#its so much more than i could ever have hoped for myself

[oatbugs]

.

[ivyandink]

the sheer amount of money we’re spending on our wedding hit me like a brick wall today, so that was nice lolll

[spice-ghouls]

hey. what if I started going by stickers on here. I have all of 3 irls following me here, so I might just be able to go by that online. it feels frustrating and fucking stupid to have gone by one thing for So Long and then start not liking it as much, because nearly everyone I know made it out to be a goddamn ordeal when I wanted to change my name the first time, and even most of my friends still consistently fuck up my pronouns, so there's no way in hell I'm telling anyone irl that I would love to go by a different, more notably Weird Nonbinary Name, because I really don't want to deal with More Cis People Condescendingly Explaining How Hard It Is To Get It Right, and I don't want any more of a target on my back than I already have. but like. I can just Do that on here because no one on this dying microblogging platform gives two fucks. I don't know, maybe I'll change my mind when I'm not in the middle of a hypomanic episode. we'll see. I'm going to try it out for a while.

[myriadsystem]

Im doing so good!

[forwyk]

I’m back

[sapphic-bifrost]

i think to me, the mark of true goodness is how you behave when you do not have anything to lose. how do you speak to friends that have betrayed you? to ex-partners? to old bullies? to those who reject you? what do you give to people from whom you expect nothing back? what do you give when your only choice is to give selflessly or not at all?

[fuwushiguro]

Just Add Water

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: Smut Notes: Ending the week with daddy, is anyone surprised? Warnings: 18+, squirting, vaginal sex implied, consensual encounters, mean!Megumi, vibrator teasing, cheating, daddy kink, overstimulation, noncon eavesdropping. Words: 1.4k

Toji has never had a problem with you since you started dating Megumi. You’ve always been quite timid and shy but you’re always so polite when you come over to spend the night. He likes that you seem to be a good influence on his kid. You’ve helped him with his career path and saving up to get a place of his own for the two of you. And you’re definitely a hard worker. An office job and a job as a waitress at a local café must take its toll on your body. Which is why he can understand why you always seem to have such slow, lazy sex with his son. The walls are thin, it’s not like he’s listening on purpose. Though even he can’t deny how his cock stiffens as he imagines your perfect body and sweet faces as you writhe and moan as you’re filled to the brim with cock. He ignores it, usually, but tonight was a little different. Your moans are much louder than usual. He could clearly hear that you were even cumming louder than usual.

“M-Megumi, ‘m sorry! That’s never happened before…” you tell him as you cover yourself in the duvet, utterly ashamed of the mess you’ve made of his bedsheets.

“It’s… ugh. It’ll be fine, but… a little warning, maybe? I could have put some towels down or something.” he sighs as he realises he’s going to have to put fresh bedding on before the two of you go to sleep. “Didn’t realise I was dating a porn star, s’all.” he continues.

“P-Please don’t make fun,” you respond as your lip wobbles while you attempt to hold back your tears. You don’t think you have ever felt so awful. You really don’t believe you could feel any worse if you tried. “You know I didn’t mean it. I guess it just felt so… good.” you speak, trying to justify yourself and hope to earn his forgiveness.

Toji is dying for one of you to just say the damn word. He’s certain he knows what happened. What you did. What the two of you are getting at. But he needs confirmation. That isn’t so hard understand, is it? His heart is hammering away in anticipation. Just say it. Just fucking say it.

“Sorry. Maybe I’m trying to make light of things since you practically wet the bed. I’m a little grossed out, I guess. I… I think I’ll sleep on the couch and clean up tomorrow, you take the spare room.” he tells you.

You don’t remember your boyfriend being so mean. Angsty? Sure. Moody? Absolutely. But mean? Never, not to you at least. Even Toji can’t believe his ears. Of course he knows his son can be a miserable little prick at times but he never thought he’d take it out on you. He still doesn’t have the verbal confirmation of what happened, but he knows. Megumi is a fool for being so disgusted at what you did.

It’s one of Toji’s favourite things in the world.

That’s why he is waiting for his chance to pounce once he hears Megumi go downstairs. He’s lingering, hovering around his bedroom door as he waits for the creaky floorboards to tell him you’re going to the guest room.

There it is.

The door swings open and you just about died of fright.

“Toji, Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me.” you whisper, trying to keep your voice down and avoid irritating Megumi even more.

“Come here,” he insists, widening his bedroom door and demanding you follow, “you’ve been cryin’.” he bluntly confesses he’s been listening to you as you wait in the door frame. You’re unsure of what to do. It seems a little weird to go into your soon-to-be father in law’s room in the dead of night.

“I think I’m going to go to bed, actually.” you tell him, turning away and facing the direction of the spare room.

“Darlin’, your eyes are as swollen as golf balls. Really don’t think I could live with myself if you cry yourself to sleep on your lonesome.” he sighs.

You want to leave but there’s something so intoxicating about him that you can’t pull away. You’re trying to walk one way but your feet is taking you the other. The door is shutting behind you and you’re sitting next to him on his enormous bed. There’s a look in his eye, a look that’s making your heart race. It’s carnal. Predatory. Your heart is beating in your ears, and you know you’ve made a mistake by coming in here.

“Is there something you need from me, Toji?” you wonder, wide-eyes filled to the brim with tears. You choke on your rational thinking as Toji hovers over you. His knee between your thighs and driving into your messy cunt. “I don’t… I don’t like this, Toji. What are you—?”

“It sounded like my son didn’t appreciate your talent,” he snarls, “but I do. Will you let daddy show you how much?” he wonders. You begin stuttering and stammering like a nervous child. He heard you? Does he always hear the two of you being intimate with each other?

“I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about. M-My talent?” you question. He laughs, resting his forehead against yours.

“You squirted, didn’t you?” he presses. Your eyes scrunch closed in embarrassment, but he kisses your cheek hoping you’ll open them again. “I love makin’ pretty pussies gush like that f’me. Megumi’s a fool. I’ll let you ruin my bed and I’ll praise you for it. I’ll make you do it again and again until that is the only reason you’re cryin’. What do you say?”

He’s so brash. But since you met Toji he’s never been one to mince his words. He’s so cocksure and certain of himself. He loves making dirty jokes and isn’t shy about bringing random women home. This, however, is a new level of brazenness. You’re dating his son and he’s propositioning you like he’s asking for a stick of gum. Your mouth falls open and closes again and again. What can you even say? It’s unbelievable. Unthinkable. And yet…

“I- yes. God, fuck, please. I want you. Make me do it.”

“Fuuuuuck, sweetheart. Yes, just like that.” he moans in your ear as he forces your fourth orgasm out of you. Positively dousing the bedding in your release. You can’t believe you’ve got anything left to give. But you do, and you want to do it again. Although you’re not sure you can.

“T-Toji, please. I don’t think—” you’re interrupted as he puts the vibration settings of his Hitachi wand to the highest possible. Your head lolling back and resting on his shoulder as he kisses your exposed neck.

“That’s right, baby. Don’t fuckin’ think. Just cum everywhere, alright? Daddy wants you to fucking cum like a good little girl for him.” he whispers.

He wraps his arm around your torso to prevent you from bucking as wildly. He’s so big and strong, you think if you cum one more time you might melt against him. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to focus on cumming again when you’re so fucked out. It didn’t come as a shock to discover he owned a vibrator. It’s his ace in the hole to keep women wanting more. More him. And unfortunately for you, after this, you think you may have fallen for it.

“You’re so beautiful when you moan…” he tells you quietly. You’re biting your lower lip as you finally feel the steady climb of an orgasm vibrate through your clit. You feel it in your lower stomach, your legs, your toes. It’s close. “Gorgeous when you cum f’me… when you mess daddy’s bed up. Mmpf, baby. Can you feel how hard I am? Gonna make you cum even harder when I fuck you. But you gotta give me one more… give me one—”

“Nngh—!” you cry, water evading your pussy as he finally coaxes what he wants from you. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away, knowing fine well that it’s too much for you to handle. A large, heavy palm covers your mouth to stop you from screaming into the lecherous air you had created together. He gives you a chance to relax, to breathe. It’s your first break since you got started.

Fuck.

You can see the light pouring through the trees.

“We shouldn’t tell Megumi about this…” you breathe. “But let’s do that again.”

tag list form ➪ here

© 2022 fuwushiguro

[bichui-archive]

💎

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Why is it so hard to believe that a princess would lie?

No one entertains the idea that the new tax is for the purpose they claim. The king lies, the streets remain potted with holes, and we all knew this would happen.

Dukes and Duchesses and princes? Do you trust their words more?

No.

So why do you trust hers?

Is it because she's a merchant's daughter, and not a highborn girl of status and power?

Tell me, do you really trust the wealthy shopkeeper to give you the most of your money's worth?

I thought not.

You trust her story because you want to. I get that, it is quite the tale. I know my words will fall on deaf ears, but I cannot go forever without telling it. Princess who's love would have me executed or not.

We never called her Cinderella.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ella. Ella was the name of my new sister. She was younger than Anastasia, but older than me. I was excited to meet her. She was not excited to meet us.

The first night in the new house (It was an extravagant place, then before we'd gotten used to it, it had stairs!), Ella shut herself in her rooms for dinner, then breakfast, then was coaxed out by her father for lunch. Her eyes were puffy but she still leveled us with a glare that felt like a drafty window.

Ella did not want us here.

"Give her time," Mother had told us, "Her mother passed away recently, this is a big change."

So we gave her time. Two years should've been enough to dull the hostility, but when I'm pranked so viscously, I retaliate. I regret it a bit now, it was childish, but I don't think I would've ever done anything differently. See, Ella's father, the man I should call my papa like she did, didn't believe Ella could do wrong. I could tell him that she'd put rotten egg in my shoe, but Ella wouldn't do that, it must've been Anastasia, if I wasn't lying. So I fought back in my own way, and got punished for it more often than not.

Two years later, and we were just as much enemies as Ella had expected of us.

Then Ella's doting father died.

Here's the beginning of her story, she "Became a servant in her own house," right? Honestly, I think she actually thinks that's how it happened.

Context, Ella, is important.

Mother didn't appear to grieve (She did, of course, but Ella never learned to read my mother's face.) Mother couldn't afford to waist time lounging with her tears, we were living in a house we couldn't afford. So Anastasia sat at the table and started embroidering for hours, Mother and I ripped the useless flowers from the garden and planted the dye plants we knew so well. We secured an income to keep the warm, draft-less building. Mother tried to remarry (yet again), but some nasty rumors of poison kept the husbands away. I still wonder if Ella, the charismatic socialite, had something to do with them.

We couldn't afford to keep servants, but we knew how to clean and cook, and do all the things we did before. Ella did not.

I do wonder if our work all went unnoticed. Did she really not care that I made dinner, because of how horrendous it was to was dishes? She says now, that we all lounged around and did nothing. Well, Ella, maybe its because I stuck my hand in the laundry water and scrubbed instead of swishing it around hoping the dirt wouldn't get on me!

It does not take that long to do simple chores if you dig in and do them!

(And before you try to say it, we did teach her how. But the washboard chipped a nail and was then onward unusable.)

Mere months of this, oh, that's right, Ella doesn't use the correct dates in her tale, No.

This didn't go on for six years, like she'd have you believe. Her father hadn't been in the ground for a year when the ball's invitation came.

I wish it had been longer.

She would've figured chores out and had a bit of free time. Then, maybe she would be content to not ruin us.

I think you can figure the rest of the story out. I dyed fabric, Anastasia embroidered, and Mother stitched dresses together for all three of us. Ella's didn't meet her standards and she wore something from an old chest of her mother's. It had been a beautiful gown, I could imagine a fairy stitching it.

The party came and went, we had fun and Ella had a hook in the prince. The envoy came to collect her a week later, and she'd had soot on her fingers from scrubbing the fireplace.

That was the first and last time I'd ever see Cinderella.

[redwitchredspeedster]

Ok, so take my opinion with a grain of salt, but to anyone who is unhappy about Wanda’s arc in MoM:

*Spoilers ahead*

ETA: I don’t think 616 Wanda is dead, but I still have to cover all of my bases

As a longtime fan of the comics, I am more than familiar with the song and dance of Wanda oscillating between being a hero, an antihero, and a villain. Changing sides has been the story of her character since her origins as a member of the Brotherhood alongside Pietro and Magneto and continued on through the decades with her going crazy, turning evil, and/or dying probably once a decade ever since.

From the beginning, Lizzie has said that she wanted to see some of Wanda’s most iconic moments, ie. the “no more mutants” line from House of M. She WANTS to see House of M. She wants to touch on those infamous moments of villainy that are so well-known and loved. She wants to portray Wanda in a comic-accurate way (sans the sexualization) because she sees how unique Wanda is and how fun she is to play. From the very beginning Lizzie has done her best to champion Wanda being treated correctly as a complex, troubled young woman who has lost everything and been wronged by the world over and over. She has helped tremendously in crafting MCU Wanda as a well-rounded character who went from forgettable in the minds of many to absolutely adored thanks to Wandavision. I remember seeing Infinity War and Endgame in theaters and being one of the only ones cheering when she beat Thanos’s ass, meanwhile at my MoM screening 80% (or more) of people were wearing Wanda/Wandavision shirts and cheering when she came on screen.

Wandavision gave us Wanda processing her grief in all of the expected stages and with special attention to denial. When we last saw her, she had flown off with the Darkhold and was hearing Billy & Tommy calling for her during what we now know was likely dreamwalking/at least her peeking in on the other universes. Anyone familiar with the Darkhold will know its immense power and how it corrupts those who use it and Wanda is no different. Especially as, when we saw her, she was heavily grieving the loss of her brother, husband, and children all over again after the collapse of Westview. She was vulnerable and desperate, and seeing what Agatha could do with the Darkhold paired with her lack of knowledge and its promise to help drew her in. She was, once again, taken advantage of in a vulnerable moment. The only difference here was that it was the Darkhold and Cthon’s writings rather than another human being.

At least as of right now, I do not see her characterization and arc in MoM as a step back. I believe she is what she said she is: a mother who is beyond desperate to have her children back because she has NO ONE ELSE. None of the other Avengers have shown their faces to try and help her. Even Stephen only showed up when he needed help. Wanda was alone with a book filled with dark magic and abilities she was only just beginning to understand; how could anyone expect that to end well?

Wanda is my favorite MCU character and my favorite comic character. She always has been and always will be. I am so thrilled to have gotten to see so much more of her in the MCU between Wandavision and MoM, and yes it did hurt to see her in so much agony and I didn’t want her to succeed in getting America or her powers, but I also understand and appreciate why (I think) they continued her story the way they did. I am going to tell myself over and over that she isn’t actually dead because I can’t imagine her being gone from the MCU, but I also think that Feige knows full-well how loved she is and how integral she can/will be to continuing to thread the multiverse storyline together. Especially with the introduction of mutants.

So, uh, if you’ve read this far… thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. I’ll probably have more to say later once I’m no longer sleep deprived, but I hope this all makes sense for now.

[atlabeth]

a lady's guide to surviving the ton - benedict bridgerton

summary: you've prepared an endless list of rules and notes for the season to ensure a successful debut. benedict may be in need of some tips for a courtship of his own.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first bridgerton fic!! like the amount of support has been insane and ily so much <3<3 bridgerton has just been really good for inspo lately so yk i had to write abt good ol benny boy. its just a short lil fluffy piece abt fun idiot courting methods lol but i hope you enjoy

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): none i think. just pure fluff

“Are you ever going to dance at one of these balls, or is writing your only intention?” 

You glanced up from your journal and smiled, perhaps the only man in the ton capable of causing the reaction. “You may have years of experience from accompanying your siblings, but I have  just debuted with my only experience being my older sister’s season. I am merely documenting everything I can so I shall be able to perform at my best during the season.” 

Benedict chuckled. “Documenting everything? Making it through the season is quite simple — a couple charming smiles, a few courtesy dances, and you will have the men falling at your feet. Or, if you prefer, you can go the route of my brother — Anthony despises the season, and yet he still manages to have every lady at his beck and call. I truly do not understand how he does it.” 

“Perhaps it is because of his attitude that he is so desirable to them,” you pointed out. “There is nothing a man loves more than a seemingly unattainable woman, but I’ve found the ladies of the ton to be quite similar in regards to untouchable men. It is the reason why, apart from riches and status, dukes and marquesses are so appealing to the masses.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have certainly done your research on the ton, my lady. Maybe your wallflower strategy is indeed working out for you.” 

“I try,” you said, bolstered by his praise. “Though, of course, the reason for his desirability could be much more simple.” 

“And that is?” 

You shrugged and smiled at him. “Anthony is devastatingly attractive. I find that works wonders on a lady.” 

“Your deduction forces me to question the legitimacy of your work,” Benedict said with a slight frown. “Though I think we have an opportunity to prove it now.” 

“Oh?” 

Benedict offered a smile of his own along with his hand. “I consider myself quite attractive. Should it work wonders on you, your research shall be fully accepted.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you as you gave him a sideways smile. “That is awfully confident of you, Mister Bridgerton.”

“That is simply because I believe I am worthy of it, Miss Beauvale,” he responded in kind. “I would be grateful if you would indulge me in a dance.” 

“Well,” you said with mock haughtiness as you accepted his hand, placing your journal on a table to the side, “how could I ever refuse?” 

You each took your positions on the floor as you joined in seamlessly with the other dancers, one of Benedict’s hands on the small of your back and the other intertwined with your own hand as you set the other on his shoulder.

Only once you felt the movements register in your muscles, the waltz that had been ingrained in your mind after hours upon hours of dance lessons, did you begin to talk, trusting in your ability to continue without stumbling. 

“The more that I think about it, the more I realize I have in fact never seen you on the dance floor with a woman other than your sisters,” you said. “Not in the balls we have had thus far nor the entirety of my sister’s season. However have you managed it?”

“It is the often overlooked privilege of the second son,” Benedict responded. “My siblings are quite skilled at taking over the spotlight, and thus I am rewarded the courtesy of remaining in the shadows and indulging in my own wants. It also helps that most ladies go after a title, and Anthony has far more to offer there than I.” 

“Ah,” you nodded. “You are quite fortunate, Mister Bridgerton. No matter how hard I try to blend in with the walls, a suitor always manages to find me. It becomes exhausting after a time.” 

“Then I suppose it is quite fortunate now that you have a suitor you can bear on your arm,” Benedict said playfully. 

“Is that what you are?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “A suitor?” 

“I thought it was quite obvious with my asking you to dance,” he said, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Though I must admit, I am not very knowledgeable on all a suitor must do. If you have spent so much time watching, you ought to have some advice you can share.” 

You looked at him with thinly veiled amusement. “Am I providing the resources for my own courtship?” 

Benedict shrugged with mock ambivalence. “That is a secret, my lady, but it would mean a great deal if you could share some of your notes with me.” 

You hummed as you pretended to think long and hard. “Many of my tips are for the ladies of the ton, but I suppose that I have some advice that can apply to gentlemen.”

He grinned. “Fantastic. Do tell.” 

“Well,” you started, “it is most important to be kind, above all else. A lady will not entertain anyone who only deigns to insult her. Compliment not just her appearance, but her skills and mind as well — it can be upsetting to be praised only for the things one cannot control.” 

“So if I were to, say, compliment a lady on how well the blues of her dress highlight her eyes, I should also commend her on how brilliantly articulated she is,” Benedict said with a coy smile, his eyes leaving your own for a moment to linger on the cerulean fabric of your outfit.

“Yes,” you responded with a nod, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, “though it is also polite to let her know when you are complimenting her. Perhaps when you are dancing with the aforementioned lady in blue.”

“I believe she understands what I am trying to say,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Please, continue.” 

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly but obliged nonetheless. “If a gentleman is interested in a lady, it is imperative that he asks her for a dance — a lady is unable to ask for a dance herself, but she is, on the other hand, barred from refusing an offer. It is the easiest way to show interest.” 

Benedict hummed as he led you through a spin. “I’ve already asked a lovely lady to dance, so I believe you can move to your next step.” 

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, the bottom of your skirt twirling with your movements before you took up your regular position again. “Apart from asking for dances, a gentleman must also be an active caller at his lady’s estate if he wishes to woo her. I’ve found offers of gifts and his company to be the most effective, especially if those gifts involve flowers.” 

“Flowers,” he muttered to himself before he met your eyes again. “Completely off topic, but it is necessary all the same — what is your favorite type of flower?” 

You grinned, now fully unable to hide your joy at his unconventional courting. “Purple hydrangeas.”

“Very lovely,” he nodded. “This all does seem to be coming together quite nicely. I feel as if you know the way to a lady’s heart better than I do.” 

You chuckled. “That is simply not true. I am skilled at listening and watching from the sidelines — you are perfectly capable of gaining a lady’s affections.” 

“You say it with such confidence,” Benedict said, the twinkle in his eye returning. “Could it be that I have already gained the affections of a certain lady?” 

“Perhaps,” you said, barely managing to bite back your smile. “But perhaps you have held the affections of the lady in question well before this season.” 

“Certainly a twist of events,” he said with mock austerity. “Though I suppose the confession means I was correct all along. A pretty face truly is all it takes for a lady to fall.” 

You felt your cheeks flush yet again and Benedict smiled, though his expression faltered for a moment. “That is— if you are the lady in question.” 

“Of course I am, Benedict,” you giggled. “I thought it was quite obvious with my blatant flirting.” 

His sheepish smile told you all you needed to know as the dance came to an end, the two of you separating as you bowed to each other. “I take it this means I am officially courting you, Miss Beauvale?” 

“I would love nothing more, Mister Bridgerton,” you responded proudly. 

Benedict beamed at you as he offered his arm to you, and you began to walk off to the side of the dance floor together after you took it. “Perfect — with your advice and my charm, I am sure we can muddle through this courtship together.” 

"Certainly," you nodded with a smile of your own. “As long as we are together.” 

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator 

[pellucid-constellations]

A Correspondence of Obligation - One

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader (Royal AU)

Summary: Obedience, duty, pristine smiles—raised as the princess of an oppressive kingdom, you knew nothing else. Your father signed your life away at the ripe age of five, black ink bleeding into a contract between nations, fate cemented with the flick of a quill. So when the time came to fulfill the promises you were too young to make, you expected much of the same in the land of Brookshire. But Prince James had other plans, as did the enemies looming outside the castle walls.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: None!

a/n: This is clarified in a later chapter, but just to make sure no one is thrown out of their reading of this fic—Steve is the readers “cousin”, but they hold basically no blood relation. He is considered a duke of Hyland, but their relation is very far removed. I only did this to make him a royal in her court :) Enjoy reading and let me know what you think!! ♡♡

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

~~

Riding in a carriage always gave you a terrible headache. The wooden slats on the walls groaned each time rickety wheels mounted the rocks and the roots of the forest. Trees flew by in blurs, but just slow enough to catch your gaze and leave you dizzy. And with each huff of the horses you felt yourself growing more and more agitated.

How could you not? You were roused out of bed this morning before the sun had even greeted the sky. They shoved you into a corset before the birds began their song outside your window. 

All for a man—as was everything in your life. 

“You could at least attempt to look excited,” Natasha sighed, an arched brow raised at you from across the carriage. 

You blinked at her, pulling the book in your lap up to your chest, unable to read it with the jostling in the cab. You knew bringing it would be pointless, but ever since Steve had gifted you with The History of Brookshire for your twenty-first birthday a while back, the pages rarely left your grip. “And are you excited, Lady Natasha?” 

“Are we truly resorting to titles, Your Highness? Are you that upset with me?” 

You thumbed at the corner of the novel, pressing the pad of your finger into the worn paper. You were never really upset with Natasha. Disappointed, yes, but you knew your request last night was a far fetched notion; just the whims of a silly girl, desperate to break away from her own fate. 

“Perhaps I am upset,” you admitted. “But you know better than anyone that it is no fault of your own.” 

Your lady in waiting reached across the bench, grabbing your hand in a soft grip. “I do not think it will be all that bad. Prince James is said to be a most benevolent man. There are no stories of him that would warrant us running away in the night.” 

You bit your lip and turned to the window, embarrassed. You wondered how long she would hold that over your head. Once your tears had subsided, the two of you had quite the laugh in your quarters the night before; the thought of you trying to survive in the woods was truly comical. Natasha was resourceful, but not enough to keep a princess alive for very long. 

“Well I hope those stories ring true.” You kept your gaze fixed on the castle slowly coming into view—stories of cobblestone high, glittering waters at its base, rolling hills of juniper grass in the forefront. Maybe you would paint it if the dread in your stomach wasn’t all-consuming. “Because if they do not, this life will be more bleak than it already is.” 

“You know I would let no harm come to you, princess.”

“It is not harm I am afraid of, Natasha. I can handle harm.” 

There were trumpets in the distance—close enough to make out their melody but far enough away that the horses’ hooves still took precedence in the space. Your announcer must have made it to the castle already. Maybe the prince was standing outside, awaiting your carriage with his hands firmly behind his back, a smile made for the monarchy permanently impressed upon his face.

Maybe he wasn’t. 

“I am simply afraid that I have let myself down in hoping for the impossible.” 

~~

The people of your kingdom had never greeted you this way. Flowers were flung at the ground below the horses, the trumpets you detected earlier were loud from behind the glass windows of your carriage; children danced and women held their hands over their hearts as you drove past. 

It was jarring how much the people of Brookshire seemed to love their future queen when they had yet to even meet her. It was as if the mere sight of you sent them into a frenzy, as if you were a rare gift bestowed upon them. 

It was nothing like the half-hearted glances you received back home, your loyal subjects treating you like an ornament that was displayed on holidays and placed on a shelf for the rest of the year. But you had grown accustomed to those looks; you learned to look to the ground when entering rooms with your father, to not stray too far from the castle unless completely necessary. 

You fiddled with the tulle lining your dress, knocking your heels against the bench as the carriage wheels rolled over cobblestone instead of forest shrubbery. Perhaps you should be smiling and waving to those on the street overrun with joy at the mere sight of you. But if you were being honest—and in a completely unladylike turn of phrase—you felt like you were going to vomit. 

“Natasha, perhaps you could pretend to be me. I will act as your lady and you can marry Prince James,” you rambled, plucking up the courage to spare a glance outside. “Yes, I think that would be a wonderful idea. No one knows what I look like. Here, I’ll give you my crown and if they ask about the dress we can just say—” 

“Princess,” Natasha interrupted, a smirk covering her tinge of worry. “I hate to inform you of this, but your cousin tells me that Prince James knows exactly what you look like.” 

You reared back, eyes wide. “And how would he know that?” 

“Do you remember the portrait Steven had done for the drawing room? Have you ever gone to look at it?” 

“I do not go in the drawing room.” 

“I know.” 

“Forgive me,” you gaped. “But am I to believe that Steve just gave Prince James a portrait of me without him asking for it? That is so embarrassing, I feel as if I am actually going to be sick.” 

Natasha scoffed, leaning back into her shaking seat. “All this time and you still do not believe that that man is half in love with you already,” she mumbled. “No, Prince James asked for one. He had it commissioned actually—said he did not want something too many others had seen.” 

“Oh, I’m sure those were his exact words.” 

Just like every time you had this conversation, Natasha dropped into a softer tone. “Not every man is like those in Hyland.” A long sigh, deep within her chest. “I wish you had had more experience before this. Met more people maybe—men like Steven.” 

The carriage jolted just as you opened your mouth to quip back, and that argument was lost on your lips instantly; you couldn’t even recall the words as they drowned in the anxiety that now bubbled in your throat. You had to steady yourself on the window when the door swung open. 

The air here was warm and inviting, wisps of citrus on your lips as the breeze filtered through the door and hit the back windows. Honeyed rays lit up your knuckles, glinting in the gems on your fingers and uncovering the layers of your gown that were seemingly unnecessary here. And at the base of the carriage was a hand—a single, gloved hand that you knew belonged to a squire waiting to help you down and begin your new life. 

You took a dubious glance at Natasha, who simply gave you a reassuring nod and one of her famous smirks before gathering the train of your dress for your exit. She always had too much faith in you. With one last, harrowing breath, you collected your wits and slid your hand into the squire’s. 

It was instantaneous—the relief. 

Your home of Hyland had two, very distinct, places in your mind. There was the place with iced over streams and lilac skies. A breeze that froze your cheeks, but in a comforting way; like being kissed by frosted lips and caressed by silk that had stayed out in the snow overnight. Owls that came out when they weren’t supposed to and hail that crunched under soles even when the ground was marble instead of grass. There was the place your mother raised you, a haven where you and Steve knocked over logs and slid on frozen lakes. 

But then there was the place that took up a larger portion of your memory. Dark corners and whispers you were meant to hear. A fur coat casting a shadow over your frame, always reminding you that you weren’t needed yet, that you wouldn’t be needed until you were gone. Lessons that hurt your hands and heels that hurt your feet. Doors with too many locks on them and voices—so many voices—telling you that you weren’t to touch them, that the locks were there to keep you safe. 

And maybe Brookshire would afford you much of the same. Maybe the beauty of this kingdom would become second to the treatment you received. But for this moment, however fleeting it was, you decided to pretend that there would only be one place in your brain for Brookshire—the place with glittering gravel and temperate skies. 

“Princess, you must move forward if you would like your dress to follow you,” Natasha all but snickered. 

You quickly shuffled forward on the steps of the carriage, leaning heavily on the squires hand in an attempt to stabilize yourself. “Sorry, I’m terribly sorry,” you mumbled, glancing up at the boy with apologetic eyes. 

“Oh, uh, that’s okay—Your Highness, I mean. That’s okay, Your Highness,” he blushed, shifting eyes not quite meeting yours. “I’m Peter—sorry, I’m not supposed to talk to you. Ignore me, I’m just supposed to help you down.” 

“You can talk to me. I am not going to get you in trouble.” 

“Oh! Oh, okay well, uh, hello.”

“Hello, Peter,” you giggled. None of the squires back home were interested in talking to you. Peter’s slight blush and awkward stammering was a nice change of pace. “It was nice to meet you.”

He bowed with clumsy arms and clinking armor; a proper bow, unlike the head nods you were used to. Natasha was guiding you away before you could allow yourself to tear up and you were thankful. Crying within the first five minutes in your new kingdom was probably bad for image purposes. 

“He was certainly excited,” Natasha teased. 

You sent her a look, but that was all you were capable of as you rounded the carriage and met the crowd. It was time to be ‘on’ as your father would say; time to create an image of a strong front within the crown. You were to smile, but not too much. Nod politely at those who looked the most excited and accept flowers from the children even though those flowers were instantly passed to your father. 

Just what you’d been doing since your mother fell ill. 

And you did it without fail, but you couldn’t help the fleeting glances you kept making toward the castle steps. You counted four people there—the king, the queen, Steve, and a knight. Unless Prince James was playing dress up, he wasn’t there. 

You knew it shouldn’t hurt this much. If anything, you should be excited that you were finally right and Natasha was wrong. That never happened. But the small blinks you took up at the empty spot on the stairs were each a painful jab to the gut, and suddenly, it didn’t feel very good to be right. 

“He said he was going to be here,” Natasha muttered. “Something must have come up. He would not miss this.” 

You let out a sigh. It was covered with a smile. “I am not upset.” 

“You are. And that is going to drive him insane.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus on Steve’s bright smile just a few feet away from you. You could pretend this was just a visit with Steve in some strange court he was residing in. Yes, that made this entrance a lot easier. 

You took your time to greet and bow to the king and queen—George and Winnie they told you to call them. A surprising introduction to be sure. Even your father made you call him by his title, especially in public. George and Winnie had smiles that were much more welcoming than anything your father could even attempt to pull off, so maybe there was a difference there. Perhaps the apple just fell far from the tree in this family. 

A quick bow to Steve and a parting wave to the crowd and you were being ushered inside, welcomed by more formal talk in the entryway. Steve promised to show you around the castle and the king and queen apologized profusely for their son’s absence before leaving themselves. It wasn’t until you could no longer hear their heels clicking against marble that you let your posture shift. 

“Well, shall we go and see the dining room? Princess, I know that you enjoy beautiful views and the window there—oof.” 

You slammed your body into Steve’s before he could continue his speech. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his laugh reverberated in your chest, and then he was picking you up in your formal dress, hugging you in the same way he’d done since you were children. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “Hyland felt so empty while you were gone.” 

Steve released you, setting you down but keeping you at arm’s length with a pitiful expression. “I’m sorry, y/n, you know I hate leaving you there. But as a duke you know I have to respond to invitations to court.” 

“Well, yes, I understand that. But is there a reason you were gone for so long? Court proceedings only take a few weeks.” 

“Things went a little differently here,” Steve smiled. A genuine smile, one he didn’t usually display when he talked about his title. “Buck—Prince James’ court feels more like a family. They kept asking me to stay and the prince had so many questions about you and time sort of got away from me.” 

You furrowed your brows. “Are you telling me that you’ve been enjoying your time in court, Steve?” 

He gave your chin a fond tap. “I dare say I have. And I know you will as well.” 

“Of course,” you agreed, because you had already had this discourse with Natasha; there was no need to hash it out with your cousin as well. 

And so, Steve showed you around the castle. A spring castle, he called it, with sprawling hallways and wide-open windows to let the sunlight in. The dining room had the beautiful view he hinted at before, a glittering ocean laid out for one to enjoy while they ate at the table with deep tawny tones. A library with shelves that needed a ladder and a polished ballroom with art from every age. 

Natasha commented on the fields just outside the stables, and Steve gave her a knowing look. The training grounds, he called them, and she could visit once you were more settled in. Steve was one of the only people in Hyland that knew Natasha could fight, other than your father and his closest guards. A woman fighting was frowned upon there, but your father had made an exception if it meant keeping you safe. So he could marry you off of course. 

“Will she be safe to train here?” you asked, lip between your teeth in a way that would get you an extra fifteen lines in etiquette lessons.

“More than safe,” Steve assured. “Many women here make up the king’s guard.” 

You took a step back at his words, Natasha’s hands coming out to steady you when you ran directly into her. “They are allowed to do that? Prince James does not find it offensive?” 

His smile was sad. “Y/n, the way you were treated in Hyland—it wasn’t…typical. Your father had an unusual way of dealing with his grief.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“I know you don’t, but James will help you to see. He talks about you so often, y/n—about all the things he wants to do with you. You should see the room he has set up for you. There is a door that leads to the—“

“Please don’t do this,” you interrupted. “Please don’t act like this is something it’s not.” 

You watched as his face fell, the realization that you weren’t going to budge set deep in the worry lines on his forehead. He couldn’t help the way his shoulders slumped as you fidgeted with your fingers at your waist—a nervous habit, one Miss Austeen hadn’t been able to make you stop. He recognized it easily; the action was a near constant fixture back in Hyland. 

Natasha decided to cut in. “Perhaps this is a discussion for later. After y/n has had more time to get acquainted with the prince. Right now all she has is an idea of him and all of the words we keep throwing at her.” 

Steve sighed, but you had had enough of the awkwardness in the hall. With a frustration you usually reserved for the passageways between the walls of your home castle, you quipped, “Or, perhaps, this is not a discussion to be had at all. I know how royals operate. If Prince James was truly the man you say he is, then he would have made the time in his ever-busy schedule to at least say hello to me upon my arrival. A prince has the ability to move around meetings. He is only everything I expected and I do not appreciate the two of you—“ 

“Did I miss her? Steve, help me put this jacket on, quickly. I can’t miss her arriving.” The new voice in the hall echoed behind a quickened pace, and you spun to find it attached to a man, struggling to fit his arms into a military jacket. 

He hadn’t seen you yet; his long, wavy hair fell into his eyes as the material finally shrugged over his shoulders, but he still kept his face down, straightening out his belt and boots. 

And then he looked up. 

Every portrait you’d seen of Prince James hardly did him justice. His eyes were the blue you’d seen through acrylic many times before, but no artist had ever been able to capture that comfort in those cobalt hues, the easiness that settled into the irises and trailed out, encapsulating him as a whole. His hair was long and luscious as the stories went, but with a hint of boyishness to it as wrapped behind his ear and bloomed around the frame of his face. And he was tall—a lean kind of tallness, a strength hidden behind coats and formal wear. 

Your lips parted when he spotted you. Your eyes widened when he gaped. A whole lifetime of hearing his name, of seeing his picture in the halls of the gallery, and now here he was. Maybe you should have said something, been proper, but with words evading you, that seemed to be impossible. 

“My god,” Bucky whispered. His grip around the handle of his sword tightened. 

A beat of silence followed. Steve shifted off of the wall he was leaning against and Natasha came to stand closer to your side. You still said nothing, and thought that maybe you would never be able to say a single thing again. How could a man so beautiful ever be the things you thought him to be? 

Bucky cleared his throat and removed his gloves with a slight tremor, tucking them into his pocket. “I apologize,” he stressed. “I was caught up with the children in the village by the time I heard the music. I never would have missed your entrance willingly, My Princess.” 

You blinked. The first thing this man—a prince—had said to you, and it was an apology. You couldn’t recall the last time anyone of power had apologized to you. Another pause, and Bucky took a cautious step forward, his posture fidgety. 

“I understand if you are upset with me. Your first impression and I am already making mistakes.” 

“I am not upset,” you quickly assured. A practiced response, because it wouldn’t really matter if you were upset anyway. “Steven was just showing me through the castle. I was not expecting you until tomorrow. For the walk.” 

A clear lie that burned your lips as it left them. You were very much expecting him to be the one to guide you around his home; after all the letters you assumed he was going to be tracking your every move, enraptured by your presence. But you didn’t tell anyone that. Because Bucky, above all else, was a ruling monarch—not a boy in love with you. 

It was silly to let your mind wander to impossibilities. 

He reared back anyway, concern evident in the way his jaw flexed. “For the walk—princess, forgive me, but do you only plan on seeing me when we are meant to court? Because I can assure you, I will not be able to survive that.” Another half-step to you, this time taking your knuckles into his grip. He ran a thumb over the skin. “I have much more planned than simple walks around the garden. And I have no intention of solely seeing you in front of an audience.” 

“You want to see me… without an audience?” You voiced your confusion aloud, throwing Natasha a bewildered look. Even Steve had to request an audience to visit you back home. The audience was mainly Natasha, but the formality was still there. 

“I want to see you in every capacity I am able. If you are comfortable, of course,” Bucky smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your hand. 

You blinked at him, lashes fluttering in the most obvious way. The tug in your chest was back, the one that only seemed to leave you breathless after one of the princes’ many letters. He still held your hand in his, but even that small point of contact was sending you reeling and you needed to gain some footing if you were going to pull yourself together; if you were to protect yourself as you’d done for years, you had to maintain your front. 

“I have had a very long journey,” you began, straightening out your back. 

Natasha caught on instantly. “The princess will need a bath and a long rest before there is courting of any kind.” A steady, familiar hand on your shoulder. “If you do not mind, we will be seeing you in the morning, Your Highness.” 

“Of course,” Bucky affirmed, but his eyes never left your face as he spoke.

Those eyes followed you down the hall as well, burning a hole in the back of your head and lighting a fire beneath your skin that you wished would dwindle the farther you got from him. But it seemed with just the introduction, the whisper of his lips across your hand, your heart was making decisions that did not line up with your brain. 

Before the door to the hall clicked shut, a few words fell through the cracks of the wood. “I told you to take it easy with her. Is that what you call easy, Prince ‘every capacity I am able’?” 

“Well, excuse me, but I had no idea that she was going to look like that. Your portrait artist is terrible, Steve. Really, truly terrible.” 

~~

Silk sheets on your legs, a window that looked right out to the ocean, moonlight pooling at the base of your curtains; you couldn’t sleep with so many thoughts bouncing around in your head, so you took in your room instead. 

Steve had said that the prince picked it out especially for you. You weren’t sure where the small details were, other than the door that led right into Natasha’s quarters, but you found your accommodations to be far from lacking. They never were when you were titled. 

Natasha had made quick work of getting you to bed earlier, brushing your hair and ripping the corset from your body in record time. You knew she could sense your discomfort, your need to lay down for a while and process the events of the evening. That didn’t stop her few, sporadic comments about the prince—how he was achingly sweet and so romantic for requesting to see you outside of courting hours. 

So, you reminded her, like any normal couple that wasn’t joining two kingdoms with their arranged union. 

She gave up after that, but you knew she would simply carry on tomorrow. 

With a huff, you slapped your palms against the comforter. It was much lighter than any you had at home, certainly appropriate for the weather here in Brookshire. Perhaps you could learn to knit the way they did here, with the stitches farther apart to allow the breeze to touch skin. Or maybe Natasha could learn if they wouldn’t let you. She would surely pass the information on to you if you asked her to. 

A knock pulled you out of your mundane train of thought, sparking anxiety as you laid on a new bed in an unfamiliar castle. It wasn’t a harsh knock, but you only knew a handful of people here. You had a guard, didn’t you? Even in a place like Hyland, a guard was always standing at your door. 

Another knock, this one even more timid than the first. You swung your legs off of the side of your bed and shook your head to collect yourself. The stone floor nipped at your bare feet, a reminder, maybe, that this could all go terribly wrong if you didn’t make the smart choice and wake Natasha next door. 

But then a voice spoke from behind the heavy wood, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Princess? Are you awake?” 

You hadn’t meant for the words to leave you, but in your surprise, you quickly asked, “Prince James?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was just—do you mind opening the door?” 

By some instinct, you reached for the handle almost instantly. Your hand froze on the metal. “I shouldn’t,” you replied, the words meeting strong wooden doors. “It is past appropriate hours and I am not even wearing a robe.” 

A small laugh from the hall, a brush at the door. “What if I turn around? I promise I will not look anywhere but the wall.” 

“Why even open the door at that point?” 

“To hear you better.” 

“Are you struggling terribly now?” 

“Well—no,” he paused. Part of you feared you had taken this conversation too far, until he chuckled again, breathily. “But I cannot fit what I have for you through the crack under the door.” 

With furrowed brows, you trained your eyes down to the light that snuck through the gap above the floor. There wasn’t much room there, only enough for a piece of paper or a small book. 

“And what is it that you have?” 

“Steve tells me that you enjoy surprises. Was he wrong?” 

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Steven’s idea of a surprise is a frog snuck onto my plate at breakfast.” 

Bucky’s laugh was full this time; the sound left a tightness in your chest. You hadn’t let go of the handle just yet, and your heart was once again making terrible decisions, urging you to take a small peak outside. 

“I promise I do not have a frog,” Bucky continued. You heard him take a few steps in the hall. “I’m not even facing you anymore. I’ll hold it out and you can grab it and it will be like I was never here.” 

“And you will not surprise me by turning around?” 

“I would never trick you, princess.”

You glanced up at the ceiling with a prickle of agitation. Natasha had made it clear that you needed time to rest before the courting period began, but here the prince was, knocking at your door as if he knew you were having trouble sleeping. He was making it very hard to separate your outlandish hopes from your realistic ideations, to settle your racing heart for long enough to remember the entire reason you were here. 

You weren’t in this court chasing love; women in your position never had that luxury, especially women from Hyland. But maybe the prince thought differently. Maybe he had been the one writing you letters and asking for your portraits. 

You turned the handle. The door echoed in the hall. 

Prince James stood a few paces away, his back turned and his tunic slightly askew, holding a mug in his right hand. He had no formal wear in sight, his hair was slightly mused, and you had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps he had just gotten out of bed as well. 

“This is hot chocolate,” Bucky explained, after a few silent moments. “I did some research on Hyland and many sources claimed that it is a popular drink there. I figured you might want something from home—on your first night here.” 

The marble in the hall was even colder on your feet than the stone in your room, but you braved it anyway; the heat of the mug was enough compensation in itself. Your fingers brushed the back of Bucky’s hand when you pulled away. His arm fell to his side with a slight flex. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, once you were back in the safety of your doorway. “You did not have to do that.” 

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to. Please, if you ever want for anything while you are here, you just need to tell me.” 

You thought about asking him to turn around. 

That was definitely something you wanted. 

“Goodnight, Prince James,” you replied instead, but his posture didn’t slump at the missing words. 

“Goodnight, My Princess.” 

[manjiroscum]

HARUCHIYO SANZU KINKS

Warnings: f!reader, sexual themes, mature language, unprotected sex, consensual cuckolding, consensual non-con, overstimulation, use of sex toys, office sex, sound kink, roleplay, hints of gun play, degradation, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: for my bby aly @sanzuchi💕 i hope this cheers u up

ROLEPLAY

Sanzu Haruchiyo wished he had his phone with him right now to record the glorious view in front of him. How could he easily forget that tonight you were gonna treat him to a little show? Of course, he wasn’t gonna stop you from bouncing on his thick cock, tits pressed against his face, rubbing his cheeks, to grab his gadget sitting by his pants discarded to the floor along with the plastic stethoscope you had as a prop. Playing as a sexy doctor threw him off when he entered the bedroom, bones exhausted from executing traitors of Bonten quickly amended themselves at the sight of you—black lace lingerie and stockings underneath the white coat. Coaxing him to come closer so you could administer a quick check-up that ended up with you sucking on his dick. Ruby red lips parting on his red tip, slowly inching your way down and feel him throb around your mouth.

It was truly a scene straight out of an erotic video and one Haruchiyo would completely rewatch if only he had the initiative to film this. Yet, even if he could, his azure pupils would be far too busy drinking up your form quivering above him, whimpering while questioning your supposed patient for the night about his well-being. Hands busy cupping your breasts free from the bra, squeezing and pinching the perk nipples. Only the lab coat was left on you.

“I-Is the treatment working, Mr. Sanzu? Ah, I pride myself in knowing what m-my patient needs, you see.”

“Doc, I think my dick still needs more of a squeezin’. I’ll probably feel a lot better if you let me cum inside your pretty pussy.”

CUCKOLDING

Screaming into the soft pillow soiled with your mascara, tears and drool, the huge cock drilling into your fluttering damp hole was too much to take. This was your sixth orgasm pulled from you, and you swore you couldn't even remember your own name. Rindou was far bigger, meatier, than your boyfriend. Bullying its way into your tight walls that was housing his throbbing shaft. Mind hazy at the absolute bliss, you almost failed to recall that Haruchiyo was in the same room, watching from the couch to see if Rindou was as good as the rumors set him out to be. And really, he wanted to see too if the younger Haitani could please your greedy pussy that was always aching to be wrapped around your boyfriend's cock.

“Shit, this cunt won't stop clenchin’ around me.” Rindou groaned, setting on a new pace that had you whimpering, fisting the sheet around you as if to hold onto yourself unless you get lost in the euphoric high Rindou’s cock was gracious to give. “She's like a cheap whore! Where did ‘ya find such a good pussy, huh?”

“A great magician never tell his tricks, Haitani. And even if I do tell you, my girl’s pussy is one of a kind.” Hand rubbing his leaking tip, Haruchiyo then sneered at Rindou. “So, I suggest you keep fucking her ‘til she's dumb ‘cause this will be the first and last time you ever will. Just remember, don’t cum inside her.”

SOUND KINK

The gun clicking loudly against his ear was close to nonexistent. The tip still drenched with your spit, having been lodged into your mouth seconds ago while you were kneeling on the floor. Glossy eyes silently begging for him to fuck you or at least use your throat like one of his pocket pussies. Haruchiyo would have to admit though, that no matter how many bullets he placed into people’s skulls and how addicting it was to listen to them scream, his hearing skills have never failed to pick up the slightest whine that escapes your lips when he rubbed your clothed clit with his shoe. The sound shot up his spine and to his nerves, creating a tingling sensation that had his cock twitching under his pants.

The buzzing of the pink egg-shaped vibrator pulled his gaze from your teary eyes, down at your panties soaked with your arousal. The toy he placed inside your pussy hard at work. According to him, you had to be a quiet beauty for you to be able to cum. Yet, Haruchiyo was making it hard for you to stay silent. Hard enough that you were close to calling it quits and just mewl aloud, letting the other members of Bonten know in the room next door that you just came on your underwear.

“Be a good slut and stay quiet, okay? You don’t wanna anger Mikey, do ‘ya? Don't wanna let them hear you cry out like a bitch in heat, yeah?”

CONSENSUAL NONCONSENT

Mourning at your Versace dress now resembling shredded paper by the fax machine, you sobbed into the mahogany desk that was damp with your tears as Haruchiyo ripped your panties off like it was band-aid. At the sight of your plush ass revealed to him like a gift for Christmas, a yelp escaped your lips when he spanked it, jiggling at the action. And soon, Haruchiyo entered your pussy without warning, moaning into the air unashamedly as his cock splits your folds in half. It stung a little, eliciting another sob from your lips that Haruchiyo was quick to scold you for by thrusting into you abruptly.

“Shut it, bitch. Cocksleeves are not supposed to be cowards especially towards cock!” He hissed, resuming his hips pistoning against yours. Papers were scattered around the floor and the desk underneath you was creaking like a squeaky floorboard while Bonten’s number two rammed his cock into your tight warm walls, cumming after a few seconds yet never ceased his onslaught. A whine bubbled out of your throat at the thick milky semen mixed with your slick running down your thighs and onto the floor, some staining your boyfriend’s paperwork. But Haruchiyo didn’t care.

Tonight, he'd rather paint your gummy walls purely white again and again than to do sign those papers. Would rather fuck you stupid, creaming around him, and have you slightly regretting that you offered him the chance to than to finish his work.

🎐taglist: @wakaslut @ranilingus @bxnten @novaresque @noekoi @kazuwhora @festive @marism @wakasa-wifey @zuuki @stffychn @keijisprettygirl @cryptred @tobidabio @leavemealonebutinpink @blueparadis @kamisoria

[onlyyvette]

Playing With The Demon Brothers(Beel)♡

NSFW Minors dni

Warnings: DOM/TOP reader, SUB/BOTTOM character, implied amab reader but could be read as afab reader with a squirting strap, cock cage use, feminization, Beel's cock is referred to as a clit, housewife Beel, edging, oral fixation, dumbification, praise, self-degradation, heavy degradation, probably ooc Beel but yolo ig, this is very long

Word Count: 4,381

A/n: So...I lied. I ended up making the Beel fic instead of the Mammon fic because I had a better idea for Beel compared to Mammon. Now that I'm think about it, I'm just going to write for the brothers in a random order because I'll be able to post quicker than if I write for a character that I'm less motivated about.

Sorry for all the Mammon lovers that were waiting for his, but I just didn't have enough creativity

Also, this was too goddamn long...pretty sure it's my longest fic. I hope you guys are fine with that!

Beel♡

You and Beel have a wonderful relationship.

While Beel may seem stoic and uncaring, he isn't like that in reality.

Truly, he was one of the sweetest people, or demons, that you had ever met. That's what made you fall in love with him.

Now here you are. You're married to Beel and in a very happy relationship. Sure, you have your differences, but that's what helps you two get along and learn about each other.

One of his favorite parts about your relationship, is how much you take care of him as your sweet house wife<3

As your cute wife, Beel stays home, cleaning and cooking, making sure that the house will be to your liking

Though when Beel cooks, he'll have to order food for himself multiple times so that he doesn't eat the food that he's making for you

Beel would definitely be an obedient wife that would always listen to what you say but he gets too excited once in a while and starts to disobey you

Especially when you lock his clit in a cage

He can't stand it! He'll try to be a good girl and not touch himself, but it gets so hard that he almost always caves in

And when you two fuck while he's in his cage, he gets much more needier, leading to him disobeying you without even realizing it

Luckily though, you'll always be a good spouse and punish Beel properly like your he deserves!!!

"Bye Beel," you call out from the doorway, making sure your shoes were completely on before leaving. Right when you were about to make your exit, you could feel Beel's arms wrap around you in a tight hug. "Sorry Beel, how could I forget?" you turn around and give him a kiss. It seemed like a little thing, but Beel could never enjoy his day without you when you didn't give him a goodbye kiss. Breaking away from the kiss, you leaned into his ear. "And make sure to keep your hands away from your clit. I know it's caged, but we don't want you getting distracted during your work now, do we?" Beel nodded his head quickly, trying to kiss you again. "Ah ah," you gently pushed him away. "I need to go to work. Now be a good girl and wait for me, okay?"

Beel whined, but understood, watching you leave the house. He locked the door and turned away to do his chores. Usually, he would go about doing his chores, first fixing your beds and washing the sheets, cleaning and sweeping the floors, etc. This time though, it was harder for him to stay focused. Beel could feel his dick, his clit throbbing in its cage. I need to stay focused, Beel thought. If I touch myself now, Y/n would punish me...

Taking a deep breath, Beel continued with his chores, but with some difficulty. He was able to finish fixing your rooms and sweeping the floors, but the feeling of his poor clit locked up in his cage was causing him trouble. Sometimes, Beel would have to slow down his movements or stop completely because of how sensitive his clit was

Despite his problems, he finally finished cleaning and started cooking. He had sent a text earlier, asking you what you wanted him to make for dinner. You said that some steak would be good. Now of course Beel wasn't going to just make you steak! What kind of wife would he be if he didn't add in a dessert? He put on his apron, grabbed his ingredients, and got to work.

While he started making the sauce for the steak, Beel ordered some food to make sure that he wouldn't eat any of your dinner too early. While he waited for the food to arrive, he continued making the sauce and moved on to preparing the sauce. You would be so proud of him! Beel felt especially happy, thinking about how you would praise him for making such a great dinner for you.

Beel moved around the kitchen with a little smile on his face while thinking about you. He was so deep in his thoughts that he accidentally ran into the counter corner...crotch first. Usually, he would yelp in pain because that would hurt like a bitch, and try to numb the pain. Not this time though. This time, he let out a long, suppressed moan. His clit throbbed intensely in its cage, begging for its release. Beel shivered, trying to gain his composure, but it was too hard. All he could think of was feeling that pleasure that went through his clit. Slowly but surely, he started humping the corner, wanting to pleasure himself.

Completely lost in the feeling, Beel humps the kitchen counter, despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to get any release from it. He let out choked out whimpers, his tongue starting to loll out of his mouth. He kept thinking of you, letting him hump you with his useless clit like he was humping the counter. All Beel could think of was how you'd give him so much pleasure, degrading and praising him to the point his mind breaks.

Right when Beel was about to completely forget what he was doing, his phone went off. A bit dazed, Beel stopped humping the table and slowly turned to his phone to see who was calling him. It was Y/n! Beel hurried over to his phone, trying to recompose himself to be able to talk to you. Despite trying to calm himself down, he couldn't help feeling excited to hear your voice.

"Y/n..."

"Hey Beel," you greeted him cheerily. "What are you doing right now? Are you making dinner?"

"Yeah...I'm making steak, like you wanted me to."

You let out a giggle. "Really? All I said was that I was craving some steak. I didn't expect you to take it so seriously!

"Anyway, keep up the good work. And," you continued with a mischievous tone. "Be a good girl and don't touch yourself. You haven't, right?"

Beel's eyes widened. "Uh...n-no, I didn't touch myself...Like a good girl." He ended the sentence with his voice trembling. Beel already felt like a mess just from you calling him "good girl", and affirming that he was a good girl- your good girl- made him absolutely weak in the knees.

"Good job Beel. Bye~"

After you hung up the phone, Beel immediately got back to work. During the whole time he was in the kitchen, he couldn't stop thinking about your phone call. How you called him a "good girl", and told him "good job"; it was just replaying in his head. Still though, the fact that he lied to you about not touching himself was gnawing at the back of his mind. He could just not tell you that he was trying to get himself off. You would punish him for sure. Instead, he just let those thoughts sit in the back of his mind, trying not to let them bother him.

***

Beel had finished with everything, the steak and the strawberry cake he baked. It took time and a lot of ordered food to keep him away from the dinner he was making, but it was finally finished. He set the table very nicely, arranging all the food, plates, and silverware to look appetizing. Beel looked at the clock and realized that it was much later than he expected. Thankfully, you would be back soon.

As Beel waited for you, he started feeling really needy again. He could feel his sensitive clit twitch in his cage, begging to be let out. Not yet, he thought to himself. I have to wait for Y/n to come back.

Despite waiting a while longer, Beel couldn't help it anymore. HE was getting too horny. Luckily, you were merciful in these situations. You knew that Beel could get very needy when home alone, so you gave him a toy to play with. Beel got up and made his way to your shared room. He got out some keys from the closet and opened a drawer at the very bottom.

When Beel opened up the drawer, his mouth watered a bit at the sight. Multiple dildos, all of long lengths and different textures and colors came into his view. Vibrators of different shapes, a few cock cages---Beel had to stop himself from grabbing anything in sight right then and there. Instead, he took a deep breath, and chose one specific dildo.

It was an average looking dildo, if you ignored how big it was. The dildo was smooth and purple. Despite it looking pretty average, it was one of the dildos Beel was attached to because it somehow reminded him of you.

Beel removed the dildo from the drawer, closing and locking it up again. He moved toward the bed, holding the dildo close to his chest. Sitting on the bed, he began to insert the toy into his mouth, taking it in nearly to the hilt. Beel closed his eyes, drooling over the toy a little. You would always let Beel deepthroat one of your collection of dildos when he was feeling too needy, considering how much of an oral fixation you knew he had. He was grateful that you'd pity him enough to let him at least pleasure himself this way.

Beel kept taking the large toy all the way to the back of his throat, small moans causing the dildo to vibrate a bit. When the dildo hit the back of his throat, Beel let out a long groan, his eyes closing.

…Y/n...please come home soon...

Beel kept on thinking about you, how your cock would fill him up nicely. He would just love for you to shove your dick in his mouth, no hesitation. He loves it when you treat him like an object. Besides, shouldn't a good housewife serve their husband?

"M-mhhnn~" Beel kept shoving the toy down his throat, basically thrusting it in like an actual dick would. He could feel his poor clit aching in his cage, wanting some sort of pleasuring feeling. Beel squeezed his thighs together, attempting to create some friction on his clit. Beads of sweat started forming on his face, and tears started pricking at his eyes. It wasn't because of the dildo that was hitting the back of his throat constantly. It was because he missed you!

Every time you would leave and Beel became too horny, he would always think of you, just you. He thought of how you would fuck his throat, maybe praise him for taking it so well, or degrading him for being so eager to suck cock. Either way, he would love what you'd tell him no matter what. If Beel could, he would probably just suck your dick for hours on end just---

*Click click*

Beel immediately stopped what he was doing, directing his attention towards the door. There it was.

"Hey, Beel? I'm home! What did you cook for me?"

Beel hurriedly put the dildo back in the drawer and quickly left the room. Your eyes scanned the house a bit for your wife when all of a sudden you found him barreling towards you. Beel's strong arms wrapped you up in a tight hold, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

"Woah! Be careful Beel, you could have knocked me over," you said with a smile. "How have you been?" Beel just nuzzled his head further into your shoulder. "Y/n, I missed you...It feels like you've been gone for so long."

"I've missed you too, Beel," You said, wrapping your arms around him. "But first, let's go sit down and eat. I've been waiting to taste your food." You let go of Beel and head over to the dining room, Beel following right behind you.

You took a seat at the dinner table, Beel squirming a bit in the seat aside from you. "Damn, Beel, you really outdid yourself today," you said, approval filling your eyes as you scanned the food on the dinner table. "And a cake too! I'm grateful to have you in my life."

Despite Beel nodding his head along with what you were saying, his mind was elsewhere. He still couldn't stop thinking about how horny he was. Beel wanted something to fill him up completely, make him feel full, all giddy on the feeling.

As you were eating your food, you could see out of the corner of your eyes how Beel was looking at you with a lustful look in his eyes. "Um, Y/n..." Beel's sudden words cut through the short silence. "I have something to tell you."

"Go ahead," you said with your mouth still a bit full. Beel squeezed his thighs together, looking down at his lap. "While you were gone...I ended up pleasuring myself." You continued to focus on your food. "Go on," you said without looking up.

Beel shifted even more as his face began to redden. "While I was cooking, right before you called me. I bumped into the counter and it really stimulated me...I ended up rubbing myself on the counter."

"But," Beel said suddenly. "It really wasn't on purpose! I just ran into it and it felt really good...please don't punish me," Beel finished with a whine. You continued to act unbothered as Beel begged for your forgiveness.

"So," you started, taking a sip of your drink. "You were touching yourself without my permission. No wonder your voice sounded so breathy on the phone." Suddenly, you looked up at Beel straight in the eyes. "What you mean to say is, that you were pleasuring yourself without my permission. Just rubbing your dirty clit wherever you please? Isn't this exactly why I put that cage on you?"

Beel squirmed even more in his seat, starting to pant as he felt his body start to heat up. "And to think I even praised you for not touching yourself. I think that you deserve a punishment...don't you agree?" you said, swirling your drink around in its cup.

"I'm sorr---"

"I asked you something, Beel."

"I...I deserve my punishment. I haven't been a good wife today," Beel muttered with a shaky voice. "Good job," you cooed with a smile. "Also, you've been staring at me with an awful hungry look on your face," you said to Beel. "Do you have something you want to tell me?"

Beel froze. There were so many things he wanted to tell you! Like how he missed you, how you thought of his cooking, how you were going to treat him in bed...but he knew what answer you were looking for.

"I-I want you to..." Beel started off with a shaky voice, his panting becoming more obvious. "I want you to touch me! Please, I want to cum so badly," he begged, reaching down to his groin. "Now why should I let you cum," you inquired. "You already attempted to pleasure yourself without my permission, and now you're still trying to get release from your pathetic clit?" Beel nodded quickly, his body becoming hotter, the cage on his clit feeling smaller than ever.

"Okay then. I'll fuck you." Beel's face lit up. "But," you continued with one finger up. "I'll only let you out of your cage if you can satisfy me well enough. Now be a good wife and get the lube in our room, 'kay? I'll be in the living room. And make sure all of your clothes are off when you come back" Beel quickly got up from the table and headed for your room, tripping a bit on the way there.

Finally! You were finally going to fuck him! Beel found the lube and quickly undressed himself before going back to the living room. "There you are Beel," you called out enthusiastically. You were now lounged on the couch. "And here I was thinking you were never going to come. Are you just going to stand there?"

Beel made his way over to you, his movements stiff. You eyed him up and down. You absolutely loved Beel's body. His tanned skin, muscular thighs and biceps, his huge tits, grabbable waist, you can go on forever. You loved admiring Beel's body and Beel loved it when you did that too. He adored the attention you gave him. It made him feel like he had all your attention.

"Beel," you said in a relaxed tone. "Kneel down in front of me real quick." Beel complied, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. "Oh Beel," you whispered, holding Beel by the face. "Why did you have to go and disobey me? I really wanted to reward you today."

Beel nuzzled into your hand, holding it with his own. "I'm sorry," he said, giving you a pitiful look. "Well what's done is done. Now Beel, I want you to watch me very closely." Beel nodded and pulled himself away from you, looking up at you with an expectant look in his eyes.

You took off your clothing, revealing your hard dick, the one that Beel was so head over heels for. You grabbed the lube that Beel had given you and squirted it all over your cock. Beel watched as you spread the lube all over your length, his mouth watering. As you continued jerking yourself off, Beel kept leaning in closer, his mouth opening as if he were waiting for you to fill it up with your cum.

As you felt yourself nearing your climax, Beel opened his mouth wider, as if he knew already. Suddenly, you stopped right before you came. "Haa...just so you know Beel, you won't be able to swallow my cum. This is just one part of your punishment~" Beel whined, grabbing onto your leg. "W-wait, please! Please...I want your cum inside me!" You pushed Beel off gently. "We already went over this, Beel. This is a part of your punishment."

Instead of giving up, Beel grabbed your hand and started sucking your fingers. Beel made quite the display, swirling his tongue around your digits, taking them deep into his throat, making all those erotic sounds that were so mesmerizing. Beel looked up at you with watery, half-lidded eyes. Eyes that were just begging you to wreck him right then and there.

It took you all of your self control to not flip him over right there. Before you knew it, you cock was semi-hard just from Beel's lewd act. "Beel," you said with a cold voice, removing your fingers from his mouth, a small popping sound being heard when Beel's lips left your hand. Beel had a foggy look on his face, as if he didn't completely comprehend what you were telling him.

"Beel," you repeated, pulling him into your lap, having him face you. "I thought you would have at least some control. What are you doing, acting like some eager whore? I thought I trained you better than that." Beel pressed his body against you as he let out such pathetic noises from his mouth. "I'm sorry Y/n...I just can't take this cage anymore," Beel whined. "I wanna cum, please," he pleaded. grinding himself onto you.

"No." Your voice was firm as you grabbed Beel by the hair. "I don't know what's gotten into you today Beel. You've always been such a good girl, a good wife for me." He avoided your gaze. Honestly, even Beel didn't understand himself. Usually, he would rarely get punished. Even when he did get that once in a while punishment, he never acted out during it up until now.

"But if you want to be treated like some kind of common whore, so be it," you said, pulling Beel by his hair and pressing your lips against his. Beel happily moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth as your tongue slipped in. As your tongue explored Beel's mouth, you grabbed the lube and spread it all over your fingers. You held Beel by the chin and gently pushed him away, breaking the kiss. He whined when he felt you pull away but was cut short when you harshly bit his nipple, causing him to squeal.

As you sucked on Beel's nipples, your fingers worked their way to his twitching rim. Beel let out a small gasp at the feeling, then began to grind down on you, holding your head closer to his chest. Your fingers began to enter Beel's hole, spreading him open for you.

"Hahh, ahh! Mhnn, Y/n! More...ngh!" You knew what Beel meant when he asked for more. He wanted you to press on that sensitive spot inside of him, abuse it to the point where he cums so hard he needs a few moments to get himself together. But that wasn't the plan today.

Instead of pushing on Beel's prostate, you continued to finger him, only focused on opening him up and not pleasuring him. "A-ahh! Y-y/n, your tongue...your fingers-MMhhngh! I wanna cum! O-oh-angh!" Oh right. You had forgotten that you had him in his cage somehow. Even though you knew you weren't going to allow Beel to cum, you had forgotten that his nipples were so sensitive that he could even climax just from you playing with them. And here you were, sucking on them like there was no tomorrow.

"Even better," you said while tugging on Beel's nipple even harder. "Now you can't cum no matter what." Beel kept on moaning, tears starting to well up in his eyes as he begged for release. "HaahNGHH! Y/n! Please-Ungh, nnhh," Beel couldn't take it anymore, and you hadn't even started fucking him. "Stop begging, Beel. Let's just get this punishment over with and maybe I'll let you cum."

You swiftly took your fingers out of Beel and stopped suckingg on his chest. "On the floor, Beel. All fours." Beel was quick to follow your orders, getting down on the floor on his hands and knees, his body trembling from previous pleasure. You positioned yourself behind Beel, grabbing his ass. He whimpered softly as continued to massage his rear, feeling up his thighs and spreading his rim.

Once you finally got bored of groping him, you gave him a little smack before pulling his hips up and getting yourself into position. Finally, you thought. I already edged myself once for the sake of this punishment. Lining yourself up to Beel's entrance, your hand kept a firm grip on his hips. They're going to do it! Y/n's finally going t- any thoughts that occupied Beel's head were gone the moment you thrusted into him.

"U-UNGhh--ghkk..." Beel choked on his own spit as he finally felt your cock enter him. You hadn't been merciful when thrusting into him. Instead of slowly easing into him like you usually did, you harshly thrusted your entire length inside of him, knocking the breath out of him.

"Unghh...So...big.." Beel could hardly make a proper sentence. He could feel your dick pressing on his sweet spot and stretching his stomach out. He felt so full! Every single spot inside of him felt so full of your cock that he could hardly take it! Just as Beel was still making an attempt to pull himself together, you began to thrust into him.

Your pace was rough and unforgiving, nothing kind about it. You kept such a tight grip on Beel's hips that you knew there would be a bruise soon enough. Beel, on the other hand, could barely even think. All he could focus on was how your cock kept on pistoning in and out of him. His eyes were rolled back into his head and mouth was stuck in an "o" shape as he tried to find something to hold onto. He was going to break!

It hadn't even been five minutes yet and Beel felt an upcoming orgasm. "Haahnngh, Y/N! ANnnhH! I-I'm gonna...Ohh, UMNNGGGHH♡" Beel knew for sure that he was going to cum soon, and your unrelenting pace would only aid his upcoming orgasm.

Right when he felt himself about to cum, you stopped fucking into him. "Just so you know, Beel, I still haven't unlocked your cage. You're not going to be getting any orgasms tonight," you said with a devilish grin. "N-no~Pleashe, I'll do anything! I jush wanna cum~" Beel slurred, not able to get his sentence out of his mouth properly. "Well that's too bad Beel~," you mocked him, picking up your pace again. "You're not going to cum, and it's final."

Beel's sobs and choked moans filled the room as the two of you continued to go at it. Beel knew that should have already cum sometime ago, but the cage on his clit wouldn't let him! His clit desperately throbbed from within its cage, begging to be released. "Y/n...GhhKKH! I-I- Hannghh♡ Please- let me-" Beel attempted to plead with you, but his voice kept on being interrupted by his pathetic moans.

"What is it, Beel? Speak up, I couldn't hear you very well," you say in a condenscending tone. You lean down and get close to Beel's ear. "You shouldn't even worry your pretty little head about cumming. I locked your dumb clit up so that you could just give up on the idea of ever cumming." Without warning, you harshly pulled Beel's hair as he let out an involuntary moan. "If you hadn't been a stupid slut that only cares about getting his upcoming orgasm, this wouldn't have happened. Yet here you are, moaning like a cheap whore. I'm sure you love this, don't you, Beel?"

"Yes! I love it! A-anghh, mhhnNNH! I'm your whore! M-my stupid clit doesn't deserve to-O-OHH! To cum!" Beel cried out with a dumb, fucked out grin on his face. "Just a stupid slut! Your stupid slut! Hah-OHH♡ GhiiIIKKH, uhnnHHN!" Beel had completely accepted his role in life. He was just meant to be a sweet housewife, all kind and gentle, waiting for his spouse to come home and fuck his brains out! You both knew that hee would be your slut, and your slut only♡

[jellifysh]

Getting Back Into the Swing of Things (part three)

Or, Namjoon falls back in love with his ex (and his boyfriends do too)

Ot7 x reader (roommates au, fluff, slow burn, jin has so much room in his heart, everyone's getting used to you)

Taglist open!: @sunshinehobissunshine @pb-n-juju @bunnyrhe @iamhereforbts @eden-lee96 @7soulsbts @tinyoonsblog @royalchickens @urvirtualgfteehee @fangirlnonsense @deathincarnation @alngelias @jinswifeyy @not-today-19 @btsizlyfe @justsomoneliving @purplelady85 @just-me-and-myselfs @tubaotter @thinkaholicer @kookstempo @retrojennie @squishyturtle

babes if your name's red, I can't tag you! </3

Growing up, Jin was confused why people made such a big deal about liking boys or girls. He found it strange why people made big deals about anything, really, and at his ripe age of 29, he still didn't get why it mattered what anyone else did.

He was pretty in touch with his sense of self and tried not to overthink it. Some of the others had more rigid labels, but not Jin. He liked men, mostly, but that didn't mean he found women unattractive, and if it felt right, he wouldn't be opposed to dating one. He just thought that time had past, falling into routine with the other pieces of his soul in a place they had made home. They were perfect, their big loud family, and some would argue that seven is already too much.

But Namjoon's always had a way of surprising him, and while he had not technically brought you here with the intention of making you a permanent part of their lives, Jin knows that you wouldn't be this important to Namjoon if you weren't something special, and he's always trusted Namjoon's judgment.

Jin's being ridiculous of course, he usually is, even he could admit. He often jumps to conclusions without thinking things all the way through, and indulges in fleeting daydreams before resigning himself back to reality. Friends is a more likely result of all this. But the romantic in him is always thinking.

And honestly, walking in on you half covered in flour, a mixing bowl bigger than your head in front of you as you pored over the recipe for 'Perfect Chocolate Chip Waffles!' Jin had pinned to the fridge was enough fodder for Jin's domestic daydreams.

The other brats in this house treated cooking with him as a chore-- teasingly, he knew. If he really expressed how much he wanted to cook with them, they'd join in a heartbeat, but its nice to have someone that just shares the same enthusiasm as you-- maybe with you here, he'd have a cooking buddy.

And honestly, you worried Jin a little. You were a little on the underfed side, wrists too thin and appetite too small. Its been a week since you'd gotten here and the food he left out for you was only ever half eaten. You were tall and lanky, only about an inch shorter than Jimin, but the slim man had more meat on his bones than you.

Maybe, if he could get you to help him more in the kitchen, you'd actually sit at the table for dinner where he could keep and eye on you.

For now though, he'd make sure you didn't cover everything in waffle batter.

"Lower the mixing speed," he said, making his presence known instead of lurking in the doorway. "And you didn't add nearly enough chocolate chips." He tossed in another fourth of the bag, holding the bowl steady while you flipped the switch on.

"Oh, thank you." You chirped.

You had woken up early, too exhausted for job hunting today and decided to try and make something for the people graciously letting you stay in their house.

Eggs? Cinnamon buns? Pancakes? You settled on chocolate chip waffles after seeing the recipe and fancy looking waffle maker on the shelf. You hoped they wouldn't mind and that the waffles would soften any anger.

How many waffles do eight people need? You always ate at least two, but these were grown men, and you had observed from the aftermath of the dinners that they ate a lot.

You had been trying not to but, in the process of baking, you effectively made a mess. Butter smears on the counter, flour all over the floor, and maybe you ate more of the chocolate chips than you should've (but they were tasty!)

When Seokjin came to help you, you were honestly thankful. You were scared of messing something up without knowing it, the pristine kitchen daunting in its foreigness, so with him here you felt less scared to be in the kitchen.

The two of you stood there for a moment watching the mixture spin before he turned to you. "You know, Yoongi forgot to buy the whipped cream last he went to the store," he smiled like he was sharing a secret with you. "You wanna learn how I make my 'Amazing Homemade Whipped Cream'?"

And of course you did.

You got all the ingredients-- heavy cream and powdered sugar, and a dash of vanilla-- and set to mixing. Jin insisted that it tasted better when hand mixed, and made it easier to prevent overwhipping.

You grabbed the whisk, trying to make fast, tight circles to whip the mixture quickly. "Wait, no, not quite so fast," Jin grabbed your hand over the whisk, his chest pressing into your back momentarily. "Be a bit looser, try to get it all mixed, not just the center." Your hands moved as one for a long moment, your heart speeding up a bit. You told yourself to calm down, he was just showing you how to whisk.

"Like this?" You asked, blinking up at him through your lashes-- as the man was much taller than you and very close-- then blinking more when some flour fell off your eyelash.

"Good girl, that's perfect. Hold still and I'll wipe that flour off you, okay?" He grabbed a napkin, wetting it a little, and went to gently wiping the flour off your face. He had grasped your chin, tilting it up ever so slightly and you had averted your eyes to the buttons on his night shirt.

This is fine. He is just wiping flour off your face. He called you a good girl in a totally casual, friendly way, no big deal. You glanced up for a second seeing his warm smile accompanied by a flicker of something darker and hungrier in his eyes, and glanced away again.

He eventually released you, deciding to start cooking the waffles now that all the chips had been mixed in and you were otherwise occupied with whipping.

One by one, you watched the waffle stack pile up high, and eventually finished the bowl of whipped cream.

"Would you do me a favor and start brewing some coffee? Yoongi can't live without it and I'm craving a cup today too." Jin said, flipping another waffle out the machine.

"Sure." You answered, tapping at the fancy Keurig coffeemaker and making the flavors Jin told you he and Yoongi liked. You popped another one in there, only half thinking, one you remembered Namjoon liked, and ended up preparing a whole cup for him-- the cream, sugar, and syrup you would use before when you two would pull all-nighters-- before realizing Jin hadn't asked you to make this one.

"Who's that for?" He asked, as you placed down the third cup shakily.

"Umm... Namjoon, I guess. I kinda made it without thinking."

Jin had a knowing smile on his face. "Old habits, huh?"

You chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. Namjoon's parents had a Keurig too, when I stayed over I'd make him coffee. He doesn't like coffee much but he always said he loved when I made it." A small smile slipped out and you bit your lip to try and hide it.

"That's cute." Jin bumped his hip with yours. "Was Namjoon always such a hopeless romantic?"

You thought hard, tilting your head. "No? Not at first, anyway. He was hard to get close to. I thought he hated me at first, honestly. But after he would be kinder, more spontaneous, he'd take me on bike rides or out for ice cream randomly."

"Hmm. Maybe he learned it from you." A teasing smile this time. You dismissed the thought. "I doubt it, he's--"

Light footsteps coming into the kitchen interrupted your train of thought. Yoongi came in looking like death, skin pale and the bags under his eyes dark. "Coffee." He grumbled.

"You handed him his cup, a dark blue mug Jin said was his favorite. He took a sip, plopping into a stool next to the kitchen island.

"Mm, this is better than usual babe." Yoongi paused to say, only for a moment before taking another gulp.

"Y/n made the coffee actually." Jin said, plopping out another waffle.

Yoongi directed his attention to you. "Can you make it like this every day?"

"I could try?" You shrugged, the oversized shirt you slept in slipping your shoulder. Jin fixed it back for you.

"Please stay forever." Yoongi begged, drowning himself in coffee again.

"Yah, you never ask me to stay forever when I make you a good cup. What's so special about this one?" Jin had his arms on his hips now, staring down Yoongi and tapping his foot.

Yoongi took a second to breathe, already having downed half his cup. "It's not ridiculously sweet."

"I don't make mine ridiculously sweet!"

"You do, you always add extra sugar--"

"Sorry for assuming you wouldn't want to drink a cup of dirt!"

You broke out in giggles, unable to help yourself, thinking the situation was hilarious. Yoongi gestured at you, mug still in his hand. "See, even y/n thinks you're being ridiculous."

"I didn't say that," you gasped, shocked at being suddenly put on the spot.

"Y/n! How could you betray me like this? After I shared my Amazing Homemade Whipped Cream recipe with you?" Jin turned to you, mouth open in faux shock.

"Oh, please, you stole that from Food Network." Yoongi rolled his eyes playfully. "Besides, I don't have to worry about you going anywhere. Lord knows we couldn't you get to leave even if we tried."

"That's right, so you better enjoy the things I make for you! Y/n's not gonna be here forever."

Yoongi turned to address you again. "When you get a place of your own, would you be willing to come over everyday to make me coffee?"

"That depends. Do I have to wake up this early?"

"I'll drink coffee at midnight if it's this good."

"You drink coffee at midnight anyways." Jin scoffed.

"Okay, then its a deal." You nodded.

"I can't believe you, plotting to get rid of me in front of my own eyes!"

You laughed again, interacting so simply with them being very new to you. But maybe this is just how they were. Maybe they weren't so scary, like you thought, because for the past week you've been a bit... tense.

Well, okay, you were way past tense.

You were sure you'd never been so anxious in your life.

You felt so confused when you first got here, what does one even do when sharing a house with their ex and his six boyfriends?

Hide, apparently, because that's all you've been doing.

Well, not all. You had a schedule worked out.

You would wake up super early. This was mostly involuntary. Sleep came slowly to you nowadays and left just as quickly. You would go out and look for potential places of business to apply for. Namjoon's place was right in the middle of the city so these weren't hard to come by. However, looking for places that accepted college dropouts, especially from design school was difficult. You would do this for awhile, sometimes coming back at breakfast, sometimes at noon.

Namjoon would call when you stayed out too long, tell you he saved you breakfast, tell you to come home.

(Home? That place didn't seem to quite fit you. Them, sure, with their endless decorations and awards and pictures on the wall. You had no place there, no sign of your stay there. And it was honestly for the better. As soon as you could get financially stable again, you'd be out of there, and away from Namjoon and his picture perfect life, where you didn't belong anymore.)

Next, once you were home you would walk around the outskirts of the, frankly, huge house. There was a cluster of pretty flowers and bushes, tucked away in the corner of the backyard. Namjoon or someone seemed to have had a garden running at some point, but now it was overgrown weeds and shrubs and wildflowers. You had found gardening equipment in a nearby shed and had taken to fixing it up again.

The wildflowers were just too pretty though, so whatever you plucked you'd sit up in a plain looking vase you found in a cabinet, hoping they wouldn't be upset about you using it without permission, and placed it on the kitchen table. Someone must've noticed, picking it up and putting it back down, because it was be shifted around the table some days, twisted a different direction than you put it down.

You would sit on the bench swing, also seemingly abandoned, half hidden behind bushes. You were perfectly in the shade and could stare up at the clouds for hours, or read a book. There was a pool you were too scared to use, not that you had a bathing suit for it anyways, but you weren't sure how much liberty you had in treating this place like a hotel. You would stare into it though, at your reflection, wondering what other people saw when they looked at you.

You'd also picked up origami, making cute little turtles and bunnies and bears and snails, everything you could find a tutorial for. You did this inside and outside. Late at night, when most of the guys were in bed cuddling and talking and other things, you'd sit free and undisturbed in the living room. Sometimes you would sketch or paint out on the porch, you had so much more time to get back to your hobbies now that you weren't constantly scrounging for a meal.

Of course, sometimes, sleep would get the better of you, and folding paper can only be so entertaining. One blink, then two, then you're gone, laying back on the couch with paper animals around you.

Which is how the guys would often find you, face pressed soft against the cushion, and some would place a blanket over you.

Namjoon would sometimes carry you back to your room, if only to press you closer a little. The cute scrunch of your nose when fighting to stay asleep was so hard to look away from. It reminded him of lost nights, sleepless and sleepy all at once, feeling like you had to spill all your secrets before bed, all your theories on the universe. And the origami you'd been working on was becoming pretty precise. He scooped up a handful of paper animals, fitting them in around the house. You would wake up sometimes and go to make breakfast only to pass your origami added to the mix of trinkets on the fireplace.

The kitchen table, Jin decided, had been missing a centerpiece. The wildflowers you selected looked so perfect, like they belonged there all along. Everyday a new assortment of bright yellows, pinks, purples, and green would be sitting on his tabletop. How had you been struggling before when everything you did seemed worth paying millions for? He would pick up the case, turn it, twist it, look at in the light, in the shade, everything. How you managed to find something pretty in that old vine-ruined garden was beyond him, but he is eagerly waiting for what you bring every morning next.

Jungkook had seen better canvases. Out on the porch, you leave your paintings to dry, your sketches to tan to in the sun. He had better canvases, sitting somewhere in the house probably. The canvas you used was cheap, turning even your most delicate strokes rough and shoddy. And yet, they still had charm to them. Maybe it was the colors. Jungkook could even recognize a painting you did from following along with a Bob Ross video, signed with a cute lil heart next to your initials in the corner. Maybe he'll ask to join next time, if he could catch you out of your room. (If he wasn't too shy.)

After the creative activities of the day, you'd watch movies or TV in your room, trying to sleep but failing. You'd eat dinner in your room, too. You had made a habit out of using your phone less, using too much data was more than you could afford.

The first couple nights you cried a little and then one night you cried a lot, but you've been doing that less since you found a cute yellow puppy plushie sitting outside your door for you. When you felt like crying, you'd hold it and think about who in the house might have placed this welcoming gift. Maybe Namjoon, maybe Jin, but whoever it was, it was a reminder that maybe you weren't totally unwelcome here.

Because honestly, as nice as the first night's dinner was, you felt like you were. They all worked like crazy, some staying only to work at home all day, computer keyboards clacking and phone calls leaking out from closed doors. It made you scared to make more than a peep, and not just that, but you felt as if you being avoided.

You had had a pleasant conversation with him that first night, but Taehyung seems to have changed his opinion on you, slipping out the room when you entered or avoiding eye contact, and Hoseok also seemed to be maintaining a friendly impersonalness on your interactions, polite but never more. And Jungkook was a combination of both, always trying to slip away, but made the effort to at least say hello and goodbye.

It only spurred your need to escape the house, to avoid having to make them pretend in their own home.

You were brought back into reality by loud footsteps this time. "Mmm, is that waffles?" Namjoon stumbled into the kitchen, sleepily, kissing Yoongi on the cheek and then Jin. He turned to you and blinked, suddenly more awake. You were usually gone to... wherever you go so early in the morning by now. It was nice though, to see you talking and laughing in his kitchen with his family. It felt... right.

"Good morning," he ended up saying.

"Good morning." you said back.

"She made you a coffee," Jin cut in, taking out the last waffle and placing the full plate onto the island in the kitchen, pulling out table mats and cutlery.

"You did?" Namjoon blinked at you again, surprised. He didn't usually drink coffee, usually going for tea in the mornings, but he sure wasn't going to turn you down.

You nodded, handing him the cup, and he might've brushed his fingers over yours even though there was enough space not to, but soon that moment was gone and you were watching expectantly for his reaction to the coffee. "I don't think I made it exactly like I used to, but here."

Like you used to. Smooth and creamy and sweet, the way Namjoon is always hoping for whenever he makes coffee for himself, deciding to try it again, but he can never make it quite right, the way you do.

You were here though, and making it for him again. Maybe he'll be drinking it more. He took a long sip, feeling the warmth flood into his skin like a blanket wrapped around him. He smiled involuntarily. "It's perfect. Thank you."

You nodded, looking away now, fiddling with your fingers. "You're welcome."

"You know what?" Jin cut in. "We should eat in the family room today, watch a movie, maybe? We're all home for once."

"Sounds nice." Yoongi placed down his empty mug. Namjoon nodded.

"Great, why don't you and Y/n go get comfy, and me and Yoongi will bring the food and wake everyone else."

"Oh, me too?"

"Of course, darling, you live here so you're a part of whatever we do. Movie nights, game nights, family dinners."

"Oh."

"Come on, let's go sit. The family room has a bunch of cozy blankets and this big screen door, its nice when it gets cold and we just let the morning air flow in."

You nodded. "Everything about this house is so beautiful. You're all very creative if you designed it yourselves. But I guess that only makes sense considering you all have creative careers."

"Yeah, it definitely comes in handy. Not so much with the paperwork stuff though." He joked. "It was really Tae and Jimin who took control of the whole thing. They have a real eye for stuff like this."

"Maybe in another life we'd get along." You smiled wryly.

"I'm sorry. Jimin can be... standoffish, when it comes to strangers. And I'm to blame for not telling everybody about us." He held the door to the movie room open for you to enter, the comfortable couches and chairs and fluffy blankets and pillows on every available surface.

You walked in slowly, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. He thought that would be the end of it, that you would just pick a seat and sit and you both would catch up on each other's lives maybe, but then you said, "It's fine, Namjoon. It's not like there's much to tell."

He paused in his walk into the room, thrown off by the way you said that, almost dispassionately. "What?"

"I just mean, we dated for a bit, it didn't work out, we moved on. I'd hardly say it's worth mentioning." You turned to him, talking as if discussing the weather casually.

"Hardly worth mentioning? Our parents knew each other."

"Because they were neighbors."

"So what, you think our whole relationship was just because we were neighbors?"

"No, of course not, we were best friends. It's just, we confused that closeness for romance."

"That's what you think?"

"Well, what do you think?"

Namjoon didn't get a chance to answer, Jin entering the room with two giant bowls of popcorn and everybody in tow. Jimin and Hoseok still looked half asleep.

"You two haven't sat down yet? Pick a couch, go ahead."

You went and sat on a single hanging chair in the corner, and wrapped the blanket folded on the chair over yourself, curling up like a cat.

Namjoon sighed and sat down on of the larger couches, Jin immediately snuggling into his side and Jimin into the other, falling back asleep. Taehyung and Jungkook started to argue over what movie to put on.

"What's wrong?" Jin murmured quietly into his ear. Namjoon shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. Jin continued, "Did you two argue or something?" Namjoon's silence told him all he needed to know and he faced the television again as Shang-Chi started to play.

Namjoon couldn't be entirely surprised. He hoped you'd think better of him than someone who dated you out of some strange confusion of their feelings but it's probably what he deserved for letting you go so quickly, when you probably needed him most, considering how the years seemed to have treated you.

What he thought of your relationship was that it felt right. Like home. And maybe he was looking at all through rose-tinted glasses, or maybe you'd felt differently the whole time, but he hoped that he was a comfort for you too, back then.

He knew then that he would have his work cut out for him. Since you've been here you've dismissed any sort of offer for companionship, any movie nights or outings to places nearby. If he was going to make you feel comfortable here he'd have to start with fixing what had obviously broken.

Your spirit.

[mandelirious]

More Than a Feeling

din x reader; din dreams of you

word count: 2.6k

a/n: big thank you to @flora-screeches for some much-needed encouragement and to @saradika for reminding me that this song exists!

also tagging: @zinzinina (anyone else, let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

(on a personal note, i am really proud of myself for getting this done during a writing funk so i hope you enjoy!)

Din dreams about you. A lot.

It had started subtly. He’d had to stay in one place for longer than he usually liked, tracking a bounty that was proving difficult. You’d helped fix his ship, not even questioning when he’d given the standard, “No droids” stipulation. For the next few days after, the Mandalorian had seen you everywhere around town; in the market, in the bar he had taken to staking out. You were the only person there that didn’t seem intimidated by him. You started to smile when you noticed him, to wave like you were old friends. It was almost a shame when he’d caught his bounty and had to move on. After that, he’d dreamt of someone waving at him, of a feeling of being known that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

A month later, he was in your system again. An unlucky landing had caused some damage to the Razor Crest and he tried not to think too hard about it when he steered the ship towards your settlement. A good mechanic is hard to find, right? You probably didn’t even remember him. But there you were when he walked down the ship's ramp, instantly smiling at him and saying, “You’re back.”

It was nearing the end of the day and you looked tired underneath your warm welcome. There was a smudge of grease on your forehead, no doubt from your still-messy hands and Din had the inexplicable urge to wipe it away. Thankfully he was distracted by a tottering pit droid starting for his ship. You intervened before he could even say anything, tapping the droid on its head plate. “Not this one, little dude. Finish up in the back.”

So, you’d remembered that too. That warm feeling of being known was blooming in his chest again. He was glad you couldn't see his face and the smile it held. 

You became the Razor Crest’s designated mechanic after that visit. At the same time, you became a semi-frequent visitor in Din’s dreams as he snatched a few hours of sleep between hunts. You appeared the way he was used to seeing you when awake: greasy rag in hand and usually squinting determinedly at whatever you were tinkering with. Sometimes you smiled at him, warm and friendly. Sometimes you talked, exchanging more words than he ever did with you while conscious. And sometimes, you were just there, a comforting presence in this weird dreamscape.

The year dragged on and Din had begun to feel guilty at the frequency in which his subconscious willed you to appear. It wasn’t every night, not even every week, but you always showed up again eventually–even if he hadn’t been back to see you for months. He hoped you wouldn’t mind being this for him, this phantom companion that made nights in the blackest of space a little warmer.

He blushed profusely the next time he saw you, once again grateful for the beskar hiding him from your sight. He felt like a fool–a lonely man having delusions about someone he barely knew. But your lips tilted up when you saw him, eyes brightening with recognition, and it suddenly hit him that he could know you. Your interactions didn’t have to be relegated to when he was unconscious. Din watched you move towards his ship, mind turning over what should have been an obvious next step. It had been a while since he’d tried to get to know someone. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth. “How long have you been doing this?” His voice was rough with disuse and he waved his hands awkwardly at the garage. It wasn’t his smoothest opening.

You turned around and looked at him curiously for a moment, no doubt wondering where this sudden interest had come from. He could see that you were weighing something in your mind before your face cleared and you answered, a decision apparently made. “Long enough.” You started to walk towards the Crest again and Din tried to ignore his disappointment at your short response–he really was just delusional. He started to make his exit as you inspected the hull, but your voice stopped him. 

“I started working on swoop bikes when I was a teenager; a few of my friends raced. You can’t make a living on the amature swoop circuits so I graduated to ships. There are usually enough coming through to keep the lights on.” Your head turned towards him, almost like you were checking that he was still there. Encouraged, Din leaned back against a work table and crossed one ankle over the other. The gesture meant he was staying and he could have sworn he saw your lips quirk up at the sight. He wondered if maybe you were just as lonely as him.

It was the first time he’d stuck around while you worked on the ship and the two of you exchanged questions until the suns went down. You didn’t seem to mind his presence or his awkward, stilted questions while you made readjustments. You even let him get away with his sparse, noncommittal answers. In turn, he gave you as much time as you wanted to come up with your own. He learned that it was worth the wait to let you ponder, hands still moving skillfully inside one of the Crest’s panels. Your answers were thoughtful, genuine. Din learned your favorite foods, what holovids you’d watched as a child, and how endearingly attached you were to certain tools you’d had your whole life. That night he’d fallen asleep with a smile on his face. For the first time in a long time, he had more to look forward to than just dreams.

After a few months, Din started running out of reasons to stop by your garage. His ship was running better than it ever had thanks to your skillful repairs. He always stuck around while you worked after that first time, claiming what he started to think of as his spot leaning against your rusted workbench. Your conversation flowed more easily at every visit. Each of you were slowly letting your guards down, but never pushing for more than the other was willing to give. On his fourth visit in two months, you barely had anything left on the ship to tinker with. He could tell your hands were moving slower than usual, like you were trying to stretch out the time you had together. Neither of you acknowledged the fact that you weren’t even working on the Crest anymore, just mindlessly buffing a scorch mark off the hull as you talked. You were turned almost all of the way towards him and listening intently as he explained the engineering behind his jetpack. Your head was tilted slightly to the side as you listened and that look was starting to come over your face again. 

This look was one that was becoming familiar to Din, and he knew it meant that he’d hit on something you cared about. Your eyes would light up and he could practically see the thoughts whirling in your head. Even if you looked a little distant, he knew you were paying complete attention to his words. This look meant that you were visualizing how something worked in your mind, picturing how each piece fit together. He’d noticed it first when telling you about the Crest and some of the repairs he’d made to it himself over the years. You’d bitten your lip, a little crease appearing between your eyebrows as you drew a mental map. Din wasn’t used to having so much attention focused on him–and from you? It was addicting. Each one of his weapons had been brought out in your garage over the months as he showed them off, explaining how each worked–what their pitfalls were and what made them handle well. Sometimes you stopped what you were working on to come over and inspect what he was describing. It was obvious from your hesitancy and awkward grip that you weren’t used to weapons, but your curiosity always won out. It felt strangely intimate when he handed over a weapon for your inspection, vulnerable in a way he knew you didn’t understand–or maybe you did. Once, you’d fired a smaller blaster of his to feel the recoil. The blast had torn through a sheet of rusted metal and he’d let out an involuntary laugh at the way your eyebrows shot up your forehead. You’d handed it back gingerly and never asked to shoot one again, but your enthusiasm for learning how they worked never waned. 

As he described the propulsion of his jetpack, you finally dropped the rag in your hand and made your way towards him, immediately moving to inspect the contraption on his back. Din felt awkward suddenly, unable to see you as you prodded at the directional thrusters and asked him technical questions he could barely answer. Suddenly, he felt your hand at his elbow and it took all of his self control not to jolt away from the unexpected contact. You froze, his rigid body language giving him away, and quickly withdrew your hand.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the most unsure he’d ever seen you as you took a step away–wringing your hands. 

“No,” Din heard himself talking before he’d gotten a chance to think about it, “it’s okay.” His arm extended and you hesitantly returned, tracing the connector from his jet pack to the hand controls. You were a tactile person–he knew that from watching you work. But knowing that and feeling it were two incredibly different things, and his mind was whirling as fingers brushed from his tricep to his wrist. The air felt different around the two of you, turning heavy and expectant as you delicately took his wrist and flipped it over. His heart was pounding, reacting to the brush of your thumb at the edge of his glove, searing even through the leather. Hand unmoving, your eyes flicked to his visor. You were searching for something and he desperately wanted to help you find it, but he was frozen in place–fixed by your gaze. A loud clang at the back of the garage made you both jump and separate, breaking whatever charge had been building in your close proximity. The pit droid stumbled out from under a pile of circuitry, shaking its head animatedly as it started to pick through the mess it had made. You chuckled and smiled at Din unsurely before returning to the ship. He let out a breath he hadn’t meant to be holding.  

Later, his dream was different when he finally drifted off. He fell headlong into it, unsure how it had started. It was all panting and slick skin spread beneath his hands. His eyes in the dream caught only snapshots–hair curling on the nape of a neck, a hand gripping the back of his thigh, urging him closer.  It was an overwhelming crash of heat and touch so vivid that he thought it had to be real. Din was utterly lost in the body pressed against him. His lips were devouring, sucking lasting marks into any accessible skin as his pleasure rose higher and higher. He was enveloped and the sensations rushed through his shaking body, only able to focus on the wet slide of joining bodies. Groaning, he was pulled impossibly closer. Hands were on his back, in his hair, grasping desperately as he tipped over the edge. It wasn’t until then that his vision cleared and he blinked, looking down to see your face. You were smiling–soft, sated, and more relaxed than he’d ever seen you. He woke up with a start to a mess on his belly, ignoring the inexplicable pang of loss.

Din couldn’t go back to see you for a few months. Bounties kept coming his way and he took all of them. He needed the credits, but there was also a part of him that wasn’t ready to face you just yet. Between your touch and the near-palpable memory of his dream, it was easier to lose himself in a string of hunts that left no time for thinking. It worked for a little while. He was too exhausted when he finally passed out to remember his dreams, and the credits in his account were growing more than they had in years. He was in the cantina again, picking up another puck that would take him across the galaxy when everything he’d been avoiding came abruptly to a head. It was a simple moment, inconsequential to the crowd of drunk patrons around him. His eyes had just happened to fall on two figures at the bar. They were leaning close, a human and a twi’lek, one woman whispering in the other's ear and making her giggle. Their hands were intertwined on top of the bar in a show of affection that was unusual for the rough atmosphere of the hunter's cantina. He watched them for a moment as they were lost in each other. The twi’lek woman was stroking a pale green thumb reverently over her lover’s fingers and suddenly Din couldn’t stop thinking. The couple continued in their own world as he practically ran for his ship, driven by a need that he still didn’t fully understand. But he wasn’t fighting it any more.

When he arrived at your garage, you were nowhere to be found. The pit droid noticed him and bounced up and down a few times before returning to its sorting. It knew better than to go near the Razor Crest. Din’s resolution was quickly fading and turning to anxiety when your head popped out of a small office he had never noticed before. Your hair was messy and grease-streaked but your smile was brilliant. 

“You came back. I thought maybe you’d found another mechanic.” Your voice was joking, but he could tell there was a bit of truth in it. He realized he hadn’t planned what he would say, too focused on just getting here in front of you. Now you were watching him, waiting expectantly for some response as the seconds dragged on. 

So he said the only thing he could think to say: “Can I buy you dinner?”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A year later and Din still dreams about you sometimes. Only, now he can open his eyes and pull you closer to nuzzle against your neck. You smell like engine oil and the sharp citrus of your shampoo. He breathes it in deeply and presses a kiss to your shoulder, feeling as you start to stir from your sleep. It’s barely morning, but time is always different on a ship speeding through the inky blackness of space. He can feel you shifting now, turning to face him and bumping your noses together softly. “Go back to sleep, c’yare,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“But you’re up,” was your sleepy retort, but he can see your eyes starting to flutter closed again in the dim light. Smiling, he wraps an arm around your back and holds you against his chest–feeling as your breathing slows back down in sleep. He knew why you wanted to stay up–tomorrow the Razor Crest will arrive back on your planet. Usually he wouldn’t let you fall asleep so quickly again. He would want to soak up every last moment before you both returned to your lives and waited impatiently for the next opportunity to be together. You didn’t know it yet, but this time was different. This time Din was going to ask to stay, to make a life where neither of you had to ever reach out into an empty bed again. And he was pretty sure he already knew your answer.