#im so aware of my chest being tight and my shoulders being tense and my eyes watering over bc im abt to cry but i dont understand why

[abiiors]

ITS SOFT AND CUTE AND SLUTTY IM SORRY BABY I REALLY AM

His body is pressed against my own as we lie on our sides grasping at each other like our lives depend on it, his hand slinking up the back of my shirt pressing me tighter to his bare chest, my own fingers tracing the tattoos that adorned his torso, moaning into the kiss when he bites my bottom lip softly pulling away for a brief moment "do you know how many dreams I've had about that sound?"

His fingers tug roughly at the bottom of my pyjama shirt, nuzzling his face into my neck and biting into the skin there, sucking the marks left softly and pushing me over onto my back, kneeling over me. Eyes briefly flickering over to the nightstand where the rosary beads I'd had since I was small stuck out from the drawer and I'm suddenly over come with a sense of dread, is this wrong? I mean I don't belive In God but what if-- "Shirt off. Please, fuck, need to see you"

Sitting up now, he's in his knees straddling my lap, legs squeezing my middle slightly, almost uncomfortable, a light pressure from the small weight that had been shifted to my stomach. Soft hands pulling my shirt up, running his hands beneath the material until it bunches at his wrists, pushing it up over my chest, pulling it over my head.

Eyes wandering back to the rosary, except this time he sees, pausing briefly, tossing the shirt to the side and cupping my cheeks, guiding me to face him, "Hey, we don't have to" despite both being shirtless and with kiss bitten lips he offers me a way out, a moment to tell him to leave to pretend it was a mistake and part of me wants to take it, but that part of me still fears a god I long since killed in my mind, "No I want to…if you do" Everything seems slower, more gentle, his hands softer, a finger hooked beneath my chin, tilting my head back to accept a much longer, slower kiss. Feeling the tenseness melt away almost, hands draped behind his shoulders, one wrist crossed over the other, loosely, "That's right, just relax pretty girl"

His weight is slowly pressed into me until we both lay together, vent at the waist he continues the kiss, hand sliding from my stomach to the sports bra I wore to sleep in, tugging slightly at the band and mumbling against my lips, an awkward moment "Can I…touch you? Properly I mean" Suddenly the weight of everything we were doing and his body becomes real and on instinct I look away, nodding onto the pillows of my bed, unable to look at him, it was all too real, to lucid. Shit. Am I really doing this?

Pulled from my thoughts by the sensation of teeth on skin, bra pushed up and chest exposed, the duvet tented over us both and his hand cupping my brest, his plans brushing over pebbled nipple with care and precision, squeezing harshly when he bites into my shoulder, somewhere lost in thought I hadn't realised the noise I had been making, soft and needy little noises somewhere between gasps and whines, feeling him groan against my skin, exploring every inch. Dazed and lost in the feeling of his body against mine and the creeping anxiety about what we were actually doing, too warm and barely able to breathe I don't realised my hands are pushing his shoulders trying to get space are, trying to breathe, only when he stops everything sitting up and looking at me so gently, voice quiet "Are you alright? Breathe angel breathe" taking a deep breath himself and using his hands to motion to copy, suddenly aware of the tightness in my chest.

OKAY YOU ARE FORGIVEN

loving the religious theme after, you know, the tweet 🤭

[eggceereal]

sometimes ur brain feels like this and you just have to

[ackermans-freedom-inc]

a/n: hi im alive, yes im sorry for not being active, please forgive me bc im providing this little blurb!

ok so background for this is… @anlian-aishang has been putting up with me (for far too long) and my screaming at her about this so I decided to write it.

tags: dom!erwin, spanking, soft aftercare, usage of “good girl”

The cleaning bug had sunk its teeth into you early in the afternoon, and the house had been scrubbed within an inch of its life by the time you heard the garage door click closed and the heavy footsteps of your husband echo on the patio steps.

However, as the familiar sight of blonde peeked through the door, instead of your usual kiss, you were greeted with a heavy sigh and brows knit so tight you feared for the state of his skin when he finally calmed down.

You were understanding. His career was tough, days were long and clients often unreasonable. And you were completely open to letting him calm down and come back to you later. But that understanding and patience snapped the moment Erwin’s heavy briefcase hit the floor, sagging under the weight of all the paperwork, shoulder strap snaking over itself in the middle of your freshly swept floor. His shoes followed, haphazardly tossed right in front of the shoe cabinet, laces undone, the last bit of snow clinging to them melting into a dirty grey puddle with each drip, drip, drip that you could practically hear.

Gathering up your sleeves, you poked the shoes with the end of your broom, held back annoyance behind your smile.

“Erwin, babe. Could you remember to wipe your feet when there’s snow out? And your shoes go into the cabinet.”

A wave of his hand and a dismissive “Later hun, I had a long day.” was all you got as he padded away, wrenching his arms roughly out of his jacket, loose snow landing all over your foyer.

You swore you wanted to let it go in that moment, you really did. But as your socked feet hit a particularly cold and large patch of snow, the wetness seeping through to your toes and making shivers run up your spine, your easygoing nature went right out the window.

Throwing the broom aside and wincing with each sopping step, you block his way.

“Erwin. No. Any other day, sure, it can wait till later. But I cleaned all day. So no. You go deal with your shoes.”

Your hand on his chest, you could feel him tense underneath your touch as he took the smallest step forward, dwarfing you as he stepped just close enough to make you gasp, blue eyed gaze turning hard, a smallest flicker of a challenge in them as he looked down at you and growled.

“Hun. I said. Later.”

Ignoring the shaking in your knees, the sudden fire that erupted in your belly the moment he invaded your personal space, and the way you just knew you were in for a long, long night, you stubbornly pushed forward.

“Not later. Right. Now.”

One more step from him, and the air came whooshing out from your mouth, embarrassingly close to a whimper as your back hit the wall of your hallway. Your arm was now trapped between your chests, your feeble attempt at some authority now serving as a reminder of just how weak you were to your husband. Your chest was rising and falling pathetically quickly, your lower lip tucked harshly between teeth, and your thighs shaking in an attempt to quell the sudden need for something, anything.

You only shrunk down further as his arms caged you in, and suddenly, you were very aware of Erwin’s cologne, and the way his biceps strained the fabric of his dress shirt. His voice dipped lower, the earlier glimmer of challenge now all that was in his eyes.

“Oh? Looks like my little wife has grown her own fangs.” He leaned in closer, the scratchiness of his skin coming through with the late hour, dragging across your skin as he continued his musing. “My darling is talking back now? It seems a reminder is in order”.

He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what he was reducing you to, and took full advantage. Your other hand was by now weakly grasping at his shirt, pressed desperately close to him, nodding along to his every word, eyes already glossy with what he could practically taste was your lust.

A hand to your waist easily hiked you over his shoulder, large hand grasping your bottom firmly to keep you stable. You expected the softness of the bed, but was in for a rude awakening when your limp body was laid across very very firm thighs, barely registering as you desperately wiggled and kicked off the pants that were being eased off, leg by leg.

Your world swam, your breath caught, and your eyes tried desperately to focus as his hand rubbed against your now bare ass, reassuring against what was to come.

“Do you want me to keep count or are you capable of counting yourself, darling?”

His harsh words, the mocking tone of your usual loving moniker, and soft way his thumb was rubbing against your skin was too much. You knew better than to squirm, and even as you whined your answer, you could feel the slick running down your front, no doubt dirtying the floor even further.

“I- I can ah- keep count” you barely managed, a jostle of his knees sending the smallest amount of relief through your body, nerve endings already tingling with anticipation.

Another gentle smooth of his hands over your skin, callused palm catching in the slightest, causing you to shiver again as he leaned in close, the last words you heard before your mind went blank.

“Good girl.”

~

One - the first heavy hit of his palm hitting your backside was always the best. The sear of heat that emanated form his hand made you shriek before hurriedly gasping out the number, taking in big, deep lungfuls of air as you tensed for the second.

Two - this one was heavier than the last, or was it that your ass was already red from the first impact? Soft circles of his hand soothing the twin burns that echoed both on your skin and his palm as you felt his own arousal straining against your tummy. You wiggled against it. Bad idea.

Three - this one he tore from you, resounding smack echoed by a wet squelch as he gathered the slick that was ruining his pants between large fingers, lazily rubbing at your entrance as you shook, choking out your pitiful count between gasps.

Four - he was gentler with you on this one, he knew you could take it, you always did take his punishments so well. But the wet heat that hugged his fingers, the way you were making a mess of the floor and his clothes, and somehow still managed to drench his fingers making him fumble.

Five - your howls were muffled by his thigh, your open mouthed moans leaving yet another stain. He would have to get this whole suit dry-cleaned after all. You were rutting back against his fingers now, little whimpers punctuated with sharp gasps as you tried to anticipate the next blow. He had to remind you of the number.

Six - just over halfway you reminded yourself with this one, begging your body to hold off. But how could you? Thick fingers that stretched you so much better than you ever could, deeper than you ever could. Sloppy smearing of wetness managing to just graze your aching clit, a shock of electricity that had you barreling towards a climax you could not hold back from. It took you nearly three tries to gasp out the short, one syllable word that made Erwin grin from above you, “Good girl, you’re doing so well for me.”

Seven - Your eyes were squeezed shut by now, muscles tensed and your hands fisting the sheets. You could hold off. You refused to cum. But you were so, so close. Especially when he, oh god, when he did that.

Eight - You couldn’t even discern the sounds in the room by now. Erwin’s breathing had gotten ragged, grunts and sighs as he made you sing for him, the ruts of his own barely contained release rubbing against you more and more insistently as he slowly lost his patience. The sound of his fingers, and the airy, wanton moans of “please” and “more oh please more” echoing in the room were surely…not from you?

Nine - you were so close. So close to the end. Your body spent, euphoria dancing through your veins quelling the sharpness of the sting on your backside that was threatening to take over. You were surprised he let you off the hook with your mangled version of “Ni-ni ah-ngh”. When the sting started to take over more, you realized why. You were close, and he knew it. The last blow, he would make you feel it all. Digits so drenched you could see it webbing between his fingers, moved with a hiss, to pull himself free from his pants, your arousal mixing with his as he spread your essence over himself, a whimper of loss falling from your lips. “Please” you begged, not sure what it was you wanted anymore. For the delicious and all consuming last impact of his hand against you? For him to finally let you cum? For a taste of him? For the headboards to rattle as he stuffs you full and fucks you into the mattress while admiring the handprints on your ass?

Ten - Your husband knew you well. Your strength, but also your limits. Your eyes were half lidded, pupils blown, the tears pricking at the corners, body practically writhing in his lap. Your pleas were strung together, barely coherent yet he knew exactly what you wanted. Making sure you were stable on his knees, his fingers reinvaded your warmth, mercilessly reaching, no more teasing or prolonging this time, hitting right where you needed him. Spurred on by your choked shriek, his other hand moved faster, up and down his own length as his head tilted back, muscles tightening as the familiar feeling pooled in his stomach. He didn’t care that you never quite screamed out the last number, because he did it for you, timing the last final sweep of pressure to make you cum for him, slowing his movements to help you work through the convulsions, sobs wracking your body between choked syllables of his name as you finally allowed the tightly wound string of control to snap, his own release following suit.

Wincing at the mess, and the very pretty marks on your still shaking body, he bent down to gently smooth the matted hair from your drenched forehead, placing a soft kiss against your sticky skin.

“You did so good for me baby. So, so good.”

A soft hum was all you could manage, voice hoarse from screams you don’t remember letting out.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” He placed you on the bed, pillow underneath your belly to lessen the pressure on your lower half. “I’ll get you cleaned up and run a bath.”

Your eyes must have drifted closed at some point, the comforting warmth of a towel startling you.

For him, your shock was a cause of worry. Smoothing his palms once again over your skin, this time as if you were a bubble he was afraid to pop, his eyes met yours. “Was I too rough?”

Your smile and shake of your head might have prompted him to argue some more, but the soft press of your lips stopped him in his tracks. In between kisses, you clung to him, “let’s go take a bath. You’ve had a long day.”

taglist (pls let me know if you want to be added/taken off, this is an 18+ list: @raabzyjan @jean-does-not-have-a-horseface @lostinwildflowers @daenerysdracarys @hiqhkey @messymanifestation @dontusethisproduct @annexerca @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein @peachysimp @lammello @deludedimagines @itspastellemons @flamingblinglove @galactict3a

[jin0]

Omg.. don’t judge me..

But can we talk about how DOB always wants to put it in your ass and when you do let him he’s always so careful and waits for you to adjust before he loses it.

Lord forgive my sinful thoughts.

baby if you think im going to judge you for thinking of something that i avoid mentioning because i don't know who's down with it ??? i'm definitely not going to 🙈

he'd been restless, pulling out to nudge you second hole, begging with his eyes to put it in because you'd never tried it before but he'd grown desperate to fuck you in the ass for a while now. when you give in, he's practically cumming from the acceptance alone.

when he slides in, he's trying his best not to cum right away, because you're tight and untouched there. but also because you're reacting exactly like he dreamt. you're not capable of forming a coherent thought or of speaking, only whimpering and sobbing softly.

"god, fuck... baby, you gotta relax... can't move if you're tense. i'll m-make you feel good, i promise... but please, please baby... relax for me... just a little bit..."

you take a little time to gather yourself and do what he asks. it takes so much energy from you, your body still shaking and your pussy quivering from an orgasm you didn't even know you had, you drop on the bed. you can barely stand on your own, your entire body feeling how full he's keeping you. he's so deep and big, the air in your lungs forming a knot.

"baby please, tell me if you want us to stop... but you gotta breath, okay ? wouldn't want you to suffocate."

his voice is so soft and sweet on you, you can only obey. you try to breath and when you do so, you suddenly get super aware of his cock in your ass, and how hard he truly is. he was waiting for you and you were lucky he did. when you feel his throbbing girth pulsating in your tight hole, his hands gripping your hips so hard you could feel the blood rushing under his skin and you could vividly hear the grunts he'd tried to keep in to not scare you.

you're being manhandled by the man above you, fucking you rougher than ever, in a way that makes your body shake. you're taking everything he gives you and despite the little choice he gives you, he still finds it in himself to be sweet and attentive.

"y-you like it baby ? like how my cock feels in your ass ? you're... you're doing so good love... so fucking good... taking me like a dream and dripping all over yourself."

he leans on you, pressing your face in the mattress and fucking you deeper when you start crying his name. even your moans don't sound coherent anymore, they're just sounds and maybe a few syllables that could possibly lead to a word.

his fingers start playing with your pussy abd you lose it instantly, cumming around his fingers. he's just so so so fucking desperate to feel every part of you, he's overwhelmed by you and you're overwhelmed by him.

anal is something you try out of the blue but after that first time, it becomes a regular thing that could start out of anything. either you were wearing a skirt that kept him from focusing on anything else or you decide to rub your ass on him, making what you want very clear.

the next time you find yourself practically begging, you're definitely rubbing your ass on him while you're at a party with friends. your back is pressed to his chest and his arm is around your shoulder, you keep it tightly held against your breasts.

you're looking up at him with these eyes that scream fuck me and he's smiling in his cup, trying to keep his own conversation going. when his friend leaves for a refill, he finally looks down on you with a knowing smile.

"dylan... can we leave ? i wanna go home now... i'm kinda tired..."

"tired huh ?" he leans down to kiss your shoulder and your neck. he chuckled against your skin when you mewl and push yourself harder on his growing bulge. "you really tired or you just want an excuse to get fucked in your bed ? can't get enough of my cock in your ass huh baby ? you were shaking and crying under me last time but now you can't get enough ?"

"it's not me, it's you who had the idea. you did everything to get me addicted to it, so take care of me now."

"yeah yeah yeah, i'll take care of you. don't worry about it, i'll be giving you everything you're asking for."

[pumpkinpastiesandcoffee]

Kakuzu x GN!Reader

Words: 622 Warnings? none MDNI! NSFW under the cut A/N Y'all I was thinking about how thick this mans thighs must be and I can't like hng I am a simp for him. Also, been hella sick this week, had a cvd test so my im pretty sure i now have brain damage but yknow lol Anyway, getting back on the horny bus and writing again. I'm watching Arcane so prepare for that. NSFW under the cut, now to the fic!

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You'd woken up at the sound of an irritated huff, stretching your arm out to find the bed empty you pursed your lips, eyes opening to search the room. You found your lover sat at his desk, pen in hand as he worked through the akatsuki ledger. By his tense posture it was easy to assume he was glaring holes through the paper. "Kuzu? Come to bed it's," you had glanced at the clock and groaned, "2 o'clock in the morning." "Mm I'm busy love" was the only reply you got. Dragging yourself from the warmth of the bed you headed for him, hands outstretched as you pressed yourself into his back, fingers trailing through his hair. This wasn't an uncommon situation, Kakuzu always seemed to be busy and he rarely slept a full night.

Moving yourself around him you sat down on his lap, staring at the papers. Smirking you start to kiss along his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin as your hand wandered his bare chest. A deep sigh escaped him, hand moving to your waist as his attention changed to you. "You're so needy love" was chuckled, his lips pressing to your temple. "C'mon Kuzu, come to bed with me" your voice had an alluring lilt to it but he really did need to finish his work. He hummed, grabbing your hips and lifting you off his lap before turning his leg outward and placing you back down. You were now straddling his leg, your crotch pressed to his thigh.

"Come for me and I'll stop for the night." He was smirking, green eyes alight with amusement as he watches your face flush. Just as you're about to protest he bounces his leg, a pleasurable gasp being pulled from your lips. "Well?" He urged, before turning his attention back to the ledger. Hesitantly you rolled your hips, whining as you quickly found the right angle to press down on. And before long you'd set a slow pace, humping your boyfriends thick thigh. His hand still rested on your hip, thumb tracing circles over the fabric.

One of your hands reached up, gripping his shoulder while the other held onto his thigh, your whimpers soon turned to gasping moans as you felt that familiar sweet knot form in your lower stomach. Desperately chasing your high, "o-oh Kakuzu I'm s'close, please..." you weren't sure what you were asking for, mind hazy with bliss as you babbled. Kakauzu had given up on the ledger by now, his eyes watching you ride his leg like a dog in heat, a deep smirk settled on his face. Without warning he bounced his leg, a rewarding cry of pleasure making him do it again and again, "oh, please please please please oh please" you whined as you were quickly reaching your peak and before you could tell him it's too much you came hard. That bliss crashing over you, drenching his thigh in your cum with a cry of his name, head falling to his shoulder. Kakuzu chuckled, rubbing your back gently as you shakily come down from the high.

Your eyes open lazily, still panting as you trail your them along his bare chest, following the stitches that started at the base of his sternum and stopped just under the hem of his pants. That's when you became aware of how much enjoyed the display, the large bugle in his pants, fabric tight with the pressure of his hard cock. It made your mouth water, whether from desire or anticipation you weren't sure but you were well aware you weren't going back to sleep anytime soon. You did owe him though, and after all, Kakuzu wasn't one to let you leave debts unpaid.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Laughter is my Love Language

Summary:  Logan doesn't laugh much when Virgil first meets him. Eventually Virgil learns when Logan is truly happy is when he opens up.

Warnings: food mention, some self deprecating humor. If there are more please let me know!

Ships: Logan x Virgil, Analogical

WC: 1, 664

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @ace-in-a-shopping-cart (you had asked to be tagged in this a while ago, I hope it’s still okay)

Logan doesn’t laugh much when they first meet, which is somewhat of a problem for Virgil since he often relied on laughter to fill otherwise awkward silences. The problem was that Virgil was funny in the stupid way- which he blamed entirely on his dad’s humor that fell over to the punnier side. Crack a pun, reference a meme or as a last ditch effort self deprecating humor was usually relatable enough. Logan fell for none of those and more or less was just left confused by them- or he took the self depreciation too seriously and Virgil ended up with a heartfelt lecture on how important he was. Which, as sweet as it was, wasn’t the point of poking fun at something at his own expense.

--

“Boy Logan that sandwich is jam packed!” said Virgil sometime during their freshman year of high school.

Logan had looked at his sandwich in confusion. “There’s peanut butter there too- but yes it’s Crofters.”

Virgil fought to keep the smile on his face. “Yeah I know, it was a joke.”

“But it is packed with- oh that was a pun. Clever.” 

--

“Here comes dat boi!” Virgil cringed at his own voice as the meme reference fell out of his mouth. He hadn’t seen Logan smile once that day and all attempts at conversation had fallen flat so...memes. Why not? Logan was on his laptop often enough he had probably seen what he was referencing at some point. Plus Logan was gliding very confidently on his skateboard and Virgil was suddenly feeling very tense and wanted to break it. Logan, unhelpful as he was, merely stopped and kicked the board up to tuck underneath his arm.

“‘Dat’?” He questioned.

“I-it’s...a meme. I was- referencing a meme.”

“Ah.”

“...yeah.”

Nailed it.

--

“That’s just me being dumb though- you know how it is.” Virgil let out a defeated huff of laughter and settled his chin on his arms. It was their senior year and he was talking to Logan about his current grades. Everything else was straight A’s other than gym. He didn’t like changing in front of others and the bathrooms were blocked off for whatever reason so he just didn’t do it. He took the fail but still needed the credit or he’d have problems getting his diploma, which was completely stupid and unfair but he knew it was his own stubborn fault and-

“I don’t know.” Logan hadn’t laughed at the “joke”, of course he hadn’t. Virgil sighed, opening his mouth to say something else completely stupid and worthless but Logan beat him to it.

“You aren’t stupid. Lack of participation doesn’t mean you’re stupid, it means there’s some other problem that needs addressing if you’re willing to take a failing grade instead of confronting it.” Logan turned to him with a serious look. Always so serious. “So, if I may ask, where’s the problem?”

Virgil blinked. “It’s stupid.”

“Virgil.”

“I just...don’t like…” Virgil turned into his elbow, cheeks reddening at how dumb the problem really was.

“I didn’t hear you. Can you please speak up? Or write it down if that’s easier.”

Snorting he decided to take him up on that, tearing a scrap of paper off his notebook and writing it down.

There was a pause and then: “Is this all? If you take the make-up class there won’t be nearly as many people and if you get there early you can be changed before anyone sees you.”

Peaking around, Logan’s face was so genuine, like he actually wanted to help. Virgil almost didn’t have the heart to say why that was also a problem but he needed him to understand. “I won’t know anyone in the make-up class.”

Logan screwed his mouth to one side trying to figure out why that would be something Virgil would worry about. His face brightened somewhat as he looked back to Virgil. “If it would ease your anxiety I could take the class with you. While I may not have to make up for the credit, it is open to sign up for extra if anyone so chooses.”

Virgil bit his lip. That would- actually really help, but he couldn’t let Logan do that could he? “You don’t have to.”

“I am aware. But going would be a nice routine and I would be very happy to do it if it meant you would be more comfortable.”

“You’re serious? You would really do that?”

“I’m always serious, Virgil. Of course I will.”

Maybe sometimes Logan not getting the joke was a good thing.

--

“L, it’s three in the morning. Go to bed.” They were in college sharing a dorm, and though Virgil could fall asleep with the lights fully on so Logan’s lamp wasn’t keeping him awake, it was the fact the other man was still awake that was bothering him.

Logan let out a short, humorless laugh and waved hi hand. “I’m almost done.”

Virgil hated when he laughed like that. No happiness behind it, only stress and exhaustion and irritation. Sighing Virgil reached over and plucked the pencil from his hand, shooting him a warning look when it seemed like he was about to protest. He closed the book and stacked it neatly with the couple notebooks he had and placed the pencil and calculator on top. Turning to his dorm mate he pointed to the dresser in the corner. “Pjs. Now.”

Slightly concerned when Logan only stood up to do as he was told instead of arguing he shrugged it off and sat back down on the bed. Logan came over a moment later, plain black tee drooping over one shoulder and sleep shorts slightly rumpled. They really needed to do laundry. Before he could say as much, Virgil was suddenly on his back, Logan’s head on his chest with his legs sticking straight over the side. Laughing softly he ran his fingers through the others light red hair, combing out the tangles gently while Logan relaxed into him.

“Logan buddy, I love you so much but if we fall asleep like this we’ll never get up again.” The other grumbled but took a breath and rolled off his chest, swinging his legs over to turn on his side and nearly kicking Virgil in the head in the process. Smirking, Virgil crawled up behind him and flopped with his arm slung over his side. He laughed again when he realized he was already asleep, arms askew and already drooling on the pillow. Snuggling into his back and hugging him tight he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep himself.

--

Logan sat at the table with a book flat on the surface, notebook close by as he made careful notes for the next curriculum. His brow was pinched in thought and his third mug of coffee was cooling beside him, untouched for nearly an hour as he fixated on his work.

Virgil looked back out the window as he finished drying a glass. Gray clouds were rolling in and it was already starting to drizzle. Good,  they needed a good rain for the start of summer. Tuning in once again to the furious scratching of a pencil behind him he set the glass down and whirled around, racing over and catching Logan’s hands in his own to tug him up and towards the door. 

“Virgil what are we- it’s raining! Virgil!” Virgil stopped for a moment to look and see if Logan was actually distressed but upon seeing more fond annoyance than anything else he grinned and stepped out into the downpour. He took away one of his hands and led Logan in a spin down the porch, feet slipping slightly in the wet grass as he maneuvered them around. Logan was smiling now, stress lines gone from his face as wet hair flopped into his eyes and obscured his vision. Virgil’s own hair was slicked flat to his forehead, emo fringe he would never cut hanging down to his lips before he shook his head hard to dispel the water. Logan yelped and flinched away before laughing low at himself, grin turning mischievous as he reached up above virgil’s head to take a hold of a tree branch. Yelling as what felt like gallons of water soaked him he stood there thoroughly soaked and shivering slightly before letting out a howl of laughter, Logan following right after. He was sure the neighbors could hear them but he didn’t care. Logan was laughing so hard he was clutching his sides, shaking with the effort of holding himself together.

This was what Virgil loved most. Logan didn’t always laugh easily, not understanding the joke or understanding what was meant to be a joke but making sure the person was okay first. When he did laugh, it was one shared with others over whatever dumb, stress free thing they were doing. It was unplanned and in the moment, something Logan and Virgil were usually both averse to. But here in the rain, or getting icing everywhere on their wedding day, or the shared laughed when they woke up together after yelling at each other the night before to go to sleep it rang out; it was clear and joyful and carefree- a language all on it’s own that neither of them needed to “get” in order to join in .

When they first met Logan didn’t laugh a lot, which was somewhat of a problem for Virgil since he often relied on laughter to fill otherwise awkward silences. But when he opened up he began laughing all the time, each one precious and kept close to the chest. Virgil collected them, hoarded them even, storing them like coins in a jar in exchange for the happiness he felt each time he was the one to cause such a beautiful sound. And as they giggled still through slight coughs under a blanket that night, he couldn’t be more happy he could speak this language with Logan.

This work is also available on AO3!

If you like this please reblog! reblogs help creators get their work seen!

[corruptedconfessions]

Dragon!Kirishima

Day 7!

Warnings: Oviposition

ngl im not to happy with this one but writing 1k+ fics everyday is wearing on mee

It’s a gender-neutral reader this time~ tomorrow will be gender-neutral as welll

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Dragon!Kirishima “Humans are such needy creatures. Why would you need to talk to anyone except me!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Humans are such needy creatures. Why would you need to talk to anyone except me!”

You were sat ontop of the dragon, one leg on either side of his torso as his clawed hands dragged across your bare body, sliding up your sides before grabbing your chest, his thumbs rubbed across your nipples as he squeezed your breasts so hard it hurt.

“K-kiri-”

You were immediately cut off by the shifter, who squirmed irritability underneath you, wings flapping in frustration as he settled down again. It wasn’t often you saw your mate in half shifted form, not fully dragon, but not as humanoid as he could be. His horns sprouted from his head, his entire body covered with patches of hard scales, his finger and toenails had turned into claws. You had fucked up big time…

“I get you humans usually stay attached to your original nest mates but you don’t need them! I’m your mate! None of them should be laying their eyes on you…”

His voice cut off into a deep angry growl, his eyes briefly turning into slits before melting back into the circles that you were use to. You had no idea that leaving for less than an hour to see your mom would be such a big deal. You frowned softly down at him as his hands instead slid down to your hips, tracing shapes into the skin their as he scowled angrily at the wall.

“Kiri, im sorry…I just missed my family. I should’ve asked you first…I-”

You hesitated cutting off the ‘ill ask you next time’ you were about to add, eyes sliding over to the shredded remains of your clothes, the only ones you had. You had a feeling that there would be no ‘next time’. Your gaze turned back to the dragon, tensing up when you found a serious look on his face as he stared at you.

“K-kiri?”

“You missed your family…”

You blinked at him in confusion, squirming uncomfortably ontop of him, squeaking when his grip on you tightened.

“Humans…usually live in packs.”

“W-what- I mean- I guess so? Kiri what are you talking about?”

You frowned worriedly down at him, not liking the spark in his eye as he started to grin up at you. He had had that look when he first took you, he had that look when the two of you had mated, and it was that same look he made whenever he had an idea you knew you would be forced to go along with.

“You humans are so…needy. You need other humans, that’s why you left! Because you needed to see your old pack!”

You frowned down at him, more and more confused by the second. So he understood then? You wouldn’t call your family and village a pack, but you also took awhile to understand what mate meant…

“Yeah?”

“So if there is a pack here, you won’t need to leave!”

You blinked down at him, trying to understand what the hell he meant by that, but found yourself pulling up a blank. You frowned softly at him as he practically glowed in excitement up at you.

“It’ll take me a few days to get them all ready, and of course we’ll need to stock up on food and water for you…Oh! I bet you’ll want more blankets!”

You slid back slightly, settling yourself on his lap at the dragon sat up, chirping in excitement as he rambled away, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close to his chest.

“Oh, Isn’t this just so exciting, pebble?”

“U-uh…yeah.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to dampen the excitement that was practically rolling off him in waves. Even if you could, you would much rather deal with an over excited dragon than go back to the angry one that would probably end with a village or two being burned to the ground. You convinced him to stop eating humans, but killing them was a harder task, especially when your normally cool tempered dragon got angry.

Still, you couldn’t help the nervous squeeze in your chest when he grinned and hugged you tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

Several weeks had passed since then, and part of you had forgotten about the strange incident. You had settled into your new normal of your dragon mate coming back home with armfuls of quilts and blankets, silk embroidered pillows, and other strange things that you didn’t even bother asking where he had stolen them from. When you had first told him to take them back he had given you the most offended stare you’d ever seen, and then started hording and bringing home even softer and more expensive items. You hadn’t bothered to bug him about it again, and he seemed pleased, apparently thinking that the quality of the blankets was the issue and he had now passed your test.

And then there was the constant hovering. Sure, Kirishima had always been extremely worried about you, almost too aware of how fragile you were compared to him, but in the past few weeks that seemed to be put into overdrive. Most of the time you were trapped to the nest of blankets that he had made, being pushed down with soft coos of ‘needing your rest’ every time you tried to get up. Not that you could fight him too much, you were so comfortable you hardly wanted to get up anymore. Especially when when you did you had a dragon practically breathing down your neck, walking so close to you that you had tripped over him several times, leading to panicked chirps and whines as you were immediately taken back to the nest and coddled for the rest of the day and into the next morning.

Overall you had just accepted this new behavior as the new normal and rolled with it, nearly forgetting his comments about packs and his endless excitement, at least until you were jostled awake in the morning by your dragon practically jumping on top of you, back in his half shifted form as his tail wagged so hard it thumped against the side of the nest rapidly.

“Kiri…”

You grumbled up at him softly, still half asleep and very tempted to ignore the ball of sun sat ontop of you. More often than not he woke you up for stupid reasons and you were ready to smack him despite knowing hitting his stone hard muscles would hurt you more than it hurt him.

“They’re ready!”

“What’s ready…”

“Our eggs!”

You had been half falling asleep again, eyes slowly drifting closed, but that caught your attention. You snapped awake, staring at him in completely confusion. Eggs?

“Our…what?”

You didn’t think it was possible but his grin got wider, showing off his sharp teeth as he practically purred down at you, tail wagging even harder as his wings fluttered in excitement.

“Our eggs! The ones im going to put inside you!”

You sputtered up at the redhead as he hooked his arms around you, pulling you up to sit ontop of him as he fell onto his back, melting into the curved edge of the nest. Your hands fell to his chest, holding yourself up as you stared down at him, mouth open in shock.

“You said you missed your pack! So we’ll make our own pack.”

“I-I-”

You were lovingly shushed as he grinned up at you, clawed hands wrapping around your hips as he ground up against you, cock bumping against you gently.

“It’s okay~ I’ll take care of it all!”

You stumbled over some weak complaints, but you knew it was too late, there was nothing you could do but ride this out. Is that why he had been acting so weird? He had been making eggs to put inside of you?

You squirmed squeaking softly, grabbing onto his shoulders instead as he lifted you just enough to rub his cock against your entrance, the slick pouring from the tip slicking the way as you were slowly lowered down onto his cock, gasping at the burn of the stretch.

“S-slow down!”

You gasped weakly whimpering at him, thighs clamping down around his hips once you were fully lowered down, preventing him from moving at all as he snarled, grinding up into you.

“Can’t! Need to…Breed!”

Your breath stuttered, thighs clamping down harder around him when he kept swelling, stretching you further. You trembled and whimpered down at him, about to complain further when you felt it.

You could feel it, Kirishima’s cock pushed deeper, nudging hard inside you before being followed by something thick. It stretched you further than before, sliding past your walls, deeper and deeper before it finally popped inside of you, several gushes of cum following it as it settled inside you.

You were left groaning, shaking and gasping for air as that egg was followed by another and then another, each one grinding slowly past your sweet spot before falling into the place with the other. Every single one was cushioned, the gaps between them being filled with hot cum. You trembled, feeling fuzzy and weak, everything felt distant from you, when you looked down you saw Kirishima, lips curled back into a snarl, the claws on his toes shredding through the blankets of the nest as he rocked up hard into you, pushing the eggs through. You swore he was growling, snarling up at you, lips moving but you couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in your head. Pleasure filled you, muffling all your senses.

 All you could focus on was the grind of each egg against one another, the sweet drag of each egg across that little bundle of nerves inside of you. You weren’t sure how many there were, enough that your belly swelled slightly, a round bump forming and growing with every new addition.

You stayed like that, drunk of pleasure, hazy and pliant, stretched around his cock as you were stuffed completely full, stomach swollen and heavy, cum starting to drip out of your abused hole as your dragon snarled, gnashing his teeth as he pushed the last one into place.

“Pebble?”

You blinked blearily down at the dragon who was frowning up at you as your hand reached up to rub over your swollen belly. Red eyes stared up at you for a few moments before a bright grin crossed his face, his dragon features starting to melt away into his more human ones as he lifted you up, laying you on your back, tucked safely into the unstained part of the nest.

“You’re so cute, pebble~”

You shuttered weakly as he nuzzled you, nuzzling back slightly as you clamped down and squeezed your legs shut to prevent the eggs from coming out too as you nuzzled down into the nest, sleepily closing your eyes as you rested a hand on your stomach. You could still feel Kirishima’s eyes on you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, eyes slipping shut as you drifted off to sleep.

[hoekageyama]

cmfrt

yaku morisuke x reader

warnings: nsfw, smut, uhhhh grey sweatpants (ik im sorry ew)

wc: ~3k

a/n: hi hi! this is my first piece, so pls go easy on me ._. this started off as something fluffy bc my desire for yaku content is thru the roof (as it should be), but ofc i got off the rails and went the soft smut route lmao oops. anyway, i hope u enjoy! 

~ also! please don’t consume this content if you are not of age, thnx <3 ~

You and Yaku had been best friends for years. Having gone to the same middle school and practically being next door neighbors. Needless to say, you spent a lot of time together; you two were pretty much attached at the hip. So when Yaku told you that he’d also be going to Nekoma for high school, you were pretty excited but not really surprised. 

Throughout high school, the two of you spent as much time together as possible, proving to be difficult at times with every ounce of Yaku’s free time being devoured by volleyball and the endless amounts of studying that was required for prepping for uni. All that aside, the two of you always found time for each other. Whether it be little lunch dates on the weekends, small study sessions in the library, or even facetime hangouts when you were both exhausted and too lazy to actually meet up face to face.

It felt like any other Friday when you and Yaku met up in the early morning to walk to school together. “Y/n, did you finish that history report yet? I’m almost done, but I need someone to review it so I don’t look like an idiot when I present on it.” Yaku ran a hand through his light brown hair and looked over to your slightly shorter form.

You turn to Yaku, noticing how his cheeks were slightly flushed due to the cold wind blowing directly in your faces. “Just about. I just need to finish my conclusion, but it shouldn’t take me too long to power through it. Also, yeah, I can take a look at it. No worries.” You turn away after answering the boy, and continue on your walk, thinking that was the end of that conversation. You can feel his gaze on you suddenly, leaving your cheeks to tint to that familiar shade of red. “Thanks. Also… are you free tonight?” he asks with slight notes of hesitation in his voice. You glance at him through the side of your eye noticing his fidgeting hands. “Yea, I’m free. What’s up?”

Without looking at you or answering, he slows his pace until he’s stopped. Standing and gazing out at the trees that lined the roads, watching as the Maple leaves are shed from their branches, showing the first true signs of winter. You stop alongside him and nudge him slightly with your elbow, “Why’d you ask so suddenly, Mori? Something up?”

He jumps slightly being pulled from his thoughts. He glances over at you, “Oh, uh, no reason really. I was just wondering if you’d wanna come over tonight to study and hangout. We can chill and watch movies like the old times. I have the house to myself and all so…” When you see his raised eyebrow and sly smirk grace his features, you feel your face heat up slightly.

You turn to him giggling, “Oooooh, Mori! I didn’t know you could be such a flirt!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and forces you to start walking again. “If that’s what you call flirting, then the guys you talk to must be braindead.” He pulls you a little closer into his chest, laughing along with you now. You nuzzle your head into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, “Of course I’ll come. As long as you treat me to some takeout tonight.” He nods and smiles, looking at your slightly smaller form clinging to his for warmth. “Deal. We can stop by the store on our walk home, and I’ll get you whatever ya want.” You only nod in agreement, leaving the two of you to walk the rest of the way in a comfortable silence.

As the day moved on, you found yourself getting a bit anxious for your hangout with your best friend. It’s not like you haven’t slept over at his house before. In fact, you and Yaku practically slept at each other’s houses every weekend for as long as you can remember. But what was so different now? Oh yeah, that’s right. It’s because now you were painfully aware of your burning crush on the mighty libero. 

The final bell signaling the day’s end rings as you make your way through the double doors of Nekoma. Making your way towards the gym, you see Kuroo and Kai standing by the entrance chatting. “Yo Tets! Kai! You guys seen Mori anywhere?” The two both wave in greeting as you move closer to the duo. “Yea, I think he’s getting changed right now. Should be out in a bit.” Kai states. “You two still aren’t dating yet? You guys act like you're married already.” says Kuroo, rustling your hair. “Oh shut uuuuup already.” you hear Yaku groan from inside the gym. “You’re so worried about our relationship when you can barely hold a conversation with a girl without looking like a nerd.” Yaku scoffs, punching Kuroo’s arm. 

The four of you eventually split off into your own groups, making your way home for the weekend. The walk home doesn’t take very long. It’s filled with Yaku telling you about Kuroo’s horrible chemistry pickup lines and complaining about the test you both had coming up. Midway through, you both stopped at the store, picking out ample snacks for your movie night and some dinner for later.

Upon finally trudging through the icy winds, you arrive at Yaku’s house. He unlocks the door, but steps aside to let you in first. “What a gentleman!” you say jokingly as he laughs from your reaction. You slide your shoes off at the door and make a beeline straight for Yaku’s bedroom, plastic bag filled with goodies in hand. Yaku lets out a happy sigh and soon follows suit. 

Once in Yaku’s room, you lie face down on his bed groaning. “What’s wrong now, princess?” he asks as he closes the door. Plopping down on the bed next to you with two juice pouches already in hand he nudges you gently to sit up. “I completely forgot to stop by my house to pick up clothes for tonight. All I have in my bag are gym clothes.” you sigh in exasperation as you take the pouch from his cold hands.

“Oh stop. You know you can always just use some of my clothes.” he shrugs while taking a sip of his juice. “I mean.. You’ve done it before. It’s not that big of a deal. I- if you’re ok with it, that is.” he says looking over to you, waiting for your response. You nod in response moving to lie in his lap.

If you didn’t know Yaku well enough, you wouldn’t have noticed the way he tenses slightly, ears the tiniest bit redder than they were moments ago braving the cold of the outside world. “Well then, get me something comfy because I need to get out of this skirt asap!” you say brushing down the edges of your skirt, putting them into place. “I’ll say..” he mumbles. You barely heard it, but it makes your cheeks grow a little red.

After you both finish your drink, you see him disappear into his closet only to emerge moments later with two sets of clothes in hand. He tosses a black t-shirt and a pair of red shorts to you on the bed. Both of which, landing right on top of your face. “I’ll go shower up first since I don’t take ages like some people.” he says with a smirk as he reaches the door.

You giggle hearing his mocking tone “Ok that was one time! And to be fair, it was all your fault. My hair smelled like Yakuult for days after!” He blushes slightly remembering the incident, but chooses to only shake his head laughing to himself as he continues his pursuit for the bathroom.

You lie in his bed scrolling through some app on your phone when you hear the door open. Yaku returns, toweling off his lightly dampened hair, clad in just a pair of grey sweatpants that seem to barely hand onto his waist. You feel your thighs press together tightly as he throws a hoodie on, turning to see your flustered state. “What? Am I too hot for ya?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh shut up!” you groan, rushing passed him and right out the door. You quickly hop into the shower once in the bathroom to cool off your burning cheeks, praying that you can keep it together for the rest of the night. 

Soon enough, you’re all dry, dressed, and heading for Yaku’s room. As you close the door, you see Yaku sitting at his desk running his fingers through his hair. Yaku had been working on his history paper while you were in the shower, and it seems he isn’t making much progress. You grab your back and move to sit by him, brushing against his leg with your own on the way down. He feels a shiver rush down his spine at the sudden delicate touch. “You ok, Mor?” you ask when you see him nodding profusely in response. “Yeah just can’t get this paper done. It’s like my mind is racing, but I can’t focus.” You rub his back and lean over to view his paper in front of him. The way you’re positioned isn’t helping Yaku’s brain one bit. 

Yaku places a hand on your lower back, ogling at the way your back arches naturally reacting to his touch. He smooths out the back of your shirt, admiring the swell of your ass. He flushes a bit, feeling a dull throb and a tightness beginning to form in his sweatpants, when he notices how short you made the shorts after rolling the waistband up a few times to ensure they’d fit. 

You subconsciously rub your thighs together a little while reading through his history report. You hoped that Yaku wouldn’t notice, but unlucky for you he did. He continued rubbing your back, slightly lowering his hand little by little until you felt his rough hand caress your ass. You turned around to look at him, but were met with eyes glazed over in lust. “Hey Mor, you ok?” you ask confused. “I’m fine, baby. Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” he says as he drops his hand into his lap in an attempt to conceal the bulge that began growing in his sweats. You shake your head giggling, moving back to your original position next to him. “Nah it’s all good, babe. Just…” you lose all train of thought you possibly had when you glance down and notice the outline of something in his sweatpants. “Hey, y/n, listen. I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise. I- I just think you look really good in my clothes…. Sorry.” he quickly spits out. 

He began shuffling to get up from you when you reach out and clamp a hand around his wrist. “Why are you apologizing, babe? I should probably be the one apologizing. Especially when you’ve made me like this.” you say bashfully, leading his hand to the wet spot that was now visible in the red shorts you wore. He groaned upon feeling the dampness. “What’s all this, princess? Why so wet already?” he coos into your ear, continuing to rub his rough hands against your clothed core. 

After building up the courage to get this far, you threw all caution to the wind. “You, Mori. Fuck! I want you to touch me, please.” you let out a little moan as you palmed him through his sweats. You could tell just how hard he was through his pants. “Fuck, baby, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me fuck you.” he groans when you press a little harder onto his hardened cock.

Everything that happened next was a blur. Lips smashed together, tongues dancing, teeth clashing every now and then. You finally part lips, gasping for air as he tugs his hoodie off over his head. You follow suit, removing your shirt and shorts, leaving you standing nearly bare in between his legs as he lounged in his desk chair. 

His eyes never leave yours as he unhooks your bra, allowing it to fall to the floor with a thud. His hands smooth over your breasts, rolling and pinching a nipple in between the rough pads of his fingers. He places open mouthed kisses from your jawline down to the swell of your breasts. Leaning back to take in the view once more he groans, saying, “You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding these from me all this time.” you only moan as he moves in to nip at one of your pert nipples. Your hands immediately reach for his light brown locks and begin to tug in response to the stimulation. 

His hands move to your lower body pulling off your lace underwear until they drop to the floor. You kick them aside before he grips your hips tightly. “Mo- Mori please, let me ride your cock.” you say through moans as he lightly trails a finger through your soaked folds. He removes his mouth from your chest with a lewd popping sound. He stands up to pull his sweats lower and sits back down in his seat. You take a moment to ogle at the sight before you. His cock, painfully hard, dripping precum from the swollen head. You grab his shoulders and move in to kiss him as his grip returns to your hips. 

He hoists you up onto his lap, making you straddle the length in his lap. When your wet core makes contact with the length below you, you let out a lewd moan and grind in his lap. He hisses at the contact and tightens his grip on you to stop you from moving. “Patience, princess.” he groans out as you finally stop your ministrations. He lifts you slightly, aligning himself with your hole before looking up to you for approval. You simply nod your head and lower yourself onto his cock little by little. It isn’t too above average in length, but damn did he make up for it in girth. 

You both hiss at the feeling of him being sheathed completely inside your tight cunt, neither of you moving to allow for you both to regain some composure. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight!” he groans, “Just let me know when you want to start moving.” You only nod your head, savoring the delicious stretch in your core. 

As soon as you regain your bearings, you look up to him with glazed eyes, “Mori, mo- move please.” He attaches your mouth to his and gently lifts you, gripping your ass tightly. Before long, he let you take control. The pace you set is slow at first while you kiss him tenderly, running a hand through his hair, tugging gently every so often. His cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, causing you to erupt in another lewd moan of his name. You feel him twitch inside you, he speeds up the pace a bit bringing your ass down harder each time he lifts you. 

Before long you feel that familiar heat in your core building inside you. “Ah fuck, I’m c- close” you moan out as he snaps his hips up to meet yours. The sound of his balls slapping your ass is nearly enough to set you off, but when he reaches a hand down to place sloppy circles around your clit. The coil of heat building up finally snaps, and you’re thrown head first into the bliss of ecstasy.

Yaku groans feeling you tighten around his length. He continues fucking you through your high, and his pace begins to get sloppy before he pulls out frantically. Before he can ask you, you get on your knees in front of him and take him into your mouth. He hisses at the feeling of your tongue gliding over his swollen head and throws his head back in pleasure. With one hand in your hair, he pulls you lower onto his cock as he bursts ribbons of heat down the back of your throat. 

After removing himself from your mouth and tucking himself back into his sweats, he pulls you back into his lap. He places a gentle kiss on your lips, holding you tightly in his arms. “Mori, I’m cooooooold.” you whine into his shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed, huh?”

He moves you onto his bed and quickly disappears to the bathroom. You see him return with a damp washcloth and a cup of water in hand. You let him clean you off as you look around the room for your clothes. “I’ll get you some new clothes ok? Just relax and drink your water while I put these washing.” he says, motioning to the pile of clothes on the floor. He hands you some garments and you quickly get dressed as he moves about the house.

He later returns, only to see you waiting for him with the takeout you had gotten earlier. He plops down beside on the bed for the second time tonight and pulls you into a hasty kiss. “You’re mine, right? I love you so much. I’ve dreamt of this for years. Please stay with me.” he says as he looks deep into your e/c eyes, while cupping your cheeks with his hands. “How can I say no?” you giggle, smashing your lips into his once more before chowing down on your takeout meals. The rest of the night is spent with the two of you cuddled up watching terrible rom-coms. The history report, long forgotten. That can wait for tomorrow.

- again, i’m so sorry at how trashy this is written lmaodfadfj 

- if u did read it tho, tysm! ily & maybe send me some suggestions on what to write next. i’m down for whatever rlly. i’m trying to write more often so this is kinda just a warm up for now.

[ezrasarm]

Before You Go

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: After a mission goes sideways you and Poe find yourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Warnings: Depictions of blood and wounds, medical inaccuracies I’m sure, lil’ bit of angst, fluff, one (1) smooch, I think it’s gender neutral... I think (let me know if I’ve missed something though!)

A/n: At long last this is my first Poe fic and I have to say it’s been incredibly fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think, I’m new to writing his character and will take all the feedback I can get! Also a massive thank you to @andriecastana AKA @im-poe-dameron for beta reading!

[Masterlist]

“Skipper- Skipper, c’mon we don’t have time for this.”

“How- what are you doing here-” You mumbled as you came to. The words didn’t hold much force with the way your loss of consciousness still hung like a heavy fog over your head, or perhaps that was the smoke spewing from the engines which had been shot down to throw you into a spin. All sensations seemed far too overwhelming but the more awareness you managed to gain, the more urgency you began to realize filled Poe’s voice as he jostled your shoulders and moved to chuck your helmet off and unstrap you from the cockpit.

“Saving your ass, now c’mon!” He exclaimed, practically dragging you out of the beached and smouldering ship. “Up we get, down we go.” He said as though you were a child, probably because in your daze that’s all you seemed to have the mental capacity of. You’d hardly managed to gain your balance before a blaster shot tore past your shoulder and in a split second Poe had taken a vice grip on your wrist and your feet had no choice but to stumble after him as he tugged you through the thicket of deep green undergrowth until you couldn’t help but match his sprint.

The most you were capable of was keeping your eyes ahead of you so as not to run face-first into a tree. Your heart was racing at the hail of blaster bolts raining down around you and in the one moment you allowed yourself to look over your shoulder to see what exactly it was you were running from you felt a sharp pain rip through your side.

“Stick with me, Skipper,” Poe called over his shoulder, a tight squeeze to your hand to urge you on as he felt your pace falter behind him. And so you did. You ran with him until all you knew was the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. Until you could hardly breathe. Until the searing pain in your side became so unbearable you could feel your legs giving way to jello beneath you.

“Poe,” You gasped out, “Poe, slow down,” You choked but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Just a little further! I think we’ve almost lost them!” He threw back at you with that same desperate optimism that always made people follow him. That made him the brilliant, impulsive, stubborn, leader he was. But this time, no matter how much you wanted to do good by him, you couldn’t.

You would have told him so but the unmistakable whir of a speeder cutting through the trees hit your ear and you knew there was no chance of either you or him out running that. So you made a quick decision, the type of thing that got you into this mess in the first place, and with the last remaining ounce of energy in your body, you threw yourself at him and used all the force you could muster to tackle him over the ledge you had been running along side and to the ground, concealed only by the projection of earth above you and the thick brush of greenery around you.

The landing was by no means graceful. You had to choke back the wail of pain when he fell on top of you. His hand which you supposed had come to brace you, pressed into the wound just below your rib cage and instead of shoving him off of you as every nerve in your body was screaming at you to do, you locked your legs around him and planted your palm over his mouth.

Your entire body tensed, back and shoulders ridged and neck strained as you listened for the speeder which had been tailing you, it’s hum growing louder and louder until it was practically on top of you, and then it stopped. It couldn’t have been two meters away from you when the trooper hopped off of it. You winced at the sound of boots crunching on the dead and dry leaves over your heads, unconsciously holding Poe a little tighter to you as you struggled to hold your breath, and just when you thought there was no way you were making it out of this alive, that there was no way the mangle of plants you had rolled yourself behind could conceal the neon orange of your flight suits, a staticky voice killed the silence–

“I’ve lost them.”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve lost them’?” Another voice emerged from the comms on the trooper.

“I mean they’re not here.” The stormtrooper spoke, throwing a leg over the speeder before turning back in the direction from which he came.

It was only when the speeder had made its way out of earshot that you let your head fall back to the ground with a long-awaited hiss of the breath you had been holding in. Your voice caught in your throat in a silent sob when Poe shifted his weight above you and it was only now, as you shoved him off of you with shaking hands, that he began to clue into the way you had stumbled behind him as you ran, the desperation in your voice when you’d told him to slow down, the reason you, someone he could rely on to follow him through anything, had just about refused to. The warm, damp sensation on his palm made sense now when he looked down at the deep crimson stain on your flight suit where it had rested.

“Shit.” He let out, looking between you and the wound on your side. “Shit, they hit you? Why didn’t you tell me?!” The panic in his voice coming out more aggravated than he had intended and making you wince.

“We were a little preoccupied!” You huffed out, gesturing in the direction you had come from as if the situation were somehow the slightest bit funny despite the pain that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.

“You were shot!” He exclaimed, mind racing for the next step, for a way out of this.

“It’s not that bad.” You lied, clearly not fooling anyone with the waiver to your breath. “Just gotta get my hands on a medkit and I’ll be good as new.” You say, trying your best to play this off as nothing despite the sinking feeling in your gut that it was considerably more than that. “You have a medkit right?” You ask, only allowing the reality of the situation to hit you when Poe’s face scrunched up and he smoothed a hand over his features.

“No. It’s back on the ship I crashed trying to keep you from getting yourself killed.” He groaned in frustration.

“One hell of a rescue mission, huh?” You grumble out.

“I don’t seem to recall you fairing much better. At least I got my landing gear down!” He exclaimed, “What the hell were you thinking, getting down that low?” And here it came, the ‘I’m your commanding officer, you’re supposed to listen to what I say’ card. The one play you couldn’t rebuttal to no matter how close to him you thought you were, or how much you thought you could get away with.

“I was thinking I had a clear shot to take out their fuel reserves in one go if I got close enough.”

“Yeah, a little too close, don’tcha think?” He throws back at you.

“Remind me how you got here again?” You quip, managing to render him speechless for at least a couple of seconds. A deep exhale escapes him, his head falling in resignation with a slight shake before he speaks again.

“Can you sit up?” He asks, tone flat, and it’s now that the remorse begins to ween its way back into your head.

“I think so-” You start but the hiss you let out when you attempt it proves otherwise and Poe is quick to shift around you and prop you up in his lap so he can help you shoulder the top of your flight suit down around your hips. The throbbing in your side doesn’t allow you much room to relish in the way his hands feel on your bare skin when he pushes your undershirt up so he can take a look at the angry wound on your waist but the warmth is welcome.

“What was that you said about it not being that bad?” He asks, trying to mask the panic rising in his chest at the depth of the wound.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you try to defend yourself but he’s already brushing off the answer.

“Yeah, well I’m gonna worry anyway, aren’t I?” He says and you’re not quite sure why that makes this hurt so much more, and not just from the way he’s balled up the sleeve of your flight suit to press into the wound and try to slow some of the bleeding. A heavy silence hangs in the air as you let his words stew before attempting to speak.

“I’m sorry about what I said- for all of this.” You say quietly, “I’m glad you came for me, I’d be dead already if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t say that-“ He tries to push the thought aside but you had hardly been conscious when he found you, you knew there was no way you would have even made it out of your ship let alone outrun those ground forces without his help.

“I should‘ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have come down here at all, I just thought…” You cut yourself off before you even have the chance to say too much, worrying your lip between your teeth as he brings a hand to cradle your head, his thumb brushing soothing patterns along your jaw line as you force your breathing into control.

“What?” He whispers and you’re not sure what it is that possesses you to finish your sentence, the gentleness to his tone or the overall circumstances but you tell him.

“...I wanted you to be proud of me, Poe,” are the shaky words that slip past your lips and to your surprise and probably his too, his face light up.

“Are you kidding me? I’m always proud of you, Skipper.” You scoff weakly at the nickname as he brushes some of the sweat dampened hair off your forehead. “I’m not kidding, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve zoned out just watching you fly. Every twist and turn you make is so natural, so graceful, it’s like the ship is an extension of your own body and it’s mesmerizing.” He explains, a hint of wonderment to his tone that causes the butterflies in your stomach to stir before the corners of his lips drop. “It also makes it all the more tragic to watch you spin out of control.” He says and the guilt hits you like a truck all over again. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” You huff out, glancing down at the place where he was still holding firm pressure to your wound, and it’s clear the humor to the comment is lost on him.

“Hey, we’re not going there!” He retorts, not sure if it's more of a comfort for you or for him at this point. “The resistance knows where we are. They’re gonna come for us.” He assures you and you see that same unwavering hope glint in his eye but there's something else there too. A slight mist making his eyes glisten and at this point you’re sure that even he knows without getting proper medical attention soon your odds are dwindling. He’s only reminded of that more when your grip tightens on his forearm.

“Poe,” The first hint of fear makes its way into your voice when you speak, your head feeling heavier in his lap, “It’s c-cold.” You stutter out, and he notices the way your teeth are chattering slightly when he shifts as gently as possible to wrap himself snuggly around you.

“It’s okay,” he lies more to himself than to you, “you’re going into shock. Just stay with me, keep talking. You’re doing so well.” He says, finding it harder and harder to keep his voice even with each word.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmur. At this point in the cheesy holos you would watch back on base the handsome protagonist would have said ‘yes, anything,’ and it would be followed by a deep heartfelt confession but Poe wasn’t like that.

“Depends on what you’re asking.” He smirks and you shake your head. You’d have shoved him in the arm playfully if it didn’t take all of your concentration just to keep your eyes open right now.

“Seriously? Even in death you won’t tell me what happened on Dagobah?”

“You’re not dying!” He protests a little harsher than intended and you bite back your fading smile when you refocus on the question you had meant to ask him.

“Why do you still call me Skipper?” You rasp out and his head tilts fondly towards you. You and he both knew you’d been promoted ages ago yet the moniker had stuck. He had never taken the time to consider if you liked it or not.

“Because you hadn’t even made it out of training in that first battle on D’Quar but you stepped up to the plate when we needed you and were the best FO I’ve ever had.” He explained. “You’ll always be my right hand man.” He said quieter this time and with the way his forehead was practically pressed to yours and the closeness he held you to him with you had to wonder if he meant it in a couple more ways than one. You think he’s about to say more but you’re distracted when your vision begins to cloud with purple spots.

“Poe,” his name is heavy on your tongue as your heart rate picks up and your grip on his arm tightens. “I can’t see. I can’t…” your words trail off as he tries to jostle you back to life.

“Skipper, stay with me.” He calls to you but his voice is distant and the words scramble in your head. “Help is almost here, I’m sure of it, just stay with me.” He tries again, clutching you close as he rocks you in his arms but you’re already gone and he’s left muttering gentle affirmations to no one but himself.

***

It was bright. Way too bright and the fluorescent lights above that you recognized as those from the base infirmary made your eyes sting as you tried your best to cling to consciousness for the second time in 24 hours.

“Finn peed on me.” Your eyes had barely fluttered open when Poe spoke.

“What?” Your throat was hoarse from disuse for several hours and you were sure your ears must have been equally decalibrated with the words you were positive you had misheard.

“On Dagobah. You asked what happened on Dagobah and Finn had to pee on me.” He clarified but your mind was still reeling.

“Wait what?!” If you weren’t awake before you certainly were now, unable to restrain the disbelieving grin rising on your lips. You weren’t sure if it was over the story he was telling you or the mere fact that you were around to hear it but the feeling of pure joy welling in your chest was overwhelming.

“I got stung by one of those crazy looking swamp monster things that live in the water there and it hurt like hell and Finn said he’d heard something about urine making the sting go away so he peed on me and we both swore we’d never speak about it again.” He sped through the story as though he couldn’t get it over with fast enough but the look on his face told you he wasn’t quite as disappointed with telling you as his words let on.

“Did- did it work?” You asked hesitantly, half horrified and half too invested not to get an answer.

“No, it actually made it about a thousand times worse. It was… the dumbest idea we’ve ever had and that’s saying something.” He said, melting at the way you had to clutch your side to keep from laughing too hard.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You shake your head softly as the corners of your lips fall, leaving only the warm look in your eye that gave Poe the confidence to give you an actual answer.

“Because for a whole four minutes I thought I had just watched you die in my arms and it turned my entire world upside down.” He whispered, shifting onto the edge of the seat he’d pulled up to the side of your bed so he could grasp your hand in his. “I had so much I still wanted to tell you and I was too busy trying to will you not to die on me to get it all out.” He said and that misty look in his eyes had returned telling you this was no joke. “I never want to feel that way again.”

“Well we’ve got time, Poe. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon-” You start to say but he’s already shifting up onto the edge of your bed to clutch both of your hands in his and you would be lying if you said the intensity in his eyes wasn’t scaring you just a bit.

“No, no I’ve gotta tell you right now or I’m never gonna have the balls to say it again.” He insists and you shift up in the bed slightly to give him your full attention. “You were right about the Dagobah mission, we never should have gone alone-”

“Well yeah I could’ve told you that-” You chuckle but he’s too focused to pay it much mind.

“-and you technically won that race that one time because I accidentally misread the track markers and cut the course short-”

“I knew about that one. BB-8 told me, and it wasn’t an accident.”

“The little traitor.” He muttered to himself, forcing the corners of your lips to quirk upwards at the corners. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t been promoted because I miss the feeling I used to get when I flew with you.” He admits rather sheepishly for his usual suave and self-assured demeanour and that's enough to render you speechless on its own but he’s not done yet. “And I’ve been in love with you since the moment you slid into that cockpit with me and only admitted after having to take full control for five minutes mid dogfight that you’d never flown outside of the sim before.”

“Well I knew I was in good hands.” You mumble, thoroughly distracted now by the realization of how close his face is hovering to yours.

“I think you’re missing the point here, Skipper.” He whispers, so close you can practically feel his gaze burning into your lips as he speaks.

“No, I’m just not entirely sure what to say.” You murmur back, the urge to close the short distance between you growing impossible to resist with each passing moment.

“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything...” He shakes his head, just about ready to pull away when you tilt your chin up to catch his lips with yours, feeling the way they curve up into a smile against your mouth as his hand comes to cradle your jaw. You’re not sure when your arms snuck around him in any attempt to hold him as close to you as possible, nor are you aware of how hard he’s working to resist the urge to melt into your touch and cause any more pain than has already been caused today. All you know is how whole you feel being in his embrace and how glad you are that you stuck around.

[Masterlist]

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Poe Dameron Taglist: @houseofthirst

[lonely-teddy-bear]

RAFE CAMERON SMUT PLEASEEE about him and the reader being best friends, and he gets jealous of her and topper. so one night, he pushes her into the bathroom and takes her right then and there

Edge of desire

word count: 3.18k

warnings: 18+, NSFW, pure smut :) ALSO CONSENT FIRST AND USE PROTECTION ALL THE TIME :)

A/N: IM BACK AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS. IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST THIS BUT I HOPE THIS IS GOOD. 

You were currently at a party at the residence of the Cameron’s. It was normal for you to be at their home every weekend because they threw parties and because you were best friends with Sarah and Rafe, especially Rafe. You felt closer to Rafe than Sarah and after Sarah started dating a pogue you might have drifted off a little but still had a close connection. Rafe didn’t mind spending all his time with you, in fact he loved having you around. 

Now parties were not your favorite thing because it meant you would have to take care of Rafe. He would always get drunk or high or both and if he was doing coke on the coffee table then you were more aware of your surroundings. Things always seemed to get out of control at his parties and you hated them. You hated them more because you were scared for Rafe and his addiction. You had been by his side and tried to help him and have had long talks with him. At first they worked but at some point he just wouldn’t care. But tonight was different, he wasn’t doing drugs, actually you haven’t seen him do drugs at his parties, he would drink but not do drugs. 

You were in the kitchen leaning on the counter while holding a drink. You were watching everyone having fun and laughing and then you saw Rafe by the doorway. You caught him looking at you throughout the night but you would just smile at him and continue drinking and dancing. 

You were brought back to reality when you felt an arm around your waist and turned around to see it was Topper. 

Now you might have had a small crush on Topper but because he dated Sarah you didn’t want to create drama but dating him even though she said it was fine. 

“Hey beautiful. Been looking for you all night. What are you doing in the kitchen?” You smiled at him and just shrugged. 

You raised your red cup to him to show him you were drinking, “just wanted to drink alone. You know how I feel about parties.” You heard him chuckle while you looked back at the crowd. You didn’t know who you were looking for but you were looking for them. 

“Yeah I know but,” you felt him pull you from your waist towards his body and whisper in your ear. “I could make your night funner you know.” You looked at him and looked at his eyes and you couldn’t help but to look at his lips. He didn’t say anything but smirked at you and you saw him leaning in ready to kiss you. 

You felt your heart pound even though this wasn’t your first time kissing him, you’ve actually hooked up and always flirt with each other. 

Rafe, who was at the end of the other room was staring at you kissing his guy best friend. He has seen you many times kiss him and flirt with him and he always shook it off but he always tried to forget it by using drugs but he had given them up just for you. 

He had heard you crying to Sarah one night about how she felt and how she was always scared that you might die one day because of the drugs. He had never felt so heartbroken and since that night he decided to show her that he had quit but thought she didn’t notice. 

He had been drinking the same cup of beer through the night and the now empty cup was being squeezed in his hands. He was seeing red when looking at Topped pulling you towards him while he leaned on the kitchen counter and you in his body. You were on your tippy toes due to the height difference and Rafe just wished that was you and him. 

Something came over Rafe that caused him to walk over to get a cup of beer and then walk towards the couple making out in the kitchen. 

He pretend as if he wasn't looking where he was going when he bumped into your shoulder and spilled the beer over your dress. You stopped kissing Topper and turned around cursing under your breath. “What the fuck. Rafe? What the hell?” You saw him and he just looked at Topper and then at you. 

“Oops guess you’ll have to go clean yourself up, maybe even change.” He looked down at your now wet dress and then looked back up at you with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at him and his childish acts. You turned towards Topper and excused yourself and told him how sorry you were. Topper said nothing to you because he was glaring at Rafe for ruining his moment. 

Rafe just smirked at him while he grabbed your and pulled away from Topper and away from the kitchen. 

You didn’t argue and followed him up the stairs and thought he was taking you to the bathroom to clean yourself up, but instead ended up in his room. You looked at him in confusion. 

“You need to change clothes, that's why I brought you to my room. You can use the bathroom to clean yourself up.” You rolled your eyes at him and walked towards the bathroom. You didn’t bother closing the door because you were going to wait for him to bring your clothes. In the meantime you were cleaning your dress with a wet towel to get the smell of beer off which was useless because you were becoming wetter. 

You looked up to the mirror when you heard Rafe clear his throat. He had a shirt in his hand but he was staring at you with dark eyes. You couldn’t see his blue eyes and his eyes seemed to darken up when he was angry. 

“Are you okay Rafe?” He didn’t say anything but walked deeper into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

You looked at him confused. “Rafe…. what are you doing?” He walked closer to you and when he was close enough he placed the shirt he had in his hand by the sink and leaned down to your ear. 

“You know I really don’t like seeing you with Topper. It drives me crazy when you kiss him, when you flirt with him, and you do it all in front of me.” He talked with gritted teeth sounding more serious and more mad. You felt his hand touching yours and then slowly trailing his finger up, goosebumps appearing at every touch he left behind. 

“I stopped doing drugs and getting blackout drunk for you, and for what? To just get ignored and for you to go after my fucking best friend?” You didn’t say anything but swallowed because you weren’t scared but you felt something else. 

His hand reached up to your collarbone and then felt him wrap his hand around your throat. You weren’t faced because he always jokingly choked you when fake fighting but this time it turned you on. 

“I want you to want me, not Topper. Does he make you feel the things I do to you? Because trust me babe I’ve seen how you react towards me without you having a clue.” 

You had noticed the little things, like how suddenly you started feeling butterflies when he hugged you from behind or when he stared at you and told you how beautiful you looked even when you had just gotten out of bed. You noticed how he started hanging more with you than with his friends, he started getting along with the pogues because you told him to stop. You saw him change and you knew the things he did to you but you didn’t want to admit them to yourself. 

“I want you y/n. I want to show everyone, especially Topper that you are mine and not his, I want to kiss you in front of him at parties, at gatherings, anywhere. I want to be able to leave marks on you and I want to fuck you whenever and wherever I want.” You were breathing deeper and it was harder to swallow. You felt him kiss you behind the ear and started trailing kisses down your neck. He moved so he could be in front of you and to be able to have more access to your neck. You moved your head back and let out a moan when he found your sweet spot. The hand on your neck moved to the back of your neck and moved up to grab you from the hair. While he pulled your head back by the hair he kissed down lower towards your chest and then you felt him lick you. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his tongue on your chest. He moaned and licked you more. 

“You taste like beer and something sweet.” He pulled away from you and looked at you and then at your wet dress. 

“You’re gonna remove that or will I have to rip it from you?” Your eyes widened and quickly pulled your dress down not wanting him to rip it because it was one of your favorites and one of his. 

He didn’t look away from your eyes as you removed your dress, struggling from how tight it was from where it was wet.

Once the dress was on the floor Rafe picked you up by the hips and placed you in the sink. You winced at the coldness of the counter touching your thighs but quickly forgot about it when you felt Rafe’s lips touch yours. One of his hands were in your hips while the other one was on your neck. You couldn’t help but to moan on his lips from how rough he was kissing you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, you couldn’t help but to wrap your legs around his hips. The hand that was on your neck moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. 

You moaned when you felt something poking you in between your legs. One of your hands moved from his neck and trailed down his body and down to his pants. You placed your hands over his bulge and felt him tense up and let out a moan when you pushed your hand harder making him feel pressure. He moved his lips from yours and looked at you in your eyes before giving you one last kiss.

“You shouldn’t have done that babe.” He moved away from you and didn’t look away. He was smirking while he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widened when you saw how big he was. He walked closer to you, he placed a hand under your chin making you look up to his eyes. “Hope you know how to keep quiet, unless you want the whole party to hear you, even Topper.”

You gulped and then yelled when he pulled you off the counter and turned you around making you face the mirror. You felt his hand on your back, pushing you down on the counter so your ass was in the air for him. You felt exposed but you didn’t care because it was all for Rafe. you felt his hands roam from your back and move down to your ass. You looked up to see him through the mirror and saw him looking down at you and then looked up, catching you watching. He sent you a wink, then continued looking down with a smirk. You felt his hands go to your hips and yelped at the burning sensation of your underwear being ripped from your body. 

“Rafe!” You couldn’t help but to scream at him, he had just ripped some new pair of undies and for him to just rip them?

“Shhhh save that for later,” he winked at you through the mirror and looked back down. He found this funny but not you.

You continued looking at him through the mirror but gasped when you felt him slide his cock into your pussy. You closed your eyes and tried to get used to his size but he didn’t give you time because he was already pulling and pushing back in. One hand moved from your waist to your hair and grabbed it, making you open your eyes and gasping. You were used to him pulling your hair when you play fighting but this was different, he was pulling your hair while he fucked you in his bathroom counter.

The hold on your hair and waist would get tighter the faster he went. You could see his face and how much he was enjoying it and you could also see your makeup running from your eyes. You felt your breast rubbing against the counter and at some point you placed your hands on the mirror so you wouldn’t hit yourself.

“Fuck Y/n, you feel so good. You are so good at being quiet, a little too quiet for my liking.” You looked at him and saw him smirking and you knew what he was thinking.

He stopped funking you and pulled you up by the hair making you squeal. He wrapped an arm around your breasts and the other one went to your lower waste. You could still feel him inside of you which made you be on your tippy toes to make it easier for him to fuck you. He gave you a kiss on the neck before sliding back deeper into you. You moaned at the new feeling, you leaned your head back while he thrusted into you. The hand on your waist moved lower and tensed up when you felt his hand go to your cunt. You felt him rub you, causing you to moan but felt him stop just so he could grab you by the chin and make you face the mirror. 

“I want you to watch me fuck you and touch you. Got it?” You nodded and didn’t look away from him. You saw his hand move back down to where it was before and saw him rub you. You could still feel him fucking you but stopped for a moment to change places. You felt him push his cock in into the other hole making you gasped and moan out loud. You saw him smirk through the mirror and at first you thought he was enjoying this but instead he pushed his finger inside you which made you moan louder. Rafe started fucking you faster, making you walk foward so you could lean on the counter but it didn’t stop him from adding another finger inside you. He kept going faster in both ends and you didn’t know what to do but to touch your chest and move a hand down to touch yourself. Rafe knew what you were doing but didn’t stop you. His other hand moved towards your neck, choking you lightly and making you lean up towards his body.

“I want to see you touch yourself while I fuck you with my cock and my fingers.” He kissed the back of your neck and didn’t stop ficking you until you were moaning nonstop and whimpering.

“Rafe please, I need to- I need to come.” He didn’t have to hear you twice because he was on edge as well and just wanted you to come already. He stopped ficking you, he pulled his fingers out of you and turned you around. He moved your hand away from your pussy and carried you up to the counter where you would be back seated on it. You stared at him confused but then realized what he was going to do when he got down to his knees. Your eyes widened and gasped when you felt him spread your legs wide open and kissed you on both sides of yout thighs before kissing you right where you wanted him. Your hand immediately went to his hair and pulled on it when you felt his tongue on your wet pussy. You closed your eyes and moaned when he went faster and would just move his tongue perfectly. It wasn’t long for you to feel your climax, causing you to moan and grab Rafe’s hair thighter which caused him to moan onto you. You felt his moan causing you to come faster and harder. He pulled his face away from your pussy and shoved two fingers inside and pupped faster. You could feel him staring at you, you on the other hand had your eyes closed and moaning. Once Rafe knew you were done coming he stopped and pulled his fingers out. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him leaking his fingers all while staring at you.

“You know how long I wanted to hear you moan? Especially when it was me causing that moan?” All you could do was chuckle and give him a small smile.

He cleaned himself up and fixed his pants up before turning towards the door. “I’ll et you to clean yourself up. I’ll get you your clothes.”

Once you were done cleaning yourself you opened the door and poke your head out to see if Rafe was around. You found him sitting on the corner of his bed and as if he heard you he looked up and smiled at you. “You can come out, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked,” he chuckled before he looked back down to his phone.

You walked out and quickly grabbed the shirt that was on the bed and pulled it over your head and once you were covered you felt better. You grabbed the shorts that looked familiar. 

“Are this mine?” You looked at Rafe and saw him looking at the shorts and then at you. He nodded and gave you a raised brow, “You left them here last time you came to the pool, said about keeping extra clothes.” You nodded, remembering that you in fact had left some clothes just in case. 

Once you were all dressed up you both headed out the room and felt Rafe grab your hand but it made you pull away. He grabbed your forearm causing you to stop and look at you in pure confusion. 

“So I can’t hold your hand but I can fuck you?” You shushed him and looked around hoping no one heard him. You saw him roll his eyes.

“Y/n everyone is going to know, you look like you just had sex, especially with the marks around your neck.” You had tried hiding it with your hair but it wouldn’t work either way. You didn’t say anything and let him grab your hand and led you down the stairs back to the party.

People were staring at you both and started whispering, you looked around for Topper and when you finally found him you saw him glaring at both of you and walking away.

Guess he knew that I fucked his best friend.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

TAG LIST:

@drewswannabegirl @fttayla @jenepleurepasbaby @joshy-obx @28cnn@themaddies-obx 

[steebersss]

listen you say boba fett thigh riding im gonna go fucking feral!!! foaming at the mouth!! i'm on some grr grr bark bark type shit!!! if you wrote a drabble i would DIE (no pressure tho do what u want😅 you're awesome 💛)

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Boba Fett/Reader

Word count: 1.2k 

Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding, choking, breath-play, dubcon (it’s really all consensual and wanted but you are a bounty so), use of nongendered body parts/language, no use of Y/N

A/N:  I’m crying at “grr grr bark bark type shit” tfjskdf, also sorry this is 1291923 years late

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

He was just sitting there. 

That’s all he was fucking doing- sitting slack-legged, thighs spread, in the pilot’s seat, currently occupied with a glitchy hologram. And here he was, minding his goddamned business, unaware – or uncaring- why his bounty was suddenly silent, while you watched the way his sinewy muscles jumped with every movement, the way his tactical pants stretched so deliciously over his thigh as he slapped the malfunctioning console. 

The ship rumbled around you with the quiet din of hyperspace, stream of passing starlight lighting the cockpit in a cool, blue hue, but that did nothing to hide the way your face flushed red, creeping up your ears and down your neck.  

You watched him struggle, for a moment, eager to hear his snuffed grunts of frustration, but your eyes fell back to his fucking lap, and gods, you wished you could perch yourself up on it, just feel the solid meat of his thigh pressed right up against your- 

 “Can I help you?” 

 You blustered, caught peeping and he knew. Fett was turned away from you, still, as his fists stayed buried in the jungle of wires under the main communications console- but you knew he had some insane sense of awareness that ratted out your perverse staring. Your voice caught high in your throat when his hands brushed dangerously close to an exposed wire, one you knew would hurt, if not straight up kill him- an excellent bounty hunter, he was, but an engineer he was not. And despite the fact you knew his death would mean you lived, you still needed someone to pilot your ass down to a safe planet.

“No,” You whispered, jumping in your seat as a spark flew angrily from the mangled console, and you rose, finally, unable to withstand watching just how boorishly he tore at the poor thing. “But I can help you with-“ 

The world spun and you felt the air quite forcibly leave your lungs, back colliding heavily with the floor beneath you, thoughts rattling in your skull uselessly as you desperately tried to understand what just happened. It wasn’t until you felt the hand around your throat, a solid thigh between yours, immobilizing you that your lame brain finally caught up. 

Oh, that’s right. It probably wasn’t the best idea to just jump up behind an experienced bounty hunter- of whom you were the bounty. You gasped for air, smaller, bound hands clawing at his gloved ones, cursing your love of mechanics and your soft heart. 

“Don’t move.” He snarled, and oh, you squeezed your thighs around his involuntarily, core clenching at the sound of his breathless voice, adorned beautifully with his thick accent and an undercurrent of frustration. Your head swam with the lack of oxygen, your sex greedily rerouting what little blood-flow you had left to fuel your inappropriate arousal. 

His grip softened, somewhat, when he felt you squirm, when he heard your gasps. Slowly, predatorily, his helmet tipped down, the dark cross of his visor landing square to observe the way you pressed yourself against his thigh, hips twitching, and whether it was from the lack of air or pleasure, he didn’t care. 

“You can help me?” Fett jammed his thigh closer to you, helmet trained on the curve of your crotch meeting the meat of his leg, and you choked, face flushing with embarrassment and need. “I doubt it.” 

 At your pathetic inhale, the bounty hunter chuckled darkly, and fuck, the sound should send fear to your hopeless brain, but instead your body betrayed you, blush creeping down your neck to settle sweetly across your collarbones. Your tunic, as if in the conspiracy against you, laid just a touch open, baring a blushing shoulder to the man above you. His grip loosened, just enough to free your constricted airway, and you gulped down great gasps of air, vision blurred. 

The rush of oxygen, adrenaline, and pleasure pushed a breathy, low moan from your lips. 

“I asked you a question, quarry.” He growled, low, dangerous, and you nodded, inhaling sharply when he shifted his thigh, grinding against you. It felt as delicious as it had looked earlier, the pressure blossoming to liquid pleasure, heat racing through your core with every insistent nudge and you couldn’t help but moan earnestly, now, planting your feet onto the floor for leverage. Fett growled at that, animalistic and vulgar, free hand pawing at your tunic to reveal the soft curves of your chest. 

“F-fuck-“ You whimpered, hips bucking on their own against his thigh, your underwear a right mess with the evidence of your building arousal. “Please-“

 His thumb brushed against your nipple, coarse and gritty from the worn gloves, though fuck if you cared, fuck if it didn’t feel amazing. Electric pleasure ran up your spine, goosebumps chasing after it on your skin and you keened, hips rolling- seeking more. It didn’t matter anymore that he captured you, that you were being shipped off to certain doom, all you cared about was tending to your mounting orgasm, shaking thighs clamping tight around the bounty hunter’s. 

“What makes you think you can ask for anything?” He spat, though the bite to his tone was gone, replaced with the airy breathlessness you’ve heard before and knew as arousal. You whimpered again, a quiet, heartbreaking sound and you felt him still, felt the thumb on your nipple still, and watched as he took a ragged breath in, hand around your neck shifting up. 

You, with the last shred of your self-preservation positively disintegrated, pushed your hips up, your own thigh brushing his codpiece, eyes locked onto his visor as you gasped, “Because I know you want it, too.” 

The choking pressure was back, harder than before, and your eyes rolled back into your skull, moans shamelessly spilling from you like the wet from your core. Fuck, you were so, so, so close, burning bright just from grinding yourself against his thigh with his hand pinning you down by your throat, squeezing the air and orgasm out of you. His hands rooted under your tunic, gripping your chest, your sides, grasping every soft part of you like he’d never felt before. That did it- the heady pawing so desperate like you- and you keened, high and stuttering as you came, fingers clenching helplessly around the exposed skin of his wrist, legs tense and taut unlike the absolute release you were feeling. 

Your mind was pleasantly blank, thighs trembling and splayed wide, the seam of your pants where your legs met hips dark and damp with the proof of your orgasm. Dimly, you felt his hand slack around your- undoubtedly bruised- neck and heard his ragged breath from under the helmet, before he stood, adjusting his gauntlets. 

Fuck it, you thought, remaining boneless on the floor, watching him return to the broken console like he didn’t just make you cum half of your brain out your ears. A sharp jolt and a stifled grunt from him pulled a quiet laugh out of you. He turned to face you, soundless, though you could feel his glare, his bristly pout. 

“You know, I was a radar tech. But I guess you don’t need my help.” 

He sighed.

[mrsbhandari]

Shutter - pt 4

a/n: bonjour!! im here officially with pt 4 to this fic so i hope you like it!! <3

warnings: some language and its kinda suggestive in parts but nothing explicit teehee

words: 3.8k (damn)

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

#

Tyril stood alone in his large apartment, eyeing each piece of clothing in his perfectly organized closet with varying levels of hatred. He didn’t want to go too formal and wear a suit, because this was most likely not a fancy date at a fancy restaurant. 

Wait.

Is this really a date?

She hadn’t responded to his final text, making him sweat more than he ever had in his life. He stepped over to the other side of his closet and landed a slender finger on a gray turtleneck sweater. 

“...Acceptable,” he murmured, breaking the silence of the air in his apartment. Quietly opening a drawer, he picked a pair of simple black slacks, crisp and pristine. 

In her own apartment, Naexi called the local pizza joint and placed her order before grabbing a baggy college sweatshirt that slipped off her shoulder and some jeans, keeping her shoes off but her cozy socks on. She definitely considered this a date, but she didn’t want him to know that. After putting on music, she danced a little in her kitchen while checking her phone, eager for any updates from Tyril.

Radio silence. 

A knock sounded, barely audible over the music, so she turned it down and walked to open the door. 

Tyril could barely handle it. She was standing there, collarbone slightly exposed under her sweatshirt, dark hair in a messy braid that draped over her shoulder, and slivers of her thighs were revealed from the rips in her skinny jeans. She was as alluring as she was in the first moment he saw her. 

“C’mon in. I have a coat rack on your left.” There was something interesting about the information, but he couldn’t place his finger on it until he securely hooked his jacket and scarf on the small hooks protruding from the wooden structure. For years, he had been waited on hand and foot in other people’s homes because of his wealth and status, but the simple act of being allowed to take his own shoes off and hang his own coat up was...refreshing. “Do you...like my rack?” 

“I beg your pardon?” He whirled on her with wide eyes, well aware of the double entendre.

“You’re like...smiling at it. It was my brother’s, but he broke it and gave it to me.” 

“Why would he not throw it out?” Tyril’s elegant features twisted into confusion, and he frowned when she seemed to laugh at the memory, believing the sound to be directed at him. 

“He’s awful at fixing things, so he knew that if he gave it to me, I would find a way to fix it.” Still smiling, she ran her eyes down his outfit before stopping on his feet. “Of course you have those fancy socks.” 

His eyes found her mismatched socks, her left foot covered with stripes and the right with polka dots. Face returning to its neutral, he raised a single eyebrow and allowed the left corner of his mouth to turn up into a half smile. “I think yours are much better than mine.” 

She stuck her tongue out and waved her hand, beckoning him to fully enter her cozy apartment. It was vibrant, with dozens of pictures hung on the wall with no real pattern. The walls were an odd crimson, but a combination of the decor and the numerous candles spread throughout the living room and kitchen made the space feel like home. Small piles of books and knick knacks were scattered on every surface he could find, a distinct contrast to his own museum-like home where everything had a place and stayed in it. Smiling to himself, he noticed the three vases of flowers he sent to her positioned on varying tables and bookshelves spread throughout her home. Upon closer inspection of the pictures, he spotted a few of her and Nia; during a party, in front of a castle in what looked like Germany, in graduation caps and gowns as they held up their degrees for the camera. 

She silently watched him from her spot on one of the barstools around the kitchen island, slightly amused at how out of place he looked in the light of her apartment. Everything around her was warm and inviting, but he stood tall and aloof, clothes dreary against the bright backdrop of her prized possessions. He was poised like a man who had never been denied a thing in his life; for some reason, she found herself both wanting to give in to that and to challenge him as much as possible. 

“Are all these pictures ones you’ve taken?” 

“Yup! There’s a few that aren’t mine, but most I’ve chosen from my own portfolio.” 

“They’re beautiful.” Once she didn’t respond for a few moments, he looked up to find her gazing at him, a slight blush on her cheeks and her head cocked. She wore a look similar to the one she had on when they first met, studying and searching for something he had yet to offer. Or maybe he had been offering it the entire time he was here without knowing she had found it. It was both unsettling and pleasant, to be the main focus of her intense and calculating stare. She finally seemed to realize that she hadn’t answered, so she broke her eyes from him and nodded. 

“Thanks.” 

“I like your apartment, as well.”

“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

There. Something flashed in her eyes as they met his, ten feet away with something connecting them. He had given her a challenge, but unlike in the bookshop, this wasn’t one born from anger; it was something entirely new. Time seemed to slow around them, making the candles flicker almost supernaturally and their heartbeats decelerate. His mouth was dry and although he held her eye contact, he couldn’t help but notice the rest of her body in front of him, enticingly revealed with taunting slits and stretches of the fabric. 

He didn’t know it, but her observant photographer’s eye was watching him as well, taking in the impossibly long stretch of his neck under his turtleneck and how, even in socks, he still carried with him an aura of being the most important person in the room. Here, standing in her apartment, admiring her photos, and staring at her like he wanted to pin her against a wall, Naexi finally realized just how pretty he was. The more she took in the dark hair framing a pale unblemished complexion, complemented by the high arch of his eyebrows and his perfectly positioned nose, the more it hit her that from the moment they met, she had been suppressing the urge to kiss him until she forgot her own name.  Full lips parted as if to speak, but he was cut off by a swift knocking on the door. As if broken from a trance, they both seemed to tense and look towards the sound at the same time, but Tyril beat her to answering. 

“Wait--!” she called, but the door was already open and Tyril was once again proving just how much space he took up as he bent to avoid hitting his head on the frame. 

“Who are you?!” The delivery guy, a short and stout man with a tendency to eat everything in sight as well as be painfully loud about any and everything having to do with everybody else’s business but his own, was staring up at the billionaire with a mix of curiosity and hostility. Tyril seemed taken aback by the shouted question and took a step back, allowing Naexi to push his large form out of the way and offer the man the cash as well as an explanation.

“He’s my date, Threep.” Tyril looked down at her with a smug smile. So this is a date. “Meet Tyril.”

Threep offered the pizza to her before giving him a small wave and a tip of his hat. “Sorry about that. She rarely has dates over, so I wanted to make--”

“Keep the change, bye!” She slammed the door and deadbolted it. “That’s enough of that.” 

“So this is a date, then?” An already high eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms, tight sweater showing off the sculpt of his arms as they flexed. If Naexi tried hard enough, she could pretend that she was only drooling over the pizza that was beginning to burn the skin of her palms. She also pretended that the reason she was gripping the pizza box hard enough to whiten her knuckles and bend the cardboard was because she didn’t want to drop it. It had nothing to do with the fact that she had accidentally shoved him to the area next to the door closest to the wall with very little space in an effort to pay, which was the reason she was standing with her shoulder pressed to his chest as his back rested against the wall, slightly jostling one of her pictures. She also had to pretend that the smell of his cologne wasn't so overpowering in the best way that she felt like passing out was the best way to succumb to it. 

She was doing a whole lot of pretending, but one glance towards the icy blue eyes boring into her soul told her that she wasn’t very convincing. Straightening up and ignoring the wave of heat that washed over her, she scoffed.

“Don’t give me that look, pretty boy. You knew.” It was his turn to blush as he took in the nickname, but his recovery was much quicker. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Do you prefer Boy Billionaire?”

“That wasn’t my question.” He offered an infuriating smile, showing perfectly white teeth. His left incisor was sharper than his right, giving him the boyish look of a mischievous fairy tale creature, ready to swindle a boy with some fake beans for a cow. Judging by the sliver of vulnerability seeping through the flecks of dark blue in his eyes, he rarely showed this side of himself in public. She coughed, breaking the spell he had over her and finally noticing the rapidly cooling pizza box in her hands. 

“I hope you don’t mind pizza. I considered cooking but my landlord likes his buildings not burned to the ground.” She gave a small self-conscious laugh.

“I don’t mind.” His voice was soft and he seemed to be leaning down, face getting closer and closer to hers, lips barely parted and fresh breath brushing against her cheek. His eyes stayed on hers, drawing her in like a shimmering pool with secrets beneath the surface. A million thoughts ran through her head at once, fighting to be heard.

Oh my god, are we gonna kiss right now? Is that what I’m feeling? He’s leaning down, should I try and meet him in the middle? Which way should my head turn? What if it’s not good?! He’s probably kissed hundreds of girls, why the fuck should I be special? He’s so warm. Or is that me? Am I warm? He’s so close, and he’s so beautiful, I can just--

He stopped, his eyes half-lidded and meandering lazily between her lips and her own gaze, wide and worried. The thought of the famous Tyril Starfury doing anything lazily was foreign and suspicious, but she could smell the strawberry of his chapstick on his lips mixing with the smell of his cologne mixing with the smell of his deodorant and it was so mesmerizing that all she could think was kiss me. Then, she realized that he was straightening back up, stealing his head away from her personal space and taking the pizza box in his hands. It was a ruse. A taunt. A tease. 

“Excuse me!” Naexi said, hand on her hip as she followed him into the kitchen, fuming at the innocent look he sent over his shoulder before he opened the pizza box. 

“Yes?” Grabbing a plate from the counter, he paid her no attention while he helped himself to the drawers and cabinets. Despite his faux obliviousness, it was clear that there was a heavy, palpable tension in the air that could be cut with the knife Tyril seemed to be looking for. 

“What are you--” 

“Hm, found it.” He held up a blade and pulled out a fork, marveling at her mismatched cutlery. 

“Have you never had pizza before?” She grabbed her own two slices with her hands before placing two more on another plate for him. He scoffed, a haughty sound that surprisingly sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Of course I have. I just prefer not to make a mess.” He punctuated his statement by tapping the utensils together once before setting to work, cutting up his pizza and placing the cheesy pieces in his mouth. She watched him while she ate her own pizza, grease dripping onto her hands and onto the plate. After finishing her first piece, she looked down at his plate to see that he was only half done with his own. 

“I figured that you would have two people on either side of you while you ate, each with napkins to wipe your face if you ever got dirty.” She assumed a butler’s stance and held up her own napkin, delightfully out of season with “Fun in the Sun!” printed on it. She dropped her voice an octave and swiped her napkin over the empty space next to her as she spoke. “Yes, sir, Mr. Starfury. We can’t have you getting applesauce on your Versace!” Despite himself, Tyril let out a loud laugh, one that was nothing like how he sounded in the interview. This one felt whole and full of genuine emotion. It was an infectious sound, and Naexi found herself smiling like a buffoon at drawing it out of him with her stupid joke. 

“Why applesauce?” he asked, hand covering his mouth as he continued to chuckle. She reached across the island and pulled his wrist down, laying his hand palm up on the cold granite. Her nails slightly bit into his skin, making him flush.

“It's the first baby food I thought of.”

“Well that’s just rude,” he jabbed, a small smile still dancing on his lips to show no real malice toward her. They continued eating, Naexi replaying his laugh in her head as many times as she could. They polished off most of the pizza, leaving just a few slices that she began to wrap in aluminum foil. He rolled up his sleeves and started the water in the sink. A small black hair tie was pulled off his wrist as he positioned his hair into a messy bun with a few pieces falling out to frame his sharp bone structure. Naexi’s brain nearly short-circuited.

“You don’t--”

“I want to.” He nudged her with his elbow, now revealed along with a long forearm. She nearly had to wipe her mouth at the sight. “Contrary to your obvious belief, I do know how to do work.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” With a firm nod, he focused on the steaming water flowing and scrubbed the plates with a strength showcased in the flexing of his arms. He moved with a natural grace that seemed to seep into every move he made, whether he was simply walking down the street or working hard to clean her plates. She went back to her seat at the island and watched his back while he cleaned. The sound of the music was barely audible over the roar of the water, and the combination of sounds lulled her as her eyes roved from the top of his shoulders down to the perfect curve of his ass, delectably sculpted in his slacks. The gravity of just who he was seemed to finally be hitting her. 

She had one of the richest men in America in her kitchen cleaning her dishes. And damn, if he didn’t look good doing it. 

Tyril was acutely aware of her eyes on him, and he was extremely happy that the water was hiding the shaking of his hands from his nerves. He tensed up when he felt her walk behind him, her arm brushing over her backside in a barely innocent gesture as she walked to the fridge, grabbing a soda from the door. 

“You want anything?” Not trusting his voice, he shut the water off and shook his head, giving her a small smile. She took out a bottle of water for him anyway. Eager to continue any sort of conversation with her and extend the date, Tyril racked his brain for something to say. 

“Your brother,” he began, freezing up when her eyes fell on him. “What does he do?” 

“He’s a musician. Last I heard...I think he was on tour in France.” 

“Wow.” She smiled and grabbed a frame off a nearby table, the picture inside featuring a man with brown hair that fell over his forehead as his fingers strummed a black guitar on a stage backed with green lights. 

“His name’s Kade.” Their fingers brushed as she passed him the frame. 

“Is your entire family full of artists? Photographer, musician…”

“Oh, I was adopted.” Looking closer at the picture, Tyril admitted to himself that there were no similarities in how the siblings appeared. “Kade’s always been the wilder one, though.” His eyebrows raised.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’d be surprised at some of the antics Kade has gotten up to throughout the years. You got any siblings?” She took a sip of her soda and Tyril was briefly distracted by the way her lips wrapped around the lip of the can. 

“Yes, just one. Adrina.”

“Fancy name.”

“Speak for yourself, Naexi.”

“Touche.” She took another sip and Tyril decided to look away lest the night end far differently than he originally thought it would. Her own heart fluttered at the way his tongue molded her name. “You can sit, if you’d like. Or do you feel the need to tower over everyone else in the room?” Gesturing to the open stool next to her, she laughed at his frown. 

“I don’t tower,” he said, but he sat next to her anyway. His long legs bumped against hers, sending shocks to his spine at every contact. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? He studied the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her lips naturally curved into a smirk, the way her eyes easily communicated an entire array of emotions that she seemed to pick and choose to display from like a catalogue. A strand of black hair fell against her cheekbone and he moved it behind her ear without thinking. They were close, getting closer, both gazes dropping to the lips nearly physically connected, already linked by the soft breaths shared. Time was moving slow, too slow, and Tyril ached for the clock to keep ticking, to keep bringing him closer and closer to feeling Naexi’s lips on his, to feeling the perpetual heat surrounding her to engulf him with it. After what seemed like an eternity, their lips were just a centimeter away from each other. His breath tickled her cheek as he whispered.

“May I kiss you?”

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Carrion Circle

Second part of a short serial installment I’m working on as a general exercise on plotting, editing and the like. You can find the other parts linked here - {Part One: Repair Required} - I’ll add the last link once Part Three is up. Same spoiler warnings as Part One apply. Same general content warnings apply.

~2400 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel and Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a tense cross country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe. Twelve help me I’d hoped I could fit more of the plot into this one the last part is gonna be so long, such a pain to edit.

A cold, mountain spring cuts through the highlands. The water runs babbling over old, long-smooth stones. Along its bank, a cart is still. A pair of chocobos sleep, curled in on one another. Bright yellow feathers pool starkly against the grey and white of the highland’s snow-covered earth.

The campfire, dim and growing colder by the minute, pops and sizzles in the moonlit dark. Every few moments, the earth rumbles with a heavy snore from deep in Rostnthal’s chest. The old Sea Wolf is leaned up against the back of one of the birds, a canvas sheet thrown over both he and the chocobo. Hilda lies beneath the cart itself, nestled up in a tight ball of quilts and jackets.

In the back of the cart, Vavara rifles through the packed supplies. She loads specially marked shells into her revolver. It’s reflective white metal glints in the moonlight. It has a mirror shine in the dead of night, it’s engravings doing little to break up the perfect polish she’s maintained. It is a slow process, painstaking with just one hand. The cartridges hum and vibrate in their chambers, the ether concentrate within nervously singing to her heightened hearing.

Six shots in each cylinder.

If he’s there, it’ll take at least fifteen of these to break his barrier. Even with aether-charged rounds, the inadequacy of her armaments hangs over her. Missing an arm means choosing between her spear and a firearm. Damaged as she is, she might not even have enough aether at her disposal to ignite the spearblade.The core nested between her lungs is pressed cold and stark against her heart, like a long-dull knife. Her soul, nestled within it’s crystal depths, aches from long-faded scars. Her whole body would be a treasure trove for him, secrets to decipher, power to steal. Weapons to wield.

Even then, measured against his life - her secrets, her safety, all things are cast into the pot.

--

She loads a spare cylinder with slow, committed strokes. It’ll take a long time to reload the weapon, even with this preparation.. She didn’t pick this hand, but she’ll play it till the cards are on the table. Folding was never an option, anyways.

Light falls on the small camp, the morning sun casting light into the narrow crevice beneath the cart. Hilda wakes up with a yawn. Her arms stretch across the dirt, eyes squeezed shut. She growls softly deep in her chest, and sits up. Her forehead slams into the wood with an audible crunch.

“Seven hells-” She snarls.

“Gyahah!” Rostnthal’s laughter echoes over the small glade, watching with a gleaming eye as she clutches her forehead.

“‘Ey, Ashenheart! I won! Ye’ owe me a drink when we get back!” His grin is audible, a chuckle reverberating in his voice.

“I never agreed to playing your game.” Vavara says. “Besides, I owe you more than a drink if we all return safely.”

“Heh. Humorless. What with ye’ hangin with the Scions lately, thought you may’ve lightened up some. Guess even they can’t get ye’ out’a that shell.” His voice is no less mirthful, seemingly unfazed by her chilled tone.

“A’ight, come get yer food. Breakfast’s done.” He slaps the side of the kettle, ringing loud and full. Still groaning and clutching a bloodied face, Hilda drops into a cross-legged sit besides Rostnthal.

They goad and poke at one another, the words fading into white noise as Vara sits atop the cart.Her eyes’ light dims, old, ash-soaked memories rising from the shadows of memory. A wave of nauseating nostalgia hits her in the gut.

“You not eating?” Hilda prods Vara with an empty bowl. The old, smoke-scented memories submerge into the dark again. 

“Not right now. I had hardtack before you two were up.” She pushes herself up to her feet, her arm stretching, slight shoulders squaring for a moment under the winter overcoat.

“I’ll get the birds ready while you two eat. We need to move soon.” Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. A hanging tension in the air slowly seeps into the air as she walks away.

“Y’know,” Rostnthal calls out, voice low and rumbling. “Ye’ still haven’t told us where we’re goin’. Or anything else of substance, really.”

“Yes,” She says as she hoists the barding onto one of the birds. She glances over her shoulder, eyes dimly glowing with an unnatural, cold light in the shadow of the brim of her cap. “I am aware.” The words are biting, dismissive.

“D’ye intend for us to go into whatever trouble is brewing blind?” His tone is calm and grim, his one, good eye locked on hers.

“I do.” She returns his gaze, ironclad.

“An’ if that means things get bloodier than they ‘ad to?”

“It won’t. I can’t protect you on the battlefield. Not in my condition.” She turns away, leading the chocobos to the cart’s front. She clips their barding in, the ‘coos’ and ‘kwehs’ of the birds giving her occasional pause to double check her work.

“So you won’t be there.” She says without turning. “I’ll be leaving you and the birds out of danger. When my student finds you, you’ll take him to Dragonhead.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda pauses halfway between bites, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to help, not to be a damned taxi. You’re not traipsing off on your own, ‘specially not after all your talk about this fucker who’s hunting you.”

“You want to help?” Vara’s grip on the wood tightens, words turning venomous. “Then I’ve told you how. You want to die? Then go on, follow me after we part ways.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Hilda’s tone sours, “What’s your deal? We went over this on our first day out, and now half a week in you’re changing your tune? We know it’s dangerous, we get it.”

She sets her half-finished meal aside, standing up. Her hands come to rest on her hips, Rostnthal’s eye moving to rest on her.

“We signed on for this. We knew it’d get bloody, we knew it’d be a close thing. Y’think we’ve not learned to read you? That we were blind to what we were getting into?” She says, defiantly staring down at Vavara.

“So you’re going to ride in and save the day? Vanquish the bad man with your shiny gun and sporty marksmanship? You think you have what it takes to stand against  a man who’s decided he’d rather be a demon?” Vavara takes a deep, steadying breath. There’s something about the question which makes Rostnthal’s hairs stiffen. The skin on the back of his arms and back prickles. He’s still watching Hilda, a blooming anxiousness slowly taking up more space in his chest. He pushes the feeling down.

“Wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t think I could help” Hilda says, “An’ I may not be some vaunted champion of the realm like those you’ve been keepin’ the company of, but I-”

“You sound like a child. Too busy playing hero to see the danger you’re in.” Vavara’s chiding words cut through her momentum.

“What do you believe you are wagering? Your life? That in failure, you would die?” Her laugh is a single, wrenching cough. “This isn’t a battle of life and death. I’d sooner shoot myself in the head than allow any of those ‘vaunted champions’ to face him. Even the Warrior of Light, no especially the Warrior of Light.

“He does not kill. He captures. And those he captures become another one of the Empire’s experimental weapons. You would not die, you would become a monster to be sicked on your allies, your friends, and your loved ones.

“So I will face him alone. And you two will ensure an innocent boy does not become a monster because my past came to call. And if after hearing that, you still want to be the hero? Fine. You can be like all the others before you and die like one, too.” Her voice nearly chokes at the end. Shoulders tense, she pushes out a hoarse, whistling breath.

“I’ll do what I do best. Survive. And whatever I have to do to make sure he gets through this too? I’ll pay that price. Worry about yourself.”

“Vavara.” Rostnthal says, leaning in. “What’s so important about this kid that yer so concerned about ‘im getting captured.”

“Nothing. He’s just-” She begins, only for him to hold up one hand to silence her.

“Ye’ never go this far ‘just because’. I’ve seen ye’ in the ‘eat of battle. Cuttin losses ‘as never been somethin’ yer averse to. Even with lives. So if this kid is a hazard to himself more than anyone else, I reckon ye’d try and save him, sure. But to be willin’ to train and tutor a complete greenhorn, let alone throw yerself into the fire for ‘im?? Doesn’t add up.”

He waits. His eye locked on her back, her greying, braided hair shifting with a breeze. Hilda glances between the two, silence bubbling and steaming with tension.

“He is Blessed.” She speaks with a hushed admission, her voice accompanied by an undercurrent of choked, hissing metal.

“And from my observations, he has an aptitude for its power rarely seen. But he is young, foolhardy. I took him in because he otherwise would have found the Scions. And I refuse to see them make another martyr.” She glances back to the other two, over her good shoulder.

“His power will invite controversy and challenge, especially if he cannot wield it. And should Llain capture him, the prospect of an anti-eikon weapon imbued with the power of the Echo is a looming threat I cannot risk. If he can wield the Echo, if he learns how to use it to reinforce his sense of self and being, then he would retain his sanity through any kind of augmentation. Any kind of torment.” Her hand reaches up and rests flat against her chest, claw-tipped fingers scraping against the cloth and leather of her coat. 

“His soul could reside in even steel and crystal, and be unharmed by the process. But if he is captured before he learns to understand and wield the Echo, he could well become a weapon of terrifying power. An incarnation of death made manifest in steel and ceruleum.”

“I refuse to be the mother of death.” She says, softly, almost-inaudibly.

Rostnthal opens his mouth to speak, but the glare he receives from her in return stifles him for a moment.

“None of that changes what you must do. I trust you enough to determine your own path, if you will not heed my warnings. I will tell you what you need to know, even if it is not all you want to know.”

“No, it does change what we need to do. Whether you think so or not.” Hilda says, her confidence returning.

“That kid. What’s his name?” She asks, eyes fixed on Vavara’s.

“Tahve’ir.”

“Well, he’s going to need a teacher still, by your tone. So getting him out isn’t enough. I’ve got to make sure you both get out.”

“And if you can’t?” Vavara says as the two share a long, grim stare.

“Then I get him out, and come back for you. You said he doesn’t kill, and I doubt he can make it back to Garlemald in a single night. So, we get Tahve’ir out, and if you get caught in the meantime, I’ll run back and get you out in the night.”

“Nah.” Rostnthal’s voice rumbles softly, quietly. “Ye’ ain’t got experience with that kinda work. I’ve ran with the yellow jackets and the like, bustin’ slave rings and smashin’ smugglin’ ops. If she gets caught and we have to pull out, I’ll go. An’ you’ll take the kid.” He looks towards Hilda, a confident spark in his eye.

“Alright. Best not mess it up, y’old drunkard.” Hilda says, she cocks a nervous grin and playfully jabs his arm. He just chuckles grimly.

“So you won’t heed my warnings.” Vavara’s voice is distant, a kind of shrill, haunting whistle riding under the injured voice. “It always happens like this.”

“Chin up.” He says, crossing the distance between himself and her in a few steps. He drops to one knee, and rests one hand on her shoulder. He grips her softly, confidently.

“I’m not ignorin’ what ye’ said. We can’t win in a direct fight? Then we’ll just have to run ‘im ‘round the bush. Keep ‘im guessin’. Keep ‘im dazed. We’ll work on strategies on the way there.” He takes a deep breath, and then stands. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Have faith.” He says, patting the birds with a solid, steady palm. “‘Ave faith, an’ all will be well. Besides. Yer not meant t’look so glum. Doesn’t suit yer’ image. Times like these, a snarl’s better.”

She just takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and nods.

She jumps up into the back of the cart as Hilda finishes dumping the last bits of the kettle, and scooping her bowl back up into one hand. The dinnerware sack lands in the back with a cataclysmic, chaotic crash.

As soon as her boots are fixed upon the wood, Rostnthal whips the reins and the birds kick up dust as they run.

--

The sun sinks back low in the sky again. Pale-red light streaks across the untamed mountains between Ishgard and Ala Mhigo.

A small shack with a sprawling, chaotic garden sits on a low, narrow plateau. Heavy, metal boots scratch into the wet, snow-melt fed earth. A man with sandy skin, a straight back and strong shoulders stands at the edge of the homestead. His hair is neatly, painstakingly pulled into a long, salt and pepper braid. It rests on his armored pauldrons, and hangs down to his waist. His eyes, a gilded, ember orange, take in the small, humble abode.

In one hand, he holds a thick, angular blade. It’s gunmetal edge reflects no light, despite the bright morning. Coarse and rough, like a painted, sharp thorn of ink clutched tight.

In the other, he holds a stark, shining revolver. It’s pearly white metal casts myriad colors onto the ground around him, and up onto his own blackened platemail. 

In the light of dusk, his aura shines bright and ethereal around him. Dancing, half-there reflections in intangible glass.

He takes a deep breath, and cracks a cheery grin His shadow stretches over the gardens in the evening light. He can smell the faintest hint of ceruleum in the air.

“Finally. Progress.” His smile is all teeth and ambition.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (4)

A/N: also can be titled “roman #1 get so valid that BS almost started crying while writing this” — roman gets valid and things are about to speed the h e c k up!!!! 

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, cursing, panic, yelling/arguing (things get Bad before they get Good), crying, self-hatred, self-deprecation, more mentions of being touch-starved (im returning to the story’s original idea YEET) — let me know if i missed anything!!! also i realize i stopped tagging sympathetic deceit? so im gonna go back and.,,.. fix that., ., . ., . .

Words: 3796

Pairings: in this one? Roman gets valid and loved, but nothing overt yet

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda​ @askthesnake @k9cat

enjoy!! <3 <3 

“The….Playwright,” Deceit recoiled, nose scrunching up as the name rolled off his tongue. He didn’t like the confusion, of course, but he especially didn’t like how Roman was being honest about his name. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we don’t want to deal with your dramatics right now, Roman.”

“What’s the purpose of your outfit change?” Logan took a step closer, and Roman took a step back from Logan’s accusatory tone, “And all of these outfits? And the pseudonym? Where did your room go? Why have you been hiding for a week? What—”

“That’s all backstory, I can’t help you there. It’s not very fun to focus on,” Roman — the Playwright? — walked around the group, towards the table, “Roman and the Imagination are in a very important discussion, and you all interrupted us at the first climax.”

He leaned on the table, ignoring everyone by looking through some papers, mumbling to himself. It was unnerving. The energy of how the Playwright carried himself, just from seeing him, was distinctly Roman-like. But not. He seemed more orderly, hands holding the papers delicately, covered in handwriting that wasn’t nearly as loopy or rushed as Romans’ typically was. It was as though they’d entered an Uncanny Valley.

The group shared looks in a circle, Patton’s eyebrows pinched in worry, Deceit with a tense frown, Logan with an impatiently cocked eyebrow, Virgil and tired snarl. The room’s tension was heavy; it was a miracle that the Playwright was ignoring it.

To Deceit, it seemed that the other three didn’t understand the atmosphere change. “I’m really done with how often you all hide things from each other,” he said, “Look at him. That’s clearly not Roman.”

Patton caught Virgil’s eye. He was staring at the ground, hands shaking at his sides, shoulders hunched to make himself seem smaller. Patton extending a hand towards him, but Virgil pulled away. He marched away from the group and towards the Playwright, ignoring Patton’s hushed warning “Virgil!” and grabbing the Playwright by his sleeve with both his hands.

He spun him around to face him, holding the Playwright tight but trembling horribly.

“I don’t know what you and the Imagination’re on about, but you’ve been locked in here for a week and you got us all worried. And now you’re saying you’re not Roman? You’d better start explaining what the hell you’re doing in here, or we’re dragging you out into the common room,” his voice was deeper, doubled over with his Tempest Tongue, “I’m not fucking with this.”

The Playwright just stared at him, wearing a disgruntled frown. He leaned forward, putting his other hand on Virgil’s chest and pushing him away slow.  “If you all paid more attention to the foreshadowing, then you would have seen this coming,” he said.

“What foreshadowing?!” Logan all but shouted, startling them enough for Virgil to let go of the Playwright’s hand, “You cannot just speak in literary terms and expect everyone to understand you as though this’d been expected. This whole debacle has frankly been too obtrusive to our regular routine. You’ve been unnecessarily tense, causing the rest of US distractions in our work out of worry for you. And with Thomas’ new videos to think of, our production has been placed on a halt because of your gratuitous pity parties—”

“Logan!” Patton yanked him backwards and effectively shutting him up, “That’s enough!”

Logan looked back at Patton, who appeared angrier than ever, and then up at Deceit and Virgil. Both had similarly shocked and fearful expressions. “We know you’re worried, we’re all worried, but you can’t vent your anger out like that,” Patton hissed, out of the Playwright’s earshot.

Clearly the tension’d built up. Logan looked back up at the Playwright. His hands were gripping the table behind him, chest heaving as his breathing quietly picked up. Behind his glasses were tears growing in his eyes, face contorted into a hurt and disgusted unhinged-jaw scowl. What an outburst. Logan leaned back, withdrawing his hand from where he had been angrily pointing a finger just seconds before.

Immediately, he knew he had to apologize. “I...Roman, I—”

“No development,” the Playwright was venomously angry, “No-No awareness. From any of you. I already said I’m not Roman. Not….”

His voice cracked and he looked away. “Not all of him, anyway,” he turned back around, facing the table, shoulders hunched over.

Patton pulled Logan back, letting him quietly stand with Deceit and Virgil. He approached the Playwright slowly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Playwright, right?”

The Playwright swatted Patton’s hand away. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

Patton’s brows pinched again, and the Playwright continued in a softer voice, “It-it feels weird. Sorry.”

Alright. Alright, that was okay. Patton leaned on the table besides him. “That’s okay. I’m sorry we interrupted you. Really. But we’re all really worried about you, and we miss you a lot, all of us. We didn’t know what was best to do, since you don’t like being interrupted, but we couldn’t just leave you alone. And, if there’s something we can do to help, we’d like to. We just wanna understand what’s going on.”

The Playwright looked up at him with a single eyebrow raised and fresh tear-tracks down his cheeks. It didn’t look like he was bought what Patton was selling.

Patton took a deep breath and kept going. “I’m sorry we didn’t check on you sooner. But we, um. We wanna help you finish, uh. Writing the story. Or play. You’re a Playwright,” he was rambling now, wasn’t he? He should wrap it up. “We just care about you, a lot.”

He searched Patton’s face for fault and, finding none, turned back to the group. Logan’s fists were balled as he stared hard at the carpet, and Virgil and Deceit were standing besides each other, both watching the Playwright with set jaws. Virgil gave a tiny nod. Yeah, they did care, and they sure as hell weren’t leaving without answers.

The Playwright looked at Patton again. “It’s alright, right, Playwright?” Patton asked, voice soft with a puckish edge.

His response was to snort quietly and punch Patton’s shoulder gently. “I appreciate the wordplay.”

Patton giggled. The Playwright chuckled, too, and wiped his face with the butt of his palm. “I’m sorry, you all,” he said, “I’m, um. This whole situation has been a headache and a half, incredibly stressful, so I must report that my emotional state is rather volatile.”

He cleared his throat, fixing his tie and vest, without looking at the group yet. “We–I–All of us didn’t think you’d care enough to be involved, but now it’s a little late for big changes. Thank you for checking, though.”

Again, nothing hidden. Deceit cast a sidelong look at Virgil. Virgil was fiddling with his zipper while watching the Playwright, tugging it open and zipping it shut. He seemed to be calming down himself as the but the lingering questions of what the heck was happening definitely weighed in everyone’s minds enough to keep him on edge. Deceit glanced at Logan, who was watching Patton with a blank look, before deciding to ask himself.

“So. Playwright,” he stepped closer, one careful step at a time, ignoring how the Playwright was refusing to look at him, “What’s happening? Care to explain?”

The Playwright just gazed around at Logan, Patton, Virgil, then Logan again before answering. “I’m sure you’re all wondering that. Sit, I guess. I’ll provide some exposition, for a change.”

He waved a hand, conjuring couches behind them. Slowly, each Side sat, though everyone leaned forward to an extent. The Playwright sat on a stool in front of them, cradling some papers he’d pulled from the table.

“Roman — the Roman you know, the Prince — had an epiphany. I believe he mentioned it on camera, actually, during the Sander Sides episode ‘Crofters: the Musical,’” the Playwright squinted at one of the papers. “‘I can’t help but wonder if we as a society are past the days of celebrating dashing princes and acts of bravery that are edging on stupidity,’ at timestamp 4:36.

“Despite the acknowledgement that there would be no heavy character development in that episode, that line stuck with him. Princes simply aren’t appreciated anymore, by the audience nor by you all. Thus, to continue maintaining a desired presence, Roman tried to imagine a new form that would be….wanted. But we came up with multiple possible forms. After all,” the Playwright sighed, flipping a page, “Anything is better than the Prince.”

That sat uncomfortably with everyone, though it was difficult to pinpoint why. “I, uh, kiddo?” Patton raised a hand slowly, but the Playwright waved his papers at him.

“Don’t interrupt! Anyway,” he adjusted his glasses, “Back to the source material, Logan is my point of comparison. Hence,” he indicated to himself, “Exhibit A. But I wasn’t the only ‘form’ produced, for lack of a better word. Because there were so many forms — seven, to be precise — we have been hosting a small battle-royale in the Prince’s favored setting. The other six are integrated into Prince Roman’s kingdom village. My themeing is less tied to a narrative and therefore I am backstage.”

“The Mind Palace’s considered backstage?” Deceit jerked his thumb backwards, at the hall of costumes.

The Playwright only glared at him over his glasses. He cleared his throat, looking over Logan and Virgil as though daring them to interrupt, before continuing through his notes.

“All of us theoretically have the common goal of capturing the others and killing them, in the hopes of replacing the late Prince—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Virgil put his hands up, “‘Late’? Roman’s dead?!”

The Playwright rolled his eyes. “Clearly not,” he said, earning an exasperated glare from Virgil, “Roman has simply been dissolved into seven facets, each displaying different characteristics that he possessed. The same could be done to all of you but, well, enacting it in the actual Mindscape without the help of an imagined scenario would likely be painful. Example given, we could probably divide you into impulse, self-deprecation, overthinking, et cetera. Though I can’t declare myself an expert on the Mindscape’s lore, so don’t quote me on that.”

“Thanks for the fucking call out,” Virgil grumbled, pulling his hood up and yanking the strings down.

The Playwright’s brow pinched, not understanding what he’d done wrong. He turned to the other three Sides, lip pursed, and motioned for the conversation to continue.

“So, and correct me if I’m misunderstanding,” Logan said, “But you are one of the seven forms that the Imagination created?”

“Indeed. Like I said prior, I’m the Playwright. The things I represent are more in-line with the creative features of Creativity, though I must admit a little bit of egoism and dramatic flare are definitely written into my character,” he flipped to the last page of his notes, “Much of my inspiration was drawn from you, as I implied earlier. And, to be frank, my goal is simply to maintain order while the other aspects of Roman deal with whatever they believe is correct.”

“I understand. I do enjoy the necktie,” Deceit rolled his eyes at Logan’s self-flattery, sharing a tired look with Virgil. “Focusing on something else, does that mean the other six forms bear different resemblances to Roman as well?”

“Of course. One of the only commonalities I’ve noticed thus far is everyone’s affinity for Disney, but that can be attributed to Roman falling back on a strong creative inspiration base, thus dividing Roman’s representation across multiple character tropes to find one suitable.”

“I don’t—okay, I’m not following,” Patton raised a hand again, “You’re using Roman’s name kinda….without talking about him as a person.”

The Playwright smiled thinly, fingers drumming against his papers. “Yes. I’m discussing ‘Roman’ more as a concept than an individual. Consider it as though myself and the other six are presently different pieces of the whole ‘Roman.’”

“Yet the Roman we know, the Prince as you call him,” Logan felt Virgil squeeze his arm, “He is somewhere in the Imagination. In whatever projected battle you have all created or not, but he still exists.”

“Well, like I said, I cannot declare myself an expert over the Mindscape. We may be able to create and bend reality here, but there are even things that we don’t know,” the Playwright pulled the pen from his hair and scribbled something onto his notes, “That is an interesting point to research, though. I can think of one form that bears a striking resemblance to the Prince, but if they were the Prince before, they certainly aren’t now. Should the Prince be somewhere in the world, we might be able to erase him finally, because I don’t think—”

“Erase? No, no, we need him back,” Virgil stood up at the same time as Deceit, who said “We’re here to GET Roman back.”

The Playwright blinked up at them, pen still pressed hard against his notes. He looked at Patton and Logan, still sitting, and saw them just as shocked. Maybe a little distrusting. He hadn’t been gifted with a sense of emotional atmosphere, so he didn’t fully understand everyone’s reactions to the news he deposited.

“.....Why?” he turned back to Virgil, setting his notes back on the table behind him, “Any of our other forms are more prefered. The fans don’t enjoy the Prince, none of you like the Prince. It could be argued that you just don’t like Roman, but, well. I don’t—”

“We love him!” Patton stood up now. “Roman — the Prince, he’s one of our best friends! And the Imagination can’t just take him away!”

“Yeah, now — yeah. Yeah, no, we need Roman back. I don’t like this whole,” Virgil stood up, too, gesturing to the Playwright, “Roleplay stuff. Give us back our idiot Prince and we’ll get outta here.”

Logan cut in, though stayed sitting. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our discussion here, Playwright, I’m inclined to agree with Patton and Virgil. We would prefer to have the Prince back.”

Deceit just squinted at the Playwright. He was trying to dissect the battle royale situation that’d been described.

“Like I said. He is gone. I don’t know where, I don’t know where the Imagination brought his being or what form he’s taken, but he’s not here,” the Playwright put his hands up, sliding the pen back behind his ear as he did so. “Why are you all so attached to the Prince? Hasn’t he failed you all enough?”

What was the purpose of the battle royale? What were the possible implications?

“Well, we’ve all failed each other a bunch, haven’t we? We want Roman here, flaws and all,” Patton said.

“But the less flaws Roman has, the more desirable he becomes. He’s annoying, not smart, not practical, quick-tempered, loud, dramatic—”

The Playwright understood what they were saying, Deceit realized. He just didn’t understand the why.

“You don’t need to list his flaws, we know. But despite that, Roman is also intelligent, ingenuitive, pensive, reflective, and,” Logan drew in a breath, voice steadying. “And is loved.”

“Well, that’s a great sentiment, but you can’t mean it. That’s—”

“He is ridiculous at times, but he does his best,” Deceit finally stood as well. “You’re unable to weigh his virtues.”

“Oh, he’s got virtues now?” the Playwright’s voice grew shrill. “No one’s demonstrated that line of thinking!”

“Yes, of course he does. He is thoughtful, spontaneous,” Logan was counting on his hand, “Kind, endearing, chivalrous—”

“Haven’t you heard? Chivalry is dead!” the Playwright’s voice increased, suddenly screaming. “No one wants the stupid, annoying, needy Prince Roman! You don’t want ME!”

His back immediately straightened, hands shooting to his mouth as his words echoed around the darkened costume room.

Everyone froze as well, staring at him with incredulity. The Playwright leaned back onto the table and looked down, hands still gripping his mouth.

Silence fell as a blanket over the group, dampening the growing tension with an uneasy reality, as the four Sides looked between each other. Virgil opened his mouth, but Logan held up a hand, opened his, and then Patton held up a hand and made a shushing sound. Virgil put his hand over Patton’s, an eyebrow raised.

Deceit wished he understood what the hell they were all saying to each other, with their eyebrow raising and quiet gestures. Maybe it came with them being so intertwined within the Mind Palace. Wow, Deceit, focus on the task at hand before you think of your own solitude.

He cleared his throat, and the other three glanced up. “Of course we want you, Roman,” Deceit’s voice was quiet, gentle even.

“You….I guess that’s an interesting plot twist, if you all truly want him back,” the Playwright whispered into his hands, rubbing them together in front of his mouth, “But you’ll have to convince him. Roman, not….not just the Prince form.”

“Convince you?” Deceit whispered.

The Playwright shook his head. “Him. Roman. All seven of us. And–And not all of us are friendly or docile. And not all of us are forthright, or understood, or easily interpreted.”

Truly an endeavor, if they couldn’t even get into the imaginary kingdom. Deceit stepped back, pursing his lips. He looked back at the rest of the group and, for once, they were all on the same page. “Alright, then.”

Virgil approached the Playwright first. His hands were balled at his sides but he seemed more level-headed than before. “Hey,” he said, leaning on the table besides the Playwright, “If it’s for Roman? Sign me up.”

“Me, too,” Patton said, determination lacing through his voice. He leaned on the other side of the table, meeting the Playwright’s skeptical eyes with a small shrug. “We need him.”

“As much as I am confounded by the Imagination, I agree that we need Prince Roman back. His absence leaves much to be desired,” Logan stood in front of the Playwright, arms resting behind his back.

The Playwright watched Deceit, eyes wide behind his glasses. He slowly gazed over each of the Sides, once again stopping on Deceit, who simply nodded.

This was real.

He sniffed, and he laughed, lifting his glasses again to wipe his eyes. “That was so cliche,” he murmured, “And you’re all fucking saps. You’ve….well, I can’t say I’m difficult to handle, compared to everyone else. I’ll help you into the Imagination and see what I can do to help you find the other forms, but that’s all the deus ex machina I can perform.”

“You’re wonderful, Playwright,” Logan smiled at him, and the Playwright chuckled quietly.

“Rich, coming from you.”

“Um,” the Playwright turned to Patton, whose arms were open. “Can I? I know you said it felt weird, but, uh, I know Roman likes hugs when he’s feeling down, and I like hugs a lot, too.”

The Playwright blinked once, slowly, before leaning into the hold. Patton’s arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.

It felt.

Heavier than a cloud.

He shivered, snuggling his body more into the hold. His hands grasped at the back of Patton’s polo, tugging him closer, if possible. The staticy and burning feeling of Patton’s arms pressing against him was more bearable than he’d thought it’d be. It was nice. Grounding, even, for a desperate piece.

“Thank you, Patton,” the Playwright mumbled into his chest.

Patton laughed, squeezing him again. “Any time, kiddo.”

Left unattended, the Playwright probably could have stood there for hours. The lights in the room, ominously glowing from no direct source, seemed to glow brighter. With a sniff, though, the Playwright leaned back and rubbed his face, then clapped.

“Alright! First, you all need to look through some of those,” he gestured to the left wall of costumes, “Because I refuse letting you go out and ruining the setting. Period dress only.”

“And it’ll give me some time to write in a mechanism for you to find the other forms,” he moved back over to the table, shuffling through his papers with an increased fervor as the other four sides followed. “Perhaps even the Prince, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”

“Period clothing? Doesn’t this count?” Deceit gestured to himself, “Don’t I look period enough?”

The Playwright stopped and shot him a deadpan look. “No. That hat, in a medieval fantasy setting? The cape, maybe, but you can definitely find something more….functional,” His lip cocked up just a little when Deceit let out a dramatically offended gasp, “Go look, I’m sure there are some hats that’ll fit your fancy.”

Deceit turned back around, grumbling to himself but following the other three Sides in flitting through the clothes. As they found outfits that they enjoyed, they brought them to the Playwright, who conjured them into new colors and perfect tailoring without much comment on the outfits. All the while, he was to be scribbling something in a book, black ink flowing from the golden pen, muttering quietly to himself when the others weren’t near. After what seemed like hours, trying on outfits, discussing presentation with the Playwright, the four sat on the couch.

Ready, supposedly, for what was to come. The concern and nervousness of earlier had mixed together, with a new spark of understanding and determination. They were going to get Roman back.

The lights grew brighter.

The Playwright approached them, holding the book in his crossed arms. It looked like a simple leather-bound book, but the front was adorned with a pressing of the same ribbon-esque decal that was on the back of the Playwright’s vest. “This should help,” he said, holding the book out to the trio, “It….As you win over the other forms, the cover will update, and the inside will update with more about them and the world.”

Logan took the book and flipped it open. Sure enough, most of the pages were blank, but the first had a “Table of Contents” with one entry available: “the Playwright.”

“Thank you, Playwright,” Patton said, reaching up and taking his hands, “I’m sure we’re gonna do great! After all, I can’t imagine what’d go wrong.”

Deceit groaned, and Virgil snickered. The Playwright just smiled a tiny bit more.

“I couldn’t dream of anything happening,” Deceit shot back, and Patton laughed.

The Playwright felt a twinge of something, in his chest. Something he couldn’t identify. Maybe another form would figure it out.

“I wish you all the best of luck,” he said.

“Wait,” Logan looked up from the book, “Are you coming with us?”

The Playwright’s smile widened.

“Uh, Playwright?”

He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

The couch and the ground beneath them all disappeared. They all let out shouts and screams as they fell through the floor, into the pit, watching the Playwright and the costume room fade upwards into the distance.

[alannah-corvaine]

epilogue;

It’s a habit that she knows she should break.

There’s no reason to return to the First, not when the Shard is settled and calm and things are bad back home. But the vaunted Warrior of Light can’t help herself, can’t stay away. There are things we cannot afford to lose, the Exarch had told her. His words have resonated with her more than he could ever know. Just not in the way that he had meant it. The world can’t afford to lose her. And Alannah…

...she can’t lose him.

She already has, of course. He was gone before she’d known she’d miss him, before the dust had even settled after their last meeting on the burning sands of Thanalan. She’d never expected to see him again, never expected to follow his footsteps back to the First. Never thought he’d be a misspoken memory maligned by a fate he’d never asked for, in whose footsteps she could do naught but tread. 

And then...to meet again the way that they had. To learn his thoughts and fears and the demons that haunted him, and to find that they mirror her own. His shoulder, though that of a specter, has seen more of her tears than her comrades of many years. How can she explain the connection between them when she barely understands it herself? 

In any case, she has long since served her purpose here. There are no more foes to vanquish, no shadows to peer into. No, her trips to the First since the fall of Emet-Selch have been unsanctioned and secret. They have to stop, she thinks. But she can’t stop.

Perhaps she could have, if it weren’t for the boy.

Alannah can’t decide if this is a cruelty or a kindness. If it were anybody else, she could not be sure, but his soul is entangled with hers, there is no mistaking it for another’s. 

The boy is young when they meet for the first time. The only time, because she keeps herself distant. He is innocent, ignorant of the deeds that have earned him this second chance. Alannah has decided that she will not be the one to tell him. He deserves a life free of pain and of worry. He deserves to be happy. 

So she watches from afar, easing the anxious ache in her chest with her various visits. Always a stranger, an unseen silent guardian. The time between worlds flows erratically, and though she is aware of its mysterious twisting and turning, she cannot help but be taken aback each time she returns. After an absence of weeks in the Source, she may visit once more to find that years have passed on the First.

To see him grown, a boy becoming a man, brings her a joy that borders on terror. The fear of losing him once more brings her back again and again, indulging in a selfish need that is unbecoming of the selfless Warrior of Light. And yet. 

This particular sojourn finds her hovering outside the window of a Kholusian tavern, her face hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering candles in the window. She has nearly made up her mind to go inside, determined to keep her cloak pulled tight around her with her hood hiding her features. Her eyes are drawn instantly to the youth seated at the center table, surrounded by loud and rowdy companions. These faces she knows too, and her heart gladens at the sight of them together once more. 

Putting aside her misgivings, she pushes the door open and enters. 

Instantly she is assaulted by anxiety, certain that the white of her hair and the unmistakable aura of power will give her away. But the tavern dwellers take no notice of her, strange and foreign as she is, and Alannah decides that the tense set of her shoulders is more like to make her stand out. She makes her way to a less occupied corner, murmuring her choice of drink to a maid as she passes by. 

The inn is crowded this eve, and as she weaves her way through the sea of people, she can’t help but feel awash in a celebratory warmth. Nigh on fifteen years have passed in the First since her victory over the Light, and not for a moment have the people taken their hard-won peace for granted. A dream-like calm enfolds her in its embrace, and she finds herself lost in memories as various faces pass her by.  

The twinkling lights dim and blur as her eyes become heavy. Soon a blink becomes a nod, and she succumbs to a drowsy comfort dragging her down beneath consciousness. Just for a moment, she thinks hazily, already lost to the tug of a sweet dream.

“Ardbert, ya lazy lout, put some muscle inta it!”

The large galdjent roars with laughter, even as beads of sweat dot his forehead. His companion, the dark-haired hume Ardbert, struggles to contain his own mirth as he grins fiercely at his friend. The two are locked in a mighty struggle of an arm wrestling match, neither willing to admit defeat, muscles straining as they wrest for dominance. 

“You’re getting soft on me, Branden,” he chuckles. Truth be told, his own arm is starting to shake from weakness, and there’s a very good chance he’s going to lose this match. Beside him, Renda-Rae lets loose a raucous cheer, and it’s obvious the mystel is deep in her cups.  Lammit and Nyelbert sit nearby deep in discussion about some finer point of magic that Arbert will readily admit he neither understands nor cares about. Still, their company is welcome, even if they have different interests. 

Moments later his arm falls, and Branden claims another victory. Chagrined, Ardbert pays for his next drink, lamenting the lightness of his coin purse. Shaking his head, he takes a long drought of his own ale. “We’re not finished here,” he declares, fighting a smile. “Not until I’ve won, anyway.” 

“If it’s a challenge you want, it’s a challenge you’ll get, boy!” Branden offers his outstretched hand once more, an amused twinkle in his eye, and Ardbert accepts it immediately.

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Renda-Rae calls, halting their competition. “I say this contest needs some real stakes. What about…” the mystel taps her chin, deep in thought. “I got it! Loser has to wash the winner’s leathers for the next moon!” The men recoil in disgust, neither wanting to imagine such a scenario. Still, they agree, and the terms are set. They clasp arms once more, the beginnings of adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

As they await Renda-Rae’s command to start, Arbert takes a quick survey of the room. Most of the tavern’s patrons are familiar to him, having lived in this village their whole lives. They are men and women he has known for years, shared in their triumphs and their heartaches. Some few are strangers, but the town is no stranger to passersby, and their coin is always welcome. 

One such stranger he spies in a corner, hooded and unobtrusive. Something about them draws his eye, and he watches with interest as they suddenly jolt upright. The hood falls from their face, and now he can see that the stranger is a pale young woman. Her long hair is a brown darker than his, and as it spills around her he can see distinct strands of white threaded throughout. An interesting appearance for a woman who looks no older than his own age. 

She hurriedly rises from her seat, obviously in a rush as she makes for the door. Her gaze flickers across the room as she pauses at the door, and for the briefest instant his eyes catch hers. 

Wildfire erupts in his veins, and Renda-Rae’s voice is a million malms away as she calls the beginning of the match. The pressure against his hand is nothing against the sudden tidal surge of memory that threatens to drown him. All sound fades from the room, all sight from his eyes but the image of her face, burned into his being like a brand. 

“Oi, whatsa matter with him? You in there, Ardbert? Keep it up and you’ll be washing my underthings ‘til your next nameday!”

“I think he’s lookin’ at that girl. Look at ‘im, he’s completely besotted! I can’t believe me eyes.”

But Ardbert hears none of this. The roar of blood in his ears is too loud, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He knows her name, it’s on the tip of his tongue. A parade of images flashes in his mind, each one tightening a vice around his ribcage. Memories of another life, memories of an afterlife. Memories of her.

Midnights in her room. Fear and despair in her eyes. Her hand touching his, the brilliant light between them. Her laughter carried on the wind and a smile just for him. A final stand and her gift of redemption.

He can’t breathe. A pain such as he has never known in his life threatens to break him in half. He’s half out of his chair before he knows what he’s doing, tugging his hand away from Branden without acknowledgement of his sudden fervor. She’s already out the door, taking her answers with her. Panic ignites in his breast, and his fevered brain finally loosens its grip on her name. 

“ALANNAH.”

Stupid stupid stupid!

She should have never gone in there, should never have let herself get comfortable. To fall asleep here of all places! Her lack of diligence is astounding and this is probably why the Scions never let her go anywhere by herself. Alannah steps out into the darkening eve, drawing her cloak around her and adjusting her fallen hood. Sloppy, she sneers at herself in disgust.    

A disaster, that’s what she is, making these trips to the First when it’s all done and over. She’s the only one who can’t let go or move on. Sometimes, when she’s bitter, she wonders why she should. Her friends aren’t the ones with a fragmented soul, with a piece in the shape of the hole in her heart. There are some things that cannot be explained by words alone, that only the soul knows, some wounds that will never be whole again. 

A commotion from inside the inn catches her attention. A lone shout sends tingles up her spine, making her knees weak, and all the breath leaves her. She doesn’t know how, but she knows. Her heart beats frantically, erratically as the door slams open behind her. Her own name thrums in her ears, a radio signal calling her home. 

His harsh breathing and heavy steps come to a halt in her wake.

“Alannah.” 

A small sob escapes her. How long has she heard that voice in her dreams? How long has it been since those blue eyes beheld her, aware of who she is? She is afraid to turn, afraid to face a dream that will vanish in the morning light. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come. He deserves a life free from the trials and travails of a hero’s lot, and she will never ever be able to give that to him.

“It is you, isn’t it? I know you felt it just now, whatever it was. Just turn around, please. Look at me.”

Her feet have no will of their own as she slowly shifts to face him. Agony is written in her eyes, and she has not the strength to hide it. His own expression, when at last she beholds him in her sight, is naked confusion and something she can’t name. Her hood drops away from her face, leaving her exposed to his scrutiny. She licks her parched lips, trying to find any words that could possibly be enough between them.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice is hoarse and raspy. “I’m sorry.”

Ardbert takes a step closer, his brow furrowing. “Sorry? For what?” 

“I--” 

A sudden wave of exhaustion nearly knocks her off her feet. A bone-deep weariness settles in her like a stone, bearing her down to the ground. Too much, it’s all too much, when all she wants to do is cry. Her ears catch the sound of dirt gravel crunching beneath boots approaching her as the world spins, and she falls into darkness as the ground rushes up to meet her.

Ardbert watches her as she sleeps, sitting on the edge of the inn room bed as she lays curled on her side where he’d laid her some two hours before after her collapse. It’s a familiar feeling, as though he’s done this before, standing guard by her side until her waking hours return. He thinks of the look on her face as he’d confronted her, such anguish in her eyes that pierced to the heart of him. He remembers her burden, what once was his, and feels guilty. 

As he wonders what has befallen her since that day in the Dying Gasp, an unruly finger rises to brush the bangs from her face. His hand lingers overlong, content to caress the soft skin of her brow. She stirs beneath his touch, sighing into wakefulness as her eyes grudgingly open. He does not withdraw, hesitating as her groggy gaze meets his.

“Ardbert?” Her voice is quiet, almost timid.

He makes a noise of confirmation, and she lets out a long breath. Alannah looks at him then, her uncanny green eyes making him dizzy. There is a long moment of silence between them as they memorize the other’s features, drinking in all that they have missed in their separation.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, feeling oddly protective of a woman whose deeds and power are unrivaled. 

Her face crumples, as though she is about to cry. He knows just how much it costs her to answer with a tiny “no.” She buries her face into the pillow, great sobs wracking her body as her hands clench and unclench in the blankets. Before she can curl into herself, Ardbert pulls her against him, wrapping his arms around her tight and murmuring words of comfort into her hair. 

They lay like this for a long time, until she is drained of her tears. 

She slumps against him, with no will or energy to move. Her breathing eventually evens out, her body shuddering one last time. “I tried to stay away,” she confesses, “but I keep coming back. I had to know that you were okay. And…” she pauses, a knot of fear in her throat. “I missed you,” she whispers, hiding her face again.

He frowns and gently pries her away from his chest. “Why would you stay away? Shouldn’t a hero have free reign to visit the world she’s saved?” 

He sees the bitterness in her face for the first time as she answers. “You should have a free life. One far away from me and all the horror I bring with me, and all the things you left behind. Me being here...just seeing me brought back your memories of all of that. In my selfishness, I’ve ruined the life you deserve. Because I couldn’t stay away.”

It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, with lips pursed and brow furrowed. 

“A life with you in it could never be ruined,” he tells her softly. “I would rather have you here, and know all the evil of the world, than live in ignorance without you.”

She gazes at him, stricken, as though not daring to believe. A war within her rages on her face as she absorbs his words, torn between what she knows and what he offers. 

Ardbert smiles, a tinge of sadness touching his expression as he runs a hand through her hair. “You have saved everything I have ever held dear, and did what I could not.”  At this she stringently objects, shaking her head violently. “You saved me,” she says in a broken voice, tears returning to her eyes. 

He has no words for what he wants to tell her, so he brings his fingertips to her face, tenderly swiping away her stray tears. They trail from her brow to her cheeks, descending to her chin as he tilts his head toward hers. 

The first touch of their lips is tentative and slow, a gentle press as his hand slips between the strands of her hair to support her neck. A light sparks between them, ebullient in its brilliance, a radiant reminder of Her blessing that they share. A brief pause for breath, then the kiss becomes something more. He is pressing her down, the warmth of him surrounding her, a homecoming that she has not felt in years.

Moments pass, or hours, neither of them know. She forgets her name, her titles, the weight of the world. All are distant stars in the sky as she lays in his arms. 

She touches him too, tracing the line of his jaw and the landscape of his chest. There cannot be enough kisses between them. Soft kisses, long kisses, passionate and devouring. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confesses as they shed their clothing, hungry for closeness. 

He breathes against her neck, as uncertain as she is, only knowing that every cell in his body begs to be closer, closer. Easing himself into his elbows above her, he smiles at her reassuringly, leaving a chaste kiss on her lips. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” 

She nods her head nervously, already winding her limbs around his. A sweet ache builds and builds in her chest as he moves in her, ‘til it brings her near to tears. “I…” Mere words are not enough for this moment, unneeded as their souls rejoice. 

“Stay with me,” she gasps, undone and unraveling. “Please, please stay.” 

His lips curve against her collar, nipping at her skin. Ardbert raises his head to look at her, heat piercing him at the sight of her tangled hair and wild eyes. He kisses her again before rolling onto his back, bringing her with him. As she lays on his chest, panting for breath, he presses one palm to her hip and the other to her face. 

“As long as you will have me, Warrior of Light,” he kisses her forehead, “I will be at your side.”

[waitinginthedarke]

It Consumes Me

A BTS/Kim Namjoon Fanfiction

Summary: The minute he laid eyes on her he knew she was the one. But love is a battle of the mind and the heart, and when the voices in your head start winning, how can your heart possibly compete with a choice that consumed you before the very start…

Type: Angst/Love

Disclaimer: This story contains strong themes. Should a chapter be potentially triggering, it will be stated beforehand.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 

Chapter 9

The film had finished by the time he returned to you, the intensity of the final scenes not allowing you to notice how long he’d been gone until you were swallowed by the anxiousness brought on by having to socialize with the others without him there, left by yourself in an unknown environment.

Thankfully Jimin and Jungkook had kept you at ease with their discussion of the marvel universe, so by the time Namjoon sidled up beside you, you didn’t have the tight chest you’d had initially, and you were able to smile enthusiastically up at him as he settled his hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze of greeting.

‘Sorry, I missed the end of the film, I went to speak to Yoongi-hyung for a moment.’

So much for the anxiousness receding.

Looking behind Namjoon, you watch as the one guy who’d been so elusive all evening comes to a stop just over his shoulder, his sudden presence causing you to jump up from your seat to greet him, already having assumed that he was your elder and knowing you should be polite to him with the attitude the others had approached him with this evening so far.

‘I do apologise, y/n, I feel like I haven’t formerly introduced myself yet. Unfortunately, its been quite a long day and im a bit of an introvert so I just needed to recharge the old batteries with some time alone. However, ...here I am now, and Namjoon seems to want us all to get to know one another, so I thought I’d make a special effort to stay awake to do so.’

Watching him talk to you now left you questioning if the guy who’d glared at you and had seemed so distrustful earlier, was the same guy that presented himself to you now; smile seeming completely natural and eyes watching you kindly as he lets his greeting sink in.

‘You shouldn’t have stayed up for me. From everything Jungkook has told me about how crazy busy your lives are, you probably need every bit of sleep you can get.’ You offer, suddenly feeling very apologetic when you realize you’d probably interrupted what would have been an evening of rest for everyone else had you not suggested to Namjoon that you come over to stay to avoid your father from becoming overly suspicious towards your activities.

Although he was probably too drunk to care right about now.

‘Its most definitely not a problem, y/n. In fact, it’s a nice change to the normal cycle of ‘practise-sleep-practise-sleep’. Besides, I want to get to know you, since its obvious you mean so much to Namjoon-ah, here.’

Subconsciously you begin to pinch your elbows with uncertainty where your arms were crossed defensively across your chest, the action having been a natural reaction to Yoongi’s presence, but you don’t become aware of your stance until your thoughts are pulled to the feel of Namjoon gently curving his hand around your waist, fingertips gently tapping your own where there were curled into your skin on the opposite side of you. The action was clearly meant to be subtle, but whether it was your sudden quiet intake of breath upon feeling Namjoon’s touch, or the way you’d been shifting minutely, yet nervously for the past few minutes, the second you become aware of your actions you glance at the man in front of you to see his eyes flicker from your elbow to your own gaze, appearing to swallow uncertainly when he realizes you had clocked his attention on you.

‘In which case, can you guys sit down so that we can all join into the conversation?’ comes a grumpy, yet intrigued voice from behind you, and you cant help the smirk that pulls at your lip as you sigh and turn to see Jimin tilting his head cheekily at you all, smiling devilishly before motioning to the sofa behind you.

‘Well…where do we start?’

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

After a solid hour of talking to everyone, of sharing childhood stories, laughing at lower school antics, and watching as Jungkook and Jimin bickered over who was more ‘Busan’ than the other, the conversation had turned to families, Namjoon first answering your intrigued questions about his parents and sister, before the inquest turned towards you.

‘Well…I live alone with my Father.’ You answer, the sentence seeming blunt even to your own ears, and the quiet that followed told you of the answer that was lingering on all of their tongues before Hoseok even voiced it.

‘What about your mother?’

‘She’s dead.’

God. No matter how many times you said it, it would always sound just as cold and heartbroken as the first time you spoke the words out loud.

‘I’m so sorry, y/n.’

The sentiment echoed from a few others after it first left Namjoon, his grip tightening on your hand out of a want to comfort you and you smile kindly, yet weakly, at him, drawing in a deep steadying breath that you hoped would stop your mind from reeling back through the flood of memories you had of your mother...

...and what life was like before she died.

‘It will be two years this year.’ You explain, glancing around the room at the others and feeling your stomach turn when you see their sympathetic, pitying looks.

‘What happened?’

The way your jaw tightens in response has you questioning just what it was about him that put you so on edge, but when you look up to see Yoongi watching you patiently, his expression free from the same pity as the others, you find yourself beginning to like him despite yourself.

‘The doctor said it was an accidental overdose; she used to suffer a lot with pain in her arms- she’d gone to the doctors for a scan the week before and she was waiting on the results…when they came through the door the day after I found her we found out she had s…-stage 3 cancer- her organs hadn’t been able to hold the quantity of medication she’d taken so when she went to sleep that night she just-…she just didn’t wake up again.’

You don’t recall when you began crying, or when the shaking had begun, its only when the scent of Namjoon is enveloping you and the feel of his tshirt is getting wrapped around your fingers, that you realise what had happened. Hurrying to right yourself, you gently unlock your fingers from the death grip they had on Namjoon, working on breathing evenly and shaking your head slightly to try to stop the stream of tears leaving your eyes, hating yourself for being so weak when you’d been so strong for such a long time.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make everyone depressed.’ You mutter, chuckling at yourself which in turn squeezes a quiet laugh from Namjoon, his eyes being pinned on you when you manage to look up at him, and you find yourself loving him even more when his steady, reassuring gaze is able to fill you with strength once more, the small smile he offers you telling you that he was there…that he always wanted to be there.

‘Sorry for making you so upset, y/n. We’ll change the topic.’ Hoseok explains, smiling reassuringly at you, and you smile shakily back in thanks, quickly swiping beneath your eyes to wipe away any mascara that may have run and, glancing to the spot beside you, you see a shining star come to save you in the form of Jimin pulling a jokingly tense face as he stared back at you, glancing quickly towards the others before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

‘Do you want me to break out the alcohol?’

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

The gentle jostle of soft cotton beneath your cheek forces awareness upon your mind, your eyes steadfastly refusing to allow any light in and so your automatic reaction is to bring your hand up to cover your face, turning your head into the soft material as you do so.

Its with this motion that you become aware of arms cradling you as you seem to float through air, your bemusement at the scenario forcing your eyes open until you could see Namjoon’s delicately sharp jawline just in front of your eyes, the tiniest hint of a 5 o’clock shadow beginning to darken his features. The vision of the wall seeming to move behind him confuses you momentarily, before the light suddenly changes and you immediately recognize the deep hues of his room that you’d memorized the minute you’d stepped into it earlier.

‘Mmmh, whats going on?’ you mumble, closing your eyes once again as you slowly creep your arms up around his neck, smiling cheekily when you settle with your fingers linked so as not to let him escape and you hear him chuckle deeply in response. All motion stills for a moment, the lack of movement almost tempting you to open your eyes again, but its not until you feel his lips press softly to your forehead followed by the cool sheets pressing against your back, being so drastically different to the feel of him cradling you, that you finally peer back up at him, now sporting a frown of disapproval as he attempts to settle you on the bed and retreat.

‘Why did you let me go?’ you question him faux grumpily, pouting in dislike, and watching as he chuckles at the expression, his eyes dancing with amusement in the dull light of his bedside lamp next to you, before he swoops down suddenly to catch your lips with his own, lingering the minute he immerses himself in the act and causing you to smile into the kiss.

An instant need springs within you to not let him go, heart picking up pace hurriedly in your chest as you body begs you for more of him, but your responses are a second too late, as before you can pull him down to join you on the bed, he’s slipping out of your grasp with a cheeky, yet slightly sleepy smile.

A grumble squeezes its way from your chest and you’re about to vocalize your protest, but you’re forced into silence when he’s suddenly pulling his shirt over his head in the corner of the room, and you become fixated on his actions as he strips down to his boxers, the visual of his slim muscles running fluidly just beneath his skin leaving you salivating.

You’re mesmerized as you watch him potter about his room, shuffling some papers on his desk distractedly as he wipes his face with a cleansing wipe, moving to look out of the window thoughtfully for a moment as if he thought you had fallen asleep, and he probably would have continued to assume that, if it wasn’t for your sudden question as you watch him go to get into Jin’s bed across the other side of the room.

‘What are you doing over there?’

He peers towards you with a look of surprise, eyes widened slightly as he sits up and realizes you were indeed still awake.

‘I thought you’d fallen asleep again, I was just getting into bed-‘

‘But, you’re in the wrong bed.’

Your sudden response makes you blush, the obvious want in your voice to have him next to you making you sound needy, but you force yourself to keep your gaze on his, your need to feel him next to you over-ruling any embarrassment.

‘I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ He explains, a smirk playing around his lips at your mild outrage, but before you could complain any more at him, he’s standing back up and making his way over to the opposite side of the bed you were in, his apparent confidence whilst knowing you were awake causing your cheeks to heat even more as you turn over toward him, snuggling into the bed as you watch him climb under the covers, peering over at you for a moment before extending his arm above your head in invitation.

You watch him for a moment, considering, suddenly sitting up and shakily removing your dress over your head before you could think about it, dropping it to the floor beside the bed, and shuffling over once more so that you could snuggle into him more comfortable, not making eye contact with him the entire time and therefore missing the way he raises an impressed eyebrow at the move, before his expression slips into a warm, content smile as he wraps his arms around you.

‘I enjoyed this evening.’ You murmur quietly as your brain becomes consumed by trying to mentally describe the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips as you draw patterns on his torso. His light hum vibrates through his chest and into yours, making it feel as though the two of you were truly fused together.

‘I’m glad. I enjoyed this evening too…it was nice being able to share a bit more of my life with you.’ He mutters, ending the sentence by dropping a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering softly and you cant ignore the overwhelming feeling of contentedness that being wrapped up in him brought, not realizing you had almost fallen asleep until you hear him begin talking again.

‘You know…I never thought I’d ever be this happy before. I was always a little bit skeptical of loving someone else…the whole concept just seemed a little over-zealous to me…

…but now that I have you…I realize its just like breathing; I need you like I need air. …and if that is what it means to love someone-‘

‘I love you, too, Namjoon.’

You’d known it since the first blush that had graced his cheekbones in the coffee shop on the first day you’d met. However, it hadn’t been until he’d begged you to stay beside him before catching the bus home the night before, that you realized you wanted to tell him, the only thing holding you back being your nerves of telling him and making a fool of yourself.

‘Hey, that was meant to be my line.’ He grumbles with a chuckle, the addictive sound making you tilt your head up to look at him, biting your lip in an attempt to hide your smile, before he steals the breath from your lungs with a kiss, his hold tightening on you as he tries to put every ounce of need for you into the act.

‘I love you, y/n.’

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

NAMJOON

She was so delicate in his arms, his need for her being amplified until it was almost overwhelming, but the voice in his mind that demanded he do everything right stopped him from letting it come to anything more than a kiss and a touch.

Having her laid in his bed with him, the two of you wrapped in your own little world together, was everything he didn’t know he needed. The moment she’d taken off her dress he hadn’t been able to stop himself from running his eyes over her, his breath stopping as the lamplight had glowed against her skin. Before when she’d seemed upset at his attempt to be proper and sleep in a separate bed, he’d had to force his thoughts into check, shaking himself a little as he made his way over to join her, but almost losing it when the electric current that she always ignited within his body made itself apparent the second his skin was in contact with hers.

After their confessions to one another he’d felt the way her whole body had relaxed into him, watched her as the slow circles she’d been drawing on his abdomen had become smaller and smaller until her dainty fingers had folded into themselves and her eyelids had fluttered shut. The sight of her asleep in his arms, uncaring for the rest of the world, so content to lay within his hold, not a dash of fear or apprehension on her face; he could have died there and then and remained the happiest man alive for the rest of time.

He wanted to stay awake all night watching her, committing every detail of her to memory so that even when he was asleep, she’d be all he’d see behind his eyelids. The softness of her skin beneath his fingers as he traces patterns on her shoulders causes his stomach to somersault over and over again, being able to brush her hair back gently behind her ear so that he could see her face in all its ethereal-ness was something he wanted no other man to ever experience, out of jealousy.

However, its as he’s brushing her hair tidily to lay against her back, that he initially catches sight of the grey smudge.

At first he thought it was a flicker of a shadow dancing with the dim lamp light. But after squinting his eyes to see through the darkness, and tilting his head in confusion as his fingers slow their gentle combing of her hair, the first bout of intrusive thoughts flashes through his mind.

No. She probably just hurt herself by accident…maybe she tripped and fell at university.

The bruise drew itself across the back of her ribcage, curling in to hug the empty space between her shoulder blades, tapering off at the edges into a light yellow spattering- signalling that whatever had happened had been a while ago. He couldn’t help but outline the shape with the lightest touch of his fingertips, the somersaulting of his stomach having turned to nausea, and subconsciously he leans his head down so that he can press his lips to the top of her hair, lingering for a while as he tries to dispel the dark thoughts that had infested his mind.

‘Hmmm?’

Her quiet murmur forces his awareness onto how securely he was holding her, his clutch being just that bit tighter than was comfortable, and he immediately loosens his arms, brushing her hair back from her face once again as she readjusts herself into his side, her arm reaching round his torso to hug him just that tiny bit closer to her, before she slackens against his chest once again.

He couldn’t imagine anyone ever hurting such a preciously pure soul, could never think of a situation in which anybody could find it in themselves to raise a hand to the angel tucked into his side in that moment.

…and yet all he could think after the sight of the black mark wrapping around her back was that someone had…

…and if he ever found that person; …he knew he would kill them.

(T.B.C)