

“Happy to help Hobi. That’s why this whole thing started. I just wanted to help. It doesn’t have to be just about sex. I’m also a friend.” You say as he lifts his head to stare into your eyes.

“That’s what Taehyung said. He said you keep him sane.”

You laugh.

“And he drives you insane. What a combination huh?”

Hobi laughs at that one and he softly stares up at you through the darkness.

“I want to kiss you is that okay?” He asks as you nod.

He sits up straighter and captures your lips with his.

His lips are oh so soft and warm against yours and you sigh into his mouth as you press your body into his chest, desperate to get him closer to you.

His hands wrap around your middle to hold you steady as he takes his time with you. His kisses are soft but also heated as you feel your core start to throb when his hands leave your middle to run up and down your thighs, getting higher with each pass and making you squirm against him.

You whine out his name when his fingers dip a little too close to your center and he smirks against your lips.

“You said you were having some trouble jerking off?” You ask voice slightly shaky as you pull back and he grins wickedly at you as if he knows just how much he is affecting you.

“Yeah, I may have said that.” He teases as his hands dip between your legs and you whine when he rubs his long index finger along the seam of your pants.

“Should I help you with that?” You ask jerking against him as he runs his finger once again along the seam of your pants. Applying more pressure this time as your wetness pools.

“How about we help each other hmm? You listened to me babble for too long I think my pretty girl should be rewarded.” He coos as you bury your face in his shoulder and grind your pussy against his finger.

“You’re going to soak your pants, baby.” He pants as you deliver sloppy kisses to his neck and collarbones.

“Gotta b-be careful you can’t mark me up right before tour.” He grits out as you push your hips forward so you are now resting comfortably on his cock which is hard once again in his pants.

“And why not?” You tease as you pull away from his neck to stare at his flushed face.

“You vixen.”

With that, he kisses you again but with so much passion it steals the very breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair as he kisses you which gives your hands freedom to roam up and down the hard plane of his chest.

He moans in your mouth and you buck against him, slowly grinding against his cock giving you both the delicious friction you crave.

“God you are too good at that.” He whines out against your lips as he carefully pushes you down on the couch and throws his shirt over his head.

You are met with miles of gorgeous skin and your mouth waters when he reaches for your top to pull it off.

Your bra goes next and in an instant, he is on top of you palming and sucking your breasts as your head is thrown back against the pillow with pleasure.

“Couch or my room?” You ask breathless as he harshly sucks on your right nipple which has your hips shoving against his hard cock.

“Your room. Please god, get me to your bed.” He whines as you push him off of you and stand up on shaky legs.

You grab his hand and take him to your room and the second you are over the threshold he picks you up and throws you down on the bed.

You gasp and he wastes no time crawling up and positioning himself between your legs.

He holds one of your legs up in the air and grabs your ankle, you watch in awe as his heart-shaped lips kiss your skin slowly working their way toward your heated core.

It’s too hot, or maybe he is too hot as you fumble with your pants to rip them off your body. Hobi gets the hint and helps you take them off.

“No underwear. Fuck Y/N.” He growls as he takes in the sight of your soaked pussy.

“I wanna bury my face in there and never come back out.” He admits as you groan at his words.

He lets your leg fall as he gets off the bed to undo his pants and rip his boxers down.

You take your time staring at his naked form. He is exquisite, his body is art that you’d like to admire for a very long time.

You open your legs instinctively as he crawls between them and settles on his stomach. He stares at you with a tilt of his head and a question on the tip of his tongue.

He doesn’t even need to ask before you are pleading with him to kiss you, to touch you, to do anything to you before you lose your mind.

His hands rest on your thighs holding them down before he dips his head low to lick at your pussy. You cry out at the contact fisting the sheets below to hold yourself steady.

His tongue licks a bold stripe up your slit and you thrash against him as he flicks his tongue over your clit in such a way that you feel it throb.

Your body is on fire as he licks and sucks at your clit, his dark eyes meeting yours and you whine and cry out his name as he continues to make out with your pussy alternating between soft licks and harsh sucking which brings you close to orgasm a lot faster than you thought.

As affected as you were he was equally affected by the act. His hunger for your pussy made his cock throb and he hastily humped the bed as he buried his face deeper into your core and drank in the moans you were emitting from above him.

“Gonna-” You cried out though Hobi knew you were close.

He removed his mouth for just a moment to insert his finger into your wet heat and you cried out and arched off the bed as he rubbed your front wall just right to have you orgasm around his digit,

He quickly latched his mouth back to your pussy to drink in everything you gave him as you rode out your high and ground down on his finger.

Once you came down from your high you opened your eyes to see Hobi looked as fucked out as you felt and you giggled when you looked down to see him shamelessly humping the bed, desperate for relief.

“Fuck you are so hot. Why did I wait so long? What the fuck?” He whispers as he gets up to grab a condom.

You giggle to yourself as it seems to take a while for him to find his pants, in his haste he threw them on your dresser. Eventually, he gets out the condom and rolls it down his hard cock, and climbs back onto the bed with you.

“How do you want it?” He asks voice low as his agile fingers stroke his cock.

You can’t tear your eyes away and Hobi chuckles darkly.

He takes charge and grabs your hips as he kneels on the bed. He slowly spreads your legs and positions your pussy right in front of his cock.

“Wanna see you when I fuck you. Is this okay?” He asks softly as he takes his cock in hand and runs it through your soaked folds.

You nod and he smirks as he inserts himself inside of you slowly and carefully.

You let him take his time and bottom out. You fist at the pillow by your head to anchor you because Hobi just feels so good inside of you.

Once he bottoms out you both stare at each other breathing hard. Strands of hair are falling in front of his eyes and he looks beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.

“Hobi move.” You beg as he leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

He begins to thrust in and out of you slowly and carefully, he angles his hips in such a way it has him hitting your g-spot with ease.

You feel how he moves inside of you and it makes you wetter around him. He swivels his hips and grinds down into you before pulling out and snapping back in with such force it pushes you up the bed.

Hobi fucks into you with force and passion, his hips always hitting their mark his moans mixing with yours as you both use each other to get to the high you both crave. Your hands are tangled in the pillow at your head and he licks two fingers to bring them down to play with your clit.

“H-Hobi if you want me to last you can’t. I’m serious you can’t.” You cry out when he circles your clit and flicks it in time with a harsh thrust.

“It’s okay I’m cl-close.” He whines as he thrusts up and you push your hips down trying to meet him in the middle.

Your orgasm is fast approaching and you cling to your pillow for dear life as Hobi fucks into you harder. Sweat drips off his brow and his face glistens but even through it all he still looks beautiful.

He flicks your clit again and you throw your head back and cry out his name as your orgasm hits you hard. Your pussy clamps down around his length as you ride out your high. Hobi still fucks into you and is grunting above you, his hips are moving with such speed and force you cry and squirm on the bed as he finally reaches his high and cums into the condom.

The air is thick with the smell of sex as he pulls out and gets himself cleaned up. He brings you a towel and cleans you up as well, taking his time as you try to come down from your high which seems to take a longer time than normal.

“Holy shit.” You breathe out as he flops down next to you and stares at you with a boyish grin, so different from the man that just fucked into you wildly.

“Yeah.” He agrees as he laces his fingers through yours.

You slowly get up from the bed and head to the washroom to get cleaned up. Your body feels tired but well fucked as you make your way back to the room to see Hobi already dressed and sitting on the bed.

“Want to order food? I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.” You tease as he stares at you.

“I…uh? You don’t want me to go?” He asks as you shake your head and stand between his open legs.

“Only if you want to. But I wouldn’t mind sharing a meal with you.” You tease as you peck him on the lips and grab his hands to lead him to the kitchen.

You both flip through his phone to figure out what to order and he stares at you with a small smile.

“Can I… you know text you sometime if I’m feeling stressed or worried?” He asks in a small voice as you intertwine your fingers with his and bring his hand to your mouth.

You deliver a soft kiss to the back of his hand and he blushes.

“Anytime Hobi. Call me, text me, fuck me…anytime.”

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[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Japan is Winning on Kisses & Other Alternate Realities

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - It would be great if we got the alternative romance with dead Kram from Tai’s perspective (JBL style.) Still I like this show. It’s a little bit like I Feel You Linger in the Air only with a love triangle. And while I'm not a fan of triangles as a general rule, I don’t mind it here because the set up is clever. Wayu and  ao are fun sides too. It sure is moving very quickly, which I like. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. But that’s normal for me with this kind of Thai drama. 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 4 of 8 - They are extremely sappy boyfriends. I love that mom has a secret gf. Could we please have more of them? The love triangle sides are ridiculous, but I do like that it’s all out in the open. I also like they are actually addressing the complicated parental dynamics of owning a sex club. Honestly, I think Khem should have to be a host too. Learn him the right way, girl!

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - It’s good, I like the fallout and them actually having to deal with crazy fans and past relationships. They’re so good at communicating it’s kind of a pleasure to watch them suffer through external pressures, because I have faith that they can make it through.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 6 of 8 - They are such cute puppy dads and so clearly meant to be together, the fact that they aren’t is just frustrating. The fight thing was stupid. And not a whole lot happened... plus singing. I’m getting fatigued with this one. 

1000 Years Old ep 7 of 12 - Did I miss something happening, or did nothing happen? 

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 6 - It’s so boring, there’s so much guitar playing, and it got weirdly voyeuristic (in a very much not sexy way). I’m totally out. DNF

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) ep 3 of 6 - I can’t tell if this is trying to be a BL Romancing the Stone, or a BL Hangover, or both. The problem with situational comedy is it must be both situational and comedic, not just option one. The problem with calling something BL, is that it must be BL. This show got 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. DNF 

Honestly, it's the HANDS with these two. They do beautiful beautiful things with their hands. If you're one of those hands-obsessed BLabies you should be watching LIBTSTA!

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 6 of 11 - So the worst finally happened. The mountain of pain has fallen down upon us. And now, hopefully in the second half things get better for our boys. But what a rough ride. Normally, this is not my style of BL, but everyone is doing such a gorgeous job with it, I can’t fault it… except that it hurts. The red thread symbolism was elegantly done. I’d like to hope we get a reunion in the next one, but knowing this style of series they’re gonna draw it out. There's gonna be a more pain first.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - Those fuck me puppy dog eyes were perfectly executed. I would not have been able to resist either. Gosh they are so damn cute. This is a great show.

Jazz for Two (Korea Gaga/grey) eps 1-2 of 8 - This comes from the Shoulder to Cry On team so I'm scared, but this one is all actors* not idols so maybe they'll be braver. Boy howdy does it have a fantastic opening sequence. Also the lead is fucking adorable. Mr Broody McBroodypants is cute too. Korea sure loves “pretty but broken.” On the JBL end of the spectrum, is everyone in love with their siblings? That’s weird. The dining room scene was painful. All in all, it's good, I'm intrigued. Let's see how you go little show.

I stand absolutely corrected the lead is a member of NEWKIDD (in my defense I'd never heard of them until Build Up last month). I did recognize him from To My Star because at the time I thought he was too pretty to be only a side character.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 10 fin - Again there was overuse of previous footage and maudlin navel-gazing grief over something we knew was going to happen. So I didn’t really feel much emotional connection to the drama. 7 year time gap.? t was a cute reunion but the moral quandary never really got resolved. I don’t know how to rate this, I’m not sure I will ever watch it again, so that is a big mark against it.

There’s nothing objectively wrong with this BL except how upsetting it is because of the foundational pygmalion story - grown man falls in love with an android who is basically both his slave and, by maturity level, a child. Yet that premise is crystal clear from the get go, so we watch it eyes open. The actors are cute, the romance sweet, the physical chemistry on point (of course, it’s Taiwan) and yet I was left ultimately unsettled by the concept, content, and plot. 7/10 

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - I'm so ready for this to be over, and for Gaga to have something good on. Soon please?

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) - It's too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute verticals, I don't have that kind of TikTok endurance training. Waiting to binge.

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Tangential to the genre

There has been the occasional discussion on this topic here in this little corner of tumblr so I thought there might be a few intersted in this podcast: AmericanThaiGuy Ron Weaver on the Complicated Issue of Racism in Thailand (The Bangkok Podcast)

Thailand passed its Marriage Equality bill through the lower house. It's expected to pass the high house and get signed by the King, but that hasn't quite happened yet.

And MaxTul dropped a photo shoot.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

3/31 The Next Prince (Thai ????) 12 eps - trailer. ZeeNew in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince - YES PLEASE. (Apparently this is just the pilot, not the start of the actual show, see comments.)

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast. Dual languages.

Hum, trash-watch-a-licious?

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube iQIYI) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

4/11 Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan ????) 10 eps - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why, they fall in love along the way. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake.

4/11 Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea ????) 4 eps - SooHyuk is only just surviving and reunites with YoonDae, an old friend. They end up living together. One of the leads is played by Choco of Choco Milk Shake.

4/18 At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de (Japan Gaga - may not be global) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn.

Seriously? You're killing me with these titles, boys.

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks well complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner) and Best, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Just these two, in my head, rent free. Thanks Japan!

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy. (With so many tags when does a weekly tumblr post become a newsletter? That is this week's philosophical question...)

[bellatriestowritesometimes]

To Know

aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: You attend your best friend's wedding where you see Hotch for the first time in four years since you were shot on your wedding day by Peter Lewis, forcing him to go into witness protection and leave you.

Part 2

AN/explanation:

Listen it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and by minute I mean 4 years so bear with me!! There’s probably spelling and punctuation errors but I wrote this in the middle of the night so cut me some slack.

OK so a bit of an explanation on this.. so you know how everyone has their imaginary scenarios they make up before bed or wherever (and if you don’t you’re weird!) well this is mine!! OK not really but ever since I watched CM which was probably about 5/6 years ago now, Hotch was on my mind 24/7 and I have this plot in my head with YEARS worth of scenarios thought out with original characters and everything!! This is just a small snippet of the whole plot I have had thought out for Hotch and Alex (that is what I have named her in my head, but have obviously written it as a Y/N to make it more enjoyable I guess? Idk what people prefer!!). I could probably write a book on this crap but I’ll just start with this part. I am in the process of writing a part two to this so if anyone’s interested I’ll try to get it out before the weekend’s over as this is the only free time I have currently! Now if I ever was going to make this into a series (that’s a very big if) this would be a chapter towards the end of this plot that I have created. Anyways enough rambling…

I am an angst over any other kind of genre girly so that’s all this will be :D this seemed better in my head and it ALWAYS does but I just wanted to get it out of my system.

Hope u enjoy xx

Warnings: smut (a little not too much), cheating.

Word count: 3.9k

It was your best friend’s wedding and you couldn’t have been happier. Henry was your rock and pretty much the only family you ever had. He had been with you through everything, all the highs and lows, so he deserved today to be absolutely perfect.

You were helping Luca with his tie and giving him a final check over before he went out to marry your best friend. Luca knew how important you were to Henry and how important Henry was to you. The three of you were practically a throuple. OK maybe not a throuple but anyone who was important to Henry became important to you. They had been together for almost 5 years but knew each other for even longer. 

“He’s here you know...” Luca said “Henry invited everyone from the BAU..”

You raised an eyebrow at Luca whilst finishing up with his tie.

“I know,” you replied simply.

Henry was the one who got you a job at the BAU. He knew almost everyone and if he didn’t, he knew someone who did. He had helped out with several cases and knew everyone at the BAU well, so of course they all got an invite to his wedding which was in London. Henry knew your history with Hotch and that meant so did Luca.

“He has them all staying at the Ritz you know, booked a suite out for everyone,’’ Luca rambled.

“I know,” you repeated and rolled your eyes.

Of course he has you thought to yourself, money was never an issue for him. Not that it was for you either but you were slightly more modest than him.

Luca could sense that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you so he decided to change the topic.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” He asked referring to him and Henry.

“Absolutely,” you confirmed “he needs you Luca, I don’t even want to imagine what he would be like without you. It’s not something I’m prepared to take on” you let out a laugh. “You two have practically been married for the last 5 years, now it’s just time to make it official!” You gave his arms a squeeze.

“I’ll see you out there, no backing out now,” you gave him a wink and Luca gave you a nod with a smile.

You took that as your cue to leave and made your way towards the alter and towards Henry. As you made your way up to the front you saw all of the guests take their seats. You spotted JJ, Will and her boys a few rows from the front, who were staying at your place for the next few days. Emily, Spencer and Garcia were seated a few rows behind them and you spotted Morgan and Savannah seated on the other side of the room. You were trying to find Rossi and Krystall until your eyes landed on someone else. There he was sitting right next to Rossi with a brunette next to him which you assumed was Beth.

“How is he?” Henry’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh?” Was the only thing that came out of your mouth as you slowly dragged your eyes away from the man that left you on pretty much your death bed and then divorced you.

“Luca – how is he? He’s not making a run for it is he?” Henry laughed but behind the laugh he needed the reassurance. He hadn’t been the perfect fiancé and has put Luca through the wringer at times, but there’s no one else for Henry other than Luca and vice versa.

“Stop being stupid!” You swatted him gently, “Of course not! I stopped him just before he got to the fire exit,” you replied playfully.

“Ha ha very funny,” Henry replied dryly, “And how are you? …You know with him being here.. You did say it was okay for me to invite him but I can send him home if you want. Just tell me and I’ll have him escorted out by security-”

“Please stop, it’s fine. Honestly I mean it. We’ve both moved on. I’m with Avery now and he’s with Beth,” you answered. “Besides today is not about me or my woes, it’s about you!”

-

The wedding ceremony was beautiful and it was now time for the reception. You made your way round to all the tables saying hello to the people you recognised until you reached the table you dreaded the most. Thankfully your husband Avery caught up with you to let you know that it was time to make your way to your seat as it was almost time for your speech.

You gave Rossi a smile in the distance before walking back to your seat, avoiding contact with Hotch for now who was sat right next to him.

-

After the speeches were done and the drinks began floating around the room, everyone felt a lot more relaxed. You were listening to the conversation Emily and Avery were having about a book they both had read, until you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“Hi you must be Y/N! I’m Beth, Aaron has told me so much about you!” Beth exclaimed as you turned around to face her.

“Yes hi! It’s lovely to meet you, I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce myself earlier,” you gave her a smile.

It was a genuine smile, she seemed nice and in any other situation you could even be friends. She is not to blame for what had happened between you and Hotch, however you did wonder what kind of things he has told her about you.

“It’s okay don’t worry about it! I understand how stressful weddings are,” she continued and for a second you thought if she had married Hotch without anyone telling you. Your eyes flicked towards her left hand that was wrapped around a champagne flute. No sign of a ring. You cursed yourself for still caring enough to check.

“That’s a beautiful ring” she said bringing you out of your trance.

You followed her gaze which was now on your own left hand. You hadn’t realised that you were twisting your own wedding ring with your thumb, reminiscing about how it felt when you had the ring on that Hotch gave you. It was a lot smaller than the one you have now. It had an oval diamond in the centre with three green sapphire leaves holding the diamond in place on each side. It was a delicate ring and you loved everything about it. Everything but the dreaded memories that came along with it. The ring was now replaced with a big teardrop diamond from Harry Winston and it was beautiful. It sparkled even in the dark and felt almost heavy on your finger. You had to admit that Avery had great taste, the two of you had now been married for almost 2 years.

“Thank you..” you smiled and let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.

“Uhm this is Avery my husband-” you cleared your throat, almost forgetting to introduce him to her.

They shared a few polite words until Beth excused herself. You assumed she had gone to find Hotch as she disappeared into the crowd.

“She seems nice,” Avery said and gave you a small smile. He knew what had happened with you and Hotch and he wasn’t his biggest fan but he was never the one to bad mouth him.

“Yeah she does…” you replied quietly whilst your mind drifted off elsewhere. Emily sensed that you were uncomfortable and resumed her conversation with Avery in an attempt to take his attention off you.

-

It was several hours into the reception and you had stepped outside with Luca and lit a cigarette for you both to share.

You had noticed Beth was in the distance on the phone but Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Today has been beautiful,” you hummed as you took a pull of the cigarette and passed it to Luca.

“It really has been, thank you for helping Henry with the planning,” he expressed.

You both conversed about the wedding and your favourite parts until someone had interrupted you.

“Oh sorry,” your eyes followed his voice, “I thought Beth was out here,” he explained as he looked between you and Luca.

“She is,” you pointed with the cigarette between your fingers “she’s just gone into the gazeebo over there to take a call I think,” you replied.

“Thank you,” he looked into your eyes longer than he should have before he began walking her way.

“Is this the first time you’ve spoken to him tonight?” Luca asked whilst following your gaze that was still on Hotch.

“Yup.”

“There’s an explanation. I am sure he has an explanation,” Luca tried standing up for the man he barely knew.

You didn’t respond and instead focused your gaze on something else.

“You know… and I really shouldn’t be saying this but... I think Henry might’ve had something to do with it,” Luca continued.

“What makes you say that? Has he told you something?” You questioned focusing your attention back on Luca.

“Nope. He doesn’t tell me anything when it’s to do with work and I thank him for it. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant putting your newly husband into witness protection…”

You thought about it for a minute or so and yes maybe Henry was the one who suggested going into witness protection but that still doesn’t explain the radio silence from Hotch even after Peter Lewis was caught.

“I want you to have what me and Henry have,” Luca brought you out of your thoughts once again.

“I have that. With Avery, he makes me happy,” you replied not knowing if it’s the full truth. Avery does make you happy and you love him but you’re not sure if it compares to what you and Hotch had and it seems like Luca doesn’t either.

“Let’s get back in there shall we? I’m sure Henry is looking for you!” You perked up, trying to change a conversation that was becoming too heavy for your liking. 

-

Since you were one of the few people who didn’t drink at the wedding, you decided to give Emily, Spencer, and Garcia a lift back to the hotel whilst Avery, JJ, Will, and the boys got an Uber home back to your place.

The car ride back to the hotel turned into an episode of carpool karaoke with Emily blasting any and every song that came on the radio.

Once you pulled up to the hotel you helped Emily out of the car and then let Spencer take over. You were about to shut the passenger door when you noticed a phone on the seat Emily was sat in.

“You left your phone Beyonce!” You called out to Emily as she was finishing her 3rd run of single ladies from the start.

You caught up with her and placed the phone in her hand, she took one look at it and blurted out that it’s Beth’s and that she had found it by some gazebo outside.

You pressed the lock button on the side and the phone lit up revealing a picture of Hotch and Beth set as the lock screen.

“What room is she in do you know?” You asked Emily but she just shrugged her shoulders and carried on signing. Spencer and Penelope both gave you a shrug signalling that they didn’t know either.

“Right I will just leave it with reception. The three of you get some sleep ok, we have brunch tomorrow!” You shouted even though the three of them were already inside the hotel queuing up for the elevator.

You pressed the lock button once again making the phone light up just to stare at the lock screen once more. With a sigh you then began to make your way into the hotel and walked towards reception.

“Hello Miss can I help you with anything?” The lady asked.

“Uh yes actually, I’m trying to return a lost phone to a friend of mine but I don’t remember the room number. Could you please let me know? It should be a suite under the name Hotchner, they’re here for a wedding,” you smiled hoping she’d give you the information you needed.

She typed away on her keyboard for a few seconds before replying to your question.

“I have an Aaron Hotchner on the system along with a Beth Clemmons sharing suite 107?”

“Yes that’s the one! Thank you so much!” You thanked the lady and made your way to the elevator. Emily and the others were long gone, probably passed out in their beds by now you hoped.

-

You tapped softly on the door waiting for someone to open it and hoping that it wasn’t Beth. You weren’t even sure what you were doing, what you were going to say, what if Beth’s awake, what would happen then?

You had no excuse and no business to be knocking on his hotel door. Well aside from the fact that he left you on your wedding night right after you got shot, had someone serve you with divorce papers as soon as you came out of your coma and you still haven’t had an explanation even though it’s been close to 4 years.

After a few moments the door was gently pulled open and there he stood. Still in his shirt and trousers from the wedding. He looked taken back seeing you stand there in the hallway. Although you were the only one on his mind tonight, you still had caught him off guard.

“Hi…” Was all that he managed to say.

“Hi…” you breathed out. “..Beth left her phone at the wedding reception,” you said holding it up as proof.

You looked behind him and could see 3 mini whisky bottles that were now empty, lined up on the coffee table. On the left you could see two large double doors that were shut behind the sofa. You had assumed that’s where Beth was sleeping as there was no sign of her anywhere else.

“Oh… Well thank you for bringing it here, you didn’t have to go out of your way...”

“It’s okay I was dropping Emily and the others off anyway,” you replied whilst handing him the phone.

As he took the phone from you he moved slightly to the side, almost inviting you in before actually saying it.

“Would you like to come in?” he paused for a moment, “…please come in” he pleaded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you the whole night I just didn’t want to disturb you. Beth’s asleep so you don’t have to worry about her or we could take a walk somewhere,” he went on; desperation clear in his voice.

Instead of replying you walked past him making your way into his room, a completely different side of you taking over.

You made your away towards the sofa, never sitting down just standing in front of it. You turned to face Hotch who closed the door and walked towards you, stopping just a few inches away. You could tell he had been drinking. You had obviously seen him drink at the wedding but he left several hours ago yet here he was emptying the mini fridge in his hotel suite.

You eyed the bottles on the coffee table.

“Rough night?’ You asked but it sounded more like a statement. When you looked back at him his mouth was slightly open, almost as if he was thinking of what to say but no words were coming out.

You tilted your head to the side as you took in his features. He looked different. Good but different.  After all these years had passed, you never knew when you would be able to get a good look at him again, and god how much you’d missed his handsome face. The last memory you had of it was when you collapsed in his arms after being shot during your first dance as Mr and Mrs. You don’t remember much after that, just faint shouting in the distance as your vision went blurry until you eventually passed out in his arms.

“I- um I don’t know what to say Y/N… I don’t even know where to begin,” he expressed. Concern, pain and regret all clear in his voice.

Before he could continue you lifted your hand up in an attempt to stop him from saying anything else. That’s not what you came here for.

“I am so sorry,” he breathed out but you took a step closer to him and placed one of your fingers on his lips to silence him.

“Shh,” you whispered whilst you ran your other hand slowly down his chest stopping at the belt of his trousers. You could feel his pulse quicken as he took in what you were doing.

Never breaking eye contact you began to gently move your hand lower until you reached his crotch. You then began to palm him with a bit more force, feeling him harden underneath your touch. A slight smirk played on your lips as you realised how much of an affect you still had on him, how much his body still responded to you. You believed that you were the only one that could get him this flustered, to get him to cheat on his girlfriend, to get him this hot and bothered over practically nothing.

“Take off your trousers...” you hissed.

The concern and regret was now replaced with confusion and curiosity but he did as he was told and began to undo his belt. You watched him carefully as he dropped his trousers to the floor stopping at his boxers.

“You can leave those on, this won’t take long,” you instructed coldly and pushed him onto the sofa. As he sat down he reached over to switch a small table lamp off, leaving a soft glow on your silhouette that was coming from a floor lamp on the other side of the room.

You lifted your dress and rolled it up stopping at your waist whilst you straddled Hotch. The familiar feeling of his dick beneath you was enough to send you over the edge.

You lifted yourself up slightly using your knees and grabbed him through his boxers, silently thanking him for wearing a pair with the slit. He watched your every move and took in a sharp breath when your hand made contact with him and took another when you gently lowered yourself onto his dick.

You began rocking your hips, savouring every single second. You started to pick the pace up and you felt Hotch move in to kiss you to which you gently pushed his head back with your hand, not wanting any other intimacy other than the feeling of him inside you and maybe you inside of him.

You took two of your fingers and placed them on his lips again, this time using them to part his mouth. You gently slipped them inside and he welcomed it. You decided to push them in deeper. Not deep enough to hurt him but deep enough to your liking. Your fingers felt cold against his tongue.

At that point you knew you were close and so was he, your fingers in his mouth helped him to stifle his moans, whilst you watched him intently. After a few moments you felt him twitch beneath you as he threw his head back when he came and you shortly followed.

You removed your fingers from his mouth and gently stood up lowering your dress back down giving the man you still loved one last look before turning around to leave. Just before you got the door you stopped and turned around, he was now up grabbing his trousers off the floor.

“You left me… I was in a coma Hotch and when I came out of it you weren’t there. You left me Aaron.”

Without giving him a second to respond you left and closed the door behind you.

-

As you stepped into the elevator a thousand thoughts were racing in your head. You began to question yourself on why you had come here in the first place, but you knew exactly why. You wanted to see if you still had that control over him, you wanted to see if you could still have him, if he still belonged to you. And he did. You thought about how your relationship had evolved from being just co-workers to friends from friends to lovers and from lovers to strangers. That’s what it felt like being in that room with him. Just two strangers having sex. That was probably the first time the two of you had sex instead of making love. There was a difference between the two and you knew which one you preferred.

Deep down you knew why he had to leave and most importantly leave without you, but it still didn’t make it any less painful. You had thought back to what Lucas said earlier when you were outside, that Henry might’ve had something to do with it... But the truth is whether he did or didn’t it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He needed to leave, to hide and go into witness protection. Not only for his and Jacks safety but for yours too. It all made sense. Peter Lewis couldn’t hold you over him anymore if you had no connection to him so he left. He left without you and then had you served with divorce papers.

The elevator doors opened and snapped you back to reality. You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. You didn’t want to go back there, you had tried your hardest to move past that part of your life and dwelling about the details and the what if’s is something you didn’t want to do anymore. You had wasted enough time doing that and you’ve moved on since then and so has Hotch. But sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, those thoughts creep back in and they have a way of suffocating you.

“Did you manage to return your friends phone?” The lady behind the reception desk asked with a smile.

“Yes I did, thank you so much for your help again!” You replied and returned the smile.

You made your way to the parking lot and got into your car and made your way home… To your husband…. Who you had just cheated on with your ex-husband. You pulled out of the parking lot and let the memories from earlier fill your mind. You had glanced briefly at your watch and the time told you that is was quarter past three. You groaned at the thought of having to be up before 11 am later that day for a brunch that Henry and Luca had organised with a smaller amount of guests, which included the BAU team.

You had wondered if he’ll be there with Beth or if he won’t show.

To be continued....

Part 2