#i’m just questioning why the need to paint people with such broad strokes

[wildmelon]

“if you were really creating for yourself you wouldn’t be posting on tumblr” …????????????? idk about you but my blog is my little mermaid grotto of treasures. this is my collection of cute posts funny posts pretty posts fun posts shitposts my own posts. look at this stuff isn’t it neat.

[sixeyesgojo]

I’ll Be Your Enemy

Summary: Gojo Satoru is willing to do anything for you. As long as it helps you heal from what haunted your night.

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Word count: 2,019

Content warning: implied but unspecified mental illness, mentions of self-harm (scratching), mentions of character death

A/N: Kind of stumbled upon this masterpiece of a song and I thought it would be ideal for some Gojo HURT. This entire thing takes place after the Cursed Womb Arc, so to say: after Yuji dies.

Song: Be Your Enemy by Taemin ft. Wendy

PREQUEL HERE: Pictures of You

Quickly, quickly. The key was inserted into the keyhole and turned. The door lock clicked faintly, signaling that the door has been unlocked. Satoru made sure to open and close the door softly as he entered the familiar apartment. Putting the spare key into his pocket, he slid out of his shoes. Usually he would have made some big noise to ‘announce his arrival’ but not this time. He left his shoes neatly at the genkan of the residence and slipped into the white slippers that always stood by the wooden door, an extra pair just for him.

23 minutes ago. “Hello?” Satoru had picked up the phone. “Gojo-san! Finally the call went through. I’m glad I am able to reach you now,” the voice on the other end said. “Yo, Ijichi, what’s up?” Satoru greeted. He had been sent to a pretty rural area of Japan to get rid of some pesky curses and the cell phone reception was poor in that place, so it wasn’t surprising that calls didn’t go through at times. In addition to that, some curses that manifested had an electrical ability, which impaired the cell towers at place even more. Almost as if planned. “Gojo-san, I think you need to come back as fast as you can,” the man with glasses on the other end of the line stated calmly. “Why?” was the only thing the white-haired sorcerer said in response. Somehow, he had a strange feeling in his gut. The tone in Ijichi’s voice didn’t do anything to calm this odd feeling either.

“It’s L/N-san. Something horrible happened and I don’t think she is taking it well. I did my best to calm her but I’m at wits’ end too…” Ichiji explained vaguely. Satoru was experiencing a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - his stomach churned, it felt like his guts were wrenching inside him - at the mention of your name. “Ijichi,” he said in a relatively calm voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t betraying him by showing what he truly felt in that moment. Satoru’s feet were set in rapid motion. “Stay calm. I need you to explain to me what exactly happened.”

Gojo Satoru might be many things. A tease, a teacher (supposedly), a cruel man, a strong sorcerer, a crazy coach, a walking menace to some, protective, an inspiration to a handful, a venti-sized manchild, idiotic, a sweets maniac, a lifelong student to Yaga, playful, a pillar of the Jujutsu world… but most importantly, he was a caring person. This goes without saying for his students and especially his loved ones. What Ijichi just said on the phone had left his heart stinging in his chest. He was in the kitchen, leaving the bag he brought with him on the table.

“Alright. I will tell you what happened, Gojo-san.” “I am listening.” “I am not sure if you are aware that this happened,” the suit-clad man began, “but one of the missions that was originally assigned to you - a case of utmost priority of a cursed womb - was suddenly taken off of your pile and reassigned…” Satoru’s eyes narrowed underneath the black fabric. The beginning already left a bad taste in his mouth; missions assigned to him were usually first grade or even special grade and he knew all too well that there were nowhere enough first grade, let alone special grade, sorcerers around. So who had it been assigned to? “...to your three first-year students,” Ijichi finished with a sigh. The sickening hotness of rage filled Satoru’s whole body. Already having realized the scenario that must have taken place, he still asked for confirmation, “What grade?” “...Special grade. One casualty.” The picture that you had taken of him, his first years and yourself (so carefully hung up on your wall at home) flashed in front of his inner eye. He clenched his teeth so hard as he wordlessly hung up; it hurt. It hurt so badly.

Such an atrocious inhumane act coated in malice. He was going to kill these dirty-playing bastards. However, that would have to wait until later. Much later. Satoru couldn’t leave you to your own devices, not in this state. The scenario he concluded for himself earlier replayed in his mind several times as he made his way through your completely dark apartment. His heart stung with each beat. It was almost as if someone drove a blade through his chest repeatedly.

When he stood in front of the closed door of your bedroom, he heard soft sobs coming from inside. Should he knock to let you know someone came? He wasn’t sure what to do. He gave the door two soft knocks and entered the room. It was your hunched form on the bed, no doubt. Satoru could not see your face with the way your back was facing him. Slowly he made his way to your bed and crouched down to face you. Your face was swollen and tear-stained, a sight he didn’t see often. His large hand rested on your shoulder and gently rubbed it, a silent question hung in the air.

Finally, you looked at him with your swollen eyes. Almost instantly, your sobs got louder and you reached out for the tall sorcerer. “S-Satoru…” you hiccuped in-between sobs. “Yeah. I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured you and stroked the wet hair out of your puffy face as you threw yourself around him, relentlessly crying into his broad shoulders. The white-haired man enclosed his arms around you but it wasn’t to hug you for comfort.

He scooped your delicate frame up and wrapped a warm blanket around you before leaning your body against the headboard of the bed. He sat next to you on the bed and guided your head onto his shoulders. Your violent sobbing stopped but tears were still flowing freely. 

If there was someone who understood the agony, bitterness and distress someone in this line of work had to face, it was Gojo Satoru. The path of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was painted black and red by trials and tribulations. This was why Satoru was so hell-bent on resetting the world he called his obligation. “If you feel exhausted, just lean on me for a second,” his calm voice sounded through the room. There was no answer from you. Even if there was silence, your feelings reached his heart and he spoke again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently. Let it go with me. It’ll be easier to shake this burden off and share it, he thought. Of course, he would never dare force you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, as if to get even closer physically.

Ultimately, the woman sucked in a breath and with a shaky voice and recounted everything in her point of view. “I-I.. was on a mission when I… got a call from Ijichi. ‘Something wasn’t right’, he said and… t-told me about the cursed womb. As soon as I heard… that they sent y-your students there, I rushed to the location but…”, you hiccuped, “...I was too late… Y-Yuji, he-” You sobbed hysterically into his shoulder. Satoru turned to you to wipe away the tears and snot with a tissue. “Shhh, I’m here, I’m here”, he reassured once again, “I’ll fix it somehow.” It was just as he thought: those damned higher ups.

“H-How? This is not… something… you can f-fix, Satoru… not even you,” you continued bawling into his shoulders. I’ll kill all the higher ups, he thought to himself. “I don’t know but I’ll be damned if I can’t do something to change this detestable, loathsome and bloody world we live in,” his voice seethed with anger but it quickly died down as he re-focused on the main topic at hand, “there has to be something I can do, I’ll even drag out Sukuna myself if I have to.” “Please, Satoru…” Your whisper was faint and weak, “I… saw Yuji’s corpse... on the ground... I just want to see him one last time…”

Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer undoubtedly put a heavy strain on your mental wellbeing; nobody was spared from it, not even the great Gojo Satoru. Unfortunately, you were one of the people who were much more affected by incidents like these. He realized how badly it hurt your heart, he knew how much all the students meant to you and he knew just how much more fragile you were than you let on in front of other people. Where there is light, there must be shadow. It wasn’t like he was left unscathed by it either but right now, his utmost priority was you.

“Right,” the male sorcerer murmured more to himself. He still had to check something. “I want you to show me your arms, please.” If this had been a command, it had to be the gentlest one you had ever heard. Maybe it was the fact that there was a hint of pain infused in the way he spoke to you just now that made you show your arms so willingly, or maybe it was the fact that he always sounded so earnest when he took care of you like this. He genuinely cared; it was something you shouldn’t be surprised about, considering how long the two of you have known and cared for each other, but it never ceased to leave you in awe. You held out your arms for him to see.

As carefully as possible, the man examined your arms, his touch ghosting over your skin. It was a good thing he came prepared. The angry red lines, dry blood and broken skin on both of your forearms seemed to scream at him: you hurt yourself again. Without a doubt, he felt guilty. “I’ll be right back,” he announced as he slipped away from the bed after fixing your position and stroking your hair tenderly. A few moments later, your tall friend was back with a few medical supplies. Sitting back on the bed, he started to clean and treat your injuries. Besides a few hiccups and whimpers from your side, silence befell the room.

“Don’t you want to curse and insult me?” His eyes were still fixed on bandaging your arms. “No,” was all you said in response, fearing that your voice would give in. “You should though. After all, it was technically my fault...” Even though you were hurting, you knew Satoru was hurting all the same deep down in his heart, seeing that his precious students were the victims in this case. Satoru really treasured disciples. You took a few deep breaths before you replied, “Please don’t ever blame yourself for this… I know you wouldn’t have… let this shit happen. I know how much you adore them.”

“If it makes you feel better... if it can help you heal, I’ll take it. Any words are fine. I can deal with all the painful words…” Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest. It was rare but his voice… unmistakably cracked for a second. A shaky chuckle left your lungs, “Please Satoru,” you wrapped your arms around him as well and nuzzled into his shirt again, “I could never treat you like that. You are everything to me but an enemy. Have always been.”

“I’ll be anything you need. I’ll even be your enemy if you ask me to… so please tell me, so that it doesn’t hurt you anymore…” he said shakily. The blindfolded man had masked his pain up until now, for your sake. It was your time to comfort him. Giving him shelter, like he had done for you. He had already experienced far too much hurt.

“Satoru, all I’ll ever need you to be in my life… is the important and comforting presence you have always been. Don’t change. If things are too much, too overwhelming and you become tired, you can lean on me too. I will never leave you.”

There was nothing left to say, no need. It was enough for both of you to be in each other’s comforting presence.

Taglist: @gojos-mochi​ @megumifushi @bleueluna

[get-shiggy-with-it]

*°:⋆ₓₒCollab Masterlistₓₒ⋆:°*

Pairing: All Might x Gn!Dom!Reader (Theme for this month was sex work au!)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+ this is a dark fic, both dubcon/noncon, straight up, forced submission, bit of mind break, dom/sub dynamics, sub!All Might, dominant All Might later in, dark All Might, violence against reader, bodily harm, face fucking, spanking (for Toshi), thigh riding (for Toshi), blackmail, minor mentions of blood, bondage/rope play, reader is gender neutral, no pronouns used

Summary: You work as a popular dominant for pro heroes who need to give up control once in awhile and Yagi Toshinori is one of your best clients. But when word gets out to the media about your involvement with pros, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Though you quickly discover All Might does not take kindly to anyone who threatens his reputation. 

It was all about the exchanging of power. 

About the relinquishing of control—about letting go and the freedom that came with it.  

And you?

You were just there to facilitate, to take over, to release all those bottled up years of stress that the camera’s weren’t supposed to see. 

But you did. 

You saw all of it. 

It was about trust too. Trust in you to give them what they need and trust in them to do exactly as you instructed. And most of all, trust that everything stayed confidential. That the things said through tears and whimpers and sighs were kept quiet. Trust that they would show you the same respect and privacy you showed them. 

You took these rules very seriously. They were the foundation your business was built on and it had earned you quite a lot of credibility. You prided yourself on it, as you should. Professionalism was key in your line of work. It made the clients feel a bit more comfortable—counteracted the sense of taboo that was usually associated with people like you. 

People in “your line of work,” was the common way of referencing it. But you preferred to be clear and upfront, not skirt around the edges as though your job was something shameful.

Language was important too. 

“Client,” “session,” etc...all added a buffering degree of separation for those you serviced. It was a crucial part of the balance which has allowed you to be so successful. They needed to be able to remove themselves from who they became once you were alone together. You’d learned that some amount of plausible deniability was key to achieving the complete relinquishing of authority. They had to be able to convince themselves after they’d walked away, that the crying, begging mess they’d become wasn’t who they really were—wasn’t actually a part of them, just something you’d done.

And by them, of course, you meant the heroes you served so dutifully. 

And by serve, you meant completely and utterly dominate. 

Contradictory to most common misconceptions, your job wasn’t always about sex—though it could be and was at time—but truly, it was about release. 

And above all, it was about power and who got to hold it. 

When that structure was broken—when the rules were strayed from—that’s when things got murky. But you were good at what you did, so luckily, that hadn’t been much of an issue. 

What more could one expect from someone whose services are sought out by the Symbol of Peace himself?

Hm. 

You really ought to get that put on your business cards. 

***

It was late when he came to you, though that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Occasional hero work coupled with a teaching schedule and numerous media appearances left one very little free time. Fortunately, you conducted most of your business during the small hours of the morning, so Yagi Toshinori showing up at your door as the clock ticked its way past two wasn’t a shock. 

You fell into the usual rhythm of things easily. 

Toshi was one of your newest, but most favorite clients. You came highly recommended from many of his coworkers, and after an initial meeting over drinks to discuss his needs, you struck up a routine that worked for the both of you. 

Of course he paid you handsomely for your time. 

Constantly being in the public eye, acting as an unwavering representation of hope for the future was tiring. You were more than happy to take the weight off his very broad shoulders for once. 

And bend him over your knee instead. 

“Five,” he panted, whimpers of thanks and your name spilling out around his loose tongue as your hand connected sharply with the meat of his ass again. 

You always asked to be called by name, no frilly titles to get in the way and complicate the dynamic. When they walked into your space, they set aside their hero personas and you afforded them the same intimacy. 

Names meant something. Names were power and so they mattered, particularly in this game you played together. Equality had to be achieved before domination. 

“Good boy Toshi, you’re doing so well,” you cooed and brought your palm down twice, watching the skin on the backs of his thighs bloom pink like sakura in the spring. 

“S-six, seven,” there was a wet spot forming under his mouth on the sheets and on your lap where his cock was bare and leaking. “Ah, please—harder!” 

You raised your brow as he turned his head to look at you with those teary, dark eyes and you could never resist a look like that. 

“You want it harder, why’s that?” you wound back and smacked roughly over the raised welts that made him hiss and sob. “Is this what you deserve for being so weak?”

He may have been thin now, skeletal compared to the face he showed the public, but you didn’t mind. He trusted you enough to let his guard down, and his weight was still thick and full across your legs. It was invigorating to see a man like All Might, reduced to this. Whatever pent up guilt he carried inside, you were here to help let it all out in the best way you knew how. 

“Yes!” Toshi cried and buried his face into the plush fabric of your comforter as you delivered the last three harsh blows of the punishment he paid you for. “Fuck yes, I’m weak and I’m a failure and I deserve this—!”

“That’s right, you’re a piss poor excuse for a hero and you haven’t earned your title,” you wrapped two thick locks of his hair around your hand and yanked hard till he craned his neck to face you. “What would the world say if they could see what a sobbing mess you are when no one’s looking?”

He opened his mouth to speak, hips twitching and grinding uselessly against your thigh. The second that plush pink tongue dipped past his lips, you were rearing back to spit straight between his teeth. 

Toshi’s face was always priceless in these moments. You’d almost be willing to do it for free if you only got to see the way his brows shot up and those red rimmed eyes blew so wide as you steeled yourself and looked him dead on. 

“Now, swallow like the little bitch I know you are.” 

And he did, of course he does, because behind your bedroom door Yagi Toshinori was your good boy. So you got to watch his throat bob as your spit slid down and he moaned so pretty at the awful things you said to him. 

Your palm kneaded against the red, raw flesh of his ass and you watched how he squirmed at the sting. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. Your head was spinning from the smell alone and the high of the control you wielded over this man. His hands fisted hard in your bed sheets and you let him helplessly rut against you a few times before running your free hand up the graceful curve of his spine. 

“Oh, you really are so disgusting Toshi,” you mused as your nails dig into the planes of muscles to drag angry red lines over the skin. “Did you really get that hard from me slapping this tight little ass of yours?”

He groaned pathetically and nodded, not bothering to hide how his dick had been oozing obscene amounts of precum every time you etched a new welt on his skin. The blush that crept up his chest and painted his cheeks had spread between his legs too. The unfairly massive cock that Toshi sported was flushed a dark angry red at the tip and you couldn’t help but have mercy on him. 

Well, only a little bit. 

You weren’t here to be nice tonight, even if a part of you might have liked to be. 

“Do you want to cum, Toshi?” you asked, lacing your voice with the false sweetness you knew he loved. “Have you been aching for it all night?”

He keened, crying your name and rutting his hips harder against you. It sent a rush of warmth between your legs despite your better efforts to remain unaffected. This wasn’t about you, this was about ownership and his pleasure. 

“Mhmm,” his voice was little more than a rasp, “wanna cum so bad, please!”   

You laughed, but it was a cruel thing and you knew he could feel the rumble of it in his scarred chest. 

“You did so perfectly taking your punishment,” you raked your nails over the raised handprints again just to hear him cry out. “I suppose I’ll let you cum, but you’ll have to work for it.” 

Toshi’s breathing was ragged as you helped him up to straddle one of your legs. His swollen cock rested on the plushest part of your thigh, the tip nudging your hip and drawing choked gasps from the man towering above you. 

He stared down at you, confused when you didn’t move to stroke him. 

“Go on, then,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your palms so you could lean back and watch the show. “I said you’d have to work for it, didn’t I?”

You punctuated your question with a bounce of your knee that rocked his length against the fabric of your pants. It didn’t take long for him to catch on, eyes squeezing shut against the waves of shame and embarrassment that just made it so much hotter as he slowly began to ride your thigh. 

He might be paying you to be ruthless, but Toshi was kind to a fault from what you’ve learned of him and he ke[t most of his massive weight held on the balls of his feet so you weren’t crushed below him. Under any other circumstances, you might have actually enjoyed that quite a bit, but his face—cherry red with spit-slicked lips held parted with the force of his pants—was enough for now. 

His cock was so heavy you almost couldn’t believe it was real. You nearly didn’t the first time he’d stripped for you, but even just the drag of it through your clothes was delectable. It was so long and thick you needed both hands to wrap fully around it, and he gushed like a fucking gieser when you got him under your metaphorical boot. 

With every rock of his bony hips, his length was forced up against the curve of your stomach and he whined at the glistening strands of slick that connected his tip to you.   

“Come on, Toshi,” you clicked your tongue disappointedly at him, letting a hand fall to the puckered skin at his waist, squeezing harshly. “I know you can do better than that.”

He was beyond words now, you could tell by the way his jaw was loose and his teeth clacked with every thrust, but he did gasp out a long, high pitched moan that made up for it. The speed of his humping increased, becoming erratic as he hunched on the bed, hands beside yours. He loomed over you but anyone could tell just by the composed, serene smile playing at your lips—and the absolutely wrecked noises spilling from Toshi—just which one of you was really in control. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” 

You knew he liked it when you spewed filth to him right before he boiled over and you were more than willing to oblige. 

“You’re gonna cum like a fucking teenager humping his pillow, isn’t that right?” you snarled the words up at him and he really did cry then, big fat tears dripping down onto your shirt. “All Might, the number one hero is gonna cum all over my lap like the slut he is.”

He nods frantically. You know his balls were tensing up as he sobbed and spluttered—completely ruined. Just the way he needed to be. 

“Then cum.” 

You finally wrapped your fist just around his aching tip and he exploded into your palm. Rope after rope of sticky, white release coated your arm and dripped onto the bed. He kept grinding his hips, working himself through the climax, cock still pulsing and leaking in your grip. You didn’t mind the mess. 

He always tipped a bit extra if he left stains anyway. 

Such a gentleman.

When the last wave of his orgasm had petered out, Toshi collapsed to the side with his face buried in your pillow and his long legs still strewn across your lap. He didn’t usually ask for much in the realm of aftercare, preferring that you cleaned him and let him rest for a bit before he suited up and rushed off into the night. 

You gave him a minute before you got up to wet a warm cloth in the sink. He looked so destroyed, you couldn’t help but admire your handiwork. As you palm his ass once more, fingers spreading him so his pink hole was on display, you slipped your phone silently from your pocket, and snapped a few shots of the nasty red hand marks and smears of cum as he groaned deeply at the touch. 

His voice was lower as he grunted and you could tell he’s coming out of the subspace you’d thrust him into hours before. Quickly you slid the device smoothly away before lifting his legs from you and settling them gently on the bed to work on tidying up your mess. 

You didn’t feel particularly good about keeping this kind of collateral, but as much power as you hold in the four walls of your bedroom, you were frustratingly weak once you left them. These men you worked with, while generally professional, were also top heroes. Top heroes who really didn’t want their embarrassing private lives getting out. Top heroes who thrived off reputation and who would willingly throw you under the bus in a second to protect that. 

You liked Yagi Toshinori. 

But you didn’t know him. 

Smacking someone’s ass or stroking their cock every few weeks didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. 

So you kept your personal insurance that would be there should one of your clientele decide to forsake you in favor of their public image. And you would never use it unless you absolutely had too. 

After all, this was about trust and power and the exchange of those two things. Or at least it was supposed to be. Trust was quite a subjective thing. 

The general citizenry trusted All Might to protect them against the growing evil in Japan’s underground. But behind the scenes, you knew his failing health had caused him to seek you out as the intense guilt of his lie came crashing down on him.

Toshi trusted you to relieve his pain and indulge in his degrading fantasies, and you hadn’t failed him yet. 

But your trust was not easily bought, and none of your customers ever paid much mind to whether your perceived belief in them was genuine. 

After so many glimpses into the messes of pro-heroes personal lives, you knew you’d have to be your own protector. Hence, the photos remained in a locked folder hidden away as you sat yourself down next to the dozing hero and wiped away as much evidence of your meeting as you could. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, lathing the warm cloth between his legs and softening length. 

“Good, all things considered,” he responded, voice returned to it’s normal, deep baritone. 

“I sincerely hope you won’t have to do much sitting tomorrow,” you quipped and it earned you a chuckle. 

“I’ll manage.” 

You rolled him gently and finished clearing the rest of his spend from the flat expanse of his stomach. Toshi mumbled his thanks and you gave his thigh a friendly squeeze before retreating from the room to shower and change yourself. 

He’d be gone by the time you got out, notification of payment on your phone and a sizable tip left on your dresser as a parting gift. 

And as long as Yagi Toshinori was just as good a boy on the outside as he was here, then the world would never need to know what their Symbol of Peace got up behind your closed doors. 

***

“All Might! Mister All Might, sir!” 

The grating voice of that shithead reporter echoed through the speakers of your headphones over and over again. Your hand shook as the train stuttered to a halt and a wave of passengers burst out onto the platform. 

“All Might, are the rumors true!?” 

Your stomach sank as the reporter shouted your name above the ruckus of microphones and camera flashes and roaring bodies. Their voice was like chalk on your tongue, dry and cracked and clamoring to know whether the Symbol of Peace was involved with the recently revealed ‘seedy’ and ‘scandalous’ sex ring between yourself and multiple top ranking heroes. 

You’d been out having a relaxing lunch with friends in the city when everyone’s phones blew up. It wasn’t that you hid the general details of your job, but by the looks on their faces were enough to make your face burn. The judgement was clear—what you did was abhorrent, disgusting and by extension, so were you. Reporters had caught you on camera with a certain second ranking pro and very quickly deduced exactly who you were and what services you offered. 

The tabloids took it and ran, dragging your reputation behind them. 

Call after call and text, dms on your social media pages, all from news outlets requesting interviews or quotes or hero fans calling you a ‘shameless whore’ for going after pros—hell death threats had even begun to fill your inboxes. 

Hero fans really were ride or die, you supposed, although the ‘die’ in that scenario seemed to refer more to you than themselves. They would never believe their precious big boy crush had ever associated with the likes of you, had ever willingly kneeled for you—had ever enjoyed it. 

They couldn’t understand the things you did, all they saw was some false emasculation.   

And if it came out that Toshinori had any contact with you, his career would be ruined. 

You had hoped from the little you’d learned about him in your sessions, that he’d simply deny knowing you existed at all. That he’d have mercy on you, treat you like the thousand helpless civilians he pulled from burning buildings or whatever the hell heroes did these days. 

But you’d been right before to say that you didn’t know Toshi. 

And now you certainly didn’t like him either. 

“Are you one of the pros involved?” the reporter hounded again as All Might’s massive form panned into frame. 

“As your Symbol of Peace, I certainly do not partake in such degenerate behavior,” his words rang out, deep and resonating. “I would never associate with someone who’s actions border on criminal.” 

The dark, soulless pits he called eyes stared mockingly from your tiny screen as his signature laugh reverberated through your ears along with the train’s clacking breaks. You ripped the headphones from your ears and closed out of the app, ducking your head and pushing towards the door. Everyone’s eyes were drilling into you, worming deep under your skin and making you squirm like so many of those heroes had done on your silk sheets. 

Rationally, you were aware not many people would have seen the story yet. Tabloid trash took a day or two to disseminate into the general social media outlets and for people to take notice. Your friends only knew because your name stuck out to them, but you were hardly recognizable in your typical citizen attire. Even still. 

Your life, your work, all of it was on display. 

And he’d called you a degenerate. 

The infallible All Might had taken your name and tossed it in the guttered, likened you to a villain and single handedly destroyed everything you’d built in the process. 

Years of effort and crawling your way up the ranks of society all for nothing.  

All so some washed up hero could keep his fantasy of success going for just a little longer. Toshi trusted you with his secrets, his weakness, his body, and you’d defended that at every turn. The only thing he had to do was pay a small fee for your time and discretion. 

But no amount of money could fix your toppled character. Nothing could reverse your place as a disgusting slut in the eyes of literal millions of people. 

Bold of Yagi Toshinori to underestimate you so thoroughly, to think that you’d sit back in the rubble as he rescued cats and little kids and lived his delusion of perfection.

This was about trust and power. 

When those lines were crossed, that’s when things got messy. 

And you’d make sure to leave so big a mess, Toshi would never dream of coming back from it. 

***

Your apartment building was thankfully free of any press when you arrived home. It had been a few days since All Might instigated your public slander, but the mass media hadn’t managed to track you down after you went into a short period of hiding. 

You needed time to let all your other clients involved in the scandal play their cards. 

There would be no use in condemning one just to have them warn the rest of their equally impending doom. That way you could be assured they’d all come crashing down with you. Especially the blonde poster boy of hero society himself. 

His would be the sweetest fall. 

It had been long enough now that you could start compiling. You locked the door behind you, shrugging off your coat and settling on the couch. The plush cushions sank as you fell back, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts. Toshi was there, two red and blue hearts on either side of his name. You pulled up his text thread. 

You’d thought about going public of course. 

Of course you had.

Your entire career had been trashed, you’d been shamed by the number one hero himself and your personal life was blasted over social media. 

But you were human, so you were weak. 

And you had liked Toshi. 

Well, you hated him now—a deeply dark, burning resentment—but before that, he’d been so sweet to you in a way that most were not. Respectful and nice and you were unused to it. So, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to eradicate his credibility in the same outright manner. 

No, you had decided you’d give him a chance.

Because you were better than him. 

A chance to atone, come clean, apologize the way you’re sure he would if his public image wasn’t so goddamn important to him. So you didn’t reach out to any of the media outlets that had been hounding your socials for the past week, and didn't offer them the inside scoop quite yet. Instead, you stared at the handsome contact photo of your hero client and slowly typed him up a message he couldn’t ignore. 

It was short and sweet, polite but firm. You acknowledged he most certainly did not want to speak with you—in fact, you weren’t very inclined to speak with him ever again either—but you happened to be in possession of some fairly compromising photographic evidence of your time together. And if that evidence were ever to, say, end up in the pocket of the exact scandal rag that sent voice clips of All Might all but denouncing you as a whore to the nation, well. Things would certainly not end well for him. 

But, you were nothing if not professional. 

He knew that. 

You never wanted to use these, but he had forced your hand. Of course you were more than willing to work out a deal with him. 

He was your favorite client after all. 

In any case, he knew how to reach you, and he had a generous 48 hours to give you an answer to your proposition. 

Oh and you were kind enough to provide a little snapshot of just exactly the type of evidence you meant. 

Your thumb hovered over the little blue arrow to send. The phone clacked against your nails as it shook in your grip, slick from sweat and frayed nerves. You couldn’t quite tell if you were anxious or angry or some awful combination of the two, but your heart was in your throat as you shut your eyes and pressed send. 

There was no going back, and if this all came tumbling to the ground, you promised yourself that you would shatter gracefully. 

Letting the screen go dim, you stared in silence at the small check mark confirming the message had been delivered and your fate sealed. You pulled yourself to your feet and made your way to the bedroom. 

He’d get back to you soon, or maybe he wouldn’t. You couldn’t know for sure whether or not Toshi would simply ignore your texts and be blindsided when the deadline passed and you destroyed him all over again in a far less enjoyable manner than you used to. But whatever the case, it was out of your hands for now. 

With aching feet and tired eyes, you stripped slowly and stumbled towards the bathroom. Turning the water to just below scalding, you did your best to scrub away any pesky remaining guilt that clung to you in a thin, suffocating film. 

You told yourself that there was no other choice. That you would have found another way if there was one. That this was how business often went. You had seen it before when you first entered in the field of sex work and you’d see it again. So you scrubbed yourself raw and let all your doubts trickle down the drain. 

Tonight, you would sleep restlessly, but it was a fair enough burden to carry for your honor. 

You were foolish to believe the cost of revenge wouldn’t bear a heftier price. 

***

You woke slowly, trapped momentarily in the strange limbo between sleep and consciousness that fooled you into thinking the strange tightness at your wrists was nothing more than a leftover side effect of a dream. 

The reality was so much worse.

It wasn’t until you felt the blunt, radiating sting of knuckles backhanded against your cheek that the haze of sleep fell away, and you could truly appreciate the scene before you. 

Which was to say, you could take the opportunity to scream before Yagi Toshinori’s fingers were shoved down your throat to muffle the noise. He was large, shirt seams full to bursting, and sporting an expression you’d never seen before. His eyes, while always dark, were like holes now and they filled you with an unfamiliar sense of dread. 

He’d called you a villain before, and now he was looking at you like one too. 

“Oh no,” Toshi hissed. His voice was impossibly deep, reverberating against your ribs painfully, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you.” 

One quick bout of struggling made it very apparent he didn’t want you moving either as your wrists had been bound behind your back and your ankles were similarly immobilized. The fingers in your mouth pressed hard on your tongue, his thumb pushing below your chin to make you choke and splutter. 

“You really let all that power get to your head, didn’t you?” Toshi’s voice was buzzing in your ears and mingling with the pain in your jaw. He put one massive knee on the mattress and hooked his fingers behind your teeth, forcing you to sit up from the bed.

You could feel your face burn as he looked down at you, drool slipping passed your lips and coating his fingers. The straining bulge in his pants looked even bigger than you remembered now that he was no longer the slip of a man you’d come to know as Yagi Toshinori. 

No this was All Might, the Symbol of Peace. 

And you got the feeling that whatever was about to happen, it was not going to be peaceful for you.  

He had you tied and trussed like a piece of meat, and he would treat you like one. You’d seen this before, you’d tied these knots—he’d been where you were now, but he’d asked for it. The loss of control was never something you’d delighted in on a good day, and now the rising pressure in your chest and the sensation of walls closing had panic coursing through you.  

“Did you really think that I’d come back here willing to grovel at your feet?” he jeered, the trademark smile on his face more snarl than grin. 

He shook your jaw violently in his grasp, listening to the joints pop as they tried to stretch around his thick fingers. Your name left his mouth in a mock coo, just as you had done to him so many nights before. “Remember, you might get to call me a bitch but it’s only because I let you.”

Your hands trembled violently against the bonds which tore the delicate skin and rubbed it raw. Toshi’s free hand traveled along his thigh to rub himself through his pants, his knuckles brushing your nose as he bucked into his palm. 

“But now you’ve stepped out of line,” he mused and clicked his tongue as though you were a student who’d done poorly on his latest exam. “And I’m going to make sure that whore mouth of yours never utters my fucking name again.” 

Eyes wide with horror, you watched as Toshi’s fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his slacks until his cock had sprung free, monstrous in length and girth, dripping onto your forehead. 

You’d seen it before, but it seemed bigger now. So big that you’d never been able to take it, and Toshi had been staunchly against you ever trying lest he quite literally split you in two. But any kindness he’d shown you before was clearly off the table. His fingers pumped in and out of your throat as if preparing you somehow to take the stretch. It wouldn’t help. You knew that. He knew that. 

Toshinori smiled as he removed his fingers in favor of digging the spit slicked digits into the joints of your jaw, ensuring you wouldn’t bite down on him as he pressed the spongy tip to your lips. The panic that had set in—making your blood rush and your limbs shake—was constricting your chest and the pressure of Toshi’s dick pushing past your teeth made your breathing even more erratic. 

You whimpered loudly, trying to wrench your head away as the strong salt and musk flavor of his pre cum spread across your tongue, but that only made him thrust forward harder. His length quickly hit resistance back of your throat as you gagged and tears burned at the corners of your eyes. 

The ache in your jaw was already unbearable and your bottom lip was being rubbed raw by warm spit and the friction of Toshi roughly fighting to sink his dick fully into your mouth. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned as you inadvertently licked over his tip, trying to force him away. “You look so much better like this.” 

He ran a falsely sweet hand across your cheek, collecting the stream of tears and using the moisture to slick the rest of his length. Your chest heaved in a mixture of gags and increasingly violent sobbing. You were stretched painfully wide as he rolled his hips again, pushing the thickest bit of his cock into your mouth and forcing your teeth to dig painfully into your upper lip. With the next thrust, he was able to sink another excruciating inch deep into your throat. Blood rushed from where you bit yourself and caused crimson streaks to form as Toshi fucked slowly into your mouth. 

Your mind was slipping. 

You’d had so little time to process the encounter, so instead your brain had secluded most of your consciousness into a precious little box, away from the intense burning in your throat as Toshi finally sank all of his innumerable inches completely into you. Your throat bulged and protested, tightening in an attempt to force him out. 

It only made him moan loudly and dig his fingers into your hair. 

“See?” he huffed, pulling out at an agonizing pace only to ram his length in roughly to the hilt. “I’d never lie to my public, you really are just as much of a slut as they say you are.” 

You shrieked around his cock, though it was muffled so badly by the lack of air and the wet slap of his constant thrusting that no one but you could hear the screaming in your own head. The pain was unbearable, this awful friction burning sensation that had your stomach churning and your chest wracked with stifled cries. Your bound legs kicked and your fingers grasped useless at the sheets as Toshi fucked your mouth reckless abandon. 

Time blurred along with your vision, whether from the lack of oxygen or the tears you weren’t sure. 

And most horrifyingly of all, was the pleasure that grew as your mind drowned the pain in darkness. You felt as though you were floating, disgusted but euphoric and the slide of him against your lips became delicious. Heat rose in you and built between your legs accompanied by a distant and unfamiliar ache to please, to be touched, to taste him, to obey.

You wondered if this was how he felt when you forced his mouth on you. If he slid into this strange space where your mind was a separate entity and the only thing that mattered was the pain and the pleasure and the release. 

Because somehow, in the midst of your struggle and revulsion, he’d made this strange, incorporeal part of you enjoy this. 

All the fight had drained out of you, letting your jaw hang slack and your tongue flick up to catch his tip on every backstroke. Your eyes flitted up to look at him through the haze of tears and sweat, hoping strangely that he’d be pleased with you. And the groan you earned yourself was delectable. 

You gave in, then. Let yourself be swept away by the rushing of blood in your ears and the rhythm of Toshi tearing you apart.  

At some point, you could distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth. 

You couldn’t even taste it when he came, his cock was too obscenely deep in your neck, but the warmth of it burned your bleeding throat and filled your belly with a hot finality. 

You weren’t even afforded the dignity of spitting his seed onto the floor where it belonged, ignoring the searing voice in your head that revealed in being rewarded with his essence. 

When Toshi finally pulled out and tucked himself away, your head fell limply to your chest. A series of violent coughs erupted from you as a thick, viscous mixture of blood and spit and cum dripped from your tongue. 

Those impossibly large hands gripped your chin once again, forcing you to look up into those piercing black eyes. 

“Now, you’re never going to speak about me again,” he wasn’t asking but you glared up at him as his hand fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

The device was comically small in those hands of his as he aimed it at your ruined face and snapped a picture—the flash blinding you while he reached around and roughly undid the knotted rope keeping you in place. 

“Because if you do, I’ll make sure those reporters know everything I said about you was nothing but the truth.” 

The loudest part of you wanted to scream, to punch and bite and tell him it wasn’t. That you were a professional, with self-respect and dignity and you were good and your job, but— 

But when you opened your sore and aching jaw to shout, nothing came out. 

No sound, no yell, no words. 

Just this awful rasp that made your throat feel like pins were sticking into the abused flesh. 

“Well, looks like I might not need this after all,” Toshi dangled the phone in front of your face before pocketing it once again. “Looks like you won’t be saying much of anything for a good long while.”

And then Yagi Toshinori left. 

He turned on his heel and walked out as you toppled off the bed behind him, trying so hard to scream despite the pain and the ripping in your chest—whether they were curses or cries for him to stay, you weren’t sure.  

But there was nothing either way. 

So you sat and screamed in silent agony at his retreating form until the sound of a door slamming rang out through your home. 

It seemed that in all your years of playing this game, you’d finally been toppled off your tightrope. 

Because you were good at your job, so you knew. It was all about the exchange of power, and yours had just been thoroughly stripped away. 

[kyberphilosopher]

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people. 

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function. 

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked. 

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked. 

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either. 

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles. 

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back. 

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back. 

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer. 

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least. 

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you. 

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words. 

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic. 

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone. 

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking. 

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind. 

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question. 

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction. 

“How so? Do you paint?” 

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out. 

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information. 

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses. 

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away. 

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile. 

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper. 

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart. 

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

[mudhornchronicles]

sanguine | din djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, angst, yodito’s name spoiler, face reveal, sexual references but aren’t toooo explicit

a/n: this is part two for maroon. 

i made up a planet because i couldn’t find a planet that wouldn’t be obvious to hiding Mandalorians, ya know? I’ve never written smut before and as much as I wanted to include it, I’d just ruin it BUT I’m learning lol. also, happy new year to everyone! I hope this year brings you joy, health, and happiness. please enjoy and let me know what you think!

masterlist

No matter how long it has been, you are always thrown back to the day you lost everything. Your necklace is a constant reminder of the death of you. No matter if you’re at the market buying the supplies you’re running dangerously low on or if you’re in the midst of stitching up a laceration - your hand always finds its way around the symbol of pain.

The gunfire. The screams. The tears. The loss.

The nightmares are a virus you cannot get rid of with medication. After all these years, the past plagues you even after you have tried your hardest to move on.

When you made it to the planet Alegoria, the emperor, Krusean, took you all as his own people. The warriors who were once faithful to the creed willingly relinquished their armor for civilian clothing in order to conceal their true heritage. You witnessed every brave soul you saw defeat Mandalore’s invaders once upon a time diminish to discomfited individual’s seeking purpose aside from duty. Alegoria gave you the opportunity to become the independent being your father always wanted you to be, but every time you took five steps ahead, the thought of him infiltrated your mind and you retreated into the shell of a person you arrive as.

Because of your skill set you found yourself excel with, Emperor Krusean found it ideal to have you stay in the palace as his assistant. You preferred not living in a home you did not earn, but you agreed to always carrying a commlink. An agreement that you felt safe with. You found yourself comfortable in the presence of the emperor, or Krusean as he liked to be called. He was an older gentleman, nearing his sixties, and he was a man with a heart of gold. You reminded him of his daughter, his army’s lieutenant, who gave her life for her father’s. You both had a connection, and he became your family as you did his.

So much, that he was only person on Alegoria, aside from your own people, who knew about your lost love.

The day was as every other with the exception of the sky being painted in rich reds and pretty pinks – something that happened every three to four months. You knew a sanguine palette awaited tonight’s night sky. Always a beautiful sight.

As you ran your daily errands, you began to note the people of Alegoria, the former Mandalorians to be exact, seemed on edge. You walked up to a few and they came across jumpy. You looked up and you caught sight of three ships and one of them gave you the fear you have not felt in a long time – a tie fighter.

As it appeared to be landing, chaos unfolded.

The screams and tears returned, but the gunfire was absent.

You felt sick. You could not move but were forced by one of the emperor’s guards. They barked out orders to shelter themselves and reminding them of the evacuation plans if needed. The guard escorted you back to the palace in a speeder made specifically for attaching life-boards. They were the evacuation plan.

Once through the palace walls, you ran straight to the emperor. As you ran, you could not help but to attach your hand on your signet and ring adorning your neck. You brought them up to your shaking lips, giving them both a kiss and whispering an apology to whoever was listening. You found the emperor barking orders at his general to secure the city’s perimeter – his people’s safety came first.

He spotted you and ran to you, bringing you into his arms and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. You could not stop shaking as he held you, telling you that everything would be okay. He informed you that the radars did not detect any other ships – just the three crafts and seven life forms. He asked you to go into the safe room underneath the palace while the situation get assessed and you oblige, knowing he must have thousands of thoughts running through his mind.

While you sat underneath the fortress, you thought back to him. You were able to move on from losing Mandalore, but you could never move on from him. You clutched his ring in your hand and let out the tears you had been suppressing for years. You never allowed yourself to vocalize his name, let out cry about him.

“I miss you so much, ner kar’ta. I have never given up on you, but I couldn’t wait around and do nothing.” you kiss his ring and continue to voice your ache. “The people I was with, my love, they aren’t you. They could not make me feel shielded from the galaxy’s wrath like you did. I’ve stayed here because I didn’t want to miss you when you came to find me, but I- I don’t know if I can go through life unknowing of what’s out there.” You jump as you hear the door of the safe room unlock and swing open. You see Emperor Kursean come in with this look on his face that you have never seen while in your presence – sympathy.

He refuses to answer your questions and protests of leaving the room. He leads you to the room you never made yours. He stops in front of the tall doors and brings you into his arms. You return his hug and ask a simple question before he leaves you.

“Krusean, am I going to die?”

He looks at you incredulous. Why would you ever ask him that question? How can you think that he would let you die?

“Sweet girl. What you will see through this door is the past you need to either close or welcome. You need to stop running away from what made you stronger.”

He places a single kiss on your forehead and leaves you.

Your hands begin to shake. You cannot help but to feel scared. You do not know who or what can be behind these doors and you do not know why they are here. You take a deep breath in and it comes out with a quiver. You place your trembling hand on the handle and push down. You hear the distinctive click and you lightly push. The room is pitch black except for the crimson light bleeding through the balcony. You step inside and close the door behind you. You feel the second being in the room, but you are not frightened. It is a friendly aura which eases you. A minute passes by and as you are about to leave you hear it. The sound that you have been longing to hear all these years.

His voice.

You tense at the sound of his voice saying your name. It pleads for you to stay and so you do. You are not scared for your life, but now as you have heard it, you fear for your heart. You cannot take another heartbreak. You just would not survive turning around and this voice telling you goodbye for the final time, or worse it not being him at all.

The voice says your name one more time and you finally slowly turn. You feel as though your heart has stopped and splattered over the floor.

It is not him.

You have never seen this warrior before. The armor is not a design you recognized, but the color is what gives you a sliver of hope.

It is silver. Mourning a lost love.

You find yourself staring at the figure in front of you and your eyes catch the handle to the weapon of the Mand’alor.

As you have been taught to do by your father, you bow your head as a sign of respect.

“Su cuy'gar, ner Mand’alor.”

The Mand’alor says nothing; he only reaches out to stroke your cheek.

“Su cuy'gar, ner riduur.”

You felt as if time froze. This cannot be him. This cannot be your love. The di’kut you fell in love with could not have become the leader of Mandalore. You could not stop the tears any longer.

“I-I can’t… How did… is it really you?”

He placed your delicate hands into his and his helmet appeared to be nodding. He is shaking again. You can feel it once more.

“It is my love. I gave you my word. I promised I would find you. I never stopped looking for you. I just hope I’m not too late.”

You shook you head, giving him the answer he hoped to receive.

“Din,” you whispered just enough for it to kiss his ears.

You did not know what overcame your body, but you blinked and your arms were around his neck; his around you. You sobbed his name repeatedly into the small opening between the lip of his helmet and his broad shoulder and all he can do was cry with you.

He had finally found you. After years of searching every planet he was sent to, he finally found the person he gave his entire being to. He felt whole. You felt complete. He held you in his arms so tight, you felt as if you became stone. A statue carved to perfection with the two central pieces fitting together with a seamless union.

“I also promised you something else if I remember correctly.”

As much as you did not want to let go of him, you let your arms fall from his shoulders, but held his hand in yours. With your free hand, you fished out his ring, your engagement ring. He held his ring with both his first and second fingers and smiled in his helmet. You kept it, he thought.

“I promised you a proper riduurok, did I not?”

You genuinely smile for the first time in a long time and nod. “Yes, you did. Are you finally making me a part of your clan?” You take a glance at his shoulder to examine the signet gracing his pauldron. “You managed to kill a mudhorn, cabur?” Din looks over to his pauldron and tilts his helmet back to you.

“I had some help. You will be joining my clan and making it three.”

“Three?”

“My foundling, Grogu.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“He’s with his kind now. I promised him I’d see him again and I hope you would be by my side.”

You delicately place your hands on either side of his helmet and bring your foreheads together. “Make me your wife, Djarin.”

“We only had one more vow to recite if my memory serves me well.”

“I’ve waited to long – we’re starting over, my love.”

He leads you to the balcony and a minute later, you are officially a part of Clan Djarin.

“Riduur?”

You glance up to your husband and although his silver helmet sits upon his shoulders, all you see is him.

“Yes, riduur?”

He takes a step in front of you and kneels. He looks up to you and places both your hands on either side of his helmet. For as long as he can remember, Din Djarin perceived himself as this cold-blooded mercenary who only cared about the credits and reputation he would gain, but after finding the kid and learning how it was to feel human again, Din Djarin is vulnerable.

“I’ve dreamt about us for so long and as I stand here now, I feel as if we never each other – just time. As my wife, I want you to see the face that our children will resemble. I want to be able to make love to you without the tint of my visor. I kneel before you as I ask you to remove the helmet that conceals the identity of your husband.”

You grace his helmeted forehead with a chaste kiss as you press the button to unlatch Din’s helmet. You sluggardly lift his helmet up and away from his face – eyes still closed as if he would suddenly regret his decision. Once completely off, you hear his unmodulated voice speak your name and you feel your heart begin to race.

You open your eyes and a grin appears on your face from ear to ear.

“Ner riduur, I knew you’d be handsome, but it should be a crime for you to be hiding this face.” He smiles brightly at your compliment. “I also didn’t know you had a dimple! My love, you’re captivating!”

You stay mesmerized by his beauty as he furiously blushes at your gazing face.

“My husband, would it be too fast to ask for you to touch me?” you plead.

“Would it be too fast to admit that I want to toss you onto this bed and make love to my wife?”

“No. I’d be upset if you didn’t. That would mean you changed. You used to be inside me with my hands pinned against the wall every chance you got.”

His eyes filled with desires and before you knew, that is exactly where your hands were – pinned against the wall.

The sanguine night sky illumination was only a factor to your husband’s stamina – one that allowed you to rest several hours later.

mando’a translations:

ner kar’ta = my heart

Mand’alor = the sole leader of Mandalore; king of Mandalore

Su cuy’gar = Hello - lit. ‘You're still alive.’

ner Mand’alor = my King

ner riduur = my spouse

di’kut = idiot

cabur = protector

tags: @theocatkov​

part 3 to maroon - brick

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, ii.

read parts one and three!  continued because i have zero self-control and i love/hate these idiots and like ... i just wanna give people what they want.  ty to @hobi-gif​​ for always beta reading and you (yes, you!) for normal reading.  i lob you!  xo

ps.  picture these versions of jimin, tae, yoongi, and jungkook.  

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.  rating.  still explicit, lolz.  tags.  smut!  a lil bit of pining!  jealousy!  also, cameos from the other boys, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (be safe luvs!), and a bunch of other semi-vanilla things.  wc.  4.3k.

“Who’s that?”  Jimin means the pretty blonde that’s attached to your best friend, snug against his hip like some kind of conjoined monster - a distant relative to the thing that’s rearing its own ugly green head from its slumber in your chest.

“I don’t know.”  Lie.

Because Jungkook’s been talking your ear off about her for the past three weeks, regaling you with details you’d rather not know.  Like how she does yoga at the crack of dawn and he picks her up from every class.  She, apparently, looks incredible in spandex and loves her green smoothies.  Or how she went to private school in Belgium and she’s got - in his words - the cutest accent.  He’s mimicked it once or twice, demonstrating how her vowels don’t round like a local’s would.

You’ve heard too much about her and it’s driving you crazy.  

The angel at your side - because that’s what Jimin is, with his feather grey hair and rounded Cupid’s bow - takes a sip of his drink, studying you curiously over the Baccarat rim.  You can see the curiosity swimming in his eyes, painted across his features in broad strokes.

You return his stare without blinking, silently daring him to say something.  He knows better - considering he’s been your shoulder to cry on more than one weak-kneed, booze-laden occasion.

“Do you want to go upstairs?”  Meaning the rooftop, away from the crowd that dominates the 44th floor penthouse.  

You shake your head - a little motion that wiggles your bangs free from behind your ears - and take a generous sip of the Veuve that bubbles about in your champagne flute.  You’re not celebrating anything - this is just how Jungkook parties.  With bottles and strangers and deep bass thrumming so loudly you can feel it chatter your teeth. 

Another sip and your glass is empty.  “No.”  You seize another from the bar you’re both leaning against, wondering idly whether it’s your third or fourth or maybe even seventh glass.  You’d lost count about thirty minutes ago when Jungkook had strolled in with her on his arm, clothes dishevelled and that stupid grin on his face.  

Of course he’d been late to his own party and of course he was sporting a lipstick stain on the collar of his otherwise pristine white Oxford.

“You sure?”  You know Jimin means well but you can’t stand the heat of his stare or how it feels like pity digging itself beneath your bones.  You don’t need - nor want - his sympathy.  Not now. 

“Yes,”  you snap more harshly than you mean to.  A wounded animal lashing out, biting the hand that feeds it. 

Luckily, Jimin knows you - has, for nearly the last decade - and he takes it in stride.  Chin bounces, the smallest of smiles offered in penance for his pushiness.  He doesn’t need to apologize and really, he shouldn’t, but he’s Park Jimin and he’s far too kind so he does it anyway.

“I’m going to hunt down some snacks.  If you need me, just come find me.”  

It feels infinitely worse when he presses a kiss to your temple and disappears into the throng of people, leaving you alone with the thoughts that buzz around in your head (or maybe that’s just from the liquor).

“Replaced, huh?”  You’d recognize that voice anywhere.  It rings in your ears when you’re trying to work, forcing its way into your skull when you’re twenty sheets deep in Excel fixing some junior’s mistake.  You hear it more often than you like, both in the office and when you least expect it.

You barely turn to acknowledge the broodingly handsome brunet who has seemingly materialized out of thin air.  You don’t need to turn to him to see how good he looks, all carefully tousled hair and that self-assured smile.  

“What’re you talking about?”  It’s easier to play dumb than to play directly into his hand.  You’d learnt that ages ago.  Kim Taehyung was a force to be reckoned with.  

“Look.”  A hand lands on your jaw, none-too-subtly guiding your stare in the direction you’d been so adamantly turned away from.  Jungkook and his flavour of the week are locked in a fight to see who can eat each other’s face more thoroughly, tongues so far down the other’s throat that you feel your own gag reflex kick up.  “Shouldn’t you be over there?”

Concern flares, streaking heat across your cheeks.  How did he know?  “What?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, mischief dancing in his irises as he studies you, fingers burning impossibly warmer over your skin.  “You’re best friends, aren’t you?  Why’re you standing here by yourself?”

You almost laugh, relief crashing over you with enough force to knock a breath from your lungs. 

“Tae, leave her alone.”  It’s your knight in shining armour - or finely woven Saint Laurent cashmere, in this case - a Manhattan in hand and a scowl on his face.  You thank your lucky stars, not bothering to conceal the smirk you shoot at the reprimanded playboy. 

“Yeah, Tae.  Leave me alone.” 

He doesn’t need to be told a third time, though he levels both you and your saviour with a narrowed stare.  It stirs something uncomfortable in the pit of your stomach, like a snake uncoiling and preparing to strike.  You think he might say something - you can see him playing through the scenarios in his head - but he thinks better of it at the last second, draining his beer and turning away without another word.

You watch Taehyung’s crown of inky hair disappear among the crowd.  It’s only once his loudly patterned Burberry shirt is out of sight that you swivel your gaze to the man at your side.  “Thanks.”  

“Don’t mention it.”  That distinct gummy smile fills his expression.  It looks good on him - but then again, most things do.  With his perfectly mused strands - currently a flattering shade of teddy bear brown and honey blonde - and observant feline features, Min Yoongi is handsome in a way that sneaks up on you, dressing himself in shadows and presenting it at the strangest times.

Like now, for instance, when you’re growing tired of watching your best friend act like a high school freshman. 

“You okay, though?”  

“Why - do I not look like it?”  

You don’t miss the way his attention drags lazily over your features and then, almost pointedly, down the lissome column of your frame.  How he pauses appreciatively where wine spills over cream, the mulberry silk of your wrap dress standing in stark contrast to the porcelain of your skin.  It ties neatly at the smallest point of your waist - a gift begging to be torn apart.

Something crackles between you.  You’re not sure where it is or where it starts but it fizzles, bright white and dangerous.  A livewire you’re suddenly very eager to inspect.

“I’d say you look more than okay,”  he returns dryly, in that low timbre of his. 

You feign surprise, lashes fluttering like a schoolgirl.  “Are you flirting with me, Yoongi?”

It’s a testament to his confidence - that lazy swagger that fits itself into the slope of his jaw, the soft shape of his mouth, the inescapable focus of his stare - when he advances a step.  There’s already hardly any space between you but he eats it up like a starved predator, crowding you with ease. 

“Do you want me to be?”  The bitterness of whiskey fans across your face, creeping heat over your cheek and up the delicate shell of your ear.  The scent of his cologne follows - distinctly masculine and reminiscent of the sea.  

“Are you answering a question with a question?”  You know it isn’t what he’s looking for but you offer it anyway, paired with a taunting smile and a coquettish turn of your head.  

His jaw pulls almost imperceptibly;  it’s only your close proximity that gives away the thrumming muscle.  Something entices you to reach out - frustration or, more likely, the bottomless champagne - and you do, the pad of your thumb soothing over the tension.  You don’t expect him to lean into your touch and you nearly retreat when he does. 

The flat of his own hand rises, piano-honed fingers threading easily between yours.  There’s a different kind of smile presenting itself now, reckless at the edges and dressed in an unspoken challenge.  He presses it wordlessly into your palm, edge of enamel catching on the baby soft underside of your hand.

You feel the livewire now.  It’s a flash of lightning, searing a billion volts through every limb.

It’s a surprise that you find your voice so easily, though it comes reedy and vaguely out of breath.  “That’s a yes.”  You’re mimicking the motion of his mouth, dragging your own lip through the cage of your teeth.  He watches, unblinking.

Crystal rim replaces the warmth of your hand as he drains the amber liquid in a single motion, nearly slamming the glass down beside you.  You’d turn to make sure it’s not in a million little pieces - but you’re far too distracted by the softness of his lips, how he tastes strongly herbaceous and smokey.

The first thought to your mind is that Min Yoongi kisses nothing like Jeon Jungkook.

The second, well - that’s stolen away, disappearing into a haze of desire when he sweeps the wet muscle of his tongue across your bottom lip.  He does it once then repeats the motion with an addendum of enamel, turning his polite request into a gentle demand you’re all too willing to meet.

Broad, soft palms find the shape of you beneath your dress, one gliding easily over silk to rest comfortably across the swell of your hip while the other ascends in tandem, finding a home over the column of your throat. There’s no aggression in the way he moves and claims you.  He trades force for grace, threading passion where his tongue swipes and his teeth mark.  

It’s a slow burn rather than a raging inferno - scorched earth following a thunderstorm.

Yoongi’s touch is deliberate, each stroke of skin over skin meant to entice you.  He does it well, with practiced ease - a sweep of his thumb over the hidden lace of your bra, the press of his fingers into the sensitive softness of your neck.  

Even how he devours you whole is measured, calculated.  He isn’t an overeager teenager looking for a quick fuck;  he wants to indulge like a king at his last feast.  

“You taste good,”  he hums against your lips, bitten cherry red and glossy with his spit.  “Look so pretty, too.”  

Praise from Yoongi doesn’t come often so you bask in it, delirium and liquor painting your smile unabashed.  It pulls low and slow, spilling like stars into the darkness of your eyes, the black of your pupils that devour the iris whole.  

“You haven’t even tasted the sweetest part.”  

It comes crashing out of your mouth like a freight train, dressed in champagne-fueled salaciousness and paired with fluttering lashes.  A part of you wonders whether you’re being too forward but at this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.  Between the alcohol and his touch, you’re drunk in more ways than one. 

He doesn’t seem to mind, though.  Not if his grin says anything, framed in danger and delight.  It’s a heady mixture - an aphrodisiac in the form of a person’s smile.  “Have to fix that then, don’t we?”  

You’re ready to take him up on it - ready to do a lot of things, frankly - when a voice presents itself just beyond Yoongi’s shoulder.  

“Fix what?”

Of course it’d be Jungkook.  

You turn your attention to him first - you can feel Yoongi’s heavy-lidded stare trained on you when you pull away, when the warmth of your body retreats just enough that you can focus on something other than the overwhelming desire that sparks between the two of you.  

Your best friend is standing not three feet away, arms folded over his chest in a way that reads like a surly nightclub bouncer or a begrudging boss.  It’s nothing like the sunny radiance he normally wears - a byproduct of being rich and handsome and far too charming for his own good.  You’re curious whether it’s the alcohol - you can see it still, swimming in his eyes and turning them hazy - or the fact that blondie isn’t at his side.  Had she left him to fend for himself and now he was taking it out on you?

He repeats himself when neither you nor Yoongi answer, an edge to his voice you don’t expect.

“Nothing.”  You, again, speak first.  You don’t miss the way your answer sounds more like coddling, sweeping reassurance off your tongue.  

Yoongi retreats a step, turning on his heel enough to position himself partially facing both you and Jungkook.  At this angle, you study his profile, trying to find the ways emotion fits among his features.  It’s a lost cause, though - he’s always had an incredible poker face. 

“I was just saying her belt was a bit—”  You catch the mischief that pulls the corner of his mouth high, revealing pink gums.  “—loose.”

A sharp inhale follows immediately after.  You don’t even realize it’s you until Jungkook is speaking, expression set and muscle pumping in his jaw.  You’d think it was hot if it weren’t so goddamn uncomfortable.  “Yeah?”

Sweet Yoongi is utterly unbothered, nonplussed as he adjusts the timepiece on his wrist.  “Yeah.”

Watching the two interact is akin to sitting front-row at Wimbledon, your gaze bouncing between the two men like they’re whipping a fluorescent yellow ball between them.  It’s so unbearable you have to remind yourself that they’ve been friends for years.  

“I’m heading out,”  Yoongi says, rather abruptly.  He sounds almost bored, training his focus back on you for these last few moments.  “Call me.”

You nod dumbly, watching his retreating back with an equally dumb look on your face. 

“What the hell was that?”  Jungkook’s taken up his hyung’s place, dangerously close and with a sour expression on his face.  You almost want to make fun of him for it - how he looks like he’s just sucked on an underripe lemon.  When he levels you with that look, though, you think better of it.  Time and place and all that.

You don’t meet his eyes.  “Was what?”  

“That.”  

The same edge presents itself again.  It mixes with something you can’t place, colouring his words an alarming shade of red that has your brow furrowing and mouth following suit.  You don’t appreciate the tone and you say as much, finally meeting his stare with defiance burning away the residual liquor in your system.  “None of your business.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, this isn’t it.  Brows shoot high, tongue rounding the interior of his cheek.  You’d recognize that look anywhere.  It’s the look that always gets him what he wants.

Which is why, once he’s abruptly kicked all of his guests out - to a chorus of boos and what the hells!  - you’re on your back in the middle of his living room.  Your dress - the poor, beautiful thing - lies in a heap somewhere in the kitchen, possibly caught across the back of one of his bar stools, and his clothes act like a trail of breadcrumbs leading from the front door.  Shirt, pants, socks.  

All he’s left in is black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.  It complements your own La Perla bra well - all delicate lace and macrame.  

“Say it again,”  he demands from between your legs, knees hooked over his shoulders as he coaxes you to another orgasm.  One shapely forearm rests across your hip, pressure heavy on your abdomen as you clench pathetically around his fingers.  He’s tapping a near brutal rhythm against your g-spot, curling two fingers within you until you’re seeing stars and too fucked-out to remember what you’re supposed to be saying.

Jungkook has no sympathy, though.  

He repeats himself with gravel in his throat, pad of his thumb ghosting over the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.  You tremble with each pass, seeking more friction;  your back is arching with delirious need, hips rolling of their own accord.  It’s almost inconsequential against the weight of him.  

“Say it,”  he barks - a petulant child demanding a toy.  

“You’re better!”  It’s more a broken shriek, a sob that wrenches forth and fits lamely with the words he so desires.  It almost isn’t good enough but he thinks he’s dragged this on long enough.  He hasn’t even had his fun yet and you’re already shaking with oversensitivity. 

“Better than who?”  The question comes in a warm breath that has you bucking toward the source - or trying to, at least.  You’re so needy he can’t help but laugh - a far cry from your usual too-good-for-cuddling self - the sound muffled by the slick that coats your thighs and drips down your slit, making the sweetest mess.  

“Than anyone.” 

He tuts, withdraws his fingers from your obscenely wet walls, and studies the strands that connect them.  Pink tongue glides over his index before he’s slotting both digits against his cheek, indulging in the taste of you.  If he weren’t so focused on the conversation at hand, he’d be drinking directly from the source.  “Not just anyone, baby.”

You look almost shy - or at least as shy as you can look with your throat and shoulders painted with bruises and bites, chest heaving. 

“Than Yoongi.”  

“Don’t you forget it, sweetheart,”  he coos, so kindly you almost forget about the merciless edging he’s just done, bringing you to the precipice of bliss before ripping it away.  

You seek him out - the kiss-swollen shape of his mouth, the unyielding contours of his back - like you need him, like your trembling touch might coerce him into giving you what you want.  You kiss him as if you’re hoping to distract him, granting him a sexpot moan when you lose the hard fought war of tongue and teeth.  He thinks you think he won’t notice when you begin rutting against him, desperately seeking relief against the hard curve of his cock.  

The devilish side of him wants to call you out on it but it feels a little too good, your cunt soaking through the thin cotton of his briefs. 

“Someone’s needy.”  He bows above you, shoulders rounded to crowd you deeper into the couch cushions, and purrs the words directly into your ear, punctuating them with sharp, unrelenting glides of his teeth.  

You snap with far less malice than you intend and far more desperation than you want.  “Shut up.” 

“Watch it.”  This time, it’s punctuated by a sharp slap against your clit.  You jolt beneath him, a long drawn out whine his reward.  “Don’t you want me to let you come, baby?”

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole about it.”  He’d probably believe you more if you weren’t breathless and still, perhaps subconsciously, grinding yourself up against him. 

“I’m the asshole?”  The way Jungkook says it makes you bristle.  “You were the one making out with one of my friends.”

“I’m not your girlfriend!”

“So what?  Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to do that.”

And that’s when it hits you like a ton of bricks.  It crashes into your feeble rib cage, a fast ball meeting its mark with perfect precision.  Your heart thumps pathetically before folding in on itself - a catcher’s mitt for his cruel words. 

You don’t know what you’d expected.  You know your relationship and all the things it isn’t. 

(You still hadn’t asked where his latest playmate had disappeared off too - you’d been too busy with his head buried between your legs.)

So you try to ignore the tears that block your vision, how suddenly all you can taste is saltwater.  The most you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your molars into a fine powder with the tension in your jaw.  Now is not the time. 

“Fuck you.”

He laughs, dismissive and amused.  The Calvin Klein band now sits halfway down his thighs, his swollen head tapping experimentally on your equally swollen clit.  He’s not even looking at you - far too interested in the way your essence coats his length. 

“That’s what we’re doing, baby.”  

Even when he speaks, he’s still staring down at the apex of your thighs, pressing the tip of his aching cock between your lips.  You take him so well, your walls burning around the unrelenting, slow press of his hips.  He’d fuck you every day if you’d let him.  You’d actually tried it once, for a week, when your office had a round of layoffs and your stress was at an all-time high. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet.”  It’s praise he offers often, always far too pleased with the way you ruin your underwear.  “Is this all for me?”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s filling you up like this.  Still, you try, holding hostage the sounds you know he likes to hear.  You swallow them, biting down so hard on your bottom lip that it throbs.

He doesn’t like that very much - burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust to elicit some sort of response.  “I asked you a question.”

You can’t deny him.  

A moan bounces around in your mouth, forced out when he pulls out nearly all the way and snaps back in, balls smacking lewdly against your ass.  He’s got your legs propped up over his shoulders, thighs spread wide as he watches your pussy stretch around his cock.  You’re folded nearly in half and his palms span your hips - perfect for him to hold you in place and fuck into you at a relentless pace. 

At this angle, his cock brushes the sensitive spot against your pelvic wall.  It’d be too much on its own, but he knows this position well and grinds down against you every time he pistons in.  The stimulation against your clit is otherworldly, bringing you right back to the edge like flipping a switch. 

“What was that?”  

“I-i-it’s all for you.”  You’re stuttering either because he’s bouncing you on his dick so well or because you’re about to come.  Maybe both.  He likes that. 

“That’s right.”  He maintains a firm grip on your side with a single hand, the other reaching to palm roughly at your breast.  You’re already straining against the delicate fabric of your bra - he hardly has to do anything but tweak and pinch your bud and you’re clawing at his own chest, manicured nails seeking to do the same to him. 

You miss your mark once or twice - you’re having troubles keeping your attention focused on anything but the tension in your core - but when you do, you’re rewarded with a stutter of Jungkook’s hips. 

“Do that again,”  he pants, resuming his unrelenting pace. 

You tweak his nipple sharply, soothing one then the other with a pass of your thumb.  The sensation starts in his belly, an electroshock in his groin that has him growling, the sound reverberating out of his chest with great need. He shifts, reclining back on his muscular calves as he peers down at your blissed out face and pretty, messy cunt. 

He’s desperate for release, your fluttering walls far too wet and warm around him.  “You wanna come, sweetheart?”  While he asks, he doesn’t need an answer - he’ll get you there anyway. 

Subtly adjusting his position, he drags one of your legs to join the other, both now propped against his left shoulder.  He keeps a commanding grip on your hip with that same hand;  his right snakes between your legs, seeking out the pearl of pleasure that’s all of a sudden assaulted with far too much pressure (from his hand and your own clenching thighs and what feels like a million other things). 

He can feel the tremors before they present themselves in your legs, the tightening in your pussy mimicking the way your hand fists over his heart.  There’ll be angry red lines for days to come - a literal x marks the spot on his otherwise unblemished honey skin. 

“Come on, baby,”  he croons, encouraging as always as he thumbs your clit in gentle, repetitive motions and fucks into you so hard and deep you can hardly breathe.  

Your face screws into an expression of euphoria, mouth rounding as the coil snaps and ecstasy surges through your veins.  It’s like an explosion of colour - fireworks igniting you from the inside out - and you’re crying, the fourth orgasm of the night swallowing you whole.  You’re squeezing him so tight it almost hurts. 

It’s so utterly hot that he finds his own high effortlessly, your walls milking him for all he’s worth.   He spills inside you - thank fucking god for IUDs - and fucks his cum deeper, riding out his release until he feels himself softening.  He gently removes your legs from his shoulders, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to your ankle as he pulls out and settles beside you. 

Even your little mewl of displeasure can’t deter him when he pushes two fingers past your swollen lips, gathering up the cum that’s spilling out and pushing it back in.  At least he’s gentle, offering another kiss - this time to your hip bone. 

“Stay the night?”  He seldom asks.  You always say no. 

This time you don’t and he carries you to his bedroom, your face hidden against his neck.  You’re left on his neatly made bed as he draws a bath - something he’s done a handful of times throughout the decade and a half friendship you’ve shared, knees pressed together and exhausted. 

When he comes back and picks you up, you nearly miss what he says.  It’s almost lost to the soothing scent of lavender and the sound of running water.  

“Don’t do it again.”  

You’re not sure what he means when he says that.  You’re too afraid to ask so you say nothing.  He doesn’t repeat himself either, instead leaving you on the edge of his tub with a fluffy white bathrobe and a kiss to your forehead. 

Somehow, that’s even worse.

[vecnawrites]

Jaune has survived NNN. His reward: Go to town on May and Ciel and release all of his built up stress.

Jaune had done it. He had survived ‘No Nut November’. It had been...hard (no pun intended), or rather, obscenely difficult. Pyrrha’s beauty, Nora being Nora and walking around in her underwear, Yang being Yang and flaunting her tits and cracking sex jokes every other minute...they all took their toll on him.

And it wasn’t just them! Beacon was full of beauties that tempted him. Professor Goodwitch was an utter bombshell, and many male student’s masturbatory fantasy. Velvet was adorable and had the warm ‘Girl Next Door’ vibe, Coco, the girl who knew she was hot, and flaunted it without being a bitch about it.

Blake, the quite nerdy bookworm archetype, down to actually openly reading freaky smut in class of all places, Weiss, every bit the sophisticated heiress that people wanted to rail and defile like a complete whore, even Ruby and her innocence attracted people like moths to an open flame.

And the foreign students tempted everyone. The smug Cinder Fall, the quiet Emerald Sustrai...everyone had their fantasies, ones that they lost the challenge because of.

He, however, had kept to his guns, a promise of a reward from the two girls who had been interested in him guiding him through the month and its intense trials. May Zedong, the beautiful sniper of BRNZ, and Ciel Soliel, the time focused companion of Ruby’s friend Penny. Both had approached him on Halloween night at the Beacon Halloween Party and given him an offer that he couldn’t refuse: Survive November without ejaculating once, and he could do whatever he wanted to them until their schools left Beacon.

His cock throbbed in his pants as he made his way towards the room that they had asked him to meet them in. It hadn’t been easy, not at all, especially since they had also teased him, regularly sending him naughty texts about what they were doing and even very sexual selfies, which were immediately hidden in a password protected folder so no one could stumble upon them.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jaune realized he had reached the room in question. Swallowing and trying  to calm his aching cock, Jaune knocked on the door. There was a brief pause before he heard Ciel’s voice. “Who is it?”

Swallowing again, Jaune opened his mouth. “It’s Jaune.” he said, glad that his voice didn’t crack. There was another brief moment of silence, before he heard a pleased hum. “Right on time, mister Arc.” he heard Ciel’s voice say in a pleased manner, “It’s not right to keep your ladies waiting…”

The door made a small sound as it was unlocked, and Jaune entered the room, swiftly closing it and relocking it behind him. Looking at what he was met with, Jaune swallowed hard, pants bulging outwards before him.

Before him stood the tanned May Zedong and the cocoa-skinned Ciel Soliel, each wearing a smile and little else. His cock throbbed. He recognized the underwear, or lingerie rather, from the most recent selfie set that they had sent him.

May was wearing a low-cut peephole bra that not only barely contained her surprisingly massive chest (and boy, had that been a shock to see for the first time!), it also fully revealed her fat inverted nipples, the puffy bits of flesh sticking out a fair big from her breasts. For underwear, she wore a simplistic lace-lined bikini cut panty.

Ciel, on the other hand, wore a dark blue bra that contained her B-Cup breasts fully, if accentuating them, but he knew that her bottom was a thong bottom. As if on cue, Ciel turned her body, bending over a bit and showing Jaune the dark blue string that was swallowed up by the split of her bubbly rear, giving the adipose flesh a wiggle after a moment of allowing him to look.

Growling, Jaune stepped forwards, only to stop when both held up a hand. Both young women moved towards him, stroking his shoulders, chest, and back, slowly removing his shirt and baring his torso to them.

Both hummed, pleased that Jaune stood still and let them work, leaning forwards and beginning to press kisses along the firm muscle of his chest, breathing in the scent of his freshly showered skin.

Slowly kneeling before him, the pair pressed kiss after kiss down his chest and abdominals, meeting his belt. Carefully, the pair undid the metal and leather device, undoing the clasps, sliding down the zipper...both found their eyes widening as Jaune’s cock flopped out between them, the long thick flesh nearly slapping both of them in the face.

Both stared in shock, impressed and somewhat awed that Jaune could manage to hide such a thing in his pants. Lowering his pants more, both gasped a bit as they viewed how utterly swollen his balls were. Leaning forwards, the pair pressed delicate kisses to the swollen flesh, inhaling his musk.

“Since you haven’t achieved orgasm in a month, we will get the first one out of the way quickly, so you can truly enjoy the rest of the night…” Ciel hummed, sharing a look with May, whom nodded eagerly.

Slowly the pair started at the base, kissing and licking the thick flesh between them, slowly moving upwards towards his tip, humming and moaning all the while, loving the grunts and moans of pleasure that Jaune was releasing as he gently played with their hair.

Reaching the broad, leaking tip, the pair kissed the fat head between their lips, before they began to lick it wildly, their tongues slipping over the slit and tasting the sticky precum dribbling out, their tongues colliding and tangling together.

Jaune growled to himself, watching the two gorgeous women practically making out with his cock, his balls churning angrily at the sight; he knew that he wasn’t going to last long at this rate with the intense feelings flowing through him…

And he was proven right, cumming hard with a guttural sound, splattering the tanned and cocoa-skinned faces of his beautiful lovers with thick, pent up seed, covering their faces in a gooey white mask.

Both Ciel and May moaned, licking their lips and tasting the musky offering, before leaning forwards and licking the other’s face clean while Jaune watched, his cock not losing a bit of hardness and only getting harder as he watched, his cock demanding more attention.

Looking up at their lover with a smirk, Ciel spoke. “Who, or what, do you want to slate your lust with first, Jaune? May’s Massive Mammaries,” she unclipped the tanned girl’s bra and yanked it away, making the sniper squeak and blush even darker, “or my Plump Peach?” with what had to be practiced moves, Ciel wiggled her thong down and off, leaning over and wiggling her rump in enticement.

Growling in lust, Jaune grabbed them both. What he wouldn’t give for having Blake’s or Sun’s semblances at this moment...but it didn’t matter. He had both of them until they left back to their schools. He would make them both his.

A smirk pulling at his lips, he looked at both eager young women, cock twitching as his eyes roamed the expanse of bare flesh. “I don’t know…” he drawled, “why don’t you both tell me why I should pick you?” he asked, glancing between both.

May blushed fiercely, while Ciel smirked. She decided to start, knowing that the shy sniper would need to gather her courage for this. “Well, my marvelous rear has just enough muscle to tighten around that wonderful cock of yours, and if I do this,” she began to flex her muscles, popping her cheeks, alternating which one rose and fell, getting wet upon seeing the hungry look on Jaune’s face. “I can jerk you off with my ass alone.”

May shuddered, cupping her hefty tits and bringing them up in offering. “A-And I...my breasts are the softest...softest t-things you c-could play with. They...they’ll swallow y-your massive c-cock completely a-and you can t-thrust to your hearts c-content.” she managed to force out, feeling lightheaded after saying something so utterly lewd.

Jaune couldn’t help but smile at May. He could tell she was so utterly nervous, but still trying her best and honestly wanting this. He licked his lips, before reaching out…

May squeaked as she was knocked back on the bed, Jaune straddling her belly, his hard cock slapping against her skin, the fat head pushing up against the bottom of her cleavage.

Feeling the bed shift next to her, May only became more flustered as Ciel looked at her with a pout. “I’m jealous...that cock is going to feel so good between those breasts of yours…” she smirked as Jaune cupped and pressed her breasts together, sandwiching his shaft between them, slowly beginning to rock back and forth.

Jaune hissed through his teeth as he pumped himself between the heavenly pillows that May called her breasts, the softness just as exquisite as May had proclaimed it to be. He couldn’t wait to paint them with every drop of seed in his next load...then he would move to Ciel. Then back to May. And then the cycle would continue, until they begged him to stop or his balls emptied and fired completely dry, whichever came first.

May whined, a pleasant tingle in her pussy. She hated how sensitive her breasts were normally, but this...this was nice. She squirmed slightly, sighing as Jaune’s thumbs toyed with her fat nipples. She arched a bit, glancing down to see if she could see any of Jaune’s cock. She was surprised that even though Jaune was big and making full strokes between her breasts, her flesh had completely swallowed him.

“I wonder…” she glanced to the side to see Ciel watching and gently running her fingers over her pussy, allowing her to see quick glimpses of bright pink between the chocolate skin. “When Jaune cums, will it mostly stay between your tits and just bubble up out of your cleavage, or will it have enough force that it just shoots out and coats that pretty face of yours?” she hummed in thought, looking up at Jaune next. “What do you think, stud?”

Jaune grunted. “You’re soon to find out, that’s for sure!” he growled, rocking back and forth faster, outright humping May’s chest now as he neared his second, but nowhere near last, orgasm of the night. Taking a deep breath, he groaned darkly, hips bucking wildly as his balls pulsed, his cum shooting out of his cock.

May squirmed as she felt wet heat form between her boobs, building and building until-she squeaked loudly as a large burst of cum shot out from between her breasts, painting a long stripe along her face. Then another. And another. And then another.

Next to her, Ciel chuckled, watching as May’s face was once again painted a milky white. “Guess that answers that…” she murmured, before smirking up at Jaune. “My turn, stud!” she rolled on her belly and raised her ass up, shaking it side to side eagerly, smirking as her thicc cheeks clapped against one another.

Jaune grunted as he watched the teasing woman before him, slowly shifting over towards her as May settled back, tits and face glazed in his cum. As he rested his cock between the dark-skinned half moons, Ciel wasted no time, beginning to pop her cheeks and twerk around his cock, clapping her ass along Jaune’s thick cock as it rubbed against her sensitive rim.

Jaune groaned as he squeezed his hands into fists, watching the show with lust. He knew now that the three of them would be doing this nightly until they had to leave. Her control was so great that he could already feel his balls churning again, ready to let out another load. He growled softly at the thought.

Sensing this, Ciel looked back with an eager smile. “That’s it, let it all out! Coat my thick ass in your cum! Paint it white!” she demanded, rocking her ass against him faster and faster, eager to see what was going to happen.

Jaune growled, taking control and grabbing Ciel’s cheeks, humping away madly between them, his balls slapping against the underside of her cheeks. “Here...it...comes!” he pulled back and clapped the thicc cheeks over his tip.

With a harsh sounding grunt, Jaune began to cum, seed rocketing from his cock, bubbling between Ciel’s cheeks, then spraying outwards and coating her lower back and overflowing the crevasse of her ass, trails of milky cum sliding along her dark skin.

Pulling back, Jaune licked his lips as he stared at both young women coated in his thick semen, cock twitching. He acted, unable to hold back any longer, grabbing Ciel’s hips, angling himself down a bit, and yanking the dark skinned young woman back.

“Ahhhh!” Ciel groaned as her ass clapped back against Jaune’s hips. She gripped the sheets tightly as Jaune wasted no time thrusting into her soaking core. She saw May looking at them, at her, in jealousy, only making her clench down harder on the thick cock invading her formerly virgin pussy.

Seeing May’s expression, Jaune chuckled. “Don’t worry, May...I still have...plenty...both of you...will be satisfied...by the night’s end!” he grunted, picking up speed and slamming into Ciel’s backside, pumping into her hard.

May settled, eagerly awaiting her turn to be fucked, knowing that if Ciel’s expression of lust was anything to go by, she would love it.

And she did.

Jaune Arc:

Status: SURVIVED

Time Survived: All 30 Days

Reward: May Zedong and Ciel Soliel As Lovers

[hutchhitched]

What You Deserve, What You Need, What You Want

Written by: @hutchhitched​

Prompt 109: Dialogue prompt: “I deserve better than this!” [submitted by @xerxia31]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the seventh of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Better get myself in gear to finish the last two before the next round starts!

  “I deserve better than this!”

 Katniss nods and pats her sister on the back. “You do, and you should say it.”

 “I just did. You clearly weren’t listening.”

 Prim grins at her sister, and they continue scrubbing the walls of the house Prim and her husband just purchased. Katniss really can’t believe her little sister is married, especially at the young age of 22, but Prim has always been the one who’s gotten what she wants while Katniss…

 Well, if anyone deserves better than this, Katniss thinks it might be her.

 “When’s your husband getting here? I thought he wasn’t going to make us do all the work. That’s clearly not the case as evidenced by my arm that’s about to fall off.”

 Letting her limb drop, Katniss sits down heavily on the hardwood floor. It’s stripped and rough, ready for a good sanding and polish to make it glow like new. Right now, though, it’s rather anemic looking with blonde wood that seems old and faded. Or maybe that’s just how Katniss feels about herself. Old and faded, always in the shadow of her baby sister who everyone’s continuously adored and coddled.

 It’s not that Prim’s ever taken advantage of it either. She’s as sweet and kind and generous as they come. It’s just the phenomenon that things have a tendency of working out for the younger Everdeen sibling that Katniss would envy if she didn’t love her sister so much. Still, she’s tired—drained from working hard and scraping by, exhausted from the mental toll of keeping everything together for so long when she shouldn’t have had to, and weary from hoping and wishing and being disappointed repeatedly. It sucks, and it’s not fair, but that’s reality for Katniss and Prim Everdeen.

 Except Prim isn’t an Everdeen anymore. She’s married now with her husband’s name, and Katniss is the lonely older sister who hasn’t dated anyone for the past six years. If she sees one more person look at her with pity, she might have to scream.

 “Ah, there’s my gorgeous husband now,” Prim says, her face beaming at the sight of her man. “Hey, honey. Missed you.”

 “Missed you, too,” comes the reply, and Katniss cringes as she climbs to her feet. It’s not her ex-boyfriend, but it’s close enough. Rory Hawthorne is the spitting image of his handsome older brother who happens to be the last man Katniss let get her naked. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since she’s gone to bed with someone. She’s hurtling headlong into her sexual prime, and nothing. Not a potential to be found.

 “Well, if it isn’t Catnip Everdeen! As I live and breathe.”

 Katniss turns slowly to see Gale Hawthorne standing in the door, framed by sunlight and looking like a moody Greek god. Her body betrays her, and she can feel her reaction course through her veins. She forces herself to play nice and nods in his direction.

 “Oh, come on,” he teases. “I can’t get a hug and a kiss from an old flame and my current sister-in-law? We’re family now. Where’s the love?”

 Katniss stands woodenly as Gale embraces her and kisses her on the cheek. It’s awkward as hell, but Gale’s never been able to read the room well when he’s already made up his mind. She tenses as a ruckus sounds outside, and it’s not long before a handful of men pour into the house. They’re all tall and varying stages of broad, and every one of them is dressed as some version of a cool-kid-construction-worker.

 “What are you? Part of a new boy band? Performing covers for the Village People?”

 Rory steps between them. “Hey! Truce. This is my house, and you’re upsetting my wife. Knock it off.”

 All the men hoot and holler, catcalling Gale and, by extension, her except for one who slinks along the outside of the room. He seems embarrassed by the toxic masculinity, and he brushes his hair off his forehead in a riot of ashy blonde curls. Katniss likes him immediately.

 “And I deserve that,” Katniss says in a stage whisper to her sister as she nods her head. “Who’s he, and why haven’t I been introduced?”

 Prim calls to the room. “Calm yourselves, boys. Meet my sister, Katniss. Katniss, these are the guys. You know Gale, and these three are Thom and Darius and Rye. The one over there is Rye’s brother Peeta. He’s the well-behaved one. Maybe you can help him today. You don’t deserve any of these other guys. They’ll only make you question your life choices and swear off men for good.”

 Katniss waves at them all, showing her annoyance at their behavior in her tight smile. Giving each of them a wide berth, she crosses the room and approaches Peeta. “Nice to meet you,” she says, and he flashes her a smile that, in tandem with his cerulean blue eyes, makes her knees weak. Oh yes, she definitely deserves better, and he just might be it.

 “Nice to meet you, too, Katniss,” he answers in a voice that makes her want to strip down and let him have his way with her. His voice isn’t just sexy; it’s absolutely scandalous.

 She swallows her arousal and asks as casually as she can, “You need any help? I hear you’re the only one here who won’t sexualize me.”

 He chuckles, and she contemplates selling her soul to the devil for a shot with him. She’s never been attracted to someone this intensely in such a short amount of time. It’s actually quite unnerving for someone like her who’s fairly shy and quiet and aloof.

 “Well, I can’t promise I won’t fall for you by the end of the day, but I’ll do my best.” When he winks at her, she vows to make it happen. She has no idea how, but she’s got a few hours to figure it out.

 They spend the afternoon together sanding and painting. If she brushes against him multiple times, he doesn’t seem to mind. When he brackets her in his arms as she holds a section of drywall, she leans back against him. His chest is hard behind her, and she breathes in his scent. He’s a glorious combination of clean sweat and cinnamon from what must be his aftershave. He laughs at her jokes and entertains her with stories of his own. She’s never been great at making friends, but it’s so easy with him. At one point, she catches Prim’s eye as the afternoon slides into evening, and her sister winks at her.

 As the sun sets, things wind down. One by one, Rory and Prim’s friends say goodbye and make their respective exits. Gale seems to want to linger, but Rory and Prim remind him they’re spending the night at his place and insist they need showers before they treat him to dinner. He’s not very happy about it, but her ex-boyfriend leaves after giving her a suspicious look that makes her want to stick out her tongue at him. Katniss promises to lock the door behind her when she leaves, and then she and Peeta are alone with the house quiet around them. There’s a sudden strain between them that makes her squirm. After the ease of the day, the isolation is a little awkward, so she figures she might as well ease the tension with a lame joke.

 “Well, now that we’re alone…” Peeta chuckles and gives her a lopsided grin. She worries her knees will give out as the power of it hits her, so she leans heavily against the newly spackled section of the wall.

 “I had a really nice time working with you. When Rory asked me to help today, I didn’t think—” He breaks off and ducks his head as his face and neck redden.

 Laughing at his bashfulness, she asks, “You didn’t think what? You’re awfully cute with pink cheeks, by the way, so you might as well go ahead and tell me.”

 “I didn’t think I’d be matched up with someone so pretty.” She ducks her head, not used to flattery. “I just had a really, really good day. I was due for one or two of those. Really needed it.”

 “Well, I’m glad I could give you what you needed.”

 The air’s charged with electricity, and she raises her eyes to look at him. His are hooded, pupils dilated, as he stares at her. She has the sudden realization that she’s alone with someone she barely knows, and he’s looking at her like she’s a snack for him to devour.

 “I wonder,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I wonder if you could.”

 “If I could what?”

 This isn’t supposed to happen to her. She’s never been this lucky in anything and definitely not this fortunate in relationships. Yet, somehow, he’s here with her and seems to want what she’s just realizing might be possible. He walks toward her slowly, licking his lips as he does, and stops so close that she can feel his body heat.

 “If you could give me what I really need.”

 Her throat’s dry, and she gives a tiny squeak when she tries to speak. He lifts his hand to brush away the stray tendrils of hair that escaped from her braid as they worked. His fingertips sweep lightly across her cheek, and his thumb strokes along her bottom lip. She wants to suck on it.

 “I thought you promised not to fall for me.”

 “Oh, no,” he argued. “In fact, I think I promised exactly the opposite—that I couldn’t promise not to. Now, the question remains. Can you?”

 “Give you what you really need?”

 “And will you?”

 “I’d like to try,” she whispers. “I really would.”

 “I think you’re the type that really tries.” His voice is husky and deep, and she shivers when his breath ghosts across her neck. “In fact, I think you’re the kind of woman who believes in trying multiple times until she’s sure everyone is perfectly satisfied. Am I right?”

 Katniss squeaks again, unable to answer right away. He strokes her arm slowly, brushing up and down and grazing the side of her breast. She’s positive he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

 “Satisfaction’s the goal,” she finally croaks.

 He crushes into her then, his body full and tight against hers as he pushes her into the wall and kisses her like a man possessed. His mouth is hot and wet and perfect. His tongue sweeps along hers, massages and plundering so deeply she can only gasp and respond in kind. He’s everywhere—his scent, his arms and hands and chest, his soft moans catching in the back of his throat, heat leaching from his skin. It’s too much and not nearly enough. It’s overwhelming, but she wants every speck of it.

 There’s an old couch in the back room, and Peeta lifts her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carries her to it. He lays her out on it without breaking the kiss and settles in between her legs. Bucking upward, she whimpers at the friction. He’s solid and heavy, and she basks in the weight. Anxiety bleeds from her, and she sighs into the kiss.

 “Katniss,” he whispers, her word a sermon of longing and awe.

 “I don’t ever do this,” she answers, her eyes closed and breath uneven. When he makes a move to pull back, she threads her fingers through his hair. “No, don’t stop.”

 Peeta grunts in response and sucks the spot at the hinge of her jaw. His hands are all over her. Long fingers, massive palms, and blunt fingernails that knead, warming her skin and pushing her closer to the edge. He rucks up her shirt, and she shivers as he slides down her body and laves at the skin there. When his hand runs up the bare skin of her inner thigh, she moans lustily and considers begging him for more.

 “Take this off,” he requests, his tone polite and gentle, but there’s an underlying authority that makes her want to obey. He helps her to upright and watches as she tugs her tank top over her head. When’s she free, he caresses her torso before reaching behind her to unlatch her bra. Squirming under his scrutiny, she’s vulnerable, but he takes care as he fiddles with her waistband and then shoves her shorts down her legs. She’s left with nothing but a scrap of peach silk between her legs. “You have no idea the effect you have, do you? No clue how crazy you drove me all day today in your little bitty clothes. Are you a tease, Katniss, or are you that unaware how beautiful you are?”

 “I’m not—”

 “You are, and tonight you get what you deserve. What you need. What you want so much you don’t even know how to say it, but I know because I want it, too.”

 His hand is between her legs, his fingers brushing aside the fabric, his thumb pressing on her clit, his palm cupping her heat. She can’t think, and that’s exactly what she wants. She deserves to feel good; she needs someone to help with that, and she wants it to be him.

 “Please.” The word echoes in the air between them, shimmering with longing.

 His face is between her legs, buried in her pussy, licking and sucking at her swollen lips. She twists under him, desperate to get away at the same time she wants to grind into his mouth and let him make her break. She cries out, overwhelmed at how quickly she’s wet. Her shins are on his shoulders, her legs bent so he can lick deeper into her, and she can’t do anything but enjoy it. She’s helpless to resist him, not that she’d want to try.

 She doesn’t. He’s too good at it. His mouth is fire, devouring her like it’s his only job—to be put on earth and eat her out. Not only doesn’t she last, it’s shockingly fast. When he curls his tongue into her and then sucks her clit so hard she sees stars, she arches and allows warm honey to ooze through her. Thrashing under him, she doesn’t try to stay quiet or still. There’s no way when he’s so good at this anyway. When she melts into the cushions, he sits up and grins at her with a wet chin and a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 “These panties are completely ruined,” he murmurs and tears them in two. When she groans, he pulls them free and trails them over her heated skin. “You feel that? Sopping wet. That’s all you, sweetheart. All of that wetness is you telling me how good I make you feel. I bet we can both keep going, though. Don’t you think?”

 She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely nods and then watches in appreciation as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it over his shoulders. Miles of smooth, honeyed pink skin is bared for her, and she licks her lips eagerly. He stands and unbuckles his belt, putting on a show for her. Cheeky and a tiny bit cocky, he shifts his hips until he springs free. He’s hard and long and thick and ready, and she wants it.

 “Flip over,” he says. “Get up on your hands and knees.”

 She does, quivering in anticipation and hisses when he spreads her cheeks and rubs his cock against her. It’s torture not being able to see him, but she can hear the tear of a foil packet before he’s pressing against her, his blunt head probing her entrance. Impatient, she rears back, but he holds her hips firmly, easing into her and stretching her around him.

 “Such a tight little pussy,” he grunts. “Perfect, and so fucking wet. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me everything. Let me give it to you. Take what you deserve.”

 She wails his name. She needs him inside, and he has to move. He has to. She’s going to die if he doesn’t. She’s never been good at dirty talk, but he pushes a button that lets it pour forth. Her requests are filthy, lewd, and debased, but he fulfills every single request.

 She can’t remember the last time someone fucked her quite like this, but that’s what this is. He’s in charge, and she’s merely along for the ride. He thrusts upward and lifts her knees off the couch with every stroke. Scrambling for purchase, she clings to the back of the couch. It’s rough and dirty and quick, and she screams when he reaches around and rubs her clit furiously. Her arms give, and he holds her aloft as he slams into her repeatedly.

 She crests another wave when he finally comes, pouring into the condom while her walls grip and flutter around him. They fall into a tangled heap with him slumped over her. Sweaty and panting for breath, she can’t move. He’s still inside her, hot and spent but not quite soft. She never wants him to move again.

 “You never do this, huh?” he finally groans. “You sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

 Katniss giggles, the action so unfamiliar that it startles her for a minute. But then she’s laughing, filled with mirth and relief and something that seems a little bit like hope. He joins her, his baritone melding with her treble tone to form a glorious harmony. Finally, she regains control and shifts her head so she can kiss his forehead gently.

 “You’re right, and you should say it.”

 “Can I get your number? I’d kinda like to see if you know how to date. I bet you’d be really good at that, too.”

 Katniss grins and sighs with happiness. “I can give you my number, but you don’t need it to ask me on a date. Just do it. I’ll say yes.”

 Peeta grins lazily and strokes her back. He trails his lips across her cheek to her mouth and kisses her softly. “Will you go out with me?”

 “Yes,” she answers firmly. “Is tonight too soon?”

 “Tonight can’t get here soon enough.”

[holdmyowos]

Doctor (Overhaul x Yandre Female Reader Smut)

Includes: Doctor x patient, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

A/N: this is really kinky shit

Y/N is quirkless in a society of superhumans.

'Been about three days and I'm comin' back

I'm about four minutes from a heart attack

And I think you make me a maniac

But you don't know, oh'

'I'm about to lose my mind You've been gone for so long I'm runnin' out of time I need a doctor, call me a doctor I need a doctor, doctor To bring me back to life'

You stepped into the doctor's office and sat down. It was time for your yearly checkup. You dreaded going to these appointments, but also looked forward to them. The reason? The doctor, Kai Chisaki. He had three stud earrings on each ear, unusual for a doctor. Unlike normal doctors, he did not wear scrubs or a lab coat, but rather an odd jacket lined with purple fur or feathers. You had never gotten close enough to examine it. When you had come in the first time and called him Doctor Chisaki, he said "Please, call me Overhaul." An odd nickname, but you granted his request, nonetheless. You were a simp for his looks and voice, what could you say? Every time you came, you washed right before and dressed in your best clothes for him, hoping he would notice. You had only ever seen him five times since you had no other reason to go to this doctor's office other than for checkups. He was a handsome man with a skinny build and broad shoulders. You did not know very much about him, other than the man was supposedly a convicted felon who had recently escaped jail. The owner of the doctor's office you knew personally, so she told you this much about him. Her business was having trouble, with only nurses to help, desperate for staff. Overhaul was pretty private and secretive. "If he so much as lays a finger on you in a way you feel uncomfortable with, call me and I will fire him immediately, and call the police," your friend had said. You had nodded.

Overhaul came into the waiting room with a plain black mask on, and motioned for you to follow him to one of the rooms. He quickly checked your temperature with a forehead thermometer. His mask really brought out his eyes. "It's (Y/N), right?" He said without looking at your clipboard. A surge of warmth surged through your chest. Had he remembered you? "Yes." You felt a bit embarrassed as you stepped on the scale, knowing that he would probably have to comment about your weight. He said nothing, just writing the number down on the clipboard. "It's just a number. Let's go to the exam room." You used the hand sanitizer and used the sleeve of your coat to shut the door. He nodded in approval. In the room was a painting of blue and red balloons on a large canvas. It was pretty pleasant. He patted the exam table, signaling for you to get on it. The protective paper crinkled under you as you did as he instructed.

At all your other check-ups one of the female nurses had done these things, like calling you back and filling out the paperwork. Your friend must be short on staff again. It was his job to ask you some mental health questions. You had a hard time answering some of the questions. He would ask things like if you ever felt depressed, and if you were straight, and it was pretty weird to be having to admit things like that to a guy you thought was attractive. As he took notes his eyes roamed over your body. You put the thought to the back of your mind, telling yourself it was his job to be sure of his patient's physical health.

"Quirkless, right?" You nodded. "That's good. It's natural to be quirkless. People with quirks have perverted nature, even if they could not help being born into this world." That was an odd thing to say. You wondered if he had a quirk. Noticing your expression, he explained. "That sounded weird. I mean, to explain, I'm allergic to people with quirks. I get bumps on my skin if someone with a quirk touches me. That's why I am always wearing a mask and gloves, even before this coronavirus stuff." You were surprised that he shared that with you. He was usually so mysterious and secretive.

"I need you to take off your mask so I can properly measure your heart rate and breathing." You did as he said. "You have a pretty face under that mask." He thought you were pretty? He placed the blood pressure cuff on your arm and slowly inflated it. You sucked in a sharp breath and deflated it. "You good? It's just a little pressure." You shook your head. "It's too tight." He shrugged, taking out his stethoscope. You leaned back as he positioned himself over you, your breath catching. "What are you doing? Lean forward, I need to hear your heartbeat, and your breathing." You started sweating. This guy would be the end of you. He gently touched the metal to your chest. You tried breathing calmly, but his hands were millimeters away from your breasts. "Hmm. Unusually high heart rate." Damn right it was.You tried calming down, but what he said next made it worse.

"Lay down. I need to inspect your abdomen." His sexy voice made you shiver. The thought of his gloved hands on your stomach made you squeeze the soft leathery surface on the examination table. Why were there no nurses to do this for him? He slowly lifted up your shirt, the cold air sending goosebumps. He prodded at your stomach lightly. The world seemed to slow down. "Any pain of discomfort?" He asked. You shook your head no. You wished he could touch you like that forever. How could you possibly be uncomfortable? You looked up at his face, and his eyes seemed nervous. "I, I um, I am not sure if you are comfortable with doing what comes next."

For all your years of life, you had needed to go to visit the doctor at least twice a year. You knew what came next too. "It's okay, if you don't want to." The next step was touching your privates to make sure they were fine. "Well, I really should. It's required." He hesitantly pulled down your pants and gently groped you. You tried to not think about how much you loved the touch, but warmth started pooling in your underwear. The touches slowly got lower, and as he was pulling his fingers out, one dipped into your head. You gently arched your back up so it would go in deeper. Were you really that depraved that you would want friction from an accidental touch of his? Upon seeing your astounded expression, he backed away from you. "I am so sorry. It was an accident, I swear." You looked at his gloved finger and swallowed hard. Your slick covered the tip of his index finger.

"No, no. It's fine. I asked you to do it." Did he see how you pressed yourself onto him? Was that a test? Was he trying to see if you were as desperate for him as he was for you? You gave up your sense of self-control. He was right there in front of you, the man of your dreams, and he had just touched your pussy. You took his hand and held him closer, licking your slick off his fingers. His eyes flicked around your body, as if not knowing where to look. You took his finger into your mouth and licked it with a long stroke of your tongue. He jerked his hand out of your mouth. His legs started trembling. "This is very unprofessional. I shouldn't. I can't. Don't make me, please. I need this job," he begged. You let out a light chuckle. "But you want to, don't you?" you seductively whispered to him, spreading your legs, and hugging him tight, his face inches from your cleavage. "Damn you. From the second I set my eyes on you, I knew you were trouble." He puts a hand to his head, as if he has a headache. You looked into his eyes as he slowly unwound and fell apart. You pressed him into your chest, and he gave in, letting you do what you wanted, you smiled widely. "That's a good boy." He gripped the exam table. On the verge of tears. Such a strong man coming apart before you. "I needed this job. I can't get caught. But I... I want this. I'm torn." You rubbed his shoulders, comforting him. "It's fine, I'm best friends with your boss. It'll be fine." You needed to help him more. "Besides, If she finds out, we can just kill her!" you say, a bit too enthusiastically. Oops. Oh well. You would not let anything stand in your way of getting him to be all yours, not even your friend.

"Come on, Doctor. Don't be shy," you said, taking off your pants and slipping your underwear down to your thighs, teasing him by playing with the fabric. By the look in his eyes, it was working. He pressed his hands down onto the table with force behind his arms, and the table shifted around you. You cried out in surprise. The table miraculously shifted and blended with a nearby towel to make a bed. What was that? His quirk? What was it? "Interesting. It appears that my quirk has finally come back to me after my arms regenerated. Took it long enough." What did that mean? This man had so many secrets that you had no idea about. He slowly shrugged off his coat, and you remembered how little you knew about this man. Fear filled your heart. Why had he been in jail? He put his coat on the small hook over the door with his tie. He struck a pose as he stroked his fingers through his hair. It was too much."Overhaul, please! I can't stand this much longer. Come here!" He sneered at you. "All in due time, you whiny little slut. I have something to take care of first." He opened the door and shut it behind him. You waited for a few seconds that passed like hours. He put a 'Exam in Progress, Keep Out' sign on the other side and locked the door, closing the blinds and the curtain divider.

"So impatient, baby. Calm down." He took your underwear and slid it off. "I noticed that every time you came here, your outfits got more and more skimpy and over the top. I mean, look at all that cleavage. I don't even have to take off your shirt to see them. That desperate for me?" You nodded shamelessly as he took your top off. "It's all I ever wanted. For you to notice me, Kai." He slapped you. "I told you to call me Overhaul!" He growled at you. "People are sometimes tricky. They very rarely do exactly what you want them to do." His expression changed. "I know you want to do what I want you to do. You know what? You can call me Kai if you want to. I like my name coming from those pretty little lips of yours. Maybe later I'll let you call me master." He took off his gloves and put them in a neat pile on a nearby counter, straddling your naked body. He traced your lips with his pale fingers and you opened your mouth slightly. "I could kill you in a second if I wanted to. That's how powerful my quirk is." You did not doubt him. He slowly took off your last piece of clothing, your bra, slowly unclipping it from your body. He took in the sight of your naked body with an unchanging expression. He was doing all this at such a slow pace, but you wanted to please him as well.

You took his belt into your hands, and he nodded. You fumbled, quickly taking the buckle off and the belt slipped right off with it. You unzipped his pants. You pressed your hand against the tent that had started to form on his underwear. You thought you heard a small moan coming from him, but you could not tell because his thick mask muted his sounds. So sad. You would just need to try some other way, another time. You pulled his pants and underwear down, revealing his member, already covered in pre-cum. "I want you so bad, Kai. You look so... delicious." He slid his fingers up your leg, resting them on the lips of your pussy. "What the fuck does that even mean? Whatever. What I want to know is, why were you so wet when I first touched you?" His fingers squished inside you, and he rubbed his dick against the outside of your pussy, teasing the entrance. "M-master please!" You begged.

As he fucked you senseless, his dick ramming into you, he told the story of his life. Turns out that he had even made a bullet that made quirks stop working. This man was a genius. He was so much more than you expected. "How did I land someone like you?" You sobbed up at him. He shrugged. "Maybe I just needed a therapist, someone to talk to, and I thought this was the best way." You shuddered with tears as he said that. Did he just consider you some fucktoy now that he had regained his quirk? You could not think like that. If he left you, someone had to die. He was making you feel so good right now, so why did it matter what he did later. He dug his nails into your skin on your sides to get leverage to go deeper. "Kai..." you breathed. "That's it. Say my name." You squeezed his cock slightly with your fingers but he slapped them away. He kept thrusting into you anyway. You were surely a sobbing mess. "Thank you so much Kai." He stopped thrusting into you and stopped to feel you clenching around him. He gently pressed his hips so his cock hit you as deep as he could. "Are you ready for me?" He asked. It sounded more like a statement, like no matter what you did or said, it was too late. He thrust in even deeper and dumped his load into you. The force caused you to go over the edge too, cumming against his dick. "Kai!" You screamed, forgetting where you were and that people could hear you if you were too loud. You both stayed in that position until he slowly pulled out of you, breathing heavily.

"Look at how filthy dirty you made me. My fingers and dick need to be cleaned off. Who's going to take care of this?" You took a warm washcloth with soapy water from the sink and rubbed his shaft up and down. "Not like that," he snapped, his angry voice a bit of a moan. "I don't have time for another round. I have other things to do." You wiped each of his fingers individually, so they were all clean. He let out a small sound of approval.

A knock at the door startled you. You and he quickly dressed. "Let's get out of here." Overhaul said to you. Perhaps no one had to die. He turned the bed back into an exam table, and opened the door. "What took you so long? We have other patients that need to be examined too!" Your friend said crossly. The thought of Overhaul touching other girls like that made your blood boil. Perhaps someone did have to die. "Sorry, but I quit," Overhaul said, strolling past her and pulling you along with a gloved hand. She blocked the doorway. "You're not going anywhere out this door." She crossed her arms. Overhaul shoved her aside and blasted a hole through the side of the wall. "Fine, I don't need to go through the door," he snarled. He helped you out of the wall. "I'm calling the police! You broke my property and are kidnapping my friend!" His old boss shouted after him. He just chuckled. "Good luck stopping me, and the new Shie Hassaikai."

The Shie Hassaikai? That was a Yakuza group, right? Your new life seemed to already be filled with excitement. As long as you were with this strong man, what could go wrong?

"I think we need a follow-up appointment, doctor."

"An immediate follow-up. It appears you have a very serious illness that only I can cure."

[ciggylungz]

Worship me- Chapter.1

Worship me- Chapter 1.

word count- 3.3k

Summary: Harry is the typical bad boy in town, and Y/n is an innocent Catholic school girl, with a few skeletons in her closet

Warnings: mentions of abusive family, arranged marriage, some major angst and triggering themes

(this in no way is meant to be offensive, I grew up catholic and in a very bad household it was very toxic and detrimental to my health mentally and physically and I endured a lot of harm from the hands of the catholic church. But please remember that is only my experience and I support anyone with whatever religion they chose to practice, and please keep in mind this is fiction and meant to be taken as such. Xoxo H)

__

 The sun was just reaching it’s full peak as Y/n finished putting on her school uniform, she always hated how early she had to get up for school and it didn’t help her parents forced her to get up at 4:30 each morning to pray and read the page of the bible her father had picked out for the day. So, by 6:30 she was already knuckling at her eyes while buckling her black Mary Janes and rushing out the door with an empty stomach since her mother always said ‘fasting in the morning showed devotion to god’ which she truly didn’t understand. She didn’t understand a lot of the things her parents pushed on her and her siblings, some of it even scared her but she knew better than to open her mouth about it, she knew all she’d get in return is a tongue lashing and her faced shoved into a bible while she got spanked by her father. She found herself growing more and more scared as she grew older, her home seemed to get more hostile as the days went by but to her it was normal, it’s all she ever knew so she never questioned the things her parents groomed her for.

She tried not to drag her feet on the sidewalk while she made her way towards her school, she knew it would scoff her school shoes and her mother got very angry the last time she came home with scarred leather on the toes. Y/n truly felt exhausted today, she felt sad, tired, a bit overwhelmed and very hungry since she wasn’t allowed any food after 6 in the evening and then she had to withhold breakfast from herself in honor of god. She was really starting to feel the negative affects of some of these practices, her body getting thinner, her energy dropping quickly and the shivers and headaches were constant. Yet she kept her mouth shut, because ‘That’s what nice girls do’, and y/n didn’t want to be bad she wanted to be praised, she wanted to be adored and loved. But no matter how submissive she is to her parents; she never seems to get any of what she needs. She even kept track in her diary of how many days it had been since someone told her they loved her, today marks day 128.

She could barely hear the chatter of her peers as she made her way through the corridor, her head was already beginning to pound in her temples and her exhaustion was like a weighted blanket draped over her. She didn’t realize she was walking straight into the wall until she felt a palm press against her forehead stopping her from smacking her head into it, her knees still knocked into the navy blue tiles that decorated the bottom half of the walls causing a small ‘umph’ to escape her lips as she shifted her sleepy eyes to the person attached to the hand. There she saw Harry, his left eyebrow was raised slightly in a questioned manner while he looked down at her.

Y/n knew Harry, they were friendly with each other and she really liked him. He was the only person who really payed her any mind, and while she knew he was a bit of a trouble maker he was always kind to her. They shared a science and English class together, their desks lined up next to each other in the cramped classrooms of her private school always making their knees knock together and elbows to push each other’s work off the desks by accident, something rather annoying but the pair got along well enough it never caused his notorious attitude to flare up.

“You okay? Walkin’ like a zombie today kid.” He popped his gum between his teeth loudly, making her eyes blink on reflex before she brought her palms up to rub them slightly. “I’m really tired…sorry I didn’t mean to bother you”. Harry had no idea why she was apologizing, but he noticed it’s something she did a lot. Even when there was nothing to be sorry for and it always made him feel a bit sad, it was odd to him since the usually group of friends he hung with was very much the rough and tumble, unapologetic type.

“What are ya’ talkin’ about? Didn’t bother me, was making sure you didn’t hurt yourself, love.” While Harry was not a soft or sweet kid typically, he was always gentle with the girl. He called her pet names a lot and tried to keep his usual rough tone out of his mouth while he spoke to her. She was a sweetheart and he truly appreciated how pure her aura and personality is and he never wanted to do anything to jeopardize that. It was rare for him to ever be around a positive person if he’s being honest.

She simply shrugged and nodded, a yawn escaping her mouth before she looked up at him with hooded eyes, his own narrowing a bit just having a gut feeling something was off. She looked frail almost, he’s never seen her look dull and he didn’t like it. He was used to her being warm and bubbly, so seeing her look so down made his jaw clench. “Hey, look at me Y/n. What’s wrong? Can tell somethings up, want to talk to m’ about it?” her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit at his proposition, she wanted to talk about it but she knew she couldn’t. Her parents had forced into her mind that if she opened her mouth and told people about her feelings or things that went on at home, that god would hate her and she was scared of that. She was too deep in their game to see her parents would be the ones under gods harsh gaze, not her.

So she fought against the thoughts begging to be verbalized and gently shook her head, “No no, it’s okay…we have mass in a few minutes. Wouldn’t have time to talk anyway…it’s alright.” She shot his idea down, which concerned him further but he let it be, listening intently as she spoke again. “C-could I have a hug?” she was shy, she knew her parents would be very angry if they found out she had been alone with a boy, let alone having any physical contact even as simple as a hug or a high five. She hated that rule, and right now she knew the chances of her getting in trouble so she took the chance. She could feel her nerves prick her palms as he waited for his response, yet she felt a bit relieved as he opened his arms and let her press herself into him. She noticed a sense of security warm her while his broad arms hugged her small figure, he stroked her back slightly frowning to himself when he could feel her spine against his thumbs. Only then did he notice how thin she seemed to become since he first met her when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore last year, the girl one year his junior seemed to be shrinking instead of growing which made him a bit alarmed but he knew it wasn’t a good time to pry. Even as calloused as he is emotionally, he still has the ability to read people and what they need so he decided to just give her the comfort she requested, keeping a protective palm resting on her back as he walked into the school’s chapel with her.

Harry loathed the Catholic school his mother forced him to attend, he wasn’t exactly a bible thumper like the nuns and teachers that were breathing down his neck 6 hours out of his day. He didn’t like how the priest looked at his female classmates, or how they used the idea of God to scare people into submission rather then painting him as a warm, forgiving figure that he really should be made out to be. The only reason Harry was still attending the hellish school was because it made his mother happy and feel like her son was safe, and staying out of trouble for at least a good chunk of the day. Harry loved his mother; he knew she wasn’t fond of the trouble maker reputation he seemed to make for himself as he grew into young adulthood. And so, he did her the solid of attending and giving her some peace of mind.

Harry made sure to go into the same pew as Y/n letting out a grunt as he leaned down to his knees on the small padded strip meant to help their knees not hurt as bad yet it did very little to create a barrio between his knee caps and the hard floor beneath.

He mumbled a snarky ‘I’m not the one usually on my knees’ to himself, getting a glare from one of the nuns walking down the aisle doing a head count for student attendance but he only flipped the bird to her when her back was turned. Y/n was struggling to keep her head from resting on the pew in front of her, she was truly struggling to stay awake at this point finding herself jolting a bit every few seconds as she started drifting off, only able to fully get her composure when the head priests voice boomed through the speakers in the chapel, making her flinch and assume her earlier position while he read out a few verses, instructing them to bow their heads and pray along with him. Harry of course mocked the priest while Y/n robotically followed along as much as she didn’t want to, she was too sad to think about the weight of the words from the sacred book and her knees were aching yet she was too afraid to not say it, the fear crawling up her spine when she thought about what her parents would do if they found out she didn’t recite the prayer with her peers.

__

 Somehow Y/n managed to make it through her four class periods, she admittedly had retained nothing she was taught that day and by this point it was 2 in the afternoon and her head was pounding so bad she thought her skull might crack and her brain would eject itself in protest to her lack of hydration and nutrients coming in. she was in agony, and Harry hadn’t left her alone all day because he could read her like a book. To be honest he was scared she might keel over and die from how unwell she looked, and so he caught up to her while she was walking out of the school snagging her elbow, eyes watching as she barely responded to his sudden grasp and shifting so he was facing her. “Hey, hey love let me drive you home. I’m not taking no for an answer you look like you’re going to pass out.”

Y/n was too tired to fight, so she allowed herself to be guided to his car and put into his passenger seat. She smiled slightly with droopy eyes when he buckled her seatbelt for her, softly closing her door walking around the car to get into his place behind the wheel.

A soft grumble emited from her stomach, catching both of their attention and causing her cheeks to blush slightly, “ ‘m sorry, I’m a bit hungry..” Harry nodded while fumbling with his keys, “when’s the last time you ate?” she hesitated for a beat before deciding to be honest, “Lunch yesterday…didn’t have dinner and my parents make me fast every morning so I haven’t eaten.” The boy snapped his heads towards her, eyes widening and heart starting to beat faster in worry “Wait, really? So you haven’t eaten in-“ he paused to do the math in his head, they eat lunch at 11am while at school so now at half past two it had been a really long fucking time. “- 26 hours? Oh god, Y/n that’s not good, that’s not healthy. Here I have some water and a few protein bars left over from practice yesterday.” He popped the glove box open to pull out his snacks, handing two bars to her and grabbing his water bottle from the cup holder to hand to her, cracking it open for her and holding it for her, tipping it against her sleepy lips, seeing as her hands were shaking just holding the cereal bars he didn’t want her to accidently slosh the water all over herself. “thank you” her voice was quiet, but he heard it letting her drink a few more sips before she started to slowly eat the bar, her eyes closed and head resting against the window as she chewed with all the energy she had left. “You not sleeping either?” Y/n shook her head “Not really, have to get up at 4 every morning…went to sleep at 1, so I only got 3 hours…I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I really don’t feel good Harry”

Before he even turned the car on, he was making a mad dash to hold a rouge plastic bag under her chin while she spewed up the food she’d just eaten. He guesses since she hasn’t eaten in so long, the snacks upset her sensitive stomach. Y/n whimpered when the stomach bile forced it’s way out of her mouth into the bag the burning waking her up a bit and causing her to choke on it a bit. Harry didn’t make fun of her like she thought, she fully expected him to kick her out of his car and she wouldn’t blame him. She felt horrible, and very embarrassed yet he kept one hand holding the bag and the other used to tip her forwards do he can rub and pat her back keeping her from aspirating the vomit giving her gentle comforting words while he fished a napkin out of the console to wipe her mouth for her. “It’s alright kid, get it out. Stomach is upset huh? You feel warm too, jeez Y/n I’m sorry you’re not feeling good. How about I stop and get you a ginger ale and take ya’ home so you can get some rest?” she nodded slowly letting a few tears spill over her waterline only to be dried by another tissue held in Harry’s hand. “It’s alright, don’t gotta cry you’ll be okay I promise.”

__

 Harry kept true to his word, getting her a soda and taking her home giving her his number so she could text him if she needed him. Y/n tucked the slip of paper in her sock before exiting the car, she didn’t want her parents to take it from her so she made sure to hide it. “Thank you, I’m sorry your car smells like puke now..” Harry chuckled a bit “It’s alright, it’s smelled worse before. Not exactly the cleanest car in town hon”

The banter was soon finished as he dropped her off, driving off leaving Y/n to go back in her home. Greeting her parents before telling them she wasn’t feeling well and heading upstairs to take a nap finishing the remainder of her soft drink as she tucked herself under her blankets letting herself drift off.

__

When she woke up, it was nearly 10pm and she still felt like she needed a year long slumber to recover, but she knew she didn’t have a chance since her mother had woken her up to do her nightly hour of praying. She was beginning to hate the night routine; it was painful and tiring and she felt vulnerable and small.

When her father noticed her sluggishness he took it as disrespect, not having a care as he yanked his daughter by her underarm to stand bringing her downstairs harshly tossing her onto the couch. He gave no regard to her tears as he screamed at the girl, telling her horrible things and forcing her to hold her knuckles out for him to crack a ruler down on. She had bitten into her cheeks so harshly trying to stop the sobs that she could taste the blood in her mouth, but she didn’t dare speak as she took her punishment. She didn’t understand why he was giving her such a harsh treatment when she hadn’t done anything wrong but none the less she internalized it and made herself believe she deserved it.

“How many times do I have to tell you to sit up straight?! How many times do I have to beat it into you?! You think any man is going to want you when you’re such a sloppy disrespectful girl? You bring shame onto this family Y/n!”

Y/n didn’t miss the bile rising in her throat as her father used an arranged marriage- one she didn’t even want- to guilt her into submission. Her father believed in marrying his daughters off young, usually for a hefty payment. He’d done it to her two older sisters, Alexis when she was 15, and Cassidy when she was merely 13 years old. It wasn’t legal marriage by any means, but the girls didn’t know that. The men her dad basically sold his children to were predators but of course Y/n was made to believe it was normal for her dad to marrying her off to a man 20 years older than her. ‘Gods plan’ he called it, but it was scary to her. she didn’t want it, it made her feel violently ill thinking about having to marry a older man who always made her very uncomfortable when her dad would bring her to meet them. The way they looked at her gave her chills, the requests they made regarding her purity, the services she’d provide them with, it made her feel so objectified she sometimes wished to not wake up some mornings so she didn’t have to feel like she’s one day closer to her fate of being a predators indentured servant, used as a pawn and play thing.

The one time she had hinted she didn’t want to be married off, her mother denied her food for 3 days and made her take cold baths to ‘cleanse her’ of her ‘greedy wants’. Y/n truly felt terrified, she was shaking in front of her father while her brain was going into fight of flight. Her feet raced up the steps when her father dismissed her, and as she locked her bedroom door she remembered the slip of paper in her sock.

She knew the risks of reaching out to Harry, her parents knew of the boy. Everyone in town did, hard to forget a street brawling, angsty teenage boy who has been caught more than once by neighbors shit faced drunk or smoking weed with his friends and of course it caused floods of gossip through the rather conservative community yet she decided the risk was worth it if it gave her a sliver of hope to escape the nightmare she felt she was in.

Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she typed in his number, writing him a text

‘Harry, it’s Y/n are you awake?”

His response was quick, maybe 30 seconds after she’d sent hers

‘yea, what’s up? You alright? Feeling better?’

A fresh wave of tears were building in her eyes, shaky fingers typing out her next message

‘no, Harry please help me. I’m scared please.’

[kpopfanfictrash]

Canvas

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook 

Word Count: 1,470

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Holi-Date. This drabble takes place after the events of The Holi-Date and follows Jungkook (a side character) + attending an art class and drawing nude models. 

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

Adjusting the easel before him with one hand, Jungkook concentrated on the blank sheet of canvas and not on what lay beyond.

An entirely nude model spread out on the chaise.

Jungkook had decided to take this class on a whim; it had been recommended to him by Taehyung and really, he should’ve known better. Taehyung tended to have a chaotic streak masked beneath that uber-straight-faced exterior. Still, when Jungkook had mentioned wanting to try out an art class, in order to better understand the work he curated, he had never suspected Taehyung might lead him this far astray.

It wasn’t that Jungkook had a problem with nudity, per se. He was fine with it and obviously, he liked being naked with certain people, but to have a stranger so brazenly displayed like the model before him – Jungkook couldn’t help it; he blushed.

Dabbing his paintbrush in the cup of water before him, Jungkook chanced another glance at the model.

She was attractive, which he found to be part of the problem. At the start of the class, their instructor had recommended separating the model from their painting, but Jungkook found this advice to be somewhat contrary. His favorite works at the museum were those which captured the humanity of their subject; those which solidified the intangible with paint.

It was one thing to accurately display a likeness on canvas. It was another thing entirely to convey a soul, to grant another person insight through a window unseen.

Hesitant, Jungkook lifted his gaze from the canvas again.

The model’s gaze remained fixated on a point over his head and somehow, this made Jungkook relax just a little. Oddly enough, he felt like he was the one on display, not the model. The fact that she was entirely open about her nakedness wasn’t what made Jungkook embarrassed. More embarrassing was the fact that looking at her made Jungkook realize he could never do the same.

Frowning at this, Jungkook fiddled with his brush. When he glanced to either side, he saw both of his neighbors were well underway. It seemed no one else had spent the first twenty minutes of class having an existential crisis over the fact that they’d never dropped trou for a room full of people.

Forcing himself to look once more at the model, Jungkook refused to blink until his eyes watered a bit. He made himself see her – truly see her – until some of the novelty began to wear off.

There; that felt a bit better.

Teeth gritted, he bent and made his first broad stroke on canvas. The teacher had gone over different techniques at the beginning of class; how to hold their brush, how to angle their bristles to create different textures. How fast you needed to paint at some points of the painting; how slowly at others.

From what Jungkook had gathered, this wasn’t a beginner’s class. Again, he cursed Kim Taehyung in his mind. Well, Taehyung would see who got the last laugh when Jungkook banished Vante’s next exhibit to the museum’s back alley, or something.

Actually – Jungkook tilted his head. He might be onto something there.

A teaching assistant had set up their easel before him, showcasing the students how he laid out the model on canvas. Jungkook glanced at this for a moment before he finally began.

In time, his wrist gradually loosened, posture relaxing as Jungkook fell into a rhythm between brush and canvas. He grew less awkward with each glance at the model until eventually, his gaze was as bold as she’d been when she dropped her robe.

By the end of the hour, Jungkook had to shake himself free when the instructor called for them to stop.

“Paintbrushes down!” she said, clapping her hands. “I’ll see you all back here next week to continue – please place your canvases on the drying racks in the next room. You should clean up your stations according to the instructions on the board. Thank you!”

Jungkook busied himself with said instructions and by the end, he felt vaguely pleased as he untied his apron. His painting wasn’t the best in the room, but it was by no means the worst among those on the drying racks.

Assuaged by this fact, Jungkook adjusted his sweatshirt as he turned, nearly tripping when he ran into the model behind him.

“Oh!” he blurted, hair flopping forward as he straightened himself. “S-sorry!”

Noticing his stammer, the model just smiled. “It’s okay,” she laughed, ducking her head. “I kind of snuck up on you there.”

“I – well, yeah,” Jungkook said, a bit embarrassed.

He forced himself to look only at her eyes, and not on the curves he knew lay beneath her clothes. The determined way he stared must have given him away though, since she knowingly smiled and – oddly enough – did not look displeased.

Jungkook belatedly registered this.

“This was your first time in class, right?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook managed to nod. “I’ve actually uh, never taken an art class before… I only draw in my spare time. When I have the time, that is. I’m a curator at the Art Museum? Do you know it?”

Looking vaguely amused by his question, she nodded.

Jungkook nearly face-palmed. Of course, she knew it – this woman modeled for a fucking art class. Cheeks feeling about the same temperature as the sun, Jungkook wished the earth would open and swallow him whole.

Unfortunately, the earth refused to listen and remained stubbornly solid.

“Anyways,” she said, tucking her bag close to her chest. “You’ve got a really solid attention span. Very focused. Very deep.”

The corner of her mouth quirked, as though she were laughing with him, not at him and Jungkook felt a strange sort of buzz in the back of his throat. Was she flirting with him? The answer seemed like yes, but Jungkook had left the museum so little recently, it had become hard to tell. Everything about dating felt rusty and strange.

Hell, he hadn’t even managed to work up the courage to ask out the girl he had a crush on. Admittedly, Mina had just broken up with her dickwad fiancé and was in no place to date, but Jungkook wouldn’t even know how to go about asking her out if he wanted.

Eyeing the model before him, Jungkook straightened his spine. She seemed nice, was very pretty and had actually sought him out at the end of the class. Jungkook usually wasn’t the type to casually date, but wasn’t that why he’d sought out this class in the first place? To broaden his horizons, try something new and gain different experiences.

“I didn’t think that you’d notice,” he finally said with a smile. “You were so busy staring at the wall over my head.”

“You really were absorbed in your painting, huh?” Gently, she laughed. “I was actually scolded by my boss for missing the time I was supposed to turn.”

Jungkook blinked. “Turn?”

“Mhm,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m supposed to turn around halfway through class. I didn’t, though. I wanted to keep facing you.”

Jungkook found his mouth had gone suddenly dry. “You did?”

He was aware he sounded a bit like a parrot, but he’d never been very good at the small talk thing. Give Jungkook a museum and he could talk your ear off, but every day wordplay and chitchat? No good. 

Maybe he could get better, though.

“Yeah,” she said, fiddling again with her bag. “I saw your painting of me and thought it was nice!” Bashful, she smiled. “Will you be here again next week?”

Jungkook, who had been at the start of class seriously considering not returning, felt something entirely different unfold in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, hair falling into his gaze when he nodded. “I think that I will.”

She smiled and turned, walking out the door and Jungkook was left all alone in the room. He fixated on the podium for a moment, wondering if he’d ever feel bold enough to be a model himself.

It seemed near-impossible, but then again, Jungkook would’ve deemed this entire class to be impossible mere hours ago. He’d been stuck in the same place for so long that any sort of change seemed inconceivable. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, though – after all, two new things had happened to him in one day. Who was he to say what would happen tomorrow?

Feeling slightly more excited about next week’s class, Jungkook turned on his heel and he walked out the door.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[liloelsagranger]

Night shift - Chapter 2 (Rocketshipping)

Chapter 2:

The whip already raised for use, Jessiebelle reared up in front of James, who was cowering on the floor all intimidated. “Where have you been? Do you realize how worried I was?” She swung the whip and gave James a blow. James cried out in pain, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew that this little excursion into freedom would have consequences. Today Jessiebelle carried out the punishment with her favourite tool and throttled her fiancé without batting an eye.

“You have to be chastised, otherwise you might get ideas and leave me, and we both don’t want that, right James?”

The young man was trembling with pain. He grabbed his arm with the gaping wound. Sometimes he wanted to die, sometimes he wanted to leave this world, thoughts that had plagued him since he was a child. But the urge to be free and to be able to live his own life had prevented him from doing anything stupid until then and thinking of the waitress Jessie gave him new hope. Another lash!

“Please, Jessiebelle, stop!” he pleaded. “I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll never sneak away again, but please, have mercy!” Tears streamed down his face. Jessiebelle knelt beside her fiancé and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

“This is the only way you will learn to be obedient and please your future wife. Sometimes you have to take harsher measures to open someone’s eyes to how much love is involved here. I love you, James,” she breathed into his ear. James cried bitter tears. If this is love, what does abysmal hatred feel like?

She left him crouching on the floor, alone in his pain and thick tears of despair. James was breathing heavily, he could barely move, but he had a mission and nothing and no one, certainly not Jessiebelle’s abuse would stop him. With the last of his strength, he tried to get to his feet, left the torture cellar and sank into his pillow, tired and exhausted. Tomorrow night he would see her again, Jessie. He imagined her smile, her sapphire blue eyes, and slipped into a fitful sleep.

The day dragged on endlessly. James counted the hours until he could sneak out through the service exit. When evening came, he waited for the right moment to dismiss the property. The servants covered him, they were on his side and could no longer watch this tragedy of a relationship.

“I hope the wound heals quickly, James. This tincture is a recipe from my grandmother, it is supposed to work wonders. Look how Jessiebelle is ruining you. You are a shadow of your former self.” Maria became quite emotional at the sight of those deep cuts. She had cared for James since he was a little boy every time his parents were traveling the world again. Seeing him like this, abused, beaten and mistreated, broke her heart. James put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Maria. There’s someone worth living for,” he put on a weak smile. “And I really need to see her,” he pressed on the tourniquet and disappeared into the night.

As James walked along the Strip, he noticed the many carnies and performers. Some were painting portraits of the tourists; others were juggling ten balls at once. Others sang and played music and thrilled the guests with little show acts. It wasn’t long before James spotted Ash, who was holding the crowd spellbound with his Pikachu. He had many tricks up his sleeve and his little Pokémon was exceptionally well trained. They were a welded team and impressed the audience with a fantastic interlude consisting of various electric attacks that Pikachu was capable of. The crowd went wild, applauded and cheered. The coins were already jingling, the bills flowing. James wanted to do more than one good deed today and secretly put a hundred-Pokédollar bill in Ash’s hat. With it, he and his friends could enjoy a delicious dinner at the Diner. Ash could hardly believe his eyes when he fished the large bill out of his hat. His mouth was open, never had he received so much tip before. His gaze wandered through the audience and stuck to James.

“Hey! Aren’t you the guy who was at the Diner last night?” he asked him. James nodded his head. “Wow! What happened to your face? Where did you get that black eye?” Ash wondered. Should James tell him a tall tale or come clean with the truth? He didn’t know this boy at all and honestly, he didn’t want to hang his private life on the big bell.

“Work accident,” James replied. Ash nodded his understanding and stowed the big money in his pocket. He had no idea that his sponsor was standing right in front of him.

“Are you coming by today? Fridays are fish day, you’ll miss out on the tastiest salmon and sea food if you don’t show up later.”

That’s when it slipped out of James’ mouth. “Is Jessie having a night shift tonight?” It was so foolish, he felt pretty stupid. What kind of impression did this make on young Ash? The boy grinned maliciously.

“Jessie is at the Diner every single night, trying to keep herself and that place afloat, it takes hard work, but she’s up to any problem. So yeah, she’ll be there. Why?”

James blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh nothing, she just served me very well.” James shrugged it off, but one question still burned on his mind. “This man, who works with her at the Diner. Is that her boyfriend?” Ash laughed out loud.

“You mean Eddy? He’s ace. All he wants are close and deep friendships, but nothing more. A hug is still in, but not a step further. You don’t have to worry about him but let me give you some good advice. Give Jessie some space and don’t press her. Life wasn’t always easy for her.” Ash packed up his paraphernalia and disappeared down a dark side street.

Late in the evening, James hardly dared to show up at the Diner. He was visibly nervous and couldn’t quite explain to himself why. Of course, he was happy to see Jessie again and to enjoy her first-class service, to feel her warm smile on his skin. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to see him maltreated like that. But when he entered the restaurant, the atmosphere was really tense. He discovered the large bouquet of flowers that he had secretly sent her, but Jessie seemed to be anything but pleased about it. He approached the waitress and overheard snippets of conversation that made him shudder. Turning to Eddy, she showed her best friend the small note James had enclosed. “He’s trying to suck up again, that lousy guy! Signs it with a friggin J. Like I wouldn’t guess it’s that assface of Jack’s who’s supposedly trying to make up with me. Throw this bouquet in the trash can right now, Eddy! Get it out of my sight!” she commanded. This action had gone completely wrong. But how could James have known that Jessie’s ex-boyfriend’s name started with a J, too? He put a hand on her shoulder and Jessie immediately winced. “Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I didn’t see anyone enter de Diner. I’ll come right over and take your order.” She heaved a deep sigh, gave way to her anger, and kicked the trash can with all her might.

James had probably hit the wrong nerve. Now he felt all the more pathetic. He wanted to please Jessie with the bouquet and show his gratitude for the nice service, but this action was a shot in the foot.

The waitress was beside herself when she reached James’ table. Her hair was mussed, she rummaged in her apron for her tiny notebook to write down the incoming orders and could not concentrate on her guests. Something had to have happened, and James was trying to figure out how to help Jessie. It was his turn to ask her about her day. “Miserable, James. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong! But I don’t want to burden you with my stuff, I’m sure you have other things to worry about, judging by your eye…” James’ hand shot up. “I’ll get you cooling pads”, Jessie was overly attentive and James liked that feeling of being cared for by someone. There was no emotion in his relationship with Jessiebelle, except for pain and hatred. There could never be any question of love. It was an arranged engagement, and his parents didn’t care how much James suffered from Jessiebelle’s mannerisms. James wanted to offer Jessie all his attention in return, he wanted to listen to her, ask her how her day had been and talk for hours about trivial things that made him forget for a short time the strains of a botched relation.

“Here’s your coke and a turkey sandwich. Enjoy!” she forced herself to smile, but the day’s toil was gnawing away at her. James had to take the initiative. “Please, sit down for a minute. There aren’t many guests, you can certainly take a short break”, he offered her the seat next to him. She looked around, nodded wearily, and let herself sink into the chair. “What a day,” Jessie grabbed the menu card and fanned herself. He turned to her, eyeing her beautiful face, and straining to take in her every word. “Maybe you’ve already noticed, but the Strip is no place for rich snobs. Drunks and homeless people hang out here. Most of the guys who come to my Diner can’t even pay, so they charge me. Unfortunately, at the end of the month there is barely enough for the rent…and food must also be purchased. We work to the limit, staying open late to make a few Pokédollars, but it just doesn’t pay. Cassidy paid us a visit today. You remember? That broad from the newspaper? She threatened to kick us out, said she was going take the Diner away from us piece by piece. I just don’t know what to do, we barley make ends meet and we have far too few guests. What should I do? Oh, why am I talking to you, you have enough problems,” she buried her face in her hands and sighed. James stroked her cheek. He could have bought the Diner at the push of a button, but he didn’t want to be liked for his money, he wanted to be liked for who he was, the real him.

“Don’t hang your head, I could help you out after all. I don’t want a salary, a roof over my head and a warm sandwich in the evening is perfectly fine”, he smiled encouragingly at her. ‘And I can be closer to you,’ he didn’t say it out loud. She raised her head and looked at him questioningly. “What do you want in this shabby place? I’m sure you have better places to stay and besides, I really can’t pay you anything, we’re almost broke…”

James felt embarrassed. If only Jessie knew how much he wanted to escape the shackles of this terrible relationship. He wanted to be free, no matter what the cost. He wanted to have air to breathe, he wanted to laugh and have a zest for life, and that’s what he hoped to find at the Diner. With people who could show compassion, who responded to the needs of others, without batting an eye, were willing to offer a helping hand to even the most down-and-out creatures on the Strip. “You know, I have some idea about advertising and marketing. With just a piece of cardboard and my loud blabbermouth, I can double your customer base. Trust me,” he held out his hand to her and she took it. What tender, soft skin. So fragile. What have these hands had to endure? Cleaning, washing, cooking, tidying up. Such delicate hands must be protected, and James already knew how. He wished this handshake would never stop. For the first time he felt the perky waitress and it was overwhelming. A slight tug in his heart area told him where this journey would lead, and he hoped Jessie would be the destination. He had never felt so attracted to a woman before. She was different, she was a fighter that not even the worst news could wear out. For a brief moment, they looked at each other, smiling. No words were needed to describe the attraction between these two. They lost themselves in their gazes, even if it was only for a split second. Something blossomed between them, a tiny flame of hope, of forgetting and of new beginnings.

“I’m about to get out my violin and serve them a plate of spaghetti with meatballs,” Eddy murmured to one of their guests. “Yes, yes, our Jessie has sworn off love, but she seems to make a big and fat exception with James…” “Let there be fish for everyone! Let’s celebrate, my friends!” Ash rumbled into the Diner, followed by his two best mates, Misty and Brock. They immediately destroyed the intimate moment between Jessie and her new co-worker James. They both jumped up and tried to hide their blushes. Jessie cleared her throat. “Get to work, James! We don’t want to keep our guests waiting!”

[pasteljeon]

handcrafted | heartbeat 1

When you put out a roommates ad for your newly purchased house, the only requirement you set out had been cleanliness.

The last thing you’d expected was for the 7 most eligible bachelors of your university to come calling.

Throw in school, crazy fan girls and the most sought for men suddenly chasing after you with heart eyes, comes a college experience of a lifetime.

Would it be so wrong to want them all?

1: handcrafted

summary | they needed a place to stay. You needed money. You are so fucking screwed. They want you to screw them instead.

series index.

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“I’m sorry,” comes a high-pitched, exasperated whine for the umpteenth time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say, suitcase dropping unceremoniously onto the gravel floor with a sad thud. You stare up at the building with dread, a knot forming in your stomach. Now that you think of it, it does seem to loom overhead rather ominously. And you liked the design so much, too.

“You’re telling me that I just dropped half a million into a house and now I have no one to room with and no way to pay off my mortgage?”

“It was last minute,” Ahri tries to explain feebly, but you close your eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” you say slowly, sucking in a long breath, “All seven of you magically got offered the very same jobs you have right now … in the same city?”

“…Yes?” She coughs. “Same company, just a different branch. And, uh, just not this city.”

Silence.

You tap your foot impatiently.

“___?” You can already imagine the way your best friend is cringing, voice meek as she asks mildly, “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” you say through gritted teeth as you drag your luggage to the front.

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With the autumn leaves stirring in your wake, every step is heavy and dredged with defeat as you make your way to the coffee shop on campus.

“I’m sure there are still plenty of people looking for rent,” Ahri says sympathetically, rubbing your shoulder as you slump over the table.

“How am I going to find seven people to fill the spaces before the semester starts?” You wail, banging your head against the glass. “Classes start in a week and I need people now so I can pay the obnoxiously inflated mortgage.”

“Are you sure—” Jisoo starts, but you throw up a hand instantly. “Never gonna go down that alley. If I have to, I’ll sell the house and live on the streets. Since you’re all basically abandoning me anyway.”

“Not all of us,” Ryujin reminds you as she takes a seat, sliding your signature drink across.

“Yeah, just 90% of us,” Ahri supplies helpfully. You glare at her playfully as you sit up, taking a tentative sip from the cup. Letting out a sigh, you lean back into your seat.

“No, but in all seriousness. How am I going to find replacement roommates in time?” You trace the lid absently, propping your chin up with the other hand.

“We still have a week before we leave for our co-op terms. We can help you out until then. We’ll find people,” Jisoo promises. She’s already pulled out her phone, tapping away at the multitude of chats she’s in to put out word for you.

“I’ll ask a friend to make a mock up of an ad,” Ryujin offers. Ahri nods vigorously.

“Okay. Thanks guys, you’re the realest,” you say gratefully. Perhaps all hope is not yet lost, you conclude rather miserably.

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Despite the collective efforts of all your braincells, skills and networking circles pooled together, the week is drawing to a close. Every decline is for the same reason: it’s just too late.

Between your unpacking, shopping, arranging furniture and rearranging décor (with the help of Dara, the interior design major, of course), suddenly it’s Thursday and you’re looking pretty fucking doomed.

“How is it everything fell through so fast?”

“Mhmm. You tell me,” you say absentmindedly as you straighten a painting.

You can feel Dara’s amusement as she readjusts the frame you were fiddling with. “Stop touching. It’s fine.”

“It’s crooked,” you protest.

“You know, that reminds me,” she says thoughtfully as she steps back. “Jiyong’s been working on his new album, and there’s these new singers he’s scouted out. It might be a long shot since classes are about to start, but he’s talked about how much they complain about their residence. I can ask if they’re still up to moving.”

“Yes, please,” you nod. “It honestly doesn’t matter anymore. I just need money. I don’t even know why this was a good idea in the first place.”

“It was a good idea. When we were all going to be here,” Dara amends.

You exhale. “Fuck me in the ass.”

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“Uh … who are you?” You blink, cocking your head to the side curiously.

There’s a … person standing at your door, awkwardly gripping a suspiciously familiar flyer. He’s … someone you’ve never spoken to before. He’s grown his hair out this summer, brushing away the curls as they frame his big, doe eyes. The scar on his cheek is hidden by the makeshift ebony curtain. He’s clearly been busy, veins and muscles rippling under golden skin virtually straining to explode from that tight pair of black jeans he’s wearing.

You are not charmed. You are not charmed. You are not fucking charmed.

“Um … are you ___?”

You nod, waiting for an explanation. The bags in your hands are getting heavier with every passing second and you silently beg him to hurry it along before your arms snap clean off.

“M-my hyungs asked me to check you out,” he stutters.

A beat, and then –

“Ah! I-I mean check the place out, not you, that would be weird, why would I ever check you out,” he corrects quickly. You raise an eyebrow warily. The sheet crumples in his whitening fist.

“I-I mean I check you out all the time so that’s not really new, i-it’s just y-you have vacancy right,” he’s word-vomiting, cheeks ripening furiously and he looks like he’s about ready for the ground to swallow him up.

“We want to move in,” he practically screams. You recoil, the bags hitting your thigh painfully.

Huh.

This is … unexpected. Every time you’ve ever encountered him on campus, he’s never been so … clumsy. Is clumsy the right word to describe this?

“Oooookay,” you say. “Yeah, I can give you a tour and answer any questions you have, just let me unload first.”

“O-oh, I can take those for you,” he stumbles over to relieve you of your physical burden. He ducks his head, scores of pink still marring his expression as you unlock the door.

“Come in.”

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he says shyly, slipping off his sneakers and trailing behind you to set the groceries on the counter as you indicated.

You shrug off your jacket before rummaging in one of the bags to pull out a bottle of banana milk. His eyes light up instantly when you slide it over the counter to him.

“Thank you, noona!” He tears open the lid and gulps down the concoction eagerly.

Noona? You squint. Are you really older than him? You’ll have to check later.

“So will your … hyungs be joining us today, or would you guys like to book another time to come altogether?”

Just as he’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to reply, the doorbell rings.

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“Dara,” you hiss into the phone, cupping the microphone close to you as you huddle in one of the upper floor bathrooms. “You didn’t tell me there were seven of them.”

“Huh? But wasn’t seven the exact number you needed?” She answers innocently.

“You said some and singers! None of them are singers or new! They’re the fucking guys from the Calvin Klein underwear ads and that one Gucci perfume commercial!”

“Technically, they are singers. A couple of them are composers and they all have really good voices. According to Jiyong anyway, no one else has had the privilege of hearing them,” she states.

“I’m going to die,” you say flatly. You’re pacing, practically wearing the new carpet you just bought. “I am going to die a horrible, horrible death. Fangirls will hunt me down, I’m going to get death threats and I’ll have to live in the shadows for the rest of my life. There are a lot of rich people here, and they’re going to hire hitmen and I’ll –”

“– Die a horrible death, yes, I heard the first time,” Dara cuts you off dryly.

Your eyes widen. “You knew!” You accuse. “How could you do this to me?!”

“___,” she sighs suddenly, sounding disappointed. “This was the best I could do, okay? It was the perfect opportunity. Look, just go downstairs, gauge their characters and all that jazz, and if you still think it’s not a good fit, just tell them that and keep looking. You’re not locked in on this.”

You rest your head on the wall. “… Yeah. Okay. True. Thanks a lot, Dara.”

“Of course. I always got your back. Let me know how things go and what you decide,” she reassures you.

“I will.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, phone gripped tightly in your hand, before groaning aloud. Splashing water on your face and smoothing out your disgruntled locks, you make your way back to the living room.

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It’s awkward. Oh fuck, it’s so awkward you think you’ll die of sheer awkwardness instead.

There are seven men smiling up at you, all crammed in the three sets of sofas you’d recently purchased. They have such long legs. One of them has really broad shoulders.

“I know you,” you say stupidly, pointing at the man with dimples. He waves.

“___,” he says pleasantly. “How has your summer been?”

“You were my TA,” you continue, finger quivering. You’re downright flabbergasted. “Isn’t there like a … like a rule or something against TAs moving in with previous students?”

“We never officially met,” he replies smoothly. Why the fuck is he still smiling?! This is so freaky. You can’t do this. Holy shit.

“In fact, the TAs for that course were never formally introduced. We only marked your exams in random groups, nothing more. I can’t say I’ve had the privilege of marking your work.”

Liar. You know he’s marked one of your essays. You can easily tell his thick strokes and thoughtful feedback scrawled in the margins apart from all the other cursive nonsense the others liked to write.

You move on. “You,” you say, examining the peculiar orange locks and disappearing eye smile. “You’re one of the dancers. You and … you,” the one next to him nods, his grin heart-shaped.

“You make music,” the one with mint hair and catlike eyes. What is with them and their rainbow styled colours? He shrugs noncommittally.

“Photos,” the one with a boxy beam. The camera looped around his neck was pretty self-explanatory, but you’ve seen him around.

“You … are old,” his plush lips instantly downturn.

“Excuse me?” He harrumphs. “Is that how you speak to your elders?” There’s no real bite to his tone, just a tinge of annoyance. The rest of the boys are hiding laughs.

“Didn’t you graduate a while ago?” You ask instead.

He uncrosses his arms, slumping. “… Yes,” he says guiltily. “I’m getting my Masters.”

“Hyung doesn’t like being called old,” the one still clutching the milk explains, mirth dancing in his eyes. “He’s old, but not obsolete. Not yet, anyway.”

“Shut it,” he snaps, pouting. He certainly doesn’t act old, you remark silently, stifling a giggle.

“We should do formal introductions,” the dimpled boy offers.

“My name is Kim Namjoon. I’m a Philosophy and History double major. I do TA for a couple courses.”

“Kim Taehyung! I like taking photos, so photography. Obviously. I’m thinking about picking up media arts or something on the side, though.”

“Jeon Jungkook. Graphic design and Photography.”

“Contemporary dance, Park Jimin.”

“Performing dance, Jung Hoseok! My stage name is J-Hope.”

“Music composition. Min Yoongi.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, though you’ve probably already heard of me,” he smirks, puffing his chest out proudly. “Film and Acting.”

“Oh!” You say, nodding very seriously. “You were in that one fried chicken commercial, right?”

Seokjin stares, unimpressed even as the boys are falling into pieces beside him. “It was for the new Palisade.”

“Oh. They’re cool, too,” you agree. You don’t know much about cars.

“I’m ___. Do you guys want a tour?”

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.

“So? Spill the beans!”

“On what?” You quirk an eyebrow as you flick through the menu. Ahri looks like she’s almost bouncing from her seat in excitement.

“Were they as handsome as they say?”

“What do people say about them, now?” The menu hasn’t changed, this restaurant is just as overpriced and basic as it’s been the past two years. You don’t even know why you bothered opening the damn thing. With a sigh, you toss it to the side.

“I heard Jimin looks like an angel when he sleeps. Rumour has it, once you’ve kissed Jin once, you can never go back. Have you seen his lips? God, they’re to die for,” Ahri moans.

You give her a look. “You’re kidding. And you believe that crap? They look like regular people. Albeit yes, handsome, really good looking people.”

“Hi, are you ready to order?” A soft, timid voice interrupts your gossip session.

“Jungkook,” you say, surprised. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Okay, fuck, you have to admit he looks so very delicious with that rumpled look of his, ruffled chestnut hair, the return of those killer black jeans, paired with a fitted black turtleneck. A red apron is tied around his unfairly thin waist.

“Ah,” he says, scratching his neck. Already reddening as he fiddles with the pad in his hand. “Um. I just started today, actually. I needed money … you know, for-for rent and stuff.”

“Oh no,” you say immediately, concern colouring your tone. “Was the rate too high? If it’s unaffordable for you, we can always figure something else out—”

“No, no!” Jungkook says hastily. “It’s not that. I was planning on getting another job anyway, regardless of where I ended up. I’d have to pay rent no matter where I lived.”

“Oh,” you nod. “In that case …”

Jungkook excuses himself as soon as your orders are scrawled down, still seemingly unable to meet your gaze for long.

“He’s just so cute,” Ahri swoons. You choke down the bile that threatens to hurl itself up from the mere sight of her exaggerated love struck expression. “Uh huh.”

“Okay, so what did you do? The tea, the tea,” she demands.

“There is no tea,” you throw your hands up. “I gave them the standard tour, copies of the lease to take home, but they said they wanted it so they signed them on the spot, paid the deposit and everything. It was super quick and they all just left right after. That’s it.”

“Wow, they must’ve been desperate,” she comments. “Though the house is really nice. It’s huge, totally worth the price you paid. I’m glad they came through, though. It would’ve been a death sentence to pay it all off yourself.”

“Yeah, especially since I don’t start my own co-op term till next year,” you grouch.

“Mhm. All that aside, it’s time you started living above that rock of yours,” Ahri says seriously. She pulls out her phone as the food arrives.

You push aside the trickle of disappointment that filters in when the waiter that delivers your respective meals isn’t Jungkook.

“Crash course on your hot new roommates,” she starts, passing the device to you. An unfamiliar YouTube page is opened to a video.

“Jung Hoseok and Park Jimin. Hoseok’s stage name is J-Hope, named after his sunny disposition. He has a YouTube series called Hope on the Street. Jimin runs it with him, and the two do all kinds of dance challenges and covers. They’re also the Co-Presidents of the school’s dance committee. They join the national competitions every year since they took over and have been winning ever since.”

You would think it would be a bit disconcerting seeing the two very diverse dance styles on two very different people on stage, but they don’t fight. They complement each other so brilliantly, it’s hard to tear your eyes away. You can’t decide who to watch, just sitting back to observe the entire frame.

“Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung. They have a vlog series called House of Bangtan. Mostly just random shit with the other guys, but it’s super entertaining and hilarious. Like the kind of content you know is genuine and makes you willing to die just for a chance to be a part of it. That’s how you know the seven of them are really good friends despite the age gaps. They also do challenges and giveaways.”

You’re watching Jin lose a game of charades, and he looks like he’s about to blow a fuse. The camera shakes uncontrollably as Jungkook runs way from his hyung, who’s screaming bloody murder behind him, chasing with the rubber duck he used to cheat with. Sore loser, the youngest mouths to the camera with a grin.

“Jungkook also owns a personal channel called Golden Closet Films. Pretty self-explanatory, but he makes movie clips of stuff like Hoseok and Jimin practising for the showcase and the like. He used to be part of the varsity volleyball team, but had to give it up when he tore his Achilles’ heel. It was pretty devastating for the school, too, since he was one of the best players. Taehyung has an Instagram page full of pictures for his photography collection. They’re super aesthetic. He goes under Vante.”

You scroll through the page, and you can definitely see why he’s so sought for by students and so famous in the department. He has a wicked eye and thinks so vividly outside the box. You also vaguely remember Jungkook’s impromptu early retirement being a huge deal when it happened. You were never really caught up with the school’s news, more academic driven, but you had your share of intramural sports. You imagine ‘devastating’ is a rather underwhelming way of describing that kind of pain.

“Kim Seokjin, or Jin he likes to be called, is a Films major and he’s done a bunch of commercials and modelling gigs. He loves food though, and he has a cooking channel plus an Instagram page. He’s the campus Heartthrob. He’s had that title for over five years. I mean, who can blame him? Do you see the man? He’s fucking cut from the image of perfection!”

Yeah, okay. He does look fucking good. And his cooking looks amazing. You rub your mouth discreetly, making sure you’re not actually physically drooling. You have food right in front of you, for fuck’s sake!

“Min Yoongi, he’s actually the same age as Jin but started late. He used to be an underground rapper by the name of Gloss. Now he works at the studio here with Jiyong and Slow Rabbit. Rumour has it he has a composing deal lined up with BigHit when he graduates. He goes by Suga now. He has a Soundcloud for distributing his self-composed music. I heard he also raps, but no one knows his stage name for that.”

This man is talented. His lyricism is fucking beautiful. Your heart constricts a bit, even though it’s not his voice, it doesn’t soften the hurt. It’s real.

“Kim Namjoon, he was one of our TAs for Business History last semester. He’s really smart. I’m talking grade A book smart. Heard his IQ is somewhere between 140 to 160. He’s crazy intelligent. Okay, but get this – he also composes on the side. He works with Yoongi and they’ve produced some stuff together. Here, listen to this.”

Put two galaxies together, and what do you get? A fucking supercluster and that shit is no joke. Together, they are something else. Someone who sees the world beyond its manmade barriers, someone who criticises, someone who is unflinchingly honest in what lies in the heart. Someone that feels, empathizes. Dreamers.

“So basically, the next year is just going to be me feeling all useless and untalented in a house full of very attractive and single men,” you surmise flatly.

“Yep,” Ahri says cheerfully, stabbing at a lettuce leaf.

“Fucking awesome.”

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.

It’s the incessant knocking that wakes you. The doorbell follows soon after, buzzing loudly as you groan, rolling over.

“Who the f – oh.” You squint, the sunlight merrily blinding you as you open the door.

“___-noona, is now not a good time?” It’s Jimin that speaks, expression worried.

“What time is it?” You murmur, rubbing your temples. Fuck, you definitely drank too much last night. Dara dragged you to some frat party to celebrate your new roommates, who are, ironically enough, now all looking at you with palpable concern.

“It’s twelve,” Namjoon says, eyebrows furrowing. “But we can always come back later if it’s inconvenient for you.”

Oh, shit. Your gaze trails down to the multiple bags and suitcases they’re holding.

“No, no, of course not,” you croak. “Come in. Sorry. I had a long night.” Clearly.

You step to the side, allowing them to file in one by one, before locking the door behind them.

“Cute PJs,” Jin winks as he passes. You look down, horrified. Your pug print pajama pants and flimsy tee are on full display.

You slap your forehead, thoroughly embarrassed. You probably have awful bed head, too.

Running your fingers through the tangled locks, you follow them as they crowd around the living room. Grabbing a box you had the insight to leave on the counter much earlier this week, they tell you what room they’ve picked and you hand them their respective keys.

“Feel free to settle in and do whatever,” you call as you head back to your own room to get ready. “My only rule is that you clean after yourselves. This house is big enough as it is, so cleaning is a hassle. I don’t want to add personal trash into that.”

They make noises of agreement and you shut the door quickly, making your way to the bathroom to take a shower and to scream into a towel for five minutes.

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.

The semester returns with a full swing. You’re nearly knocked over on the first punch, when the syllabus for each class is dropped and you realize you have six assignments due on the same day two weeks from now.

You’ve managed to avoid any further embarrassing interactions with your new roommates, having been bouncing around the city with your soon-to-be-AWOL friends before the term began.

From what you can tell, though, they’re fairly polite and greet you whenever there’s an opportunity. Some try for small talk, like Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok. Jungkook is still skittish and practically flies out the room if you’re in it for too long. Yoongi tends to disappear to his room for long periods of time, but Hoseok had told you it was because he was stacking up on sleep. You guessed his work would soon require much out of him, though how the hibernation storage thing worked was beyond you.

Jin was often out; Namjoon had informed you it was because he had a few other contracts to lock down for modelling and whatnot. Taehyung’s schedule was a bit flaky, since he liked taking impromptu trips around campus and the city whenever inspiration struck.

You said farewells to some of your friends, all boxed and hugged, they promised to call often and FaceTime, to which you knew they would hold their end of the bargain to. You weren’t worried, and wished them well.

Your real point of anxiety was how you were going to survive this year. Word had apparently spread like wildfire that the most eligible bachelors of your university had moved in … together … with you.

You’ve already gotten several rather disturbing messages from unknown numbers. You’re unsurprised but still annoyed. The content gets more disconcerting every time, and at this rate, you’re going to end up having to switch numbers. You’re broke, damn it! Broke. Why can’t people just focus on their own lives for once and chill the fuck out? Your wallet wails.

“Good morning, noona.” His smile is so warm for someone who’s just woken up. How does he look so good doing it, too? He’s got a pair of loose sweats and an oversized shirt on, hair mussed and eyes silted adorably as he yawns. It’s 8:30 in the fucking morning and you already want to run yourself over with a school bus.

“Jimin, hello,” you say distractedly, stuffing your laptop into your bag and snatching your keys from the bowl. “Can’t talk, got class.”

“Wait!” He says, rushing up to meet you. He’s holding a piece of buttered toast in his hand. “Eat something while you go. It’s bad to sit in lecture without a breakfast. You won’t be able to focus.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Thank you.” Your smile softens. Jimin scuffs his bare feet shyly in response. “You’re welcome, noona. Stay safe.”

You never eat breakfast. You either never wake up in time to make anything, or you’re too lazy. This is kind of nice, you admit. Have someone take care of you, or think of you. It’s sweet.

You could get used to this, you decide. But you don’t want to get too comfortable. You’ll only end up missing it when they’re gone.

The toast is oddly delicious.

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.

“There’s a showcase coming up.”

“Yes, and?” You say, phone squished to your cheek as you check the course code of the wrapped textbook you’re holding.

“So you’re going, right?” Ahri demands. You can hear her heels clicking against the concrete as she makes her way to her car.

You stand, huffing as you survey the neat stacks of books you’ve spent the last hour organizing. “You’re joking, right? What reason do I have to be at that showcase? I’ve never gone before and there’s no way I’m going this year,” you answer matter-of-factly as you dust yourself off.

“___, we need you at the front,” your manager calls, poking her head in to flash you an apologetic smile.

You give her a thumbs up before returning to the call. “Look, just because Hoseok and Jimin now share a living accommodation with me and we talk casually does not mean I’m suddenly their best friend. Have fun at work!”

You cut off her protests as you pocket your device decisively.

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Of course.

“___!” He beams. “Hi! I didn’t know you worked here.”

“That’s because I usually work the tech section. What can I do for you today, Hoseok-sunbae?” Speak of the devil, you crack a polite smile.

“Just Hoseok, please. I was wondering if you guys sell the code for a digital copy of behavioural economics?” Why are his eyes practically sparkling? How can he be so cheerful?

“Hoseok, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are you taking a senior economics course as a dance major?” You ask bluntly.

Hoseok splutters, rubbing his neck. “Um. Namjoon said it would be good for me?” He tries.

You look at him strangely, but shrug. It’s not your business anyway. His loss. Though you’re certain he doesn’t care much about his GPA, considering he’s pretty much got a bunch of prestigious studios vying for him already.

“Anything else I can help you with today?” You say as you scan the code.

“Actually … I was wondering if you were coming to the showcase,” Hoseok says, sounding almost shy.

You eye him suspiciously. “Do you want me there to support you or something? I thought this was only the preliminaries or something.”

“I … We’d really like it if you could make it. Jimin and I … we haven’t had much inspiration lately, to be honest,” he admits. His head hangs, like he’s on the verge of defeat. It doesn’t suit him, and you find yourself frowning.

“The last thing we want is to repeat stuff we’ve done before, but I’ve been stumped all summer. Usually I’d be done choreographing everything, but this year … I dunno,” he trails off.

“I understand that, but why would me being there help?” You tap your fingers against the counter. The campus bookstore is fairly empty today, given that you’re closing in half an hour.

“I just … I thought maybe you could be an unbiased third party, that’s all,” Hoseok says awkwardly. “If you don’t, I totally understand! It was just a suggestion, I guess.”

You sigh, pushing the terminal to him as he fumbles for his wallet. “What time is your practice?”

Hoseok’s grin is blinding and you can’t decide if you’re going to greatly regret or thank yourself for this later on.

“Thank you! Friday, at four in AR Studios. You know where the music department is, right? The practise rooms are on the hallway to the left.”

You manage a weak smile. “I’ll be there.”

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It’s a Tuesday, and Taehyung’s fallen asleep on the couch.

You’re exhausted, running yourself a bit thin with the amount of work you’ve been putting in already. You perch on the edge, the soft material sinking slightly under your weight, but the angel doesn’t stir.

And you concede he might as well be one, given how ethereal he appears. He hugs a pillow to his chest, expression serene and limbs lax as he slumbers on. His dark-coloured curls obscure his forehead, pink lips parted lightly as he exhales slowly.

Before you can quench the urge, you reach over and brush his fringe from his eyes.

You’re tired. That’s the only explanation you can offer for what happens next.

Taehyung’s hand shoots up to grab your wrist tightly.

And you find yourself falling as he tugs you on top of him. A quiet oomph escapes you as you bracket his body, arms trembling faintly at the sheer proximity.

His expression, half-lidded and hazy, tells you he’s still flitting in and out of consciousness. Suspended, like he’s replaying his dream in real life.

His smile is lopsided as he cups your cheek, thumbing your cheekbones tenderly. His touch is feverish, so warm it startles you when he guides your palm to his chest, two buttons undone already.

“Heart,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. His voice breaks, tone anguished and defeated. It both shocks and scares you.

“Taehyung,” you say shakily, ignoring the fluttering beat of his heart and the blood rushing in your ears to press your forehead against his. “Taehyung, you’re burning up.”

“I finally found you,” he sighs, and it alarms you to see he’s fading fast, eyes flickering as he sinks into the couch. “Where did you go, heart? You promised …”

“Promised? Promised what? Tae, what are you talking about?” You say frantically, shaking him lightly. His head rolls and he manages a weak chuckle. “You finally called me Tae again …”

Your eyebrows knit. “What …?” Before you manage anything more, Taehyung collapses.

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“He’ll be alright. He’s got a pretty high fever, but it should break by tonight.” Seokjin sounds so self-assured and calm that you find yourself relaxing.

You’ve been fretting, pacing restlessly as you waited for the eldest to return. You contacted him the moment Taehyung knocked out, anxious and unsure of what to do next. The room filled with his laboured breathing, and you tried to alleviate some of the heat by resting a cool towel on his forehead.

The house was typically empty for the day, everyone off to their respective classes and work. The boys usually congregated at night, for dinner and the movies or games that followed. They’ve invited you several times, but you declined each time. You’ve been … busy.

You hesitated on doing more, considering how little you truly knew of Taehyung. You weren’t sure he’d appreciate you accidentally poisoning him with the wrong dose of medication. That, and invading his personal space.

Seokjin opted to buy some medication on his way back instead, and the photography major seems to sleep a bit easier now.

The eldest gives the patient one last once-over before rising to his feet.

“I might as well make dinner, then. Want to come along?” He asks lightly. You follow him to kitchen, shaking your head guiltily. “I’m sorry for making you come back so early. I just didn’t know what else to do. Everyone else was so busy, and—”

“—And I’m the only real adult, I know,” Seokjin says, chuckling. “I’m glad you called. I was about done with my shoot anyway.”

You linger at the island counter awkwardly as you watch him tie an apron to his waist and comb through the fridge for ingredients.

“Sunbae …,” you falter, but he beckons you forward with an encouraging smile. You’re relieved to see he doesn’t seem upset the slightest, though you honestly can’t say you know him enough to determine whether it was sincere or merely a practised mask.

“Jin, please. I’m not that much older, truth be told,” he tells you as you wash the rice.

“Then, Jin … Is Taehyung … with someone right now?” You keep your gaze trained to your task, draining the murky water so carefully you miss the way Seokjin tenses.

“Why? Do you have your sights set on our baby?” Seokjin says lightly, but his voice hints of strain, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

You snort unintentionally, coughing quickly to cover it up. “Hardly. I was just wondering.”

“Did he do something weird? Taehyung can act pretty strange when he’s out of it like that. He’ll say or do pretty weird things when he’s drunk or has a really high fever,” Seokjin explains as he pours the vegetables he’s cut into the pot on the stove.

“Oh,” you say as you plug the machine in. “I see.” The rice maker beeps, and you excuse yourself politely.

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Thursday is a disaster. You’d hoped he’d keep his distance, given you’d been quite clear the last time you spoke. But of course - 

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been dodging me since we moved in. Why?”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me. You’re the only person that’s been lying since we met. You made your point very clear that day, and you moving in? It doesn’t change a damn thing. Now tell me what you want or get out. I’m done with your shit.”

“You can’t mean that. You know I didn’t have a choice!”

“You did have a choice. Me, or that damn reputation of yours. You told me to go to hell. What more do you want?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what? That it would mean I would lose everything? I didn’t mean shit to you. I don’t know why I ever thought I could trust you.”

“If I had known, I would’ve—”

“Would have what? Tried harder? Bull. Shit. You don’t care about anything but yourself and your career. You can tell yourself different, but you and I both know if I hadn’t trusted you, I wouldn’t be in this position. You did this to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your weakass excuse for an apology. I said I was done with you and I am. This is the last time I’m going to sit here and listen to you pretend you’re the victim. For the sake of peace, I will play niceties with you in front of your friends, but make no mistake: You can’t turn back time. You cannot change what happened, you cannot fix it, you cannot make it better. So go away. Don’t talk to me. Don’t seek me out. We’re not friends. We’ll never be anything ever again. I hope, in time, I can forget you ever existed at all.”

“I’m going to make this right, I swear. I love you more than anything, and I’ll spend the rest of my life if I have to proving it to you.”

“Please just go.”

You stare out the window, the city lights blinding in the night skyline. The glass reflects the emptiness in your eyes, and there’s only deafening silence that’s shattered in the next beat by the slamming of your door.

Hugging your arms to your chest, you refuse to acknowledge the sharp sting in your eye.

You wish you’d never met him.

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.

“Just … be careful,” Yoongi says quietly. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him outside of their initial tour. “Housing wasn’t the only reason some of us are here.”

You stifle a sigh. All you wanted was some water, not another 2 am detox on everything wrong in your life.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask carefully. His hand pauses on the doorknob.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” is all he says.

You’re left to ponder his warning as he disappears into his room. Your phone lights up in your hand.

[01:25] Unknown: I need to see you. Can we talk?

[curiosity-killed]

evidence of a lost past part 3

(chronologically before part 1 or part 2)

“Xie-gege?” Lang Ying calls from behind the cold storage. “You’ve got some friends here for you.” Frowning, Xie Lian straightens up from where he’d been crouched to organize the oatmeal shelf and dusts his hands off on his jeans. He doesn’t really have friends, to say nothing of people who would surprise him at work. He steps around the shelving unit at the same time that Lang Ying brings the visitors through the crowded entry hall. Spotting them, Xie Lian freezes. Skepticism is painted in broad strokes across Lang Ying’s face as he looks up at the men beside him before turning toward Xie Lian. “So,” he starts, eyeing the two sidelong again. “Nan Feng,” Feng Xin blurts out, as if answering a question, “and Fu Yao.”

Lang Ying’s eyes narrow a moment, but he just gives a slow nod. “I’ll be in the pantry if you need anything, Xie-gege,” he says. Xie Lian smiles reflexively, a silly sense of gratitude easing through him at Lang Ying’s quiet protectiveness. Aside from the cold storage, the pantry is the closest room to this back storage. “Thanks, a-Ying,” he says, waving him on. When he’s left, Xie Lian takes a bracing breath and turns to his old friends. He doesn’t know if there’s a polite way to tell them that no one in this community center would recognize the names of ballet stars, no matter how prominent. If anything, their fake names and…disguises make them far more suspicious: Mu Qing is wearing a suit, clearly tailored and accented with silver metallic embellishments, while Feng Xin wears a windsuit set that would better belong to a 90s boy band. “Ah,” Xie Lian says, struggling to think of anything to say, and rubs his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb. “Hi.” “You work in this place?” Mu Qing demands. His arms are crossed, bunching up his jacket, and the tail of his long ponytail catches on his shoulder. The last few inches are a surprising platinum blond, and Xie Lian vaguely recalls hearing something about a commercial deal last year or so. “Why do you have to say it like that?” Feng Xin demands. “So what if he works here? What do you have against a—a…” “Community center,” Xie Lian offers when it’s clear he doesn’t know what to call it. “And I do. Puqi’s been my home for the past year or so.” Feng Xin’s face does something complicated at that which Xie Lian can no longer wholly read. He thinks part of it at least is embarrassment, which is alright. It must be strange for them, to see him here in jeans stained with gravel dust around the knees and a t-shirt with a tubby cartoon tiger declaring ‘STRIPES ARE BEAUTIFUL.’ “Here, would you rather sit? There are some chairs in the lounge we could pull in,” he says. The lounge isn’t really a lounge so much as the storage room for donated furniture. Still, sometimes he and Lang Ying will take a breather back there and split a sweet bun from the bakery down the block, and it feels like a secret spot just for the staff. “No,” Mu Qing says immediately. His lip has pulled back a little, as if disgusted by the prospect. “We aren’t staying.” Oh. Xie Lian can’t quite help the disappointment that sinks through his chest at that. It’s not like he expected them to stay or try to be friends again, not after how he left things, but—well, with them coming here, he’d almost thought— “Oh, that’s alright,” he says with a bright smile. “Is there something I can help you with?” The two of them share a look that Xie Lian really can’t read at all. Back when he left, Feng Xin had only been speaking to Mu Qing to tell him to fuck off, and they certainly hadn’t been sharing any meaningful looks unless they were glares. It’s…it’s good, that they’ve found a friend in each other. He wishes they’d gotten along better when they were young, but it’s nice that they can be friends now. “Jun Wu said you were here,” Feng Xin says, grudging, dropping his gaze. “And we just—well, it’s been a long time. Figured we should check on you.” That phrase again. Eight years feels like a millennium, long enough that his past life feels more dreamlike than real most days. Long enough he certainly wouldn’t expect them to check in on him. He smiles. “Ah, that’s very kind of you,” he says, “but there’s no need to worry. I’m quite well, and you two must be so busy. Rehearsals for Nutcracker must have started by now, haven’t they?” He remembers when they were all young and dragging through endless rehearsals, when Feng Xin would grumble about having Tchaikovsky’s score stuck on his head all hours of the day and Mu Qing would scowl at him from across the costumes he helped sew as an after school job. “Yeah,” Feng Xin says. “They have. We get Sundays off for now.” Xie Lian nods, maintaining his polite smile. He’s really not sure what they want from him or why they’ve stopped by. This stilted half-conversation can’t actually be it. “You really live like this?” Mu Qing demands. “Puttering around this concrete floor, looking like…that.” Blinking once, Xie Lian folds his hands together and firms his spine. He’s gotten used to the trajectory of his life by now, and it doesn’t bother him even if no one else understands it. He knows why he’s here, knows he made the right choice for himself. Before he can answer, the bell over the front door chimes, and bootheels clip across the concrete floor. There’s a polite rap at the doorframe leading into the storage area where only employees are allowed. “Gege?” Xie Lian flushes at the way Mu Qing and Feng Xin stiffen and whip around toward the door and silently exhales a breath of relief at Hua Cheng’s timing. Probably his arrival won’t make it less awkward, but he’d rather have Hua Cheng here than handle this alone, even if that makes him a coward. “Ah San Lang, come in,” he calls. “There are just a couple visitors.” “San Lang?” Feng Xin echoes, twisting to gawk at the door. It’s obvious the moment he spots Hua Cheng, because his entire back goes tight and still, and Mu Qing bristles like a cat, fingers digging into his jacket sleeves. Hua Cheng passes around the far wall of shelves and doesn’t pause even as he gives the two of them a quick, unimpressed once-over. “Hey gege,” he greets, brushing past them to smile at Xie Lian. Xie Lian can’t help returning the look, delight bubbling up in him at the easy happiness Hua Cheng wears in his expression. “Hi San Lang,” he replies. “These two are—um. Nan Feng and Fu Yao. Old…school friends of mine.” Hua Cheng doesn’t bother looking at them before turning to Xie Lian with an eyebrow arched as if to ask ‘are you serious?’ Xie Lian is helpless to respond except for a casual shrug. If Feng Xin and Mu Qing insist on using false names, he’ll respect their wishes no matter how nonsensical it seems. “You—!” Feng Xin hisses, hands balled up into fists at his sides. “Me,” Hua Cheng agrees flatly. “Gege, are these new volunteers? I bet that one could sweep out the storage rooms while I take you to get lunch.” At the obvious look Hua Cheng sends him, Mu Qing’s lips pull back in blatant disgust and indignation. Biting his lip, Xie Lian holds in laughter. It isn’t nice to tease like that, but—well, it is kind of nice to have someone willing to do it for him. “Ah there’s no need,” he says quickly. “They were just stopping by to say hi.” He thinks. He’s still not really sure what’s going on here. “Oh?” Hua Cheng says. “So you’re leaving, then.” He says it straight to Feng Xin and Mu Qing, and despite their spluttering, Xie Lian has to hold in a startled laugh. He tugs gently at Hua Cheng’s elbow. “San Lang,” he scolds without any heat. The grin Hua Cheng tosses him is carefree and boyish, and it makes something funny and bright burst in Xie Lian’s chest. Maybe it’s alright to tease a little, if it earns him such cute looks. “Fine,” Mu Qing says. “Whatever. I have work to do.” He pivots on his heel and starts stalking toward the door without waiting to see if Feng Xin is following. Left behind, Feng Xin hesitates a moment, lips parted as if to speak. Finally, he swallows and purses his lips. “Just—be careful, okay?” he says like an order instead of a request. “If you need anything—I mean. I still have the same phone number.” A softer smile slips across Xie Lian’s lips at that, and he gives a little nod. “Me, too,” he admits. “Be safe getting home.” Feng Xin grunts and waffles a moment longer before hurrying after Mu Qing, his windsuit pants rustling away. Xie Lian can hear him all the way to the door. When the bell chimes, he sighs and turns back to see Hua Cheng leaning against the corner of the wall with his eye narrowed in amusement. “You get such interesting visitors, gege,” he says cheerfully. “San Lang ah,” Xie Lian complains, helpless. It’s impossible to feel at all cross when the whole situation was so absurd and Hua Cheng seems so childishly pleased. His grin broadens and turns brighter, more honest, as Xie Lian finally lets himself laugh at it all. “Ah, enough,” Xie Lian says, covering his eyes briefly. Shaking his head, he drops his hand. “Have you eaten? I brought some leftovers we could share, if you want.” “Gege’s cooking?” Hua Cheng asks, offering out his arm like a gentleman. “It must be my lucky day.” Xie Lian laughs at that, bright and easy, and lets himself be led.

[star-whores-a-new-hoe]

Coruscant Sunsets//Obi Wan X Reader Forever Series: Part 7

Summary: Obi Wan returns to you after a mission and you teach him how to dance.

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: Mostly fluff, Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Slight dom/sub, tiny bit of angst, unprotected sex, some cursing and typos!

A/N: sorry the wait for this was so long! Quick note though, there is smut in this chapter! I know that some of there readers of this series are not comfortable with smut so I have marked off where it begins. And there is no need to worry about missing anything related to the plot by not reading the smut stuff. Enjoy!

The sunset on Coruscant was bursting with gold and pink sunbeams, Illuminating the sky and bathing it with rose colored light. Even with the city traffic partially obscuring the sky scape, it was breathtaking. You leaned on the railing of the balcony, hand on your chin as you lazily watched the way the colors of the sky blended together, creating a living painting. Melodious Music wafted up from your phone, which lay forgotten by your feet, pulling you further into your spellbound trance.You closed your eyes, letting the warm evening breeze brush your face, as if it were affectionately stroking your cheek. 

As you gazed out at the city before you, you began to reminisce about what had taken place in this same spot not all that long ago. You remembered the tense apprehension that had tightened in your shoulders as you professed your feelings to obi wan, the wave of relief that released your unconscious tension when he admitted he felt the same, and the sensation of his lips on yours, making you feel complete. 

Every moment you had spent with Obi since had been one of pure joy. Sadly, that time had been cut short earlier that week as he had been sent on a mission. The council had agreed that you were well enough equipped to handle yourself while he was gone, though. You had watched him walk onto the ship with Anakin clad in his clone armor, ready to give everything he had for an unthankful galaxy.

Enraptured with the melodies flowing from your phone, you didn’t register the distinct mechanical shwoosh of the apartment door. Obi leaned against the doorway to the balcony, excitedly waiting for you to notice him. His long cloak, which you so adored, flowed in the evening breeze. You felt his smile on you before you even fully registered his presence. Sensing someone, you faced him, a smile tugging at your lips that made him draw a breath, shaky with desire after having been away for so long. 

“Obi!” You shouted, unable to contain the glee in your voice.  He opened his arms to you and let you run into his waiting embrace. His lips softly brushed the top of your head with a tenderness that only he could possess.

“Hello darling.” 

You wrapped his long cloak around you which made him chuckle. “Tell me, did you really miss me or was it only the cloak?” 

You pretended to think his question over for a moment. “Both.”  Chuckling, he pulled your lips up to his for a tender kiss. “I DID miss you Obi, did everything go well on your mission?” 

He rested his chin on top of your head and sighed. “As well as these missions can go, my dear.” 

“I’m sure you’re tired.” You said, reluctantly stepping out of his arms. “You probably want to go get some rest.” 

He took your hand in his. “On the contrary, I would much rather stay here with you.” His words never failed to send your heart a flutter. “And what were you up when I so rudely interrupted you?” 

“Just watching the sunset, jamming out to some tunes.” You vaguely gestured to your phone, a gentle melody still spilled out of it onto the balcony. 

“Might I join you?” 

“I thought you didn't like Earth music?” You questioned as you made your way back over to the balcony. “Lots of loud noise and vulgar words.” You mocked, mimicking his Coruscanti accent.

“I enjoy some Earth music,” He said, following you to the balcony’s edge. “There are just so many genres, it’s quite overwhelming.” 

You picked up your phone and began to scroll through your playlists. “Well, what kind of music do you like?” 

“Jizz, I suppose.” He said without missing a beat.

You looked up at him with confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Jizz, it’s a style of music.”

You paused for a moment. “Um… Ok, just gonna ignore that.” 

“What did...oh.” Realization hit him like a blaster bullet, he flushed and coughed, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

“That style is really jazzy right? I think you might like Glen miller then.”

“And who is this Glen Miller?” He asked as you placed your phone back down on the ground, pressing play on ‘In the Mood.’ You swayed absentmindedly to the beat as you answered Obi Wan.

“He had a band and, well, this was their music. It’s kind of old though, Must’ve come out at least sixty years ago.”

“And you think I’ll like it because it's, how did you put it, jazzy?”

You giggled at his comment. “Yeah. I think you’ll enjoy the way the instruments work together to create the song. Plus it came out at a time of great turmoil, much like now. It made people really happy.”

“How so?”

“Well, people would go out dancing to this kind of music.” He walked a little closer to you, his arm brushed against yours. 

“I don’t know if i’ve ever really danced.” 

You gasped at him in false surprise. “General Kenobi! You mean to tell me you don’t know how to dance?”

He chuckled at how seriously you took this. “I’ve never had any need as a jedi.”

You stretched out your hand for his, ready to show him what he had been missing. “Even jedi should know how to dance.”

You took his hand in yours, and placed his other on your waist before caressing his broad shoulder with your free hand. You contemplated his strength and authority which he so easily carried in battle, and your face flushed at how you were the one leading him through the dance. 

“Ok so it’s really simple, just listen to the music, and sway. Do whatever feels right”

“Like this?” He said, gently shifting his weight from side to side, bringing you with him.

“Just like that! And you can always hold me a little closer.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” You grinned as he brought you closer to him.

“Oh! Can you spin me?”

“How do I go about that?” You moved so you held his hand high above your head before twirling.

“You want to try?” You repeated the same actions with him, which was a tad bit more difficult. “And normally couples talk while they dance.” 

“Oh are we a couple?”

You felt your face heat up at getting caught. “Is that alright?”

He smiled down at you, “That's wonderful.” 

As the song changed, so did the mood, switching to the mellow Moonlight serenade as the sun sunk lower in the sky, darkness beginning to crawl its way across the city.

“I wanna ask you something that's gonna ruin the moment.” You said after a beat of silence. 

“Go ahead.”

You bit your lip, pondering if you should have kept your thoughts to yourself. “How are things going with locating the planet for the ritual?”

He nodded solemnly, like he knew this question was coming. “Slowly, I presume.” He paused for a minute and looked out over the horizon, deep in thought. “Y/n, I understand your desire to go through with this and I wish to support you… but it’s so dangerous, I don't want you hurt, or worse.”

“I understand Obi, But I have to. I can’t just leave my home behind. I have to at least try.”

 He placed a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“Ok darling,” You laid your head on his chest as he swayed you side to side in his strong arms.

“Obi?” He hummed in response. “I think I might love you.”

“I love you too.” He lent down to seal his statement with a passionate kiss.

Warning! Smut begins! Turn around if you wish to preserve your innocence!

You placed your hands on his toned torso, anything to keep yourself steady as his intoxicating lips worked against. Obi’s movements began to grow lustful, pulling you closer to him while his lips extracted all sorts of small whimpers from you. 

You pulled back from him, slightly breathless, and stared deep into his eyes, searching for an answer to the question you were about to voice. You found it in the dark lust that laid in them. 

“You know, there’s um something that I’ve wanted to try for a while, or at least talk to you about trying.” You couldn’t believe how flustered you felt trying to approach this subject with him. 

“Yes?” He asked. Looking down at you with a raised eyebrow, a look that never failed to make your heart do backflips. 

“Well um, I know that certain...activities are frowned upon by the council and I understand you are already risking a lot with an emotional attachment to and, well I guess I just want to know how far you wanted to go.” You stared down at your shoes. “Physically.” 

He smirked at your shy manner. “ I see.” 

“If that’s something you don’t want to do I completely understand, I just want to be here for you and support you, I don’t want to put any pressure on you.” You added entirely too quickly. 

“Oh Darling, I am all for taking the next step.” He held your waist a tad bit tighter in his large warm hands and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Physically.” You felt an explosion of butterflies burst through your body at his words. 

“Why don’t we take this back into the apartment?” You suggested. You scooped up your phone and turned off the music before practically running back into the apartment with Obi wan close behind, the two of you opting to leave the peace and serenity of the outside for the comfort of each other. 

As soon as Obi Wan closed the door behind him, your hands were on his body. Exploring the planes of his chest over his thick Jedi robes, while he cupped your face in his hands and brought you in for another heated kiss. 

You snaked your hands under his cloak and pushed it off his shoulders, watching it pool to the ground by his feet. Obi wan’s fingers began to slip under the hem of your shirt. He let them gently run over the smooth skin of your waist, the simple action doing much to excite you.

The two of you worked your way into the bedroom, which proved very difficult being as neither of you were too keen on taking your hands off the other. You toed off your shoes and plopped yourself down on the bed, watching closely as Obi took off his boots, leaving them neatly by the doorway. You rolled your eyes at his cleanliness.

He walked towards where you sat on the bed, staring you down with a lustful yet loving gaze. He lent over you and grabbed the bottom of your shirt.

“May I take this off?” You nodded, words failing you under his intense stare. You lifted your arms up and let him rid you of the shirt. You felt slightly shy now that the clothes were beginning to come off. Now that you were being truly revealed to him for the first time. 

The gentle brush of Obi Wan's hand against your cheek brought you back to reality.

“Are you quite alright darling?” 

“Yep, I just um don’t do this kind of thing often.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“If you wish to stop..”

“No!” You interrupted him, the words wouldn't come out of your mouth quick enough. “No I want to keep going I just..” The struggle to think of the right words frustrated you. “I want to make sure that I’m making you feel good.” 

He smiled at your sweetness. “It’s very simple my dear, just do whatever feels right.” 

You smirked at him. “Repeating my own advice back to me?”

“Well, it was very good advice.” He placed a hand over his beard, obviously thinking something over. “Why don’t you lie back.”You did as he suggested, scooting up the bed to lay on the many soft pillows which enveloped you with a sense of comfort. Your eyes took in the way Obi Wan removed his Jedi robes and belt, slowly, as if he were thinking over all the things he could do to you without the hindrance of clothing. “now I want you to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable with this.” You nodded your head. “Touch yourself for me.”

It took a moment for his words to take full affect. “Like, touch myself?” He smiled and gently caressed your leg from where he stood by the edge of the bed.

“Yes, touch yourself. I need to make sure I know how you like it.”

Impossible turned on by this idea, You ran your hands over your bra and down your stomach, letting some of your confidence seep back into you. “That's a good point, will you help me out and do the same?” He shot you a devilish smirk.

“I do suppose it is only fair.” You watched him absentmindedly run his hands down his sides as you began to toy with the waistband of your pants. Spreading your legs, you ran your hands slowly over your thighs, not yet letting them touch where you and Obi Wan wanted them the most.

There was pure heat radiating from his gaze and settling onto your skin, setting your body ablaze with desire. Back arching off the bed, you reach back and undid the clasp of your bra before letting the straps slide off, Holding it tightly against your chest.

“Tell me General Kenobi, do you want to see my tits?” 

“More than anything.” He groaned. With a grin, you let the shred of fabric covering your chest drop down, traveling your gorgeous breast, nipples stiff from equal parts arousal and the cool air. You trailed your fingertips down the soft skin of your neck before dragging  them down to grope and your chest. 

Obi whimpered at the sight of you, bringing his hand down to palm at his fast growing erection. The room grew hot with the tension between the two of you as you trailed your hands down your breasts to your hips, undoing your pants and tossing them to the side. With a slightly tentative hand, you smoothed your hands over the growing wet spot on your underwear.

“Is that all for me darling? I haven't even touched you yet.” You whined as your fingers grazed your clothed clit.

“I wish you would.” 

“I will soon my dear.” He undid his belt and worked on removing his pants. “Tell me how good it feels.” 

“Really good.” You breathed out. The ache from between your legs spread over your body, engulfing it with a lust filled fire.

“Why don’t you take those off.” The way he was so soft yet dominating at the same time drove you insane. Without a second thought, your last remaining shred of clothing was thrown to the floor, giving Obi Wan a full view of you glistening pussy. Obi Wan did his best to memorize this moment, the way you were sprawled out on the bed for him, naked and desperate. It was the most amazing sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Maker, you’re gorgeous.” Your already burning body grew hotter at his words.

“M-may I…”

“What is it darling?” He chuckled. “Please don’t get shy on me now, I’ve seen you insult Jedi council members to their faces and take out bounty hunters and a single shot. You can certainly use your words.”

“May I finger myself?”

“Oh my.” He reaches his hand down his boxers to help relieve his achingly hard cock. “Go ahead darling.” You drew your fingers through your soaking pussy lips before letting them dip into your entrance. Obi wan watched attentively, taking mental notes about how fast you went and how much pressure you used. It amazed him how much smaller your fingers were than his, thrusting in and out of yourself. He couldn't wait for them to be his fingers. 

“Oh god.” You moaned at the stretch caused by your two digits. Obi pulled out his dick and began to slowly stroke his thick length as he watched you. 

“Oh, I want your cock so bad Obi.” The Jedi’s seemingly unending patience was beginning to wear thin. Obi Wan got on the bed and placed himself over top of you, he quickly replaced your fingers with his and kissed you with the utmost desire.

He pulled back from your kiss. “You’ve been a good girl, young one.” the combination of His fingers furiously pumping into you and his lips against yours made you head foggy. His two fingers were so deep inside you, hitting that magical spot over and over again.

“O-obi, I’m so close.” He used his other hand to rub harsh circles on your clit.

“Go ahead darling, let go.” Your orgasam was earth shattering, not just because of the overwhelming pleasure sending shockwaves through your body, but from finally getting to experience it with Obi Wan. Months of want and holding back, of denying feelings and stolen glances, of longing to be with him, finally gave way to this and you couldn’t be happier.

As you came down from your high, your lover gently stroked your hair, slowly bringing you back to reality, back to him.

“Wow.” You said. 

He smiled down at you “Wow indeed.” You let your gaze rake down his body to his hard cock. 

“Need some help with that?” 

“I would love some.” Your hand reached down between the two of you and wrapped around him, using your thumb to spread the precum over the sensitive tip. He hissed at the feeling. You wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing his body even closer to yours. With his cock positioned at your entrance you looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to make you feel whole. 

“Please?” At your words, he sunk his thick length into you, agonizingly slow. The two of you gasped in unison at the feeling. “Oh my god.” You sobbed when he bottomed out. “You’re so fucking big.” Obi gave you a moment to adjust to his size, you took the opportunity to run your hands over the bare skin of his back, gently tracing the scars that your fingers encountered while you peppered small kisses on his shoulder. “You can move.” At your command he dragged his cock out of you before slamming back in. 

You wrapped your fingers in his hair, occasionally tugging at it when his thrusts hit really deep. You felt completely overwhelmed by him. His presence was all around you, enveloping you, taking you and bringing you to the utmost heights of pleasure with every single thrust. Obi Wan’s hips rolled into yours, his hands explored every inch of your body and his thick length inside of you had completely reduced you to a whimpering mess.

“Fuck yes, you feel so good inside me.” You bit your lip, doing your best to restrain your moans. He left a series of sloppy kisses down your neck leading to your breast. He looked directly into your eyes as he took one of your nipples into his hot mouth. You bit your lip at the sight of him, attempting to hold back your moans.

“Let it out for me darling.” He punctured that with a particularly hard thrust that had a groan falling from your lips and your back arching off the bed, pushing you closer to his chest. “Let me hear you.” Obi’s hand slipped down between your bodies and toyed with your sensitive clit. With that action you could feel you body began to hurtle towards the edge, your pussy tightening around him.

“Uh, maker, I’m close darling.” He grunted out, hips rhythmically slamming into you as he brought his face close to yours.

“Me too.”

“Let go Y/n, come around my cock.” His filthy words sent you spiraling into your second orgasm of the night, the pleasure roaring through your body like a tidal wave. Your climax triggered Obi Wan’s, he quickly pulled out and stroked himself to completion, releasing onto the soft skin of your stomach with a cry of your name. 

The two of you laid there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, attempting to control your breathing as the buzz of your orgasms left, leaving a tingiling of satisfaction in their wake. You reached up to cup his face in your hands and pulled him down to you for a sweet kiss.

“I love you Obi Wan, I hope you know that.” your words made his heart soar.

“I love you too Y/n.” Reluctantly, he moved off of you. “I suppose I should clean up the, erm, mess I made.” You giggled.

“You can make a mess out of me any time you like, General.” You watched him grab a towel and make his way back to you.

“Keep talking like that and doubt you’ll be getting much sleep tonight.” He said as he cleaned you up.

“Speaking of which, do you have any Jedi business or…” 

“I can stay here with you for the rest of the night my love.” situated the two of you under the covers and pulled you into his chest, letting you rest your head right above his heart. You glanced out of the large window that overlooked the city, once again you admired the blending colors of the now almost dark sky. You were lulled to sleep by the besting of your lovers heart, and the courscant sunset.

Tags:  @fangirl-on-bitches​ @whovianayesha​ @scarlettsoldier​

[lailannajacobs]

What in the Seven Hells is a Junabee? | GIBP III

Pairing: Fey!Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Loki take a trip to the seamstress. 

Warnings: fluff! 

Word Count: 5.3k 

A/N: OKay so I love this chapter for a whole bunch of reasons I won’t get into, but I also know it’s a set up for all the fake dating (and other events) you’ll get in the next chapter (and the rest of the fic) so don’t worry, my fav trope ever is coming!! I hope you enjoy, and as always, it makes my day to hear what your thoughts! <3 

The seamstress was in a beautiful house, which overlooked the river down below. It reminded you of the type of houses in the book of fairy tales you and Nat used to have; tall and spindly, and reminiscent of a pine tree. It was the same luscious green as the surrounding flora and had over a dozen tiny stained-glass windows that glowed like emeralds in the sun. You’d never seen anything like and it, and you couldn’t help but stare a little too long.

Loki knocked on the door and took a step back, hands clasped behind him as you waited. The black, double doors were much bigger than the one at the restaurant, and you were pretty sure that meant a Dwarf wouldn’t be greeting you this time. You couldn’t help but feel a little curious, a lot of dread and somewhat excited to see who would greet you.

A strong, broad shouldered Fey woman opened the door, a cat-like grin spreading across her face as she took in the king. Her chestnut hair was braided back and out of her face, but the rest was loose around her shoulders in tight curls. She was dressed in black from head to toe, pants tucked into knee high boots, paired with an intricate top that looked more like armour. Had you passed this woman on the street you would have assumed she was a warrior and not a seamstress. Even standing before her now, you weren’t sure you were at the right place.

Loki took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it, an equally wicked smirk on his lips.

“Valkyrie, I’m so glad you could make room for us on such short notice,” he practically purred, “we appreciate it.”

“You were just lucky someone canceled at the last minute,” she said with a wink, “I don’t make exceptions for anyone, least of all you, Loki.”

He let a breathy little laugh, the two of them obviously good friends, if not something more. If there was, it wasn’t like you didn’t get it. She was beautiful. Honestly, they both were.

Her gaze slid toward me and her grin morphed into something a little less playful and much softer, “and you must be the mysterious future queen I’ve heard about,” she dipped her head, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you said through a tight smile.

This was the first time someone other than Loki had mentioned the actual consequences to this deal and you weren’t sure you liked it. Queen… You weren’t meant to be queen. Ever. How in Cerdwen’s were you supposed to be queen? You shoved the thought to the back of your mind. There was no point thinking about it and freaking yourself out more. You just needed to keep pretending like you could actually do this.

Anyways, she was a seamstress, not a council member whose opinion could change everything. You had to assume that Loki must have brought you into the city to practice your act around people who’s opinions didn’t affect your fates, but even if he hadn’t, you were glad for the excuse to learn how to play the role.

“I’ve heard so many great things about your talent, Miss Valkryie,” you lied, settling into the part as best you could, “I can’t imagine having gone to anyone else. It’s just so nice to have finally met you.”

“You’re too kind,” she waved away the compliment, but her eyes narrowed slightly. You held your breath, afraid she could see right through you until she motioned for you to follow her in, “but I do have some pieces I’m sure you’ll like.”

The walls on one side of the hallway were painted navy while the other side was painted a dark green, all trimmed with gold mouldings and decorated with paintings of men and women in extravagant clothes. There were rooms branching off to either sides. The layout of the house was far bigger than you’d assumed from the outside. You couldn’t help but wonder who this woman was exactly. The riches of this home were beyond ordinary…weren’t they? You clenched your jaw in an attempt to hide your anger. If these people had homes like these then they had the means to help any one of the other realms who were still rebuilding. Yet they hid on their island like the rest of us didn’t matter. Odin was a monster, stroking the embers of hatred that sizzled in his realm, mounting them to a burning fire that destroy the seven others. But these people — the Fey — they could do something about it. Instead, they just sat in their riches and their magic, doing nothing. You were thankful neither of them could see your face.

You entered a room that might not have seemed small if it hadn’t been stacked with books from floor to wall on every side except for the one you’d entered through. There was large wooden desk in the corner, cluttered with papers and scraps of fabrics and in the centre, a pedestal with two small poof seats in the opposite corner.

“Remind me again what you’re looking for, Loki,” she motioned for the two of you to take a seat.

You stayed standing keeping an eye on her and door. Loki shrugged and gracefully eased onto the cushion, legs sprawled out in front of his as if he was in his own home. You glanced between the two of them, trying to figure out what exactly their relationship was, but both of their faces were impossible to read. The only thing you knew for sure was that these two had known each other for hundreds of years.

“Other than a few formal gowns, I would suggest you ask Ms. YLN,” his gaze slid over to you, eyes lit up with mischief, “the choice is hers.”

You barely restrained from scoffing. Like you had any choices in the deal.

Valkyrie turned to face you, surprising you with a genuine looking smile on her face, “Come then. I think I’ve got ideas you might like. Do you want your future king to join us?”

Valkyrie probably had no idea that she’d just asked the best question possible. Or maybe, judging by the sly grin on her face, she had. You didn’t know if that immediately made you want to trust her or the exact opposite.

“Actually, I was hoping it could be a surprise,” you chirped, “he really doesn’t need to stay.”

Loki let his head loll back, looking at you through hooded eyes with a slight, knowing grin on his lips, “of course. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

He stood with efficiency and speed unmatched by most of the other races. When his back was to Valkyrie, he shot you a pointed look. You narrowed your eyes but quickly made sure to smooth out your features before Valkyrie could get wind of what was going on.

When he was out of sight and the door had closed behind him, you felt a shimmer of magic and wondered if Valkyrie felt it too. If she did, she didn’t say anything. You had a feeling that whatever it was, it was a precaution to make sure you wouldn’t sneak off again.

“I see you like to dress to move around,” was the first thing she said.

You couldn’t help but look down at the plain black pants and dirt brown sweater as if you’d forgotten you’d been wearing borrowed clothes all morning.

“I need to be able to move,” you answered gruffly.

She nodded, “I get it. This world hasn’t been easy, especially to humans.”

“And what would you know about the world being unkind?” you snapped, the riches of her home mocking you.

“This realm was at war like every other hundreds of years ago,” her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but there was nothing soft in her voice, “just because we haven’t had it the hardest doesn’t mean we don’t know hardship.”

Something about the haunted look on her face made you feel stupid about your outburst and you cursed yourself again for not being able to keep your emotions in check. Valkyrie barely looked older than you did, but she spoke like she’d lived through the war — seven hells, judging by the way she wore her clothes like armour,  she might have even fought in it. You wanted to ask her about it, but doubted you could get through even an inkling of the conversation with your emotions in check. You weren’t about to expose yourself by asking questions to which you already knew the outcome. Still, it didn’t mean she deserved your judgement.

“I’m sorry,” you maintained eye contact as you spoke, hoping she knew that you meant the words, “you’re right.”

She ignored the apology with a wave of her hand, and you sighed, glad she didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.

“I see why he likes you. That fight in you…it’ll remind him of his,” she continued, almost to herself, “he’s been going through the motions for far too long now.”

You paused, wondering why she was so open, sharing about her king like that until you remembered, that as his future queen, this wouldn’t be inappropriate, especially that she was complimenting you. Still, it was hard to ignore the fact that she thought Loki was only going through the motions. They Fey you’d met looked nothing like that.

“I’m flattered you think so,” you said with a smile, hoping you could rely on pleasantries to get by, “you’ve certainly known him longer than I have.”

“We’ve been,” she paused with a huff and a little shake of her head, “it feels like we’ve known each other for an eternity. I’m glad he’s finally found someone who makes him happy.”

“Well, he makes me happy,” you almost gagged on the words, but the way her smile grew made you think that you’d said the right thing.

Valkyrie lifted her hand and a book high on the shelf flew off and into her hand. You pretended to inspect your nails, trying not to show how much her little display of magic amazed you. It seemed so simple and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was something you’d be able to do if someone took the time to show you.

“I was thinking we’d start with something like this for formalwear,” she pointed to a gown that looked equally gorgeous and terrifying, “and then we move on depending on what you like or don’t like. Yeah?”

You shot her what you hoped was an enthusiastic smile, the moment bittersweet. Nat would have loved sitting here with you, thoughtfully pouring over all the designs and teasing you into trying something outside of your comfort zone. But she wasn’t here. Your hand fluttered to place on your chest where the pendant lay under your shirt. She was being held hostage and you were here. It didn’t matter than you were now in similar situations, yours was so much easier and you couldn’t help but feel guilty about being here. This whole thing seemed frivolous and pointless. The Hand was the only thing keeping you from walking out.

Valkyrie cocked her head to get a better look at you, “you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you picked up the design she’d just shown you, thankful your hands weren’t trembling, “ready as if my life depended on it.”

Loki had reappeared as you were nearing the end of Valkyrie’s many suggestions and had taken a seat in the far corning, looking on in calculated silence. It was hard to focus with him back in the room and you weren’t sure if you should change the way you were behaving around Valkyrie. She’d been so carefree and thoughtful about the dishes she’d had to offer that you’d almost forgotten what you were doing here. She wasn’t the council so you knew you didn’t have to impress her but a part of you still felt like you should remind her that the two of you were in love. Or at least maybe act a little differently?

After glancing over at Loki for what felt like the millionth time, he raised a brow. You glared at him. For someone who was so worried about the two of you being seen together this morning, he wasn’t doing a spectacular job at faking it right now. He shrugged lazily as if to say what do you want me to do and stayed silent.

“I’m glad you told him to go because you clearly can’t take your eyes off of him,” Valkyrie remarked, her eyes fixed on the design she was altering based off of your comments.

You quickly turned back around, thankful that she had read your confusion as romance and impressed that she was so aware of her surroundings. Maybe if people expected to see love, they wouldn’t look so hard to think it wasn’t there. You mentally rolled your eyes. Kidding yourself was a waste of time.

You weren’t sure what to say to her comment, so you stayed silent, pasting on an awkward little smile and hoping it was the right thing to do. She lifted up the modified design and you could only nod, speechless, your smile becoming genuine this time.

“So that covers your daily garments. I do have dresses for…” the words fell from her mouth and she pursed her lips, eyes flickering to the ground before she came back up with a smile. You looked between her and Loki to try and see what you missed, but Loki’s face looked nothing other than bored. She continued quickly before you could get a better read on the situation, “dresses for every day use if you want. Clothes are like armour. Whatever you need, I can get it done.”

There was a seriousness to her voice that made you think that she didn’t just mean that figuratively, but the ominous tone stopped you from asking outright what she meant by it. There was something they weren’t telling you, but you doubted either of them would tell you what it was if you asked.

You jumped at the movement by your side, not having heard Loki get up.

Loki took her hand in his, “thank you, Valkyrie. Truly.”

Her brows furrowed but she smoothed it over quickly with a laugh, “you are paying me, remember?”

“True,” he murmured, shooting her a look you couldn’t decipher.

“Go,” she shooed him away with a laugh, “I’m tired of seeing your face.”

He put a hand on his heart in mock offence, the playful king back as quickly as he’d vanished, “you barely saw me today.”

“And bring you future queen around more often,” she continued as if he didn’t have a point, “I like her.”

He grinned mischievously, “as do I.”

And in that moment, he looked so convincing that you could see why she believed him. Loki didn’t appear to be a stranger to lying, even to someone who he’d apparently known forever. Although it meant that your chances of convincing the council were better off because of it, you didn’t like what that meant for your end of the deal.

“You know, Valkyrie,” he began.

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off with a stern half smile, “I’m good where I am.”

He dipped his head low, “I know…not unless the realms are sinking into the seven hells. I remember.”

She nodded curtly but shot you a wink as if you knew what in Ceridwen’s name they were talking about. You smiled back, your brain already going through the possible things a king could have repeatedly asked a seamstress for. Nothing that made any sense came up and Loki was already waiting in the doorframe, ready to go, so you added it to the ever-growing list of things you didn’t understand but somehow knew were important.

After your goodbyes, you left the house the way you came, heading back up the mountain to the palace.

“The meeting with the council is in a few hours,” he said, that casual joking tone he’d used with Valkyrie gone from his voice, “I suggest you wear something nice.”

“A gown,” you clarified.

He shrugged, “as long as it’s nice.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I wore pants?” you demanded incredulously. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Nat in anything other than the constricting gowns Odin trapped her in.

“I thought you were gorgeous wearing the tattered clothes you broke into the palace with,” he strolled on without looking at you, “if we didn’t need the council’s approval I wouldn’t have said a thing.”

Stunned, you grabbed his arm and spun him to a stop, wondering what in the seven hells was going on. His lips curled into a wicked grin and he stepped closer, dipping his head so your eyes were practically at level with his glowing ones, “don’t worry, sweatheart,” he crooned, “I’m simply getting a little practice in.”

You grunted and pushed past him, muttering asshole under your breath even though you knew his Fey hearing would catch it. You had a good idea where you were headed so you stomped forward, letting him stroll a few paces behind you. It didn’t matter that he could easily catch up to you if he wanted. The false sense of privacy made you feel better. It gave me the space to breathe.

You took in your surroundings enjoying the streets of Natalos. You stopped your stomping, taking your time getting back, not sure if you’d be stuck in the palace or allowed to roam wherever you wanted. You were hoping the latter, not only because you hated the confines of the palace but because there was a chance the Hand was in the city and you didn’t need the extra obstacle of trying to sneak out.

You weren’t sure if you would be stuck in the palace or if you’d be allowed to wander wherever you wanted. You hoped it was the latter not only because you hated being stuck in the palace but because there was a chance the Hand was in the city and you didn’t need the extra obstacle of trying to sneak out of the palace.

The sun had gotten much stronger, hanging overhead now. The kiss of the heat on your skin felt like it was finally melting away the cold of Niflheim. You sighed, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second as you walked, basking in the feel. You and Nat would feel the sun again. You would escape. You had to.

“Watch out for the fruit,” Loki interrupted your thoughts, much closer than he was before.

“What out for the what?” you echoed, stumbling to the side in surprise and trying to figure out what he was talking about.

His eyes widened and he reached out for you. You backed out of his grasp instinctively,  grabbing onto the nearest tree to keep from tripping over. Then something cracked down on your head and it started pouring rain. Your whole body straightened in shock as the water poured down your face and neck, and down your spine. And then the stench hit you. You gagged. Wiping the liquid from your eyes, you noticed it had a slightly pink hue and was more like goo. Loki was completely dry. It couldn’t be rain. So what was it? He motioned for you to come closer, his lips tight as he tried to suppress a smile.

“What in the seven hells was that?” you practically shouted.

He pointed above, still not saying a word as he tried to keep himself together. The tree was massive and dark blue, sprawling across half the street with its thick branches and fan-like leaves. Hundreds of pink fruit about the size of your head hung precariously, swaying gently in the breeze.

“That’s not an explanation,” you growled, wiping more of the foul goo off you.

He swallowed and pointed to a sign that read, Beware, falling Junabees. This time, you actually looked around. If you hadn’t been so distracted, you probably would have noticed the pink-stained cobblestones littered with Junabee carcasses — that and the blatant warning. You took another step back toward the other side of the street just to be safe and glared at him.

“I wouldn’t walk too close to the edge next time,” he chuckled, though the wide grin on his face told you that he was enjoying this far more than you were.

“Why in Ceridwen’s name would you people keep this here?” you demanded, “it’s disgusting.”

He paused at your reference to the old gods and shrugged, motioning for you to come a little closer. You took a wary step forward, only following his request because you weren’t sure the Junabees were done with their attack. Tentatively, he raised a hand. You flinched back and he paused waiting for your nod. He brushed some of the goo off your cheek with his thumb, the motion slow and gentle. You stood still as a statue, not sure how to react. His eyes were bright and focused, the corner of his mouth quirked upward in the ghost of a smile. All you could do was stare at him, barely breathing.

“They’re surprisingly difficult to grow and the berries can be quite delicious when prepared properly,” he murmured, taking more of the goo out of your hair, “so we let them grow wherever they chose to pop up. No one’s allowed to cut them down.”

The thought of eating one made you gag, “and how do you prepare them?”

His lips pulled into a sly grin, “wine.”

You scoffed and pushed past him, trying to clean out the goo out of your ear on the way. You were tempted to grab a Junabee and throw it at him, but you were too worried that it would burst in your hand if you tried. That wasn’t a risk you were willing to take, even to put him in the same situation as you.

He caught up quickly and kept stealing glances at you that were impossible to ignore.

“What?” you snapped.

“When we walk into the council room, you might want to wipe the murderous look from your face,” he mentioned with a grin, enjoying this far more than he should.

You looked around, trying to find something to take your mind off the fact that you wanted to punch him, “give me what I want, and you won’t have to worry about me meeting your council,” you said through clenched teeth.

A slight chuckle was all you got in response and he led you down a street you didn’t recognize. You couldn’t tell if he was showing you more of the city or making sure that you couldn’t find your way around it. You sighed. This was going to be impossible.

You were dragging your feet when you walked into the palace later that evening, your thighs burning from climbing the steep streets. You couldn’t help but think that all of this would have been easier if you weren’t human. There was nothing you could do about it now, but it didn’t change the fact that you hated it. Though now that you were stuck, all you wanted was a nice dinner and a warm bath, both of which were things you could actually get here and not in Niflheim — that was if you could get through this stupid council meeting or party or whatever it was.

“Valkyrie has already sent over a few options for you,” he said when you came to a stop in front of your door, “I would recommend you wash up before you meet the council. I can’t have them thinking you live in the pig sty.”

Although your heart soared at the idea of warm water, you were far too grumpy to be thankful, “and so what if I showed up like this?”

You tried your hardest not to wince as the pathetic retort came out. You were fed up and sore and not your best on an empty stomach. It probably would have been better to ignore him, but the words were out now.

He smirked, “take a bath or don’t. If you repel the council with your stench, I can’t say that I’ll be disappointed.”

“You know,” you huffed, “the only reason I smell this bad is because you didn’t warn me about the stupid Junabees in the first place.”

“I told you to be careful,” he countered, leaning lazily on the doorframe.

You nodded like he actually had a good point before snorting, “sure. I doubt you could have been any more vague about it if you tried.

He grinned and pulled a little more goo out of your hair.

“Ugh,” you stormed past his still grinning face and into you room.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” he called before you slammed the door in his face.

“We’ll have to make this quick,” Loki said, walking into the kitchen, “I left YN alone to wash up and get changed before the council meeting and told her I’d be back in an hour.”

“So we’ve got forty-five then,” Bucky said with a smirk, propping his feet up on the table.

Loki shook his head, “let’s make it thirty.”

That only made his grin spread even wider, “I see you’ve got your hands full with our future queen.”

“That may be so, but at least she’s not boring,” at Bucky’s raised brow he said, “she discovered the Junabees today.”

“So a solid thirty minutes then,” he chuckled, both of them fully aware of how hard it was to to wash that goo out of hair.

“Let’s get back to business,” Nebula snapped from the head of the table, cutting them off before they could say anything else.

Loki nodded, knowing he’d been putting it off. With his assassin back so soon, it could only mean that there was nothing good to report. He didn’t want to ruin his surprisingly good mood with the same answers Bucky had been coming to him with for the past two moons, but he had to get it done and over with.

“Right. Bucky. You found…” Loki drifted off, unable to ask the question he already knew the answer to.

Bucky shook his head, “nothing. If Hella’s working with someone else, then she’s hiding it extremely well.”

“There someone else,” Nebula affirmed, shooting Bucky a fierce look, “I’m sure of it.”

Bucky turned and gave her his full attention. They said nothing, but Loki knew that the Angel and Dark Elf could practically read each other’s minds. They had only ever told him bits and pieces of what had happened all those years ago before they had found him, but he knew they wouldn’t be sitting in his kitchen if they hadn’t found each other first.

Bucky nodded, “okay. I’ll find whoever it is.”

“And what about that future queen of yours?” Nebula snapped, whirling around to him. From her place at the counter, Wanda looked over her shoulder, but didn’t say anything. Nebula drove on, all business, “who’s she working for? You said she wants the Hand but I don’t believe for a second that a human who knows nothing about magic wants the Hand for herself.”

Loki shrugged, “herself, someone else, it doesn’t matter. Either way, she’s not getting it. The Hand stays locked up, right now more than ever. If anyone else gets their hands on it…”

They shuddered, still haunted from the last time the book had fallen into the wrong hands.

“What did Gamora have to say about it?” Bucky asked, offering Nebula half of his bread roll. She looked at it with hatred, but Bucky shoved it her way until she took it.

“She hasn’t spoken to me since YN’s arrival,” Loki looked over at Wanda, “any luck on that end?”

“I think so,” Wanda slid the potatoes she’d been chopping into the large pot and came their way, “Gamora says that she can’t remember who cursed her but I believe that’s the key to breaking it.”

Loki stared at Wanda, intrigued and a little impressed Wanda could get Gamora to divulge anything personal about herself, “go on.”

“Right, so we haven’t gotten anywhere because we haven’t been able to identify the magic that was used to curse her, correct?”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair to look over at Nebula who shook her head.

Despite all of his training, Loki also had to agree, “it’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. And the Witches are still being silent, but I doubt that even if they agreed to help, they’d know what it was any more than we did.”

“Right,” Wanda went back to the pot and stirred a few times, thinking, “which is why I doubt any of us can figure out what it is. I think Gamora is the only person who could identify the magic, so what if we knew who cursed her?”

Bucky grinned, “then she would know what kind of magic was used to bind the curse.”

“We don’t actually have that information,” Nebula pointed out gruffly.

“Then we’d need a remembering spell,” Loki suggested, knowing that just because they now had a new theory didn’t mean they were any closer to breaking Gamora’s curse.

Wanda winced and tilted her head from side to side. He sighed. There was no doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say next.

“Or we’d need someone to get in her head.”

“No,” Loki answered immediately, “no. She’ll never let me in and trying might kill me. Her power might only be a tenth of what it used to be but that’s still more than I’m willing to bargain with. If I managed to unlock the memory and I’m still in there…”

“Then we’ve fried the king,” Bucky added helpfully.

Loki shot him a looked that earned him a cheeky grin in return.

“Wanda’s option might be the only one,” Nebula countered, glaring at Bucky, “memory spells are hard to come by and even harder to execute effectively — even for Loki.”

“It’ll be her decision,” Wanda affirmed though her voice was no louder than a whisper. They all snapped to attention knowing she was right, “if she thinks it’s safe, then it’s her decision whether to go through with it or not.”

Loki nodded solemnly, “agreed.”

Wanda walked back over to her pot, stirring and humming softly as if they hadn’t been discussing Gamora’s fate, “I’ll keep looking for a spell, but you should talk to Gamora.”

“You don’t want to do it?” Loki asked with a smirk.

She offered him a small smile, “I know you’re going to see her later. The honour is yours.”

“How kind,” he said with a laugh before heading back out to get ready for his meeting with YN and the council.