#i have had quite a busy summer so they have as well it’s canon!

[bobnewbie]

happy summer holidays from the mousas 😊🌅

postcard template by early-grape

[coloursparks]

Not Like That

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC Summary: Things change over the summer holiday with Sebastian, and then things get messy. Might as well spend the first few weeks of your last year fighting about it. WC: 6.1k Notes: Oh god, the first fic I've written in like six years and I am sure it's shit. I am sorry if characterization is off. It takes me a minute?? I also have zero clue if I want this to be canon compliant or not so there's absolutely no mention of Anne or what happened! Also, no beta so please don't be too harsh. I just wanted to have fun writing a thing and hopefully someone else enjoys it!

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“How else am I supposed to look?” you asked Imelda. “Do you hear yourself talk?”

“Do you?” she shot back, giving you the same exasperated look you were giving her. “If you don’t say something about it soon, you’re going to lose your chance. I’m not sure I can hold them at bay much longer.”

“I don’t know what chance you think I should have,” you said, though you didn’t sound as confident about it. The fact of the matter was you knew exactly what Imelda was talking about, and she was right. You hated that she was right.

“Sallow’s come back a foot taller and just bigger and you aren’t the only one who’s noticed,” she pointed out. “Violet’s determined to slip him a love potion. I’ve been trying to tell her he’s already involved, but considering I can’t say who, it hasn’t worked all too well.”

“I hate her,” you muttered, feeling a prick of jealousy. 

“You hate anyone who so much as bats an eyelash at him,” Imelda pointed out. “You can save yourself the trouble but just telling him that you fancy him and snog in the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks already.” 

“Imelda!” 

“Or snog him somewhere else. I happen to quite like the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks for that sort of thing, but to each their own,” she said simply, shrugging. She was unashamed, and part of you envied her for it. 

“It’s not that simple,” you sighed, giving her a pleading look.

“And why not?”

“Because…because…” you stammered, trying to find a reason that would satisfy your friend. When none came to mind as she stared at you expectantly, you groaned and rested your head on your crossed arms on the table in front of you. “He’s going to have a right laugh at me, Imelda.”

“No, he will not,” she said, poking you in the shoulder. You looked up at her, already defeated and resigned to the fact that despite your years-long pining for Sebastian Sallow, nothing would ever come at it.

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“Because Sallow’s a lot of things, but he’s not that cruel. Besides, for all you know, he could be whining to Ominus about how much he fancies you but thinks he has no chance,” she pointed out. “Now, come on. We’ll be late, and Hecat swore to put me in detention if I was late again.”  The two of you stood from the table in the library where you had been sitting, gathering up your belongings before heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

“Why are you so late all the time anyway?” you asked curiously as you held open the door into Central Hall for her. 

“Flying,” she answered simply. 

Of course. It was Imelda - you should have known. 

___

“Mr. Sallow, why must you always duel in my classroom?” 

Professor Hecat was only just leaving her office as you and Imelda entered and seemed too busy repairing the collateral damage from Sebastian’s duel with Leander Prewett to notice the two of you sneaking to nearby seats. The room was righting itself as Sebastian raised his hands up to the professor, taking a few steps away from the dueling platform he had been standing on.

“Because, Professor, there isn’t another place where dueling is sanctioned,” he pointed out, his voice conveying innocence he didn’t possess. You rolled your eyes because you knew full well that dueling being sanctioned didn’t stop him from doing it. Crossed Wands meetings and plenty of adventures proved otherwise, and the look Hecat was giving him also showed she knew otherwise.

“Let’s see if we can make it through the term without you destroying my classroom, Mr. Sallow.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said, raising his wand and muttering a hasty spell to repair the nearby broken desk. It righted itself in one piece, still smoking slightly. “It won’t happen again.” He shot her a smile before heading to a nearby seat. “Imelda, what are you doing here? I didn’t realize Quidditch players needed N.E.W.T.S. Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he chuckled as he leaned forward to look at her.

“I take no chances,” Imelda replied cooly. “You never know what an opponent will do to get ahead, and knowing how to unjinx a broom can’t hurt.”

“If you say so,” he said, still smiling as he shook his head. “And my favorite Hufflepuff returns. I was starting to wonder if you even still went here,” he joked, elbowing you gently in the arm. 

“No, still here,” you chuckled awkwardly, trying to rub the tingling feeling out of your arm where he had touched you. It was ridiculous, letting a simple touch get to you, but everything was ridiculous when he was involved. 

Before either of you could say anything else, Professor Hecat was calling for the class to focus on her so she could teach. You tried your best to pay attention, but the fact you were next to Sebastian was nothing short of distracting. Words came out of the professor’s mouth and you tried to hold onto them, only for them to slip through your fingers because Sebastian was making that focused face he always made when he was trying to learn something, brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue poking out as he scribbled on parchment.

It was the first time you had really gotten to see him up close. Sebastian had certainly grown over the summer holiday – he was broader and if there were any doubts, the way his sleeves were pulled taut over his arms put them to rest. He was a head taller than last year, and you cursed him mentally for somehow having even more freckles. He had left sixth year looking more like a boy and returned for seventh year looking like a man, and you certainly hadn’t been the only one who noticed. 

Part of the reason why Sebastian had joked about not knowing if you had come back to Hogwarts was that you hadn’t been able to get his attention before now. You had seen him on the Hogwarts Express, but he and Ominis had been having such an intense-seeming conversation that you hadn’t wanted to interrupt. You had tried to end up in the same carriage on the way up to the school, but before you could tell him that you had room in your carriage, Violet McDowell was pulling him into hers with Sebastian tugging Ominis in too.

Dejected and a little annoyed, you had ridden up to the school in huffy silence with Imelda and Poppy. 

Outside of trying to wave at Sebastian from the Hufflepuff table after the sorting, you hadn’t bothered to get his attention. He was clearly enjoying the attention of the girls that somehow seemed to find every free space around him. You could have sworn that you saw Imelda notice the upset look on your face, but you decided to jab at your roast potatoes instead of looking at the Slytherin table any longer. 

It was the bell to signal the end of class that shook you from your stupor. You had zoned out watching Sebastian, who blissfully hadn’t noticed the attention. Unfortunately for you, Imelda certainly had. She gave you a look that very clearly said that her thoughts from your earlier conversation hadn’t changed. Luckily, before she could say anything about it, Sebastian was ducking in the way.

“Imelda, Quidditch,” he said quickly, noticing he needed to head her off talking about something, even if he didn’t know what it was.

“What about it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she packed her belongings.

“Tryouts,” Sebastian said simply. “Want to know when they’re happening. Decided to finally try out.” When Imelda gave eyed him suspiciously, like she thought she was walking into a trap of some kind, he sighed and added, “I was told to do something more productive and sanctioned with my time.”

“You’re serious?” Imelda asked. “What position?”

“Beater. You need those, right?”

“We do,” she agreed. She glanced over at you, sighed, and then looked back to Sebastian. “I’m going down to the pitch before Potions if you want to practice before tryouts and I can give you tips to improve.” 

You wanted to laugh. As much as Imelda probably wanted you and Sebastian alone together so you could confess the feelings you still wouldn’t admit to, her love of Quidditch won out. Secretly, you were thankful for it.

“Do you want to join us?” Sebastian asked hopefully, looking over at you. “Get a leg up on your Slytherin competition.”

“Hufflepuff still wouldn’t stand a chance,” Imelda pointed out, and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I’ve got Divination,” you told him, choosing to ignore Imelda’s teasing. 

“You’re still taking that?” 

You shrugged in response. “I like Professor Onai. Plus, someone has to keep Natty company,” you explained. “You two don’t get bloodied up too bad without me.”

“Don’t worry, if Sallow’s any good, his pretty face will stay pretty,” Imelda laughed, and you knew that she was trying to get a rise out of you. Sebastian, thankfully, seemed a bit preoccupied with the comment himself to notice the color rising in your cheeks. You excused yourself with the excuse of not wanting to be late to class before things could get any more awkward.

____

In the weeks after, you had seen more of Sebastian, and then suddenly a lot less. Unsurprisingly, he ended up making the Quidditch team. With the beginning of the Quidditch season coming up, Imelda had them practicing at all hours, meaning that her time to try and press the issue of your feelings for Sebastian was blissfully cut short. 

Luckily, you could at least still spend time with other friends who either didn’t notice what Imelda had or at least had the grace not to press you about it. Without Sebastian around, you seemed to find Ominis on his own more, and the nice part about spending time with him was that he didn’t seem to give a damn about your romantic life nor did he want to divulge on his own the way Poppy and Adelaide had been as of late. You were happy for your friends, but the constant questions about your own because the two Hufflepuffs weren’t as well-versed in your emotions as Imelda was getting to be a little much.

“What do you think you’ll do once you graduate?” 

Ominis had been talking about what his own plans were as the two of you walked toward Hogsmeade. The two of you were friends, sure, but more because you had a mutual friend than because you spent any significant time together before now. You were catching up on the more interesting things now that the two of you were spending time together without Sebastian. 

“When we did career conversations with our Heads of House, I thought I wanted to work for the Ministry but something about it doesn’t feel right anymore,” you told him, stepping out of the way of a witch carrying a stack of books with a cauldron perched precariously on top. “Bit mad to expect a bunch of children to decide what to do with their lives just like that, you know?”

“You sound like Sebastian,” he pointed out, chuckling slightly. “Says he might not bother with curse-breaking at all now. Might want to play Quidditch professionally instead.”

“He hasn’t played in a single game,” you laughed. “The season doesn’t start for another week and he wants to be a professional now?”

“Apparently so.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Well,” Ominis started, “you can ask him all about it later. He’s meeting us here after practice–if Imelda’s left enough of the team.” 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” you said casually, trying to ignore the excitement from the news and the slight feeling of dread. As much as you liked Imelda, you hoped she wouldn’t be joining because you weren’t ready for another round of heavy-handed comments about you and Sebastian. 

“The second I said you and I were going to Hogsmeade, he said he was joining,” he explained, shrugging. “You haven’t seen much of him lately, have you?”

“Outside of classes? No,” you sighed. “He seems too busy for me these days.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” you said, biting your lip. 

You didn’t want to get into it with Ominis. He didn’t need to know how much it bugged you to see Sebastian at meal times, talking to the rest of the team or those girls that somehow always seemed to hang around him. He didn’t need to know how disappointed you were every time you couldn’t even get Sebastian’s attention to say hello, and when you did, half the time he was rushing off somewhere. You felt thoroughly left behind and the fact you cared so much about him made it hurt all that much more. The less Ominis knew about all of that, the better. 

“He’s just been busy with Quidditch,” you replied finally, in too airy of a voice to be entirely convincing. 

Thankfully, he let the topic of your mutual friend slide as you got into the village. You had needed to restock for Potions, and Ominis seemed uncharacteristically cheery in Honeydukes 

and you didn’t have the heart to suggest going elsewhere when he wanted to explore. Leaving close to an hour later with your coin purses lighter but pockets heavier, you managed to get into and out of Gladrag’s with only the new scarf you had intended to buy before heading to the Three Broomsticks. 

“There you two are!” Sebastian was sitting at a table in the corner, waving at the two of you. Your heart skipped at the look of the smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back and wave to show that you spotted him. 

“Would you mind grabbing the Butterbeers?” Ominis asked, turning towards the sound of Sebastian’s voice. 

“Consider it done,” you told him, giving him a pat on the arm before heading to the bar. “Sirona! Can I get two Butterbeers?” She waved to show that she heard you, even as she was dealing with something else behind the bar. You looked around to see if there was other students in the pub, and you spotted a few younger Hufflepuffs and, a few tables over, Garreth Weasley and Everett Clopton discussing something on a piece of parchment in front of them. That was…dangerous. 

The only other table of interest was the one you were heading to, and as you looked over at it, you saw Sebastian looking at you, still smiling. You smiled back, feeling a little silly at how easy it was for him to make you feel the way he did.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Sirona commented as she slid two full glasses in front of you. You whipped around, giving her a confused look.

“What do you mean?” 

“Sebastian’s been watching that door like his life depended on it,” she said. “Waiting for you.”

“Well, Ominis doesn’t come to the village often,” you pointed out, taking your drinks. “He was probably just worried about him and won’t admit it. Boys, you know.” 

“Perhaps,” Sirona said, but the look on her face showed that she didn’t believe what you were saying. You pushed what you owed for the drinks toward her, and picked up the Butterbeer. She left it there, and you headed over to your friends. You placed Ominis’ drink in front of him before settling in the free seat.

“If we don’t win, I’m quitting,” Sebastian was telling Ominis.

“Already?” you asked, giving Sebastian an amused look.

“You have no idea what Imelda is like Captain,” he responded, shaking his head. “She woke us up before dawn this morning.”

“I feel like you knew what you were signing up for,” you laughed. “It’s not like it’s a surprise that Imelda is…intense.”

“But add a little power over people,” he sighed, “and you’ll be playing Quidditch every moment you’re not in class or asleep.”

“Just the way she likes it,” you pointed out, taking a sip of your drink. “I thought you wanted to play professionally?”

“Yeah but…” he trailed off. “When did I tell you that?”

“I told her before,” Ominis piped in. “She talks to you even less than I do. We compare notes,” he added dryly. You laughed at the comment. It was perfectly true. Sebastian and you would talk maybe for a minute before class or after, but Ominis at least saw him in the Slytherin Common Room. The two of you talked about other things, but the conversation would always turn to Sebastian at one point or another. 

Sebastian frowned, but before he could say anything else about it, Ominis was talking about something else. For a while, Sebastian was uncharacteristically quiet as you two chatted about nothing in particular and drank your Butterbeers. Slowly, he became more himself, and you had to admit, it was nice to have what felt like the “old days” back again. It felt like you were back in the Undercroft, and not fighting for Sebastian’s attention. 

Once all three glasses were empty, you stood up and scooped them into your arms. “I’ll go get us more,” you declared, smiling brightly. You didn’t want things to end just yet, so another round of drinks made the most sense. You had barely been up at the bar for a minute when your seat was taken by Violet McDowell. She had pulled the chair closer to Sebastian and was leaning so near him she might as well be in his lap, and Ominis was looking almost as annoyed as you were. Sirona said nothing about the look on your face other than a glance over to your table and a head shake. 

Unable to carry all three drinks, you instead charmed the filled glasses to float in front of you as you headed back to the table. You let the three of them fall with more force than you meant to, causing loud thuds and Butterbeer to slop out over the rims and onto the table. Ominis, who couldn’t know that he should move back the way Sebastian had, got the brunt of the spill.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, more to him than the other two. “Just got away from me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the castle with me?” Violet was simpering, ignoring what had just happened. “You said you’d help me with my Charms work, Bas.” You almost snorted at the nickname but managed to cover it up with a cough.

“I’ll meet you back in the common room later,” Sebastian told her, “go ahead without me.” Violet pouted, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek and look away from her. She was certainly shameless. 

“Fine! But you promised,” Violet huffed before getting up and heading out, ignoring the other two people at the table completely. Ominis was trying to clean up the spilled Butterbeer so he either didn’t notice or care about Violet’s departure. 

“I’m going to wash up,” Ominis said, standing up and shaking his hands. 

“I’m really sorry, Ominis,” you sighed, and he just shook his head.

“Accidents happen.” He disappeared upstairs, leaving you and Sebastian alone for the first time since before the summer holiday. You pulled your chair back to where it had been before Violet showed up and sat down.

Things were quiet between the two of you for a long moment. Both of you seemed more interested in your drinks than speaking, and neither one of you looked at the other. It was Sebastian who finally broke the silence.

“So…you’ve been spending a lot of time with Ominis lately,” he mentioned casually. You shrugged, looking over at him.

“I guess,” you agreed. “You and Imelda have been busy with Quidditch, so it’s just been the two of us.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Is that the only reason?” he asked in the same casual voice, leaning forward as if he was expecting you to spill about some secret mission you and Ominis were planning. It was then that you realized that you hadn’t pulled the chair back all the way, and with your back facing the corner where the table was settled, Sebastian was boxing you in. If Sebastian had looked like he had grown before, close up, he looked to have doubled in size with him so closer now. He seemed almost impossibly broad now, and you felt nothing short of tiny in comparison. You looked up at him, confused, blushing slightly.

“Yes?” you said nervously. “Why would there be another reason?”

“Don’t know,” he responded, settling his arm on the table as he continued to lean towards you, resting his head against his hand. “I haven’t seen you much this year so I thought…” he started, but you cut him off.

“That’s not my fault, Sebastian,” you huffed. “You’re the one who doesn’t have any time for me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Sebastian looked taken aback at your words. 

“You’re joking, right?” you said, leaning in a little closer as you stared him down. “You’ve barely said two words for me outside of class. You don’t bother to even say hi at meals anymore.”

“I haven’t seen you,” he explained, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Of course, you haven’t seen me.” You rolled your eyes, frustration that had been bubbling finally coming to the surface. “You’re at practice or going to class or busy showing off for Violet and those other girls that follow you around.”

“I’m not showing off for Violet,” he shot back. “Or any of those other girls. I’m not asking them to do that!”

“And you’re not telling them to leave you alone either,” you pointed out, temper creeping into your voice. “You sure seem to be loving the attention every time I see you. Why would you bother looking up to say hi to me when you have…”

“What are you two talking about?”

Ominis had reappeared at the table. Sebastian slid back, no longer crowding you into the corner, looking annoyed. 

“Nothing,” he told the other boy. He drained his entire Butterbeer before standing up. “I should head back to the Castle. Quidditch doesn’t leave much time for homework. I should catch up.” He didn’t bother waiting for either of you to say anything before starting to leave.

“Tell Violet we say hi, Bas.” The words were out of your mouth before you thought about it, and there was a small part of you that looked satisfied as a guilty look appeared on his face, but then replaced by a look of defiance. 

“I’ll see you back at the common room, Ominis,” he said and was gone a moment later. You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing,” you sighed. You looked at your drink, not really wanting it anymore. “Can we go back to school? I…uh, I think we’re getting close to curfew.”

“Right,” Ominis agreed, nodding. “Floo powder is faster.”

“Works for me,” you sighed, letting him lead the way over to the fire. 

_____

The first Quidditch match of the season had the entire castle beside itself. You couldn’t share in the enthusiasm-–even fellow Hufflepuffs were excited to see Ravenclaw vs Slytherin—because it meant having to see Sebastian out on the field. Even in classes over the last week, you determinedly avoided so much as looking at him. Imelda, blissfully, was too worked up about the game to notice.

In the end, you decided to go to support her. 

It hadn’t been too bad. Most of the other Hufflepuffs you were sitting with were cheering for Ravenclaw, but you and Poppy were too excited for Imelda to join in. It certainly got you two some looks from people nearby, but the excitement of seeing her score twice in a row made it easy to ignore. Despite your annoyance with him, it was still something else to see Sebastian zip by, sending bludgers toward the Ravenclaw Chasers. 

You weren’t any less glad when you two were waiting for Imelda to come out of the changing room that she was the last one out.

“Sallow went up with the rest of the team before,” she told you as you hugged her.

“I don’t care,” you huffed. “I was waiting for you.”

“Why don’t you care? Could have gotten to him before Violet McDowell did.”

“Why would you want to get Sebastian before Violet McDowell?” Poppy asked, looking between you and Imelda. You led the way back up towards the castle, your friends following behind.

“I don’t,” you responded, shaking your head. 

“What happened?” Imelda asked. “He was strange when I mentioned you before too.”

“Nothing happened,” you said. “He’d rather spend time with Violet McDowell? Fine. I don’t care.”

“Why does it matter who Sebastian spends time with?” Poppy asked. Then, she stopped. “Oh, you fancy him, don’t you?”

“Not anymore I don’t,” you huffed. “Now can we just leave it be?” Poppy, who you two hadn’t stopped for, ran to catch up with you. Imelda just laughed.

“He might be big on reading, but Sallow is as thick as they come,” she chuckled. “Good riddance, I say. You’ll do much better.”

“I always thought you and Ominis were cute together,” Poppy offered. 

“You know, he asked me if there was a reason the two of us were spending so much time alone together,” you half laughed, half scoffed. 

“You’re joking,” Imelda laughed. “When did he come to you with that idea?”

“Met us in Hogsmeade last week. He and I got into an argument and I haven’t spoken to him since,” you explained. 

“How did I miss this?” Imelda asked, and looked to Poppy. “Did you know about this?”

“No! I didn’t even know she fancied Sebastian,” she said, “no one tells me anything, apparently! All these times we’ve talked about who I fancy and…”

“I don’t fancy Sebastian,” you sighed. “At least, not anymore.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You two would be cute together too!”

“I don’t want to ever talk to him again,” you said shortly as the door to the castle swung open. “I also don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“That’s right!” Imelda said brightly, “Outside of Quidditch, Sallow is nothing.” When you shot her a look, she shrugged. “He’s a good Beater, you have to admit. But outside of the pitch, won’t talk to him.”

“Am I still allowed to talk to him?” asked Poppy.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” you replied. 

“Well, you aren’t and Imelda isn’t…” she trailed off, looking between the two of you. 

“I’m just doing it because it’ll annoy him,” Imelda pointed out. “Sounds like fun, right?” You rolled your eyes, putting your hands up.

“Do whatever the two of you wish, but I am not getting involved. I’m going to the library,” you announced. “I have work to do that I ignored to come watch the game.” 

“No fun!” Imelda called.

“What? It’s not like I can join the party anyway.” 

“I’d sneak you in,” she offered. “What about you, Poppy?” 

“No, I really should go check on��” she trailed off, pointing in the direction of the Beasts classroom. 

“No fun, either of you.”

You laughed, waved your goodbyes and made your way upstairs. You were barely a few steps towards the library when a voice made you jump.

“You fancied Sebastian?” 

You spun around to see Ominis nearby. Of course, he’d be in the castle. He probably wouldn’t have even gone down to the game, but leave it to him to be right there at exactly the wrong time. 

“I…” you started, sighing heavily. 

“That was why the two of you argued at The Three Broomsticks?” he guessed. 

“No!” you exclaimed. “Not really, no. I mean…”

“You were annoyed about Violet McDowell and Sebastian leaving to go with her,” Ominous stated.

“How were you not?” you shot back, panicking slightly. He was right, of course, but something about Ominis knowing felt dangerous. You could trust Imelda not to say anything to Sebastian no matter how much she threatened to, but you couldn’t say the same of Ominis. 

“Why didn’t you just tell him how you felt instead of arguing?”

“It’s not that easy, Ominis,” you sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about this. Not with you, no offense. But not anyone else either. Can you just…please don’t say anything about it.”

Ominis shrugged, and you knew that was the closest to a commitment that you’d get. “Does that mean you spend time with me to see him?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you replied quickly. “Merlin’s beard, Ominis. I’m not desperate for his attention like Violet is. We’ve been friends for years.”

“You’ve been friends with Sebastian, and I’ve been friends with Sebastian,” Ominis countered. “I didn’t think we were friends without him until recently.”

“Well, we are,” you stated. “At least I thought we were.”

“So did I,” he said.

“Then there, we’re friends, Ominis. Regardless of whether or not Sebastian is around,” you told him. 

“Isn’t this the type of thing friends talk about?” 

“I don’t know! Not always. It’s not like you go around telling me who you fancy,” you pointed out. He chuckled.

“I suppose not,” he agreed, nodding. 

“Now, can we please never speak about this again?” you pleaded. “I get enough from Imelda and Poppy just found out and now I know I’m never going to hear the end of it. I just want one friend who doesn’t care about my love life.”

“I promise, we won’t speak of your love life.”

“Thank you, Ominis. I really appreciate it,” you told him, breathing a sigh of relief. 

When the two of you parted ways a little while later, you certainly felt better about the fact that Ominis knew. You still couldn’t say for certain if he’d tell Sebastian or not. Their friendship was much longer than yours, but you at least hoped he’d take your desire to leave it alone into consideration. 

The rest of the night was dedicated to you trying to forget about the last few hours and actually trying to get your homework done. The number of people in the common room was keeping you more on task for once. If you looked busy enough, everyone would leave you alone, and you didn’t have to speak to anyone. A few people stopped to say hi, but the fact you weren’t willing to more than glance up to greet them kept you in a mostly solitary corner. 

Just when the common room was starting to clear out, and you were just about finished with your Charms work, when Poppy came through the entrance. You looked up when she called your name, holding your quill over the parchment.

“There you are!” Poppy sighed, pointing towards the door. “Sebastian’s waiting out there for you.”

“Sebastian is waiting for me,” you repeated, letting the ink drip onto your essay. 

“He is,” she confirmed. “He tried to follow me in. I had to promise to come get you.”

“I really don’t want to talk to him right now, Poppy,” you half-whined. You had already had enough uncomfortable conversations about your feelings for one day, and something told you Sebastian wasn’t there to rehash the Quidditch match. Just when you had just about convinced yourself that Ominis was going to keep your conversation between you, Sebastian was attempting to break into the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“He really wants to talk to you,” she said, shifting on her feet. 

“Fine,” you sighed, knowing that Poppy wasn’t going to tell him to go away. “He made you promise to get me to come out, didn’t he?” Poppy nodded, and you rolled your eyes, dropping his quill down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“I’m sorry,” Poppy said quietly, and you offered her a tired smile. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assured her. “I’m annoyed with him, not you. Can you take my stuff upstairs? Just leave it on my bed. Please?”

“Sure,” she said, looking relieved that you weren’t upset with her. 

“Thanks, you’re the best,” you told her. You took a deep breath before heading for the door. You tried to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Part of you wondered why Sebastian wanted to talk to you. Maybe make it perfectly clear that the only person he had feelings for was Violet or something.

When you stepped out into the hallway, it was to the sight of Sebastian pacing back and forth. He paused when you closed the door behind you. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, running his hand through his hair before sighing heavily.

“Sebastian, what–” you started, crossing your arms.

“I don’t fancy Violet McDowell,” he blurted out. 

“What?” 

“I don’t fancy her. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe that Ominis told you,” you sighed, rubbing your face. The squirming you felt in the pit of your stomach was back. 

“You talked to Ominis about this?” Sebastian asked, giving you a surprised look.

“Didn’t you?” you responded, staring back at him. 

“No,” he said slowly. “He wasn’t in the common room when we got back from the match. I thought he was with you until he came back.”

“Then Imelda told you I fancy you,” you guessed. There was no other way he could have found out.

“Imelda knew…what am I talking about, of course, you talk to Imelda about this kind of thing,” Sebastian chuckled, running his hand through his hair again. “No, Imelda didn’t tell me either.”

“Then who told you?” you asked, the squirming getting worse. Sebastian looked at you, a satisfied look and a crooked smile on his face.

“You did,” he replied. “Just now.” 

“What?”

“You just said you fancied me,” Sebastian said, amusement written all over his face. “I wanted to be the one to say it first, but you couldn’t let me.” 

“I…what?” you muttered, voice quiet. The words were hitting your ears, but they weren’t making sense to your brain. You stared at him for a long moment, mouth still slightly open as he still had the same look on his face as he watched you process what he had a few moments before.

“You don’t fancy Violet,” you said slowly.

“I don’t,” Sebastian confirmed, chuckling. “I fancy you and you fancy me.”

“You do?”

“Course I do,” he replied, faltering for a moment before pulling you into a hug. The last time the two of you had hugged was to say goodbye at the end of last year, and you hadn’t been much shorter than he was. Now, though, he could easily tuck you under his chin. You managed to uncross your arms and wrap them around him, and he pulled you in closer. As small as he had made you feel at The Three Broomsticks, you were even smaller actually in his arms and you had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian told you. “About the whole…” he trailed off, sighing. “Fight? That was a fight, I think.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you chuckled, squeezing him before leaning back to look at him properly. “It was about something that didn’t actually happen.” You smiled up at him to show it was all water under the bridge and he smiled back, wider than ever. It wasn’t totally clear which of you made the first move, but then you were kissing and the feeling in your stomach was replaced with the butterflies that you’d felt for the last two years.

When the two of you broke apart, neither of you seemed particularly interested in letting go of each other. The thing that forced the two of you apart was the approaching footsteps of another Hufflepuff trying to get into the common room. Deciding you two needed somewhere more private, you took his hand and led him down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” Sebastian asked, squeezing your hand. However, he made no effort to let go of it, and instead just laced your fingers together. 

“Undercroft,” you informed. 

“Great idea,” he said. “Maybe we can talk about the match later.”

“If we have time,” you told him, rolling your eyes. “I think we’ll be a little busy. We have a month or two to catch up on, don’t you think?” He laughed, tugging you closer, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you walked. 

“Definitely,” he agreed. The two of you were all smiles as you walked down the halls, and you were just glad the two of you were on the same page again. It was even better that the page you were on was one where you were the two of you were planning on spending significantly more alone time together from now on.

[gallusrostromegalus]

So far I count 3 ranking shinigami who didn't start off human (Gin, Komamura, Kenpachi). How common is this? (I'm guessing sort of rare, because if it was common more people would be clocking Gin as nonhuman rather than the creepiest human in the room) And are Komamura's (and his adopted parent's) attempts at hiding it normal for nonhumans? Wait - is *Yoruichi* 100% human?

Its a lot more common in AEIWAM than in canon, and Komamura is in for more than a few surprises once his helmet comes off.

****

"Um. Komamura-Taicho?" A small voice asked from the door.

Sajin looked up- it was early in the afternoon, and the paperwork had slowed down for the first time since Tousen-

-Since the Ryoka incident some three weeks ago. Peering around the doorway was one of the newer recruits to the Seventh Division-

"Miss Fubuki?" He asked. It was a point of pride to have the name of every member of his division memorized within a month of their recruitment, and she had been here some years.

"Yessir!" she snapped to attention, stepping into the doorway. She was a darling thing, with large blue eyes and white hair befitting her name. "Er, Sorry to interrupt, but, um-" She fidgeted with the clipboard she was holding.

"It's alright." he said, putting his pen down and sitting up a bit to face her. "Despite recent changes to my appearance, I do not bite."

She blinked at him for a moment, then grinned, relieved. "My apologies sir- I- I don't think you ever *would*, sir. Captain Zaraki, perhaps but- sorry, that was very rude of me."

"No, he absolutely does, but I believe he considers it a sign of affection." Sajin nodded, and she giggled. "What was it you needed?"

"Well, ah. It is about your um-" she gestured at her own face. "-Lieutenant Hisagi asked for help with this month's newsletter and I- well, I thought lots of people would have questions about you, and I actually couldn't find much about the history or legal standing of... non-human people? in the archives, so, if it's not too invasive, um. Would you be willing to do an interview, of sorts? Less about yourself, really, so much as um. People like you?" She babbled, not quite looking at him, but holding her ground. She was nervous but she seemed more awkward than frightened. A good sign, perhaps?

He considered this for a moment, looking at the clock on his desk. "How long would this take?" he frowned.

"Oh! Um, well, I wrote up like, 20 questions- you don't have to answer all of them, but I figured that would be enough, and- well, I've never actually interviewed anyone before." She considered. "Not more than half an hour, probably?"

"Yes, I think I have the time. I need to be at an appointment at 3:30, but no pressing matters before then." he nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat opposite his desk.

"Oh! thank you sir!" She beamed and sat down, a cool breeze floating through the door after her and Sajin hand to slap down a paper that attempted to flutter off his desk. "Ah- early fall breezes." She nodded.

"Autumn can't come soon enough. Summer is difficult when you wear a fur coat you can't take off." he sighed.

Fubuki looked up at him, then quickly jotted it down on her notepad.

"You have excellent shorthand." he noted.

"Oh! Thank you! I learned it when I was working up North with the central 46's survey team." She smiled. "Um, well, first question, which- well, I know it's not strictly my business, or anyone else's for that matter but, ah- What ARE you, actually?"

"I believe there are a great many introductory primers on different types of animal in the Seiretei library, mostly in the children's section." Sajin teased and Fubuki giggled. "But I understand. There are a great many rumors and some clarification may be in order. I am from a very ancient clan of Beastfolk from the mountains of the east 80th district. There are many types of Beastfolk, but all share some combination of human and animal anatomical features, along with the intellect of men, or better."

"-and your family is.. dogs?" Fubuki asked.

"Wolves." He corrected, and watched her cross out a word and replace it with decided firmness. "Thank you for comprehending the difference."

"I ah, grew up in... not-people wolf country." She nodded. "That does make me extremely sure you don't bite, actually. I lived out in sheep country and never got chased by wolves while minding the herd but the neighbor's dogs were constantly after the lambs."

"Out near Nemuro then?" he asked,the name of a far northeastern district.

"Y-yeah!" She sputtered, taken aback. "-Not relatives of yours?"

"No, but it is where the Court Guard gets the mutton for it's rations from." he nodded.

"Right." She nodded, "So, are there a lot of Beastfolk?"

"Not quite so many as there are humans in soul society, but yes, a great many. There aren't cities per se, because most of us move with the seasons, but there are places where SOMEONE is always passing through, and permanent structures have been established." he explained.

Fubuki nodded. "-And does the soul society have, like? Treaties with these people? Or are we just not in contact that often?"

"Oh no, we have several standing peace treaties with the Beastfolk. It's how I came to meet Yamamoto-sotaicho, actually-" He laughed quietly.

Fubuki looked up, curious. "We do? I swear I went through the entire xenobiology section..."

"-They're in the archives under Resource Management and Clan Politics." He explained. "The most recent one was the Bo River Border Treaty in 1552, which forbid any industrial practice by anyone from Soul Society to occur east of River Bo. Several of the clans had designs on clear-cutting the old-growth forest there for profit, despite it being home to a great many Beastfolk and minor Kami. The captain-general's interest was originally more in preventing the clans from accumulating the kind of wealth that would allow them to establish armies or operating 'company towns' or other chicanery so far from court guard. I was asked by The Forest Guard to act as a negotiator because I had a good reputation with the humans in the east from working as a priest, but perhaps more because I was one of the few people that ah, actually spoke human."

"Wait, wait, wait-" Fubuki interrupted, scribbling as fast as she could. "One- you used to be a priest?"

"I still am, if needed." Sajin smiled. "I specialize in exorcisms and ritual purification so it wasn't much of a jump for me to become a Shinigami, especially after the captain-general asked me to come and gave me a letter of recommendation."

"Huh. I applied here as soon as I was old enough and could afford to, so all I ever did was odd jobs before this. I guess it never occurred to me that some people might have had whole careers before becoming Shinigami." Fubuki considered, writing. "Second- that was like, half a millennium ago? How old are you?"

Sajin cocked his head at her, smirking.

"Sorry! I know, you're not supposed to ask people that I just- I don't know, I thought you couldn't be much more than 200 at most for some reason, but if you were already a priest 500 years ago-?"

Sajin laughed. "I'll take it as a compliment then- I'm Seven Hundred and Twelve."

Fubuki blinked. "...You're almost as old as Ukitake-taicho?"

"Oh, he'll love to hear that- he's almost Nine Hundred" Sajin grinned, affectionately teasing the young thing.

Fubuki frowned, eyes darting around as she tried to do some mental math. "Er. If I can ask something potentially offensive?"

Sajin nodded.

"...How old is that in Wolfman years?"

Sajin somewhat literally barked a laugh.

"I mean- well, there's calendar age and life age for shinigami and Ukitake-taicho is Eight Hundred Eighty-Nine, yeah, but he's also like, in his mid-forties? What's er, what's Seven hudred twelve in Wolfman life age? Is it like Shinigami where people age at different rates and you're way older than most wolfmen or everyone ages differently or are you guys all multi-centurians or -?" Fubuki babbled, trying to clarify, another cold gust coming in through the window and scattering papers, interrupting her.

"No, no- I understand, it's just very funny." Sajin smiled as he picked up the top of his inbox from the floor. "-Weird, the forecast said it was supposed to be hot and sunny all week but I wonder if we're getting rain?" he muttered.

"I- I wouldn't know." Fubuki muttered, hiding behind her clipboard. "I always forget to check the weather."

"Don't worry about it- before I tell you, if Ukitake is in his Mid-forties, how old do you think I am in the same relative Life Age?"

"Um..." Fubuki studied him for a moment. "...40? 42?"

Sajin chuckled.

"I'm way off, aren't I?" She groaned.

"You share the same good judgement as the captain-general, if it makes you feel better. I was... two hundred sixty-three when we met, and even though I was quite young, I was already taller than Yamamoto-Sama, and for the first few hours we knew each other, he'd only heard me translating his words into Wolf for the Beastfolk- most of the languages are mutually intelligible, to a degree- and not my Human voice. "The meeting was attacked by Private Forces hired by several of the interests of the logging and mining corporations, and of the noble houses, and we were forced to fight back- Not knowing any better, I was sure The Forest God would be well-protected and able to fend for themselves, but the humans looked very small, so... I put myself between the attackers and Yamamoto-Sama." He sighed, deeply embarrassed.

Fubuki failed to stifle a laugh.

"In hindsight, that was ridiculous! Like a mouse defending a bear from a bug! But, it apparently impressed him and he very generously offered me a full scholarship to Shinigami Academy, both as an act of peace between Soul Society and Beastfolk, and because he liked 'the cut of your jib'." Sajin said. "...I'm still not entirely sure what a Jib is or how you cut it."

"Wow!" Fubuki perked up, writing as fast as she could. "...But you didn't- er. I also looked you up in the archives before coming in- But you didn't enter for another three centuries?"

"Ah. You see, you and the captain-general misjudged my age in the same fashion. As I had to explain to him then, I couldn't join the academy because-" Sajin nodded solemnly, clearing his throat and scaling his voice up a few octaves like it had been back then "-In human years, I'm only ten."

Fubuki snorted loudly, buckling over her clipboard and laughing hysterically. "What?" She yelped between giggles.

"I'm only 22 in Human Life Age now!" Sajin protested, mock-offended and Fubuki laughed even harder.

"Oh no! Oh no!" She gasped. "I said forty because you seem really calm and mature, but you're actually REALLY calm and-"

Something small and hard clattered to the floor and rolled under the desk and Fubuki abruptly went silent.

"Miss Fubuki?" he asked.

"I. I dropped my pen." She sputtered, crouching down from her seat and searching for it.

"...The pen behind your ear?" Sajin asked, leaning over to peer down at her.

"Oh, uh, that's a spare but I don't want to lose this one-" She said, voice shaking now.

"I think it rolled under here-" Sajin said, pushing his chair back and looking in the footwell of his desk. "-Hm? What's this?" he muttered, reaching down and picking the strange object up.

It looked almost like a small pearl, except it was perfectly spherical and translucent, nacreous colors shimmering deep into the smooth stone. "What a lovely thing this is..." He muttered, turning it over. "Did you lose an earring or something?" He said, offering it back to Fubuki-

She looked awful.

All the blood had drained from her face, and her expression was one of dire terror, eyes fixed on the small stone in his fingers.

"...Is there something you want to tell me, Miss Fubuki?" Sajin asked, voice gentle. -and his other hand on Tenken's hilt.

"What's the actual legal status of Nonhuman Persons in Seireitei?" She asked, slowly looking up at him, face gaunt.

Sajin regarded her for a long moment before lightly dropping the shimmering stone in his pen tray and sitting back, shoulders down and hackles low. "The law makes no distinction between human and non-human persons. If someone has a Soul Security Number, they're a citizen of Soul Society, and therefore entitled to the same protections and expected to follow the same regulations as everyone else."

She stared at him for a long time, lip trembling, and then back at the stone. "You're sure?" She asked, voice barely a whisper.

"I am entirely certain. I was present at the writing of those laws, which were amended after the River Bo treaty." He nodded.

"-but you hid your appearance for so long?" she asked, trembling in her seat.

Sajin looked out the window, a gesture of nonaggression. "I was not afraid at first, especially after meeting Yamamoto-sama, and to tell the truth, I was never frightened of humans harming me- but as I grew up and reached my adult height and lost the puppyfat, humans began to avoid me. "Less than twenty years after I met the general, I was trying to help a woman caught in a river current and when she saw me swimming toward her, she swam deeper into the current, rather than let me get close. It was a near thing, but after I managed to catch her arm, she screamed bloody murder the whole way back to shore and sprinted away from me as soon as she felt solid ground." he explained. "It... hurt. To see someone so frightened of me, and I took to keeping my face hidden so I could move about without accidentally terrorizing people."

Fubuki peeked up at him, not writing anything down, arms wrapped around herself. "...and? Since you stopped wearing your helmet?"

"...Everyone has been so kind. A few awkward questions at worst, but someone went through the snack cabinet and removed all the raisins and grapes, and someone else got rid of that wretched weathervane on the roof with the shriek I don't think most humans can hear." He smiled, a little sad. "I feel foolish, that I did not trust my friends and colleagues, who trained with me, who swore to die with me, and who trust me to lead them- I am sorry I didn't trust them sooner."

Fubuki nodded slowly, still ashen, eyes still fixed on the glittering stone.

"...but I am strong. Physically intimidating. An Apex Predator. People in general would prefer to avoid such confrontation, but that is not the case for all- What did you call us?" he asked.

Fubuki looked up at him, shaking. "N-nonhuman persons, sir."

"-for all of us." Sajin smiled gently.

Fubuki nodded, silent.

"...You're from Nemuro, right?" he asked. "Beautiful country up there- and cold- it's high in the mountains and in the north-most corner of the eastern districts. How long have you been with the Seventh Division, Miss Fubuki?"

"Three and a half years, sir. Straight out of the academy." She croaked, voice raw and frightened.

Sajin nodded. "Three and a half years here, six at the academy, and it probably took you several months to travel from Nemuro to Seireitei."

"Yes, sir."

"About ten years ago, there was a terrible case the tenth division had to handle in the living world." he said, deliberately not looking at Fubuki. "A human gangster had managed to kidnap an Ice Apparition somehow, and had imprisoned and tortured her for the purpose of creating Hiruseki Stones, which are the solidified tears of an Ice Apparition."

Fubuki shuddered, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she finally gathered the words together. "...Yukina is my first cousin, sir."

Sajin nodded, giving her space to speak.

"...when she got home alive, we were all so relieved, but- Oh gods. The things he did to her. And men are no better on this side of death- you know what they were going to do to Mononoke Forest! So- so- So I figured, the closer I am to danger, the farther I might be from harm? Nobody never think to look in the court guard for another Ice Apparition, we're all out on frozen mountaintops, not working in the building next door!" she laughed, high and terrified.

"It's- Everyone here is so kind, and- and- and- it's like you say, we trained together, we fight together, we die together but- but you're never really quite sure, are you? What's going to happen, when the cat gets out of the bag?" She grimaced up at him, before returning her gaze to the stone.

"I- I was devastated, when Aizen- you know. But the next day, when Lieutenant Iba came in with the news and told everyone to get rid of the grapes and the weathervane and oil the door to the storage closet- I was. I was so stunned and- and- I had this crazy idea that it'd be alright. It'd be alright if everyone knew. It would be okay to laugh for real at jokes or to come to work if I have hayfever making my eyes run or- or to just have a damn cry like everyone else in the division did that day." She continued, teeth bared like a fox in a snare.

"Is it?" She asked, blinking up at him, the rims of her eyes bright red. "Is it going to be okay, sir?"

Slowly, Sajin sat up and delicately picked up the Hiruseki stone.

Fubuki watched him, shaking.

Carefully, he set it in the middle of the blotter on his desk, put his thumb over it,

-And crushed it into a fine dust.

"I promise, it will all be alright, Miss Fubuki." He said offering her an open hand as he swept the dust off his desk like it were common lint.

She slowly reached up, fingertips delicately touching his, before suddenly bolting out of her chair and hiding her face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"I'm Sorry!" She wailed between wet, ugly sobs. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry-"

"There is nothing to apologize for." Sajin sighed, gently embracing the girl, letting her hide her face in the fur of his neck as she crumpled against him, crying like a child. He could feel the fur under her getting coated in something wet, then cold and hard- the nacreous coating of Hiruseki stone coalescing on his chest.

"Uh. Sir?" Iba asked, sticking his head in the door.

"Its alright." he nodded. "Miss Fubuki has been very brave and a crisis averted."

"...cool?" Iba nodded, still puzzled. "Does she want a juice box or something?"

"Miss Fubuki?" he asked, peering down at her. Her face was red and eyes bloodshot but the horrible terror was gone.

"Um. Yes. Please? Thank you?" She mumbled, standing up and about to wipe her eyes off on her sleeve when Sajin stopped her and handed her a handkerchief instead.

Iba clicked his tongue and pointed a finger gun at them before vanishing back down the hall.

"...You realize that thing was probably worth more than the entire Kuchiki fortune, right?" she giggled from behind the handkerchief., still shaking.

"Then I will need to come up with more embarrassing stories from my youth when the next Widows and Orphans fundraiser comes around." he shrugged.

Fubuki sob-giggled from behind the handkerchief.

"I say that entirely in jest. You are under no obligation to provide any form of fundraising, least of all by that means." He explained, tone serious again. "-nor do you need to tell anyone, until you want to. Nobody will hear it from me."

"Thank you sir." Fubuki sighed, finally pulling the cloth away, trying to fold it, and making it snap instead. "Oh, for fuckssake- I'll get it clean somehow sir-"

"Keep it." He smiled and she finally managed to give him a weak grin back. "...If I may make a request for you to take under consideration though?"

"Yes, sir?" Fubuki asked, perking up a bit.

"Mrs. Oyashiro is scheduled to retire in a few weeks, and I will have an opening for a new secretary." Sajin explained, sitting back and fiddling with a pen. "Relatedly, you seem to possess a strong sense of operational security, and take excellent shorthand. Even more importantly-"

Komamura leaned back in his chair, pointing to a tree in the courtyard visible through his window, upon which a large thermometer hung. "-As you can see, it is a disgustingly hot Nintey-Four degrees outside and probably similarly humid, but your mere presence here has lowered the temperature in my office to a very pleasant Fifty-Eight degrees."

"Ah." Fubuki snickered, genuine this time. "Summer is hard when you're wearing a fur coat you can't take off?"

"You understand me exactly." He nodded.

"I'll put my application in, Sir." She bowed.

"Thank you. I also look forward to reading your interview."

"Oh!" She straightened up, and grabbed the clipboard. "Um, yeah, I think I have enough but, well, one last question?"

"Yes?" Sajin asked, ear cocked.

"...If you weren't afraid of people, and you grew to trust that people wouldn't be afraid of you- what was the hardest part of keeping your identity concealed?"

Sajin stared into the distance, thinking for a moment.

"Actually? Not making a million canine-related jokes a minute." he smirked. "-Pup's out of the bag though!"

"Oh no," groaned Fubuki, grinning.

[artzee-bee]

Forever my love | Adrien Agreste x reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Requested by @oyasumimosura

Summary: friends to strangers to lovers with a no-so-happy ending

Genre: some fluff, angst

Warnings: canon typical violence (maybe tuned up a notch tho), death

A/N: my google doc for this piece is 10 pages long and it’s went through at least 4 alternate endings before getting here. I got this request months ago and have been working on it since, whenever I can. I hope this is alright because it’s been a journey...

~~~

There was no ‘first memory’ with you. Not one that would come to Adrien’s mind anyways. It felt like you had simply always been in his life. The only thing he remembered was you and your mother, entering the Agreste mansion as if it was your own, almost every Sunday. His mom would welcome both of you with wide arms and offer you tea, and biscuits, which you would snuck to Adrien’s room. Your favorite have always been the ones with strawberry jam filling.

And then you’d play for hours! Building fortresses out of chairs and pillows, racing toy cars around the room, saving plush animals from the imminent danger of Adrien’s rocketship and so on. Not a single moment spent with you felt boring! Your presence was addictive, the joy, the excitement you brought with yourself every time was something Adrien couldn’t understand at the time but now, as an adult looking back, he could easily recognise it as love.

But the world has its own way of never quite letting you be happy enough. The memory of your last playdate, as well as the day his parents told him you were moving away, were very hazy and unclear. For years he refused to revisit them, the sorrow too great for his young, immature self to know how to handle. Now, there was only one sentence he could remember you saying, clear as day. One promise that gave him more hope than he could put in words. “We’ll keep in touch”.

You exchanged letters the whole time you were away!! Of course, they could never be a substitute for the time spent together but Adrien learned to appreciate them deeply. He took his time responding to each of them and always nervously awaited your response. Years went on like that! Every summer you’d promise to visit and every time Adrien would have the displeasure of having to read, in your flawless and delicate handwriting, that your parents canceled the trip for whatever reason.

Eventually, he decided it was best to move on. In the time you had been gone many things changed: he grew up, got big in the fashion industry, started school, became the new black cat miraculous holder, made friends! His life became overwhelmingly busy and the precious memories you made together faded away without notice. He found joy in other things and in his new friends! Your letters no longer brought the excitement they once did and consequently, he always postponed replying until eventually, it all stopped.

Much to Adrien’s shock, almost exactly a year after losing contact, he saw you! He had been transformed at the time, having just finished defeating an akuma when he saw you exiting a coffee shop down the street. He couldn’t believe his eyes and had it not been for the alarming beeping of his miraculous, he probably would have stayed petrified on top of that roof much longer. Once detransformed, he tried to go looking for you but to no avail.

It wasn’t until a week later that he finally got to talk to you again. Natalie reached out to your family and arranged for you two to meet. That Friday afternoon, you had lunch at a pizza place that you didn’t recognise. He looked the same. Same innocent glimmer in his eyes and ecstatic voice. It almost weirded you out how much it seemed this boy never changed. But of course, you weren’t right. Many things have changed.

Adrien tried his best to be open and friendly. To him, it felt like no time had passed at all, but you were so quiet and shy. A subtle frown was visible on your face from the moment you arrived and you barely looked him in the eyes. The air around you felt thick with discomfort, which was extremely frustrating to Adrien. He wanted to ask what’s wrong but found it so difficult to speak his mind until, eventually, you opened up yourself.

“Why did you stop writing?” your voice didn’t betray any feeling of anger or sadness and yet, Adrien was instantly washed over with guilt

“I’m sorry. I wanted to but…”

“Was I not worth it?”

“What?” Adrien couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you were just as still and cold as before

“Because, you see, when we were kids you were one of the most important people in my life. You were my best friend and I honestly thought we would never ever be apart! No one could ever break us up! And I put everything I had into not losing that, convinced that you’d do the same for me! Because your friendship was worth more to me than any number of kilometers between us!” your words fell out quickly and stung him “Was I not worth fighting for, Adrien?”

He didn’t know what to say! He wanted to tell you he was just stupid and made a grave mistake. That you were more than worth it, but the words were stuck in his throat.

You didn’t speak after that. Adrien was heartbroken but figured you were already so mad at him, it would only make it worse if he kept pestering you on.

Eventually, one night, after patrol, he saw you! It was already way after dark and you were just strolling down the street all alone. A sense of anxiety overtook him and he knew he couldn’t go home just yet

“Good evening pretty lady!” he greeted you, full of glee. “The streets can get pretty nasty this late at night, y’know? Hope you don’t mind if this street cat walks alongside you for a while.”

“Hello Chat Noir!” your voice was so smooth and warm “ I’d really love that. I was actually quite uncomfortable walking alone.” “Well then, fear not!The bravest and strongest hero in all of Paris is right here at your service! Did I also mention the most charming?” you giggled to his silliness

Adrien was ecstatic to get to talk to you again, like old times. He finally felt like he got his friend back! He didn’t even realize how big of a hole your absence had left in his life. After that night, he would accompany you everyday on your evening walks and, soon enough, you began hanging out at your house. Oftentimes he would knock on your bedroom window shortly after you got home from school and more often than not, he would spend hours at your place. You did almost everything together from playing video games to watching movies, cooking, gossiping. He would tell you all the fun stories he had with Ladybug from their patrols and would blush a little when you began laughing uncontrollably. It was just too cute.

With all this joy, still there was an ounce of pain at the idea that you didn’t know who you were really talking to. Almost every time you called him Chat, his heart would sting a little. He liked being Chat Noir. He loved it even. With you however, it just felt like one big lie he could do nothing about. He wanted you to look at him and see the boy from all those years ago. To look at him and call him by his name. To rejoice in old memories, instead of him having to pretend he hears the story for the first time. Adrien couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying you by simply being here, knowing how mad you were with his civilian self. When those thoughts got to him, he felt more alone than ever, but you almost always picked up on it

“What’s wrong?” you would ask and the sweetness of your voice ran like ice down his body. You would not be this kind if you knew

“Absolutely nothing, I am doing wonderful” he’d say through gritted teeth

“Sit down and talk to me!”

“I can’t. It’s personal” which you knew really meant “It would put my identity in danger”

So you would shut up. You’d make tea or let him have the last cookie as a sign of solidarity. To let him know you still cared. Sometimes he would ask you for hugs, which you would indulge him in. You’d wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tight to your chest, trying to convey all the love and care you had for him in that one gesture. Almost always, the hero would melt into your embrace as if he’d never been held before. His head would rest on your shoulder and his blonde locks tickled your neck and cheek.

Confessing to you was the biggest risk he ever took, which meant a lot considering his occupation. It happened after yet another game of cards lost by Chat. It had been what felt like his 15th loss of the night and in a futile attempt to protect his remaining dignity, he slipped

“You’re only winning cause I love you too much to let you lose!” the cocky attitude dropped instantly as he processed his choice of words. You were just looking at him, a little quizzingly, unsure if you heard him right.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do”

The brightest smile overtook your features instantly “Good. I love you too!”

It was difficult for a long time. The secret identity issue became even greater with the new level of intimacy that was expected with the start of a romantic relationship. On top of that, Adrien was pretty clueless. You were his first girlfriend, the first girl he ever fell in love with, the pressure was high. He wanted to be the best boyfriend there was! He brought you many gifts, big and small. He spent as much time with you as he could, he always told you just how much you actually meant to him. The blush on your cheeks and the witty comebacks made him melt through his seat every time and with every happy memory he made with you came the unmistakable pain of never really being completely honest with you. On one of your sleepovers, the feelings were overwhelming Chat more than he thought was possible

“What’s going on Chat?”

“Nothing darling. Just tired”

“Come on, you know you can’t fool me! You’ve been quiet all night, it’s really unlike you”

Adrien’s mind went empty when you sat on the floor in front of him, lightly running your fingers over his leather clad ones. The trust and love in your eyes was so mesmerizing. No one had ever looked at him like that and for a split second he imagined your reaction if you knew who he was. He wondered if you’d kick him out. Break up with him here and now and never want anything to do with him ever again. He imagined the anger in your voice, the betrayal. And then, he considered, briefly, a different option. A scenario in which you’d hug him tight and kiss the top of his head, and there’d be no more lies. No more secrets, no more of these impossible feelings that were tormenting him. That smile, that bliss, engulfed his mind and he felt powerless in the face of hope.

“I’m sorry” he said weakly

“For what?” and before he could think for another second, talk himself out or consider the consequences of his actions, he did the only thing he felt was logical

“Plagg, claws in”

When the green light vanished and Adrien found himself back in his normal clothes, he didn’t muster to look at your face

“Chat, what are you doing?” finally, he glanced up, only to find you curled up on the ground, with your hands over your eyes. You hadn’t seen him

“It’s ok.”

“You detransformed?”

“Yes…”

“Chat you can’t do that.”

“I want you to see me” he tried to sound confident, but it came out almost as a plea.

“What about Ladybug?”

“I’ll deal with her later. It’s ok. I swear”

“Chat…”

“Please”

Adriean reached out to pull your hands away from your face, but your eyes were still closed

“Chat?”

“Yes?”

“Before I look, I want you to know that I love you regardless of who you are. If you’re doing this because you think I can’t love you fully without knowing your identity, if you’re doing this for me, please know that this won’t change anything. I want you to be comfortable with this, ok?” Adrien blushed, feeling tears well up in his eyes

“I want to do this” he kissed your knuckles “if that’s ok with you”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and Adrien felt his heart beating out of his chest. Your face went soft and your eyes welled up with tears and you looked at eachother. You couldn’t muster a word and neither could he. He took this as you being disappointed and let go of your hand, only for you to grab it once more, much harder than before. Finally, tears came rolling down your cheeks, as you whispered a simple “I love you”

That night, neither of you could stop crying. The liberation of all secrets and all lies felt divine and finally, Adrien felt like he was 100% safe for the first time in his life.

Many things changed after that. Adrien got a serious scolding from Ladybug, since he couldn’t lie to her about what he’s done. She wasn’t as mad as he expected her to be, so in the end it was all worth it when you began showing up to the Agreste mansion to hang out. It was hard for Adrien to find time to spend with her during the day but Natalie was always so understanding of their relationship and tried her best to squeeze in an hour or two here and there for you! Now, Adrien could hold your hand and take you to his photoshoots. You facetimed more often and it finally felt like you got the relationship you were always meant to have.

~~~

Paris looked beautiful from the top of the Eiffel tower. Chat took you here many times before. It felt so romantic being up there with your best friend, the boy of your dreams! You felt so powerful looking down at all the lights and cars passing by and at the same time so protected by his tight grip around your waist. Nothing could hurt you if he was there, with or without the costume! But the arms holding you now were much slimmer and much less concerned with your safety. You knew you shouldn’t look down from the edge you were standing on but it was so hard not to. Lila was manic next to you, laughing and shouting about her imminent victory, taunting the two superheroes that were struggling to catch up.The tiny robots Lila could control with her powers had kept Ladybug and Chat Noir busy for just enough time to allow the akumatized girl to take you with her, away from the scene and up here.

“Be careful with what you do next Ladybug, otherwise the girl gets it!” the taunting manner in which she spoke felt hardly like Lila. You never found her to be a particularly pleasant person to be around but the malice with which she spoke now was so unusual!

She kicked your shin, making one of your legs drop off the edge. Had it not been for her holding onto your forearm, you would have dropped. You could see Ladybug and Chat approaching but they were so far away and it felt like they were moving so slowly. A cry ripped through your chest as you hung there, your life in the hands of this girl you couldn’t even recognise anymore.You were trying to pull yourself back on the ledge with your other foot before she kicked that one too, swinging you in the air by your arm.

“Oh oh, but you’re so far away little Bug? Whatever are you gonna do if my hand …slips?” she let go with a chuckle.

Chat couldn’t see anything around him anymore, all he saw was your helpless body falling from the sky! He screamed your name but he was still so far! Ladybug threw her yoyo, trying to form a net below you, but the speed at which you were falling was much greater than anybody expected. You fell right through the net, breaking it to pieces and hit the ground with a hard thud. Chat screamed, Ladybug was speechless, all the while Lila was laughing on her way down!

“Chat, get her! I’ll handle Lila!”

That’s all it took. Chat was looking down at your unconscious form before he knew it. You were so bloody and so limp in his arms.

“Don’t!” you whispered when he tried to pick you up

“It’s not safe for you here, I need to hide you away!” he almost screamed, too relieved to see you alive to be able to control himself

“It’s over Chat!”

“Don’t talk like that! You will be ok! I will make you ok!”

“I’m tired…”

“No, don’t do it! Focus on me, focus on my voice! Can you see me?”

“You have to protect the people…”

“You are the only one I have to protect! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to catch you, I’m sorry! Please! Please let me protect you!” tears were streaming down his face and he found himself thinking that he would sell his soul to switch places with you

“Chat, I love you” you said through your own tears

“Don’t say goodbye!”

“I’m not”

“I love you Y/N! I love you so much, please don’t leave me alone! I can still save you!” he laid his head on your chest, not believing his own words

“I’ll always love you Adrian!” you whispered in his ear, kissing his temple with the last of your powers

~~~

“You need to hurry up, Adrian needs to be at a press conference across town in one hour and we’re already behind schedule because of you!”

“Nathalie, stop that! Everyone is doing their best here.”

“This photoshoot was supposed to be over already!”

“Maybe you should go have some water while you wait, yeah?” Adrien was trying to be nice but he felt really bad about the way Nathalie was speaking to the makeup artist. He knew they were very busy and Nath was under a great deal of stress but still, he felt it wasn’t fair to the girls working hard to get him ready.

“I’m sorry about that! She’s a lovely person, it’s just the last couple of days have been really hard for her”

“Oh, it’s alright, sir. Trust me I’ve seen much worse before” the young girl replied “Plus, I would imagine that making the switch to become a full time model would bring on a lot more responsibilities on her side.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Adrien chuckled. “If you would have told me last year, when I was still in school, that my schedule would be even more packed as a graduate, I would have probably given up modeling then and there. Now I just deal with it.”

Adrien observed himself in the mirror, thinking back to his high school days. He tried to remember what he looked like, although that was very difficult. He knew his hair was much longer now, reaching just below his chin. He thought his face was a bit slimmer and many people told him he put on a healthy amount of muscle in the last couple of months, but  he was still himself, just 20.

“If you don’t mind sir, we need the first couple of buttons of your shirt undone for the next set. I will add a little contour to the collarbones and then we’re done”

Said and done, with the first few buttons open he looked even more manly than before.

“Um, I think we should take the necklace off if you don’t mind…”

Eyes shot down to his chest, where a tiny silver ring on a chain hung, barely glistening in the lights around.

“Yes, that’s alright” he said, although he never liked taking it off. There was always a worry in the back of his hand about misplacing it or something and the thought was simply unbearable, but he understood.

“That’s a very beautiful piece of jewelry”

“Thank you!” he looked down at the ring twirling it between his fingers. It was so simple, he wasn’t used to receiving compliments on it, even from the select few that got to see it. A simple golden band with a round diamond in the middle. It was so small for him, he could never get it more than halfway down his ring finger. “It belonged to somebody I cared a lot about.” He remembered how hard he worked to get your ring size, all those years ago. It was difficult to do it behind your back, since you had always been so good at reading his body language, you always knew when he was up to something. He remembered all those nights spent on the internet, looking for the perfect ring for you! He knew it needed to be simple but sometimes it was so hard to talk himself out of buying one of the big and glamorous ones. He just wanted to spoil you rotten and if he didn’t take the chance to do that when he was buying your engagement ring, then when would he? Finally, after weeks, he finally found this one and fell in love. It was perfect for you and you were gonna love it. The day it arrived was one of the most exciting times he experienced in the last decade, he could still feel his heart pumping now, at the memory.

“They can’t wear it anymore so I just keep it!” in fact, you had never even gotten the chance to try it on, but those details don’t need to be shared. Still, thinking about the incident, taking place only 2 weeks after he got the ring, hurts him to no end. He was planning the perfect engagement, a grand romantic gesture to make all your dreams come true but now he felt sorrow and regret, wishing he would have simply ran to your door the same day that package was delivered to ask you. At least then you would have known, you would have had the chance to say yes.

“I’m sure they were an incredible person” Adrien only nodded to that “Well, you’re all done, you can head to the set now”

“Thank you, I’ll just drop this off to Nathalie and go”

The pain of not having you around would never go away, Adian had accepted that as a fact! You would always be there for any anniversary or birthday, achievement or simply on lazy days when his mind would wonder. Nothing made the sting of not being able to hold your hand go away but at least the ring, your ring, would comfort him in those moments.

[beskarandblasters]

okay pls just like SOFT Cass on Niamos before he gets arrested having just a soft beach vacation moment with the reader thank u xoxox

Summer Fling, Don’t Mean a Thing

Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Cassian Andor Masterlist

Author's note: I tried to follow Star Wars lore in this one so you need to know that sunscreen oil = Star Wars version of sunscreen, bathing togs = bathing suits, revnog = alcholic beverage and peezos = poppers/pills

Summary: You're working at Neptune's Resort, a beach front hotel on the planet Niamos. And that's when you meet a mysterious stranger with a lot of credits who calls himself Keef Girgo. What started out as you just showing him his room turns into the best summer romance of your life.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, drinking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (pull out method lmao), oral sex (male and female receiving) little bit of nipple play, fluff, Cassian being a romantic, semi public sex, drug use, some light jealousy, angst, pet names (sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n

It’s another typical day for you at Neptune’s Resort on Niamos; standing at the front desk and checking people in. It’s the officially busy tourist season for Niamos and you should've had your break forever ago. But the line at the front desk has been endless; a non stop flow of travelers from all corners of the galaxy. 

Finally the line is starting to let up. One last guest walks up to your desk and you’re already captivated by him; dark hair, dark eyes and an accent that you can’t quite place where it’s from. 

“I’d like a room, please.”

“Sure thing, let me check what our availability is, sir,” you say, scrolling through your holo-pad. 

You feel his eyes scanning you as you search for a room for him. And to his luck there’s one left. But it’s one of the most expensive rooms in the whole resort with an ocean front view. 

“So we have one room left but it’s four hundred credits a night…”

“That’s okay.”

“Oh, s-sure. Let me get your reservation set up for you.” 

You’re surprised. The man in front of you doesn’t look like he comes from money particularly. Yet he’s already pulling out the credits for the first night’s down payment and setting them on the desk. 

You slide the credits into your hand and put them in the drawer before returning to the holo-pad to finish setting up his reservation. 

“Name?”

“Keef Girgo.”

“And how many nights are you staying?”

“Uh, I don’t really have a set amount of time. At least a week or two.”

You raise an eyebrow before returning your gaze back to the holo-pad. 

“Right well this room is available for another week but after that we could move you to a different one if you plan on staying longer.”

He nods and you hand him his key hard. 

“Go all the way down the hallway and at the end make a left. It’ll be the first door on your right.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the key card from your hand. 

You walk out from behind the desk, just looking to take your much needed break. But Keef asks, “Oh, are you showing me to my room?” but not in a rude, expectant way; almost like a hopeful tone. 

“Oh! S-sure I can show you.”

You lead him down the hallway and feel his gaze all over your backside as you walk. And though you can’t see it, his eyes gravitate to your hips and the way they sway when you walk. You hang a left and stop at his door. 

“Well here you are,” you say, turning to face him. 

“Thank you,” he says, stepping closer and leaving only a small gap between the two of you. His eyes meet yours before trailing down to your face to your lips. 

“Y-you’re welcome. Enjoy your stay! See you around,” you say before walking back to the lobby. You hear the beep of the key card opening his door behind you and you turn to get one last look at him, only hoping to get a glance of him from behind but to your surprise he’s already looking at you. He smiles at you and gives you a small wave. You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment so you turn on your heel and quickly walk away. You walk through the lobby and go down another hallway past the resort gift stop, heading to the break room. The door slides open and you walk inside with a heavy exhale, closing your eyes. 

“So who was that?” you hear a voice ask.

Your eyes fly open and you see your coworker, Mara, sitting at a table across the room. You walk over and pull out a chair, sitting down across from her. 

“Who?”

“That last guy at the desk! You went down the hallway with him.

“Oh you saw that?”

“Mhm.”

“Just a guest. I was showing him to his room.”

“I didn’t realize you did that for guests,” she says, a smile spreading across her face.

“I don’t! He just… asked?”

“He asked??”

“Sort of? I was just going to my break and he asked if I was showing him to his room.”

“How long is he staying? And what room?”

“At least a week or two. One of the ocean front rooms.”

“Oh so he’s got moneyyy. You might have a new friend for the next few weeks.”

“You’re funny. He’s just a guest. Are we still on for drinks tonight?

“Of course I am, girlfriend. See you later after my shift!” she says, getting up from her chair and heading back out into the lobby. 

You spend the rest of your break trying to forget about the mysterious guest who checked in today. But frankly, you spend the whole rest of your shift doing just that; trying to forget about him and his eyes. So that when the end of your shift comes you’re excited to drink with Mara and finally have a chance to forget. 

You change out of your work uniform and into clothes you brought with you for tonight. You head to the Neptune Resort lounge and find Mara sitting at the bar. It’s packed tonight, filled with patrons of all different species, smoke hanging heavy in the air. You walk across the room to the bar and sit next to her. She already ordered you a drink, revnog. She slides it across to you. 

“You’ll never guess who’s here?” she says, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Hmm let me guess. The new clerk from Arkie’s you have a crush on?” 

“Shh don’t be so loud!” she laughs, playfully slapping you on the arm, “And no, not him. Your new favorite guest,” she finishes with a tilt of her head. 

You turn your head to the direction she gestured to to see Keef sitting at the opposite end of the bar. And he happens to be looking directly at you. You give him a small smile before turning back to Mara. 

“Go over there and talk to him.”

“What? No, it’s girls night!”

“So? He’s not going to stay here forever. Go over there!”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll do it.”

You watch her face shift from excitement to shock; she’s looking at something behind you. You turn around to follow her gaze to find Keef standing right behind you, drink in his hand. 

“I’m gonna go to the ladie’s room!” Mara bursts out before shooting you a wink and walking away.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly. 

“Hi. I heard you two talking and I figured I’d just come over to you.”

Shit, he heard all that?

“Ahh I’m sorry about her. Her voice carries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he laughs.

“So where are you visiting from, Keef?”

“Coruscant.”

“And what do you do there?”

“I repair droids. Are you from here?”

He does that thing with his gaze again, shifting from your eyes down to your lips and then back up to your eyes again. 

“Born and raised,” you reply. 

And a simple conversation filled with small talk turns into playful banter in no time. Your body language goes from stiff and controlled to open and comfortable. You sip your drink and lean into him, your hand grazing his bicep. Your touch lingering on his skin even after you remove your hand. And sure, the alcohol is loosening you up a little. But talking with him feels natural the longer it goes on. The conversation keeps going back and forth, never missing a beat.

Before you know it the space between you two is getting smaller, so small that you can smell him. He smells like the sun, saltwater, and sunscreen oil. You look closer at his face, the apples of his cheeks and his nose a little sunburnt. He must’ve gone to the beach today. And all of a sudden you’re picturing him walking out of the ocean; his hair wet and slicked back, water droplets hanging off his bare chest, the sun hitting him perfectly. Now your eyes are exploring his face; his nose, his dark eyes, the stubble growing in, his lips…

Without a second thought you’re leaning into him and pressing your lips against his. You take in all of him; his scent, his stubble tickling your face, his hand on the small of your back, the taste of alcohol on his lips. You pull back for a second but his mouth follows yours, not wanting the kiss to end. His hands caress either side of your face before returning his lips against yours. His tongue brushes against your lips, asking for access. You want to give it to him but you’re also painfully aware you’re in a crowded lounge right now and that there’s other people at the bar with you…

You pull away and worry flashes over his face, like he’s afraid he did something wrong. 

“Do you mind if we go-”

“Back to my room?” he finishes, as if he read your mind. 

“Yes, please,” you say, grabbing your bag off the back of the stool. 

You turn and scan the room for Mara, just wanting to tell her you’re leaving. You spot her sitting at a table in the corner of the room with a drink. You start to walk over to her but she waves you off and mouths “Go!!”

You shoot her a smile and wave goodbye before interlocking your hand with Keef’s and exiting the lounge together. The walk back to his room is playful, both of you swaying back and forth and hanging off one another. You reach his room and he fumbles around in his pocket for his key card. He finds it and scans it on the sensor but not before giving you a sloppy kiss, not able to keep his hands off you. As soon as the door is open he pulls you inside. You laugh at his eagerness to have you already. Because the second the door closes you’re up against the wall being showered in kisses and his hands roaming your body. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, tugging at his locks lighty and eliciting a soft moan from him. Your senses become overwhelmed, completely enveloped in every aspect of him. In a rhythmic push and pull the both of you end up at the bed in the middle of the room. You sit on edge, pulling off your dress over your head and watching his eyes scan your form and his mouth fall open. You expect him to get undressed, too, but instead he falls to his knees right in front of your legs. He spreads your thighs apart and hooks his fingers at the seam of your underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. His hands move to your sides, applying pressure ever so lightly to get you to lay down. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You oblige and lay down on the bed, closing your eyes in anticipation. You feel his warm breath at your core and it sends a shiver up your spine. He chuckles at your sensitivity to just his breath before licking one slow stripe up your cunt which sends even more shivers up your spine. His tongue goes straight to your clit, lapping small, quickly circles around it. But when he starts sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves that’s when he’s got you arching your back and gripping the sheets. His fingers slide up and down your entrance, marveling at how soaked you're getting. He removes his tongue from your clit for a moment, much to your chagrin. But that’s quickly replaced by intense pleasure as he slides a finger into your cunt and replaces his tongue on your clit. His tongue and his finger work simultaneously, mirroring each other perfectly. One hand continues to grip the sheets but your other hand moves to his hair, tugging at it and pulling him even closer into you. You feel him slide a second finger in and you know you’re not going to last. You grind your hips into his face and hand and before you know it you’re coming against him. The muscles in your core contract and release erratically as you close your eyes in pleasure. Your release soaks his hand down to his wrist and coats the lower half of his face. He lets you ride out your high, leaving his tongue on your clit and fingers inside your cunt, just getting joy of feeling your cunt cum thanks to him. But eventually the movement of your hips slows down and he removes his fingers and mouth before removing his clothes, tossing them on the floor in a strewn about pile. He sits beside you on the bed and looks down at you with complete adoration in his eyes, watching the rise and fall of your chest and the way your lashes fan out on your face when you close your eyes. 

“Ready for more, sweetheart? Or are you tapped out?” he chuckles.

“No, no!” you blurt out, probably a little too quickly. 

You move up farther on the bed, resting your head on the pillows by the headboard.

“Where do you want me?” you ask.

“Just like that,” he says softly. 

You nod and spread your legs open. He situates himself between your thighs and brings his hand to your cunt again, collecting your wetness in his hand. He spreads it onto his cock, giving it a few strokes before aligning himself with your entrance. He grabs your hand and pushes into you slowly, studying your face for your reaction to him. You let out a small gasp, keeping your eyes locked with his eyes as he begins to thrust in and out of you. He pins your hand above your head, keeping intertwined with yours while he picks up the pace, driving his length deeper into you. Your walls tighten in anticipation of a powerful release and he can feel it. 

“You can do it, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he says looking down at you. 

With one last slam of his hips into you you’re coming around his cock, your cunt fluttering around him. He holds in his own orgasm as long as he can so you can finish riding out your high. And when you’re done, he pulls out and paints your stomach in ropes of cum before laying down next to you on the bed. 

Panic starts to overtake you. The intrusive thoughts kick in telling you to leave. But instead you’re enveloped in Keef’s scent, the soft sheets, and the warmth of his touch. Running away can wait until tomorrow morning. For now, you rest. 

-

The morning light peaks in through the curtains. You roll over on your side and see Keef sleeping peacefully next to you. And that’s when the memories of last night start to hit you; the lounge, the kiss, the walk back to his room, the sex. You sit up and rub your eyes. You’re a little groggy from the post-sex sleep and the alcohol. But thankfully you’re not hungover. Although you’re feeling sick with something else; regret. You’re not one for one night stands to begin with. And he’s a guest at your place of work for crying out loud. But… you did feel a connection with him last night. Then again, it could be the alcohol talking…

You get out of bed and quietly as you can so you don’t disturb Keef. You look around the room now that it’s light and you’re not drunk and preoccupied and it’s nice to say the least. The room is complete with a bed in the middle adorned with soft cream colored sheets and a large attached bathroom. These are the most expensive rooms in the whole resort, you’ve never even stepped in one of them in your time working here. It makes you wonder… does a droid mechanic make enough to stay in a room like this for an indefinite amount of time? Coruscant is an expensive place to live but the lack of plans to leave Niamos has you contemplating. You look down at him sleeping on the bed and your mind starts to wonder… Who is this man?

You grab your underwear from the floor and slip them back on. And that’s when he stirs for a moment. You stop what you’re doing and wait for it to pass. When you think you’re in the clear you pick up your dress and start to step into it. But just as you get one leg in, Keef wakes up, his voice stopping you in your tracks. 

“You’re leaving?”

“Uhh-”

“Do you have to work?”

“Well no, but-”

“So stay.”

“What?”

He moves to the side of the bed you’re standing at and looks up at you, taking your hands in his. 

“Stay with me.”

“You want me to?”

“Of course I do.”

You sit beside him on the bed. “Okay… what do you wanna do today?”

“We could go to the beach.”

“Sounds good! I just have to go home and get my stuff. I went to the lounge straight after work.”

“So you need a bathing tog?”

“Yes, but I can just run home real quick. I don’t live far-”

You cut yourself off when he gets out of bed (still completely naked) and walks over to the refresher. He comes back with a handful of credits and says, “Here. Go to the gift shop,” reaching his hand out to you.

“Keef, I can’t. This is really generous but I could never.”

“It’s on me,” he says, grabbing your hand placing the credits in your palm with a couple of his hand. 

“O-okay, do you want me to go now and meet you back here?”

“Sounds good,” he replies, followed by a tender kiss on your lips.

He goes back into the refresher and turns the water on. You finish sliding on your dress and put on your shoes before tossing the credits in your bag and heading out. You’re painfully aware that it looks like you’re doing the walk of shame in your place of work, complete with sex hair and last night’s clothes. You try to keep your gaze on the floor to avoid making any eye contact with your coworkers. But as soon as you enter the lobby you hear Mara’s voice coming from the front desk. 

“Well look who it is!” she laughs.

You look up and make eye contact before walking over to her, cheeks going hot with embarrassment. 

“Could your voice be any louder?” you tease.

“Sorry, just couldn’t help but notice someone had a really good time last night. Last night’s clothes, matted hair– You spent the night!”

“Indeed I did.”

“Are you going home now?”

“Not exactly… he asked me to spend the day with him.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Really? What are you guys doing?”

“Going to the beach. And then I told him I didn’t have my swimming togs and he gave me credits to go buy some at the gift shop??”

“Girl, what did I tell you? He’s got moneyyy and you have a new little friend,” she jokes, adding a sarcastic emphasis on the word “friend”. 

“It was just one night.”

“Most one night stands don’t continue into the next day… or spoil you.”

“Okay fine! Maybe you’re right.”

“Do you like him at least?”

“I think I do.” “Well then go get your bathing togs and get back to him already!” she says, shooing you away, “But just know I’m living vicariously through you.”

You laugh and wave to her before walking across the lobby to the gift shop. You pick out a set of bathing togs, a matching two piece in your favorite color, and head to the checkout counter. The clerk is one of your coworkers that you don’t know that well but even she could tell that you’re here in yesterday’s clothes. You avert your eyes from her as she cashes you out and hands you your bag, hastily giving her the credits needed before getting out of there as fast as you can. 

I just need to get to the beach already, you think to yourself, picking up the pace as you walk back to his room.

You knock on the door for him to let you in and he answers the door shirtless still but dressed in his own bathing togs. He steps to the side and lets you in. The door closes behind you as you go to hand him the leftover credits but he shakes his head and says, “Keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into him, pressing a kiss on your temple.

You lean into him for a moment, just allowing yourself to just be held by him before pulling away to change. He watches you as you get undressed and though you were just naked with him last night you’re feeling a little self conscious. But you look over at him and the way he’s watching you and your ill feelings melt away. All thanks to the way he’s admiring you. You finish changing as he comes up behind you in the mirror beside the bed, draping his arms around your shoulders. Every time he touches you it sends little currents of warmth throughout your body, leaving your stomach swelling with butterflies. 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” you respond, examining your joint reflection in the mirror. 

He lets go to grab the towels and the two of you are off to the beach. His hand interlocks with yours as you walk down the steps to the crowded coastline. Luckily there’s an open cabana left. You drop off your bag and the towels before heading to the ocean, spending time floating in the gentles for a while. The conversation between you and Keef never hits a lull; always lively like you’ve known each other for ages. You have strangely deep and meaningful conversations with him even though you only met the day prior. You can genuinely feel yourself falling for him but you mentally chastise yourself for getting so attached already. 

Eventually the two of you head back to the cabana and lay down in the sun. But not before helping each other apply sunscreen oil on each other’s back and shoulders. You can’t help but notice the way he tenses up underneath your touch and wonder if he’s feeling the same as you do. 

You lay down underneath the sun together, conversation still flowing effortlessly. Except this time it does go quiet. But not in an awkward way. Instead he rests his head in your lap, closing his eyes and resting peacefully against your soft skin. You bring your hand to his hair, stroking it gently and feeling him melt into your touch. The sun hits his resting face perfectly, highlighting every detail of him. You get the sense he desperately needed rest like this. 

And so the two of you stay there for a while, him sleeping soundly in your lap as you people watch and admire the rolling waves. He’s going to feel guilty when he wakes up, for just falling asleep on you like that. But you don’t mind in the slightest. 

-

You fell asleep, too. The both of you waking up feeling a little cooked, a slight tan gracing his face. He apologizes profusely like you predicted but you do your best to reassure him that you didn’t mind. 

But now it’s nearing the end of the day; the end of your day off which means back to work tomorrow. And you really need to get home. You walk back to the resort with him, hands intertwined again. 

You turn to face him on the edge of the resort overlooking the beach and say, “I’d stay with you longer but I really have to get home.”

He nods like he understands but he also asks, “Will I see you again?”

“Of course you will. You know where I work,” you tease. 

He pulls you in by the waist for one last kiss before you part ways. You can’t see it but he watches your silhouette walk away until you’re out of sight. 

You go home that night still trying to comprehend the twenty four hours. And when you’re bed you find yourself still trying to comprehend everything as you drift off to sleep. 

-

Three days have passed. The resort got unfortunately extremely busy. You had to stay late the past two nights. Which meant no time with Keef for you. 

But today you finally get off work somewhat earlier in the day and Mara asks while you’re in the break room, “Another girls night tonight? Or are you too busy with your new friend?

“Actually I haven’t seen him in a while,” you reply, trying to mask the disappointment in your voice. 

“Girl why not? You know what room he’s staying in. Just show up.”

“Mara, please. I’d never do something like that.”

She sighs. “So girls night it is then?”

“Sounds good. After I get out I’ll go home and change.”

“See you tonight, girl!” she says as you leave the break room. 

You finish out the rest of your shift, only about two hours, and spend the rest of the night silently hoping you’ll see Keef again at the lounge tonight. You start to walk home and that’s when you see him across the resort closer to the beach talking to… a woman.

Jealousy starts to course through your veins but you try to stop yourself before you let it overtake you. It was just one night stand but one night stand’s don’t typically last all the way throughout the following day. And he indicated he wanted to see you again. You can’t help it. The jealousy is fully manifesting now. But instead of going over there and causing a scene you just shake your head and walk home, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. You get home and decide to try and make yourself feel somewhat better. It’s girls night again tonight and if you’re brave enough you can find someone to replace Keef in no time. The resort is littered with rich guests. Although that’s not why you liked him in the first place…

You put on a dress, one that’s black and hugging your form in all the right places. You do your hair and makeup before leaving to walk back to the resort. You enter the lounge and scan the room for Mara. The lounge is even more packed than it was the other night. You weave around tables and slide past groups of people talking before you reach the bar at the back of the room where you find her sitting. She takes her bag off the stool she was saving for you and says, “Someone looks good tonight. Are you hoping to run into a certain someone?”

“Actually, no.”

“No??”

“I saw him talking to a woman on my way home.”

She sighs. “Men… They’re all the same.”

You both order a round of revnog from the bartender, downing it quickly and trying to have fun. But you’re in a mental battle with yourself. Part of you feels hurt; hurt because you thought maybe you felt something with Keef. But on the other hand you feel stupid for getting so attached to a one off fling. 

But eventually after a few rounds Mara sees a guy across the room she wants to talk to. Her gaze shifts back to you with pleading eyes. 

“Go! Have fun!” you tell her, shooing her off. 

She did the same for you the other night. It’s the least you could do.

So that leaves you drinking alone at the bar. You’re sitting and quietly sitting on your glass, facing forward when you feel a presence on your left hand side. You turn your head slightly and see not Keef but another man sitting beside you.

“What’s a lovely lady like you doing here by yourself?”

“Girls night,” you reply nonchalantly. 

“I don’t see another girl here with you,” he responds.

You tilt your head in the direction of Mara and say, “She’s over there talking to someone.”

“Maybe that’s what you should be doing.”

You turn your head fully and get a good look at him. He’s not terrible looking but the way he’s “flirting” (if you could even call it that) has you turned off.

“Should I?” you ask playfully.

He spreads his arms open as if to show off himself and says, “It’s all right here for ya.”

Ugh. At least he can keep you occupied while Mara’s gone. And so the two of you talk for a while. You learn his name is Sal and that he’s visiting here from Alderaan. The conversation is okay but eventually it goes stale. You zone out and look past his face, just wanting the night to be over at this point. And as you’re zoning out you see none other than Keef sitting at the end of the bar, his dark eyes fixated on the two of you. You can’t help but notice how tight his jawline is and the way he anxiously taps his fingers on the countertop. Is he… jealous?

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” you say to Sal, downing the rest of your drink and exiting the lounge, not waiting for a reply from him. You’ll worry about your tab later.

You wait in the lobby and pace in anticipation, wondering if your exit worked. And sure enough Keef follows you into the lobby, jaw softening when he sees you alone. His face relaxes as he pulls you into him by the waist, happy to just be with you again.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

You don’t say anything at first. You’re unsure of how to feel and how to respond. 

He senses something off and asks, “Are you okay?”

“I guess I was just a little jealous when I saw you with that woman earlier today…” 

“What woman…?”

“Earlier this afternoon,” you respond, cringing in anticipation of his response but also at yourself for even making this a thing. 

“Oh sweetheart, I was just asking for directions to the Arkie’s.”

“Oh…” you say, looking at the floor and feeling a little silly. 

“But it’s cute that you were jealous,” he says, grabbing your chin and turning your face towards his.

“Oh you mean like you were just now?” you tease. 

“Mhm,” he says, not even denying it. 

He leads you off into the direction of his room, arm still around your waist. He stops at his door and scans the keycard, pulling you into his room. 

“So, sweetheart… Do I have to show you that I only want you?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you blurt out.

He chuckles at your eagerness and softly says, “On the bed.”

You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and about to pull off your dress over your head. But he doesn’t want to wait. He pushes you down lightly on the bed, kneels on the floor and spreads your thighs apart. He brings his mouth to your entrance, taking note as to how wet you are already. He licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt to drive you insane, flicking his tongue around your clit at the end. He hooks his arms around your thighs bringing your cunt as close to his face as it can go, completely inhaling your scent and your taste. His tongue moves back down to your cunt, leaving his nose to rub against your clit. You move your hips against his face, getting off on the feeling of his tongue in your cunt, nose at your clit and his stubble tickling your thighs. Not before long you’re coming against his face, your cunt spasming against his face erratically as you ride out your high. You coat the lower half of his face in your release and he laps up every last drop, making sure to comment on how good you taste. When you’re done he pulls away and stands up, getting undressed and ready to fuck you. But you want to pleasure him for once. You bring your hand to his groin, cupping his balls and stroking his already hard cock. He curses under his breath and says, “Baby you don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” you say, looking up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Okay,” he says softly, closing his eyes. 

You bring your mouth to the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it before taking him in your mouth. You take in his length, as far as you can go, and wrap your hand around the part that won’t fit. Your other hand cups his balls slightly as you bob your head up and down, listening to all the sounds he’s making. He brings a hand to your hair and holds it gently, never really pulling on it. You feel him tense up and you know he’s close. He pulls out of your mouth, not wanting to finish just yet and moans, “Need you. Now.”

You oblige and pull off your dress before laying down on the bed. He positions himself in between your thighs before inserting his length into you, both of you sighing at the familiar feeling. He places your legs on his shoulders and drives his cock into you deeper and deeper, hitting the most perfect angles inside you. You look up at him as he continues fucking you, chest slick with sweat and his hair getting messier with each slam of his hips. Between all that and the way he’s looking at you with pure lust in his eyes it’s almost like sensory overload. He brings his hands to your breast, caressing the outline of them before bringing them to your nipples, bringing them to stiff peaks between his fingertips. The added sensation brings you to the edge. You cum around him, your cunt convulsing him like a vice. He keeps fucking you through your release, prolonging it and almost going to the point of over stimulation. But then he pulls out and coats your abdomen with his cum. He lays down next to you on the bed, pulling you into him so that you’re spooning. He traces the outline of your body with his hand as you rest together, coming down from the evening’s activities.

“Have I never told you how beautiful you are?” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. You’re perfect,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“You’re sweet.”

“You could stay with me, you know.”

“Hm?” you ask, feeling the sleepiness already taking you over.

“Mhm. Stay here with me. The commute to work will be so short,” he jokes.

“Okay,” you whisper, closing your eyes and letting sleep consume you.

-

Two weeks have passed since he asked you to stay with him. In the back of your mind you wonder how he has enough credits to do this and when he’s eventually going to leave but you try not to think about it. You’re loving how he treats you and how he makes you feel so you decided you’re just going to live in the moment and enjoy yourself. 

He did have to move into a new room after a week, switching to one with the same layout but a few floors higher and a gorgeous view. The resort’s also been pretty busy. And on the days you work late it’s night to just walk into a room there with a warm bed and someone to hold you at night. 

On your days off you two either spend time at the beach or around the resort. And since meeting him you’ve grown into the habit of drinking revnog and taking peezos when you’re really looking to have fun. 

And that’s the case for today; another one of your days off. The beach has been really crowded all day so you’ve spent the day in the hotel room, twisted in the bed sheets, drinking revnog and popping peezos. Nightfall is approaching and you’re standing on the balcony with him when he says, “Let’s go to the beach.”

“Now? It’s getting dark out and this beach has a curfew.”

“They don’t patrol it at night. I’ve been watching from here,” he says, eyes scanning the beach as people start to leave.

You know what, why not?

“Okay,” you respond. 

When it’s fully dark out the two you leave the room and walk down to the lobby where you see Mara at the front desk. She glances at the direction you’re headed and pieces together you’re going to the beach. She gives you a knowing look and mouths “Have fun!” You shoot her wave and continue walking with Keef. 

You get to the beach and it’s so peaceful at night when it’s not packed with tourists. You pick out a cabana at the water’s edge and lay there together, just watching the waves. The moonlight illuminates his face and you think again just about how happy you are.

“I wish you could stay forever,” you say softly and also subconsciously. 

“Who says I can’t?”

“I mean you have to get back to Coruscant eventually.”

“Right…” he says as if he just remembered something unpleasant.

It falls silent between the two of you, both of you retreating to watching the waves. He has an uneasy look on his face, like he wants to say something.

“Can I… tell you something?” he asks, his nervousness evident in his voice.

“Of course.”

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here or where I’m going next but for whatever time I have left with you… I want you to know my name.”

You’re silent, letting him talk freely because it looks like this is a real internal conflict for him. He grabs your hands and says, “My name is Cassian. And I know this is going to sound so suspicious but no one else can know… I just wanted to hear you call me by my real name when we’re together.”

You take a deep breath and say, “Okay, Cassian.”

He smiles and kisses you before you lay down again. The voice in the back of your mind is louder, telling you that this guy is bad news, that you should get out while you can. But the voice is still just soft enough for you to ignore.

His hand grazes your thigh and you decide that you want him. You want to fuck him and call him by his real name (which is much better than Keef anyway). You part your legs and let his hand travel up your thigh. He pushes the fabric of your underwear and shorts to the side, bringing his fingers to your entrance. 

“Do you want me, sweetheart?” he says softly. He knows the answer, he just wants to hear you say it.

“So bad, Cass,” you respond, the tone of your voice getting breathier at his touch.

He slips a finger into your already wet cunt, pulling a sharp gasp from you. He curls his finger upwards against your walls as you grow wetter around him. He slips another in and your walls expand around the thickness of his digits. In no time, he pulls your first orgasm from you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you ride out your high. You do your best to keep quiet, keeping your moans controlled as you soak his fingers.

He removes them from you and slides off your shorts. He pulls off his shirt and hastily removes his pants, desperate to be buried inside you already. He gathers your wetness on his hand and slicks his cock before entering you slowly, closing his eyes at the warm and inviting feeling. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt and curses under his breath. His hands grip your hips as he thrusts in and out of you, brushing your g-spot with each thrust of his cock. You look up at him with the moonlight and stars behind him; truly a sight to behold, your lover above you pounding you on a beach with the beautiful sky above him. He grabs your hand with one final thrust you’re coming around him. Unlike before you can’t keep your moans back, letting them flow out freely and he loves it. 

“Tell me how good it feels, baby,” he says.

“It’s so good, Cass. So big.”

Due to your praise he’s at edge, pulling out of you swiftly and coming on your stomach yet again. He lays down next to you and pulls you into his chest. He presses a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Thank you… for understanding.”

“Of course, Cassian.”

“I just love being here with you.”

“Me, too,” you whisper back.

It melts your heart just how comfortable with you he is. You know he’s still not telling you everything about his past but you can tell it’s hard. And you can tell he desperately needed this time to relax and enjoy himself. There’s so much history and pain in his eyes. And you want nothing more than to just be there for him.

-

A week has passed since Cassian confessed his real name to you and you’ve gotten more used to calling him that. He hasn’t mentioned any plans of leaving just yet and you not so secretly hope he’ll just stay forever, whether at the resort or in a place of his own on Niamos. 

It’s your day off again and you wake up in his bed again, naked and wrapped in the bed sheets. You hear the refresher going and call for him, “Cass?”

“Just washing up, sweetheart,” he responds. 

You roll out of bed and get up just as he’s leaving the refresher, shirtless and skin still glistening. 

“What are you doing up? Rest, baby.”

“But-”

“Shh rest. I’m just running to Arkie’s for more revnog and revnog, okay? Got any requests?”

“Hmm the green ones,” you say, retreating back to the bed. He bends down and kisses you before pulling on his shirt and saying, “You got it, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” you sigh as you hear the door close. 

You lay in bed for a while before deciding to wash up yourself. You get dressed and sit on the edge of the bed and it dawns on you… he’s been gone for an unusually long time. Arkie’s isn’t that far from here and he was only grabbing two things. Where could he possibly be?

Eventually nightfall rolls around and he’s still not back yet. You don’t dare to make a missing persons report because of the secrecy around his name. So instead you just feel helpless. 

It’s the next day now and there’s still no sign of him. He paid for two more days in his current room and you opt to stay there just in case he returns. But he doesn’t. When it’s time to check out of the room you gather his things and take them back to your place, still holding onto hope that he’ll come back.

But days turn into weeks and still… nothing. You’re starting to think he just played you. That he just had you when he could because you were convenient. But then again when he told you about his name and how much he loved spending time with you he seemed so sincere. The constant back and forth in your mind is eating you up inside.

Mara notices he’s gone and brings herself to ask about him one day in the break room.

“Haven’t seen your friend in a while,” she comments.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“I’m sorry, girl. I guess it was just a summer fling.”

You let out a long sigh. Just a summer fling indeed. 

Part two: This Love Came Back to Me

Soooo I don't really do tag lists anymore but I'm really excited about this one so I tagged who ever interacted with the announcement post and some folks I thought might enjoy this based on my other Cassian fics 🥹

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[wildflowerteas]

The Second Perspective ♠

A masterthread/post of all the easter-eggs, fun facts, and references to literature, BSD canon, film noir, and history included in my Soukoku fic, The Second Perspective.

♠

The Timeline ->

1958 to 1978

The gap of twenty years was super intentional. By the late 50s, McCarthy was censured by the senate, the Second Red Scare and anti-Soviet rhetoric were slowly losing public support and popularity. My choice to include the Rats in the House of the Dead was mediated by that fact. The late 50s is also when the LAPD and law enforcement across the country started making psychological evaluations ( of suspect quality ) mandatory, starting in Northern California, actually. Kinsey's publications in 1948 and 1953 were explosive--especially to the stifling, extremely heteronormative, nuclear-family morals of post-war 50s America. In 1970s, the term 'Serial Killer' officially enters the public's vocabulary. Despite not being an ongoing investigation, the re-opening of the Angel's Ripper case aligns with what is called the 'golden age' of serial killers. The 'second look' and the desire to re-sensationalize the case is due to Detective Dazai's belongings turning up, but also timely, as it would feed into the public's paranoia and fascination. I took some liberties with Los Angeles's mayoral election schedule ( which, if I'd been meticulous and historically accurate with, would have had TSP take place in the early days of 1977 or late in 1976 ). Los Angeles in the 70s was also suffering from serious smog--almost 200 bad air days a year. Akutagawa's lung condition ( which hasn't been touched on just yet with the exception of a throwaway lines at Tycheron and with Yosano ) is largely due to this bad air quality.

July 17th, 1958

The date of the Red Camellia murder was also chosen with intention. July, the peak of summer, rife with Americana, fireworks, and full California beaches, is everything the winter season of Camellia isn't.

Organizations -> The Double Black

A bit obvious, really, but the club's logo of the two black Ace playing cards is an obvious nod to Soukoku being equally matched partners, even if in this au their dynamic is wildly different ( If anything, Chuuya has the upper hand in this one--even if he doesn't quite know it yet ). The Double Black is also described as more Golden Age of Hollywood-like, since Kouyou runs it and she's quite the traditionalist, I figured she'd cringe ( or pass out ) at the sight of plastic plants in the vases and blue carpeting.

The Golden Coast Guild

The TSP equivalent of Hearst corporation, run by William Randolph Hearst, a media company that covered everything from celebrity gossip to politics with over a dozen papers and magazines. Hearst became obscenely rich, and in real life, used his wealth to support Marion Davies, an actress ( and his mistress ), whose life he nearly ruined. F. Scott Fitzgerald ( the actual author ) loathed Hearst's willingness to print yellow journalism ( basically, bullshit ) and Jay Gatsby's mansion is loosely inspired by Hearst's home in New York, I believe. I thought it would be funny to combine the two. I also have a soft spot for Fitz in canon, even if he does speak with the sound of a cash register in every word and there's an American flag behind him wherever he goes.

Tycheron and the House of the Dead

First, Tycheron, Sigma's casino business, gets it's name from the Greek goddess of luck--Tyche--named Fortuna by the Romans. I couldn't call it the 'Sky Casino' because well, there's no sky. But a goddess is pretty up there. California gambling law is extremely complicated, but casino boats, docked 3 nautical miles outside of state borders ( usually from a point in Santa Monica, where the bay/bight made those laws a bit easier to work around ) were a neat exception--at least, until they started getting repurposed for WWII. So, Sigma still evades the law by being 'out of bounds' with The Angelica gambling boat. The casino business as a way for the DoA to stick their noses into the L.A. political landscape is also a loose reference to Bugsy Siegel, and the Italian-American Mafia's attempts to expand westward with the establishment of casinos and the nurturing of Las Vegas. Siegel's mansion, where he was murdered for his thefts from the Mafia, also inspired the Mori estate.

Characters ->

The Red Camellia

The real life Nakahara Chuuya was quite the romantic. His poetry is described as 'Bohemian,' so I thought having him be a bit of a drifter-like character, almost mysterious and unnatainable to his fans and SSKK in the present, would be a bit similair to how much of what we know of Chuuya doesn't come from the main story in canon, either. Combining that with Dazai's obsessive desire to lock him in ( haha ) with a comitted relationship and his serious levels of devotion, makes for a pretty interesting dynamic, I think. Though, Dazai's no Catherine Tramell, and Chuuya is certainly not Curran--BI's dynamic has been flipped almost completely with TSP, but the crazy is the same. And though I describe him as a drifter, that's not to say this au's Chuuya isn't fiercely loyal, it's just his loyalties haven't had the chance to be tested just yet. I made the choice to have Chuuya called the Red Camellia in life because it's a direct subversion of other flower-tagged murders like: the White Rose murders, the Lilac Murder of William Desmond Taylor, the Black Dhalia ( inspired by the film, Blue Dhalia ), the White Gardenia murder, etc. etc. All of those monikers are posthumous, and created for the sole purpose of selling the story of a dead individual. Also, rather than having a journalist bestow it to him, Dazai is the one who comes up with it. Do what you will with that info . . . Additionally, Camellia japonica is native to East Asia, not the U.S. It can survive here, but it will struggle. The choice to set the story in L.A., in a period of harsh post-war crackdowns on Japanese/East-Asian immgiration into California also influenced this title. It was also a choice made based on the appearance of 椿Tsubaki in Soukoku official art. Their Japanese meaning of passionate love and a noble death, also holds true here.

KEY LAPD Characters with interesting qualities

Sasaki Nobuko, Homicide Detective - reference to canon Sasaki's background in criminology and experience as a lecturer at a Tokyo university. Captain -> Commander Fukuzawa Yukichi - Holds a position of authority similar to his role as the ADA's president in canon, but he's unenthusiastic about his career in the LAPD.

Note the lack of private eyes in the story so far!

Interesting PM Character references keeping this light for obvious, spoiler-y reasons

Elise - Elise is intentionally a grown woman in this au. And a nurse! A reference to both her presentation in BEAST and the Great War in the main BSD storyline, and a reminder of the timeline ( she'd have been 8-10 years old in the past TL! ). Her feisty nature is also retained. I was inspired by Lauren Bacall's Vivian in The Big Sleep, especially her meeting scene with Marlowe, when writing her meeting with Atsushi at the Mori Estate.

***SPOILERS procede with caution***

The Angel's Ripper

A reference to Los Angeles, but also Dazai's title as the Demon prodigy of Yokohama. Ripper, rather than Killer being used because of the surgical nature of the deaths ( Jack the Ripper was thought to be either a doctor or a policeman ).

Films ->

some of my major inspirations for this fic are:

Chinatown ( 1974 )

The Maltese Falcon ( 1941 )

Vertigo ( 1958 )

Last Night in Soho ( 2021 )

The Batman ( 2022 )

The Third Man ( 1949 )

The Silence of the Lambs ( 1991 )

The Big Sleep ( 1946 ) and lastly, on a much lighter note:

The Nice Guys ( 2016 ) I couldn't get Gosling's outfits out of my head after watching it. I took one look and thought: I need to get a BSD character in this obnoxiously-70s blue suit yellow shirt combo ASAP.

Phew. What a mess. This has largely been for me to keep track of my own thoughts and the tangled web I've been weaving with this fic, and it will likely get several updates over the course of me writing the second half of Part II and ( the much shorter ) Part III to TSP. But if you read it, and enjoyed it, I'm extra glad <3 I've been having a blast talking about my love for these films and this AU after keeping it bottled up for so long. I'm like shaken, corked champagne haha.

Signing off with the aesthetic of The Second Perspective's ending:

ty <3

[hairstevington]

songs that voices never share

Deaf!Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: Everything's felt a little off since the Fourth of July, and no one's talking about it. Of course, one part of Steve's summer is a bit hard to ignore - he's losing his hearing. As luck would have it, a friend of Dustin's ends up playing a key role in Steve's adjustment to his new normal.

WC: 4K

Warnings: Deaf!Steve, use of ASL, angst/references to events of season 1-3, this fic will disregard the events of season 4 because I said so, canon universe, hurt/comfort, angst, platonic Stobin forever, Steve and Will are buds, some sad stuff but overall it's a love story like come on it's me we're talking about

A/N: Hello! Everyone loved my drabble about Deaf Steve so I'm expanding it into a full fic. The plan is 7 chapters, and I'll probably post them all both here and on Ao3. Please note that ASL is written in all capitals when notated in English, and the grammar is a bit different.

-----------------------

Chapter 1 - I'll take a quiet life

Steve was kind of prone to getting beat up. God knows Dustin never let him forget it.

After the fight with Jonathan, he felt more or less the same. Then, Billy beat the shit out of him, and Steve started getting migraines and hearing a ringing in his ears every so often.

But after being tortured by the Russians for a couple hours? That’s when the real damage was done. 

Everything felt a little off since the Fourth of July, but no one talked about it. Even though so much had changed, Steve and the rest of the group all tried to get back to any normalcy they could find. Steve and Robin got a job together at Family Video and ultimately ignored everything they'd experienced together. It just felt like it was too big to talk about, so they didn't. They pretended like it didn't happen honestly - which might have been more successful had it not been for one fairly major thing.

The ringing became almost constant. Steve’s hearing was piss poor some days and kind of okay other days, but eventually the bad days were more frequent than the good. Steve knew he got beat up a lot, and he figured there were probably some consequences, but he never had time to think about it. Then, when he had trouble hearing one day, he figured he was just swollen and needed time to heal. And then he blamed it on allergies. And then he felt stupid for not taking it seriously, so he ignored it. And then, when he finally went to the doctor, he realized the full extent of it all. 

They called it a perfect storm of injuries. At least, that’s what he thought they said. Apparently he’d had too much trauma to the area and not enough medical attention after multiple concussions and ruptured eardrums. He also apparently broke some of the bones in his ears??? They told him a lot of things that he couldn’t quite understand.

He wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t hear so well anymore. 

Steve had never been the smartest person in the first place. He wasn’t great at school, especially with English or history, and he never cared that much about it either. He breezed his way through high school and focused on sports and popularity.

So, when Steve couldn’t keep up in conversations with his friends, they didn’t really think anything was out of the ordinary. Classic Steve, always a few sentences behind. 

He got away with it for much longer than he had any right to. Robin was the first to notice. 

They worked together at Family Video most days that summer, and it was a good job because anyone could do it, really. They were never really that busy, so a lot of the time was just Steve and Robin getting paid to hang out.

A lot of times, Robin rambled at him about movies or music or how hot Molly Ringwald was, and he could just nod and smile and occasionally say something like, “yeah, totally,” and she would be none the wiser. If they were looking at each other, he could kind of tell what she was saying based on her lips, but only because he knew her well enough to do so. He couldn’t really understand anyone else, except maybe Dustin sometimes. Then again, Dustin used a lot of tech speak that went over Steve’s head even before his hearing deteriorated. 

Steve was putting tapes back in the proper places, oblivious to Robin calling for him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Shit! Hi!” he exclaimed, realizing he must have missed something again. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it.”

Ah, his go-to excuse. It worked every time.

“Bullshit, Harrington,” she replied. Before Steve could defend himself, she continued. “You can’t hear very well anymore, can you?”

Huh. Okay, it worked every time, until now. Steve nodded, realizing he had no reason to hide it from Robin anymore.

“How’d you know?” he wondered. Usually, Robin paced back and forth and avoided eye contact during her rambles, but this time she stayed put and faced him head on.

“Steve,” she began. “You’ve always been a little oblivious, but recently it’s like you’re never listening to me at all. Plus, I’ve been throwing random things into conversation to see if you notice. Hey, Steve, just figured out that hamsters aren’t real. Dingus, I just got a tattoo of your face on my face. You know, things like that. You’ve never said anything about it, so at first I thought you were just stressed or depressed or - wait, shit. You can’t hear. Maybe I should write this down.” She went to search for a pen and paper, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I think I got the gist,” he responded. Thankfully this was one of his better days, otherwise he never would have been able to follow. “Wait, hamsters are real though, right?” Robin’s face fell as she genuinely pondered whether Steve was being serious. “I’m kidding. Yes I know what you’re saying.”

“Okay, cool,” she replied, relieved. “Anyway, once I realized nothing was wrong with your psyche, I started doing other tests. But sometimes I’d stomp my feet and you’d react, so I worried I was making it all up. One time I snapped right by your ear, but then I accidentally flicked you on the temple.”

Steve remembered that. She said it was a bug.

He could hear some frequencies, and it also depended on the day and the season. It was best in quiet spaces where he only had to talk to one person. That’s how he got by so well at work, because it was a relatively quiet place. 

Well, except for Robin and her constant rambling. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t wanna admit it, I guess, but I think it’s just gonna get worse.” The prospect of losing his hearing entirely and permanently was on the table, especially if he was to get punched again or something. Considering his group of friends and their history of getting into trouble, that didn’t seem unlikely. Robin put a caring hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting smile.

“Well, I talk too much for you to not understand me, so this means we’re both gonna have to learn sign language.”

“What?” Steve winced at the idea. “No way. I took three years of Spanish and I only know how to ask where the bathroom is.”

(He actually forgot how to say that, too.)

“Yeah, but maybe sign language will be different. I mean, it’s visual, right?” Robin put her elbows on the counter and continued. “Come on, you know I love languages, and I’m soooo booooored.” As she spoke, her body slowly sank onto the counter until she was face down. 

Steve chuckled. He wasn’t surprised that she was the first to figure it all out, and her reaction was incredibly on brand. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Steve picked up the alphabet pretty quickly. He already knew most of it from Sunday School as a kid. Then, for about a week or so, Robin drilled him by practicing different signs during their shifts together. There were only a few weeks of summer vacation left before Robin went back to school for her senior year.

Steve was grateful he’d already graduated by the time his hearing got worse. He would never have had the courage to ask for accommodations. Although, Robin probably would have bugged him into asking for it anyway. 

Whatever, He didn’t need to think about that. 

MOVIE, Robin signed to Steve during a standard shift at Family Video.

“Uhhhhh…cheese?” Steve guessed. Robin shook her head. 

“No, but close!” she countered. Steve groaned. 

“How is it close, Robin? How?” he complained. She laughed, then showed him the sign for CHEESE versus MOVIE. They were honestly not that different. “Oh. Okay, yeah.”

W-O-R-K, she fingerspelled next. Steve’s eyes lit up. 

“I know this one!!!” he exclaimed, hitting one of his fists on top of the other to sign WORK.

“Yes!” Robin cheered. She quickly corrected herself and signed YES. Steve smiled. CANDY TIME.

When Steve got a sign right, she’d throw an M&M his way so he could catch it in his mouth. It was something they’d started doing together at Scoops Ahoy with various toppings.

M&M’s were much less messy.

Sure, the study and reward method was a bit juvenile, but it worked. Steve practiced, and he learned some basic signs. THANK YOU. PLEASE. SORRY. I KNOW. I DON’T UNDERSTAND. WHAT? AGAIN. He also learned random ones. BIRD. BASKETBALL. VAMPIRE. SODA.

And then, of course, the two of them learned the other essentials - words that they usually just had shared glances for.

HOT, for when an attractive customer came in. COMPLAIN, for when an annoying customer came in. FINISH, when their shift was over. 

It worked. They started signing to each other instead of talking whenever possible. Robin let him have all the tasks he could do in the back room or by himself, and she handled a lot of the customers to cover for him. The pressure and stress Steve had been feeling started to melt away, and his headaches got better since he didn't have to focus so much all the time.

His parents knew about his condition, but they never talked much in the first place, so nothing really changed at home. He’d go to work and make do, and then he’d go home, and everything was alright.

About a week of study sessions later, Robin had an idea. 

YOUR FRIENDS, she began. Steve stared at her and waited for her to elaborate. She took a deep breath. TELL-THEM YOU CAN. 

Steve continued to stare at her quizzically. She was learning all the grammar and shit, and he was still on vocabulary. 

MY FRIENDS…YES? He guessed, trying to mimic the one sign he couldn’t remember the meaning to. She shook her head. 

C-A-N, she clarified. Steve thought about it. YOUR FRIENDS LOVE YOU, she continued, slower this time. SHOULD KNOW.

Steve sighed. He’d been avoiding Dustin a lot more these last few weeks, because he knew the smartass would figure him out in seconds. 

Steve sighed, knowing Robin was right. 

O-K, he agreed. 

Dustin took it well. He had a lot of questions, but most of them Steve didn’t know the answers to. He quickly decided he would also learn some signs to support Steve. The support made Steve feel so relieved, he told all of his other friends. Well, he told the kids. Max. El. Will. Mike. Lucas. El and Will were planning on moving to California pretty soon with Jonathan and Joyce, so El decided it would be good for her to practice writing letters to Steve, since she’d be doing long distance with Mike and all. Lucas and Mike also made an attempt at learning signs, but they were even shittier at it than Steve was - which honestly made Steve feel even better. They treated it like a secret code they all were learning - kind of like the weird phrases they insisted on saying whenever they used the walkie talkies.

It was all very cute. 

Since Steve wasn’t in school, he ended up practicing sign language during most of his free time. It felt good to be doing something for himself. It made him feel smart, and he didn’t feel smart that often. Robin also picked it up pretty fast, which was to be expected. 

But then, all of a sudden, school was starting again, and everyone was busy. Steve continued to work and study ASL, but he didn’t have as many shifts with Robin. He would drive the kids to school and to their clubs and stuff, but it was impossible to communicate with a bunch of kids in the car. He went on dates, but the talking part of it all didn’t really work out. He wasn’t connecting with anybody, and he couldn’t understand them half the time. Plus, most of his date spots required loud noises - movies, sports games, etc. He’d go out with women, and he’d have a decent albeit exhausting time trying to keep up, and then sometimes they’d have sex, but if he was being honest - he wasn’t even really enjoying sex as much anymore.

Crazy, right? He couldn’t believe it either.

He was isolated, but getting by. He kept spending down-time at work watching videos about sign language that he’d borrowed from the library, and everywhere he went he tried to think of the sign for what he saw. TREE. CAR. LIGHT. RESTAURANT. BICYCLE. HOUSE. BOOK. STORE.

Eventually, it all started coming together. 

-

It was October - Halloween season. Considering what had happened last Halloween, Steve wasn’t too thrilled about it. Neither were some of the kids, primarily Will and El. Times had been tough for El especially after losing Hopper, and Steve knew that. It seemed like she had a decent support system though. Jonathan’s mom had taken her in, and she was dating Mike as well. She’d be okay, Steve hoped.

Then came the big moving day for the Byers and El. Steve had to admit he was a bit jealous. He’d wanted to get out of Hawkins forever, but now he had Dustin and Robin tying him there. 

Jonathan got to escape this town and he was dating Nancy? Such bullshit. 

Not that Steve was pining over Nancy anymore. He’d always love her, in a way, but he’d moved on. They didn’t work together, and that was that. Over and out, as the kids would say on their stupid walkie talkies. 

Anyway, El may have been alright, but Steve had his doubts about Will. He didn’t really know how to broach the subject, but he noticed that when he picked the kids up, Will was usually pretty quiet. 

An outsider, kind of like Steve.

So, when moving day arrived, Steve offered to help. He knew that Nancy and Jonathan would be there and their farewells would be a whole thing he had no interest in being around for, but he was pretty strong and he could carry boxes and help the kids, at least.

But when he showed up, he saw Will in the backyard by himself. Steve gave a small wave, then slowly approached the kid and sat down beside him. 

WHAT’S-UP, Steve signed. It was one of the signs he taught all the kids. Will shrugged. Steve watched Will intently as he waited for his response.

“I don’t want to move,” Will said. “I like my house. And my friends.” Will caught himself, realizing he knew an applicable sign, then added FRIENDS. Steve smiled.

UNDERSTAND, he replied. That was another sign he taught the kids. “This sucks.”

“How do you sign that?” Will asked. “That it sucks.” 

Steve knew that one, obviously. He knew a lot of signs now, but that was one he used a lot. He brought the tip of his pointer finger to his chin and frowned. Will repeated the action, then raised his eyebrows. Steve nodded in approval. Will’s hands dropped back into his lap, and the forlorn look on his face came back.

“I guess I just -” Will began, averting his eyes from Steve and staring in the distance. “They’re gonna forget about me here. They’re already -” He sighed. “It feels like I’m being left behind, even though I’m the one leaving.” Steve nodded gently, understanding the feeling all too well.

Will was the member of the party Steve had interacted with the least, probably because the other kids were a bit - uhhh - louder. Dustin and Steve were like brothers, Lucas and Steve could talk about basketball, El and Max were by no means close with Steve but he still felt like a surrogate older brother to them, and Mike was - 

Okay, Mike and Steve didn’t really get along. That was to be expected, considering everything. They weren’t mean to each other or anything, they were just awkward and mildly annoyed with each other most of the time. 

Will was different. Steve had been filled in on what happened to Will through Dustin, and it was - well, yeah. Will had it rough. And no one ever really talked about it. It was like, Will went through this whole traumatic thing, but he was back to “normal” now, so everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine, and he was getting sick and tired of pretending it was.

Whoops. Okay. Maybe Steve was connecting with Will more than he anticipated he would. 

That was probably where a lot of the disconnect came from with everyone in Steve’s life except for Robin. The two of them had been tortured together for hours underground. Steve got the brunt of it. And they were drugged and threatened and nearly killed dozens of times. But they escaped and got out and then they were fighting a giant monster and fireworks were going off and then people died and there was no space for Steve to talk about what had happened to him. 

He probably needed a therapist, but if he saw a shrink his dad would never let him hear the end of it. Besides, how could he explain any of his trauma to them? He couldn’t talk about it with anyone except his close group of friends, and he didn’t want to burden them with it, so he just…didn’t talk about it. 

Steve wanted to say so many things to Will, but he also felt like he had no right to give any advice on friends or happiness. Steve had left the majority of his friends behind, willingly, and he didn’t regret it, but he also was sad about it. He missed it in some weird, fucked up way he couldn’t explain. Especially Tommy. God, all they did was argue and get in each other’s faces, but they knew each other better than anyone else. The best and the worst of it - mostly the worst, though.

“Well, I won’t forget you,” Steve said, hoping the reassurance would provide some kind of comfort. 

“You don’t know me,” Will replied. “And don’t you hate my brother?”

Oof. Valid argument, but still. Steve’s thoughts on Jonathan were…complicated, to say the least.

“I don’t hate him,” Steve responded. “And your brother isn’t you.” 

When Steve spoke, he tried to translate it in his head. It had become a habit. HATE DON’T. YOU, YOUR BROTHER, NOT-SAME.

He was getting pretty good at the sign language thing.

“I’m probably just going to sit out here and be sad,” Will said with a shrug. 

“Okay,” Steve replied. “Is it okay if I sit here and be sad too?”

Will turned to Steve, confused at first, but then his face relaxed into something different. He nodded. 

Everyone inside seemed to be doing just fine without them, anyway.

-

The Byers (and El) moved to California. Lucas, Dustin, and Mike joined Hellfire club, which they were really excited about. The first few times Dustin had told Steve about it, the dipshit was so excited Steve only got like half of what he was being told. For example, he thought the boys were getting ready to drink champagne for the first time or something, which was weird, but whatever. Kids are weird. And then later he realized they were preparing for a campaign.  

They had shirts. Steve recognized the shirts. Then, it all made sense.

He’d heard of Hellfire before. They were kind of hard to miss. They were the exact opposite of cool, even though Dustin seemed to think that wasn’t the case. An underground sort of cool, he’d explained. 

Yeah. Sure, buddy.

Steve knew from his years at Hawkins High that those guys were not treated with any sort of respect. The only popularity they had was the negative kind. People knew who they were, and they stayed away. They were weird.

At the same time, Steve wasn’t surprised the boys had joined. It was a Dungeons and Dragons club, after all - Of course, Steve didn’t actually make that connection until Dustin had made him aware. He wasn’t sure what he thought Hellfire did back when he was in school, but it certainly wasn’t a nerdy roleplaying game. They gave off a different vibe. Like, a chaotic anarchist kind of vibe. Most of Steve’s perception came from the guy who led it - Eddie Munson, the school freak. That’s what they called him. Steve and Eddie had never really interacted, because why would they have? They were both seniors when Steve graduated, but Eddie was a year older. And he still hadn’t graduated. 

Tough deal.

Anyway, Dustin was obsessed with Eddie. He worshiped the guy, basically. And Steve couldn’t help but be a little jealous - not that he’d ever admit that, of course. But Dustin was around Eddie more often, and they could talk about things they enjoyed freely and without having to stop every ten seconds to repeat themselves.

So, yeah. Steve was bitter about it. 

He usually picked the kids up from Hellfire after school, because the “champagnes” (no, they never let Steve live that one down) sometimes went pretty late. Plus, Steve was the wheels in most circumstances - he drove Robin to school every morning, too.

He was probably at Hawkins High more often than he had been when he attended the damn school. 

Anyway, one night in particular, Steve waited outside the drama club room for Lucas, Mike, and Dustin to walk out and hop in the car like they always did, but they were running late. 

Again. Oh, joy. 

Steve parked the car and headed inside, only to find everything packed up (thankfully), but everyone was still absorbed in conversation. 

Steve couldn’t follow. They were all talking over each other and about things that he didn’t really understand well in the first place. Plus, there was music playing in the background, which muddied everything else in his brain. So, he waited and watched them interact. And then everyone was looking at him, and he didn’t know why. 

“What?” Steve asked, totally lost. He turned to the boys, who all tried to explain what Steve had missed in their own way. Steve caught them flashing a few signs his way. JOKE. IGNORE. HE DON’T-KNOW. 

Ehh, Steve kind of pieced it together. Eddie probably made some sort of comment about how awkward Steve was being without knowing why. It was probably for the best that Steve didn’t hear it. Instead, he turned to Eddie so he could share what was going on. 

But then, Eddie signed to him.

YOU DEAF?

Steve’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He nodded. YOU SIGN?!

MOM DEAF, Eddie explained. Before Steve had the chance to ask a follow-up question, Eddie answered one of them. MOM DEAD NOW.  Eddie turned away to face the boys, then pivoted back to Steve. BEFORE, COULD HEAR. RIGHT? HAPPEN WHEN?

Eddie’s signing skills seemed almost natural. Clearly he’d been doing it for ages. Steve nodded.

NEW, he explained. He was blanking on the sign for “recent” due to the fact that he was so stunned. MY SIGNING… Oh, God. Steve couldn’t remember how to say anything. He wanted to say that he was still learning, so he wasn’t that good. Instead, he did the universal hand gesture for “iffy,” which worked well enough. The boys and the other club members all watched this interaction in awe as Eddie processed this with a small nod.

O-K, Eddie replied. 

And that was it. Eddie went back to talking to the boys, and presumably dismissed them as they all scattered away to collect their bags. Eddie wasn’t even looking at Steve. 

That was kind of a bummer.

Up until then, Steve hadn’t met anyone else who signed (except for Robin), so this was kind of huge. At the same time, it was Eddie. Like, Steve had come a long way from his King Steve days, but the dude was a loose cannon. He was always drawing attention to himself and jumping on tables and shit. They had nothing in common, originally, but now they had two gigantic things in common - Dustin and sign language. 

Steve took the kids home as he usually did, but he didn’t even attempt to focus on what they were saying. Besides, he was still thinking about, well, everything.

A part of him was annoyed, because of course the other older brother figure for Dustin was cool enough to know sign language. Of course. The other part of him was over the moon. He had someone to talk to and practice with. Although, that was only if Eddie was interested, which he very well might not have been. Plus, it was also kind of against the rules of the school. The jock and the freak spending time together? It just didn’t happen. 

Then again, Steve wasn’t going to Hawkins High anymore. He could make his own rules. 

He couldn’t wait to tell Robin about all of this. She was going to lose her damn mind.

------------------

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[l8rs-gat0rs]

A Vampire Romcom

Pairing: Juliette Fairmont x AFAB!reader

Warnings(s): Pining, Smutty smut smut, lowkey a bit of angst and fluff at the end, *kinda* slow burn, Vampire stuff (blood sucking, blood lust, etc.), some y/n use, ONE POV change to Juliette, Juliette being a big fat Lesbian and attempting to flirt :)

Summary: You're a transfer student at Lancaster academy and you bump into a cute girl, what are the odds she's also a cute Vampire?

(Edit) DISCLAIMER: An anon has brought up that In the show, Juliette is canonically 16, and the fact that it says "Minors DNI". I know that she is 16 In the show, but in this fan fiction Juliette and the reader are in their senior year which would make them both 18 (or 19 in some circumstances). Also, ofc I'm not gonna go hunting after you for interacting with my post if you are a minor, but I have to put the disclaimer.

Word count: 4.2k

I'm back baybeeee!!! My summer was so busy and fun I didn't really have motivation to write but now it's back to uni and we are ignoring being homesick and all of our stress and problems by writing😎 Also, I know, I know about the requests, I'm working on them right after I finish that captain Marvel smut I was talking about (it's almost done dw) My brain won't let me work on requests until I finish my own ideas cuz it's weird like that lmao. Anyways I hope at least some of you enjoy this one and the next while you wait for your fics. I am terribly sorry about making you wait <3

~~~~18+ minors DNI~~~~

You walked into Lancaster Academy and looked around.

It wasn't too bad compared to the other schools you've been to. It was actually quite nice if you were being honest, it felt more like a college campus than a high school.

You followed signs that pointed you to the main office. Classes had already started a month ago, but since you had just moved to Savannah, here you were, joining one month late, much to your perturbation.

You tried to convince your parents to let you skip the year and join the next one but, of course, they had absolutely shut that idea down.

Well, it was worth a shot.

You walked into the office and were greeted by the classic: an old lady with curly hair and glasses sitting at the desk.

"Hello, dear, how can I help you?" She smiled kindly at you.

"Hi, uh, I'm supposed to talk to Principal Waters? My name is y/n l/n, I just transferred here."

"Oh, yes! Miss l/n, you can go in, he's in there." She directed you.

You said "Thank you", giving her a small smile before walking into the principal's office.

When you walked in, he looked up and recognition filled his face.

"Ah, y/n, welcome! Please, sit." He gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk.

"Thanks." You said as you sat down, Principal Waters mirroring your action.

"So, today is your first day of classes. Here is your schedule, some information about clubs and whatnot, and lastly your gym uniform, which your parents already paid for." He handed you the things as he listed them off to you.

You organized them in your hands and nodded.

"Would you like me to give you a tour of the school and show you where your classes are?" He asked you.

Your eyes widened at his question.

"Oh, no no! That won't be necessary, I can find my way around." You quickly responded, shaking your free hand in the air in front of you in a waving motion.

He chuckled at your quick response.

"Alright, I get it. Well, your first class will start soon, so you should get a move on. Welcome to Lancaster Academy, y/n." Principal Waters smiled as you both stood up.

"Thanks." You shot him a crooked smile before leaving his office and subsequently the main office.

However as you were leaving the main office, you bumped into someone, dropping all of the papers and your gym uniform Principal Waters had given you.

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry!" A voice said as both of you dropped down to pick up your stuff.

"No, it's okay, I wasn't looking where I was..." Your voice trailed off as you grabbed your things and looked up, meeting eyes with the girl you had bumped into.

"...going." You finished.

Holy shit she was cute.

She gave you a small smile as she handed you your gym uniform and schedule.

The two of you stood up and you awkwardly adjusted your backpack strap.

"U-um, are you new here? I've never seen you around." The other girl asked you sheepishly.

"Uh yeah, actually, I just transferred in today, I moved here recently." You responded, taking in her gorgeous blue eyes.

"Oh, cool, cool...Can I see your schedule? I mean, if you don't mind." She added quickly.

You smiled at her, oh she was absolutely adorable.

"Sure, here you go." You handed her your schedule.

She scanned over it before looking back at you.

"Oh, you're actually in my English class! I was just heading over, I mean, if you want to come with." She added nervously.

You smiled brightly at her.

"Oh, of course, it's not like I know the building anyway." You chuckled.

"Well, I could show you where all your classes are... I mean if you wanted me to, obviously!" She quickly added again, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, sure, that wouldn't be too bad, thanks." You smiled.

This was way better than Principal Waters showing you around.

She returned the action, melting your heart with her own smile.

"Alright, shall we head over?" You asked.

"Oh! Yeah, let's go." She said, starting to walk towards the classroom.

As you walked alongside her, you looked over to see her fiddling with her fingers and looking anywhere but at you. She was nervous.

"So… you gonna tell me your name or what?" You smirked as you spoke up.

Her eyes widened as she lifted her head to look at you.

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry, I'm Juliette, what's your name?" She asked.

"Y/n." You responded with a relaxed smile.

"Y/n..." She repeated softly with a smile.

You would be lying if you said your heart didn't race at how delicious your name sounded coming from her mouth.

"You have a pretty name." You said as the two of you finally reached your classroom.

She blushed and looked down.

"Thanks, I really like yours, too." She smiled.

"Well, after you,” Juliette said, gesturing for you to walk through the door first.

"Why, thank you, madame." You thanked her with a slight bow, causing her to let out a giggle that was like music to your ears.

You grinned widely as you walked past her. You looked around the room in search of an open seat but pretty much all of them were taken.

"Um, you can sit next to me… if you want?" Juliette said shyly, slowly making her way over to her seat in case you wanted to follow.

"Sure." You smiled, following her to her desk.

You sat down, keeping your backpack on the floor next to you and taking your notebook out.

Right as you did, Mr. Porter, your English teacher, walked in. You were slightly disappointed you didn't get the chance to talk to Juliette more.

"Alright, class, good morning." He said as he quickly entered the room and set his things down on the desk.

He then stood in front of his desk and leaned on it, clapping his hands together before speaking.

"Before we begin, I have a little announcement."

Oh god, here we go.

You hid your head in your hands.

"As most of you might have noticed, we have a new student joining us. Would you like to introduce yourself?” he gestured to you.

Isn’t this high school? Nobody introduces new students these days!

Regardless, you stood up, much to your embarrassment.

You looked back over at Juliette, who gave you an encouraging, starry-eyed smile before you started speaking.

"Um, alright… hey guys, my name is y/n. Great to be here, I guess…" You muttered before sitting down, successfully earning a few laughs and snickers from your classmates, including an adorable giggle from Juliette at your poor attempt at a joke.

You smiled to yourself as Mr. Porter begrudgingly accepted your introduction.

He moved on to the lesson and you felt Juliette's eyes burning holes into your skin.

When you looked over at her though, she quickly looked away and you saw the tinge of red that coated her cheeks.

You smiled as you tried to pay attention to the lesson, but all that was on your mind was Juliette next to you.

You looked over at her and your small smile disappeared as you saw her head in her hands. She closed her eyes tightly and you could see her chest rising and falling quicker than normal. You put your arm around the back of her chair and leaned in to whisper into her ear.

"Hey, are you okay?" You asked, concern laced in your voice.

You pulled back a little, but not too much, as her head shot up and displayed her wide eyes and heavy red blush.

Your faces were close and you noticed her looking at your lips before she answered with a nod.

"Yeah, I just get bad migraines sometimes." She whispered back before reaching into her bag and grabbing a container of red pills, popping two into her mouth and swallowing.

You leaned back in your chair and watched her reaction. It seemed to imply instant relief, mixed with a bit of euphoria, as she closed her eyes and her heavy breathing gradually slowed down before she opened her eyes to look back at you with an uneasy smile.

Now it was your turn to be flustered. You quickly looked away, feeling your face heat up.

Holy shit, how could someone look hot just taking pills?!

For the rest of class, you tried not to look at Juliette too much, in fear of her noticing your bashfulness if it had returned, completely forgetting about how strange it was that the pills had worked instantly.

When the bell rang you quickly put your things in your bag and got up from your seat.

"Well, I got pre-calc right now, I noticed we passed the room earlier actually, so I guess I'll see you around?" You cocked your head at Juliette.

"Yeah, yeah, for sure! Um- I'm pretty sure we have lunch together, too, so I'll see you later I guess." She let out a nervous laugh, gripping her backpack straps.

Your eyes light up as you answer her, "Okay, great! Then I'll definitely see you later." You winked at her before quickly leaving the classroom.

The two other classes you had before lunch went pretty well. Surprisingly, you managed to make some friends who also had the same lunch period as you. You smiled as you walked to lunch with them, enjoying the mindless chatter going on between the lot of you, feeling a sense of normalcy for the first time since you moved to Savannah.

~~~Juliette's POV~~~

"WHAT?! YOU ACTUALLY TALKED TO HER?!" Ben screamed.

"Shhhhh! Keep your voice down!" Juliette ducked her head down and glanced around the lunch room, looking for any sign of you.

"Well, you can't blame me! You never talk to any of your crushes, you usually spend weeks trying to talk to them." Ben chuckled. Juliette however, cringed at the thought.

"Well, I was kind of thrown right into it, she bumped into me coming out of Principal Waters' office.” Juliette folded her arms.

"Woah, bitch, you had a whole rom-com moment!" Ben said excitedly.

"What? No..." Juliette blushed intensely.

"I don't even know if she likes girls, or if she likes me, for that matter..." Juliette confessed.

"Girl... does that girl seem straight to you?" Ben looks at Juliette pointedly, causing her to laugh.

"Hey, you can't judge a book by its cover." Juliette shrugged and played with her food, not actually eating it.

She was a prime example of that saying, she thought, with a feeling of guilt.

"I guess..." Ben shrugged.

"Hey, isn't that her?"

Juliette's head whipped around, her heart racing fast as she looked around to see your face.

She heard Ben laugh loudly behind her and she slapped his arm as her face turned red for probably the seventh time today.

"You suck." She rolled her eyes, a small smile teasing at her lips.

~~~Your POV~~~

You walked into the cafeteria with your friends and immediately looked around, trying to spot Juliette.

You spotted her facing a boy with his head thrown back in a fit of laughter.

You excused yourself from your friends for a moment, promising to find them in a bit, and made your way over to Juliette and the boy, causing the boy to perk up when he noticed you.

"Now she's actually here," Ben said as you approached them.

"I'm not falling for that again." Juliette said, crossing her arms.

"Falling for what?" You said, causing Juliette to jump up in surprise and turn around to look up at you quickly.

"Oh, y/n! You're here!" Juliette said, her voice cracking a bit and her face red from her seemingly constant blush.

"Yes, I am." You chuckled and sat down next to her.

"Um, y/n, this is my best friend since childhood, Ben." Juliette introduced you to the boy sitting across from her.

"Ah, nice to meet you." You greeted him with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, too, I've heard a lot about you from Juliette over here," Ben said, smirking.

You caught Juliette giving him a death glare before turning to you and chuckling nervously.

"He's just joking, I talked about you a normal amount." Juliette quickly clarified.

"Hey, I'm not complaining! It's nice to be remembered." You said with a smile.

"How could anyone ever forget you?" Juliette said softly, causing your heart to race.

You felt your face heat up and you looked down with a smile before looking back into Juliette's eyes.

"That's very sweet, thank you." You expressed genuinely.

Juliette blushed heavily and mumbled "It's no problem…" before looking at Ben who seemed to be trying to wordlessly tell her something.

"Oh! Uh, there's this party tonight at Noah Harrington's house. I'm going to be there with Ben… if you wanna come, too?" Juliette asked hesitantly.

You think about it for a moment before responding.

"Sure, why not?" You say, smiling as Juliette's eyes light up, with Ben silently celebrating in the background.

What a great wingman you thought to yourself.

"Alright, I made some friends today and I promised I would sit with them, so sadly I've got to go, but I guess I'll see you guys at the party tonight?" You said as you got up from the table.

"Yeah, definitely!" Juliette said, nodding.

"It was nice to meet you, Ben!" You said, nodding at the boy.

"You too!" He said with a smile.

As you walked away from the table you heard Ben speak up when you were a considerable distance away.

"You wanna fuck her so bad it makes you look stupid." He laughed.

"Ben shut up!" You heard Juliette yell, causing you to chuckle to yourself.

•••

When you arrived at the party you went to get a drink right away before looking for Juliette and Ben.

You finished half of your semi-full cup before finding Juliette and Ben talking to each other with smiles on their faces.

Juliette looked adorable in a semi-short, casual form-fitting dress, and platform boots.

You make your way towards them and catch Ben's eye.

"Oh, y/n, hey!" Ben greets you.

Juliette turns around as you wave at Ben.

"Hey guys, what's up?" You smiled at both of them.

"Hey, you actually came!" Juliette said.

"Of course I did, why wouldn't I?" You asked her.

"I don't know actually..." She said sheepishly.

You laughed a bit before speaking again.

"There could’ve been a multitude of reasons why I wouldn't have come, actually, but I wouldn't leave you hanging, of course." You nudged her with your elbow gently, causing her to blush.

"Well, ladies, I think I spot a cute boy over there, so it's time for me to go work my magic." Ben said, wiggling his eyebrows and hips.

"Oh god,” Juliette said, chuckling.

"Woooo go Ben!" You cheered as he bowed and made his way over to the boy.

"Well, that's Ben for ‘ya." Juliette giggled causing your heart to soar.

"So... how are you liking Savannah so far?" Juliette asked, watching you take a swig of your drink.

"Hmm, I miss home obviously, but it's not too bad here. I've met some pretty cool people…" You winked at her.

A light blush seemed to coat her skin for the millionth time since you met her. It was endearing.

You suddenly felt a burst of courage. You couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol, or if you just couldn't take it any longer, but you chugged the rest of your drink and grabbed Juliette's hand, causing her to let out a little surprised yelp.

You quickly guided her through the party into a closet and pushed her inside, closing the door behind the two of you.

"Y/n, what-"

You cut Juliette off by pressing your lips to hers.

The kiss was full of passion as well as a bit of hunger and desperation.

Your hands cupped her face, feeling heat radiating from her cheeks.

You pulled away for air, your forehead pressed against Juliette's. The space didn't last long though, because Juliette pressed her lips back against yours, her body pushing your back up against the door.

"Jules..." You gasped lightly in between her breathtaking hungry kisses.

"Fuck, say my name again." Juliette groaned.

You grabbed her waist, flipping the two of you around and pushing her up against the door.

"Juliette." You whispered into her neck, starting to leave open-mouthed kisses on her neck.

She moaned, her back arching, causing her to push her body up into yours.

You had no clue how you were doing this in nearly complete darkness, with only a sliver of light coming through the closet; there was just enough light for you to make out Juliette's face. You didn't care, though.

All you could focus on was the fact that Juliette's hands were running all over your body, squeezing your ass and pulling you up against her.

Your hands, which rested on her hips, started to move downwards, squeezing her ass, earning a loud moan from Juliette.

"Shhhhh, we don't want anyone to hear us in here." You chuckled into her neck as you slipped one of your hands under her dress.

She whimpered lightly as you teased her, feeling her wetness soaking through her underwear.

"All this for me?" You pulled back from her neck and asked her teasingly, applying pressure to her core through the soaked fabric.

She gasped out, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but you could swear she had fangs.

You continued teasing at her core, gently applying pressure.

"Fuck, stop teasing." Juliette hissed.

"What if I don't feel like it?" You smirked.

"I swear to-"

You cut her off by pressing your lips to hers as soon as you quickly pulled her underwear down and plunged two of your fingers into her.

You swallowed her loud moans and smiled against her lips.

You slowly thrust your fingers in and out of her as you moved your kisses down her jaw and back up to her neck. You felt wetness rushing to your core as you listened to her moans and whimpers in your ear, feeling her breath hot against your already warm skin.

You used your knee to spread her legs apart a bit more, and your fingers sank deeper into her.

You could tell she was struggling to keep quiet as you sucked at the skin on her neck, definitely leaving a mark as your fingers moved at a steady pace.

Your free hand that held onto her hip snaked up her body under her dress, pulling it up along with your hand. You let out a shaky breath as you finally reached her breasts, slipping underneath her bra and slowly running your thumb over her nipple as you squeezed her breast lightly.

You felt her head fall against your shoulder as she breathed heavily, her body seemingly shaking as you added another finger and curled all of the digits inside her.

"You smell… so good…" She panted, and you felt her warm tongue lick the side of your neck.

You felt her hands that were gripping onto your jacket for dear life loosen a bit as one of her hands snaked its way into your pants and underwear, her fingers collecting your wetness.

"Juliette," You moaned her name into her neck, the pace of your own fingers inside her faltering as pleasure wracked your body.

"Shhhhh," She cooed.

Suddenly stars exploded in your eyes as you felt what you could only describe as her biting your neck as she plunged three of her fingers into you.

The pain of the bite, and sudden stretch of her fingers, lasted only a second before it morphed into pleasure.

She moaned against your neck as you felt a euphoric sensation, your head feeling a little light.

You groaned, resuming a quicker pace with your fingers, Juliette matching yours with her own fingers.

You dropped your hand from her breast and went back to holding onto Juliette's hip, this time for your own stability.

She pulled her head away from your neck and threw her head back at the same time as you, both of you quickening the pace of your fingers.

The heady, dizzy feeling left after a couple of seconds, leaving you feeling a bit confused, but yet again, you ignored it, focusing solely on the pleasure.

The closet was filled with heavy pants and breaths as the two of you worked your fingers inside each other.

You felt Juliette grab your face and bring her lips to yours.

You tasted something metallic as she pushed her tongue into your mouth.

"Jules are you-"

"Shhhh wait... I- I'm so close," She moaned.

And she was, you felt her walls clenching around her fingers, causing your own climax to grow nearer.

"I want you to cum with me." Juliette panted.

You nodded, your eyes struggling to focus on her face in the darkness, and your brain struggling to form any words through the haze.

Juliette quickened the pace of her fingers and curled them inside you just as you did earlier. You moaned and bit your lip hard, mirroring her actions.

"I'm g-gonna cum." You called out in a hushed tone, afraid of someone on the outside hearing you.

"Do it, cum with me, baby." Juliette responded breathily.

Her words pushed you over the edge, the two of you simultaneously coming undone.

Your legs shook as both of you stilled your fingers but still kept them inside each other, while Juliette leaned her back against the door and you leaned against her for support.

As the high from your orgasm wore away and you listened to both of your heavy breaths, you held Juliette, who felt so right in your arms.

Suddenly you remembered the taste in her mouth from earlier.

"Wait, Jules, were you bleeding or something earlier?" You asked her worriedly.

"Wh-what? No?" She said quickly, and now that your eyes had adjusted once more in the darkness of the closet, you could see her eyes widened.

"Are you sure? I tasted-"

"I'm a vampire." She said quickly.

The silence was deafening as you slowly stood back from her.

“Wait! Let me explain!" She burst out.

"Okay..." You said cautiously.

You saw her shuffle a little bit before finding the light switch and flicking it on.

You both blinked a couple of times before your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Okay, so..." She sighed heavily before continuing.

"Like I said, I'm a vampire. And, that blood you tasted... that was… your blood." Her face cringed.

You slapped your hand over your neck, your eyes widening.

"I knew I felt you bite me! Wait..." A confused expression dawned on your face as you tried to feel for the bite mark.

"The bite mark disappears. I'm... a different kind of vampire." She confessed. You heard a bit of guilt in her voice.

"You didn't drain me..." You said, confusion lacing your voice.

Her eyes widened once again, "I would never drain you, I would never drain anyone! I don't kill." She said firmly.

"I don't want to hurt people, and I would never ever hurt you." She continued sincerely, putting her hand on her chest.

"Then why did you bite me?" You asked her, your heart racing.

"I- I couldn't control myself, it's just..." She looked down for a second trying to collect herself before her eyes met yours again.

"I have heightened senses so, I could smell your arousal and your blood racing through your veins, I could hear your heart beating fast. My… bloodlust has been out of control recently." She cringed at the word bloodlust.

"My family is part of a long line of vampires called Legacy Vampires. We're day walkers. After my 16th birthday, everything started getting worse, and my family started pressuring me to have my first kill. That's the only way to stop everything from getting even worse. But I don't want to kill anyone! That's why you've seen me taking those pills. They help me, but… it's starting to not be enough." She looked away from you once again.

You felt your heart sink. Juliette clearly didn't want to hurt anyone, but she was struggling to fight against her own nature because of that.

You moved closer to her, wrapping your arms around her and hugging her tightly, seemingly catching her by surprise.

"What-"

“I'm sorry you have to go through this, Juliette," You said, holding onto her and closing your eyes, taking in the smell of her shampoo.

"You're not a monster. And I don't care that you bit me. You didn't choose to be a vampire." You affirmed.

You felt her body slightly tremble against you and you pulled away from her, but still kept your arms around her.

Tears were steadily falling from her eyes as her bottom lip trembled.

"Thank you. That is honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I thought you would hate me forever after this and be disgusted."

"Never. How could I ever hate you? Much less disgusted by your adorable self?" You smiled lightly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with your thumbs.

She let out a broken noise that was between a sob and a laugh as she smiled, holding onto your hands. You kissed her softly as you cupped her face in your hands, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“What do you say we get out of this closet, ditch this party, and go somewhere? Just the two of us." You asked her.

"I'd like that." Juliette said softly.

"Then it's a date." You smiled.

[kit-kat-katie]

this time, my time

A/N: hey, do you remember me? 0_0 it's been a long few months of school, to put in simply. now I'm off for the summer, and I'm here to slowly finish up my Finnick series and the request decaying in my inbox.

TW: canon violence and other sensitive topics (prostitution and other servitude to the Capitol), reader has a long-term knee injury, main character death, strong deviation from cannon events will start here, quick mentions of knives, past and present trauma for reader, the ending is so sad

Pairing: Finnick x GN! Reader (romantic)

Summary: The rebellion goes strong as you try to find your place in District 13. Things fall in and out of place as the continuous ups and downs of the warzone weigh on your mental and physical condition.

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You stand quietly outside of the meeting room, trying to pretend like you weren’t eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside. Whatever it was, it ended quickly as Katniss burst out of the doors first.

“So you’re going to be the Mockingjay?” You softly ask, which stops Katniss in her tracks.

“What choice do I have? You saw Peeta on TV in the Capital, and we know that the others are there too. I have to get him, them home.” She curtly says before turning and leaving the area.

You slip into the shadows as other members of the meeting leave - some you recognize, some you aren’t quite familiar with.

The last man to leave the room, the one you didn’t know on the air carrier that took you to District 13, is the only one to notice your presence.

“Do you believe Katniss is our Mockingjay?” He solemnly asks as you step into the light.

“She might not be an elegant speaker, or the best role model, but she’s got a lot of fight and energy left in her. If anyone is going to get us out of this mess, it’ll be her.” You hold on to your cane as you limp forward with your injured leg.

“What I said when we rescued you, Finnick, and Katniss, is still on the table. We can arrange to fix-”

“My fighting days are long over.” You gesture to your knee as a small chuckle escapes your throat. “Your doctors are amazing. They can prescribe fantastic painkillers, but they can’t fix this.”

Plutarch simply smiles to himself.

“You should see Beetee when you have the time. He’s made something for you, if you’re interested.” He shrugs before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

This cane is getting on my last nerve. It would be nice to walk with two feet again, or to walk long distances without having to be carried by a child.

~

“I’m assuming Plutarch spoke with you?” Beetee says as you stare in admiration at his room of inventions. 

“You’ve been busy while we’ve been stuck down here.” You marvel at something on his desk, but you know better than to touch.

“I haven’t had much to do, being stuck in a wheelchair and all.” Beetee makes his way over to you with a strange, metal-looking brace on his lap.

“What is that?” You ask as he hands it to you.

“It’s a regenerative knee brace - a special project that I was working on with a few of the medical specialists in Thirteen. I can’t guarantee that it’ll heal all, but you should be able to walk without that cane for hours at a time. Ideally, a few weeks of usage should get you completely healed, but we haven’t tested it on any subjects so the results may be unsure-”

“Beetee, I don’t think I can thank you enough for this.” You sit down on a chair next to him as you put the brace on. 

“Think nothing of it - it’s a favor for a friend.” He offers you a rare smile, and it’s one that you happily return.

When you stand up, the aching of your knee is reduced to a dullness that medication could only hope to achieve. After hobbling around Beetee’s workspace for a bit, you’re able to walk pretty well on your own - without that damn cane.

“It’ll work?” He asks as you brightly smile.

“This will definitely work.”

~

“I see you took Beetee up on his offer.” Finnick remarks as you lay on the bed next to him.

“You knew about this?” You ask as Finnick squeezes your side.

“Prim came to me one day and asked a bunch of weird questions about you and your medical history, and when I pressed her for answers, she told me about Beetee’s project for you. I only knew for two weeks-”

“-two weeks? And you didn’t tell me?!?” You playfully roll your eyes. “You watched me struggle for two weeks, knowing that there was a solution on its way. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d push you off of this bed.”

“You love me, Sunny?”

“Leave me alone.” You gently push him away before he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He mumbles into your hair before kissing your neck.

With the butterflies lingering in your stomach, you curl into his touch more as you feel your eyes become heavy.

“For the record, I’m still mad at you.” You mumble softly, and his bubbly laughter is the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

~

“How is your knee?” Prim takes a few notes on her notepad as you swing your legs back and forth on the examination table.

“The pain isn't gone, but I can walk for a while without needing to sit down. Standing still can be an issue at times because my knee locks, and the brace is so heavy that it pulls me down with it.” You explain as she nods.

“That’s good progress, especially since you’ve only been wearing it for a week. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Prim stands up and gathers her notes before heading towards the door.

“Wait a minute, you-” You pause before asking, “why did you want to help me recover? You helped Beetee with the brace, but why do so?”

“My sister likes you, as much as she can like anyone,” Prim says, “and I have the same trust in you. We need as many people as we can for the fight ahead of us, and if I can help one person get back on their feet, then it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

“You’re wise for your age, and strong.” You softly bite your lip. “I’m sorry about your home, about everything that’s happened to you.”

“It’s all in the past, and the future is what we make of it.” She nods before leaving the room, and you push yourself off of the bed before heading for the door yourself.

I wonder what Prim was like before all of this happened. I’ll have to ask Katniss sometime, if she’ll ever tell me anything personal about herself.

~

“President Coin has wanted to meet you for a long time, but in-between your recovery from the injury, Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, and then the recent attack, there hasn’t been much time-”

“-It’s alright, Plutarch. I’m just grateful she took us all in.” You shrug as Plutarch opens the door for you. “Thank you.”

President Coin stands up and offers you her hand, which you gladly shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sunny, if I may call you that?” She greets you before letting go of your hand, and you take a seat next to her.

“It’s alright with me. Thank you for your endless hospitality, President Coin, I can’t thank you enough.” You graciously bow your head.

“It’s no issue, but I’m afraid this isn’t a simple greeting. I requested your… unique expertise for a reason. After the attack on District 13, the civilians from this District and District 12 are, understandably, scared. I’m requesting that you offer some of your time and expertise to train them on different fighting tactics.” 

“You want me to teach them? What about Katniss or Finnick?”

“Katniss is an… acquired taste, and Finnick hasn’t connected to the people of this shelter as you have.” Coin explains as Plutarch nods along.

“People look up to you, not as a Victor, but as a person. You might not be the Mockingjay, but your voice and actions carry power. Why not use them for something good?” He adds as you ponder for a moment.

It’s been a while since I’ve held my knives… am I going to be okay with this?

“It might take me a while to get back into fighting, with my knee and all, but I’ll give it a try. I’m sure Beetee will be happy if I can get some more use out of this brace.” You lightly tap your foot on the ground as you feel the brace hum against your leg.

I wonder if it’s going to heal me fully, or if I’ll be stuck with this thing forever.

~

Training the civilians of the two districts didn’t go as poorly as you thought it would. You were worried about injuring yourself further, or worse, accidentally hurting an innocent civilian if your survival instincts kicked in. 

Those who had shown up seemed grateful for your help, and the children that you had grown to care for had come to watch the training. You weren’t going to let them fight, no child should be involved in a warzone, but you didn’t mind them watching.

Especially when they cheered every time you hit your mark or you pinned someone to the ground. It gave you a much-needed ego boost, something that had never really phased you before. All eyes had been on you since you won the Hunger Games those years ago, and it didn’t dawn on you how weird it felt to be left alone.

You were grateful, of course, to not have to look over your shoulder in case someone from the Capitol was spying on you. Things were just… different now. The life you had known since you won the Hunger Games was gone.

Maybe you could get used to the idea of an “after”, one where you can let go of everything that has been eating you alive. One where you and Finnick could…

It’s best not to get my hopes up.

~

“I learned a much more valuable form of payment… secrets.”

You stand next to Katniss, quietly wiping tears from your face as you watch him bare his soul for all to witness. It wasn’t like you were completely clueless to what he was doing in the Capitol, but you never knew it was this bad.

Katniss, on the other hand, is fixated on the small bits of footage of the rescue team. You can’t blame her for doing so - who knows how Peeta, Johanna, and the rest were doing inside of the Capitol? Had they been tortured, killed, or condemned to a fate much like Finnick’s?

“And the biggest secrets are about our President, Coriolanus Snow. Such a young man when he rose to power, such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” Finnick stares into the camera, and you stare into his eyes, hoping you can offer some sort of comfort when he can’t even see you. 

“One word: poison. He stopped every mutiny before it even started. There were so many mysterious deaths of his adversaries, even the allies who were threats. Snow would drink from the same cup to deflect suspicion, but antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses as a perfume. It helps cover the scent from sores in his mouth that will never heal.”

Your eyes dart over to the rescue team footage as they get closer to the captives in the Capitol - Finnick just has to distract them for a bit longer. It’s tortuous, for you and for him, to live so vicariously through the trauma and memories that you’ve both carried for all of these years.

“He can’t hide the scent of who he really is. He kills without mercy, he rules with deception and fear. His weapon of choice is the only thing suited for such a man. Poison, the perfect weapon for a snake.”

Suddenly, things go white and you’re pulled out of the weird haze you were in when Katniss calls out to Beetee. Coin attempts to bring the footage back up, but it seems to be too late.

“We have another sixty seconds and then we’ll be cut off.” Beetee says, and someone in the room asks if they should call back the hovercraft.

You would’ve volunteered to go next, to tell them every dirty little detail about being a Victor, but Katniss volunteered first. 

“Are you sure?” You softly ask, and Katniss nods as you step out of the way.

The others in the room do the same as Katniss calls out to President Snow multiple times, and time runs thin before he answers her back.

“What an honor, and I don’t imagine you’re calling me to thank me for the roses.” His face appears through the static, and you physically recoil at the sight of him. 

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the games, I never asked to be the Mockingjay. I just wanted to save my sister and keep Peeta alive. Please, just let him go.” The desperation in her answer is evident as she continues. “I will stop being the Mockingjay. I will disappear, you will never have to see me ever again.”

“Ms. Everdeen, you couldn’t run from this anymore than you could’ve run from the games.” Snow coldly says.

“Please, you’ve won. You’ve already beaten me. Release Peeta, and take me instead.” Katniss offers herself up, but Snow shakes his head.

“I couldn’t pass the opportunity for a noble sacrifice.”

“Then tell me what to do. I’ve always kept my promises, haven’t I?”

“You say you didn’t want a war, and that’s just what’s happened. I told you what a fragile thing peace was, and still, like a child, you took pleasure in breaking it. I know what you are, I know you can’t see past your narrow concerns, but please, Ms. Everdeen, I doubt you know what honesty is anymore.”

You’re barely able to focus on the conversation because the sight of President Snow is enough to send you into fight-or-flight. Haymitch has had to pull you back multiple times to prevent you from interfering, and you’re a few seconds from leaving the room entirely.

He’s not even here, and you’re still scared shitless of him. What a fucking nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

“You’ve asked me to convince you that I was in love with Peeta. Haven’t I, at least, done that?”

“Ms. Everdeen, it’s the things we love most that destroy us. I want you to remember that I said that. Don’t you think I know that your friends are in the Tribute Center?” He pauses for a moment as everyone stares in abstract horror. “Cut them off.”

The feed crashes as everyone launches into a panic. Haymitch goes to comfort Katniss as Beetee tries to reach those inside of the Capitol. You’re left staring at the screen, contemplating why he continues to play the same games with Katniss that he did with you.

~

“Sunny, you’ve done excellent work today.” Snow’s eyes remain fixated on his roses as you admire the poppies near the entrance. 

“Thank you, President Snow.” You quietly mumble.

“You can just call me Snow - we are friends, are we not?”

“Of course, my apologies.” You put on a brave smile as you take a cautious step forward.

“No need to apologize, at least not to me.” He pauses for a moment. “I heard from one of my advisors that you had brushed off his attempts at courting you.”

“It won’t happen again.” You bow to him after looking back at the poppies. “I’ll go and make a personal apology before I leave for District Four.”

“Good, it’d be a shame if I had to hurt the family that threw you out after you had won the games. Or maybe I’ll show your new ‘family’ some of the raw footage of your Games, if that would be enough to deter them from speaking with you again.”

“I sincerely apologize for disrespecting you, Snow, and I will make sure that my apology is just as sincere to your advisor.”

“I know you will, you always make great amends. That’s what I like about you, Sunny, you know when you’ve done something wrong, and nothing will stop you from making it right.” Snow picks a rose before making eye contact with you. “The advisor is being housed on the second floor of my home.”

“Thank you for your utmost kindness.” You bow again before scurrying away.

~

“They’re here.”

Nothing could’ve stopped you from rushing into the hospital ward - not even the armed guards that tried to stop you. Your eyes scan around for a familiar face, and you spot Johanna pulling away from guards and doctors alike.

“Leave me alone!” She barks at them before looking at you. “You look like shit.”

“You look much worse, believe me.” You scoff before waving the doctors away. “I’ve got her, I promise.”

“I tried to give them hell, but the Capitol repaid the favor with interest, as they always do.” Johanna reluctantly swings her legs back onto the hospital bed as you arrange some of the medication nearby.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch what the doctors give you. You won’t have to take anything you don’t need, I promise.” You step aside and gesture for a doctor to come back.

“The knee brace?”

“Talk to Katniss about that one.” You both chuckle to yourselves before Finnick bursts into the ward.

“Annie? Mags?” He calls out as he desperately searches around the area.

When you look back at Johanna, she has a sympathetic look on her face as you cover your mouth with one of your hands.

“I’m sorry-” 

“-I need a minute before I do something I regret.” You back away from Johanna and rush into the hallway as you continue to hear Finnick call out for them.

Hot tears fall down your face as you let your metal knee brace pull you to the ground. After seeing Peeta alive, you had hope for the others… but your hope had now been crushed.

You remember a time when you wished that you and Finnick could have all of the time in the world to be alone together.

Now you want to reach back into the past and slap yourself for saying that.

There wouldn’t be anymore Sunday dinners, small fishing trips, or beach picnics. No more midnight stargazing with Mags when you couldn’t sleep, or baking cookies with Annie as a way to help her relax for a while.

Everything you had gained after losing yourself in the Games was nearly gone.

All that was left was the somber man who just stumbled out of the ward. The look in Finnick’s eyes was distant - he was here with you without being here with you.

You, as quickly as one with a knee brace can, stand up and rush into his arms. You’re sure that your sobs can be heard from the farthest corner of the underground facility.

He doesn’t even respond or move his head in acknowledgment. 

Neither of you move, and time doesn’t either as you grieve together.

You wanted to believe that you were out of your waking nightmare, but maybe the Games were just the beginning of a lifetime of torture.

Only time would tell.

tagging ->  @yokolesbianism , @avoxrising, @honethatty12, @sweetybuzz25, @catvader101, @sollum, @emerald-valkyrie, @randomgurl2326, @caitsymichelle13, @bcbci, @iris1587 (send a request or comment on this fic to be added to the taglist!)

[sednonamoris]

arsonist’s lullaby

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: With Sean dead and the Confederate gold nowhere to be found, the Braithwaites learn exactly why boys are off-limits.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/gore, canonical character death, arson/fiery deaths, angst, kidnapping, toxic loyaltyyyyy

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Emerging from my absence to post this chapter and fade back into the ether ✌️

Series masterlist • AO3

—

In the end, it’s a perfectly ordinary day when things come to a head.

Midsummer sun has beat down all day, only just now mellowing to a deep orange, early evening glow. Standing halfway up the path to camp on guard duty, nothing remarkable has happened at all, except maybe the number of deerflies you’ve had to fend off. Like the heat alone isn’t enough.

Micah and Sean and Bill rode into town on business earlier. Sean jabbered something about meeting up with Arthur and that Gray sheriff, but he was insistent on keeping the rest a mystery. High profile stuff, you know. Not for old-timers like you to worry about. You just rolled your eyes and sent him on his way.

Other than that, it’s been awfully quiet— Even after Karen and Bill and Lenny and Arthur hit Valentine’s bank the other week. If you were a more suspicious person you might call it too quiet, but it’s been nice to have a bit of a break. You and John have hardly spent a moment apart. Camp chores go quicker together, you tell everyone, but it hardly takes a genius to see you’re more attached at the hip than ever. Moving sacks of cornmeal and haying horses and chopping wood doesn’t usually result in the lovestruck looks stuck on your faces, after all.

Arthur, too, has enjoyed the down time. If he isn’t sharing a cup of morning coffee with his wife then he’s reading storybooks to his surrogate son, complete with ridiculous voices. He puts on a deep, gruff baritone for the bad guys, then pitches higher for a hero that sounds suspiciously like Jack. It’s sweet. The mantle of secondhand fatherhood fits snugly across his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but feel that if anyone ever deserved a second chance at all this, it’s him.

John’s been watching them with the strangest mix of joy and wistfulness and regret and shame. It’s always gone in a blink. You never quite know what to say.

But there’s no time to ruminate further when a slow, steady, thumping lope comes within earshot. You almost miss it, lost in thought.

“Who goes there?”

You’re not sure why you bother asking; the footfalls are too heavy to be anyone but Bill on Brown Jack. When they come into view there’s a tense set to Bill’s shoulders and unease in the whites of Brown Jack’s eyes. You see something slung behind the saddle, unmoving.

A body.

You only register it as Sean when he slows to a stop beside you.

It’s jarring to see the lively young Irishman so horribly, deathly still. His clothes are stained with blood and singed from bullets, but the gaping hole in his head is what turns your stomach and raises your hackles as well as the hairs on the back of your neck. Pulpy brains. Shards of skull. A once-bright eye bulged, crooked and unseeing. A damn good headshot.

Who would be gunning for him? you think. But really, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring down here, who wouldn’t? It’s only been a matter of weeks since you and the boys stole those horses. Less since he and Arthur burned the tobacco fields.

You look up at Bill after a long moment.

“Wanna tell me how the fuck you got the kid killed?” you say, voice low. Simmering. Seething in the summer heat.

Bill’s expression is caught between guilt and resentment. “It was them Gray boys.”

“Them Gray boys?”

“They were waitin’ for us! Arthur… well, he reckons they figured us out. Talked to that Braithwaite woman, I mean.”

“Where is he? Alive?”

“He and Micah ain’t far behind. Don’t expect they’ll be comin’ together.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shake your head and try to think past the blood pounding through your eardrums. Ringing in your skull. “We gotta bury him.”

“I know,” he snaps.

Where would Sean want to be buried? With a view of the water? In the shade of the trees? Certainly not alone, but there’s little choice there. “We gotta— He deserves someplace decent.”

“I know.” Softer, this time. “...There’s a quiet spot up the other side of the path.”

You nod. “Don’t let the girls see.”

—

The air is thick and stagnant even as the afternoon fades into evening. You’ve always hated digging graves, and this heat only makes it worse. Cicadas hum. Flies buzz. Bill picked a good spot out of the dying sun, but sweat still pours down both of your faces and necks, soaking through your shirts. Salt stings your eyes and the tip of your tongue.

Once the hole is deep enough, Bill does his best to arrange whatever’s left of Sean with some dignity; arms crossed, a coin over his intact eye. It’s still a sorry sight. You take the pistol from his holster to give to Karen and let its dead weight rest in your belt while you and Bill get to burying. When the work is done, he stutters a few insufficient words over a yet-unmarked grave. He looks to you, then, and you fish your flask off your belt and take a strong swig before pouring a generous amount over the freshly turned earth.

“Cheers, brother,” says a hollow voice that sounds like yours. “Save us a seat.”

You don’t bother saying where.

—

Karen hits you when you tell her. A full arm swing. Open-palmed. Then again when you hand her the pistol.

You let her.

Feels like the least you can do.

—

The evening passes in a haze of numb grief. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you hide, only emerging from your tent when you hear raised voices outside Dutch’s.

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail demands. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

And Jesus if this day couldn’t get worse. Your eyes scan the camp, like you’d be able to spot little Jack where his mother couldn’t. The sick feeling that’s been festering in your stomach since Sean’s burial twists and writhes and weighs you down like lead. Everyone knows missing is about as good as dead these days, but you don’t dare say that to Abigail.

“Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!”

More and more begin to crowd around the commotion. The girls lay consoling hands on Abigail’s shoulders that quake with anger and fear. Arthur’s face is grim and drawn beside her. John’s is shadowed behind them, torn between guilt and anger. Hosea pushes past the throng to lay blame on the Braithwaites— at least, he says Kieran saw some boys what looked like Braithwaites not far from camp earlier. After what happened in town today, you have to admit it makes sense. Both families have you figured out, and they’re out for their pound of flesh.

As if Sean wasn’t enough already.

“We will find Jack, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head,” Dutch vows in answer to Abigail’s frantic questioning. “Right now.”

And he turns on his heel and makes toward The Count to do just that. Everyone follows. Bill calls out asking about extra guns that are accepted readily. Micah and Kieran are ordered to protect the camp while you’re all away. Weapons drawn, eyes blazing, you mount your horses and make off into the night.

This is the warpath. The beating hooves and rushing blood. Moonshine canters steadily beneath you, keeping stride with Old Boy and Arthur’s mount on either side. It’s been a long time since the whole gang has ridden out like this, chomping at the bit for a bloodletting.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there!” John snarls. He’s settled into his anger now, quicker on its draw than his pistol.

“Easy, Marston,” Arthur says. His voice is low and dangerous like how he warns off strangers. Not family. Not John. “You don’t check your shots, Jack’ll end up dead too.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy! That’s my—” but John chokes on the word before he can get it out.

Son, he was going to say. That’s his son.

But Jack is as much Arthur’s as he is John’s anymore, and right now neither one can stand it. You can’t bear to look at the fear nor the anger nor the burning blame in either of their eyes.

—

The oaks that line the path to Braithwaite Manor are always imposing, but here in the dusky nighttime you swear you can feel their ancient eyes watching. Bloody roots gorged on bloodstained grounds; twisted, gnarled branches grasping for a Heaven they’ll never reach. There are few stars that shine through the scattered clouds in the early night sky, but you wish upon every one that Jack is safe, and you vow that no one will make it out of here alive if he isn’t.

Everyone dismounts at the gate. Beside you John and Arthur are tense. Mouths set, trigger fingers twitching, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger and fear that can only come from losing a child. Dutch, too, is furious. The fact that anyone would touch one of his own is normally enough to have him ranting, almost frothing at the mouth, but he must sense that Arthur and John need him calm.

Calmer than them, anyhow.

Ahead, the manor house is lit with a warm orange glow from its pillared porch. The moon casts strange light across the shadowy night, flickering in and out of cloud cover. There is only the sound of gravel beneath your boots and anticipation.

“Get down here now, you inbred trash!” Dutch bellows at the first sight of the Braithwaite boys.

“What the hell do you want?” they call back, like they don’t know.

John makes to aim his gun and you brush against his shoulder as a comfort and a warning. He snarls but doesn’t shoot. Not yet.

Dutch continues, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

Arthur is little better off, glaring holes in the heads of every Braithwaite son and cousin and uncle and friend that emerges from the looming house. There’s more of them by the minute. You feel everyone tense around you. Their guns aren’t lifted - not yet - but all it will take is a sign from Dutch.

Not yet.

“That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land!”

Not yet.

Dutch’s eyes darken in challenge. He doesn’t so much as turn his head toward any of you, but the shift in energy is electric. The whole world holds its breath.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Now.

All at once everyone opens fire. It’s a symphony of gunfire, bullets screaming by from every direction. You pull John behind a crate just as one grazes his ear. He snarls out a curse while you kill the man on the balcony who shot at him. The body tumbles over the railing and stains the steps red with blood and brains.

Dutch calls out marching orders, but through the din he’s nearly impossible to hear. John heads inside. You follow suit. The manor doors swing wide open like the unhinged jaw of a snake, welcoming you into the belly of the beast.

“Jack!”

“Where are you, kid?”

“Jack!”

His name echoes off expensive oak floors and through lofted ceilings. You tear through the lower floor like someone possessed, ripping open mahogany chests and finely stained china cabinets and the couch cushions of richly-rugged sitting rooms. Anywhere a little boy might fit. Then plenty of places he wouldn’t just for good measure.

Somewhere in the rush you lose John. Over the gurgling rasp of a Braithwaite son’s last breath you hear him shout something from upstairs. You make to run up the winding staircase but stop dead in your tracks when you see Catherine Braithwaite being kicked down them.

Dutch sneers, his lip curled with generational distaste for a man who preaches against revenge. She’s sobbing, spewing vitriol with every shaky breath. All her sons are dead now. You can see it in the gape of her burnt ash mouth. In the flames that lick the polished wood floors from their dropped torches. In the fire reflected back in Dutch’s eyes.

—

Jack isn’t there. Catherine Braithwaite uses her last breaths to gloat that he’s been sold to a man in the city.

Sold.

You watch Dutch let her go, then watch still as she runs screaming into the flames. The house collapses over a shrieking phantom of the Deep South with a groan and a sigh. By the color of the flames it’ll burn for hours yet.

The trees stare as you leave, gorged on blood and ash.

—

Dawn comes blood red and brutal, streaking through the sky with its first light warning. Dutch, John, Hosea, and Arthur are all gathered around the camp table to discuss your next moves. Whatever those are, though, you can’t imagine. John didn’t sleep a wink last night, just staring at tent canvas and stewing in blame. He looks awful. Everyone does.

You’re sat next to Abigail by the campfire. She says nothing, but the hunch of her shoulders and the blue-hot flame of her eyes tells you there’s nothing to be said. Her boy is gone. Missing.

You brought her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, but neither of you is up for eating much. She stares into the fire while it sits untouched in her lap. You push your oats around with the spoon and pretend not to eavesdrop.

Of course Marston’s scared rotten, Arthur says in hushed tones. I am too. We killed all them people— for what? For nothin’. There ain’t no gold here.

For living, Dutch corrects him, and you can’t help but think it’s a shame that not all of you got to that part. The living. Sean is dead and gone forever. For all you know, Jack might be too.

But all of that is put immediately to rest when Lenny walks into camp with two Pinkerton agents at gunpoint.

Milton and Ross, they call themselves, swaggering through the whole of camp like you’re not all outlaws and thieves. Killers. Everyone stands as they pass, slowly circling in like vultures to the promise of violence.

The matching felt bowler hats on their heads can’t hide the pockmarks on Milton’s face nor the smug, bristling mustache on Ross’. The government is surely paying a pretty penny for your capture if the fineness of their clothes is anything to go by. Their shoes are shined and polished. You can’t help but notice the way the red Rhodes clay oozes up beneath the soles and paints them muddy.

“This thing? It’s done,” Milton announces when he makes his way to Dutch.

Dutch barely bothers to turn and face him. He doesn’t stand. Everyone else slowly, slowly creeps closer. One step at a time. All coming together. Vultures. Violence.

Things like this are never just done.

Never.

Milton calls Dutch a lot of things. A shepherd of lost souls. A messiah. Sarcasm drips from the syllables, and you wonder how he might react if you told him Dutch was the only god to answer a single one of your prayers. Even Swanson lost touch with Christ long ago. Now when he falters he begs Dutch Van der Linde for forgiveness. All of you do.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch finally says.

Milton’s eyes narrow. There's a faint expression you can’t quite place on his face when he replies, “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He offers freedom, then. Three days to run and hide and live like civilized human beings in exchange for Dutch. It’s almost laughable.

Dutch steps forward and every gun in camp cocks. Agent Milton seems suddenly to remember how very much outnumbered and outgunned he is.

“I think your new friend should leave, Dutch,” Ms. Grimshaw says.

Milton calls it a mistake, calls you all fools, but the only foolish mistake you can see is letting them live.

—

John and Arthur leave together after all that. They make for a place called Shady Belle and promise Abigail it’s close to the city where her son is being held. A good spot to camp while everyone does what they can to bring that little boy home.

Looking at Karen, miserable and bleary-eyed drunk, you can’t help but think it’s awfully far from Sean’s grave.

[soullessdianthus]

hi so I saw that you write for tangerine and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing an older tangerine x younger fem reader (age gap) where they're both assassins but have bad blood however spicy smut ensues?

sorry if this is too much!

Author's note: Sorry, this took so long, but I'm currently moving out and it has been a mess. Anyways, here's a piece where you met the citrus brothers on a mission (after competing for a while), but the outcome was something you didn't expect at all. Something that won't be easily forgotten. Bon apetit.

Warnings: swearing, violence (canon typical), age gap?, choking 😳, smutty smut

Word count: 6.5k oops

P.S.: I checked it two times, might fix few grammar/spelling mistakes in next few days.

A cloudless night sky shimmered above your head, when you firmly closed the car doors behind you. Making sure the bottom of the evening dress wasn’t stuck in the vehicle, you carefully turned around and then took a step back onto the pavement. You smiled politely as the Uber driver started a new route, leaving you in front of a grand, neoclassicist building. 

That night a sort of a charity gala was being hosted there, but everyone knew what kind of business was really going on under all that sugar coated image. Unselfish aid - well, not really in the twenty-first century. At least not by the filthy rich people. 

But that evening, they were all there and you had to blend in. That was your role to play. The job, commissioned by your boss, was supposed to be quite easy. An old style theft of some jewelry, a sapphire of sorts. Not the most vulnerable or the biggest jewel in the word, but your commissioner insisted on this specific one. So to speak, your competition was thin. 

In the great hall, a courtroom for a banquet, people were gathered. Young waiters and waitresses sneaking between the guests, dancing on their tiptoes almost. Last summer it was your job to collect an order and bring it as fast as you could to the customer at your local, prestigious restaurant. 

Besides some bizzare and sometimes even brutal contracts, you continued to live a simple, student life. Taking a summer job or tutoring a highschooler, for example. But it began to happen less frequently than ever before, as your life began to change. 

Ever since you met that annoying, British man from a different agency. And his equally odd brother.

Walking up the staircase to the ground floor, you collected the long dress with a cut on the left side, exposing your bare leg to the passers by. If it was an event held by the royal family, you would’ve been kicked out long ago. But happily it wasn’t. 

After leaving your cloak in the foyer of the hotel, you slowly headed towards the room, where the main events were supposed to be held. And people had already gathered there. 

You felt just like an actress (silly of you) - starring in an action movie, with all the thrill of a crime looming in the air. For a moment you forgot about all of the blood on your hands. Metaphorically, of course. You could not erase those sins. It was a path you could not just abandon. 

One of the waiters, almost your peer, tried to persuade you to try some champagne from his silver tray. But you politely declined with a simple gesture of hand. Parents taught you well, not to drink while at work. 

You continued to walk around the patio, carefully examining and remembering the surroundings. Playing a part of this higher society, you nodded a few times to the strangers passing by, exerting a sham of knowing each other. And until now, you hadn’t spotted anyone from your branch. No familiar faces. “Good, very good” you thought.

Your boss told you beforehand there shouldn’t be any competition with the jewel that night. And the boss was always right. 

Almost.

─ Oh Goodness! Such a beautiful dress, my dear ─ exclaimed the elder lady, gripping on her purse through the white gloves. ─ Tell me, sweetheart, who designed it? Where did you get it?

─ That’s very kind of you, ma’am. ─ Your lips curled in a cheerful smile, while approaching the two older ladies, standing near the cocktail table. ─ But I’m afraid I cannot help you. You see, this is my mother’s dress, when she was my age. It's a vintage piece. 

─ Oh, that’s very lovely, keeping the traditions from generation to generation. I wish my son would wear his father’s cufflinks from time to time. ─ The second lady interfered, after finishing her glass of champagne. 

─ Have you been to the rooftop yet? ─ She changed the subject quicker than you could even proceed.

─ No, I haven’t, ma’am. Is there something worth bothering about? ─ You asked her, still keeping that cheerful smile on your young face. 

Your “colleagues” would insult you (or rather joke about you) with many things about your age or experience, but even though you were barely half their age, you knew how to get people to fall under your charm.

─ Of course you should see it! They have lovely gardens there, quite exotic. One of the best ones in the whole of London. 

─ Then, shall we go there then? ─ You proposed to the nice ladies, straightening your knees.

─ Only if we’re not boring you to death, dear. 

─ There is plenty of time until the main event begins, I’d like to see something other than the ground floor.

In the company of two lovely, but strangely intriguing, old women you traveled to the top of the building to see the flowers they were so excited about. And after a short walk with them you had to agree that the garden was quite interesting. Even for such a layman you were about the flowers. 

But the night was cold and you had to excuse your company at the rooftop, as you left your coat at the foyer. The cut of the dress made it even worse - your shoulders were showing, shivering because of the cold air. Besides, you had a job to do. 

You entered the elevator and began to go back down, only to be stopped by someone from the outside on the tenth (or was it eleventh?) floor. 

Something was off. You couldn’t tell why, but you knew someone was coming. Behind those metal doors. The tension was building up, until the gates opened silently to the sides, exposing two well dressed men, now standing in front of you.

─ Well, look who it is. ─ Said the man with a thick mustache above his upper lip, placing his hands inside the pockets of his trousers.

─ See? I told you, mate. Wouldn’t have mistaken her with someone else.

─ Excuse me, gentlemen. ─ Your response was quick. There was no time or need for a confrontation with those guys. Again. So you tried to force your way out of that elevator, but the taller, dark skinned man grabbed you by your arms and pushed back inside the metal box heading down. 

No, you didn’t have a gun. It wasn’t “that” kind of job with the jewel. You didn’t need a gun, because nobody was supposed to die. Besides, it was too loud for a place like that. 

You tried to pass again, by pushing him away, but the damn golem wouldn’t move. So you swiftly hit under the man's ribs and swung to strike again. But he foresaw this and gripped your fist, pushing you inside the box. 

Brothers stepped inside and you found yourself locked without an exit.

─ Gentlemen ─ the brunette repeated mockingly with a little giggle ─ she's sweet. She really is. 

─ Are you looking for trouble? ─ Tightening a grip on your baggie, you slightly narrowed your brows. These two happened to appear in the middle of your last few commissions, putting your plans into ruins, so naturally, you were pissed to see them again. 

“Putting the plan into ruins” was the most subtle description you could give to what they've done. You always fulfilled your contracts, but the way you planned to do so. On your terms. But those two happened to show up in the middle of a plan, make a lot of noise and run off. 

The elevator started to go down again. 

─ Do you, love? ─ He snapped back, taking a step towards you. 

─ What are you doing here? ─ You asked a bit irritated, by the dismissive tone of his voice. 

─ Another day, another contract. ─ Lemon, the portly one, interrupted as you and his brother didn’t mean to end the staring contest.

─ What is your contract, to be exact? So we won’t disturb each other.

─ Whoa, whoa, slow down, girl ─ Tangerine slightly waved with his hand flat, golden rings shimmering around his fingers ─ you think we’re gonna answer to you, after what happened lately in Budapest? Do you recall that, sweetheart?

─ It was Vienna. ─ You corrected him, tension slowly leaving your muscles. There was no sign of an upcoming fight. If they were here to kill specifically you, they would have done that already. There wouldn’t be a time for small talk like such. 

The number on a panel above the buttons changed to the third floor. You were almost there. In a moment you will be able to get away from them and focus on your tonight's mission.

─ Ah, Vienna. Right, right. 

─ Well, that wasn’t my fault, you two ─ your finger pointed at brothers ─ were sloppy and messed up your part. I just finished my own contract. 

Well, it wouldn’t have happened, if you weren’t on plain fuckin’ sight and did not interrupt the adults doing their fuckin’ job. - Lemon gestured with his hands, getting visibly annoyed by your denial. 

Well, you just told them the truth, they fucked up last time. It wasn’t your doing. Well, not that particular time, not in Vienna.

─ I’m sorry, “adults”? That’s what you call yourself? ─ You needed a clarification, did you miss heard? Was he making fun of you somehow?

─ Don’t fuck with us, kid. 

─ Oh, fuck off, Lemon. ─ You answered irritably as the doors opened, welcoming you three to the ground floor. A line of impatient guests waited until you left the cabin. 

Lemon’s choice of words angered you. Yes, you were very young for such a profession, but your age did not determine your abilities. For some time you had a mentor, who taught you well. And your actions were excellent proof of that. 

Finally getting out of the elevator, you took advantage of the situation - happening to be in a crowded place. You swiftly passed them all, leaving brothers behind. While blending in with the other guests on the patio, you took a glimpse over your shoulder. For a brief moment your eyes locked with Tangerine’s blue irises. 

Your heart froze when he traced your path. You had to disappear, quickly.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

You found yourself staring through the massive window, viewing the busy street during night time. Heavy raindrops were dripping from a glass wall onto a windowsill. 

Thoughts corrupted you so much that you had to shake your head slightly, trying to get back into your senses. You stood in one place for too long, what clearly angered your inner perfectionism. But why were you distracted? It rarely happened since your very first few missions. 

Happily for you it didn’t last too long and all preparations have been done by that time. Now you just had to wait for the auctions to begin, so you could start the operation. 

The jewel was being kept on a sort of exposition in one of the lobbies - a small room, next to the patio (one of few actually). Two security cameras, which you’ve already plugged to a remote to loop their image when needed and only two bodyguards walking around the area. 

You sneaked to the hotel earlier that week, disguised as a waitress, so you could take a look at the surroundings and disturb some vires in CCTV around that place. 

After all, your boss gave you a few decent tips, but the executive part was on your side. 

Your legs kept the same pace as before - firm, but not fast. Confident, but not attention seeking. Although your ankles began to feel numb after those hours in heels. 

And then, out of bloom, while you were passing the corridor leading to the bathrooms, you felt a strong grip tightening around your arm. Mysterious force dragged you to the resting area (just in front of the toilets), while you stumbled upon your own legs and dropped the little baggie on the floor.

─ Christ! ─ You hissed, when you finally found your balance again. Not a single living soul was around besides you and Tangerine. The British man was still holding your arm, standing between you and the pathway to the patio. ─ Let go.

─ Not so quick, sunshine. We should talk first, you know. 

─ Oh, we’ve already talked, big man. Time is nagging, I have to go. 

Your free hand immediately swung at his right ribs, covered by white, evening chemise and a beautiful jacket from the tailor. There was no intention to start a fight, but he was stubborn and you were afraid of the shortage of time. So the punch was supposed to be a warning. 

As your fist met with his ribcage, the brunette bent a bit in half and loosen the grip on your arm. And as the opportunity occured, you started to walk away.

Only when you turned your back at him, Tangerine took a step forward and entangled his both hands around your waist and throat. The second placement worried you more.

How could you let that happen? Turning your back away? “How stupid!” you scolded yourself.

He pulled you backwards so hard that you bumped your back into his torso and chest. A silent sigh escaped your mouth as he spread his ringed fingers on your windpipe. 

The jewelry was cold just like the air outside the hotel, making your skin twitch.

Tangerine was taller than you. He was also older and more advanced than you. Which really made you uneasy. If he only wanted to, he could be a serious threat. 

─ Tsk, that wasn’t nice. Listen, we really need to know, what the fuck you’re doin’ here tonight, sweetheart. 

─ Why are you so persistent? ─ You asked him, annoyed at the fact he kept his hand tightly not only on your throat, but also your waist, tugging you close to him. You also let your accent slip out, because of it.

Desperate you tried to yank away from the big man. You really wanted to get out of that situation as fast as possible, because it made you blush. The fact you liked the way he held you.

This time your both arms were absolutely free. So gathering some force in one of your elbows, you stabbed him in his stomach. The first one wasn’t fully successful so you continued to hammer his torso until he’d finally free you.

There was a brief moment, when his hands loosen up and you turned around to face him. He swung his right fist near your head, which now was - a serious threat. 

You backed away a few steps - keeping the distance, but he followed your trace, throwing his fists a few more times. His bright eyes had a mysterious and distracting charm in them. 

You continued to back away, but the distance between you two suddenly reduced, so you swung your right knee at his thigh, near the groin. Unfortunately, he was able to block the hit, grasping on your uncovered leg. He tossed it in his hand, almost playfully, locking your thigh between his elbow. 

And then he charged at you, forcing you to back away even faster, until your back met with the stone wall. His other hand found itself on your exposed neck one more time, pinning your body down. 

Being “cornered” and left with little choices, you pulled out a dagger out from the garter. It was the right time to do so.

─ Why are you so feisty, huh? ─ Tangerine said calmly, correcting his grip on your leg. ─ I really don’t want to punch a woman, for fuck sake. 

─ Pardon me, I’ve been taught so.

─ Oh, but you still have a lot to learn, honey. Now tell me, will you ─ his eyes loomed inside yours, searching for sympathy ─ what’s your fuckin’ target.

─ On three, then we both say. Seems fair. 

─ You’re not the one to negotiate, sunshine, considering I have a hand on your pretty neck. And a thigh of yours. ─ He added after looking up and down at you like a piece of goose meat. 

─ But I have a knife pointed at your kidney, so what will it be? Equals?

There was silence for a short moment between you and Tangerine. For a very brief moment, but the escalating tension made it impossible for you to keep looking him straight in the eyes. 

God bless, he lowered his head down, turning it slightly to the sides - meaning Tangerine gave in the further argument. 

─ You never disappoint me, love ─ the man giggled, making his mustache twitch. ─ Fuck it. On three, you ready? 

─ One. ─ You started counting, still being highly alerted of your surroundings. Of him. ─ Two. Three.

─ Birdwhistle. ─ He chanted a surname unknown to you. 

─ Stuart’s Sapphire.

You both exclaimed at the same time, tension instantly leaving your bodies. That evening your paths weren’t crossed. 

─ Jesus Christ ─ brunette man cursed, while releasing the air from his lungs ─ couldn’t you just say that earlier? 

Tangerine let go of your exposed neck and led your leg carefully back to the floor. Now that you stood firm on the ground, you fixed the material of your dress and hid the dagger back under the garter.

─ Well, couldn’t you clarify earlier, that you and your brother are not here to assassinate me or my mission? After violently reminding me about Vienna?

─ Why would I? I kinda enjoy your company, sweetheart. Never fails to entertain. ─ The British man said, handing you the bag you’ve dropped.

─ How splendid. Thanks. 

“I’m not sure if Lemon could say the same about my fellowship” you thought. 

Only when you two wanted to leave the resting area, the bathroom door swung open and the old lady emerged from the inside. Your heart froze for a second.

─ Oh, Miss Caldwell! ─ Exclaimed the short lady, who discussed the matter of flowers with you earlier. The surname was fake of course. ─ Aren’t you going for the main event? It’s about to start. 

─ We’ve been just heading there, but I needed to re-do my hair. You know how it is, ma’am ─ you smiled cheerfully, getting right back into your role. ─ Have you met my fiance August, Mistress Dolores? 

You falsely presented Tangerine, before she could even ask about it. This way, the old lady wouldn’t have much time to overthink his persona.

Without even hesitating, the brunette gently shook her hand. He jumped straight into the fake personality you just gave him. Tangerine got so much into playing his part of a fiance, that he even put his left hand around your waist, resting it on your hip. 

And for a moment you felt the same way as when your bodies were entangled together in a scuffle minutes before. You felt too comfortable around him - he was your competitor for fuck’s sake.

─ Then we shall go back. I wouldn’t want to miss such an opportunity. ─ Tangerine encouraged you to move forward, slowly leading to the great hall. He exposed his free elbow in your direction, inviting you to take it. So you did. 

─ You’ll have to excuse me, I have to go into that crowd and find my husband, first ─ Mr. Dolores explained, as she got visibly worried. ─ Before he gets lost. Again. 

─ Understably, ma’am. 

And just like she appeared out of nowhere, she blended in the colorful and extravagant crowd of guests.

─ So ─ Tangerine cleared his throat ─ we’re playin’ in one team, darlin’? No more scuffles? 

While finishing, he looked at you with his eyes made of ice and a manner you could no longer describe. He still kept his hand on your hip, leading you during your walk together. It irritated you a bit and you wondered - was he always acting this cocky? 

─ You and your brother do what you have to do and I’ll stick to my stuff. Everyone gets what they want. Seems cool, right, Mr. Bond? ─ You jokingly addressed him. Turning your head, you caught him staring at you, which sent some shivers down your spine. 

─ Seems cool. We’ll finally have some pleasant memories together, won’t we, love? 

You sent him a quick, cheeky smile, before leaving him behind. 

Brunette Britishman brought his hands to himself, placing them in his pockets as you walked away from him. It was high time to pursue tonight's commissions. The auctions had started and Mr. Birdwhistle was about to pass out drunk. He had to find Lemon fast, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you in that evening dress.

Oh, that fucking dress. It almost made him go insane.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

She patiently waited.

Waited until the bodyguards would get bored with keeping an eye on some blue jewel that nobody came to see. One of them decided to go on a break, leaving only one man on the post. The universe has blessed you. 

Now it was a matter of minutes. You had to remove the other guy from the camera’s lens. So while heading to the lobby with the exhibition, you lit up a cigarette and inhaled it a single time. Then threw it into the nearest bin and waited until the other rubbish caught the flames. 

Only when you saw the smoke coming out of the metal container did you continue the plan. Acting a bit lost and concerned. 

─ Is anyone here, hello? ─ You started asking for help, almost approaching your final destination. And there he was, a bodyguard leaving his post. ─ Oh, God gracious! I think there is a small fire in that bin. Can you help that, sir? 

The man said nothing but regardless, he went to see what caused the smoke. During that time you’ve managed to loop the image, so you wouldn’t be seen on the CCTV. By the time you stepped in, the security was gone - probably went for the fire-extinguisher.

You’ve already put gloves on (not to leave any fingertips) and started to unlock the glass cabinet. When it finally popped open, you grabbed the jewel from the little, red pillow and replaced it with the cheaper replica from your baggie. 

Then you quickly positioned it at the exhibition, locked it up and removed your gloves. Everything was looking fine, so you decided to leave. The security guy was coughing on the white fog that put out the fire you started. Little pyromaniac. 

You stood in one place, waiting for him to finish, so he would think you stayed there all this time. That you hadn’t just got into the lobby, he was supposed to look after. 

─ So we don’t need firefighters after all ─ you giggled, passing by him. ─ Should I inform someone? 

─ That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Thank you.

You proceed to leave the area, to go back to the main hall, where almost everyone gathered. Only when you turned around the corner, you recovered the cameras to its original state.

The commission was almost completed. Now you just had to deliver it within 48 hours to the messenger or something like this. And when it’s done, you’ll finally have some white wine.  

You passed through the whole crowd of excited people and found yourself near the roofed part of the patio, when you turned around to take a look at the scene - at the valuable and collectable items they were selling off. Suddenly you bumped into someone, while continuing to walk and not looking forward. 

─ I’m so sorry. ─ You started to apologize just before realizing who you just bumped into. 

─ Don’t be, love. It’s always nice to see you. ─ Tangerine’s smile was highlighted by the movement of his mustache, when his hand locked you close to him. 

─ Very funny. Is it done? 

There was no time for him to answer as the scream for a far filled the whole room. The lead person of the auctions stopped, while the gathered people began to speculate. 

─ Oh, I see. 

─ Lemon’s already outside and I have to disappear too ─ Tangerine looked around nervously, which was uncommon for him. But by squeezing your arms he brought you closer and placed a short kiss on your cheek. ─ Take care, sunshine. 

You stood there mortified as he merged with the disturbed guests of the hotel. The place he had just kissed pleasantly burned and your cheeks blushed. “What was that? A fucking farewell?” you also wondered if he was toying with you.

And then, out of bloom, something made you check your baggie. Which was slightly opened as it turned out. Not panicking yet (but almost), you started to search for it. But only found out that Britishman in fact stole your sapphire, leaving a piece of paper instead.

─ Bastard! 

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

You wandered across the sixth floor searching for room number “610”, because a note the Britishman left in your bag suggested you to search exactly here. Your feet hurt more than ever. With every step, the heels dug into the carpet flooring and your chafed heel felt like burning.

But your suffering was awarded the second you’ve noticed silver, a three digit number on the door - 610. 

You stopped upon the frame and knocked a few times, not realizing those knocks put together made a cheerful melody. While waiting for something to happen, you couldn’t decide how to manage the situation - to be mad and feisty or to turn it all into a joke. 

But when he finally appeared in the doorframe, all your anger was gone. There was something else instead. 

─ Lovely, I was wondering if you’d come. ─ Tangerine moved aside. His hand politely pointed to the inside, welcoming you.  An invitation you didn’t reject.

─ You have stolen something from me. 

─ Oh yes ─ brunette closed the door behind your back and proceeded to head to the counter nearby. Then he handed you a small, navy crystal. ─ Here you go, love.

You turned it around with your fingers, searching for any marks or cracks indicating it’s fake. But you hadn’t found any. 

─ That’s all? You just… gave it back to me?

─ Yeah, sorry about that, love. I’ve some ongoing kleptomaniac issues.

Brunette man stood in front of you, in the middle of the hotel room. His jacket was lying folded in half on a seat back. No creases could be seen.  

His chemise, on the other hand, was slightly opened, exposing his collarbone and partially his chest. The new vest fitted him perfectly. 

─ I see. You’re off duty or is your brother waiting outside? 

─ Lemon? Nah, he left. My brother wanted to sleep somewhere else. 

─ Somewhere he hadn’t killed someone, hm? 

─ Exactly.

─ But you don’t mind. 

─ Not really, no ─ Tangerine took a deep breath out. ─ Listen, darlin’, you clearly want to ask me something that is bothering you ─ you opened your lips to intervene, but the Britishman was quicker. ─ You’d leave otherwise. You won back your little jewel, didn’t you?

“Fair point, Mr. Bond” you thought to yourself “then why am I still here?”. You placed the bag on the closest cabinet, tightly securing it before that. 

─ Since we’re both finished tonight ─ you started the sentence, calmly and carefully collecting your thoughts ─ what was that? 

─ What?

─ The patio? After you’ve put your sticky hands in my bag?

Quite suddenly the man cupped your face with both of his hands. Moment later he placed a long kiss on your lips, this time directly on them. You’ve expected his mustache to irritate you, but the outcome was quite the opposite. You’ve never melted like that through the kiss.

You knew you desired more, but afraid to let go, you turned your head away to the side, breaking the kiss.

─ Stop treating me like some… pet or something. Jesus, Tangerine. 

─ A fuckin’ what? ─ An older man could not hold his short laugh back, while his hands lowered onto your shoulders.

─ You’re having a laugh, huh? You all do. 

─ No one’s laughin’ at you, sweetheart. And if they do, I’m gonna smash their fuckin’ noses into bloody mush. Because I like you, darlin’. I really do. ─ The Britishman was dead serious, when he put his whole hand against your chest. Christ’s sake, his hand was so warm. 

─ I thought you despised me. 

─ Despise you? Why would I, eh?

─ I don’t know, I’m being annoying sometimes?

─ Yeah, well, sometimes. Only when you’re teasing me like this, princess.

You gripped both sides of his vest, pulling him closer into a kiss. Both of you hungirly searched for each other's lips, taking only a short breaks in between.

His long fingers traveled across your sides and its curves. Tangerine’s hands grinded on your hips, crumpling the material of your evening dress.

─ Would you mind, stayin’ here for tonight? ─ He asked you, caressing the outline of your jaw with his right hand. 

─ But only for tonight.

You weren’t prepared for him to grab your thighs at their tops, inviting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He held you close and tight, when your shoes fell off your heels onto the carpet floor.  

As the Britishman slowly made his way to the closest cabinet near the wall, you continued to leave a trace of kisses from his cheeks until the earlobe. Few hours ago, you wouldn’t even imagine - that now you were entangled around Tangerine’s body. 

He placed you carefully on the edge of counter’s top. While the brunette stood close between your legs, he swiftly took off his vest and just threw it behind him. With no folding. God, he was desperate. 

Tangerine places his hand on the inner side of your thigh, but before he went further, he locked his blue eyes with yours. Wordlessly he asked you for permission. And you gave him another long, passionate kiss as an answer. 

─ Ladies first, eh? 

His slender fingers slipped through your panties and dipped deeper between the folds. His gentle touch made you slightly twitch. But not in an unpleasant way, more in relief. 

─ Show me, sunshine ─ he said calmly, nibbing on the skin of your neck ─ how to touch you. Show me. 

One of your hands left the cabinet’s edge and you placed it above his palm and knuckles, so you could guide his two fingers. You guided him a few slow motions around the clit that already made you gasp. 

After a while he caught on and continued on his own, while you clutched on his white chemise, poking out the trousers. Brunette’s other hand secured your hip, while he showered you in kisses - his facial hair tickling your skin. 

Even though he caged you with his body, you’ve never felt so safe around anybody. Never. 

─ Like this, y-yes. ─ You encouraged him. 

Few minutes later, you were so close to an edge. Your whole body relaxed and you couldn’t hide the little moans no more. Tangerine guessed you were close to your high. He placed his other hand on the side of your face (covering almost all of it), bringing your head to his forehead. Your hair was now messy, but it didn’t matter.

─ I’ve desired you long before Vienna, love. 

─ I know. ─ You almost stuttered saying that, as you’ve finally reached your beautiful climax. 

You took in a few sharp breaths, when you crossed your sighs again. All this time he kept his hand on your face in a comforting manner. And you acknowledged that he was smiling under that mustache. No more grumpy Britishman.

Both of you waited a moment, giving you the time to come down from the high, as your dingling from the edge legs were shaking. But when you were feeling alright again, he helped you get on the ground. 

You grabbed his hand and led towards the other part of the hotel room. By the way, checking if the curtains were closed. You stopped at the edge of the bed, turning around to face him.

Slowly you unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, exposing his torso to you. A golden necklace swung between his collarbones and a few tattoos, you didn’t know about, were undiscovered.

He patiently waited there, letting you walk around him and explore his body with your fingertips. But he grew impatient, as a growl escaped his lips. You combed his dark brown hair, before coming back where you initially stood. Then you started to undo his matching trousers.

Tangerine vividly slid them off along his socks and shoes. His already half hardened cock was visible under the boxers’ material.

─ Sweet Jesus, now it’s my turn, love. ─ He said, eagerly looking at you. Brunette turned you around and unzipped the dress that tempted him so much. You let it slide past your ankles. 

Lack of coverage exposed a garter with a dagger still in it. 

─ We won’t need that, won’t we, darlin’? ─ Older man took it out and threw it aside. Tangerine stepped even closer to you, as you tried to take off your underwear. He followed your movements with his boxers. ─ Come ‘ere. 

No more invitations were needed. He welcomed you with open arms. You tucked your hair behind an ear, while you were almost swallowed by his eager kisses. Then, he once again lifted you up, so you just sat on his hips and he made his way to the bed. 

The man placed you gently onto the soft sheets and quickly climbed over you. He placed his hands on both sides of your head, resting on his forearms, so he could lean closer to you. 

─ Fuckin’ hell, you’re so delicious ─ Tangerine asked, right after nibbling on your hardened nipples. ─ You okay, love?

─ Very much. 

Your hand found a way up the base of his neck. Once again you ran through his curly hair with your fingers. He smelled like whiskey and wood’s smoke. 

─ I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart. ─ He positioned himself and with determined, but not violent movement he buried his length within your cunt. 

It wasn’t painful, you were already wet from the foreplay, but the feeling of stretching made you gasp. You clenched on his  arm as he started to thrust his hips against your pelvis. 

─ You’re so beautiful, you know? 

─ Oh God ─ you moaned shamefully, when he shifted his position - I am?

─ Yeah ─ Tangerine’s weight was on top of you (his form perfectly fitting to your body), but you didn’t mind. As long as he was close to you, holding your tight. ─ Especially when you make those lil noises.

The man continued to thrust against you, letting some growls escape his own lips. The sensation of your warm and welcoming womanhood, made him closer to his pleasure. So you squeezed his biceps, letting him know you wanted to change position. 

He was moving freely, following the movements of your body. He comfortably half sat, his back resting on the pillow. While still joined together in an act of pleasure, you straddled him which only pushed his cock deeper inside you.

You made that obvious by tilting a little bit forward. Not mentioning you opened your mouth. 

─ You alright, love? ─ He asked to make sure.

─ Mhm. ─ You muttered, enhancing your position atop of him. 

Your legs felt like jellies, from the overstimulation beforehand and from the things you wanted to do to him. Your hands rested on his broad and bit hairy chest. 

─ Left you speechless, hun? 

─ Now it’s my turn, lover boy ─ you explained, when you’ve finally got used to his length buried inside your walls. ─ Let me make you happy. 

Tangerine placed his hands on your hips, supporting your position. He already knew what you intended. And only after you sat on your heels, you started to ride him. 

His facial expression quickly changed when you moved just the way he needed it. You quite quickly found the pace to go with and started to enjoy yourself too. 

Louder moans escaped your pretty mouth as you continued to ride a “cowboy”.

─ Oh fuck, yes ─ he stuttered loudly, his right hand blindly searching for your bouncing breast. ─ Like this, yes.

You continued to sway your hips against him, as you two grew closer together. He leaned forward, holding you tight. Tangerine’s and your breaths became shorter and shallower. You wished that night could last forever. 

You once again gained your climax thanks to that man, who followed you right after, buckling his hips for more. Your thighs shivered uncontrollably and your wet cunt clenched around his cock milking it dry. Tangerine unintentionally harsly gripped on your hips, leaving little marks indicating - you’re his. 

In the moment of your biggest pleasure you whined his real name, not the alias. And it really moved him. Deeply. 

─ Good girl ─ brunette praised you, while you brushed his now ruined hair back. ─ You alright, love?

─ Quite alright, can’t you see? ─ You jokingly said almost breathlessly.

─ I see quite fuckin’ fine, thanks, hun. Now, come ‘ere. Come.

The Britishman guided you to come back down, supporting your forearms so you could lean onto him. You were gracious for his help as you could barely feel your tired legs. 

He stayed in a half sitting position, while you lied down on your side. His strong arm invited you to different type of affection, so you cuddled up to his side and rested your head on his chest. His heart was still beating uncommonly fast. 

Brunette held you close to him, so your body heat kept you warm. Meanwhile all of this Tangerine pulled the sheets on you both, covering the naked bodies. 

─ I really enjoyed myself tonight ─ you stated, when you finally collected yourself. ─ Thank you. 

─ Oh, you fuckin’ did, yeah ─ Tangerine smiled through his thick mustache, you could tell that. ─ But I did too. Yeah, it’s been a fuckin’ ride with you. 

Britishman continued to caress his soft hand with rings against the skin of your arm that was sticking out from the sheets. 

─ Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry for…

─ Don’t worry about that ─ you interrupted him with a cheerful smile, knowing what he wanted to say. ─ I think I might actually like you after all, Tangerine. 

The confession made you blush immediately. And even more when you looked up at him and realized he was watching you all this time. His other hand cupped your cheek again and his facial expression became a bit more serious than before. 

─ I want you to be mine, darlin’. Mine.

─ I’m already yours, silly bastard.

[kyber-kisses]

Under The Banner

Elrond x elven!reader

Warnings: none, slight canon divergence for the sake of the story

Summary: As the captain of the guard for Mithlond, you rarely spoke with elven politicians until you stumble upon Gil-galads advisor one evening

A/n: Elrond in Rings of Power has a choke hold on me so as a result you get this. Tell me if You want a part two. (Gif credit goes to the owner)

Late Summer.

That was when the Gray Havens felt most alive. The last weeks of summer hung in the air like heavy lanterns, bold and bright. With the celebration for the upcoming autumn equinox around the corner the port city bustled with life as elves weaved through market places and sang songs late into the night. Overhead the moon had begun its climb higher into the night sky, as silver and round as a pearl snatched right off the shores of Lindon.

The day had been long for you, beginning with the first rays of light to seep through your window at the break of dawn, and not ending until you had done your weekly report to King Gil-Galad.

It was late by the time your feet stepped foot onto the royal grounds, your bow slung across your shoulders, and knives put neatly into their sheaths. The firelight from the torches lit your path and glinted on your armor, bringing forth the intricate webbings of gold that crawled across your silver chest plate. The royal gardens were quiet and empty except for a few guards that stood at the entrances, some slightly straightening their posture at the sight of you. A distinct reminder that you were their superior.

“Running a little late are we?”

. . . And that would be your superior.

At the sudden voice, you quickly corrected your own posture before turning towards the elf behind you. “Your Majesty, forgive me. My patrol took a little longer than I had hoped.” Apologizing quickly, you give Gil-Galad a swift bow.

“No need for apologies here Captain, I was held up with some business of my own.” The elven king explained.

“Of course.” With arms folded neatly behind your back, you walked besides him as he wandered further into the gardens, lanterns and torches lighting your way as you did.

“Any news to report Captain?”

“All is quiet your Majesty, well as quiet as it can be considering all the preparations for the Equinox celebration.” You joked lightly, earning a chuckle from the king.

“You are quite right. If anything I think some have already started celebrating.” He added lightly, “I could hear singing from down in the port earlier.”

“You arnt wrong there.”

For a moment the two of you walked in silence, your cloak sliding over the first fallen leaves of the year. “Captain?”

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“Before I dismiss you, I must however inform you that you will be needed here tomorrow evening. I have guests coming from Falas and would like my Captain of the Guard here to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

Despite being captain of the guard, you did not spend much time on the royal grounds. It was the safest place in Mithlond due to the amount of guards you had there. Besides, the city was big and you were often needed elsewhere unless Gil-Galad required you here.

“Of course. Is there anything else your Majesty?”

“That will be all. I will send someone to your quarters tomorrow with your uniform for tomorrow evening. You are dismissed Captain.”

And with that you gave him one final bow, and departed the gardens. The warm summer breeze swept across your face as you descended a set of stone steps, lantern bugs dancing across your path as you did.

You must have been lost in thought though because a moment later you collided with a sudden obstacle and it was as if all the gracefulness in you was suddenly gone because you fell backwards onto the stone steps, armor clinking against rock as you did.

“My Lady!” The voice sounded just as surprised as you felt. “Forgive me, I did not see where I was going.”

Brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, you shook your head as you dusted off your hands. “I think you are mistaken, I was the one not—-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as you looked up from your palms, suddenly being met with the kindest pair of eyes you had ever seen.

“Not?”

“. . . Paying attention.” You slowly finished, your hand slowly reaching out to grab the one he had extended to you to help you up off the ground.

The elf gave you a soft smile as you rose to his height, a strand of dark blonde hair falling over his left brow as he did.

“How about we agree it was both of our faults and settle it with that?” He mused, the corners of his lips still curved slightly upward.

Bless the Valar he was cute.

No. No. Y/N get rid of that thought. You swore an oath when you became captain. Duty above all else.

“My Lady, are you alright?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts only to reveal to your horror that you were still gripping his hand. . . And rather tightly you might add.

“Oh I apologize!” Quickly letting go of his hand, you folded your arms behind your back. “It’s been a rather long day for me, my head must be in the clouds.”

Letting out a soft chuckle he folded his arms gently over his chest, the crows feet around his eyes crinkling as he did. “That makes two of us. Though I doubt our days are similar.” He nodded towards the armor on your chest. “You must be the Captain of the Guard.”

“That is correct,” you gave him a smile, “and you must be. . .”

“Forgive me, I am Elrond.” The amber haired elf giving you a sudden bow that made your cheeks heat up. People didn’t bow to you unless it was the guards under your command. “The Kings Advisor.”

Elrond.

That name was gonna be seared into your head for the next week or so.

“I should be the one bowing don’t you think? You rank higher than me.”

“Oh please don’t. I find it rather awkward when other bow before me. But might I ask for your name?” His words were soft in a way other elves weren’t. You hadn’t noticed that the two of you were walking side by side until you saw the gate up ahead. The royal guards living quarters lied just beyond.

“Y/N.”

Elrond repeated your name, almost as if testing it out on the top of his tongue. “Lady Y/N. That is a beautiful name.”

“Oh please, there’s nothing ladylike about me besides the fact that sometimes I have to wear a dress and curtsy.” You laughed lightly, earning a chuckle from the handsome elf besides you. “Y/N is just fine.”

“Of course.”

Stopping at the gate, you turned to face him, “it was lovely to meet your acquaintance Elrond, and once again forgive me for slamming into you.”

“Liked I said, no apology needed. It was a pleasure to meet you as well.” He smiled before suddenly and softly taking your hand and placing a kiss a top it. At the action you could feel the tips of your ears and face heat up.

For the first time in your very, very long life you finally understood what others meant when they said they had butterflies in their stomachs.

And it was all because of this elf you had met not five minutes ago.

“I do hope to see you again. My work does not allow much time to make friendships, but I do believe I have made a new one.”

“You have.” You smiled, fighting down the butterflies that fluttered about behind your chest plate. Stepping beyond the gate you gave him one last look. “Goodnight Elrond.”

“Goodnight. . . My Lady. Here is to running into you again soon.” Giving you an amused smile he have one last bow before retreating back the way you had come.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 4

Satoru Gojo × Fem Reader × Suguru Geto

This is a dark yandere fic that features upsetting themes and it is canon divergent. Updated every Wednesday.

ABOUT: You moved to Tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. As you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Suguru has an unavoidable family event to go to, Shoko is needed for inner city training and Satoru was busy with clan related activities. As a result, you’re the next in line.

TRIGGER WARNING: Your boundaries get pushed. Suguru gets too touchy and feely.

SIDE NOTE: Reminder, this is canon divergent, so his family is still around.

Previous Chapter

4. Plus One.

You blinked as you stared at Suguru.

He wanted to meet up with you today while everyone else was busy, not explaining much over the phone call prior. This was the first time you had been to anyone else’s apartment that wasn’t Shoko’s and his place seemed oddly fitting for someone like him. Minimally yet tastefully decorated and tidy with warm accents.

“A platonic date…?” you repeated it, hoping that it would sound less absurd the second time around but it only became weirder the more you processed it—especially when you were the one who said it.

He explained that he wanted you to be his plus one for a family event because nobody else was available for night. He could have taken someone random he said, but he wanted to be around someone he could both tolerate and trust not to embarrass him in front of his family.

So that’s why he couldn’t just find someone random, he claimed.

You weren’t sure if this type of request was common among friends but you tried your best to be understanding about it. Friends did favours for friends, right? So maybe this was normal.

“For a family gathering type of event, yeah,” he nodded along, throwing you a piece of black clothing, “you can wear this, Shoko wore it the last time she stood in for this sort of thing.”

You scrambled as you looked at the dress in its entirety; a midi length black dress in a soft and breathable fabric with a slit down the skirting, sporting a square neckline.

You could see this looking great on her but you couldn’t imagine it on you. Maybe it would? Who really knows.

“It’s nothing serious, I promise,” he said once again, talking you into it, his voice melodic and yet so casual, “it’s just some family thing I can’t avoid so I would rather not go alone, you know? It’s regular people so you won’t have to talk about sorcerer stuff, if that makes it less scary for you.”

It did make the prospect less scary, he was correct about that much. His eyes focused on the dress as you seemed to consider it and then a little on you, something in his face lighting up just a little bit as the seconds passed but whatever it was, he didn’t comment on it out loud.

“I suppose I could…” you considered, feeling just a bit pressured. You knew already that you wouldn’t do too well in new social situations, but you also wanted to be someone that your new friend group could rely on.

Or would that only make you into a pushover?

Was that why he asked you to begin with, so early on into knowing you? To see if that’s what you potentially were?

Your mind stirred at the thought.

It certainly felt that way at least, the longer he continued to stare at you with those almost knowing eyes. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite read too well.

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up from the halls at let’s say… 6 in the evening tomorrow?” Suguru replied as he walked you out of the front door. “Wear something comfortable on your feet though, there’s a lot of standing involved.”

You stared at the now closed door with some further disbelief, sighing at the idea. You spent an extra half hour getting lost on your way here and you were already being turned away so soon.

You didn’t really want to do this but you didn’t want to be a disappointment either.

You texted Shoko on your way back to the campus as had to take the bus to get back there as it was quite out of the way of the city. You wondered if it would just be easier to live in the city, the commute be damned but you’d be closer to everyone else.

You asked her how to possibly get through this thing, how to interact with his family and why it had to involve wearing something so formal.

Her texts came back as a chaotic stream of broken down replies but you were able to piece them together bit by bit. As far as you understood it, all you needed to do was smile and nod, laugh at the jokes told by his family no matter how bad they are and to help yourself to the complimentary booze provided in the kitchen.

Maybe you could get through this after all.

You surrendered to this sort of idea as you texted back and forth what you actually needed to be doing and by the time you were back on the campus, the idea didn’t seem too bad after all.

This was just something he did with friends, just as you suspected.

He just didn’t want to be alone for something potentially boring, maybe even daunting and that was something you could understand.

***

You were ready by 6 the next day just as you had promised you would be. You slipped into the dress relatively quickly and styled your hair to rest a little better on your shoulders. You decided to accessorise the dress with a simple silver necklace to make it look less plain and wore some flat black sandals to finish off the look, figuring they would be comfortable enough.

There was then a knock on the front door not too long after and you opened it up, revealing a slightly more dressed up Suguru who looked good in what he wore.

You could admit that much, but you didn’t dare tell him. Would it be weird if you did?

You both eyed each other up before anything was said. He wore black slacks and a form fitting black jumper with his hair pulled back. It all looked a little too much for the weather, but his sleeves were rolled up and he didn’t seem to be dying from the heat.

He took a good look at you but didn’t say anything, leaving you both thankful that he didn’t comment on your appearance but also a little nervous all at the same time.

“Don’t you get scared living in a place like this all alone?” he asked after a moment as he took a look around, his eyes scanning the halls with some familiarity in this gaze.

“It’s not that bad,” you shrugged, unsure how to reply. Your expression slowly grew nervous, overthinking his comment.

“You know, Shoko might be quiet about it, but she is looking for a roommate,” he said after a strained moment of silence.

You liked that idea though. You wanted to live with someone in a way, both for reassurance but also because you genuinely wanted to be her good friend.

“I can think about it…” you added after another moment of pause, realising that you didn’t quite reply immediately. You were too lost in thought.

In fact, the silence between the two of you only continued to brew. You were both too reserved without the two other people who would otherwise fill in the gaps that were vacant from your presence.

“Anyway,” he spoke up at last, clearing his throat as he did so, avoiding staring at your body as his eyes couldn’t help but trail over to the way you wore the dress again and again, “I’ll be driving us there, so just follow me.”

He let you into his car which was conveniently to his style as well, a sleek black car that seemed to be a semi recent model. The drive happened in relative silence aside from what played in the background as the road gradually grew slowly darker, but not quite night as the sun began to set. He listened to chill house music that idly played, not seeming too bothered by the mutual quietness.

You felt his eyes wander back and forth to your body as you tried to pay attention to the outside, catching a glimpse of him staring in the reflection every now and then. Such a feeling left you feeling just a little uncomfortable whenever he would do so and the fact that he never once said anything only added to the tension that you didn’t even know was there.

At some point, he pulled over to a less travelled spot where the cars didn’t pass by as much, right beside some trees. He fanned his fingers and his palms over the steering wheel before taking a deep, sharp breath before exhaling through his mouth in a controlled manner.

His closest hand drifted away from the wheel as if by pure impulse and off towards you, balling into a fist as he seemed internally conflicted with something before returning his hands back to where they were supposed to be.

You kept incredibly quiet throughout this encounter, unsure where it was going and not feeling too safe as it happened.

“Sorry about that,” he said after a while of sitting in silence with you. His eyes didn’t dare move to look at you as he took a few more deep breaths to calm himself down from whatever it was that was bothering him before driving off again.

“I just had a thought that I shouldn’t have had,” he muttered to himself, just loud enough so that you could hear him too.

You didn’t reply anything to him, but you did gulp somehow absurdly loud as the discomfort on your end finally made a more noticeable appearance.

What was that?

For your own sanity, you chose to ignore it for the rest of the ride, (but you knew that you shouldn’t have).

***

He finally pulled up to a house in the countryside off of a more beaten road. Many other cars were parked in a array of chaotic ways around each other, some cars locking others in. The house reminded you a little bit of home, but that sort of design wasn’t really that uncommon in areas like these and especially with older builds.

“You’ll be fine,” he spoke up, his voice finally normal again, “most people are from a bit further out into the country.”

He was glad in a way that he didn’t have to educate you on the correct mannerisms the same way he had to do with Shoko, but he didn’t say it to you directly.

He led you out of the car instead and introduced you to the people inside. You tried your best to follow Shoko’s guidance rather seriously, smiling and laughing and nodding, subconsciously drifting to the table that had refreshments as you sought out liquid courage to ease the social pressure.

You weren’t doing too badly you thought, but your heart raced the entire time, gradually being replaced with a heavier sort of feeling as the wine settled in your system and relaxed you.

Slowly but surely, you could get through this.

Suguru stuck closely by you to your surprise, you were expecting him to do his own thing for some reason.

The reality was that he was still feeling what he did back in the car when things got a little too heated for him and he didn’t like that sensation nor what it did to him. There was something about you in that dress and the way that it sat just a little tighter on you than it did on Shoko; your body filling it out in all of the right ways that made him see you in a way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

At least not if he wanted to keep your friendship.

You didn’t notice the male attention on you like he did, so he was just being protective of his friend in a new setting, that was it. Nothing more. But with the way his own relatives looked at you, he couldn’t help but just feel a little jealous—not that he had any right to feel that way, of course, but it did trouble him all the same.

You, on the other hand, didn’t notice a thing aside from the fact that you were just being closely watched though, thinking that this was all just a part of his intense personality. You didn’t know that he was actually quite a relaxed person, not too far off from Satoru when he was around his friends, that he was equally casual and non-caring, but that wasn’t the side of him that you were getting to know.

And as the gathering seemed to eventually thin out, he didn’t quite know why he took off with you in such a hurry either, without as much as saying a single goodbye to the rest of his family. It was just you and him, straight into the car with even more silence that followed you both on the way back.

This time though, he drove faster down the road once he got onto the freeway, not quite caring about the speed. The veins on his forearms were beginning to tighten as his knuckles that firmly gripped onto the wheel grew pale, driving off somewhere that didn’t quite seem like you were going home before he pulled over once again to the side.

The same sort of thing repeated as before; the breathing exercises and the internal struggle and the tension to top it all off. He really tried his best to talk himself out of it but surrendered this time to crossing the barrier of where you two sat, his hand spilling into your half of the car and his hand meeting your knee, wrapping around your leg where the dress didn’t reach.

His grip around you continued to tighten as he enjoyed the sensation of your soft, smooth skin as he slowly brushed it up, reaching just the edge of the skirting to your dress, so close to your thighs, so close to your—your—wait.

“Please stop,” you interrupted him, causing him to freeze in place.

His eyes widened as he realised what he was doing and he kept frozen in place for about ten painful seconds or so before lifting his hand away in a sudden hurry—quickly gulping down what he actually wanted to say.

From your peripheral vision, it seemed that he was acting based on a different type of thinking entirely as he stayed silent, his hand drifting over to his trousers as his legs pushed him up a little, quickly adjusting what was going on in his pants to ease the problem he had.

Luckily for him though, you didn’t notice that part too well, your eyes instead pointed directly at your legs instead as you tried to process your own discomfort.

The rest of the drive continued on in pained silence until you both got out at the campus and much to your building up concern, he followed you right to the door, but he didn’t seem to be pressuring you anymore. In fact, he seemed normal again.

“Hey, so, I’m really tired, I don’t think I can drive again,” he spoke, stretching his arms out as he yawned, “think I can take the hall sofa? I’ll be out of your way right where you can see me, I promise I won’t do anything again. I don’t know what I was even thinking.”

Your judgement was a little off but you could still feel the buzz from the drinks before at the event cloud your judgement. You sighed and allowed it before heading off to your room to process everything that had happened today.

If you could both simply forget what happened, then that would be great.

Something told you that it wasn’t quite the end of that, though.

And with the way his eyes couldn’t keep off of you as he followed you inside, your hunch was about to be proven correct—not that he’d let you catch on, though.

He was going to be subtle about it, if he could help it.

Just for you.

Next Chapter.

[dominustempori]

SPOILER ALERT FOR THE GHOSTBUSTERS: FROZEN EMPIRE TRAILER!! (long post, fyi)

Alright Ghostheads, I'm writing all this down now, so I won't forget all these thoughts and observations I'm having JUST a few hours after this awesome teaser for the "Afterlife sequel" has dropped.

I'm sure I'm missing some bits here, so comments are duly welcome, just don't go all negative energy on me =)

Definitely felt a similar vibe to when the first trailer for "Afterlife" came out like 2 years ago now. Normal summer day, good background music, then...sh*t happens. Even worse than that burst of PK energy from the mine shaft. And yeah, I saw bits of "Day After Tomorrow," I'd be lying if I didn't get JUST a little hint of that, but only because, you know, massive storm system overwhelming the south shore of Manhattan. But anyway.

2. I SWEAR that one building shot from the side is 55 Central Park West, aka Spook Central. Probably not significant plot wise this time, just a nod to the original movie. And considering I toured some of the filming sites on my trip to NYC this past summer, SURE looks like it!

3. Deadly icicles ripping up the streets? Like the earthquake tearing up the asphalt in the original movie only BETTER!

4. The discourse is already happening about details...I know some people like Ecto 1-A from GB2, and some fans are still angry about "they ignored it in Afterlife! It's so canon! WTF Jason Reitman?" Yeah...missing the point? [They're not DELIBERATELY ignoring GB2! I LIKED GB2! A lot! Not perfect but still I LIKE IT! Probably a lot more than other fans! The film only had so much time to focus on the past to keep the story moving, so only put in so much of the lore to help a new audience along. That's my theory I'm sticking to it.]

ANYWAY...yes the car IS the original Ecto 1, NOT the 1-A (which was WAY too busy for its own good, just sayin'). I saw the plate on a freeze frame, it's Ecto 1, the original.

5. Enter the exposition cut scenes. or whatever you want to call them. Swear to God that Patton Oswalt, Kumail Nanjiani, Dan, McKenna, and Logan are NOT at Ray's Occult Books...I mean come on look at those glass cases! It's GOTTA be the NY Public Library (throwback!) Patton's character is most likely a staff member, probably a librarian (related to Alice? God I hope so!) [GBs do their research yo! If that's one thing I love about the IDW comics, is how Ray and Egon and Kylie RESEARCH.]

That one bit with the frozen dude with the eyepatch? Looks like a flashback. Like, maybe Manhattan in the...late 1800s? Recurring hauntings is def a thing in the GB universe. Another secret society? Which, yeah, they did to death (sorry) with the Gozer thing, especially in the video game.

6. Liking all the concerned closeups. Paul Rudd still looking good, and I REALLY hope Carrie Coon as Callie has full on dropped the baggage about not having her Dad in her life. Well, mostly. Turned me off from her QUITE a bit in Afterlife, but that's just me. Finn's hair lookin' good short, love how McKenna still rocks the OshKosh look, and Logan with the retro vibe.

7. James Acaster HAS TO BE an adult Oscar. I WILL fight people on this =) Not Louis' kid, not Janine's... (well, maybe?) Peter and Dana are OFFICIALLY still a couple, what's to stop Peter from adopting the boy he saved in GB2? Or at least, maybe they have their own kid later on...? Damn I hope he's Oscar. I mean come on, this is still "Ghostbusters: the Next Generation" in my mind.

8. HAUNTED LION STATUE!!! (Yeah, that's right from Real Ghostbusters...kinda) It's the Library! And on another freeze frame...it's going after Ray (GASP!) That little elevator? Maybe they're going to...Special Collections? Remember the video game? Maybe? Squee?

9. DUDE, it's attacking GBHQ! Blew the freakin' doors off! It's gonna...NO NOT LUCKY! Dude she (they?) is getting the short end of the stick again...first she gets possessed by Zuul and now...please don't kill off Lucky, Gil! Also OGBs FTW!!! yeah Winston! bad ass mf as always! And man does Pete look proper scared. Go Bill Murray!

10. I'm presuming that the big bad/entity was originally trapped and stored in the ECU, hence the blinking red light in the post credits scene from Afterlife. And it's whatever's pushing out the cinder blocks this time around...and freezing Lucky in the basement of HQ? And it's the...thing pushing its demon horns in...(so far others are calling it a minotaur - totally NOT. this guy is so reaching, i mean an old obscure RGB comic reference from a wiki page? dude, just...no. a cross between a White Walker and Slenderman? yeah THOSE I get. I'm personally thinking some ancient demon from a summoning gone wrong...or maybe right in this case.) any case, DUDE with those icy blue staring eyes and 20 feet tall...f*ck yeah.

11. Also F*CK yeah Paul and Carrie in the jumpsuits! YES!!!

12. Alright, I can sort of buy a hidden room in Kumail's character's (presumably?) apartment, secret door at the back of a kitchen pantry with some pretty lead/silver tiling...but, what's with the horn? (SUMMONING HORN! Read the Bartimaeus Trilogy people!) and the shackles? the bells? well, yeah noise to drive away evil spirits...or not? again... SECRET SOCIETY! Or maybe Lucky and Trevor have their own place now? Nah, maybe not...wait and see I guess.

13. Dude...Paul Rudd is TALL, boy! Would like to see if they've actually gone and married...or, too soon? Nah, romantic/life partners is good.

14. I WANT THAT RED WINTER JACKET WITH THE PATCH! SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY!

15. Also, Paul's reaction...SO my own after watching this. He is still fanboy-ing out and I LOVE IT.

Holy hell that was a long post. First genuine reactions on the day. Online journaling. All good.

OK peeps, let me have it. What are y'all thinking?

Until March 29!

[ugh-yoongi]

heart got teeth | knj

(or, the one where namjoon meets his match and isn’t quite sure how to handle you.)

→ pairing: namjoon x f. reader → genre: pwp; smut, angst, enemies to fwb to lovers (kinda) → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is kind of a dickhead for a while but namjoon is a very into it and generally a horny disaster so it cancels out, side jihope because i can, hobi can’t hold his alcohol and namjoon says baby a lot so this is basically canon compliant, this is just porn with a crumb of plot so i will do my best with the explicit tags: kissing, joon has a wet dream, oral sex (m/f receiving), masturbation (namjoon does it a lot, reader once), fingering, i think there’s a handjob, dirty talk, dom undertones but nothing full-on, thigh riding, facesitting, referenced semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, one ass slap, very light choking, namjoon is just down really bad idk what else to say. → wordcount: 12k → playlist: 5 seconds of summer - teeth • monsta x - nobody else • waterparks - stupid for you • poppy - all the things she said • namasenda - 24/7 • bastille - goosebumps • monsta x - wildfire → a/n: this is a fic i wrote for an old fandom and reworked/rewrote to work in this context, so if it looks familiar, it is. don’t report me, i promise it's mine. :’) as always, thank you to lauren, jess, and bee for looking this over and catching all my fuckups. you all are the best and i would be a whole clown without the three of you.

To your credit, you truly have no ulterior, unsavory motives as you step inside.

It’s meant to be a simple night out with a few of your friends. A club, of course, because they never pass up an opportunity to go all-out: impeccable hair and makeup, outfits that are more like a second skin, fuck-me eyes with the glossed lips to match, ones that leave very little to the imagination of how low that mouth will go and how it’ll feel once it gets there.

Tonight’s about mourning. No more Seokjin in your entourage, seeing as he’s too busy fucking some boring accountant now. A “one-man man” he’d called himself, and you can’t possibly think of anything worse. There isn’t an accountant on earth hot enough to inspire monogamy.

So, you came to the club. The high-end one your friends like in the city with the hot bartender. Taehyung had wanted to blow off some steam before heading back to Daegu for a few weeks, anyway. Not that he has to wait long—someone catches his eye a few minutes in, leaving you and Jimin on your own.

Just as well. Neither of you have much trouble pulling.

Twelve minutes. Not your personal best, but it’ll do.

You have them pegged from a mile away. The taller one will have money and some sob story about growing up wealthy, fake humility dripping from every word as he waxes poetic about never taking anything for granted, while his friend—shorter by a few inches, hair looking neon red under the club lights, and certainly in his element—will play his good-cop partner in crime. He’s probably very charming, the type who will use his disarming, megawatt smile to secure a seat at the table and learn the drink order and pave the way for the dark-haired one to work his magic.

Because the dark-haired one will definitely work his magic. That smolder alone has probably been the cause of hundreds of weak knees, the kind of look that gets him whatever he wants with few questions asked besides, “yours or mine?”

You don’t bother to hide the disinterested look on your face, which suits you just fine. You know it’s flattering, your honeypot look. All to do with the slightly parted lips, the steeled, blasé stare that men fell over themselves to have focused on them. And, sure, you’ve taken a keen interest in vapid, meaningless sex with attractive strangers, but you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stomach the small talk these two will inevitably require to get to that point.

“Heads up,” Jimin says, nodding to his right.

You snort, hiding the downward tug of your mouth behind your whiskey glass. “I know.”

“Are you not interest—”

Jimin’s question is cut off by the smiley one finally reaching their table, immediately sliding into the booth beside him, both unprompted and unwelcome. Lithe limbs knock unceremoniously against the underside of the glossy table, and you can already see the gears turning in Jimin’s head. He never was able to resist a dancer’s body, which means the other one will be your problem for the evening.

“Would it be okay if I joined you?”

You cock an eyebrow at that. The dimly-lit, grimy club hardly seems like an appropriate setting for that level of refinement. “If you must.”

His bravado falters just for a second. Blink and you’ll miss it. Just as you expected, he isn’t used to being denied anything. “Oh,” he stammers, his eyes darting to his friend on his left who is too busy whispering god-knows-what in Jimin’s ear to notice. “It’s just… my friend,” he tries to explain.

Still gazing up at him, your lips stretch into a challenging smirk. “Mm, I noticed.”

He’s fidgeting. Weight shifts from one leg to the other, fingers flexed around the glass he’s holding before relaxing. “So, can I—”

“I don’t know,” you muse, “can you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, his features immediately resetting to appear calm and collected. “May I?”

With a smug grin, you nod, gesturing to the empty space beside you. Your night was bound to be interrupted one way or another, and it’s always better to have it done so by someone so easily affected. There’s something deeply gratifying about making this stranger lose just that bit of control, of seeing his composed mask slip for only a second.

His enormous presence is immediately felt beside you, heat emanating from his flushed skin and calling to you like a siren song. And, god, is he attractive up close, the type of bone structure that plausibly could have been carved from stone, worshiped centuries ago. It takes a lot of self-restraint to not reach out and touch him, to keep your hands wrapped around your glass instead of skimming them along the outside of the thigh pressed against you.

If he’s going to be your only option for the evening, there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, even if you aren’t particularly charmed by him.

Liking him isn’t a necessary prerequisite for taking him home—or to the bathroom, if the situation requires it—and having him fuck you senseless.

This is a game you’ve played—and won—countless times before. Because you can feel his dark gaze on you, each sideways glance lasting longer than the one before. Can see how jittery he still is, as if he feels the electricity between you, too, but is too paralyzed to act on it.

So, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that you toy with him. He sneaks a glance, you make a show of crossing your legs, the garish club lights reflecting off smooth, soft skin. Another glance and you run your tongue slowly over your bottom lip, pretending to listen intently to whatever Jimin’s saying. You bare your neck to him as you throw back the last of your drink, head lolling to the side just enough to have him wondering how it’d feel to press his lips against the skin there.

A small, private grin to yourself when he sputters and tries awkwardly to cover it by clearing his throat. “Can—can I buy you another drink?”

God, he almost makes it too easy. “I don’t know. Can you?”

There’s a sharp sound as he bangs his fist on the table, jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m not going to ask twice.” Meant as a threat, but you know exactly what it is: just another attempt to regain control. You almost take pity on him. The poor guy really isn’t used to not easily getting whatever he wants.

You lean over, lips close enough to the shell of his ear to make the hair stand on his arms. “You’re lucky I let you ask once.”

He looks positively flustered now, a furious, rapid blush creeping up his neck, and you take his reaction and tuck it away for later. Want to save it, want to memorize the look on his face—the small parting of his lips, the barely-audible groan, the subtle roll of his shoulders. Want to think about it all later, preferably when you’re alone. Maybe in bed.

Jimin’s still engaged in conversation with the one who can’t stop laughing, his eyes lighting up every time he leans in to say something with that heart-shaped mouth only meant for Jimin to hear. When he pulls away from Jimin and turns his attention to you, you’re finally able to take in the lines of his face. Softer than the one you’re currently sitting next to, a bit more feminine, but you know there’s bite to him. Definitely attractive, has that familiar brand of confident swagger, and one-hundred percent Jimin’s type.

You think Jimin calls your name.

You turn your attention back to your friend, who’s looking at you expectantly. “Hm? Sorry, Chim, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Hoseokie-hyung says the next round is on him. D’you want another drink?”

“A few shots of tequila would be lovely,” you smile. “Thanks so much.”

You can feel the man beside you tense as he says, “I’ll join you, hyung.”

He stands, staring at you with a look that says he knows exactly what game you’re playing, giving everyone else all of your sweet and reserving the sour only for him. Seems like he isn’t all that impressed, either, if the tight set of his jaw is any indication. All you bother to offer him in return is a slow, deliberate smirk. Game on.

Jimin leans across the table conspiratorially. “So…? What do you think of Namjoon?”

“Who’s Namjoon?” you answer, nails clacking away as you reply to a text from Taehyung.

“Are you serious?” Jimin frowns. “He’s been sitting next to you all night.”

You chuckle at that. “Why do I need to know his name if you’re just going to fuck his friend?”

“I’m not—” Jimin pauses, pushes his bubblegum pink hair out of his face, chews the thought over. “Okay, I am, but—”

“It’s fine, Minnie. Do your thing. That’s the whole reason we came out, anyway.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “You don’t like him at all? Not even a little bit?”

“You know he’s not my type.”

“Excuse me?” Jimin nearly shrieks. “Tall, extremely handsome, and rich isn’t your type?”

You roll your eyes. “Stuck-up dickhead isn’t my type. I’m extremely good-looking and rich on my own.”

“I don’t think he’s a dick,” Jimin defends. “Plus, he seems super into you. He was making googly eyes every time I looked over.”

“Guys always look at us like that on a night out.”

It takes a few minutes and a disregarded pleading stare, but Jimin eventually throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Just… be nice, at least.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Why? You planning on keeping that guy around awhile?”

Jimin frowns, moves to protest, but his words are cut off by Hoseok again stumbling back to their table, a massive grin spreading across his face as he sidles up next to Jimin. With none of the same enthusiasm, Namjoon stands awkwardly next to the table, refusing to meet your eye as he hands out shots, two for everyone. Amused, you wonder if there’s a reason he might need to take the edge off. You huff a knowing, soft laugh.

As he reluctantly slides in next to you—distance kept, of course; no contact—you and Jimin move to clink your shot glasses together. You’ve rehearsed this scene a million times before: lean across the table, nearly touching; then, you’ll use a bit too much force, sending the drink spilling over the rim of the glass, sloshing onto the exposed skin of Jimin’s chest, which you lick off with an, “Oops, sorry, babe!” and an innocent smile.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Works every time.

Namjoon shifts beside you, clearly trying to appear unbothered. Some mumbled sentence about the club getting too warm and he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, the slight sheen of sweat covering an expanse of golden skin—the sight of which sends an unwelcome pang of heat straight to your core.

And he doesn’t miss it, either. “See something you like, baby?” he asks, confidence returning with a smugness that doesn’t sit right with you.

“All I see are two sweaty arms, so… no, not really.”

Namjoon studies you, nostrils flared as he tries to seem unfazed again. “You are truly insufferable, you know that?”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion of me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Consider the first one free.”

“Well, I don’t plan on paying for a second, so I guess you’ll have to sit there like a good little boy and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

He chokes on his drink, sputtering and coughing in a way that has Hoseok leaning across the table to slap him on the back. “Namjoon-ah, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon snaps, not meeting his friend’s eye.

Jimin, with a knowing look on his face—yet still pointed, since his request for you to be nice has clearly fallen on deaf ears—offers Namjoon a sweet smile. “So, Namjoon-ssi, what do you do?”

“I’m—”

“He’s a psycho,” Hoseok slurs, cheeks flushed from all the alcohol and enough confidence in his answer to wipe the smile from Jimin’s face. “No, wait—”

You try really hard to mask the snort of laughter that manages to escape, but it only worsens when Namjoon says, “I’m a psychotherapist,” at the same time Hoseok clarifies again that, “He’s a psycho?”

“A therapist, huh? That seems important.” You know what Jimin’s doing, still hell-bent on his mission to get you to give Namjoon a chance. “What else are you into?”

“Bicycles,” Hoseok slurs again.

Namjoon groans, tossing back a shot before answering, “Motorcycles.”

“Mm, no, it’s definitely bicycles and you’re lying to seem cool since you don’t even have a license. But whatever.” Then he turns to Jimin, a 24 karat smile on his face as he asks, “Do you wanna come back to my apartment and have sex? I live alone.” Despite yourself and the horrified looks on both Namjoon’s and Jimin’s faces, you have to respect the boldness.

“You’re really drunk, hyung,” Jimin replies hesitantly.

Hoseok just shrugs. “You can stay over. I’ll sleep on the couch and then I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and we can have sex after.”

“So respectful,” you laugh. “I’ll fuck your brains out in the morning, but I won’t defile your honor by sharing a bed with you.”

Jimin seems gobsmacked. “I…” He looks at you, who just shrugs. Not the first time Jimin will leave with someone from the bar and, despite your friend’s initial hesitation, it probably won’t be the last, either. “Okay. But I want a full spread in the morning! All the banchan, too! Nothing weird.”

Hoseok doesn’t press his luck, just tosses some money in Namjoon’s direction, grabs Jimin’s hand, and does his best to stumble out the door while he calls for a taxi.

Namjoon’s presence feels almost overwhelming once the two of you are alone, still sitting too close together on the same side of the table. You know he’s stealing glances at you again, can feel his eyes on you, your skin, as you busy yourself with your phone. Send quick ‘text me when you get to their place and again in the morning’ messages to both Jimin and Taehyung even though they always do and don’t have to be told, but Namjoon’s gaze is heavy and there are implications and questions behind it that, frankly, you’re looking to avoid.

Maybe he’s affected more than he’s letting on. Surely a guy like him—so used to being in control, so used to being chased—isn’t the type to sit around and wait for orders, especially concerning something he wants. And he does want you. That much is clear.

You’ve dragged him so far off course it’s all he can do to tread water. Namjoon is fine with disinterest; not every person in the world is going to want him, despite the ego that tries very hard to convince him otherwise. Sometimes they want the charming, outgoing one instead of the reserved one who doesn’t do anything without a purpose, and such is the reality of being Hoseok’s wingman. That’s fine—really, he doesn’t mind. Always better to go home alone than with someone who isn’t all-in on him.

But he hasn’t been able to figure you out at all.

Worse, you know it.

So, if you accidentally-on-purpose rub your foot along his calf as you cross your legs and smirk at the strangled groan that escapes him, who can blame you?

“Guess that’s my cue to leave as well.” No room for misinterpretation, there. It’s as closed-off and uninviting as it can be, yet Namjoon stays frozen in place, unable to move aside to let you out of the booth. “Well?”

He comes to, coughing a bit as he shuffles into the aisle to his left. “Right, yeah. How are—will—do you need a ride home?”

You roll your lips. “Are you offering? With no license?”

“Yes,” he says, the word breathier than he’d like.

You smile sweetly, a slender finger moving to trace along his jawline. His eyes flutter closed at your touch, thick eyelashes ink-black and out of place against his cheek. Your lips move back to the shell of his ear. “Then no.”

Undeterred, Namjoon gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, keeping you close. “The alternative is giving me your number and letting me know you get home safe.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an order,” you muse. “So, what would happen if I took your number, promised I’ll text, and you never heard from me again? Would I get punished?”

Something dark flashes in his eyes—perhaps your first glimpse of who he typically is, confident and dominant and very comfortable playing this game. “Something tells me you wouldn’t do that to me.”

You smirk, reaching out with your free arm to graze your nails down his side. His muscles flex under your touch, defined and solid, as he hisses. “I think that’s called your ego.” Your eyes trail lower. “Unless it’s… something else?”

“Something else?” he questions. “Didn’t take you for the shy type.”

Entranced, Namjoon watches as white teeth bite down on your bottom lip, your tongue darting out briefly to ease the sting. One brief, fleeting thought about how it’d feel to have that tongue someplace else and his cock twitches in his jeans. Barely an hour together and he’s certain you’ll be the death of him. A million little deaths he’ll willingly endure.

“Like your girls with a dirty mouth, do you?”

All he can muster is a crooked grin. “And if I say yes?”

You laugh softly. “Then I’ll ask you, kindly, to remove your fingers from my wrist and go splash some cold water on that pretty face of yours. You’re about two seconds away from coming in your jeans and not even I dislike you enough to let you embarrass yourself like that.”

His grip on you loosens. “You don’t like me? Don’t you think that’s a bit strong? You barely know me.”

“Oh, were you under the assumption this was something more?” When he doesn’t answer, you extract yourself from him and wink. “Maybe you can think about me later when you’re jerking off.”

And if he spends the rest of his evening doing exactly that? Well, that’s his business.

Namjoon spends the next two weeks doing that, actually.

Your touch is seared into his mind—the feel of your fingers tracing along his jaw, his sides, the way his body reacted to you, an obvious desperation even before he’d let it get this bad, fester this long. The urge was slowly growing out of control, and he told himself each morning that today would be the day, he’d send that stupid fucking Instagram message asking you out—

Because that’d been your play the night you’d met. As promised, you took his number and never texted, just posted a goddamn thirst trap to your Instagram story that was clearly meant for him. Because you knew he’d chase you, figure out some way to find you. Fresh out of the shower, hair wet and droplets teasing down your chest, silk camisole barely hanging on as you snapped a photo over your shoulder in your bedroom mirror. A small winking emoji in the corner as if to say yes, I made it home—alone. And since you’re alone, too, have fun touching yourself.

He’d barely been in bed ten minutes before his pants were pushed halfway down his thighs and he was spilling into his hand.

It became routine somewhere around day six. Instead of sending the message, he’d lose his resolve, fall into bed at the end of the day, and let you consume his thoughts as he got himself off. God, he’d started to get greedy—always wanted more, imagined more, and it never took long. A vague memory of the perfume you wore, a stray thought of the way it’d smell imprinted into his sheets, his skin; the hawkish look on your face as you’d studied him, trying to decide if you wanted to worship him or ruin him.

Bit late for that, Namjoon thinks as he comes into his fist. He’s already ruined.

Part of him wants you to know, wants you to see how undone he becomes just at the thought of you, almost wants you to humiliate him for what he’s just done—and his hips stutter one last time at the thought, shocking him into contemplative silence. That’s new.

Instead, he stands on shaky legs and moves to his bathroom, running a washcloth under cool water to clean off his hands. God, he’s utterly wrecked. He begs his brain to figure it out, get it together long enough to just compose a simple text asking you on a date. The inevitable rejection will quell the wildfire and he’ll finally be able to go more than a second without thinking about you, about how you’ve reduced him to a writhing, nervous mess.

His heart hammers in his chest as he fetches his phone and stares down at an empty Instagram message. Words suddenly don’t seem to make sense as he wracks his brain for a way to phrase his question that won’t make him sound like a complete fool.

I’d like to take you out tomorrow, he types, only to delete it once he realizes the only response he receives will be some variation of “I bet you would.”

Can I… he begins to type again. Quickly deletes that, too, and types May I take you out tomorrow? instead. It still doesn’t feel like enough, he’s sure you’re going to tell him no and tell him to fuck off, but that just means he won’t be disappointed when that’s exactly what happens.

Before he can overthink it, he presses ‘send’ and resists the urge to turn his phone off completely. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous asking someone out—then again, he was usually able to skirt by on his good looks and a well-executed smolder. Not now, though. Somehow, he’s managed to become ensnared by the one person in the entire country who finds his charm repulsive and off-putting. And it’s not like he can suffer in silence, either. Hoseok had caught on quickly, sometime during the first week, because Namjoon didn’t have much time or desire to go out. He’d been able to fumble an excuse, something about working late, because he couldn’t tell him he couldn’t stop jerking off over a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and still be able to look his friend in the eye afterwards.

Their friendship doesn’t have many limits, but that’s certainly one of them.

He’s halfway to Googling “how to unsend an Instagram message” when his phone vibrates in his sinful hand, his stomach dropping to the floor when he sees it’s from you.

And clearly not meant for him.

It’s a screenshot of a selfie he’d posted weeks ago on his parents’ boat, a picturesque sunset in the background that bathed his silhouette in golden light. Namjoon knows he’s photogenic, looks damn good from all angles and has never taken a bad picture in his life, even candidly, but that one had been especially striking, so he’s not really surprised. He has, however, gone dry in the mouth at the text below it.

Tae, you don’t understand. He’s so fucking hot it pisses me off a little. He’s kind of a dickhead but I’d still fuck the shit out of him.

Oh.

Well, fuck. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

His fingers twitch, both to reply to the message and wrap around his cock for the umpteenth time since that night at the club. And he knows the right thing to do is pretend he hasn’t seen it, not mention it, don’t rub your face in it, because if the situation was reversed, he doesn’t figure he’d like someone ribbing him, either. But he’d be a fucking fool to pass this up, so he replies with “Oh?” and throws the winking emoji back at you.

Another ten minutes pass and he’s certain he’s blown it. And then—

He nearly blacks out at what’s on his screen. Desire needles at his skin like a wildfire destined to burn out of control as he drinks in the sight of you, all that naked, smooth skin contrasting against the crisp, white sheets you’re wrapped in. There’s just a hint of indecency, a promise of a whole lot more, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember having seen anything so perfect, can’t focus on anything except the sound of his blood in his ears and the picture in front of him. Wonders how it’d feel to run his hands over all that bare skin; how it’d taste. What you’d sound like as he took his time unraveling you—if you would even let him.

A whimper escapes him as another message comes through.

You can’t take me out, but I might let you invite me over if you behave and keep your hands to yourself until tomorrow.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, already feeling his boxers begin to tent.

You break your kiss and plant your hands on his chest, pushing him backwards into the wall. You’re a vision in crimson red before him, the lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination besides a plethora of unholy thoughts. Fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and grab you.

You take a step back, just out of his reach. “You’re a very dirty boy, aren’t you?” you tease, your head cocking to the side as you take him in. “Can’t ever keep your hands to yourself.”

Lighting himself on fire would feel the same, Namjoon thinks. His blood burns in his veins, thick with such a heavy desire that it consumes him. He’s still fully dressed yet completely unraveled, so hard it’s painful, and he needs you to keep talking, needs you to touch him, needs you—

“Baby,” he whines, his hips betraying him as they thrust against nothing. “Please.”

A slow, sultry smile. “Didn’t take you for the begging type.” He groans again at his words being parroted back to him.

“I’m not.”

“And now?” you ask. “Would you beg for it?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Whatever you want.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give someone that kind of power? You never know what they may do with it.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can reconsider. “Baby, no one has complete power over me.”

He knows immediately he’s fucked, knows it even more when a mischievous smile stretches across your face. You’re so composed, just standing there in front of him as if he wouldn’t drop to his knees and do whatever you asked of him, like you have all the time in the world and this is just a minor inconvenience. As if you aren’t taking him apart at the seams, popping each stitch one by one and letting him hang in freefall. Making him sweat it out.

Beating him at his own game.

“Is that so?” You take a step closer, study him. See the way his eyes flutter closed in anticipation, the intake of breath, almost a plea. “Should we put those words to the test?”

You drop to your knees languidly, still too far away, and look up at him through dark lashes, your tongue rolling across your lips just enough to moisten them and state your intent. “What do you want, Namjoon?”

His name sounds obscene in your mouth. “I—” His brain and his body are at war, too much information to process that he can’t find the words, can’t formulate a single coherent thought. “I don’t, I—”

“Surely someone so in control could use their words?” He’s fucking ruined. “I’m on my knees in front of you and you can’t think of a single thing you’d like me to do?”

“I want your mouth,” he breathes.

“That’s not very specific. There’s lots of things my mouth can do.”

“Like talk a lot of shit,” he responds tartly.

“Yes, but that’s nowhere near as fun as the others.” You huff a laugh as you move close enough to rake your fingernails down his thighs. “Take these off.”

You’re still staring up at him from your place on the floor, your rapt attention doing fuck-all to help the way his hands are trembling. It’s not the first time he’s had a woman on her knees in front of him, but it’s the first time he can’t stop shaking long enough to pop the button on his jeans and drag them down his legs. Usually skilled, deft fingers rendered completely useless.

“You could make yourself useful and help me, you know,” he quips. Another failed attempt at the button before he finally gets it; something between a relieved groan and a hiss as he drags the zipper over his strained erection.

“Would you rather I undo your pants or make you come down my throat?” Namjoon is too dazed to answer. “You need to think before you speak, babe. That smart mouth will get you into trouble.”

“I’m already in a world of it, baby,” he responds, moving to palm himself.

You catch his wrist and move it back to his side. “No touching, yourself or me. You touch me and I stop.”

He barely resists the urge to ask what in the hell is wrong with you, can’t you see how desperate he is, how he’s already at the edge and you’ve barely touched him, that you’ve already won, might as well give in and stop fucking around.

Instead, he barely manages a nod. Plants his hands against the cold plaster of the wall at his back.

And waits.

You’re still kneeling on the floor in front of him, but the smug grin is new. He cocks an eyebrow, whether in question or challenge he isn’t sure, but you ignore it all the same. “How in control are you?” you ask.

“What?”

“No one has complete control over you, right?” You move so you’re laying back, propped up slightly on your elbows. “Would you be in control if I took this off?” you ask, tracing a finger along the lace trim of your thong.

His breath feels thick in his throat. “Yes.”

Hips jut into the air as you shimmy the garment down the expanse of your legs. If he was having trouble breathing before, he’s damn near suffocating now as he takes you in again, laying bare before him. Your nails graze along your skin—slowly, teasingly—and he watches, hypnotized, as they near your core. A hitched breath, wondering if you’re going to touch yourself as he watches. A silent prayer the answer is yes.

And it is. Fuck, it is.

You repeat your question—“Are you in control now?”—and he doesn’t know the answer. He is and isn’t, knows the reality doesn’t quite match up with what he wants to say. It’s a struggle just to tread water, let alone think up some smart response to hide how untethered he really is, to maintain that façade.

“Baby, I—”

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?”

He groans, his fingers grasping at nothing as they try to dig into the wall. It’s all too much. Sensory overload. The sight of you, the lilt in your voice as you tease him. He’s always prided himself on his control, his dominance, and now that the trap door has given way beneath him and he’s left suspended, he’s simultaneously never felt more terrified and more alive.

“Yes,” he finally chokes out.

Your eyes lock on his as you say, “Go ahead.”

The first stroke brings such relief he’s certain he’s going to black out. A loud, unabashed moan comes with the second. The third—god, the third has his toes curling against the wood floor, that familiar heat pooling in his belly, ready to engulf everything in its path. His thighs begin to tremble as he keeps working himself over, and it’s not a second later that—

It’s nearly the afternoon when Namjoon jolts awake, his heart feeling ready to burst right through his chest. He doesn’t bother peeking under the covers, already knows, without having to look, what a mess he’s made of himself. Again. It hadn’t even been this bad when he was a teenager, and it’s this thought that has him stumbling to the shower to wash away his indiscretions. Sets the temperature all the way to cold as he steps inside, standing right under the spray.

Pathetic, really, how he can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop replaying in his mind how you’d felt, how you’d made him feel. The feel of your skin on the pads of his fingers, against his own; the smell of you, the taste of your mouth. The sight of you open and wanting and coming undone in front of him. If you’d managed to overwhelm every one of his senses in a dream, what was the real thing going to be like?

You’d told him to keep his hands to himself, but not even the sting of the freezing water is enough to cool him down, so he thinks about it once, twice, nearly three times before he slips his hand around his cock. What you don’t know won’t kill you, and he’s certainly not planning on coming clean.

Just needs to take the edge off. It’d assuredly be worse to walk around his place all day with an erection, he reasons.

 The wait is torturous. Time itself seems to betray him, the clock barely moving every time he sneaks a glance at his phone. If he goes to hell when he dies, it’ll just be this, he thinks—the maddeningly slow wait for a booty call he can’t stop thinking about.

Because that’s all it is. He has to remind himself of this when it starts to feel too real, too comfortable, like he’s waiting for a date or something more serious than whatever this is. You don’t like him, don't like the way he carries himself or any aspect of his personality at all, really. Usually he’d be fine with a quick fling, a casual hook up or two to blow off some steam. But he’s a relationship, commitment kind of guy at heart, so despite his best efforts, the thought of this becoming something more still creeps in every now and then. A daydream.

Send me your address.

Nerves engulf him as the message comes through, and he must type and retype his response a dozen times before he finally gets it right.

Half hour.

The waiting game again. He moves around his place frantically, tidying and straightening, lights a candle, changes into something more presentable than joggers.

There’s a knock at the door and he swallows hard, tries to muster up some of his old confidence again. This isn’t him. Namjoon has never been reduced to a pining, uncertain mess, and he’s so off-kilter he barely manages to make it to the door before the third series of knocks.

As he pulls it open, his face drops unceremoniously. You aren’t standing on the other side, ready to greet him with a sultry grin. Instead, there’s a gangly-looking teenager in a uniform, his hat askew as he holds a pizza box.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” Namjoon asks, peering around the kid to look out into the hallway.

“I have a small sausage for you,” comes the response. Nasally and bored.

Namjoon chokes, the choice of words catching him off-guard. “I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Are you Kim Namjoon-ssi?” He nods. “Then this is for you.” The kid tries shoving the box into Namjoon’s hands, but he takes a step back.

“I promise you, I did not order a pizza.”

“Look,” the kid sighs, all politeness tossed aside immediately, “it’s already been paid for. Just take the damn box and throw it away if you don’t want it. I really don’t give a shit what you do with it, but I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

Eyes narrowed, Namjoon grabs the box and slams the door, opting to ignore the muffled you could’ve at least tipped me, you cheap asshole from the other side. Tosses the pizza onto his kitchen counter and stalks towards his bedroom where he’d left his phone.

Did you send me a fucking pizza? he types.

Told you not to touch yourself, comes your response.

It’s another week before he can convince you to see him.

A week of borderline begging—because he refuses to actually do so—and teasing and whispered confessions he doesn’t think twice about. He wants you. He wants you so badly he’s dizzy with it, and he’s done playing games. His desire is out there already and it’s obvious. No point in acting coy now.

You agree under the condition the two of you meet at the club. Have a few drinks with Jimin and Hoseok. No doubt to prolong his suffering, Namjoon figures, but he agrees all the same, willing to play along. He just wants to see you; hopes maybe being face-to-face will extinguish some of the heat.

But it doesn’t.

Of course it doesn’t.

You’re barely in each other’s company twenty minutes before he lets you drag him down a quiet corridor and into an empty bathroom. You let him press you against the sink, dress hiked up around your thighs; let him press a desperate, searing kiss to your mouth, all tongue and teeth and sighs of relief.

The first time scratches the itch. It’s quick—almost embarrassingly so—and rough, right there in the club, and all Namjoon can think about is the taste of you, how all those daydreams hadn’t done you a lick of justice. Swears stars pop behind his eyelids and he can hear a choir. You had been stunning in all his fantasies, but up close, in person, you’re so much better. As if your body is meant only to bring him to his knees, to make him surrender.

Namjoon very quickly realizes he’s got a problem on his hands.

There’s no way he’ll be able to let you go—already can’t stomach the thought of you being with anyone else. He doesn’t want to be with anyone else, and he curses at himself for letting it get this far, for letting someone ruin him this way. He knows without having to hear you say it that you aren’t the type to be tied down. Probably goes running at the first sign of attachment. But he can’t help himself, torn between touching himself to the memory of the way you felt around him and the thought of what it might be like to have something more.

The second time you come to him. Press him against the wall in the entryway and drop to your knees, your mouth working him into a frenzy before he can barely mutter a greeting. Fingers itch to tangle into your hair when he remembers his dream, wonders if he’s allowed to touch you like that, hopes that maybe he isn’t.

He wants you to destroy him.

“Baby,” he says, a fractured moan punctuating the sound of your name that follows. A hand joins your mouth in moving along his length and he swears. “Baby.”

There’s an obscene noise as you release him from your mouth, a trail of spit barely connecting the two of you as you look up at him with a gaze that’s been seared into his memory for weeks. “What?”

“I—fuck.” Your hand’s still working him, still doing that thing where it twists on the upstroke that has him feeling like all the air’s been punched from his lungs. “I want you,” he breathes. “I want—wanna make you come.”

A smile betrays you, the corners of your mouth turning up just enough for him to catch. “Do you want it?” Your free hand moves to his thigh, kneading at the cords of muscle there. Fingers dig into the crease at his hip, the ditch of his knee. “Or do you need it?”

“Yes,” is all he manages to say.

You sit back on your haunches, looking straight out of his wet dream as you stare up at him, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Go sit on the couch,” you instruct.

If he’s ever moved faster, he can’t recall when. You follow slowly, items of clothing dropping behind you as you go, only your matching lingerie left by the time you reach him. His breath catches again, both in awe and in anticipation. Yes, you’re stunning, but Namjoon can’t remember anyone else having ever invoked such a strong response from him. Every part of him needs you.

You straddle him, legs anchored at his sides as he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. You’ve kissed dozens of times before, desperate, more teeth than anything else. This one he’s determined to take slow, take his time, savor you.

And as soon as he feels you tense, as soon as you pull away and move your lips to a spot just below his ear, he knows he has the answer to a question he never bothered to ask.

Teeth graze his earlobe. “I’ve been thinking about these,” you say, your palms dragging up and down his thighs. “Wanna get myself off on you.” And just like that, all those thoughts of something else are pushed to the back of his mind.

A loud whine escapes him, hips rocking forward to press his erection against your clothed center. Decides to take a risk and dig his fingers into your hips, a stray hope he might leave a mark, have just that bit of claim to you. Uses his leverage to situate you onto one thigh.

“By all means,” he says, lips moving against your collarbone. Hooks the fabric of your thong to the side, hands still on your hips to begin moving you. “But I want to feel it. All of it. Want to watch you make a mess on my leg.”

You move slowly at first, trying to find a balance between what you need and the tempo Namjoon is setting. A relieved moan when you find the right combination, and Namjoon matches it when he feels how wet you are. You move unabashedly, plant your hands on his chest as your hips grind faster, more frantic. Namjoon covers your hands with his own, fingers moving over yours as he digs your nails into his chest, drags them down far enough he knows they’ll leave marks. Thrusts at the thought of being marked by you, of having a reminder to come back to in the morning when you’ll inevitably be gone.

“Fuck, Joon,” you moan. “Feels so good.”

Hands still covering yours, Namjoon moves one to his neck, praising you as you tighten your grip around his throat. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. You look so beautiful using me like this.”

Namjoon can tell how close you are long before you ever bother to tell him. Sees the slight falter of your motions, feels you press yourself harder against him, desperate for more friction, the light sheen of sweat forming at your brow. He wonders, briefly, if you’ll actually let go, if you trust him enough to let him bear witness to you coming undone.

His question is answered as you break into a shaking, gasping mess, collapsing into his arms as he wraps them around you, tangling a hand in your hair and pressing kisses to your temple. Rains praise down upon you, tells you how thankful he is to be able to witness it. Wants to commit all of it to memory—your heaving chest, trembling thighs, the sounds you make as you come down from your high, the dazed look in your eyes as you open them and meet his own.

Knows he’s going to say something stupid, so he crashes his lips to yours, hungry for you in a way that honestly terrifies him. A way he’s never wanted anyone else. And he knows that’s the catch with you, knows this has an expiration date, and so he pushes this thought to the furthest corner of his mind. Knows he has to stay in the moment lest it all comes spiraling down around him.

He grabs the back of your thighs and stands from the couch, waits for you to wrap your legs around his waist before he moves toward his bedroom. Isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it, thinks about just fucking you into the wall in the hallway, but judging from the state of his leg, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to afford the dry cleaning bill if the two of you stay on the couch.

Obscene words spill from your mouth with each step he takes and he spares a moment to marvel at his self-restraint. Wonders when he’d acquired it, because he seems to have lost all of his old sensibilities when it comes to you. “Want you so bad,” you say, words nearly a purr as you speak them into the crook of his neck. “Just fuck me right here.” You use his grip on you to roll your hips, slick center gliding along the length of his cock.

He groans at the contact, lets your words wash over him and bathe him in your indecency. You roll your hips again, a lewd temptation and always a challenge. You want to tempt him straight to the edge and watch as he goes over, want him to regain control and lose it over and over again, want to ruin him for anyone who comes after you. And Namjoon knows you’re going to, knows this has already gone too far despite only having just begun, and he feels the anger seep in alongside the lust, though he can’t tell who it’s directed at. Probably himself, but that doesn’t reign him in.

He presses you against the wall of his bedroom, presses a searing kiss to your mouth—that dirty, unrelenting mouth of yours that never seems to stop—and he wants to kiss you breathless. Wants to shut you up, wants you to surrender, to beg, wants a million things he will never get.

And, all along, you were right. He always wants. Wants you, wants more, wants impossible things. Despite having you exactly where he wants you right now, you’re going to leave. You’re going to leave and he’s going to be left behind, wanting and destroyed and longing, and he’s none too impressed to be on this side for once.

Because, as he moves you to the bed and drapes his body atop yours, your words echo in his mind:

Want you so bad.

Want.

Not need. Never will be need.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says, hands everywhere at once, the feel of you beneath him nothing more than an answered prayer. His fingers move lower to your clit, teasing, circling slowly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” you drawl, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging, and he gasps at the sting, “to watch you. I want to see exactly how good I make you feel.” His hips move of their own accord, pressing you further into the mattress. He’s so fucking hard, can barely believe he’s still conscious, and he’s absolutely drunk on the reality of you. “Do you want that? Want me to ride you until you come?”

“Fuck,” he moans. “Yes.”

You pull at his hair again, forcing him to look at you. “Then say it. Tell me you want it.”

“Fuck, baby, yes.” Slips a finger inside your cunt, desperate to make you as needy as he is. Pumps once, twice, before he adds a second. “Want you to make me come. Want all of it. Everything.”

A wordless demand for him to roll over as you nudge his shoulder, but not before your hips jerk upwards to meet his fingers, seeking him even though you’d never dare admit it. He smirks down at you, cheeks dimpling, moves his thumb back to your clit just to watch you writhe. Traces slow circles again just to listen to the way your breath hitches, to hear the small, gasping pants against his neck. Applies a hint more pressure just to feel your muscles clench tighter around him, the grind of you against his hand, hungry for more even when he’s ready to give you everything you want.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asks, delighting in the whines spilling from your mouth. “First my leg, now my fingers. I think you’re getting greedy, baby.”

You glare at him through lidded eyes. “Maybe I should hold it in. Think twice about stroking that massive ego of yours.”

He finds your wrist and grasps it loosely, moving it down his body to his cock. “You can stroke something else, if you’d prefer.”

You take him in your hand, pumping slowly. Gather the beads of precome at the head and move down the shaft and back up again. “Notice you didn’t mention anything about it being massive. Is that what the ego’s for? To compensate?”

Anyone else and he might be offended. But, coming from you, it’s just a challenge. Another jab. The game you love to play and have become very, very good at. A lesser man might not be able to handle it, but Namjoon… Well, it’d been his game first, after all, and he knows better than anyone that the only way to win is to not play.

So, he withdraws his fingers right as you’re at the edge. Makes a show of putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean, does his best to ignore the obscene jolt of arousal as you mutter a “Jesus fucking Christ” under your breath. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, baby.”

You roll your eyes, releasing his cock from your grasp. “So what? I’m being punished?”

“Only nice girls get to come.”

He’s on his back before he realizes he’s moved. Your fingers are wrapped tight around his wrists, pinning them above his head. A truly wicked grin forms on your face and he wonders, briefly, how anyone survives you. How no one has combusted under the sheer force of you and that look and everything that comes after it. Namjoon wants to burn beneath you for centuries, or however long you’ll allow.

Your body moves languidly up his own until your core is positioned over his face. “Maybe so, but nice girls don’t take what they want, either,” is all you manage to say before he wrangles his wrists out of your grasp and grabs onto your hips roughly, pulling you down against his mouth.

The first kiss he presses against you is soft, teasing. You groan, curse at him for being a tease, and press harder against his face. He flattens his tongue as he laps at you, desperate and hungry for your taste, pausing every so often to slap your ass, tell you to take exactly what you need from him. As you move above him, hips rolling against his mouth, his own body writhes at the heat between them, the brazen frenzy that’s taken over you.

He’s not sure how long he spends between your legs, but he knows it’s not long enough. He’d spend forever there if he could, drunk on it. You taste divine, and he tells you as much over and over, words spilling from his mouth when you aren’t putting it to use.

Thighs, still anchored on the sides of his head, begin to tremble, energy still pent up from the orgasm he’d denied you. He considers doing it again, payback for all your teasing and that smart mouth, but his body betrays him before he can even make up his mind, tongue flat and anchored against your clit as you grind and roll your hips across it. God, he never thought he’d get off on being used like this, always thought he needed to be in control to enjoy sex, but nothing about you has ever really made sense to him except that he can’t get enough.

As you come a second time, all he can do is gaze up at you in admiration. He wants you to take the piss out of him, loves watching the twinkle in your eyes as you scheme up some tart response. He wants the denial, the what-ifs, the second-guessing that always ends with you a blissed-out, moaning mess on top of him. Even now, when you’re exactly where he wants you most, it’s not enough. He still wants more.

He maneuvers so you’re eye-to-eye. Allows himself only a second of pride at how disheveled you are before he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you into a rough kiss. Receives a whimper as you taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, his face. Blindly, you reach behind you for his cock, hand wrapping tightly around the base as you pump him. Whispers something about returning the favor, about making him feel good, but Namjoon’s focus went to shit hours ago. Nothing exists in this moment—in this room, perhaps in his entire world—except you.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, situating himself against the headboard. Even though you’re inches apart, he can feel the heat emanating from your cunt and his cock twitches, seeking your warmth. “We’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. I believe you promised to ride me until I came.”

You grip him again, aligning his length with your center. The head of his cock teases against wet folds and he moans, earning him another knowing smirk. “Beg me,” you say.

“What?”

Another roll of your hips, another fractured gasp. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

His brows furrow in annoyance. Says your name in a way that sounds like a slur. “This isn’t funny.”

You lean down, hair draping your face. “Who’s laughing?” you ask before you lick a long stripe up his neck that causes goosebumps to erupt all over his body. “Beg me.”

“Please,” he breathes, the word sounding more familiar than he ever thought it could. “Baby, please, I—I fucking need you so much.”

“Do you?” you tease, fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles.

Namjoon grabs your chin, forces you to look at him. “Stop teasing me and ride my fucking cock.”

Eyes go wide, pupils dilated at his dominance, the flaring of your nostrils giving away exactly what you think of it. But you smile all the same and sink down on him agonizingly slowly, take the first inch when you say, “As you order, sir,” sardonically.

You feel like heaven.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it—not sure he’d even want to. Being able to experience you over and over, every time feeling like it’s the first… Namjoon isn’t a religious man, but having the privilege of having you so intimately is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing god.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Blinding, wet heat surrounds him as you take all of his cock. Don’t bother taking any time to adjust, just start moving immediately. His eyes roll back in time with the roll of your hips, back and forth the way you rode his thigh. One hand on your hip to brace you, the other palms at your breast, rolls your nipple between his fingers. The moan that escapes you is borderline pornographic. Lust overtakes him, primal and raw, and he moves his hand to join his other at your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts into you roughly.

“A masterpiece,” he praises. “You look so fucking beautiful bouncing on my cock. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”

He’s determined to make this as good for you as it is for him, determined to redeem his first performance. Tries to focus on anything he can besides the sharp slap of your skin meeting, the way your body clamps around him like a vice. But you love to torture him, don’t you, because you’re just as determined to put on a show. You toss your hair back, preen under his watch. You’re an absolute goddess, the most beautiful thing Namjoon has ever seen in his entire life. Perhaps stronger than his determination to make this good for you is his determination to keep you.

He’s a jealous man. He knows this about himself, has had plenty of time to make peace with it. And he knew from the second he laid eyes on you that he didn’t want to share with anyone else, knew he didn’t have the right, but now he thinks the thought alone might kill him.

So, he rolls you over, pins you beneath him so he can fuck you exactly the way he wants. “What are you doing?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you study him.

Proving something to you, he wants to say. Wants to be the best you’ll ever have, ruin every other partner for you. Wants so many things his head is swimming, and as he pushes into your tight, wet heat again, he wonders if he’ll be okay if this is the only one he ever gets.

His pace is slow, sensuous. “Fucking you,” he finally replies. “That alright?”

A loud moan as he adjusts the angle. “More than alright.”

He keeps on like this until he feels himself start to unravel. Starts in his toes, moves to his stomach where it branches out, warm and enveloping. Still, he stays even-keeled despite everything in his body screaming for more. Yours, too—the curling of your toes, your nails digging into his back, pulling at his hair. Your coarse, ragged breaths as you ask for more, more, always more.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls into your neck. “Incredible, baby. Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

You moan again. “Why? Can’t get me off yourself?” you tease, but it’s short-lived as he finally increases his pace, slamming into you hard before you can utter another word.

“You were saying?”

He expects another snappy reply, your smile catching him off-guard as he looks down at you. You’re touching yourself just like he’d said to, fingers working at your clit in slow, lazy circles. Another growl as he drinks in the sight of you.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” Namjoon nods. “Then tell me: how do I look?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, knows he’s not going to be able to hold off the longer he stares. “Like perfection.” You seem to whimper at his words. Just another sound he commits to memory.

A few more thrusts before his movements become erratic. He can feel how close you are, wills himself the strength to hold on just a minute longer—plans that are immediately forgotten as he feels your orgasm hit you, your walls clamping around him so tight his vision goes black.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” you cry out. Namjoon nuzzles into your neck as he follows you over the edge, coming so hard he can’t remember his own name.

Minutes—maybe hours, maybe even days—pass between the two of you, not a sound to be heard except jagged, labored breathing. Once he regains some semblance of consciousness, Namjoon pulls back enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You’re going to be my undoing, baby.”

His memory’s not so great, but Namjoon thinks he properly falls for you the tenth time you meet up.

It’d been nearing eleven-o’clock on a Tuesday night, thunder rumbling off in the distance, when you texted to ask if you could come by, which had been out of the ordinary. The two of you never met during the work week—a rule you had never clearly stated but one Namjoon had quickly picked up on nonetheless—so he hadn’t known what to expect when you knocked on his door.

“Bad day,” was all you’d said as you shrugged off your coat and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth.

He’d wanted to ask why. Wanted to know what’d happened, but it wasn’t his business, your relationship not like that. You’d come over for sex, not for him to play therapist. Namjoon knew this, but as he pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side and pressed his mouth to you, he also knew your heart wasn’t completely in it, so he’d told you to make yourself comfortable in his bed while he made some tea. (He hadn’t bothered to mention he’d picked up your favorite brand while out shopping the weekend before, of course, because that would’ve been weird. It would’ve implied things. So, he’d simply fixed your tea and ignored your questioning stare when you took a cautious sip and hoped you knew he cared about you beyond the little arrangement the two of you had found yourselves in.)

(He hadn’t bothered to tell you that, either, of course.)

But the mind is a traitorous thing. As much as he’d wanted to stay logical, his brain and heart teamed up to conspire against him, to wonder and hope for things that couldn’t possibly have been true. Because, as he fell asleep wrapped around you, he’d found comfort in knowing you’d had a bad day and came to him.

Somewhere along the line, things had shifted. The two of you started laughing together, forming little inside jokes. Started texting about things beyond “your place or mine?” You became softer. Not any more available, at least emotionally, but you’d seemed to relax in his presence. Let down a wall or two.

And it’s been downhill ever since, really.

Your meetings have grown more difficult. Feelings had become involved months ago, and Namjoon comes close to admitting them out loud nearly every time you’re together. Sometimes, on Fridays, he lies and says he has to work late; on Saturdays, he has to “take an emergency weekend appointment” or “make a trip back home” to visit his parents for pretend birthdays and anniversary parties. He knows the two of you have an expiration date and he does what he can to prolong it, even when it’s dishonest.

Until, eventually, he can’t anymore.

Until he’s finally out of lies and agrees to meet you at the club, where he has one too many drinks to hide how stupidly smitten with you he is; too many drinks to forget that you don’t feel the same.

Until he’s so drunk he can barely stand and you offer to split a cab with him back to his place to make sure he doesn’t pass out and choke on his own vomit and he declines.

Until you tell him to stop being so goddamn stubborn because you’re just trying to help, you’ve seen him this fucked up before and it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, he’s too drunk for you to feel okay sending him home alone.

Until he tells you no, he isn’t embarrassed, he just can’t be around you any longer because he’s fallen for you and you don’t feel the same and he can’t keep hurting himself by trying to keep you.

Until everything comes tumbling out of his mouth and he thinks he feels the world tilt.

Then, you don’t say anything and just stare at him with a slack jaw and a mildly displeased expression as he calls Hoseok and slurs all his words when he asks him to come pick him up.

Then, he convinces himself you only looked that way because someone like you isn’t used to being rejected, that’s it, nothing more.

Then, Hoseok shows up and Namjoon doesn’t bother to look back as he leaves, missing the tears well up in your eyes.

When he wakes up on Sunday afternoon with a mind-splitting hangover, he remembers just enough of the night before to marinate in his self-loathing. He’d fucked up a good thing. Sure, you and him hadn’t put a label on whatever the two of you were, never bothered to define it, but you didn’t really have to. The no feelings part of the contract had been implicitly stated from the beginning, highlighted in neon yellow and underlined for added emphasis.

But there’s relief, too. He’d told the truth, was hurting himself to keep you, and now it’s over. He doesn’t have to worry about the unknowns anymore—what (or who) you’re doing and how you feel about him.

Because weeks of radio silence go by, so that tells him everything he needs to know. He knew you wouldn’t chase him so he’s not disappointed, but he’d allowed himself a strand or two of hope nonetheless that still feel crushing at times. Mostly on Friday evenings after he showers off his day and climbs into an empty bed, just wanting to hear his phone chime with a text from you asking to get together. Those strands of hope feel worse when he falls asleep alone, no unread texts except some stupid memes from Jungkook he doesn’t understand.

It doesn’t help that Hoseok’s properly seeing Jimin now, so he can’t fully escape you. Still hears bits and bobs about you and what you’re up to, still sees you in the background of Hoseok’s Instagram posts from parties Namjoon declines to attend.

He doesn’t know how long it’s supposed to take to get over a fling, but he can’t help but feel it’s taking an awfully long time.

Another month goes by. Nearly five since the first time you two had met. Namjoon starts to feel normal again; stops waiting for texts that never come and stops avoiding Hoseok because there’s only one thing he wants to talk about, and Namjoon hasn’t quite been in the right place to hear it. But he figures another four weeks have done him some good so he agrees to meet him at their favorite restaurant and they drink until they’re tipsy.

He doesn’t ask about you and Hoseok doesn’t mention a word, just says things are going well with Jimin and he’s planning on making it official soon. Namjoon doesn’t have to fake his enthusiasm and it feels nice. Normal. He doesn’t even make a thinly-veiled threat when the check comes and he sees Hoseok’s back to his old tricks, ordering all the most expensive items on the menu when it’s Namjoon’s turn to pay, just hands his credit card to the server.

It’s another four days when someone knocks on his door at nearly ten-thirty at night. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him exactly who’s on the other side before he can pull the door open.

“Oh,” he breathes, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice even though seeing you is anything but.

It bothers him how affected by you he still is, how you’re still able to take his breath away despite not seeing you for months. And you’re still stunning, of course, so it makes sense he’d still go dizzy at the sight of you. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Cautious eyes stare up at him as you swallow. “Can I come in?”

He fidgets, weight shifting from side to side. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Braces himself for a quip that doesn’t come. Instead, you shrug and avert your eyes, staring blankly at the wall outside his door. “No, probably not,” you admit. Your tone is quiet, almost soft. That signature smug look is nowhere to be found, and months ago Namjoon would’ve loved this, would’ve delighted at seeing you so vulnerable, but now it just feels all wrong.

He coughs to clear his throat. “Did you, uh—is there something I can do for you?”

“I came to apologize,” you say, though it almost comes out more like a question. “I should’ve called sooner.”

Namjoon blinks. Of all the things he anticipated coming out of your mouth, an apology wasn’t one of them. “Oh. Well, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” Ended things, his brain finishes, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. The two of you were only fucking, and ‘ending things’ makes it sound like more than what it was.

“Right,” you agree, though he can tell you don’t want to. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just…”

Unsure of what else to do, Namjoon simply nods. His fingers are digging into the door frame so hard they’ve started to turn white, and it’s all he can do to hide how badly they’re shaking. He’s anxious. Why is he so anxious? It only gets worse as he watches you exhale a steadying breath and turn on your heel, not bothering to look back at him.

His brain is screaming at him to go after you. After all, hadn’t he just spent months wishing for this exact thing to happen? But that kind of thing is only meant to happen in movies to people who are in love, and after all this time, he still hasn’t got a clue of where he stands with you. Showing up at his place unannounced should mean something, but you hadn’t pushed when he declined to invite you in, so he figures it was simply for a belated goodbye fuck. But…

“Hey!” he yells down the hallway. There’s relief when you pause and turn around, even though you stay where you are, don’t come closer, but that’s okay—you don’t need to. “Why did you really come here?”

A slow, neutral smile graces your lips. Not sad, but not happy, either. “Guess I figured things out a little late.”

Namjoon’s brows knit together, feels the crease between them. “What, that you miss fucking me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so brash and crude, but he supposes it needs to be said regardless. If any of his neighbors happen to overhear him say it, well, he also supposes they would’ve heard everything that came before, too.

“Of course I miss fucking you,” you reply, not bothering to lower your voice at all, “but I think I miss everything else a little more.”

“Everything else?”

“You bought my favorite tea,” you shrug. “And let me in when I had a bad day.”

He still doesn’t understand. “You told me you didn’t like me,” he says. “I wasn’t aware that’d changed.”

“Because I hadn’t told you.”

“And that’s why you’re here now? To tell me… what, exactly? That you don’t dislike me anymore?”

You seem unable to help yourself as you snort. Take a few steps closer until the two of you are nearly touching. “I came to ask if you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

“Right now?” he asks, clearly confused. “It’s nearly eleven-o’clock. I don’t think anywhere worth going is still open.”

“Well, if all else fails,” you quip, that smug grin brilliant as it returns, “we can always order in a pizza.”

Consequences be damned, Namjoon grabs the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his own, desperate to feel his mouth against yours again. Feels nostalgic at the taste of you, the feel—smiles against your lips when it’s all the same as he remembers. Familiar, like coming home. Revels in the way his heart nearly bursts out of his chest when you smile back.

You kiss for what feels like hours. Until you’re both weak in the knees and breathless, breaking apart only to gaze at one another stupidly and punch-drunk.

Namjoon presses a final kiss to the top of your head as he lifts you, not bothering to hide the megawatt smile on his face when you wrap your legs around his waist. “Pizza sounds good.”

“Let’s get a large sausage this time,” you offer, giggling into his neck.

It sounds like the best idea Namjoon has ever heard.

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[roran01]

I'm bored and I can't find motivation to draw, have my headcanons for Romania instead, some of these are simping and cringe, enjoy:

(Also adding a image to be easier to find this post cause for some stupid reason tumblr only shows posts with images in my blog's search bar now, tags are useless)

♤♡◇☆

1) Three words for this guy: 🌟Tall, blonde and beautiful.🌟

2) He's a fashion genius or a fashion disaster depending on your view but he still got drip.

His color choices are black and red (like no shite), sometimes blue for the jeans and warm colors in general, white and grey from time to time.

3) I'd consider him quite mixed, with some ethnicities leaving a noticeable influence but latin conquers most of his bloodline nowadays.

The slavic tendencies come out whenever he gets drunk.

4) Folks see him as eccentric... they're right.

5) He's one of the few countries with particular traits that are uncommon to the rest of the nations and society in general.

I could say it's magic if I want to be basic about it, but I don't, so here's some of them:

His eyes can see supernaturals like spirits, fairies, ghosts and demons although they rarely make their existence know nowadays.

Technically since he's a vampire that would make him one as well. (Actually I'll make a post about this)

He can communicate with the animals and understand them but won't act on it to not look crazy. So he doesn't visit the zoo too often.

He's interested in dark magic so you can say he vibes with the dark side too. In addition he's way too casual about the creepy factor of some things.

He can poses fire because I said so.

6) Besides the quirks about paranormal, he's charming, both in looks and personality as well until you get to know him better, then he gets a little silly that could mean anything.

The only canon thing I adopted from him is that he's mischievous, but I could make him worse :3

7) He's good with kids, he'd be one of those cool parents if he had any. (I could make parent headcanons)

8) He likes traditional food the best, anything with meat and potatoes but to be frank no one can resist pizza from time to time. He doesn't eat too salty, makes him thirsty easily.

He like savarine as a sweet and usually buys them, but if he wants home made he would chose lemon cake (snow white).

To be honest he eats a lot but at least he keeps himself in shape.

"What do you mean this bread has sugar in it??" He doesn't like american bread.

9) And he definitely is lean build, someone who survived 2 empires and russia isn't gonna be skinny af just because he doesn't show it.

My vision says his body beats the twink allegations, his face not so much... he's a twunk.

10) Speaking of, I like to think he does gymnastics and extreme sports for the thrill.

11) His imagination is wild so if he'd have a modern job it should be something that expands on it.

Like a writer for books or movies. He can cook well too (and mix all kinds of potions) so maybe a chef at a restaurant, Fashion artist, Modeling... I go for the writer though.

12) He has some scars on his body, most are small and unnoticeable but he's too self conscious about them so he's not wearing a lot of revealing clothes, at least he doesn't sweat much during summer.

Two noticeable scars are on his shoulder blades and one besides the left lilac region to lumbar.

The ones on his back I like to think of them as a metaphor for broken wings. The one below his abdomen happened due to his separation from Moldova.

13) Cat person, cat behavior and cat lover. He has at least 2 cats in his house and a little bat because why not?

One of the cats is a lynx because that's his national animal, but also because it's like having dog size cat, a big pile of fluff to snuggle on rainy day, a purring machine against your head and belly (I'm projecting a lot I know)

14) His relationship with his slavic neighbors, mainly balkans, is very capybara coded. He's just chilling around and none of them has any business with him nowadays. He's considered part of the family despite Romania being latin. He may feel more accepted by them than his family from west sometimes.

15) His relationship with his blood relative is kinda mixed and they don't communicate often, assumingly because of his status but proly because of the land distance as well.

He used to look up to them and hoped to be accepted and recognized as a romance country in the past. One out of two happened, he's content enough with that.

16) He drinks a fuck ton of red wine.

17) His fangs are the only teeth that can still fall and regrow, he's able to move and retract them.

18) The pupils in his eyes are vertical stilts that expand and contract, the thinner they get the more blurry everything besides the focus point becomes. Sometimes he wears glasses for that.

Funny thing about his pupils is that they can expand so much it cover the whole Iris. His eyes can also glow in the dark sometimes.

19) In human age he's 23.

20) He loves parks, a lot.

21) Keeps his house clean except his kitchen, until he has guests over. If uninvited you're not allowed in the kitchen.

22) Sleep schedule worse than you've seen in college. Get him to bed or he gets grumpy af.

23) Coffee addict because of that.

24) He doesn't like cold, but there's melancholic beauty in the landscape whenever it's night time and only the tree lights give an ounce of warmth during winter. It's a bittersweet sensation he can't describe properly, it's the same during rainy days or stormy nights. He likes it despite the ache feeling it gives.

25) Sunny days are enjoyable for many of his activities but he's usually more active during the night, which is unfortunate because he ends up sleeping too much during daytime and feeling awful for "wasting time" in bed.

26) His eye color switches from black to red sometimes.

27) Sexually speaking, he's definitely swinging both ways and sideways.

28) If he'd be a yōkai then it's Kitsune (nine tails fox) fits him the most. Also because I like to think he'd have a double pair of fangs from it.

29) I main ship him with: Bulgaria and Norway. Side ships: Greece and Hungary. Crack ships: Prussia, Japan, Belarus. Platonical: Egypt cause I like their aesthetics together.

30) But talking about how compatible he is with other characters. I'd say based on canon he is with Bulgaria. Based on history he'll be with Serbia (dude barely exists). Based on his zodiac sign he's with Hungary (the irony). Based on his mbti he's with either Norway or Japan.

31) Speaking of zodiac signs, he's a Sagittarius. (Although it's hard to identify precisely the "birthday" of countries, so I just go with their national days and his is on Dec 1) if you're into astrology a lot then he also has his moon in scorpio.

32) He is inclined to be overprotective for his close ones ever since he lost Moldova to Russia. He does it automatically without knowing until someone points it out.

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This may get updated from time to time