#reposting this image I shudder together because I like it

[momolady]

[yoonia]

Mirrors: what becomes of us | jjk (m)

⤑ Summary | One year has passed, and the unmistakable fuzzy feelings that have nothing to do with lust continue to grow. Yet while he is able to look deep into your heart, he has yet to allow you to see what is hidden inside his. He still puts up a hard front, making you believe that standing by his side may not be as different than standing in front of fragile mirrors.

⤑ Title | Mirrors: what becomes of us ⤑ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader ⤑ Genre | Smut, Angst, Friends with benefits to lovers!au ⤑ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; pwp (there’s a plot here if you squint), explicit sex scene, dom!Jungkook, brat!reader, partly clothed sex (oc will be wearing her shoes…again), dirty talk, mentions of deepthroating, praise kink, stripping, nudity, size kink, breast/nipple play, clit play, masturbation (mutual), oral sex (female receiving), grinding, face fucking/riding, minor ass play and ass kissing, cum eating, finger licking, mirror sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, standing sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, orgasm control, orgasm denial, multiple sex scenes, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ⤑ Word count | 8,5k words

⤑ Story guide: Mirrors

⤑ Main Masterlist | Taglist | Feedback | Mailbox | Ko-fi

⤑ Author’s Note | Found this rough draft while I was moving Mirrors back to Wattpad after the site deleted the book version and decided to rewrite it so I can release it for Jungkook’s birthday. Well, let’s just pretend that I didn’t post this a week late lol. While this story is connected to Mirrors, this one-shot can be read as a standalone.

— © 2016-2023 @yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, and unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed. | First publication & writing on Sept 7th, 2023

You can feel the heat of his gaze without having to take a look. 

It is not too hard to notice it when he has been doing the same the entire night. 

The dinner party that you attended with him earlier now seems like a distance away, with nothing left but flickering images of the people whose names you have already forgotten and fleeting, hazy moments of it left in your memory. Because all you could sense and focus on had been his presence, and nothing could draw you away from his unwavering attention that kept tethering you towards him for the rest of the evening.

Looking up at the full-body mirror in front of you, you keep your eyes on your own reflection instead of focusing on the dimly lit bedroom behind you, denying the urge to turn and find him in the darkness. Knowing that he has his eyes on you only makes you want to give him a show as you slowly strip down all the fancy jewelries that you wore for the night. Starting from the glowing earrings, doing it gently as you take off one piece and then the other, before reaching back to the clasp holding your necklace together. 

Just then, Jungkook slowly appears from the shadows, taking his position right behind you with his eyes locked on the reflection of your face. You return his gaze through the mirror. The intense look coming through his eyes quickly makes your skin tingle and warm without him having to touch you.

“Allow me,” he gently says with the tip of his lips rising to a grin, and you lower your hand so he can unclasp your necklace for you. Like an expert, he does it so easily without looking away from your face. Yet he takes his time with it, as he takes this chance to touch you after having to keep his hands away from you all night long. He slowly drags his soft knuckles against the nape of your neck as he pulls the necklace off, drawing a shudder that comes out through your exhale of breath, before he finally places the necklace on your palm. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he suddenly says, and the first reaction that you can give him is a scoff, though you doubt that it can do much to hide the way his compliment warms your cheeks. 

“Only tonight?” you ask to tease him. 

“Hmm—” he hums softly as he watches you putting away your jewelries before taking a step closer, pressing his warmth against your back. His hands find your waist, while his eyes once again find your reflection in the mirror. He keeps his gaze on you as he leans down, the dark intention you see glowing through his eyes becomes an invisible restraint that keeps you from moving away as he gently presses his lips on your shoulder, staying just an inch away from the straps of your dress. “You’ve always captivated me, but seeing you tonight was exceptional.” 

You look down to hide your bashful smile, though it is quite hard to even try to pretend as if your cheeks aren’t getting warmer when he already knows what his compliments would do to you. It isn’t rare for him to surprise you like this, either with his words or the things that he does which often catches you off guard. And he always loves the reactions that he manages to coax out of you through the things that he does to you, through his sweet words and, of course, what has often affected you the most, his sweet praises. 

“Do you remember what we used to do in front of this mirror?” he whispers against your skin. 

While the warm breath that falls on your skin already does wonders to your body, it is the memory that he is bringing back which makes you feel as if you have a thousand wings fluttering inside your belly. The sensation isn’t only giving you warmth blooming within, but also a desire so familiar, so dark, that your next exhale of breath feels heavy, weighted down by your sudden want that starts building inside. 

One year ago, you stood by this same mirror, baring yourself to him. When you stripped down your coat and dress right in front of his eyes—and yourself, when he made you watch your own reflection—and you inadvertently bared not only your heart, but also your soul for him to finally have a good look at what your true desire was. 

One year has passed, and here you are, still standing right beside him instead of running away, and he is still embracing you with the same touches, blessing you with the same kisses, with not a single sign of the passion that you shared diminishing with the passing time. Just like how you had expected it would have.

As if he knows where your mind is drifting away towards, Jungkook nips at the spot beneath your earlobe and whispers, “We had quite a lot of fun with this mirror, didn’t we?” 

You meet his gaze through the mirror and return the sly smirk he is giving you with an incredulous laugh. “Fun, hmmm?” Your question fades to a sigh when he continues kissing your skin, slowly going up and down the side of your neck that you can barely think clearly beyond the sound of your pulsing blood. “I think,”—you sigh when a shudder runs through your body. “We may have to review your definition of ‘fun’.” 

With a soft chuckle, Jungkook tightens his grip around your waist for a brief squeeze, before he slowly slides his hands to your front, stopping at your stomach where he gently presses you back to him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy every second of it,” he whispers right as he captures your earlobe between his lips. “As far as I remember—” he stops briefly to press his lips against your pulse, making you gasp softly to the touch. “We both enjoyed our sweet moments using this mirror.” 

There is a dark look twinkling in his eyes, and you can slowly tell where this is heading. That he has no qualms in taking you back to those moments when he first introduced you to one of his most wicked desires. 

Even if you keep trying to deny it, you have to agree that you did enjoy everything from that fateful night. The mirror may have more to do than to simply show your reflections, as it helped reveal what your hearts had truly desired—both to you and Jungkook. Even now, you can clearly see the clear desire that Jungkook is currently feeling, as it is evident through his deep gaze, his shallow breaths that have been falling on your skin, and the drag in his touch, as he keeps moving his hands upward, leading towards the mounds of your breasts. 

“Why don’t I help remind you of those fun times?” he murmurs against your skin, the last warning that he gives before his thumbs graze against the underside of your covered breasts, igniting the burning flame inside you. Your thin, silky dress and the delicate lace material of your bra can only do so little to prevent you from feeling the heat of his touch on your skin. 

Your chest arches into his hands, and your head falls back as you gasp at the shudder that is now rushing through you. Through your hazy eyes, you meet his gaze through the mirror, seeing him licking his lips and his eyes darkening at the sight of you as you are embracing your desire. “Is that a yes?” he asks, while his fingers continue grazing up the mounds of your breasts, finding your covered nipples and rubbing against them until they grow hard under his touch. “Talk to me, baby.” 

“Mmmh—yess!” your words erupt into a moan when Jungkook pinches at your nipples from over your dress, drawing out your cry when he continues by simultaneously rolling his fingers around them and pinching them. Your body jerks when the mix of pain and pleasure comes rushing all the way down, and you can feel your core pulsing with a new need that is demanding to be sated. 

“Yes, Jungkook. Please—” 

At the sound of your begging, Jungkook releases you and pulls his hands away. With his fingers on your chin, he turns your face towards him. No more words are needed when he captures your lips, and you immediately melt into the kiss even before he begins devouring you. The kiss continues for a moment longer, just enough to help distract you from his wandering hands. While he slips one arm around your waist to press you back to his chest, his other hand moves upward, slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulder, taking one side off and then the other. The silky fabric falls and pools down around your feet once he pulls his arms away from you. 

“Sneaky bastard,” you murmur against his lips once he pulls back from the kiss. 

Clicking his tongue, Jungkook makes a disapproving noise as he whispers, “You have such a foul mouth.” He reaches up and runs his thumb across your lips, smearing the rest of your lipstick that still remains after his kiss. “Maybe I should teach you how to behave.” 

You bite your bottom lip and flutter your eyes open for him, lowering your voice when you respond back to him with, “You never minded with my mouth when I was doing all the naughty things I did to you last night.” 

A deep groan escapes from Jungkook when his mind wanders back to the night before, when you have your lips wrapped around his cock while you were on your knees for him, taking all of his length down your throat to bring him pleasure under his swift command. The way he responds to your teasing pleases you, yet you keep it to yourself, feigning innocence as you return his gaze. 

“You’re being naughty tonight. But you’re lucky that I am in no mood to punish you for being a brat,” he murmurs. Jungkook pulls back and turns you back to face the mirror before you. His jaw is tense when he says, “I love seeing you like this. When you are stripped down and you look ready to be thoroughly fucked.” 

A breathless laugh escapes you, though you cannot stop the flutter that you feel when you finally turn to look at your own reflection and see exactly what he is seeing from you—your makeup that is partly ruined with your lipstick smeared and lips swollen after sharing the kiss, your body that is partly exposed, with only a strapless bra and your lacy underwear left covering your skin, your dress that has been left as nothing but a heap of mess around your feet, and the pair of heels that he had told you not to take off until he tells you to. 

Jungkook’s hands return to you. His fingers are tender as he reaches out to touch your waist, keeping you steady. “Let me see you take those lacy things off,” he says. His voice is stern, yet breathless at the same time, as if there is a wave of emotions engulfing him. You have doubts that it would be anything different to what you are feeling right now as you stand under his gaze. The same dark gaze that feels like invisible fingers tracing your skin as he runs it up and down your body. 

Reaching back, you hold his gaze with your own through the mirror while you unclasp your bra. You hold it up with your palm, keeping it from falling and exposing your breasts a little too soon, and his knowing gaze flickers at your face. “Tease,” he murmurs, drawing a soft giggle out of you.

Finally, you drop the bra and your breasts come into view. His eyes are easily drawn to them, just like they always would when you are completely bare for him to see. Yet he still doesn’t miss a thing when you trail your hands lower, reaching down to the lacy panties that you still have on. By the time your fingers slide under the waistband of your undergarment, Jungkook reaches down to undo his belt. The two of you move simultaneously as you slide your panties down your hips, to your thighs, while he kicks off his shoes and socks and slowly begins taking off his pants, his boxers joining right after. 

Once every piece of clothing is left piling on the floor, Jungkook steps out of the mess he created behind to reach out to you. His hands find your waist before he starts running them up and down your curves, doing his best to avoid the more sensitive parts of your body. Yet every part of you that is vacant of his touch still tingles. An instant craving to have his fingers touching them as well keeps building up. It grows just as strongly as your desire to reach out to him, to run your fingers down his hot skin that you get to see through his partly unbuttoned shirt and wrap your hand around his cock that has grown semi-hard, its tip pointing your way, like a promise for a good time that is so easy to reach. 

It only takes one look into his eyes to know that he isn’t going to be giving it to you that easily. And he proves you right once again when a grin appears on his face, and the familiar twinkle that you would often see in his eyes whenever his wicked idea comes to him makes its appearance.

Jungkook steps back, his eyes remaining on your reflection as he pulls his hands away from your body. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and touch yourself. Show me everything you want me to do to you.” 

He reaches up to continue unbuttoning his shirt while holding his gaze on you the entire time. Tension builds before your hands begin to move, rising steadily the more you get to see the lines of his chest as the shirt comes apart. The moment your fingers come up to brush against your breasts, desire ripples through you. If he cannot see it from the way your body tenses and your legs shift when the urge to press them together rises, he would be able to hear it through your sharp inhale of breath. 

Stifling down the sounds threatening to come out of your throat, you look at him straight in the eyes and question him, “Like this? Is this what you want to see?”

Jungkook says nothing as she shrugs off his shirt, but his gaze says a lot more. The hunger in his eyes is palpable, growing darker and more intense as you start kneading your breasts, rubbing and massaging them gently until you start feeling good. Every part of your bashfulness goes out the window when you feel pleasure. A soft moan slips from you when you move your thumbs, rolling them in circular motions around your nipples to draw the delicate shudders going down your spine. You keep your eyes on him, watching the way his chest trembles with each deep intake of breath he makes, and it is quick to help you recognise your own hunger that needs to be sated. 

“Keep doing that, baby,” you hear him whispering to you while he seems to be lost in the sight of you pleasuring yourself. You are not even sure if he realises that he had spoken, judging from the way he remains still, transfixed with what he is seeing. 

His gaze follows your hand as you move it down your torso. You are not even close to where the tingles in your body are building up the strongest, yet your legs are already shaking, your heartbeat keeps picking up, and you can feel the heat coiling inside you as you get closer to your pulsing core. 

With his eyes remaining on you, it feels like everything just sparks violently the moment your fingers come touching at your folds. Spreading your legs, you give him a better view through the mirror as you part your slick folds, showing him your throbbing clit. Jungkook licks his lips, as if he is picturing himself touching you, tasting you, and the image appears in your head right then just before you move your fingers, rubbing your clit in a similar rhythm to the fingers that are moving around your nipple.

“Are you wet for me?” Jungkook says, his voice drips lower as he watches you stimulating yourself. He seems transfixed on you, that it almost seems like he is moving under a spell when his hand come down, engulfing the length of his cock which has been growing stiff while he continues watching you. 

Knowing that he is just as affected to this moment as you are only elevates everything. Even his question sounds so sinful. Even if it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve ever heard him asking about something so obscene, it still does the magic. Your eyes flutter to close as you rub against your clit, and your arousal seems to ooze right out of you with the shudder that comes from your touch.

“Yes,” you whisper with a soft moan escaping you. “I’m so wet, Jungkook.” 

He takes a step closer, slowly, but not as slow as the drag of his palm along the length of his cock. Even with his eyes on you, Jungkook continues giving himself a few lazy strokes, then his other hand finds your waist to catch you from swaying. Lost in the pleasure you are giving yourself, and the heady sight of him stroking his hard cock, you don’t notice the way your body is swaying and trembling, slowly losing your balance. Until the touch of his hand on your skin helps you feel it. 

“You want me to touch you,” he moves his hand from your waist, joining your hand as he cups the underside of your breast and roughly palms it while whispering, “here?”

The cry that slips out of your lips is the kind of sound that you can’t recognise as your own. How you manage to remain standing is beyond you, when it seems like there is a hot wave rushing inside you. Beneath you, your knees begin trembling, but you can hardly focus on it, when the pleasure continues rising, increasing faster when your joined hands are kneading firmly at your breast. You follow his gaze as he looks down, watching closely as you rub your fingers back and forth against your clit. 

Dark lust fills his eyes, and it pushes you to give him more. Just as Jungkook’s fingers give your hardened nipple a tight pinch, you slide your fingers into your pussy, pushing into your walls. You can hear the sound of his breath getting caught in his chest, and you tease him with a soft voice, 

“I…want you to touch me”—you gasp when your fingers hit right at your sweet spot—”here.” 

You push your fingers deeper, drawing a shudder that he can clearly feel now that he has his hand on you. “Fuck,” his muted curse comes with a gasp. Pride overcomes you knowing that you are the reason for him to react this way. Except he gives you no time to revel in it, when he suddenly pulls you back. A gasp slips out of you when you are pressed back against his chest, his hard cock is pressing at your back, making you pulse from the inside when you can feel his thickness without having to see it, and the hand that he used to stroke himself comes down to your front.

You find it hard to look away from your own reflection, seeing with your own eyes the way your body is trembling in his hold. Your chest keeps rising and falling with ragged breaths, though it almost seems like you are pressing your breast further into his kneading palm. Instead of touching you right away, Jungkook grabs your wrist and gently pulls your hand out of your pussy. Your fingers glisten with your arousal, and he brings them up to your lips. 

“Taste them,” he whispers to you. And just like a spell, it drives your lust-driven mind to follow through, as you bring your fingers into your mouth and suck every single drop of your slickness right before his eyes. Moaning at your own taste, the heat inside you burns hotter, and his eyes seem to grow even darker with his hunger. 

He reaches down between your legs, circling around your wet folds for a brief moment before making his way in to find your clit. He draws out a moan from you with his deft fingertips as he runs them through your wet slit, sweeping across your delicate skin, the slick sound of your dampness reaching to your ears as he keeps moving his fingers between your folds. 

“Hmmm—you were right. You’re already so wet, just the way I like it,” he says with a hum in his voice, and it comes out so deep that you it vibrating all the way down to where he is now touching you. Jungkook presses his lips on the top of your head and briefly closes his eyes while he continues stroking your pussy. “Makes me want to taste you so bad,” he moans softly, and it almost draws a whimper through your lips when you can picture his mouth on you, tasting you. Suddenly, his eyes are opened, and his gaze turns dangerously dark when he smirks at you and says, “Good thing I skipped dessert earlier, because now I can take it properly and relish it as much as I can.” 

Jungkook pulls out his hand at the sound of your gasp, though he doesn’t stay far. Because his hands are quick to find your waist, both still warm after being attached to your most sensitive spots, then he leans down. Once again, his lips find the spot where he can feel your pulse, and then he begins kissing your neck, making you tilt your head as you enjoy the soft shudders he is drawing out of you through his kisses. 

As you begin to give in to the pleasure rising inside you, he continues to trail his lips all the way down from the back of your neck, your bare shoulders, and continues kissing his way down along your spine as he comes down to his knees. The press of his lips on your bottom cheeks brings heat to your face and your entire body. It feels scandalous when he continues kissing against the area that isn’t used to getting such attention. Even more so when his hands come up, palming your soft flesh while his lips continue trailing lower, and lower, hovering close to your tight and untouched rim, making you flinch when you are not ready to have him anywhere close to that specific spot. 

But you quickly relax when he moves past it, barely grazing across the area that you have decidedly to be kept forbidden to finally come down to find your folds. His grip tightens, and he gently pushes your hips down to his face, angling you just enough so he can get some space where he can reach your pussy with his mouth and tongue. 

A breathless cry comes out of your lips when he slides his tongue between your slit and his mouth comes to give your nether lips a deep kiss. Your hips come down to meet his face in return, almost grinding against his mouth so you can feel more, and that is exactly what he gives you when his tongue flicks against your hot entrance and the pleasant rush you have been searching for instantly surges through your body. 

Your body begins to sway yet again with the overwhelming pleasure. Even your foot slips at the stroke of his tongue across your slit, but his hands give you a firm grip on your thighs to keep you from falling. “Take deep breaths, baby. Hold still,” he whispers, before he presses his open-mouthed kiss right at your pulsing pussy. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan and curse as he begins licking your pussy, starting soft and slow, then gradually building up pressure and speed to draw more and more of the delightful spasms you feel pushing from your core. He twists his hands, sliding them into a position where he can press your bottom cheeks and open you up for him, allowing him to go deeper, to work his tongue and press his tender muscle into your pussy, then go around your clit while giving it a light suck. 

Standing upright without anything to hold on to becomes extremely challenging when your body is trembling under a myriad of sensations he is giving you. Seeing him on his knees, with his face entirely buried between your legs, with the sight of his jaw and mouth working to devour your pussy only makes your mind swirl even faster. Your hands move, searching for something to hold, a leverage to keep you up. While one hand finds nothing but air to clench, the other flies to your back, finding his hair to clutch as your head falls back at the surging pleasure.

It doesn’t take long before your thighs start shaking, your pussy contracts violently to each work of his mouth and tongue, and your moans become louder at the approaching climax. You know that he can feel it when the coil inside you comes close to snapping, and just like that, he suddenly stops. 

A desperate cry escapes you when he pulls back. After giving a few more kisses around your wet core, he trails his hot lips back up, across the soft skin of your bottom cheeks and up to your spine. He reaches up to pry your hand away from his hair, and brings your palm up for him to kiss. As he rises to his feet, he entwines his fingers with yours and slips his other arm around your waist to hold you still.

“Jungkook—”

“Hmm, are you mad at me? Did you think I’d let you cum without giving you permission first? Right after you used your foul mouth to talk back at me?” he asks you as he slides his hand back down. He easily finds your clit and starts rubbing against the ache in your pussy from being denied release. His touch brings the sparks of pleasure back alight and you slightly jerk against his hold. He gives your clit a sharp flick, drawing the sound of your cry, only to take away his touch from your heated center when you roll your hips. 

“Not yet, baby. I want you to cum around my cock, and I want to be able to look at your face when you do,” he says, forcing you to open your eyes again when he runs his hand down your right thigh, giving it a grip as he gently lifts your leg up, exposing you both to his eyes and the mirror so you can see yourself. 

Moving his other hand away from you, Jungkook reaches down and guides his cock into your sweet, throbbing pussy. A soft moan is drawn out of you when the tip of his cock is pressing against your hot entrance, yet he does nothing to push his way in until he has one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady, with the firm grip that he keeps on your right thigh holding you up and open for him. 

You have never done this in such a challenging position, especially with your heels on which makes you feel off-balance. But before you have any chance to question it, Jungkook bucks his hips and slides his cock deep inside your pussy. Your walls throb around him to welcome him in, stretching around his girth as he slides deeper. A pulse engulfs him and Jungkook curses under his breath, yet it doesn’t stop him as he immediately begins to move. He starts thrusting in and out, taking it slow for a few more strokes until your muscles are no longer tense and straining against him, and only once both of your bodies are balanced enough—just enough to stop you from getting knocked down once his strokes grow stronger.

His thrusts are sloppy when he continues on, yet they gradually grow in speed and power that it feels like your entire world is being shaken. You almost feel like floating, with only his arm keeping you up and pressed against him, unable to escape or fall even when you are barely standing on the tip of your heel. Your hands find his forearm for the sake of having something to hold on to. Your nails sink into his skin when he keeps stroking deep and hard into your pussy, hitting all the pleasure spots inside that is pushing you so quickly towards the edge. 

“Open your eyes,” he suddenly snaps. You don’t even realise that you have your eyes closed while you are revelling in the pleasure. Opening your eyes feels like a struggle, yet you manage. Through your bleary eyes, you find his gaze in the mirror, and that is before your gaze falls on the scene that he wants you to see. 

What you get to see is the startling view of your body taking all of him in—how your body is trembling with each deep thrust he is giving you. You can see the blurry image of his cock sliding in and out of you so rapidly with each powerful thrust, while the muscles in his arms are flexing as he continues to lift your body and hold you up. His glorious tattoos seem to glow under the dim light as a thin layer of sweat appears on his skin. Looking down, there is the clear view of your pussy that seems wet, swollen on the folds, and is stretched apart to accommodate his size.

The wanton way you are taking his rough fucking seems enthralling, and it feels maddening just by watching you take everything he is giving you, while he too seems lost in his own pleasure, showing you that he feels good by sending you off to your own edge. That you are both in this together. The thought ignites the rush of pleasure that is coming to you in waves, one that he feels through the flutter of your muscles around his cock. You suck a deep breath, hoping that you can hold out just a bit longer, afraid that giving in too quickly before you are granted his permission would only grant you a punishment. The kind of punishment that he enjoys, and would only end with your pleasure. 

Except that you want to have that pleasure in your body now. 

Just when you half expect to hear him telling you to hold back, Jungkook surprises you when he commands you through his gritted teeth, “Play with your nipples. Make yourself cum for me.” 

Your hands are shaking when you move them. As if they all have a mind of their own, they manage to find their destination even through the frantic motions, as one hand claims its spot on your breast, giving attention to the one that he wasn’t touching, while the other hand comes all the way down to find your clit, giving it a few gentle rubs that fall in the same rhythm of his thrusts.

Almost immediately, sparks light up beneath your eyelids, and your orgasm builds. It grows more and more until you start falling straight into it, though not before he snaps his final command, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Cum for me.” 

His words, his commanding voice, the deep gaze he is giving you through the mirror, the hard thrusts of his cock, and the press of your fingers on your throbbing clit—all of them come together to throw you over towards your climax. You cry out as the intense wave of your orgasm engulfs you, and it pushes him right over his own release. His eyes never leave yours as he tenses, his cock twitching inside you before you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up, almost sending you off to another climax. 

Once the waves of pleasure begin to simmer down, your body slowly turns languid, almost pliant, barely hanging on with only your shaking leg and Jungkook’s arm holding you up. Your pussy throbs once, twice, almost rhythmically to the twitches that come from his softening cock, and Jungkook tightens his hold around you for a bit longer until everything winds down altogether. 

It takes a while before you can start feeling things—anything other than the remaining spasms of your orgasm and the heat of his skin against yours—to be able to feel the warm, soft kisses that Jungkook is pressing on your neck and shoulder. The kisses help soothe you down from your high, coaxing you to relax in his arms, while he slowly lowers your leg and pulls out of you. 

The move draws a gasp from your lips, when in the absence of his cock, your walls seem to contract against the void, and the liquid mixture of his cum and your essence drip down to your thighs and the floor beneath you. 

“Seems like we made quite a mess,” Jungkook murmurs as he takes you in his arms, merely seconds before you would sway and fall, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently and kisses your lips. It helps calm you down even more that you barely notice him taking your heels off and tossing them away. He seems hesitant when he draws back, and you almost pull him back to you when your body shivers, suddenly feeling cold without his warmth. But you stop yourself when he smiles and promises to you, “Stay here. I’ll be back to you soon.” 

There is something in his words that weighs on you, and it leaves you in a haze as you watch him leave to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel that he uses to clean the mess coating your skin. His gaze softens as he dips the towel between your legs, across the inner side of your thighs, your overly sensitive pussy, before he cleans himself from his own mess. He rises from the bed and leans down to wipe the mess on the floor with the soiled towel, and for some reason, watching him do such a mundane thing captivates you. 

You follow him with your gaze as Jungkook walks across the room in his naked glory. His bare ass and solid back steal your attention before he disappears in the bathroom once again. When you hear the sound of the running water from the washbasin, and the heat of passion cools down in his absence, your mind wanders. 

Just like always, your thoughts would start circling through your head in the silence, with a dozen questions and wonderings filling your head as you start to look deeper into what has become of the two of you over the past year. 

Admittedly, your relationship hadn’t been a conventional one since it first started. What started from a mutual arrangement that had existed without a full commitment, had then shifted into something else when both of your hearts started craving for more, and with courage, you both reached for it when the chance arrived.

Though things didn’t start as easily as it seemed, the one year you spent with him had allowed you to understand each other a bit more. You have known from the start just how bad the two of you are when it comes to expressing your feelings, but everything else had only started to come to the surface once you decided one morning that you weren’t going to leave the way you used to after spending the night with him.

At one point during the entire period of trying to see if things would work out between the two of you, you managed to find out just how terrible the two of you are when it comes to going on dates like regular couples do. Going out on dinners and then the movies hadn’t been so tasking back in the day, and you remember having fun on those kinds of dates before Jungkook came into the picture. Except that any innocent night that Jungkook had always planned out for the two of you had always turned cumbersome and—well, dry. 

If it hadn’t been for the way those nights quickly escalated into something else—something more fun—perhaps you would have taken it as a sign that things were not working well between the two of you. Because everything else has been going well. The desire you have for each other has always been a dominant part in this situationship that has been going on between you, as it has always been stronger when you are together, enough to supersede any words that would be needed to express your yearning for one another when you could act on it.

It should have been enough for you to stop questioning what you have between you, or to have doubts that this will last. That you wouldn’t wake up one day to find him changing his mind and suddenly kicking you out the door. But that doubt still takes root within you, leading you to always anticipate the moment the rug would finally be pulled under your feet and you are forced to face reality where the two of you no longer exist together.

Because just like the mirror which had just become the silent witness of your wanton exchange of pleasure, what you currently have with him now seems so fragile. As if there is a chance that everything will slip right out of your hands once you are too complacent. 

The bed dips, taking you away from your thoughts to see Jungkook climbing onto the bed right as he returns to you. He is hovering above you in no time, almost covering your body with the length of his. His warmth becomes a comforting blanket, even when his presence is driving your heartbeat to start racing. 

You look at his face, and your breath stills. His immaculate hair has become a mess after fucking you to oblivion. He has been growing it quite a bit to a length, and that hair has fallen to frame his perfect face while he slowly moves to cover your body with his. 

His hands sink into the sheets as he lowers himself, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that is soft and gentle that allows you to feel everything else that he is giving you. As if he is pouring his soul into the kiss, the same way he poured his desire into the intense lovemaking that has made your legs feel like jellos. The flapping wings in your chest linger as he pulls away from the kiss, though it is now mixed with anxiety when your mind still refuses to shut up with all the lingering doubts and the ceaseless questions. 

“I can hear you thinking inside that pretty head of yours,” he murmurs against your lips, surprising you when he could easily guess what has been running through your head. 

“That would be impossible, unless you can read my thoughts,” you reply to him once his lips rise from yours. You force a smile, but it falls short once you get to look up into his eyes. All of a sudden, you feel exposed under his gaze. Not only because of your complete bareness, but because he makes you feel as if he can look deeply into your soul. As if he is unraveling your secrets, layer by layer, until there is nothing left to hide the content of your heart.

The same way he made you feel a year ago when he called you after you ended everything and walked away. 

“Even if I can’t hear it,” he starts, as he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair that has gotten stuck on your cheek. “I can feel it coming out of you in waves. You’re practically trembling.”

A soft chuckle slips out of your lips. “Is that so?” Your question almost fades at the tip of your tongue when he takes the strand of hair and kisses it softly. He steals the rest of the words you are about to say when he tucks your hair back and grazes your lips with his thumb. 

A worried look flickers through his gaze. Though it fades just as quickly it appears, and a small smile comes in its place while he is looking at you closely. His smile looks gentle and soft, tricking you into believing for a brief moment that he has nothing but sweet and innocent intention with his concern, until he suddenly questions you, “Was it not enough?”

“What—” 

His question makes your heartbeat jump in your chest, and you find yourself wondering. What does he mean? What is he talking about? Is he asking if making you delirious by fucking you in the most outrageous way possible hadn’t been enough to satiate your need? Your lips tilt to a smile and you almost laugh at the thought of this, only to stop when you suddenly wonder if he truly had been reading your thoughts. 

He couldn’t have possibly—

“Should I give you something else to shut that mind off and forget whatever it is that’s been troubling you?” he suddenly says, and your jaw almost drops open. As if he is seeing right through you, his words hit the mark perfectly. 

With a knowing smile, as if he had gotten the answer he needed through your silence, Jungkook leans down and kisses the nape of your neck. He captures your lips next, giving you no chance to say anything at all. His kiss is deep, gentle and slow, but his tongue easily slips in to take control. 

Everything that has cooled down now begins to heat up again. The invisible flutters in your chest arise, while a different kind of flutter sends your hips rising to meet his. You moan into the kiss when your folds brush against his cock, its girth nestling heavily against your center that you feel it when it slowly recovers. With each twitch you feel coming from his cock, it begins to grow hard and stiff, and Jungkook makes you feel it happening as he starts rocking his hips, grinding the length of his cock against your slit until you feel your dampness returns and builds. 

He rocks once more with a groan rumbling from his chest, brushing the tip of his cock against your clit, and you give out a breathless cry when it sparks everything inside you alight. 

“Answer me, baby,” Jungkook coaxes you, his voice nearly muffled by the sound of your pumping blood. “Tell me you want it. Let me silence your mind and take them all away.” 

There is no need for you to question him, or for him to explain the implication of his words. You can see it when you look into his eyes, that what he wouldn’t be able to give you through his words, he would be giving them to you through his actions. Just like always.

“Yes,” you gasp out to him as you reach up, holding onto his shoulders as you look at him in the eyes to say, “Yes, I want it. Take me, please.” 

Your answer draws a low groan coming out of him, and he continues stroking his cock between your legs a few more times before he pulls back. Using one hand, he aligns himself on your pussy, and within a blink of an eye, he sinks back into your slick, tight heat. Your body reacts with a jolt once he is buried deep in your pussy. Your walls contract around him violently for a brief moment, pressing around his length at the sudden penetration. Yet instead of causing you any discomfort, even when you are still sensitive from before, it just feels right. As if he truly belongs here, joined together with you. 

Both of you tremble when the pleasure rises. Then Jungkook moves, going at it without taking his time or going slow and gentle. It feels mind-blowing the way he sparks the pleasure inside you. With the heels of your foot pressing onto his back, your hands begin to move everywhere. From clutching on his shoulders and biceps to hold on, up to his hair or cupping his cheeks, feeling the need to remain in contact with his body even while you are joined together. 

Jungkook’s eyes have been fluttering close as he relishes in his own pleasure, but they snap open when he feels your nails sinking into his shoulders and your moan grows louder. He dips, drawing your lips into a kiss. The sounds of your moan and his deep groan are drowned as he sucks your tongue, while his pace remains steady, not once does he falter as he thrusts so deep you feel the entire bed rocking together with you. 

He leaves your lips, kissing his way down your throat. When his hands move upward, cupping your rocking breasts, your head falls back. That is when you finally meet his gaze again, seeing the passion that is clearly shining through them as he gives attention to your breasts, palming at them and holding them up while your bodies rock together. 

As he continues rocking his hips and thrusting into you, keeping it at a steady pace instead of rushing it, you realise his true intention. He isn’t simply fucking you to silence your mind. He is making love to you. 

Your gazes are locked together when he lifts his head to look at you, and everything seems to fall into place with what you are reading through his dark eyes. You keep your eyes on him as you start returning his thrusts by rolling your hips against him. Each thrust feels enough to unravel you, while it slowly becomes his undoing. 

His mouth returns to you, devouring you as you raise your hips, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster, because you are so close, already on the edge of unraveling completely into your climax. And he gives it to you, thrusting so deep inside you with hard strokes and increasing in speed while you hold on to him, your nails digging into his skin when your orgasm takes over. It comes barrelling down your spine as he takes you, slamming hard into your heat as pleasure erupts. You come with a sharp cry, and he roughly shouts when he joins you, falling into his own pleasure with a tremble rocking his whole body.

Your blood is still pumping wildly in your chest as the height of your climax slowly winds down. He is still twitching deep inside you as he presses his forehead on yours. Your chest rises and falls with your deep breaths, while his hands trigger the soft quivers in your body as he runs them down your torso to hold your waist. 

Closing his eyes, Jungkook releases a deep, shuddering exhale of breath, while you feel heavy with sleep. Exhaustion rolls in once the remaining spasms of your release are fading. With the voices in your head silenced, drowned by the sound of your steady breathing and your racing heartbeat, all you want to do is to give in to slumber. 

You try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are heavy. You can’t even move as he pulls out of you, once again taking away the fullness and dragging out the essence of your lovemaking that floods out, making a pool of mess on the sheets beneath you. Your muscles feel like liquid. Your bones are soft. You fall easily into his embrace when he pulls you in his arms once he falls right beside you on the bed. 

And you simply let him.

You let him because you need to be in his warmth, to feel the touch of his fingers that are soothing, helping you relax beyond the rush flowing in your blood. You keep your eyes closed, allowing yourself to be engulfed in his comforting embrace. Because not only did he manage to silence your thoughts, he has also helped replace the uneasiness with relief. 

The feeling of relief which only strengthens itself when he kisses the top of your head and whispers, “Sleep. I’ll hold you and keep you warm so you can have a sweet dream.” His words bring back the flutter in your chest, then dampness fills your eyelids when he adds with a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.” 

And just like that, you have gotten what you were hoping for. Because those words are enough.

He might not be able to say it out loud, but you realise now—as you lean into his embrace, welcoming the warmth that he is giving you while your body hums in contentment—that you may no longer need to hear it. Because you can feel it. You feel it through his touch, through the way your bodies seem to fold and melt into one as he presses you to his chest, and you can hear it through his promise. 

When you open your eyes again to meet his gaze, you finally allow the walls inside you to crumble. You may have already fallen for him from the beginning, but only now do you finally have the courage to let yourself fall deeper instead of fighting it.

Even if the landing will be hard, and most possibly be painful, you are willing to take the chance anyway. You realise that you would endure anything for him. Because he is worth all the risk. Judging from the way he is looking at you now, with a gaze so deep that you almost feel like you are drowning in him, and the way he is holding you as if he wants to protect you from the world, he shows you that he thinks that you are worth the risk for him to take. 

Thank you for reading!!!

[nctsworld]

at your beck and call

☆ mark x reader | smut | 1.3k 

→ summary: what mark asks, you do. and what mark wants, you give. or, in which you show how much of a good girl you are to mark. → warnings: smut, pwp, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), 69-ing, praise kink  → rating: explicit → notes: someone on my tl was freaking over this part of the vid/my gif, so here we aRE

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

“Come here.” 

Mark sits on the edge of his bed, legs spread out comfortably. He gestures along with his command, his low voice tugging your body towards his. Appearing in front of him, you grip onto his shoulders while you straddle him, cutting the distance between you. 

His hands roam down your back, making their way to your backside. They linger over your contours momentarily until you yelp from a slap. 

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, so close to your lips, you practically breathe his words. 

The passion is blatant. Warm, tender lips that feel pure and safe, but you know they’re capable of executing filthy acts from past experiences. Tonight would likely be no different.

Each kiss sears you, the pressure of them deliberate, meticulous, and devoted. Dips of his tongue into your mouth, casually grazing your own. 

Mark’s scent intoxicates you with every inhale, a mixture of his naturalness and his body wash from his recent shower. And with every inhale, you exhale desire, reaching its way to your core.

You’re twisted in harmony. Your necks change sides every so often in silent synchronicity, never awkward nor tense. He continues to explore your depths, grabbing and touching what’s his, but he also ensures a hand constantly caresses your neck or cheek, sometimes even rubbing his thumb against your skin. On the other hand, you hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself, until his lips move downward to ravish your neck and chest. 

Fingers fly towards his hair with your neck craning back, eyes fluttering. Your soft moans trickle out, and they’re one of Mark’s favourite melodies. Not only because it comes from you, but because he’s the only one who can extract those sounds out of you and the only one who’ll ever hear them. 

The friction between your clothed sexes rises from the grinding, his growing desire yearning for yours. But there’s no hurry, so you continue your pace and return the favour by kissing his cheeks and neck, especially making an effort to leave love upon his beautiful, simple moles. His eyes tremble and the sensation causes him to remove one hand off of you and onto the bed for balance.   

Inebriated from kissing, attention is turned towards the stripping of your shirt, him aiding you and you for him. You remove your body from his to rid of your bottoms and are now completely bare in front of him. He eyes you in awe for a moment, taking you in, then shuffles over to one side of the bed.   

“Lay down,” he instructs with a tilt of his head. 

You do as he says, resting comfortably on a pillow, but your head only hovers it as your focus is on your love. Still in his jeans, he wastes no time adjusting himself between your legs. Mark trails kisses on your lower stomach and on the inner side of your thigh, maintaining eye contact all throughout.   

“Have you been a good girl?” 

You’re in the midst of nodding when he suddenly swipes his fingers up against your folds, causing you to shudder. 

“You know, only good girls get fingered.” 

“I’ve been a very good—” He plunges in slightly, and you whine when he pulls out. “I’ve been so good, please.” 

You suck in air as his fingers circle around your clit, your back arching into the movements. 

“Mark, you know I’m sensitive, ah—” 

Without stopping, he shakes his head. His digits soon add flutters to the equation upon your nerves, almost slapping them. 

“Good girls don’t complain.”  

“I’m-I’m not complaining, I’m—oh, God...” 

The stimulation takes a hold of you, erasing all thoughts from your mind. Your pussy pulses and drips more and more with his teasing. You beg in huffs and groans until he dives in completely, fingers spreading your walls. 

Your chest heaves with your eyes shut. Mark can’t help himself at the gorgeous sight. Still with his digits inside of you, he rises from his position, leans down closer to you, and captures one of your nubs within his mouth. 

Your eyes dart open at the unexpected pleasure, your walls contracting tighter around his fingers. You caress and squeeze his arms, surveying the tautness of his flexed muscles. He switches to your other breast, ensuring his affection is equal, and he steals a peek at you, witnessing the flickering of your eyes. 

Mark scissors you for a little while longer, in hopes to steal at least one or two orgasms from you. When he pulls his drenched hand away, you’re a panting, languid mess. However, you know this isn’t the end quite yet. You watch him lick your nectar off of himself. He winks, and your core reacts, looking forward to what comes next.  

He wipes the rest off his hand on the back of his jeans and starts to take off his bottoms. His hardened length springs out, and, as if you’re reenergized in a flash, you’ve already made your way onto his side of the bed, ready to embrace it. 

The lanky figure chuckles, admiring your ardor, but he holds a hand out, stopping you in your tracks, whilst his other strokes himself. 

“You’ve been a good girl,” he comments huskily, brushing your hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek. “Do you want to suck me off?” 

You nod, biting your lip. All your attention is kept by his hard-on so close to your face, but your attention fades when he moves swiftly onto the bed, laying where you were previously. 

“I want to taste you, too. Come sit on my face.” 

Piecing together what he means, you eagerly place your knees on the sides of Mark’s head, facing towards the end of the bed. You extend yourself, descending his body, passing by his chest, his abs, and arriving at his cock. Carefully, you lower yourself onto him and have your warmth near his face. 

Your lover cranes his neck, now only inches away, and your breathing wavers at how his hot breath tingles against your sex. His hands grasp onto your hips, preparing himself for what’s about to come. 

With one hand on the bed for support, your other envelops the possession in sight. It glistens with the precome emerging from the slit of the tip. You advance, licking your lips, and finally satisfy your craving to taste Mark. While you taste him, Mark pulls you into his mouth to taste you concurrently. 

He dives in first with small laps against your folds. On a similar vein, you immerse his desire with long, broad stripes of your saliva. Once doused, you seize the base with a squeeze of your hand and the rest with your mouth, stroking to the rhythm of your bobbing. Tides change as he tightens the grip on your hips and he buries his face further in between your legs. 

You’re beginning to unravel at the seams from the way he flicks his tongue in the right spots, the way he changes it up enough to keep you wanting more. He’s smacking your ass, forcing your bucking hips down to stay on his face. Your moans vibrate endlessly on his length, and Mark’s enjoying the bliss, but you’re unsatisfied by the unfairness of your one-sided frenzy. 

So you release your hand from his base and take him fully in a single go. Assuring you’re breathing through your nose, you let his long cock hit the back of your throat, fighting the gag reflex as much as you can. 

And it’s worth it, because the gratification tears Mark away from your warmth, leaving him panting and moaning against your skin. Your name spills from his lips. 

“Fuck, you’re too good at this,” his voice rises, falling apart by the end of his sentence.

Still bobbing your head, you steal a glance at his toes and notice them wriggling faster and faster. You break away almost instantly, not wanting him to reach his climax yet. He gives two small taps on your backside. 

“Now, show me you’re really a good girl and ride me like you mean it.” 

The images of you riding him—your tits bouncing in sync with each rebound, the way you touch yourself while maintaining eye contact, and the look you have as you fall apart on his cock—stain his memories for a long time to come. 

[whenisitenoughtrees]

thousands to prophecy failure

Janus blinks. “You’re sick,” he says. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in here.”

Well, yes, Roman has gathered that much. But that doesn’t answer his real question: why is Janus the one doing it?

When Thomas experiences creative burn-out, he struggles with a few days of unproductivity. When Roman experiences creative burn-out, he gets sick. And it's fine, really; he'll suffer through it if it means that he can come up with ideas for Thomas. That's all that matters, right?

Luckily, there are others who disagree with him.

Content Warnings: vomiting, depictions of illness

Word Count: 4,427

(a repost, since the first attempt wouldn’t show up in the tags; see that one for the ao3 link)

It doesn’t come on suddenly. So really, Roman has no excuse.

It starts with chills running up and down his spine, shooting into his limbs and setting his fingers to trembling. He glares at his hand and decides to press on, decides to keep going, because he has come up with so many ideas but none of them seem quite good enough, quite able to hold up under the inevitable criticism of the others. He keeps going, keeps creating, and ignores the way his body begins to ache.

None of it is good enough, and he hates it all, because with every failed idea, he’s failing Thomas, is disappointing Thomas.

Magnifying, Logan’s voice whispers in his head, and he should probably pay attention, but Logan’s voice is also whispering things like, Illogical and unrealistic, and, Really, Roman, you couldn’t come up with anything that makes more sense than this? And it’s joining other imagined slights, joining the image of Patton’s face turning away from him and Virgil’s dark glower, Janus’ smooth, mocking laugh and Remus’ smile looming out of the darkness.

He needs to come up with something good. But the words are slipping away from him, slipping away even as his body trembles harder and his forehead beads with sweat, and he can’t think of anything at all. He starts and stops in fits, and he scribbles out half-baked ideas only to crumple them up and throw them in the wastepaper basket moments later. He began this morning so well, so upbeat and optimistic, ready to tackle the day and let the creativity flow like it has for the past week, so why is this happening now?

He keeps trying. But one moment, he’s trying, and the next, his pencil is slipping from his grasp.

He stares at it. It lies there, innocuous, on top of a blank piece of paper. He reaches for it, but his vision swims, and he is hit with a wave of dizziness even as his entire body shudders.

He should have stopped before it came to this point.

But he needed to come up with something good. Still needs. Needs to push through, so he reaches for the pencil again, manages to pick it up, but he’s barely set the tip to paper before his stomach rebels against him. He lurches to his feet and stumbles into the bathroom and vomits into the sink, gripping the counter in order to stay upright. He turns on the tap to wash it all down; he skipped breakfast this morning, so eager to get to work was he, and so it’s more bile than anything else. He wipes his mouth and looks up at his reflection in the mirror.

He looks terrible, his skin shining and flushed, his eyes bright and glazed. He ignored the warning signs, and now the fever has set in, and he can’t possibly work like this, can barely even string a coherent thought together, but he has to, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he need to keep working, to come up with something good, something that he can share with the others without shame, something that they will like, so that they will tell him he did a good job, Roman, we’re proud of you, except they don’t usually tell him that even when he does do a good job, so what exactly is the point?

No, wait, the point is--

The point is Thomas, isn’t it? He needs something good for Thomas, and it doesn’t matter if the others don’t praise him so long as it helps Thomas follow his dreams, succeed in life, be who he wants to be--

Does Thomas even like him, though? He’s not sure. His brain is hazy, muddled, dark. He can’t remember.

He needs to keep working. He knows that much. Needs to keep working, even though he feels lightheaded, unsteady, even though his empty stomach is performing flips and twirls and the very thought of moving makes nausea rise again.

He trudges out of his bathroom, intent on making it to his desk, but then, the floor rises up in front of him. He barely feels the impact, though the breath is knocked out of his lungs in a wheezing gasp, and it’s harder than it should be to draw it back in. He takes a moment to realize where he is-- the floor, cold and hard and hardly the place for a prince to be-- before heaving himself up, but that doesn’t quite work, because all the strength seems to have been drained from his limbs, so he collapses back and lies there for a little while. Breathing.

The world swims. He pushes himself onto his back, eventually, and the ceiling wheels above him, all his fairy lights spinning and twirling. He raises up a shaking hand, but they bob just out of his grasp. And it’s sad, because he just wants to touch them, just wants someone to touch him, and his skin is too hot and too cold by turns and he’s so uncomfortable so he just lies here and he thinks he might be crying but he can’t stop and he can’t get up.

He needs to keep working. The longer he lies here, the more of a failure he is.

But he can’t get up.

Time passes, he thinks. Nausea crashes over him in waves, though he doesn’t throw up again. He might sleep at some point, but his dreams are troubled, full of darkness and laughter and eyes, all looking at him, all pointing at him, and he tries to run but he can’t escape them because no matter how fast he goes, the ground slips out from underneath his feet and he falls, falls, falls.

Someone knocks at the door. He turns his head to look. Someone asks after him. His throat is too dry to do anything but croak, and the door is too far to reach. So whoever it is leaves, and he is left with the spinning fairy lights and the bad dreams that bleed into waking, and he is hit with the sudden surety that there is someone in the corner of the room, staring at him.

He wants to get away. Wants them to stop looking. He struggles to sit up, wide-eyed and scared and shaking as they keep watching him, unblinking, and he doesn’t know their face, but those eyes are his brother’s, he’s sure,bright and gleaming with malice, so either Remus is here or something else has stolen his eyes and he doesn’t know which is worse.

He struggles to sit up, but he fails, collapsing backward and coughing, coughing until he thinks he’s about to literally cough up his lungs. The fit passes, and he curls into himself on the floor, and he thinks he cries a little bit more. Reality drops in and out of focus, hazy images dancing before his eyes, and he can’t even begin to make sense of any of it, and his head pounds.

He sleeps, and then wakes again, and sleeps, and wakes, and then, there are hands on him, lifting him, and he gasps, striking out, because what if the thing is back, the thing with Remus’ eyes, taking him away? He struggles, but to no avail, and only seconds pass before he is dumped on something soft. He cracks his eyes open and sees-- his bed? He’s on his bed. There is a figure moving in the room, too blurry to make out, and he opens his mouth to ask who’s there, but all that escapes his mouth is a weak groan.

The figure stops, turning toward him, and then approaches, reaching for him. He flinches back, but the figure is relentless, placing a hand on his forehead. The hand doesn’t feel like a hand, though. It feels like cloth, like soft cotton, and that doesn’t make any sense at all.

“Easy now,” the figure says, and their voice is smooth and familiar, and he thinks he should recognize it, but its identity slips from his mind, like trying to hold on to smoke. “You’ve done quite a number on yourself, this time.”

He can’t figure out what they mean. But then, it strikes him, a bolt out of the blue: he needs to work. He has work to finish, or else Thomas will be disappointed in him, and the dread of that happening is enough to give him the strength to move, to start to get out of bed.

But the figure holds him down. And he fights, he tries, but he is too weak, and he has to lie back against the bed again, gasping and humiliated. He needs to work; doesn’t this person know that?

“The only thing you need to do right now is rest,” the figure says, pushing him against the pillows. He wants to keep fighting, really, he does, but the pillows are so soft, and then the figure covers him with a blanket, and he has no chance at all against that.

His dreams are uneasy, still, full of lights and sounds and colors he doesn’t understand. His brother is there again, though whether he is friend or foe, he cannot tell. He has never been able to tell. He wakes panting, and there is someone sitting on his bed, hovering over him, their face just beyond recognition.

“Here,” they say, and hold something in front of his face. A water glass, he realizes, and with that comes the realization that he is so, so thirsty. The person helps him tilt his head upright and holds the glass to his lips, and he gulps the water down, almost choking in his eagerness. They take the water away too soon, and he whimpers a complaint, but they hold fast in their denial.

“Too much at once will make you sick,” they say, and pause. “Well. Sicker, I suppose.”

The words don’t quite make sense, don’t quite resolve into meaning in his head. But he decides that he likes the sound of their voice. It is cool and comforting, a balm to the heat that rages through his mind.

They laugh. “Thank you,” they say. “Get some more rest, Roman.”

That sounds like a good idea. Only, not, because isn’t there something he’s supposed to be doing?

“Yes,” they say. “Resting.”

No, that’s not it, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s fairly certain that he’s supposed to be working on something. Something for Thomas? He needs to have an idea for Thomas. That’s it.

“You’ve already had plenty of ideas for Thomas,” they tell him. “That’s why you’re sick. You push yourself too hard.”

Alright, he is absolutely certain that at least part of that is a lie.

“Oh, I so want to argue this with you right now. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

Besides, even if that’s right and he has had plenty of ideas already, none of them were any good. That was the point. It doesn’t matter how many ideas he has if none of them are good enough, and he distinctly remembers an overflowing wastepaper basket, spilling over with all of his failures, all of his broken attempts at creating something that will pass muster.

They sigh, then, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong. He feels so very tired.

“You haven’t,” they say. “And that is the whole truth.”

He is fading back into sleep, and it feels like he’s falling. He’s not sure if he imagines the kiss to his forehead, or the fingers that lightly stroke his hair. He hopes not. It’s all soft and cool and sweet, and he would very much like to be touched like that again.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps. It feels like no time at all before he opens his eyes, his head pounding, and sees Janus sitting by his bedside, flipping through the pages of a book. It’s an utterly incongruous sight; he doesn’t think Janus has ever been in his room before, or at least, not that he can remember. He might be forgetting something; his head feels fuzzy, his thoughts disordered and confused and feverish, and he feels as though he is burning up.

That would be the fever, probably.

“J’nus?” he rasps, and Janus jerks, snapping his book shut. He glances over, and Roman’s vision is a bit blurry, but he can see the way his eyes widen.

“Roman,” he says, scooting his chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M hot,” he says. He pauses, considering. “Head h’rts. Back aches. Why’re you h’re?”

Janus blinks. “You’re sick,” he says. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in here.”

Well, yes, Roman has gathered that much. But that doesn’t answer his real question: why is Janus the one doing it? He knows that illness makes Virgil anxious, and he can’t imagine that Logan would jump at the chance to play nurse, but why not Patton? Unless it has been Patton, and Janus is standing in while he takes a break.

His head hurts so much.

He must be making a face, because Janus frowns. “If you’d rather someone else,” he says, voice unreadable, “I’d be happy to get Patton.”

For some reason, that thought is just about unbearable. He doesn’t want Janus to leave. In fact, he rather wants Janus to be closer to him than he is right now.

“No,” he says, and works his arm free from the covers. It’s harder than it should be; the limb feels unaccountably heavy. But he manages it, and makes a grabby hand in Janus’ direction. Janus stares at it, and then sits on the edge of the bed, hesitant. It’s odd. Should Janus be hesitant? He’s pretty sure that’s weird. But that’s fine; Janus can be weird as long as he stays.

He stares at his face, at the frown twisting his lips, at the furrow between his brows. His hat is missing, and that’s definitely part of what’s weird, because it’s left his hair messy and sticking out in all kinds of directions, almost like he’s been running his hand through it, though Roman has no idea why he’d be doing that when he usually takes so much pride in being put together. He looks tired too, like he’s been awake for a while; his eyes are bloodshot, and there are deep bags beneath them. Roman finds himself staring at the left one, yellow and slit, and from there, his gaze travels across the left side of his face. His scales are lovely, green-gold, and they appear as though they’re moving, rippling on his face, though Roman’s pretty sure now that they’re not, that the fever is cooking his brain and making him see things.

“Hey,” he slurs, “c’mere.”

Janus frowns deeper, and that’s a bit funny, but he scoots closer, leaning in, like he thinks Roman needs to tell him something. He doesn’t. He just wants to touch.

He brings his hand up and starts trailing his fingers across his cheek. His scales are so, so smooth, so nice and cold under his fingertips, and he loves them so much.

“They’re very nice,” he says, enunciating as much as he can to make sure his point gets across. “Very pretty. You’re very pretty.”

Janus inhales, but doesn’t say anything. His eyes are wide, and Roman notices that his slit pupil has blown wider, rounder. There’s a word for that, but he can’t remember it. Also, his face is red. The right half, the human half, which also looks nice, but not as nice and pretty as the scaled half.

If his scales are cold, is the rest of him cold? Roman is very hot, hot like he’s full of lava instead of blood, like he’s burning from the inside out, and his thoughts are fuzzy, but this seems to make sense. He nods to himself, and then grabs at Janus’ arm, yanking him closer. Janus doesn’t move much, so he tries again.

“What are you doing?” Janus asks, sounding a bit strangled.

“Cuddling,” Roman informs him. “‘M hot, an’ you’re not. C’mon.” He tugs again, and this time, Janus moves closer. Slowly, though, as if he’s waiting for Roman to tell him to stop, which is ridiculous. He swings his legs into the bed and settles against the headboard, placing just a bit of distance between the two of them, but Roman is quick to fix that, snuggling against his side.

Janus makes a noise. Like a little squeak. It’s cute.

“You’re cute,” he mumbles, just to make sure he’s aware, and falls asleep again.

His dreams are restless, and he wakes up several more times to sip at water, and once to throw it all up over the side of the bed. He imagines castles falling and doors that won’t open and a dragon that glares down at him with golden eyes and tells him to sleep, that he’s safe. He fights dragons, usually, but he believes this one. It speaks with a voice that he knows he should not trust, but does all the same.

He wakes, and he is alone.

It takes his sluggish mind a moment to parse out why this is strange. His last clear memory is throwing up in the bathroom sink; the journey from there to here is foggy. He fell on the floor, and… made it to the bed, somehow. He is alone now, but someone was here, beside him. Someone comforting, someone safe, someone who should still be here. The memories dissipate when he tries to reach for them.

He levers himself into a sitting position, wincing at the weakness of his limbs. There is a dip in the mattress next to him, as well as a half-full glass of water on his nightstand, but his room is otherwise undisturbed. His gaze travels to his desk, messy and disordered, wastepaper basket overflowing, and he winces again.

So much for getting any work done. The whole mindscape has probably heard of his weakness by now. He sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, pressing his hand to his head as a wave of dizziness hits him. He has no idea how long it’s been, whether hours have passed or days. Most likely the latter; he feels as though an entire castle has collapsed on top of him.

Did he dream about that? He’s pretty sure he dreamed about that.

The door opens, then, and he looks up, startled. It is Janus who enters, a steaming bowl balanced in one hand as he closes the door behind him. It takes a moment for him to notice Roman looking at him, and Roman takes full advantage of that time to panic, because why is Janus here? He could imagine anyone else being his caretaker, but not him. Sure, they’ve apologized to each other, fixed what was most obviously broken, but that does not mean that there is no tension between them, a hesitance to their interactions, a caution in the way they look at each other when they think the other won’t notice.

Roman has wanted to bridge that gap for some time now. But he has never known how.

Janus meets his eyes and visibly startles. His hand jerks, sloshing a bit of what Roman assumes to be soup onto the floor, and in the split second before his expression reverts to cool, blank professionalism, he makes a face of what Roman can only assume to be unadulterated relief, and Roman’s breath catches.

When was the last time someone looked at him like that?

“You’re awake, then,” Janus says, walking over and placing the soup on the nightstand. There is a chair next to the bed, and he sits in it, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his pants.

“Um, yeah,” Roman says. He licks his lips; his mouth is dry and his lips unbearably chapped. He must look a disaster. “How long--?”

“Three days,” Janus replies, and Roman blanches, because that long, really? He could be lying, of course, but there’s no reason to lie about this. So he’s likely telling the truth, which means he’s let Thomas down even worse than he thought. That realization makes him want to shrivel up and die, just a little bit.

“Well,” he says, trying for his characteristic bravado and not quite finding it. His voice trembles, and as annoying as it is, he can’t smooth it over. “I suppose you got drafted into playing nursemaid. I apologize for that. I’m sure you--”

“I didn’t get drafted into anything,” Janus says, his voice sharp, but infuriatingly sincere. “I’m the one who came in and found you.”

He pauses. “Ah,” he says eventually, because how else is he supposed to respond to that? He vaguely remembers being unable to make it to the bed, spending what must have been hours on the floor before… well. He doesn’t remember being transferred to the bed, but it must have happened, and it must have been Janus who did it. Must have been Janus who picked him up, held him against his chest and carried him to his soft mattress, and he should probably derail this train of though because it’s definitely making him blush, and he really hopes he can blame it on any lingering fever--

“We’ve had this discussion before, Roman,” Janus says, his voice just as sharp. There is something else there, too, something that sounds almost like worry. But it can’t be worry; why would Janus be worried about him? “You know very well how creative burn-out affects you. You need to be taking better care of yourself.”

Roman looks away, looks past him and to his desk, cluttered with papers and yet not a single good idea among them. Of course, he should head off burn-out before it happens, because it leaves both him and Thomas in a worse position than they started in. But he thought he could push through it, thought that just another few minutes would bring the inspiration he sought.

“Right,” he says quietly. “I’ll do better next time.”

To his surprise, Janus groans, and he looks over to see that he’s covering his face with one hand. One gloved hand, and another memory floats back to him, of a hand touching his forehead, carding through his hair.

“It’s not about doing better,” Janus says. “It’s about you needing to not make yourself sick, and not because it means you’ll miss work. You deserve to take care of yourself. It seems that you’re the only one in the mindscape that doesn’t understand that.”

He blinks. “I just don’t want to disappoint--” he tries, but Janus doesn’t let him finish.

“Oh, yes, because everyone is so disappointed in you,” he says. “Because no one is worried out of their minds that you pushed yourself into days of illness. Because absolutely no one cares about you for you and not the ideas you provide, which, I might add, are certainly just as bad as you think they are and not worthy of being used at all.” He takes his hand from his face and glares. “Really, Roman. How many times will it take for you to get it through your thick skull that just maybe, we all love you and want you to be well?”

There is so much to unpack there. But for some reason, Roman’s mind is stalling on one phrase.

“You… love me?” he asks weakly, because if he’s not mistaken, Janus said, we all, which would imply that he’s including himself in that, but that simply doesn’t make any sense at all.

How, after everything he’s said and done, could Janus care for him?

Janus stares at him, and then scoots his chair closer, so that their knees knock against each other. Roman is expecting denial, or a lengthy explanation of some sort, but instead, Janus gathers up both of his hands in his.

“Yes,” he says simply, and leans in to kiss him on the forehead. All of the breath escapes Roman’s lungs, but Janus doesn’t stop there. He plants one on Roman’s cheek next, and then the other, and Roman thinks his heart might beat right our of his chest. Perhaps he’s still feverish, still dreaming, still hallucinating, and perhaps he’ll wake up to find an empty room and a cold bed, or will wake up to find that he is still on the floor and none of this was real at all.

Then, Janus captures his lips, and he forgets to think. It’s soft and slow and sweet, barely more than a graze, barely long enough for him to respond at all. He should say something, he thinks, when Janus pulls back, but his mouth has forgotten how to make sounds, apparently.

“Forgive me if I misinterpreted,” Janus says, sounding a bit hoarse. “But you, uh. Said my scales were pretty.” A blush has risen on his right cheek. Roman doesn’t think he could feel any more mortified.

“Oh, Odin’s beard,” he moans. “I said that out loud?”

Because he really wouldn’t put it past himself, feverish and delusional, to admit something that he’s thought many times before, thought and never intended to reveal. And for a moment, he fears he’s said the wrong thing, that Janus will mistake his meaning, will back off when that is absolutely the last thing he wants, once he gets past his embarrassment. But then, Janus laughs.

“Oh, no, not at all,” he says. “Just like you didn’t call me cute, or tug me in to cuddle with you.”

Oh, that’s… ringing a bell, now that he thinks about it. Great. Wonderful. Very princely behavior.

But then, Janus kisses him again, just like the first, and he forgets to feel upset with himself, if it has led to this.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Janus murmurs, “but I’d like to make sure you take care of yourself, if you’ll allow me.” He pulls away a bit, just enough to look into Roman’s eyes. “You are so worthy of love. And you’re allowed to take things that you want.”

And Roman feels so very warm inside. He doesn’t think it’s the fever anymore; it’s like a sun, finally rising after a long night, like flowers blooming in the meadow now that spring has come at last.

Perhaps ideas will come later. And perhaps that’s not a bad thing.

“Well, if that’s so,” he says, and leans in to kiss Janus himself.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

omg could write something with pretty please by dua lipa and calum? I love your writing!! 💗

Thanks for the suggestion. I’m attempting my hand after a very stressful few hours today. Because of this, I’ll extend it. You can continue sending song suggestions until Sunday, June 7th 7PM EST. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

Support me on Ko-fi. 

*No one has my permission to repost, including translations. Copyright be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020*

Female Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content, so pls don’t interact if you’re underage! Choking, Smut, Sex without a condom (PLS be safe folks--safe sex is the sexiest sex out there, I promise you).

__________________________________________

Hands On Me

I’m a little stressed out. 

Calum stares down at the text, biting his lower lip. He promised he’d finish tracking the bass for this last song before leaving the studio today so that the rough cut would be shown to the producer tomorrow morning, first thing. There was no way, if he went over to her house, after this text that he would be in any shape to get up early and finish tracking before anyone else got into the studio. 

Be a good little one for me. Give me an hour.

He can almost almost the pout. That’s so long, baby. Attached in a picture of her dressed in a silk robe, that obstructing a perfect view of her tits. But not hiding the valley between them, the one where she tattooed a gorgeous bouquet. It wasn’t anything fancy, one rose, one tulip, and one sunflower, tied together by their stems. “Fuck,” he mumbles aloud, feeling his gut tense up. Another text shakes his phone. 

An hour. Or I start without you.

He groans into the empty space, headphones falling onto his neck as he throws his head back. God, he why’d she have to go and do him like that. She knew all his fucking buttons. It was so unfair, but god, he did love it at the same time. Thankfully, he’s able to finish tracking. His last take was practically perfect, but there was something missing on the playback and he wasn’t sure what it was, and he was going to sit in that studio all night if that’s what it took. 

But the lingering threat pushes Calum. He doesn’t have all night. As his fingers slide up and down the frets, over strings and plucking, Calum let’s the image of her wash over him. The glint in her eyes whenever she’s been a tease. Or the giggle that escapes her whenever she gets a punishment she knows she was gunning for. 

By the time the song ends, Calum listens back and almost wants to laugh. THat somehow all he was missing was her in the song, in almost everything it felt like. Like he was missing her when he got up in the mornings, or like he was missing her at breakfast, or how he felt a small twinge of longing whenever she posted about being out and bout, because he wanted to be out and about with her too. 

It was just easier this way though. It was easier not to dive in to those feelings when everything around them was just starting to straighten itself back out. It was easier to pretend than it was to attempt to have anything real when it would only ever end up in ashes. 

Saving his recording and shelving the instrument, he checks his phone. He has a little over half an hour left. He’s going to be cutting it close but he can still do it. 

His knock at the door is answered by her almost immediately as his hand falls from the door. “Want something to eat?” It’s a sincere question. But she’s sitll in that robe, this time it’s tied close though. Calum steps in, slipping out of his shoes. 

He answers at first with just a shake of his head. “Not that, not right now,” he answers. “A little birdie told me that someone was stressed.” He keeps his voice low and soft but she hears it clear as day over the click of her lock. 

His hands slide around her waist. His lips are ghosting over the shell of her ear. “That simply don’t do,” he exhales and it goes straight to her core. She melts into him and Calum melts into her. 

It’s nothing by kisses and groping hands as they walk down the hallway to her bedroom. The tie around the robe goes, allowing the material to fall open and Calum smiles at the feeling of her warm flesh. She’s quick though to pull the hat off and the t-shirt off his body. Her nails scratch over his flesh and Calum has to shiver, as to succumb to the feeling of her working over him. 

Her lips find his neck and she works works the pants open and down his legs. The robe falls off, leaving her bare minus the thong, and even that it’s barely doing its job to cover anything. “I should make you beg,” Calum muses as he walks her to the edge of the bed. 

“But you wouldn’t. Need you.” It’s so simple. The two words that fall from her lips but they somehow mean everything when she blinks up at him. “Don’t make me beg. Pretty please. With a cherry on top.”

Calum laughs, fingers trailing around her nipple and pulling at the erect nub. “I know exactly where you can get on top. Want you to ride my face, yeah?”

“Aye aye captain.” She scoots up on the bed, allowing Calum to lay down. Her hips come up as she peels herself out of the floss of underwear. She’s slow though, as she crawls up Calum’s body. She takes her time, savoring the way he shakes and whimpers at her kisses along his thighs. She kisses up his tummy, pausing just a moment when he laughs to tickle the spot that caused it. 

“That is not sexy,” he huffs.

She shrugs. “No, but it was fun.” Over his tattoo, she teases his nipple with the tip of her tongue. Calum swears he’s going to explode right there on the spot. He’s going to loose all control of his senses and just evaporate into mist at the heat in his gut. 

When her knees pass over his shoulders though, Calum reaches up to guide her hips down and enjoys the first taste of her, savoring it before swallowing her down. She shudders above him, gripping onto the headboard, the metal cook against her fingers thanks to the fan blowing. “Fuck,” she sighs when his tongue laps over her again. 

Calum moans when she finally finds the strength for a pace, to rock over his face. He could die right here, just in the fountain of her. It would be a hell of a way to go. Her fingers dig at his hair, tugging at the strands and his scalp. He lts out a muffled cry, enjoying the small pricks of pain. 

His finger dig into her flesh and she goes woozy, at the feeling of her orgasm creeping up and the way Calum’s so desperate beneath her. He pushes her down, locking her thighs up in a tight grip and absolutely does not let up. Her eyes are screwed up tight but she can see splotches in her vision as her toes curls. She holds herself up by the headboard. “Shit, Calum,” she whines, trying to last longer, trying to find something else to ground herself too. But there is only his tongue and the sctratch of his stubble at her inner things. And it’s only Calum filling her senses. 

So over she goes, gasping and grunting into the warming air of her bedroom as her orgasm rocks her. “Oh God, oh God,” she chants, trying to get a good breath. 

Calum lets her go, just a little, kissing across her sensitive and swollen core, to her inner thighs that are turning just a hair pink. She sinks into the mattress next to him, chest still heaving but she grins at the feeling of him kissing at her shoulder. “Any more stress?”

“Not the same stress as before,” she laughs, fingers curling into his hair. It brings his attention to her and she kisses over his chin, licking up her arousal before they share another kiss. 

Calum trails his hand up her hip, over the dip over her stomach and traces over the three flowers in her cleavage before his hand settles around her throat. She hums at the pressure, it’s not even hard, not even like he’s actually choking her. But she knows he could. He knows he could. 

“Say it again for me,” Calum whispers in her ear. 

“Say what?”

“How much you need me? How you don’t want me to make you beg for it.”

“That would just tickle your peach wouldn’t it?”

He sucks a hickey onto the swell of her breast. “Maybe it would,” he smirks, watching the way her head throws back into the pillow and her hips start to rise up from the sheets. 

“Please, please. Want you so damn bad. Need you to fill me up with your seed.”

It’s an agreement between them, with her on the pill. And there’s always the option to opt out. But right now, Calum thinks of how pretty she would look wrecked from him and his cum spilling out of her. It makes his cock twitch. “Oh, you know just want to say,” he hums before removing his hand from her throat. 

It takes just a moment for Calum to completely disrobe and in the mean time, she pulls at her own nipples, watching him fully bare in front of him. She moves to her knees on the bed, arms winding around his neck as he stands his knees pressing into the edge of the mattress. They share breathes for a moment, noses touching. “Something wrong?” he asks. 

“No, just needed to be close to you. Having you close just feels right.”

It makes his chest warm and he wonders if somewhere along the way he lied to himself and to her, that he was doomed to fall just a little when sex got involved. Right now, even though the thought comes to him, it doesn’t linger as she grasps him, running her palm over the length of him. “Hands and knees for me, doll?”

“Magic words,” she demands. 

“Pretty please.”

It’s with a flashing grin she concedes, leaving Calum with a perfect view. Along her spine is another tattoo. This one is of a script he’s never been able to decipher that falls down into a waterfall. It’s a piece and he loves to trace up it to the back of her neck before sliding to the front and cupping her throat. Which is always does before bringing her back into his chest. 

But for right now, he settles for a couple gentle smacks to her ass before lining himself up. He settles for just teasing her with his tip and watching her wiggle her ass just for him. It’s just for him. All for him. The thought makes him dizzy, but nothing grounds him like how slick she is, how she grips onto him like no one else ever could. He keeps one knee on the bed just for leverage, his hands full of her hips as he guides her in time with his movements. 

They sigh, not quite into each other, but at each other at the feeling. She hums, enjoying just how thick Calum is, stretching her out in a way that always borders on too much but never exceeds it. It’s a welcomed warmth that fades into the heath of pleasure. The sounds of hips slapping into ass and thighs bounces around her room. 

She can loose herself like this, hand fisting her sheets and crying out for Calum over and over as his hips drive her closer and closer to release. Calum runs his hands over her skin, like trying to remember every bump but knowing he’ll ultimately get lost in the feeling of her. He’ll always lose awareness in the way she whines for him. 

“So, good for me,” he praises, watching her arch even more for him.

“Ah, shit,” she huffs, when Calum brings a hand down to the front of her and playing at her clit. She’s not going to last like this and with her teeth gritted she lets the orgasm crash into her. She lets it consume her and though there’s a skyrocket in pleasure, his fingers keep playing through her release. She can feel her muscle tensing and quivering. “Please,” she whines, finding just enough strength to grab his wrist. 

Calum doesn’t need to be told twice before sliding it up her body. He takes a second for each breast and then holds her throat again, pulling her into his chest. His hips are still snapping, still rocking. Her head is swimming. “Stay with me. This is what you wanted,” he pants. 

She knows that but what she didn’t expect was that even though she’s cum twice her body wants to push for a third. She can feel the twinge of it, just on the horizon. It leaves her though when Calum pulls out and guides her to her back towards the center of the bed and climbs fully onto the mattress now. 

She gives into gravity, but find the edges of the galaxies again when Calum reenters her. Her nails claw at his back, whining at how she borders overstimulation. But it feels so good. Her nose is invaded with the scent of his sweat and cologne. Any worry she had early today is completely gone. 

Calum bites at her shoulder, trying to keep his orgasm at bay but there’s really no use. He cums, praising in her ear, “So good for me. Gonna be so full when I’m done,” he grunts softly. His hips stuttering but sure to give her every drop. 

They spend a moment, embracing and Calum finally pulls back, slow to retract himself. She keeps herself open to him, so he can watch just as a tiny bit leaks out of her but he pushes it back in with him thumb. “Not wasting anything,” he states. 

It takes a couple minutes for them to regain strength. As the bruises and hickies blossom in the shower, she spends a moment washing over his back. “Seriously though, when’s the last time you ate today?”

“I had lunch? I can’t remember.” 

As he steps under the running water, she opens the glass door, wrapping a towel around her. “I have veggie burgers. It’s not gourmet, but it’s something.”

“You don’t have to.” Water is falling down the lines of his face, clinging to the skin of his lips and for a moment, she feels the urge to kiss him but not like usually, when it’s a hunger to be consumed. Just, like a normal kiss, one that shows you care. 

“I want to,” she counters. “Ketchup and mustard with spinach, right?”

Calum can only nod. “Yeah, but really you--” Before he can finish the sentence, she’s gone. “But you’re going too anyway.”

-H

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 05: Two Way Mirror

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,784

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg,

AN: Just a reminder that this series is going to be updated slowly. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“You have to look beyond the mirror to see yourself.” - Kimto Oche Emmanuel

The palace was full of so much noise. Servants were running around, preparing for the banquet that would take place later that afternoon. Yoon wasn’t overly fond of all the fuss and fanfare, but he knew it was something that his parents preferred to indulge in for his sake. He would be making a long journey soon and it would be weeks before he would be able to return home. While he had no doubt that he would be able to reside in comfort at the embassy in Ming, there was the off chance that he would be homesick.

Sighing, he lowered the philosophical text he was perusing in order to give his eyes a break. The weight that sank in the far corner of his heart was knowing that he would not be able to see Kalina as he pleased. Sure, he could send word for her and the sorceress would most likely appear like he wished. But he also knew that she was not a being that would come at every beck and call. She was no pet and he was not her master.

“Cheo-ha! Minister Jang has arrived.”

Lifting his head up, Yoon sat up properly and closed the book. “Show him in.”

The doors to his chambers slid open and he watched the Minister enter. Yoon pulled himself up to a proper standing position, waiting for the minister to bow before he lowered his own head respectfully. The Minister was a fairly tall man, largely built and with a long beard that was well-groomed. Wearing his lavender and opal silk robes, Yoon was curious as to why he was in the palace without his official robes on. It went against palace etiquette and put a hamper on security. 

Simply put: it was pompous and disgraceful.

Yoon then eased himself back down on his silk cushion, a polite smile forming on his face. “Father-in-Law, what brings you to my palace so early in the day?” Yoon peered at his attire, raising his brows in question. “You aren’t wearing your official robes today. Was the Royal Advisory meeting not held this morning?”

Minister Jang stroked his beard and chuckled. “It was, Your Highness. We adjourned early in light of your banquet this afternoon.”

“I see.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued to smile. “Are you stepping out of the palace before the festivities begin?”

“Indeed. I have to retrieve a few things from my estate.” Minister Jang grinned. “Gifts for you, Your Highness.”

Yoon smirked, leaning back until his spine was straight. “What is the occasion? Surely it cannot be because of my trip to Ming?” 

“There are other things to celebrate, Your Highness.” Clearing his throat, he placed a hand on his knee. “Things such as golden opportunities.”

The Crown Prince bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he placed his hand on his desk, drumming his fingers along the surface. He wouldn’t humor his father-in-law with posturing or feigned curiosities. He was sure the Minister appreciated these things as well. Subtlety was a skill Yoon excelled in, but one Minister Jang sorely lacked.

Taking the hint, the Minister continued. “There are a few merchants in Ming that will attempt to make contact with you a few days after your arrival. They have advice that Your Highness might be eager to hear.”

Yoon’s smile fell slightly. “What makes you so sure, Father-in-law?”

“Cheo-ha,” he said through his smile, “I know how intelligent you are. Even more than everyone else in the palace. You are not ignorant of the strained relations between Ming and Japan.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Yoon expelled a bit of breath from his teeth. “Is this not something that is already in discussion with the Privy Council? Why bring me into this?” 

He already did not like where this conversation was headed. Yoon was merely a Crown Prince, the heir apparent. But he was not king. Having these talks without his father present was borderline treasonous. 

Because it was these sorts of conversations that led to bloodshed within the palace walls.

“Your Highness, don’t you see that His Majesty is testing you?” Minister Jang leaned forward, bracing his hands on both knees. “This is the first step to slowly granting more power into your hands, determining if you are prepared to rule this country.” 

Yoon frowned but said nothing.

“If you do well during this trip, then His Majesty will place foreign relations with Ming entirely at your disposal!”

Suddenly, Yoon slammed his hand on his desk, causing his father-in-law to shrink back a measure. The Minister may have been his elder and also his relative through marriage, but he wouldn’t stand for this underhanded way of speaking to him. This was blatant disrespect to the crown.

However, he didn’t let his anger come unhinged. Not yet. Taking a moment to slowly inhale, he canted his head to the side as a smile returned to his face. It must have unsettled his father-in-law greatly, seeing as how he leaned back away from Yoon. 

“Forgive my rudeness, Father-in-law,” Yoon spoke slowly, his voice dropping a full octave, “but do you intend to use me to secure financial gain in Ming?”

The Minister balked. Having never heard Yoon speak to him in such a manner, his surprise was well-warranted. “S-Seja Cheo-ha!”

Drumming his fingers along the desk, he averted his gaze to peer at the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He removed all expression from his face, save for boredom. Yoon didn’t want to believe the rumors of how sickeningly devious his father-in-law was. But he now heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. 

“You married your daughter off to the Crown Prince, the future King of this country. Doing so allocated you wealth and even your position in court was elevated at the behest of the Crown Princess and out of obligation from the King.” Yoon cut his eyes back to look at the Minister. “And if that wasn’t enough, you now want me to enable you access to Ming’s trading circuit?” A slow smile spread over his lips as he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Father-in-law, are you not fond of your head being attached to your neck?”

Genuine fear glossed over the Minister’s eyes as he visibly shuddered. Yoon knew that this wasn’t the normal demeanor he showcased to Minister Jang. In fact, he hardly revealed this side of himself to anyone. He wore the face of a calm, kind and understanding Crown Prince. He was sincerely objective in discussions and open to all manners of opinions to help broaden and strengthen his worldview. He wasn’t the sort to resort to violence to solve problems, preferring diplomacy above all else.

But a fool the Crown Prince was not. 

Anyone who thought otherwise would be in for a world of pain.

And like nothing happened, Yoon put on a happy smile and laughed heartily. “Do not take my words so seriously, Father-in-law! You look as though you are ready to jump off the Golden Mountains as we speak.” Again, he laughed, and the Minister gave a half-hearted chuckle to accompany the pleasant sounds. Once their laughter subsided, he looked pointedly back at the older man. “Ming may be our ally now, but that could always change. It has been proven time and again throughout this nation’s history, has it not? Do not be so quick to join hands with people who have always thought of our country as beneath them.”

The Minister lowered his head. “Forgive my loose lips, Crown Prince.”

“All is well.” Yoon rose from his seat and the Minister quickly followed suit. Gesturing toward the door, he stepped out from around his desk. “I’m sure you haven’t visited the Crown Princess yet. Why don’t we go greet her together before you return to your estate to conduct your business? I’m sure she will be elated to see you.”

“O-Of course, Your Highness.”

Exiting his chambers, they walked side-by-side as the rest of the Crown Prince’s attendants followed closely behind. It truly was a beautiful day and he could only hope for the weather to be just as pleasant for the start of his journey tomorrow. But Kalina predicted that his journey would be fine, so foul weather shouldn’t have been an issue.

“Are you looking forward to the festivities today, Your Highness?”

Yoon peered at the Minister with a curious expression. “Isn’t it just like any other banquet held within the palace? I would have figured you would be bored of them by now.”

Minister Jang chuckled as he stroked his beard. “It is a chance for the people to take a break and celebrate with you.” He placed a hand behind his back. “And there are a group of performance troupes who are going to compete for a slot to perform regularly in the palace.” 

The Crown Prince lofted a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Minister said while nodding, “so it will be exceptionally entertaining today.”

“Will I have a hand in this?” He hoped not.

“They will be judged on how well you like each performance, Your Highness. You needn’t do anything extra.”

Yoon smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi kept his arms extended so that he could balance himself on the tightrope. The other members of the troupe seemed to be holding their breaths, anticipating what he was going to do. Clasped in one hand was a paper fan, unfurled to showcase the black calligraphy stroke for the character “Fate”. The morning sun beat down overhead and a single bead of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose, dangling from the tip and threatening to fall. 

Even though he was several feet off the ground, he could hear the whispered conversations playing out beneath him. Well, for the ones who weren’t focusing on holding their breaths anyway.

“Wow,” a voice said from below, “I can’t believe that he’s never been part of a performance troupe before.”

“He’s good at martial arts though, right? That means he’s got some acrobatic skills naturally.”

“...but how long is he going to just stand there?”

“He hasn’t moved in the last ten minutes.”

“Do you think he’s scared of heights?”

“Idiot! If he was scared, how the hell did he get up there in the first place?!”

“No one helped him?”

“Not that I know of. I think he jumped up there all on his own.”

“Honestly, I can’t hold it in anymore. I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t do something soon.”

“Ya! Min Yoongi! Are you taking us for a ride or are you going to actually do something?!”

Yoongi craned his neck so he could glare down at Seokjin jumbled amongst the troupe. Snapping the fan closed, he pointed it directly at them and everyone grew silent. “Shut your mouth, will you?” He unfurled the fan roughly again and steadied himself. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Oi! Hyung-nim!” Looking down, he saw it was Park Jimin calling up to him this time. There was a bright smile on his face as he gave him two thumbs up. “Just do whatever feels natural. Don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Sighing, Yoongi nodded and then focused his attention back in front of him. Jimin was right. There was nothing to this. If Namjoon could do it, why couldn’t he? It didn’t matter that he’d sprained his ankle walking up the mountain. The point was that Kim Namjoon could make this tightrope obey his command.

Yoongi would be no different.

Sliding his foot along the rope, the world came to a raw tilt for only a split second. Using his back leg, he launched himself up into the air. He ignored everyone below as they all gasped at how high he sailed into the sky. Throwing his arms back, he felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. Kicking his legs up, Yoongi back somersaulted twice before landing safely back on the tightrope. His entire body trembled as he attempted to stabilize himself. 

The cheers from below encouraged him to keep going. Kicking off the rope, he did a double front flip before he fell onto the rope in a crouched position. He continued to keep his arms extended, the fan perfectly held open as he wobbled back and forth on the tightrope. Rolling forward, he curled his legs under him and bounced back off the rope again, curling his body and angling it to the side until he did a perfect dismount off the rope and onto the grass. The speed of his descent was used to roll his body until he was safely brought to a halt by his right knee.

Taehyung screamed in delight as he raced over to Yoongi’s side, Hoseok and Jungkook not far behind him as they began patting his shoulders furiously in praise. He scratched at his nose, feeling a soft warmth creep around his cheeks as the rest of the troupe members all crowded around him, telling him how wonderful of a job he did.

“You’re a natural at this, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin said as he patted his head, causing him to frown slightly, “maybe you should convince your father to let you come off the mountain and join the troupe.”

Yoongi batted his hand away as Jimin took the fan from his hand. “Quiet, you.”

“Seriously, he’s not wrong, Hyung-nim!” Taehyung was practically beaming. “You’re a natural at this!”

He didn’t know what to say in response to his words so he cleared his throat loudly instead. 

Namjoon clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. “You’re a lifesaver, Hyung-nim. We would’ve been in big trouble without your help.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he eyed the bandage around Namjoon’s ankle. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Namjoon, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, “keep it up and they’ll replace me with you in no time.”

Hoseok laughed loudly. “We could never replace you! You’re important!”

A sigh escaped Namjoon’s lips as he shifted his eyes toward the grass. “I feel like I let you guys down.”

Jimin placed a comforting hand on the back of Namjoon’s neck, giving it a firm shake. “Stop that, Hyung-nim. These things happen.” He lifted his gaze to peer at Yoongi who blinked back at him in mild surprise. “Yoongi Hyung-nim is here to pick up the slack just for today.” He turned to face Namjoon. “But you have to make up for it as soon as you’re all better, okay?”

Namjoon said nothing. He only gave a weak smile until Taehyung came barreling through, his arms draping over Jungkook and Yoongi’s necks. They both stumbled forward, grunting at how hard he threw his own body against theirs. “Practice is done, right?” Everyone mumbled something akin to ascent and he flashed his trademark boxy smile at them. “Then let’s hit the city and get a drink!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. “You haven’t even performed yet.”

“Aw, c’mon. Nothing wrong with a little pre-performance celebration, right?” Taehyung shook Jungkook and Yoongi's shoulders again for good measure. “It’ll loosen us up.”

Hoseok pouted. “You just want an excuse to drink. You’re hopeless.”

Managing to pry himself away from Taehyung, Yoongi was about to catch his breath until something fell on top of his head. Suddenly everyone else was obscured from view, save for the few slivers of light that managed to peek through the straw. Tilting his head, he craned his neck to see Jimin was now bent over, peering up at him from under the hat.

“What’s this?” Yoongi removed the hat off his head, taking note of the wide and angled brim. 

“It's for when we’re walking around the city streets.” Jimin smiled. “You’re worried about running into your father while in the Capital, right?”

Eyeing the hat for a moment, Yoongi replaced the item back onto his head. It was wide and dipped low, which meant that it would perfectly conceal his face. Until he could securely cover his face with the mask during the performance at the palace, this would ensure that no one could recognize him while they were meandering through the crowds. Tilting the brim back, he flashed a small grin toward Jimin who merely laughed at how embarrassed he probably appeared.

“Thanks, Jimin-ah.”

Leaving their horses to graze in the fields, they all raced toward the Crown City gates - mentally preparing themselves for what excitement lay beyond.

[talatomaz]

hidden promise | robin x fem!reader

a/n: This is really long so sorry in advance

warnings: brief mentions of loss/death/torture

word count: 4.1k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

reader has the powers of illusion manipulation - basically what kali (no.8) has

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

Ice-cream.

When you got out, the first thing you would eat would be ice-cream.

You looked down at the bowl which was filled with, what you could only describe as gruel, and grimaced. There was only a handful of times you could imagine this to be ‘food, glorious food’ as Oliver Twist once said.

You pushed the bowl to the side, knowing you couldn’t use it as a weapon because it was plastic.

Then you looked down at your ankles and at the chains that bound you to the bed.

Shaking your head, you sighed. You had to pick the right opportunity to escape. You knew this place was like a fortress and that the guards were armed to the teeth.

Sighing once again, you leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes as you ran through various plans in your mind-

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The blare of an alarm jarred you from your thoughts and you jolted up.

This was it.

This was your time to escape.

You looked back down to your chains and then closed your eyes once again. Trying your best to concentrate on the lock, you began to imagine the key that could be used to unlock them. As the image formed in your mind, you heard stomps followed by shouting coming from down the hallway.

Shit.

Opening your eyes, you rushed to sit back on the bed and resumed your previous position.

There goes your window of opportunity.

You mentally slapped yourself, no, get it together. You will escape.

You had a moment to regain your composure before the door was flung open and a girl was thrown in. When she fell beside you, you glanced down at her and then back up at the two men dressed in green. One was the General and the other, his right hand.

“Play nice, girls.” The right hand man said.

You had been here long enough to pick up Russian and were now able to understand whatever the General said. Most importantly what the guards said.

“Screw you, Khrushchev.” You spat out in English. Just because you could speak Russian didn’t mean you were going to let them know that.

“Suka.” The man muttered back.

You smiled at the curse knowing you were getting under his skin. Before the man could step forward, most likely to slap you, he was stopped by the General who sneered at both you and the girl next to you and then left.

As soon as the door slammed shut and you were certain the men were gone, you shot back up and leaned down to pull the girl to her feet.

You stared at her, taking in her appearance and then laughed abruptly.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

The girl’s eyes widened as she stared at you, unamused.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you?” You replied back.

She huffed, “I’m Robin.”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You responded, trying your hardest to stifle another laugh. “Seriously, what are you wearing? Why are you even here?”

“It’s a long story. This strange child I know stumbled upon some Russian code and we translated it and low and behold, we ended up here. What about you?” She said, eyeing your chains curiously.

“A very long story.” You stated and then your eyes widened as a light bulb went off in your mind.

“Hey, you could help me take these off.”

“What? How? Why are you even chained up? How long have you even been here?” She exclaimed, her calm outward exposure now replaced with fear and panic.

“What’s the date today?”

“July 4th.”

“A few months, I guess.” You said, shrugging as her eyes widened in horror again.

“Months?!”

She began freaking out before you placed your hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her. You succeeded. She quietened before glancing at your hands on her shoulders and then up to your face which was close to hers.

“Breathe, Robin. It’ll be fine. You said you were with this other kid. Is he here?”

“No, we told him and Erica to run.”

“Okay. So it’s only you?”

“No, they took Steve too. Shit, Steve. What are they doing to him? Y/N?” She added, when you stilled and pulled your hands away from her.

“Probably trying to get information out of him...so nothing good.” You shuddered.

The girl blinked, confused about your change in tone.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” She asked warily.

“I’m alive.” You shrugged. “Look, I can help you escape but I need your help first.”

“What can I do?”

“I need you to unlock these chains.”

“How? With what?” Her voice began to get higher with fear.

“Breathe. I got this.”

You closed your eyes and resumed your previous task of imagining the key to unlock the chains. You knew you were successful when you felt the key form in your hands.

“Here.” You said, handing the key over to her.

“What on-“

“Like I said, long story.”

“But-”

You sighed, knowing you were never going to get her to concentrate if you didn’t put her mind at ease.

“I kinda have...powers.”

“Powers? Are you on drugs?”

“What? No. I’m being serious. I have, what’s called, the powers of illusion manipulation. I can make people see or not see whatever I want.”

You demonstrated your powers by conjuring a butterfly in the palm of your hand. “This isn’t real. I’ve just convinced your mind that it is.” You watched as Robin stared in awe and attempted to touch the butterfly but failed.

You saw the moment she realised you were telling the truth because her eyes softened and then glistened with curiosity.

“That’s so cool, you’re like Scarlet Witch.”

You chuckled, “Nerd.”

She smiled which made your heart flutter.

Woah, what was happening?

Clearing your throat, you handed the key to the short-haired girl who simultaneously took it from your hand and unlocked the chains around your ankles.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You both smiled, staring at each other before you cleared your throat once again.

“So, who knows you’re here?”

“No one. I can’t believe I’m going to die in a secret Russian base.” She muttered.

“Hey,” you placed your hand on her arm, “I’m not going to let you die here. Or your guy, Steve.” You added, almost like an afterthought.

Robin giggled and shook her head and you couldn’t help but smile, “Ew, God, Steve is not my guy. He’s just a dingus I work with.”

You laughed, “Okay then. I’m going to help you and your dingus, Steve, escape.”

“How? I mean, no offence, but with your powers, I would have thought you’d have been able to escape already.”

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But they deliberately isolate me and push my food through that hole in the door because they know what I can do if I have actual contact with them. Sometimes I’m not strong enough.” You whispered the last sentence, getting lost in your thoughts.

“Y/N?” Robin said quietly, lifting your chin up to face her.

“Sorry...bad memories. Anyway, what’s most likely going to happen is, the General and his men are going to come back and take you back to Steve. Whatever happens, it’s important you don’t show fear. Shout, scream, swear, hell, even spit at them. But don’t show fear. They love fear and if you don’t show it, it will irritate them even more.”

You heard footsteps coming from a distance and with urgency in your voice, you grabbed her arm, “Promise me you won’t show fear, no matter what.”

“I promise.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, “Good. I promise I will help you. And I never break a promise.”

You pushed the chains under the bed and turned to face Robin again.

“Your chains...they’ll know.”

Shaking your head, you spoke, “They won’t. As far as they’ll know, I’ll still be bound.”

“Scarlet Witch. Got it.”

You smirked in response and then the door was flung open again.

The General grabbed Robin and she began to struggle against his grip but not before stealing a glance at you and you nodded in understanding. And then she was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again.

Okay, time to escape.

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Once the Russians had taken Robin away, most likely to the ‘Doctor’s room’, you began concocting plans of escape.

You had created many over the past few weeks but they all seemed to fail. Maybe the key was having someone to help you. That someone being Robin. You smiled at the thought of her and then frowned.

What on Earth?

You’d never felt like this.

Stop it.

Escaping is your main focus. Not Robin.

Hmmm, maybe...Yes, that would work perfectly.

Happy with the new plan you had just made, you got ready to put it into practice.

“Hey, Khrushchev.”

You shouted a few times before hearing loud footsteps that stopped outside your door which was then opened by the General’s right hand man.

“Suka. I should teach you a lesson.” He muttered in Russian and you smirked again.

Yes, this is perfect.

You continued to irritate him further by taunting him and once you could practically see his anger bubbling at the surface, you moved to dodge his slap and kneed him causing a wince to fall from his lips.

“Suka!”

Before he could charge at you again, you imagined a bat to form in your hands and hit him with it and then chained him to the bed. Then you grabbed his walkie and key card and ran out of the room.

As soon as you turned the corner, you saw a hoard of guards and prayed that your plan would work. You closed your eyes once again and made everyone see you as the General’s right hand man rather than who you actually were.

Once you were in the clear, you ran down a few hallways before reaching the locked door. You paused when you heard voices come from the inside.

“Oh my God, Steve! Are you okay?”

“My ears are ringing, and I can't really breathe, my eye feels like it's about to pop out of my skull, but, you know, apart from that, I'm doing pretty good.”

“Well, the good news is that they're calling you a doctor.”

“Is this his place of work? I love the vibe.”

You heard Robin laugh and then your hand on the door handle stilled when you heard your name.

“I’m being serious, Steve. This girl, Y/N, she can do things. Like awesome things. She said she’ll help us escape.”

“What? What kind of awesome things? Can she move things with her mind too?”

“What, no-Wait, what do you mean too?”

“Doesn’t matter. Where is she?”

“I think the Russians kidnapped her but I helped her escape. She promised she’d help us.”

“Really? She sure sounds like Dustin’s girlfriend, Suzie. Not real.”

“Hey, she is!”

At that, you opened the door and the two bickering teenagers turned to face you.

“Let us go, you bastard!” Robin yelled and you frowned and then you realised you were still making everyone believe you were a commie too.

You laughed, and rid yourself of the illusion and watched their mouths drop.

“Y/N!” Robin shouted.

“Sshh!” You hushed, looking behind you as you shut the door.

Robin winced, “Shit, sorry.”

“Wait, she’s real. You’re real. But what? You were just-Huh?!” The guy dressed almost identical to Robin said frantically.

“Yes, she’s real, you dingus. Y/N, can you free us?”

You nodded and grabbing the scissors off of the table, you used them to cut the belts wrapped around their bodies.

Once they were free, they stood up and you all headed to the door to escape when you looked outside and saw the General coming back, the doctor following close behind him.

“Shit.” You started to panic before mentally calming yourself down.

No, you will not panic.

Remember what happened the last time you panicked?

No, not helping, y/n. God!

You felt like you wanted to disappear inside yourself.

Wait...that could work.

“Guys, guys! I’ve got a plan.” You whispered harshly, effectively shutting up both Robin and Steve. “But you’ve got to stay extremely still.”

The moment they nodded, the door opened and the General swore at the empty room and then ran back out when the blaring alarm went off again. When he left, leaving the doctor in the room, two small children came running in. The one with the cow prod electrocuted the doctor causing him to fall to the ground as the girl looked around, confused.

“Hey, nerd. Where are they?”

Realising that these were the two that Robin mentioned earlier, you released the imaginary veil shielding the three of you, exposing you to the two children.

“Oh thank god, you’re okay.” The child with curly hair shouted, hugging Steve. “Wait, who’s this?” He said, pointing at you.

“We’ll explain later, Dustin. We gotta go.” Steve said, hurrying the children out of the room.

Noticing you weren’t following behind them, Robin ran back to you, grabbed your hand and pulled you alongside her, “Let’s go, y/n. We’re getting you out of here.”

You looked down at your joined hands and began running too. Once you reached the car, you all hurried inside as Dustin began to drive back to the elevator.

When you stopped outside the elevator, you all ran in and with the push of a button, it started to travel up towards the surface.

“Okay, so who the hell are you?” The girl said.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah, she’s been here for a few months.” Robin added causing the rest to freak out. “Guys, we can trust her. Come on, we’re back at the mall.”

The doors opened and you stepped outside and felt the cold air hit your face for the first time in months, springing tears to your eyes.

But you quickly brushed them away when you saw a group of armed men coming towards you.

“Shit, you gotta go.” Everyone except Robin ran back into the mall.

“No, you’re coming with us.” Robin said, scared.

“Robin, go. I got this. Please.” You added in a whisper. “Go!” You said, pushing her to start running and soon after, she was back with the rest of her friends and content that she was safe, you ran towards the men.

As they cocked their rifles and were about to fire, their guns turned into umbrellas. Confused, they dropped them to the ground and you ran to a door situated on your left and you could hear them follow behind you.

You ran through the back entrance door and into the mall. Stopping briefly, you turned to take in all the stores in the mall. Shit, this was massive. Hearing footsteps behind you, you continued running and stumbled into JC Penneys and found the back door and ran in. Successfully losing them, you let out a deep breath of relief and slumped against the wall.

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

You’d hid for around 30 minutes before hearing footsteps once more. You left the clothing store and hid behind a large plant pot and watched as a group of Russians approached a seemingly empty stall. Then you heard the walkie next to you crackle and when you tuned the frequency, the message was crystal clear.

“Everyone get over here. We’ve found them.” One of the Russians said quietly in the walkie.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as bile threatened to rise in your throat. No, they were not going to hurt them. No one else would die under your watch.

You began to move, cautiously hiding yourself behind large displays before you ended up behind the men. Forming a gun in your mind and then in your hands, you shot all four of the men simultaneously and they dropped to the ground, blood seeping from the hole in their foreheads.

Four heads then slowly popped up from behind the counter and turned to face you.

“Holy shit.” They all collectively mumbled.

Then you helped them as they climbed over the counter and then Robin brought you into a massive hug.

“Oh thank god, I thought they had gotten you again.”

You settled in the hug and wrapped your arms around her. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

And then you froze when you heard someone speak behind you.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” A Russian man said, his accent thick.

You recognised him as one of the men who had initially captured you all those months ago. He was flanked by two men, one on either side, who began laughing, their guns trained on the five of you.

Then you all jumped at the sound of a car alarm and when the men turned, the car was hurled in the air, effectively flinging them across the floor and killing them.

Then you all looked up and saw a group of teenagers and in the centre was a girl with her hand outstretched, her nose dripping with blood.

What the Hell?

They came rushing down the escalators and feeling awkward, you and Robin stood back as Steve, Dustin and Erica ran up to greet the familiar faces.

“Don’t you know them?” You whispered to Robin who shook her head in response.

“No. Well, I go to school with Nancy but we don’t speak.” You nodded and then walked up to join the group.

“I don’t understand what happened to that car.” Robin said and everyone turned to face the two of you.

“El has superpowers.” Dustin said casually.

“That’s El?” Erica said, surprised.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The redhead asked.

“I’m Robin.”

“And you?” The older female teenager asked.

“Oh, I’m y/n. I was kidnapped by these guys and taken to their secret Russian base.” You shrugged.

“Yeah and I cracked the code which is how we found out about the Russians and found y/n.” Robin finished beside you.

Then Dustin began arguing with Steve about his walkie and everyone started explaining their own events of the day. You watched as the girl, who you learned to be Eleven, moved away from the group and collapsed on the ground causing everyone to run up to her.

She began to moan about the pain in her leg and once uncovered, you all saw blood seeping out of deep cuts on her leg and then movement caught your eye.

“Oh, god. Something’s in there.”

Then the man named Jonathan ran and got some supplies to try and get the creature out of Eleven’s leg but failed, resulting in Eleven using her powers to do the task herself. Once she extracted it, she threw it across the room when it was then squashed by a large boot.

You all looked up and saw three adults staring back at you.

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

After learning who the adults were and who Eleven was, you revealed who you were and what you could do.

Soon after, the adults decided that all of you were to go to a safe house owned by the man dressed in a vest and shorts whilst they went to close the gate.

A gate, you might add, that was a portal to another dimension! No wonder the Russians thought you would be useful.

As they disappeared, you and, what was deemed, the ‘Scoops Troop’ went to the highest point of Hawkins which was how you ended up trekking up a steep hill.

As Dustin relayed directions to Murray, you and Robin went off to a far part of the hill and started talking.

“God, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect I would be saving the world from Commies and some creature from another dimension.” Robin said, her legs crossed on the grass.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. I think I’ve always known there was the possibility of something like this happening.”

“Why? Because of your powers?”

“Yeah, I mean, if this is possible, then that clearly opens the door to other things.” You created another glowing butterfly and watched as it floated away.

“I think what you do is amazing though. Without you or your powers, Steve and I would be dead.”

You laughed which quickly turned into a sob.

“Y/N?” Robin asked, grabbing your hand in between hers.

“I’m sorry. It’s just-Since I’ve had these powers, it’s been one thing after another and it’s the first time I’ve used them to save someone. Other times, I’ve just not been strong enough.” You said, tears spilling down your face.

“You said that before too. When we were in the cell. What do you mean?”

When you didn’t answer, she lifted your chin up with her fingers so you could face her.

“I wasn’t strong enough before. I lost my sister last year. A car accident. If I was strong enough, I could have protected her.”

“Oh, honey.”

Robin pulled you into her arms and held you whilst you cried.

“I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

“Hey, don’t apologise. You’re just a dingus. We all are sometimes.” Robin said, smiling when you laughed dryly.

“I tell you, when I get home, I’m burying myself in 10 blankets and having a good cry.”

“God, where am I even meant to go? I don’t even know where my family are. The ones I know of are all gone.”

“If you need to, you can always stay at mine. My parents wouldn’t mind. It would just be like a long sleepover and we-”

She was cut off by the cough of someone behind you. You both turned and looked up at Steve who was still dressed in the sailor outfit.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“We were clearly having a conversation, dingus, so yeah you are. What’s up?”

Steve then relayed Mike’s message so the three of you decided to go back to the mall to rescue the ‘Griswold family’ from Billy, who was the redhead’s brother who also happened to be controlled by, what they labelled, the Mind Flayer.

After going back to save them, you helped them fight the creature with fireworks. When you guys were running low, panic began to coarse through you as you looked up at the giant monster and you had to calm yourself down so you could refill everyone’s stock. But eventually, it got too draining, and you ended up collapsing on the ground, blacking out, causing a concerned Robin to fall beside you, similarly to how you did when you initially met her.

When you awakened, you watched as Billy sacrificed himself, saving Eleven and the rest of you. And after the mall was invaded with military troops, you evacuated with the rest of the teenagers. You watched as the crazy man and Will’s Mum returned but quickly recognised the look on her face when Eleven looked at her.

Feeling bad for her, you consoled the younger girl and held her as she grabbed your shirt and cried. You rocked her, attempting to soothe her and once she had quietened, you let Will’s Mum take over resulting in you moving back to Robin.

Robin grabbed your hand in hers, causing you to look up into her eyes and saw she was crying silently too. You leaned into her as she did the same and then she took you to her home.

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

You sat at the foot of her bed, bundled up in a few blankets but were unable to sleep. Sensing that, Robin practically ordered you to come lay next to her on the bed. Once you snuggled under the covers, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close, your warmth radiating into her.

“Thank you.”

“Hmm.” Robin mumbled.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“I could say the same about you, y/n.”

Still feeling restless, you immediately sat up and flicked the lamp light on. The room brightened, allowing you to look into Robin’s eyes.

“I’m so glad I met you today. I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t escape.”

“You don’t have to think about that now. You’re safe.” She smiled, placing her hand on your cheek to reassure you.

Then after a moment’s hesitation, she leaned in and kissed you. She pulled away, the feeling of her on your lips lingering afterwards. Her cheeks flushed, clearly embarrassed at what she had just done.

You were in a moment of shock but once you regained your senses, you pulled her in for another kiss. Once you both reluctantly pulled away, you both smiled and then Robin turned off the light and you snuggled back into her.

“I told you I never break a promise.”

She snorted, “Goodnight dingus.”

“Goodnight, Robin.”

[squishedwalkman]

fanfic repost - a world in which miles morales isn’t a hero but still an artist

It took a long time for the news to hit the main outlets. After all, the death of Tony Stark seemed small in comparison to the chaos that followed the sudden reappearance of half the population. People tried to focus on one thing at a time: first the tearful greetings of those who returned, then the repair of the most major of the catastrophes, and then the first initial days of panic when people couldn’t bear to be apart from one another. But slowly, slowly, as the healing began, news began to trickle forward.  Things began to come to light: people still missing after the snap, the damage left behind by unmanned power plants, the environmental effects that losing half the population had on a world crippled by loss. 

Miles found the first couple days hard. And then the first couple weeks. He returned to school, but nothing was the same. There was a joy shining in the air at being reunited with the people he loved, but a darkness too, since he had lived a 5 year span that they had not. He left friends behind in middle school as he began his senior year. His mom was back, but he was taller than her now. The principal had died of cancer within those 5 years, and so his old school wasn’t the same. It hurt, and Miles didn’t know if he could ever heal.

But he found a way. And a month passed. And somehow, if he paid close enough attention, he could see the emotional wounds beginning to close. It would be a long time yet, but already the sun rose brighter than before.

32 days after the Dusted had returned, and 15 days after the rumors surrounding the Avenger’s place in restoring the world began to spread, the news broke. Pepper Potts, reddened and puffy eyes cleverly disguised by makeup, addressed the world in a video exactly 53 seconds long. It was live streamed directly into Miles’s classroom, and as the first words echoed out into the silent room, every student held their breath. 

“Unfortunately, I have the… deepest sorrow in informing you all that Tony Edward Stark, head of Stark industries, and my beloved husband…. has passed away.” She took a shuddering breath before continuing. “Tony died a hero: he fought until the last moment of the battle. He was not only courageous in the final attack on Thanos, but throughout his entire life. Although many of you may have received a skewed image of who he was through media, rumors, or propaganda, I can assure you that Tony died a man of honor and valor. He had a heart for helping and mentoring others, and his death was not the only sacrifice that he had given in his life time. Tony loved this world very much, but it never loved him back. Our family is grateful for your anticipated support, and for the support of many of you throughout Tony’s lifetime. He would be grateful to see you all now. Live on, for him. Remember, we are Iron Man.” 

The camera cut just after tears sprung to Pepper’s eyes, and she began to turn to hide her face from view. At the same time, it seemed something happened to every heart in the school. In the world.

Tony Stark was dead.

Miles’s heart dropped. His throat seized, and suddenly tears sprang to his tired eyes. Glancing down at the worn wooden desktop, he squeezed his hands together and shut his eyes even tighter. One brief moment to choke down the tears, and he raised his head again. 

Tony Stark. Gone.

Miles’s mind flickered back to his bedroom: above his bed hung a poster of Iron Man himself, palms open to the sky, light emitting in powerful beams to the jet planes that soared above. For a long time Miles had admired the man behind the machine who defended the world. He admired all of heroes, but something about Tony always drew him in. Maybe it was the fact that he too had come from a place of immense pressure, of mistakes, but had found a way to rise above it. Or maybe it was simply because of the creativity associated with creating a suit so incredibly complicated and powerful.

Now that he thought of it, though, Miles hadn’t considered Tony Stark since the snap. A hero in the sky seemed far less real than the tangible, heartbreaking hurt surrounding the broken world he knew now. But the love, the devotion, the admiration he felt for the iron soldier quickly flooded back to him. And then the loss.

It hurt. 

My goodness, it hurt.

The rest of the school day went by in a haze. No one talked much in class. The classrooms seemed darker, the lessons petered out long before the period was over, and the walk home was silent, broken only by the occasional attempt at a joke by someone in the crowd. 

Miles tried to do his homework. He really did. But he couldn’t seem to write about anything so simple as literature books and physics when one of his heroes had died. He thought he would cry, but he tears refused to come to his eyes. The pencil in his fingers twirled, and the light outside slowly faded from a golden light the color of Iron Man’s thrusters to the rusted red of his suit, to the eventual fading purple of the galaxy he had disappeared into.

He tried to listen to sad music. To let the emotion flow out of him into lyrics. He tried to write a letter to Stark, but it ended in crumbled paper. There was only one other option. Something he said he wouldn’t do anymore, that he had promised his parents he wouldn’t do anymore… but it just felt right.

Before Miles could stop himself, he was pulling on his jacket and closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. Tiptoeing down the stairs, leaping nimbly over the creaking step, he slipped through the front door and into the fading light outside. 

The air outside was cool but not cold. Nonetheless, Miles pulled his hoodie over his head and walked with his head down. He knew where he was going: he had mapped the place out in his head a thousand times when he was bored in class, imagining what he would put there one day. He passed doorways, parked cars glinting in the last lingering rays of sun, and across streets devoid of pedestrians. Further and further into the city he traveled for a good half-an-hour, until finally his feet brought him to a stop in front of a building four stories tall. 

Pausing, Miles looked up at the sun-faded walls, the wooden doors, and the fire escape climbing ever upward. He had been here once before with his paints. He had planned on painting that day, but his conscious got the better of him, and he decided not to. It was going to be a self portrait. But this was different. 

Swiftly, as if he had done it a thousand times, Miles swung up onto the side of the building, into a fire escape, and clambered upward. The side of a building that stood flush to the one he stood on was blank, and the emotion pressing in Miles’s chest needed to be turned into art.

“I need this,” he whispered on the roof of the building, silhouetted against the quickly darkening sky. “We all need this.”

He set to work. Colors moved through his hands like magic, a spell being cast over the side of the building as best as he could. As the music played from his iphone, as the emotion pounded in his chest, the thoughts in his head were transformed into a portrait of the man he admired. The person who defended the Universe until his very last breath. Color began to come together and details came to shape.

As the light faded from the sky, the picture came alive. A tribute to a hero. Not only a picture for Miles, but a picture to be remembered for years to come. In the piece of art, Miles poured every memory he associated with his favorite hero, every moment he had seen him on the television, had known he was safe in a world with Iron Man, every time he had seen pictures of Stark when he was younger, had known he could do everything Tony could do, every time he had been inspired, and the one time he had seen the rocket of gold and red from the corner of his eye, disappearing behind a building nearby. 

It took well into the night, but finally the portrait was finished. It shone beneath the roof lights pointed at it, like a beacon in the dark, proof that Tony Stark had touched the heart of a young boy he never met. 

Then Miles cried. 

He buried his head in his hands and retreated to a distance to see the picture illuminated as if suspended against the sky. As he looked at the picture, trying to soak up the moment of grief, trying to find a way to continue on in a time when even heroes died, a distant noise interrupted his shaking breath.

Crouched a rooftop away, Miles could see a distant shape approaching. Miles was hidden in the growing darkness, and his hoodie kept him in shadow. But swinging through the buildings came the new hero people had just begun to know: Spiderman.

His webs shone under the moonlight, spitting out and then retracting as he moved faster than the cars below towards the mural. Onward, onward, and then past. He kept swinging off into the night.

And then, a pause in sound. And then a continuation of the webs, but approaching again. Miles held his breath and tried to appear as small as he could. Spiderman came back again, swinging smoothly onto the rooftop, and pausing.

He crouched in front of the still-drying painting. 

There was silence. Miles tried to control his breathing.

Spiderman was looking, and he didn’t move. Seconds stretched into minutes. Just as Miles wondered if he would ever leave, he could hear something muffled, through the darkness, coming from Spiderman.

The hero was crying. Crying.

Miles felt something break in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, but the sight of one hero grieving another crushed something within him. All of a sudden he longed to rush out and talk to the masked man in front of him. But as the sobs died down, Spiderman did something else.

He removed his mask. 

Miles had to hold in a gasp as the face of a young teenager came into view. No older than Miles, Spiderman was still a kid. And, as Miles looked closer, the face seemed strangely familiar. No… it was impossible. There was no way Spiderman himself was Peter Parker, school nerd and newly appointed Captain of Academic League. There was no way. No possible way.

Miles heart was pounding with his discovery. He couldn’t believe it. He had to tell Gwen. He had to get home, he had to tell his parents.

But even as these thoughts raced through his mind, another though arose: “there is no way I could ever betray Peter like this.” And this thought trampled the others, and Miles knew it was right. He could not spread such a secret as this. It was greater than a simple identity. He may not know Peter personally, but the idea of telling everyone something he had tried to hide for so long was despicable.

So, content with the fact that he had no great news to share, Miles was free to once more to consider the fact that Spiderman himself was beside him. And as Peter Parker himself let tears roll down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, Miles cried to, to be surrounded by two of the heroes that had protected him for so long. And separated by only a few feet, hidden from one another, two teenage boys cried silently for the biggest hero in their lives.

For the rest of Peter Parker’s life, he would never know that he had shared such a moment with a teenager who had needed Iron Man just as much as him. 

[sweetlangdon]

Reckoning: Part Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood. So much blood. There’s blood in every part of this fic so far. Swearing. Murder. Graphic violence/gore. Blood kink. Knife play. Things get heated, but there’s no smut…yet? (There might be in the future, if I’m feeling particularly brave.)

This fic is currently in progress.

Also available on AO3.

[Repost of a previously published fic from my main blog.]

Part One   Part Two   Part Three

She recoiled as if the mark had scorched her fingertips, as if her skin had blistered in an open flame. It might as well have—he’d been warm all over; she’d felt that warmth through her clothes, but the mark behind his ear was blazing hot. She stumbled away from him until her back slammed into the wall near the doorway, hysterical laughter numbing the pain that jolted up her spine and knocked her teeth together. Her hands were shaking again.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she said at last. “That’s just—no. You know what? This game has gone on long enough. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re trying to pull here, but that…I’m not…no.”

“You asked for the truth.” Langdon eyed her with slightly disheveled hair and annoyance pulling at the smirk on his lips. It was a composed sense of annoyance, which seemed like an unbelievable concept to her. She felt such a weird mix of confusion and rage and attraction toward him that she was beginning to infuriate herself, and she was sure that he could see every single bit of it.

“I gave you nothing else.” He took slow, deliberate steps to eliminate the distance she’d put between them. “When you found me, a part of you knew.” Langdon inched closer, the pointed toe of one his shoes settling between her feet. “And when you said those words back to me…you felt them, didn’t you? The power of them—of my father. Suddenly, the world became clearer…every need, every desire, no matter how dark,” he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, “…and the very thought of it frightened you.”

What little air that had been left between them seemed to crackle, the heat that flowed from him playing across her skin. Her palms were slick with sweat again, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Langdon. She didn’t know what she hated more—him, or her inability to resist the intense, prying look he’d leveled her with.

She definitely fucking hated that he was right.

Ave Satanas. The words she’d said against his mouth, so full of rage and want, her mind hazy with it. She’d said them before she understood the full weight of them; she’d needed him to feel the words on her own lips. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“You may not be a believer—not yet,” Langdon cocked his head to the side, just a little, “but you believe in things beyond this ruined world,” he continued. “I could see it in your eyes…just as you saw it in mine.”

Lightning appeared to streak across his face and illuminate another side of him that lay hidden beneath his impeccable jawline and silky blond hair. It lasted for a moment or two; eyes shining like onyx sunken into a pale, withered face. Something hellish. A monster.

The fucking Antichrist.

She felt dizzy again. Her spine pressed into the wall, her fingers cold and tingling as panic began to race through her bloodstream. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” he drawled. Langdon lifted one of his hands and she felt his soft, warm fingertips wander along her cheekbone. His blood had long since dried on her skin, staining her dark red, and the scent and feeling of it seemed to leach into her soul. “If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. You gave me more than enough opportunities.”

She slapped his hand away without thinking about the fact that he could strangle her or probably break her goddamn neck with it. Fear made her angry, and anger made her act entirely on impulse.

“Then why the hell are you here?” she demanded. Langdon dropped his hands to his sides, one eyebrow raised at her outburst in a show of amusement. “You’re the reason we’ve all been miserable for the past eighteen months. Youstarted all of this shit.” She huffed out a shallow, anxious breath. The fucking Antichrist. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to Sunday school, but I recall the Book of Revelation being a huge fucking deal.”

“So death would’ve been preferable to you?” Langdon goaded. “Torn apart by the blasts or the agonizing effects of radiation? Compared to the rest of the world, eighteen months of loneliness and servitude seems a far better alternative.” He folded one arm behind his back; he’d stepped away from her, taking the warmth with him. His tone regained some of its sharpness. “The only reason this outpost is standing is because I helped make it possible. And I’m here, as I said before, at the interest of The Cooperative. I haven’t lied.”

“You destroyed the world.” She scoffed, but she still missed the heat he carried. The anxiety in her veins had made her cold and her chest tight. A small fragment of her realized that she was only fighting him and asking these questions because it seemed like the right thing to do. That nagging thread of morality left from the old world; an effort that had become futile, now. “If you ask me, deceptive doesn’t even begin to cover that one, Langdon.”

“Humanity has already been doing that for centuries,” Langdon countered, side-stepping the accusation she’d hurled at him. “It was never going to last. We wiped the slate clean, and now it’s time to decide who will make this new world flourish in my father’s image.”

His father. Satan. How the shit did I get here, again?

Goddamn it, she really, really fucking hated that he was right.

She was so exhausted and bewildered by this whole situation that it took her a moment to comprehend that he’d fixed her with one rather expectant look. Her own laughter, all sarcasm and disbelief—the traces of hysteria gone as if the two of them had finally reached some strange level of understanding—echoed in the cavernous bathroom. Was it her own fatigue that made her slightly more open to the possibilities, or had she sold her soul the moment she accepted his challenge?

“I’m nobody.”

The coolness of the tile against her back made her shiver, so she pushed off it to take a few wary steps in his direction. Once she settled in front of him, Langdon dropped the arm that had been folded behind his back and peered at her with a narrowed gaze. She had to stop the contented sigh that almost worked its way from her throat when she fell back into the orbit of his warmth.

“A worker ant.” Venable’s words made her cringe, even from her own mouth. “I’m surprised you haven’t crushed me underneath your very expensive heel yet.”

That earned her a grin. Her stomach did another one of those involuntary somersaults, and without thinking too much about it, she dared one step closer. The hem of her dress brushed against his pants and the toe of her drab shoe knocked into his, but he didn’t move.

He leaned forward so that his breath skirted her hair. “That’s just what this place has turned you into.” Langdon took her hand and brought up so that it was level with his chest, running his thumb along the dark stains on her knuckles. His curious gaze dropped to the coating of dried blood on her skin, which seemed almost like a reprieve from his endless pursuit of her soul. As he traced a gentle fingertip across her knuckles, she clenched her jaw shut tight.

“At least consider that you could be more.” His thumb traveled down the inside of her wrist, following the path where the ribbons of his blood had soaked into her flesh and the sleeve of her dress. His voice turned low and dangerous. “I think you were made for this new world—you showed me that when you freed yourself from the old rules. You’re not the same person you were when you walked into that room; you and I both know that. But the question is,” he drew out the syllables, ice blue eyes flickering up to her own, “will you allow yourself to accept who you could be?”

Langdon hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His words dropped into an almost whisper, warm breath ghosting across the tender flesh of her wrist. His lips now hovered just above the network of veins that had been concealed under a layer of dark blood, his head dipped toward her, hair cascading gracefully down his bare shoulder. She watched him inhale the remaining scent of iron.

“Chaos becomes you.”

A shudder wracked her body, and she knew he’d felt it as her fingers curled under his touch. She waited for him to press his lips to her wrist, to maybe taste the iron on her skin, but instead he dropped her hand.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Or, I could tell everyone your dark secret.” She flexed her fingers at her side, the ghost of his touch and the warmth of him still lingering on her skin.

Langdon’s face was suddenly bright with a sarcastic grin that she wanted to loathe, but it only made her cheeks feel flushed. “As if they would believe you.”

He circled around her until he came to rest at her back, and she leaned, just a little, into the solid presence of his bare chest. She found him staring at their reflection in the mirror above the sink—Langdon, fucking perfect as always, despite the fact that he’d been stabbed in the past half hour, and there shewas…a fucking blood-stained travesty of a human being. She didn’t even look worthy enough to polish his shoes.

Maybe that was the exhaustion talking. This night had lasted for an eternity.

“So…” His words were low and rough in her ear. Heat prickled up the back of her neck. “While I’ve enjoyed the sight of you covered in my blood,” he swept a chunk of hair over her shoulder and one of his rings grazed the side of her throat, “I’m afraid I can’t let you walk around the outpost like that.”

Langdon moved away from her, and she stared at the muscles that rippled in his back as he retreated, this time without a sense of shame or a hint of rage.

“Take all the time you need.” And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, the room so many degrees colder than she would’ve liked.

She let out a sigh. Well, shit.

In the end, she decided that taking a shower in the fucking Antichrist’s private en suite ranked very low on the list of unbelievable shit that had happened tonight. Exhaustion had made itself comfortable in her bones. And even though she thought of the blood on her as some kind of morbid trophy—she’d made the fucking Antichrist bleed and lived—all she wanted to do right now was clean herself up and sleep. Maybe for an eternity.

The cold air hit her skin, raising goosebumps as she let her dress pool around her ankles. Her bra and panties followed, and for a second she stood there in the soft yellow light of the candles, wondering what she’d do about the blood-stained clothes. Her vision went unfocused, tired and in a daze, her thoughts wandering off in too many directions. Thinking about Langdon just on the other side of that damned door and if she actually trusted him enough to make herself vulnerable with nothing but a rather thin wall between them.

And the knife.

She’d forgotten about it, honestly. It had been neglected on the floor by the shower, blood splattered on the tiles when Langdon had tossed it. The blade was more crimson than steel now. He’d been right, of course—to her deep, unwavering irritation, he always seemed to be right—she wasn’t the same. She didn’t feel the same. These past eighteen months had taken their toll, but this…it wasn’t anything she could explain. Had she always been like this? Had she always wanted to be like this? Or was it just what this strange, new world now demanded of her?

She kicked the knife under the pile of clothes.

The water ran dark red, the scent of whatever flowery soap that came standard in the outpost blossoming into the air. She watched the tendrils of red swirl in the soapy water around her feet until they vanished down the drain. The near scalding heat worked her tense, weary muscles loose.

Clouds of steam obscured the glass as she scrubbed at her skin until it was bright pink, eliminating every trace of Langdon’s blood. She melted into the warmth, eyes fluttering closed, trying to breathe after whatever the fuck had happened. When she realized she was actually falling asleep standing up, lulled into a gentle comfort by the water, she decided it was time to leave.

She shoved aside a few used towels on the floor with her foot, entirely cognizant of the fact that while she’d be one of the people washing them later, she’d used up all of Langdon’s clean towels out of spite. While towel-drying her hair, wandering around the bathroom in aimless circles, she noticed something folded over the chair in front of the vanity table. It definitely hadn’t been there before she’d hopped in the shower. Langdon’s en suite had been untouched except for the blood stains, devoid of anything personal.

Except for the coat that was now on the chair. The coat that he had somehow left in here while she’d been oblivious.

For…her?

Huh. That’s…something, all right.

She finished halfheartedly drying off her hair and then dropped the dampened towel into the pile with the rest. “Fuck it.”

After sliding her bra and panties back on, she considered the heap of blood-stained clothes and decided her shoes were the only thing worth saving. There was more identical, boring gray attire in her room; not as many as the Purples had in their wardrobes, but she could spare at least one set. She cleaned the blood off her shoes as best she could—she figured the bloodied towels were another problem for Langdon to solve—and then picked up the coat from the back of the chair.

Her stomach did another one of those obnoxious somersaults. It was an elegant coat, long and black and lined with buttons. She held it up, unfolding it to reveal the bright red lining on the inside. An equally obnoxious part of her brain remembered that Langdon had been wearing this coat when he’d first introduced himself to everyone in the outpost. She sunk into it, suddenly more alert than she’d been in the past half hour, her pulse speeding up its rhythm. It was the finest piece of clothing she’d worn in over a year, and probably the most expensive thing she’d ever worn in her life.

And it belonged to Langdon.

Was it possible that some part of him wasn’t complete hell spawn?

She pulled the coat closed and buttoned it—frustratingly aware that she was half-naked underneath it. Holy fuck, why. The fabric felt like silk against her bare skin, cool enough to provoke another round of goosebumps that broke through the lingering heat from her shower. The sleeves were too long, and her hands disappeared into them no matter how many times she pulled them back up. It smelled exquisite: rich and earthy like a rain-soaked forest with just a hint of wood smoke and something else, maybe warm spices and citrus. She breathed in deep, inhaling the intoxicating scent, recalling images of a world that hadn’t been nuked to hell. Is this what he smelled like all the time? She hadn’t had a chance to notice, what with all the blood. It was nice. Really nice.

Well. I’m fucked.

She suppressed a groan.

The knife had been left where she kicked it—there was no damn way Langdon didn’t know about it, either—and without a second thought, she wiped off the blood and stuffed it in an inside pocket. Once she gathered up her pile of stained clothes, she summoned whatever was left of her resolve in the mess of her own exhaustion and walked back into Langdon’s suite.

His attention had been pulled toward her at the sound of the bathroom door opening, half of his face caught in the pale white glow of a laptop screen. When did the outpost get WiFi?  He had one elbow propped up on the desk, his hand slowly curling into a loose fist. He was once again fully clothed in black. She didn’t miss the way his bright blue gaze took in the sight of her in his fucking coat. The way his lips curved into a smirk. The way his head tilted, and his chin rose as if in appreciation. Was it genuine, or was he just fucking with her? Maybe it was just her lustful, traitorous imagination. Maybe it was smugness, or fucking delight, because he’d helped put her in this situation.

She sighed. “Don’t.”

Langdon made an indifferent sort of gesture with his hand, but his smirk deepened. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”  

He rose from the desk and crossed the room in several long strides to open the door. “I’ll need that back.”

“Obviously.” She made sure the corridor was empty before she stepped out. “No one will know about it.”

Langdon’s chin rose again, and this time she couldn’t read his expression. “Good night.”

The door clicked shut when she was halfway down the corridor. She moved as quickly as she could through the labyrinth of hallways—now more empty than they had been before; everyone had to have gone to bed by now. Not that time existed down here anymore, but she’d never felt the effects of such a weird, virtually lawless existence than she did walking through the outpost on this artificial night. She found herself both longing for the construct of time and thrilled that it no longer held any meaning. All she knew for sure was that she just wanted to fucking sleep. Langdon had drained whatever energy she’d had left.

She stopped once in her travels to burn her clothes in one of the large fireplaces; her eyes burned with fatigue while she watched the flames consume the last evidence of her bloody interview with Langdon. When she finally arrived at her room in the Gray quarters, her roommate was blissfully asleep, tucked away under the covers.

Slipping off her shoes, she padded across the room to her armoire under the dim light of the low burning candles. With a pang of reluctance that she did notwant to acknowledge in any way at all, she took off Langdon’s coat and stowed it among her comparatively dull wardrobe. It wouldn’t be in here long enough for her roommate to find it. The girl was gossipy to a fault, but she at least kept out of her belongings. Not that any of them had much to begin with.

She dressed in a plain, off-white linen nightgown that served no purpose other than to uphold Venable’s outdated aesthetic. And finally…finally, after this endless fucking night or whatever the hell it had been, she dragged her tired body to her bed and crawled under the blankets.

And she hid the Antichrist’s knife under her pillows.

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers-deact @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @ritualmichael @fernshorrorstory @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr  @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26

[gumnut-logic]

Bo

This is a repost, a fic of mine you might have seen before, but I think it bears revisiting as I am rather fond of it. A friend of mine has thrown a prompt in and chosen Bo as the character to write about. So I think this is a good a time as any to share this again.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

-o-o-o-

Title: Bo

A TAG Secret Santa fic

Author: Gumnut

15 – 18 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Virgil meets a new friend, and, damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Word count: 6184

Spoilers & warnings: Possible bushfire/wildfire triggers in the first part. For the rest none, except for vague nudity and fluff. Christmas fic. Gen.

Timeline: Origin story

Author’s note: Okay, so this is the first time I’ve ever participated in one of these so I’m new to this.

My prompts were

1.         Virgil covered in tinsel

2.         Tracy family Christmas

3.         Christmas Rescue Miracle (with Virg please)

The first one prompted all sorts of images not suitable for a PG audience. Hubby also suggested I blow up a tinsel factory. Overall, I did attempt to include all three prompts in the one fic. I hope I have succeeded in providing some enjoyment at least.

This does not belong to either Sotto Voce or Warm Rain and is pretty canon compliant. It is currently standalone. Consider it a possible origin story, there may be more, if I can think up some new plot lines. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Many thanks to @tagsecretsanta for all her wonderful work putting the gift exchange together, and thanks to @photowizard17 for the inspiring prompts, @i-am-chidorixblossom for cheering me on when I couldn’t post daily and obsessively like I usually do, and to @the-lady-razorsharp for giving it an American beta so I don’t trip over being Australian (though the summer Christmas certainly helped :D).

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“It’s the last house at the end of the street, Virgil.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said without the usual spark. The grey of the destroyed landscape sucked everything from everything. A pall of smoke and haze, black remnants of lives, homes and the tragedy of the night before.

International Rescue had been called to a massive bushfire in the Yarra Ranges in Victoria, Australia. The CFA had had it under control the previous day, John keeping an eye on it anyway, but an unexpected change in wind direction in the evening had it jumping firebreaks and tearing through an unprotected valley and directly through a township.

With the vast tall forests of mountain ash, eucalypts full of volatile oil just waiting to burst into flame, combined with the hot and blustery northerly, not even IR could stop the firestorm from taking lives and property.

Thunderbird Two had her fire suppression equipment, but the massive plane was a speck against the wall of flame.

There were forces of nature that just couldn’t be stopped.

The Tracys dodged and nabbed trapped people. Thunderbird Two deployed a huge water cannon, sourcing water from the local reservoir, as the CFA water bombed around them, desperate to protect what lives they could. But nothing was stopping the fire.

It tore through the town leaving agony in its wake.

Dawn was grey and dismal, but it brought rain. The sky rumbled, threatening to spark more fires in the ranges, but the deluge came and dampened the remaining flame enough to once again get the front under control.

But it was too late for the town.

It was gone.

Virgil walked the length of the street, his exo-suit rubbing on aching shoulders. Burnt out cars and collapsed homes lined the road from one end to the other. The skeletons of black trees marched off into the distance behind it all.

Haze hovered above ash-clogged puddles in the pavement.

It wasn’t what Christmas morning was supposed to be.

The last house at the end of the street had fully collapsed in on itself. A burnt-out car sat in the driveway, its trunk lid and one of its doors open.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what that likely meant.

He steeled himself and walked past the remains he knew he was going to find in the car.

Nothing could be done.

Nothing.

He focussed on the whine of his suit as his boots stepped in wet ash and strode across the front yard to the remains of the house. He had to clear his throat to speak to John. “Tell me where, Thunderbird Five.”

“Possibly in the basement? The lifesign is below ground level.”

The house had been old, the wooden floorboards disintegrating in the heat. Virgil leapt through the remains of a wall, landing on rubble in what had likely been a wine cellar. The heat had been so intense, that glass bottles had become slag.

Glass crunched under his boots. “Right or left?”

“Eastern side, southern corner.”

There was a mass of rubble collapsed against the only standing wall of the building.

“This is International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?”

He turned up the pickups on his exterior mikes.

Nothing. It was probably a blip. How the hell could anything survive this holocaust?

His shoulders dropped.

But then...something? A whimper?

Maybe?

Virgil began digging.

It took him a good fifteen minutes of solid work to move enough burnt masonry to reach a hole in the wall at the very base of the structure. And in what appeared to be the bottom of a dumb waiter he found the lifesign.

The little puppy whimpered at him, trembling with fear.

Aw, hell.

“John, lifesign is a dog.”

“One moment, Thunderbird Two.” The puppy stared, the green, yellow and blue of Virgil’s suit reflected in its brown eyes. “There is no dog registered at that address. Deliver to the local authorities. You are needed to airlift some survivors to Melbourne. Report to Scott on the other side of town.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

Virgil slid his arms out from the suit and bent aching knees. “Hey, little one, do you want to come with me?”

The puppy shivered and looked him up and down, hesitating.

“I’m with International Rescue, we’re here to help.” He took a step closer. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, his stance, or simply because the puppy had no choice, but as Virgil reached into the box it was sitting in, the puppy made no protest as he picked it up.

A quick examination for injury revealed her to be a girl. She shuddered up against Virgil’s chest. “Don’t worry, it’s all over, you’re safe.”

Sliding one arm back into his suit, he started making his way out of the ruined building, turning his back on the tiny hole that had somehow saved the little dog’s life.

-o-o-o-

Perhaps it was because she sat so quietly with him. Perhaps because it was Christmas Day. Most likely it was because Virgil had reached his limit of pain.

When he found the RSPCA tent, specially set up for lost pets, he gently handed over the little puppy. She let out a whimper and began crying.

No barking, just this godawful crying that tore at his heart.

“You will be fine here, little one.” The attendant was one of those kindly older ladies and she hugged the gangly bundle of fluff to her chest as Virgil turned to leave, Scott in his ear.

But the puppy let out such a scream of anguish, Virgil turned around without thinking. She was struggling in the volunteer’s arms and before either of them could react, she managed to wriggle free and dash over to him, her little body trembling on his left boot.

He reached down and gathered her into his arms. “You can’t come with me. I can’t-“ But she was rubbing her head up under his chin, little sounds in her throat.

And he couldn’t.

Just couldn’t.

His eyes met the eyes of the lady volunteer and she smiled. “We will keep her details if you would like to take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we can let you know.” And the volunteer was just as hopeful as the puppy in his arms. After all, there was no life at the RSPCA unless a home was found.

He looked down at her little brown eyes again.

No, he couldn’t.

Damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Maybe for just a few days?

The excuse provided a simple solution, so he took it.

Without a word, he handed his IR contact details to the volunteer, and, puppy in hand, turned his back to the tent and strode towards the big green hulk parked in the distant haze.

“Well, little one, you have definitely made an interesting choice. Let me introduce you to my big green partner.”

-o-o-o-

It was well past Christmas lunch, or rather the lack of it, before IR was given the all clear to return to base. During the entire time, the little puppy sat beside Virgil’s pilot chair, apparently unfazed by the deep bass rumble of Thunderbird Two.

When he picked up both Gordon and Alan the dynamic changed just a little.

Gordon dragged himself onto the flight deck first, a groan in every step. “Christmas just gets more exciting every year.” It was true. Nine out of ten Christmas Days were side-swiped by a disaster, to the point that the Tracy Christmas tradition was a modular and movable celebration nowadays. No guarantees and no defined day. It happened around December twenty-fifth, there about, when they could, between call outs.

Suddenly the little puppy was in his lap.

“What is that?”

Virgil looked up. His brother was covered in soot and looked as tired as Virgil felt. “This is Bo.” And he had no idea where the name came from, it just seemed right and the moment clicked.

“Bo?”

“Yeah.” Newly christened Bo peered up at Gordon around Virgil’s arm. “She survived the fire.” A swallow. “Her family didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Alan, as always, had more energy than any of them, and showed it as he waltzed into the cabin. “So why aren’t we moving?”

Bo let off a sharp bark.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell, Virgil?”

Bo was literally glaring at Alan.

“Hey, Bo, calm down, that’s just Alan. He’s annoying, but tolerable.” The little puppy looked up at him, her gorgeous brown eyes just melting him inside. He was so gone.

“Hey!” That from Alan.

“Scott’s going to kill you.” That from Gordon, who was approaching slowly.

“Yeah, I know.” It was a sigh.

Gordon crouched down beside Virgil’s chair. “Hey, little one, what gave you the idea to attach yourself to this big oaf?” Pulling off one of his gloves, the aquanaut reached out and offered the puppy his hand. She eyed him warily before tentatively sniffing at his fingers.

She sneezed.

Alan snorted.

Bo blinked and stared at Gordon for a moment. The aquanaut kept still and eventually she sniffed at him again, before nuzzling at his hand. He blatantly took that as permission and gently rubbed behind her ear. “You are a cute little thing, aren’t you.”

She licked his wrist.

“Oh, I can see why our heavy lifter fell for you. You’ve got it all in those brown eyes of yours, haven’t you.” Gordon shrugged. “Though I will admit they are the best colour for manipulation.”

“And he speaks from experience.” To Virgil’s surprise, Gordon actually jumped. “Did you forget I was here? Not absorbed by those brown eyes are we?” He couldn’t help but smile at his brother. At least one was as besotted as he had to admit he was.

Yes, Scott was definitely going to kill him.

“Shut up, Virgil.”

Bo backed off, once again hiding behind Virgil’s baldric.

“Hey, Gordon, watch the tone.”

“Sorry, Bo.”

“Are we actually going home at some point? I have a date with my bed.”

Gordon stood up, pulling out the co-pilot’s seat. “No rush, Allie, she’ll wait for you.”

“Augh.”

“Sit down, Alan, I’m just finishing pre-flight.” Tired and cranky could easily become nasty if not attended to.

Bo curled up, nestled against his harness, as Alan grumpily pulled out his seat.

“Virgil, where the hell are you?”

Speaking of tired and cranky... “Launching now, Thunderbird One.” As if prompted, he received clearance from Australian Air Control.

TB2 rumbled beneath as he activated VTOL, ash and dust swirling up around them. As soon as he had enough height, he engaged her rear thrusters and tore off over the Alps, across the coast and out into the Tasman.

“ETA fifteen minutes.” At least they weren’t too far from home.

Bo fell asleep in his lap.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was on the verge of joining Bo in slumber as Thunderbird Two spun slowly in her hanger, eventually coming to a final stop.

So tired.

Beside him, Alan poked Gordon awake. “Ugh, what? Oh.” You could almost hear his brain booting.

Virgil worked around Bo as he did his post-flight checks, his brothers, well, mostly Gordon, groaning as they got to their feet and waddled towards the hatch. “C’mon, Virg, Alan’s pining for his bed.”

“You two go ahead. I just need to finish post-flight.” He didn’t turn around, but he could feel Gordon’s eyes on him.

“Sure, whatever.” And he heard the hatch lower to the hangar floor.

His brothers gone, Virgil let himself relax back against his chair, his shoulders sagging. He let out a long breath. “So, Bo, how are we going to do this?”

The puppy woke as if on command and turned to stare up at him. Gently her tail began to wag.

Virgil let a tired smile cross his face.

Encouraged, Bo jumped up and put her two front paws on his chest, reaching up, trying to lick his face despite not quite being tall enough.

The smile became a grin.

“Okay, okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he pushed his seat backwards and stood. Immediately he was bathed in puppy drool. He couldn’t help but laugh. He surfaced above her licking and cradled her in his arms. “We need to get you some food.” His stomach rumbled ominously. “We need to get me some food.”

And a shower. A shower definitely wouldn’t hurt.

If he could hold off the sleep.

If he didn’t call it a stagger, it wasn’t a stagger, but he had obviously been sitting in his seat for far too long ferrying all those survivors to Melbourne on repeated trips. It was his turn to groan as both his back and legs complained loudly at the sudden demands for movement.

Bo started chewing on his glove.

Somehow he made it back to his rooms without encountering anyone. Shutting the door, he let Bo loose on the floor and began stripping off his uniform, hitting the buttons on his preprogrammed shower cubicle. Moments later he walked under the spray and let it wash the day from his skin.

God, that felt good.

As his muscles relaxed under the heat, sleep became more and more attractive, and by the time he stumbled out of the water, all thoughts of food had vanished.

He took the three steps across his room from the ensuite and threw himself facedown on the bed, still partly wet, still naked.

He was asleep within moments.

-o-o-o-

He was being kissed.

Her lips were warm, her tongue wet, her whiskers soft against his stubble...

Uh?

She licked his eye.

Wha-?

Virgil, always slow to respond upon waking, opened said eye only to get an eyeful of slobber. A soft paw thwapped him on the cheek. Huh? he blinked attempting to clear his eyesight, a hand coming up to defend himself.

Fortunately, his brain came online and memory kicked in. “B-Bo?”

A tongue wrapped around his nose and left it wet.

Ugh.

He wiped his face with his hand, stretching backwards on his pillow, desperate to get out of reach.

The puppy landed on his chest, her paws kneading his chest hair, her little claws completing his wake-up process rather abruptly.

Oh god.

“Bo, down, honey, down.”

He was completely ignored.

Sitting up, he attempted to grab her in his arms, but missed. The little puppy landed on things that puppies had no right to land on. Or stomp on for that matter.

He winced.

“Ooh, okay, come here.” He lifted her off his lap, holding her close, her tail pummelling his belly. “I’m awake, okay.” Again he found himself pinned by her brown eyes. “Aww, c’mon with the cute, Bo, you’re going to melt my brain.”

“Assuming you have a brain to melt.” And Scott was standing in his doorway.

Virgil glared up at him. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did. Grandma sent me to tell you that Christmas dinner is ready.”

Virgil frowned at his brother over the top of Bo’s ears, ignoring the glare the blue eyes were directing at the puppy in his arms. “I thought we’d do Christmas tomorrow.”

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Grandma thought it would be best to sneak it in tonight, since it is Christmas Day, after all.” Scott’s lips thinned. “Where did you get that from?”

“She’s a rescue.”

“Usually we leave our rescues on the continent we find them.”

“She had no one.”

“Unfortunately, that is nothing new.” And one of his hands had moved to his hip.

Virgil sighed. “Scott, it’s fine, it’s only for a few days.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Virgil held back his retort. He knew to pick his fights and now was not the time. “Her name is Bo.”

Scott looked at him and then at Bo. “Hurry up, your dinner is getting cold.” The ghost of a smirk. “And don’t forget to wear clothes.”

“Funny, funny, ha, ha.” But his brother had left.

Virgil let his shoulders drop. “Sorry, Bo, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Bo just licked him some more.

It wasn’t until he went looking for his boots that he discovered the wonderful deposits Bo had left for him on the floor.

Ugh.

And apparently one of his favourite boots had served as a meal also.

He closed his eyes and sighed again.

Half dressed, he cleaned up the mess, and five minutes later he waltzed downstairs, Bo in his arms and barefoot. Time to face the inevitable music.

-o-o-o-

A Tracy Christmas used to be snow, roast turkey, stockings by the fire, the occasional Christmas carol and family.

Since starting International Rescue it had changed.

Firstly, they were in the tropics. The only fires available in those temperatures were ones that required firefighting equipment. Having grown up with snow, it was still extremely weird. But it had its advantages. For one you could go outside in the minimum of clothing, something Gordon took advantage of every day of the year. There were no snowball fights, but these were fast replaced with water fights. There was no ice skating, but there was water skiing if anyone could get up the energy to get the boat out. And surfing, let’s not forget Scott’s attempts at that. Virgil would admit that he didn’t mind a little surfboard action himself. He wouldn’t say he was very good at it, but at least Gordon had never had to save him like he had Scott.

There were still Christmas trees and tinsel and stockings that no-one ever considered wearing hung from the nearest mantelpiece-looking piece of furniture.

There was still turkey and roast potatoes and all the yummy food crucial for a good Christmas meal, but it was often cooked outside in barbecue ovens and seafood and cold food had been added to the menu. In fact, the traditional dinner had become more of a banquet by the pool.

As Virgil walked out onto the patio, he couldn’t help but smile at the Christmas tree that had obviously been hurriedly moved out here from the comms room. It sat a little lopsided and the star on top was having a few issues with gravity. That was new, as was the liberal tinsel and Christmas lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, across the pool and back several times.

“Fifty bucks says Gordon tries to water volleyball the tinsel at least once.”

Virgil smirked as he stepped up beside his next youngest brother. “Not touching that one. I value my money.”

John was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and had a beer in his hand. Bo was immediately interested in this new person. She strained towards John, her nose literally twitching towards the hand holding the beer.

His brother must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively took a step away.

“Oh, sorry, John, this is Bo.” Bo was climbing over his arm, desperate to get closer to the astronaut. Virgil held her tight, worried she would fall.

“Uh, hello.” John turned towards them, frowning. “Since when do you own a dog?”

“Since this morning.”

“Does Scott know?” They both instinctively looked over at their eldest brother who was hovering over one of the barbecues energetically discussing something with Grandma - probably how not to burn the food.

“He does.”

“And you still have it?”

“Her.”

“Her.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that one.” John drank his beer.

“She had no one else.”

John arched an eyebrow at him and then frowned. “Oh, Virgil.” His shoulders slumped.

“I am an adult now, John. It won’t be like last time.”

“God, I hope not.”

Virgil stared at his brother, only to see the genuine concern in his green eyes. A sigh. “It won’t happen again.”

John reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “No, it won’t, because you will remember that you have four brothers who are all here for you, won’t you.” God, that green gaze was penetrating.

“It will be fine.”

Bo yipped at John, her tail beating Virgil’s chest.

The astronaut smiled and offered the little dog his hand. She sniffed and licked him almost immediately.

“I think you have been approved.”

John smiled and Virgil couldn’t help but do the same.

“Virgil!” And Grandma was arrowing in on his position.

“Incoming.” John was smirking.

“Hey, Grandma.”

But his grandmother only had eyes for Bo. “Who is this?”

Virgil smiled again. “This is Bo. Bo, this is Grandma.”

Bo whacked him with her tail and literally leapt from his arms into his grandmother’s.

“Woah.” Suddenly with arms full of wriggling puppy enthusiastically licking her face, his grandmother was laughing. “Oh dear, you are a cutie. Let me have a look at you.” And she held Bo out at arms length, her eyes critical. “A little hard to tell at her age, but my bet says she’s of boxer stock, around three months old. Such a beautiful brindle and that face.” Virgil couldn’t help but agree. Bo looked like she had dipped her face in a pot of ink, her brown eyes surrounded by gorgeous black coat that quickly bled to brindle down her back with a spot of white on her front. “Where did you find her?”

Virgil looked at his feet, remembered why they were bare, and looked back up at his grandmother. “This morning’s rescue. She lost everything.”

Grandma turned her attention back to Bo. “Oh, honey. You survived the fire?” Bo licked her nose. “Well, you are safe here.” Grandma curled her arms around the puppy and scratched her ears. “Has Virgil fed you anything yet?” She glanced at him and he shrugged. He got frowned at for his trouble. Grandma turned away, walking towards the barbecues with Bo in her arms. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” John was still smirking at him.

A series of barks and a yelp from Grandma, and suddenly Bo was dashing amongst legs in his direction. “Woah.” He crouched down and caught her as she leapt for him. She wriggled and licked, her little body trembling under his hands. “Hey, hey, honey, it’s okay, you’re safe.” She snuggled up under his chin. He couldn’t help but return the hug.

Grandma approached, worry on her face. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s okay.” He reached an arm around his grandmother, bringing her into the hug. “She’s just had a scary day.” He pulled both of them close.

Scott was glaring at him from a distance.

John smiled at them and drank his beer.

Bo started chewing on his collar.

-o-o-o-

As the evening progressed, Bo slowly let herself part from Virgil as each of the members of his family, bar Alan and Scott, came to say hello or fed her from the table. There was one interesting moment when the little puppy encountered Sherbert for the first time.

Bo yipped.

Sherbert yapped.

And as the entire party fell silent, the two dogs stared each other down.

Virgil was poised for a rescue and Penelope was not far behind him, but a moment later Bo licked Sherbert across the nose, Sherbert gently butted the little puppy with his head, and from that point onwards they were best of friends, Sherbert quite proudly showing his new friend around.

But never out of sight of Virgil.

Bo and Parker had a staring moment not long after, but Sherbert barrelled on in and head butted the driver, snapping him out of it. It wasn’t long before the little puppy had him rubbing her ears as well.

Kayo stood her distance, assessing Bo as much as the puppy was assessing her. A calm arched eyebrow slowly rose as Bo tilted her head up at the security specialist. She pressed her lips together and faced Virgil. “There will be training.”

Virgil blinked and his sister turned and stalked off. Bo eyed her the entire time, only finally distracted by a yelp from Alan as Gordon threw him in the pool.

The engineer was left wondering if he should be worried or not.

The meal was delicious, of course. Scott had managed to keep Grandma away from the barbecues and MAX had been on task for a good part of the day. There was the mandatory turkey, and this year a couple of large snapper had been baked to perfection, along with some crayfish, oysters, salads and roast vegetables. This was followed by pie, oh, so much pie, Christmas cookies, and Christmas pudding with custard and the option of ice cream.

Virgil, as usual, made sure he took advantage of all the options. Consequently, post-banquet found him sprawled on a pool lounger staring up at the stars amongst the tinsel overhead. Bo, who had also eaten probably more than she should have, was curled up between his feet.

The soft sounds of quiet carols and muted conversation wafting across the water lulled him gently to sleep.

-o-o-o-

Scott felt like Scrooge. He was tired, worried and even a little angry. He was not enjoying himself, no matter how hard he tried. Grandma had cornered him at least twice, her hand on his shoulder trying to soothe his ire.

The annoying thing was that he wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. The rescue hadn’t been the best, but they had done what they could and some lives had been saved that otherwise wouldn’t have. The team had performed well, no one had been injured, they were all back home safe and sound.

And there was food, family and Christmas. There wasn’t really much more he could ask for.

His eyes settled on Virgil, asleep on one of the loungers, oblivious to the tinsel being draped across his hair by Gordon behind him.

Scott sighed.

But then a little head bobbed up between his brother’s bare feet and Bo barked at Gordon quite firmly.

Virgil was obviously far too out of it to wake, but Gordon looked appropriately abashed at the challenge.

Scott found himself smiling.

Realised he was smiling, dumped the smile and frowned.

Gordon scampered off leaving a sleeping Virgil in a crown of silver tinsel.

The little dog leapt off the lounger and chased after the aquanaut.

Okay, he had to admit the dog was adorable. He could see what had captured his brother’s eye, and Scott certainly had no objection to adding to their family.

But Virgil...when Virgil loved, he loved with his whole heart, and last time he had lost a pet, it had been bad, so bad.

They had lost so much in their lives already, why volunteer to lose more?

He sighed. It was stupid to think that way, but part of him could remember that devastated teenager, the depression and the mess that followed. Virgil had been as broken as the rest of them when their mother died, but when his dog died two years later, his reaction had been so self-destructive he had needed counselling and a therapist. Scott didn’t know if the two incidents were related or if it was how his brother connected to pets, or whatever. He only knew he never wanted to see his brother go through that again.

Their father was missing, and here was Virgil with a pet once again.

Sure, he was an adult now, and had tackled so much loss since, but...

Another sigh.

A yip and he looked down to see said dog staring up at him with a mouth full of tinsel, tail wagging.

“Gordon!”

“Yesssss, masster?” His brother sidled up with a bow.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Did you want to face your brother having to tell him that his new puppy died choking on tinsel?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

The aquanaut scooped up the little dog and with gentle words extricated the tinsel from her mouth.

A moment later Gordon held her up to his cheek and Scott had the experience of two sets of brown eyes staring at him adoration.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“A puppy?” Gordon grinned at him. “She is a rather cute, isn’t she?”

“Leave it, Gordon.”

His brother frowned. “What’s chewing on your underwear?”

“Gordon-“

“Hey, it was a legit question, bro. You’re a grumpy ass on Christmas Day. Where’s the merry? We have food and there will be presents. And there is a puppy. You couldn’t ask for more cuteness.” Gordon held up Bo who attempted to lick Scott’s nose.

“Gordon-‘

“Nope, so not going down with you, bro. We’ve earned some happy. We’re all here, in one piece, it’s lovely weather. Cheer up, for goodness sake.” Despite himself, Gordon frowned. “Here have some puppy love.” And suddenly Scott found himself with his arms full of wriggling Bo. Gordon turned and walked off, eventually calling out to Alan, no doubt looking for mischief.

Bo tilted her head to one side and stared up at him.

Aw, hell, weaponised cuteness.

She jumped up and licked his nose.

Scott sighed.

Voice low. “You know, you better look after my brother. He’s a good man and he does a lot of good things.” A swallow. “He’s a little prone to heroics. Perhaps we can team up in that department and help keep his butt alive.”

Her tongue lolled out one side of her mouth and she grinned.

“Maybe try that on the Hood and solve all our problems.”

He gave in and drew her close to his chest, rubbing under her chin.

“I really hope we don’t regret this.”

-o-o-o-

“PRESENTS!”

Alan’s voice cut through his slumber and shook him awake. Wha-?

“Time to wake up, sleepy head.” Scott’s voice.

A sharp little bark.

Bo.

He flung his eyes open, and immediately squinted at the fairy lights floating in the light breeze far above. A blink and to his left a shadow formed into his eldest brother. His blue eyes were smiling as he sat on the next lounge over, holding Bo, scratching her gently. She was obviously enjoying it.

Virgil frowned. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“I was.” His brother shrugged. “I got over it.” Bo was licking Scott’s fingers.

Wow, the ability to tame the savage big brother. The little girl must be heaven-sent.

There was a whir of wheels and MAX tore out onto the patio decked out in tinsel and lugging brightly coloured presents. MiniMAX darted in behind him carrying a smaller present which was deposited carefully on the table before he disappeared inside only to return with another.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Virgil peered up at his brother before stretching the length of the lounger. Several joints cracked and the ache across his shoulders from the morning vaguely made its presence known. A yawn. “I’m fine. Just tired. This morning sucked.”

Tinsel slid down his face. He sighed and threw it off. Gordon was getting repetitive.

Scott dipped his head, attempting to hide a smile, and looked down at Bo. “True.” He scratched her under her chin one more time before offering her to him. “Here.”

Bo didn’t bother to wait for him to sit up, she bounded out of Scott’s arms and onto Virgil’s belly. “Oof.” She then danced up and down on it.

Scott grinned at him. “She’s not going to be little when she grows up.”

“Augh, she’s not little now.” He managed to capture her enough so he could sit up, but she struggled free excitedly and dashed from his arms, jumping on the lounger, just as MiniMAX buzzed over with a small present.

Bo barked at him and MiniMAX dodged to deposit the present in Virgil’s lap. He caught it, but with his hands now occupied, he wasn’t fast enough to grab Bo before she let off another bark, jumped excitedly and latched her teeth onto the little robot.

The result was immediate.

MiniMAX shrieked, several of his legs caught in the puppy’s mouth, and with a whir of rotor blades, took off madly across the patio.

With Bo hanging on.

“Bo!” Virgil dropped the present and made a grab for the pair, but missed.

Every eye turned to see what the commotion was about. Virgil stumbled over the lounger and kicked it out of the way. He was vaguely aware of Scott doing something similar. “Brains!”

MiniMAX was obviously panicking. The little robot darted about trying to shake off his assailant. Bo was whining in her throat.

Virgil dashed after them.

Despite the puppy’s weight, MiniMAX still managed a great deal of height, Brains’ ‘build ‘em tough’ policy obviously carrying through to his robots. Despite having the strength to carry the puppy, the off-balance mass hampered MiniMAX’s navigation and they were wobbling all over the place.

All Virgil could see was a tragedy in the making. The pool, the concrete, anything horribly solid. He ran beneath them, desperately attempting to reach the now whining puppy. Family members and furniture were dodged and shoved out of the way as he clambered after them.

A chair ended up in the pool. Gordon squawked and almost joined it. Virgil leapt off an empty lounge, made a grab for them, missed and ended up in the Christmas tree.

Fake pine needles jabbed him in the face as he went down in a pile of tinsel and Christmas baubles. He swore, his clothing caught, his hair caught, and his everything tangled in tinsel, but he made it to his feet just in time to see Bo let go.

“No!”

Oblivious to everything other than the puppy falling, Virgil finally got traction under his bare feet, took a running leap and grabbed Bo from the air. He instinctively wrapped himself around her, rolling in midair, tinsel and baubles flung in all directions.

As he plummeted into the pool.

The splash took his senses, muffling exclamations, and repeated shouts of his name. There was dark blue, and wet, and, for a moment, blessed silence.

Then logic reasserted itself and he kicked for the surface.

Sound, light and cool air on his skin. He blinked water out of his eyes as he lifted Bo up so she could breathe, his legs kicking to keep them afloat.

She whined at him as if to tell him off, sneezed, and began enthusiastically licking the saltwater off his face.

He couldn’t help but grin, and he knew he wasn’t the only one as laughter drifted across the water.

“You trashed the tree, Virg.”

“I don’t think he cares, Gordon.” He looked up to see Grandma smiling at him.

And no, he didn’t. As Scott poked him with a pole to help drag him to the edge and Bo decided his ear might do for her next meal, he suddenly felt joy. It could simply have been relief, but he was going to tack it up as Christmas joy and enjoy it while he could.

-o-o-o-

“Only you, Virgil.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I have no doubt of that, it never is.”

“Aw, c’mon, Scott.”

“If it was intentional then I would have to accuse you of doing it deliberately just to get out of helping with the Christmas dishes.”

“We have a dishwasher.” Bo let off a bark as MiniMAX flew past dragging a bag full of recyclable cups, plates and cutlery, giving Virgil and his dog an extremely wide berth. “And there are hardly any dishes.”

“You are still getting out of clean up.”

“C’mon, Scott, you know me better than that. Ow!”

“Sit still. I’ve almost got all of it.”

Virgil leant back against the lounge, Bo curled up in his lap. “I’m not particularly happy about this either you know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know that, Ow!”

“Well, if you would watch where you were going, you wouldn’t have collided with the Christmas tree. And what’s with the bare feet anyway?”

“Bo ate one of my boots.”

Scott snorted and pulled out yet another tiny piece of glass Christmas bauble from the bottom of Virgil’s left foot. “She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet and she has already caused havoc.”

“She’s a puppy.”

“I noticed.” Scott sighed, peering through his magnifying visor at his brother’s foot. “I think that’s all of it. Please don’t do that again. You’ll be limping for a week.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

As Scott wrapped his foot in gauze, he eyed the puppy on Virgil’s lap. “And you, young lady, I thought we had a deal.”

To Virgil’s surprise, Bo’s head bobbed up and she looked distinctly guilty.

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Hmm, don’t let it happen again.”

Bo yapped at him.

Virgil stared at both of them. “What?”

“None of your business, you just lay back and look after yourself.” And Scott was smirking.

Ooookaay.

He relaxed back against the lounge and stared up at the fairy lights above.

Bo stomped up the length of him and licked his eyeball.

He coughed up a laugh and grabbed an armful of wriggly puppy.

“I think that was a Merry Christmas, Virg.” Scott held his injured foot and grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[justauthoring]

Stuck Between (2/8)

THIS IS A SERIES: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - final

Tag’s List: @fralackles - @epicfallenismine - @interwebseriesfan24 - @weasleyswizarding-wheezes - @chaostheoryy Let me know if you’d like to be added!

Prompt: It was never a choice - rather a given. Yet the guilt flooded you, betraying all that had ever loved you. He was enticing and exciting and he brought a side out of you that you never knew had existed. 

Warnings: so I went a bit more... steamy than I usually do for my stories. I dunno just after the first part and that whole interrogation scene... it just felt right. i don’t actually have them doing anything, just explained further than i normally would... so im sorry bout that. and yes @chaostheoryy this will end with Kylo and the reader together, lol, sorry Poe fans, but there will be lots of Poe x Reader (don’t worry!) and it’ll be explained!

please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

The door slammed behind you and you flinched, still shaken by the events that had just occurred.

You’d only just gotten back to base, and after a brief meeting with General Organa, to which Poe had never left your side, you were finally back in your room. The only thing was, you could feel Poe behind you, hovering and you didn’t need to ask to know what was wrong.

He hadn’t left your side since he’d saved you and normally, you would’ve appreciated it. Poe had always been the one to help calm your nerves and ever since you joined the Resistance, you and him had been attached at the hip. It was only a matter of time before that blossomed into something more, yet, neither you nor Poe had never acted on the unspoken feelings. Rather, you just kept it as is - the ever so often touch of the shoulder, or brush of the hand. The too long of hugs and the doting stares.

That had been before.

Now... now it was all different. You don’t know why but that creature... or rather that man - you now knew that the man behind the mask was just that, a man. And you’d seen Kylo’s eyes and you don’t know what it was, but something he did just... blew you away.

And you hated it. Because he was evil and you were you and Poe was here. Poe had been everything but now that seemed to fade.

“What were you thinking?” You jumped, Poe’s comment pulling you from your thoughts. You tried to hide the way you shook and the confusion you felt, glancing over at the man who paced. Sudden guilt filled you, you’d been in trance by Kylo and Poe had been the one chasing after you. “Do you know how worried I was? How worried we all were?”

“Poe, I-”

“No, Y/N,” Poe interrupted, suddenly coming to a stop. You felt yourself freeze when his eyes met yours. “You can’t just throw yourself in danger like that.”

“I was trying to help us...” You whispered. Little had you known then that all of this would’ve happened. With the Resistance’s numbers depleting and the First Order’s growing, you’d done what you thought was right. General Organa needed information, one that would help the Resistance take a step forward, and you’d done so without permission. Now, you were back with no information and a bloody lip.

Let’s just say Leia was less than pleased, and if times weren’t so right, you probably would’ve been demoted or on suspicion.

But it seemed, Poe was just as mad.

Before you knew it, Poe had made his way to you, reaching you within seconds. You took steps back, intimidating by his piercing gaze. You knew Poe would never hurt you, even when angered he would never push you, but... you felt guilty and you weren’t about to fight back when he was right.

“I was so worried...” Poe whispered, his shoulders slumping and any tense nature dissipating within seconds.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, eyes welling. Poe noticed and his face fell. Staring down at your shaky hands, your eyes rapidly looked between the two, shaking your head. “I don’t understand what he did but...- but I can’t shake this feeling.” Poe didn’t know just what context you spoke of, luckily, but still you words concerned him. The room fell silent, nothing to be heard but your shaky breath. “I’m scared.”

You felt Poe’s hands slide up your neck, cupping your cheeks and gently pulling your gaze back up to his. He met your eye and you expected to feel that feeling you always had when Poe looked at you like that - starstruck. But all you saw were Kylo’s and it burned.

“He won’t ever touch you again.” Poe whispered, pulling you so close the both of you were only a breath away. “I won’t let him.” Slowly, Poe leaned down, capturing your lips with his. Your body stiffened in shock, the one thing you’d always wanted - for you and Poe to be more - and yet, it didn’t feel like you always thought it would.

Realizing Poe’s intent, you pushed away your darker thoughts and returned the kiss. Poe didn’t seem to noticed your hesitance and you felt his hands fall to your waist, grabbing your hips and thrusting you into himself. You moaned softly at the feeling, letting both of your hand wrap around his neck as you deepened the kiss. You wanted it but it felt wrong. This heat, this feeling... it was meant to be with another.

But that was wrong. This was all wrong.

Kylo was wrong.

Poe... Poe was the one you loved, not Kylo. Those thoughts were not your own, Kylo had the force and he could’ve easily brainwashed you to think that way. Why? You didn’t know. But it was the only thing that could’ve possibly explained the way you had felt.

Poe was here, kissing you, giving you everything that you had wished for for so many years. You loved him. 

Poe pulled away from the kiss, panting. You met his gaze and there was an unspoken conversation between you two. You wondered if he wanted to go further, if this was really going to happen.

And you needed it to be, to convince yourself.

So you leaned forward, pressing multiple kisses along Poe’s jaw. He extended his neck, allowing you two and you hungrily bit and sucked at his neck. When you pulled away, your face flushed and your body hot, Poe breathed out; “are you sure?”

“Yes,” you replied, breathless. “I have been.”

Poe didn’t need another word.

Before you knew it, he was pushing the both of you back, until you felt your legs hit your bed post and you felt back. You fell against the mattress, your head pouncing as Poe crawled a top of you. He didn’t waste another moment, pulling off his jacket and you helped him, your mind falling in a daze.

You arched your back as he begun to unzip your shirt, pulling it from under you. Then, within seconds, his lips were on your neck, doing what you had before. You moaned softly, feeling his teeth dig into yours and you were sure he left marks, but you didn’t so much care. You felt him unclasp your bra, pulling it off your arms before grabbing you by the waist and sliding further down your body.

You let him, moaning in pleasure. You let Poe do everything, because you wanted to. And you bit back every thought of Kylo, because that hadn’t been of your own free will...

right?

You felt your body shudder awake, your eyes snapping open. It took you a moment to remember the events that had happened before and glancing beside you, you noticed Poe peacefully sleeping.

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you sat up, pulling the sheets with you to cover your naked body. Though you couldn’t see yourself, you let your hands run over your neck where you’re sure proof of the night before evident. And as you thought there, you expected yourself to be more happy. Being with Poe was something you’d always wanted, ever since you two had bonded. 

Spending the night with him was something you had only dreamed of.

But yet, as you sat there, still sore from the night before and naked in your own bed, you only felt unsettled. 

You thought the feeling would’ve washed away... but it hadn’t. It made your stomach fill with butterflies, anxiously biting your lips. You couldn’t... you were just so confused, unable to think coherently. What was wrong with you?

You turned your head, glancing down at Poe. He laid on his back side, hand laid across the bed from where your body had been. Softly, you let your hand fall against his bare back, running your fingertips over his smooth but scarred skin. Poe was everything you’d always wanted in a man. He was kind, civil and incredibly brave. He never feared fighting for what he believed in and being one of the Resistance’s best pilots must have been incredibly stressful, but he always held a confident and high held head.

Poe was also incredibly kind to you. You were lucky beyond belief to be with him.

A sudden whooshing sound brought you from your thoughts and hugging the blanket tighter around yourself, you looked around for where the noise had come from. But then suddenly, the image of black appeared in the corner of your eye and snapping your gaze forward, you found Kylo. Only it wasn’t him, almost like an image of him. He was there but wasn’t.

Your eyes widened and you brought your knees up to your chest, hugging yourself as you suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. Your words were caught in your throat and you found yourself unable to say anything as his eyes slowly grazed yours.

“Y/N.” He said, as if this wasn’t the oddest thing in the world.

“How...” You mumbled, utterly confused. “How are you...?”

“The force.” Kylo clarified, nodding at you. “It’s connected us.”

“The force...” You repeated. “I don’t-”

“Oh but you do.” Kylo interrupted, his lips quivering ever so slightly into what you could only figure his thought of a smile. “I felt it, the moment I met you. The force is strong with you.” You always felt something well within you, as if just a object stuck there, but you had never thought more about it. You never would’ve guessed the force to be something that you would have or well, be able to use.

“Am I interrupting something?” 

You flushed, pulling the bed sheets tighter around yourself and glancing briefly at Poe. You were lucky he hadn’t woken yet.

“What is this?” You asked, turning to Kylo with fearful eyes. “How are we...?”

“There is no reason to be afraid, Y/N.” Kylo spoke, ever so calm. You hated how confused he made you feel. “I will not harm you. Ever.”

“My lip,” you said, softly touching the busted lip. “That was you.”

“That was my men,” Kylo clarified. “I told them to leave you unharmed but it seemed you struggled more than I had anticipated.” You furrowed his brows, had he thought you would just give up and let you take him?

“Of course I struggled,” you whispered angrily, desperate not to wake up Poe. Would he even see Kylo? “You were kidnapping me.”

“I was merely showing you were you truly belong.” Kylo’s eyes fell to Poe and you felt your chest tighten. “It’s a shame really, but all to soon you will be with me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You spat, tightening the grip you held on, currently, your own cover from Kylo’s eyes. “I will never join the First Order, and you’re crazy if you think I will. I am a Resistance fighter and always will be.”

Kylo nodded, as if your words were only a tale to him. “I’ve seen it. You will join me.”

You opened your mouth to say something but a hand falling on your back interrupted you. “Y/N?” Turning around with wide eyes, you found Poe slowly sitting up in bed, looking at you. You briefly glanced back in the place Kylo had been only to find him gone, as if he’d never been there. “You okay?”

“Fine...” You whispered, barely noticed Poe wrap his arms around your waist and pressed his head into the crook of your neck.

“Sure?”

“Yeah...” You mumbled, staring at the now vacant area Kylo had once been. Even though you could no longer see him, it still felt as if he was there.

Part three? Let me know! I had a lot of fun writing this, so please leave feedback!

[nctsworld]

backseat lovin’

✩ mark x reader | smut | car sex | 1.7k

→ summary: mark finally gets his license and buys a new car. to celebrate, he decides to christen the new car with you in the backseat. based off of johnny and mark’s collab, bad smell. → warnings: smut, car sex, pwp, intimacy, public sex(ish), oral sex (female giving), mutual m*sturbation (fingering and hand job simultaneously), finger sucking, unprotected sex, suspension of disbelief because let’s be real will mark actually ever get his license

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Stepping out of your apartment building under the clear, night sky, you beam as you’re greeted by the familiar, handsome figure fitted with a blazer, trousers to match, and a complimenting dress shirt.

Your boyfriend, Mark, coolly leans his back against the side of a car you haven’t seen before, but you’re aware it’s his newest purchase. The second he received his full license, he took advantage of it and quickly bought a sleek, luxury car that matched his taste.

With crossed arms and his usual charming grin, he nods to welcome you.

“Like my new ride?” he inquires, pulling you in by your hips. A small kiss is exchanged, followed by a soft giggle.

“You know I’m more concerned about you crashing it more than anything,” you comment as Mark opens the door for you.

“Hey, I’m a safe driver!” he defensively interjects. “I promise not to crash the car, especially with you in it.”

Leaning your chin on his hand holding the top of the door car, your eyebrows knitted together, “That doesn’t make me feel any safer, Mark.”

Another peck on your lips. “I promise to keep you safe, babe.”

Although you jest, deep down, you know Mark’s words rang true. You lower yourself into the vehicle and sit comfortably into the passenger seat, inhaling the scent of the fresh, pleather seats, before adding, “And to answer if I like your new ride or not—”

With his grip still on the car door, Mark drops his head to meet your face. There’s a glint in your eyes. You whisper lowly:

“It’s a pretty nice car, but you know I’d rather be riding something else.”

You both hold each other’s gaze for just a beat. Playfully, you bite your lip slightly and in a similar vein, he cocks an eyebrow as a corner of his mouth quirks up.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

After a dinner filled with great company and much joy, you two decide that you don’t want the night to end just yet. Mutually, you agree to park the car in the isolated, barely lit neighbourhood near your apartment complex.

The car’s turned off, save for Mark’s music playing in the background. You face each other, seatbelts off, under the partial moonlight and glance at each other anticipatingly. Soon enough, both of you meet each other in the middle, floating over the centre console of the car. It starts off slow. Purposeful, long kisses. His thumb rubbing and caressing your cheek. Your fingers lightly tugging at his dress shirt.

Promptly, things revs up more. The kisses and touches grow more desperate and needier. Carefully, you attempt to shift onto his seat over the center console, but after the few failed attempts, it dawns on you that it’s impossible.

“Back seat?”

You’re not even sure if Mark replies to you properly because the both of you transitioned into the backseat without hesitation. The doors close behind you two and for a moment, you admire each other’s features.

Your beloved’s hair is beginning to be more messy, in contrast to the slickness from the beginning of the date. His collar isn’t fixed and proper anymore, thanks to you. A lopsided, coy smile is plastered on his face that warms you from head to toe.

Mark tucks one of the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Notices how your eyes shine brighter than the evening’s moon, which shake him to the core. How lucky was he to have you in his life?

Both of you break from the trance when he stretches out to drag you in for more long, deep kisses. You’re entangled with his body, and just as much entwined with him through his heart. During it all, the sides of your bodies lean comfortably against the seats.

His hint of cologne, mixed with the new car smell, intoxicates your senses further. You’re then back at the breaking point from before in the front seat, proven by your grinds against his body with your hips. He reciprocates and you swear you feel his now hardened length against your body.

“Do you wanna…?” he trails off breathlessly, inches apart from your face.

You sigh back, “Aren’t you worried about the car seats?”

“Eh,” Mark squints his eyes, nodding side to side with an agape mouth, prior to a shrug, “Not really.”

Shaking your head at his careless desires, you laugh into the next kiss and accept his question by reaching for his blazer to remove it off his body. In between the embraces, the lanky boy manages to lift your shirt up to have easier access to your breasts. The contact begins with delicate kneads, extracting pleasurable mewls from you.

Next, he pushes your bra up above your chest, which causes you to gasp in shock from the action and the cool air against your bare skin. Immediately, his mouth leaves kisses across your breasts and he makes his way to take in one of your pointed nubs. You sigh blissfully as he does so, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Mark ensures to please you evenly, giving attention to your other peak as well.

You embrace each other a bit more, fingers roaming in sweet crooks and spaces of your familiar bodies. To get the ball rolling, you break away momentarily to hastily remove your bra, top, and underwear, yet keep your skirt on to give a sense of decency as you two were technically still in public domain.

Similarly, he uses the time to frantically drag his pants down to his ankles and then begins to unbutton his dress shirt, but doesn’t manage to finish nor take it off entirely as a result of you already reaching for his free cock.

His body reacts in a burst of groan, as your touch was awaited for all night long. Sitting next to him with your legs curled on the seat, you start your strokes at a reasonable pace, taking your time with him. As you wet your lips, readying to suck him off, you note how Mark’s position of sitting in the seat like normal seemed uncomfortable; his lanky legs are constricted in the limited space. You reach over the front seat to adjust the seat further up, allowing more room for your lover. A sudden smack against your ass echoes in the car and you yelp.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” he grumbles with a smirk you see once you turn around.

He adds a quick thank you when you arrive back to arrange the side of your body to be parallel with the seats. With your ass up in the air, you lick his hardness a few times until you decide to take him fully into your mouth. His head jerks back and a low moan releases. The moonlight hits your face perfectly while he watches in amazement with every flick of your tongue, each suck, each glance up at him.

Your love pets you gingerly, running a listless hand through your hair. His hand runs down to the curvature of your back, followed by your ass, then finally reaches its destination; he inserts a finger between your dripping sex. Moans trickle and vibrate onto his erection, adding more to the gratification of his body. A finger becomes two, and he’s showing off by utilizing his arm strength. At this point, you have to force yourself to take more breathers between bobs due to the overstimulation of your body.

To match him, you stroke him faster and play with his tip more. He shivers from the sensitivity, but you know exactly how to please him—when to rub the head, when to grip harder at the base, when to slow the pace to tease him, and especially when he’s getting close.  

“Fuck,” Mark huskily calls out your name and you draw your hand back, knowing he doesn’t want to come just yet (nor does he actually want stains on the seats). His fingers retreat from you, and he holds up his hand to save his wet fingers for later and to carefully not get it on the pleather.

After a short moment to calm Mark’s body down a bit, you impatiently rush to straddle him, seize his cock again, rub it against your folds to find your entrance, then ease himself into you.

Once he enters you, he seethes and loves the sensation of your raw sex encircling his. Having hands around his neck for balance, you let yourself free and bounce up and down ardently on him. His inches penetrate you deeply, almost making you doubt that you can take his all, but you persist and ride him with might.

Mark peers up at you, indulging in the way you can’t look away from how you’re riding his cock. You notice his gaze upon you and both parties are now hotly panting against each other’s faces. You maneuver your hands away from his neck; one hand traces downwards to his exposed chest and the other grips part of his shoulders. Since your mouth is already agape, Mark uses the opportunity to insert his still wet fingers in there. You obediently suck your own sweet juices off his fingers, maintaining eye contact with him.

If Mark wasn’t at his hardest, he definitely was now.

Upon releasing his fingers from your pretty mouth, you fasten your pace on Mark’s length. The erotic image of your tits bouncing with each thrust you make along with the bliss among your face stains Mark’s mind. Although it’s inevitable, he really doesn’t want this to end. To see you in ecstasy, and to be able to be the one to give it to you, is something he wants to do until the end of time.

Both of your moans grow heavier. Hearts beat faster. The knot in your lower stomach rising, tightening vigorously. And you’re the first to reach culmination; you shudder and come undone all over his erection. Regardless, you don’t stop bouncing.

“Tell me when you’re close,” the raspy command escapes from you, and Mark nods with fluttering eyes. He grasps harder around your waist, feeling himself nearing climax.

“I’m close,” he barely breathes. Still hovering his thighs, you remove yourself from him, feeling a sad emptiness once you do. However, it was your turn to return the favour for Mark, so you stroke him off beside your thigh, preparing for his surrender. In mere seconds, he hastily relents, coming on the inner part of your leg.

Following the clean-up, you redress, cuddle for a bit, then exchange good-nights when he drops you off around the corner in front of your apartment.

After that night, as per usual, you thought you wouldn’t have the chance to see Mark for a while due to his schedules.

To your surprise, he drove by three more times that week to meet up with you.

And every night he came by, it always ended off in the backseat of his new car.

[redvsvblue]

Another repost from shit I submitted to dikdickdik; unchanged, may be a repeat. 

Some very NSFW Jeremwood ft. spanking, pain play, a cock ring, and overstimulation (and the start of aftercare). All completely consensual between them. 

Jeremy kisses him hard, sinking his teeth into Ryan's lower lip to make him moan and cling eagerly to Jeremy's shoulders while Jeremy backs them towards the bed.

He fists a hand in Ryan's hair, roughly tugs him away and pushes him down to sit on the bed, twists his fingers to make Ryan's eyelids flutter. Ryan's legs spread easily to let Jeremy stand between them, his eyes wide as Jeremy tilts his head a little.

Jeremy touches the knuckles of his other hand to Ryan's jaw, notes the sharp inhale and the sudden flush that gets him. Brushes his fingers over where he's going to aim as a warning. Ryan meets his eyes and nods, palming himself to show Jeremy how turned on he is. Jeremy curls his hand into a fist, taps his knuckles twice against Ryan's jaw before winding up.

He lets his fingers slip from Ryan's hair the moment his fist connects with Ryan's jaw, not the hardest punch he can give but definitely up there, and Ryan's teeth click together as he rocks back onto his hands. A moment later he collapses onto his back, panting while he rolls onto his knees – Jeremy climbs on behind him, briefly admires the red mark on Ryan's jaw before shoving his shoulders down so he's flat against the bed, his hips hiked up to Jeremy's.

Ryan moans again and Jeremy works his jeans open, glad to find Ryan's cock hard and leaking already, dripping onto the sheets as Jeremy quickly strokes him – Ryan's hands fist the sheets and Jeremy decides he wants more of those pretty, pained noises, shoves Ryan up the bed and yanks his jeans and underwear down unceremoniously to expose him.

“Want more?” Jeremy asks, running his hands over Ryan's thighs, spreading him a little more so his balls hang heavy between his legs, his dick shiny with pre-come.

“Yes, Jeremy, god,” Ryan pants, burying his face in the sheets and rocking back against Jeremy's hands. Jeremy grins and kneads the skin under his palms before bringing one hand back to swat at Ryan's ass, twitching in his jeans at the startled yip that gets him.

“Harder?” Jeremy asks. Ryan groans and shudders.

Jeremy rises up on his knees to properly hit Ryan now, flattening his palm against Ryan's ass and then swiftly bringing his hand back and spanking him harder – Ryan jolts forward and moans and nods and Jeremy repeats the move, leaving handprints with every strike. Each slap pushes out a noise and those tight, muffled moans only make Jeremy harder, his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He pauses to work himself out of his fly, groaning at the relief and giving himself a few strokes to ease the pressure. Ryan shakes his hips and Jeremy pinches his thigh in admonishment. Ryan's thighs and ass are bright red from the hits, must be sore to the touch and his strained whine at the next brush of Jeremy's fingers confirms that.

Jeremy secures a grip on Ryan's hips and manhandles him onto his back, rolling him over so Jeremy can deal with his front. Ryan whimpers and reaches for Jeremy, tugging him up with one hand in his shirt and Jeremy follows easily, eagerly licking into Ryan's slack mouth and biting again at his lip, scraping over it to make it redden and swell.

“Wanna fuck me?” He asks, grins at the nails that dig into his shoulders.

“Oh, please,” Ryan breathes, hips jerking up reflexively. Jeremy wraps his fingers around Ryan's cock and starts pulling, twisting around the wet head and squeezing tight all up the shaft.

“Jeremy,” Ryan moans, pressing his head back into the pillows and fucking up into Jeremy's fist, “I'm not – 'm not gonna last if you – oh fuck – if you do that.”

Jeremy smirks and takes his hand away, lightly batting at Ryan's dick with the back of his hand.

“You can come whenever you like,” he says, “I'll just have to get you hard again.”

Ryan sucks in a breath and whimpers when Jeremy pinches his hip.

Jeremy settles back on his knees and shoves Ryan's legs open more, harshly raking his nails down his inner thigh to make Ryan's cock twitch and leak. Ryan's fingers grasp the sheets again and Jeremy dances his fingers up his dick, drags the edge of his nail down the underside and grins at Ryan's sharp moan.

He sits back on his heels and slowly jerks himself off while he considers Ryan, flushed and panting and completely at his mercy, thinking about what he could do to him. Ryan stares back, eyeing Jeremy's cock and wetting his lips suggestively. A nice image. Jeremy thinks maybe he'll do that after Ryan's second orgasm, when he's loose and pliant and his throat is so easy to fuck into.

Right now, though, Jeremy flips Ryan back over again, pushing him down onto his chest and tugging his hips up to spread his legs wide.

“You want lube or spit?” Jeremy asks. In response, Ryan reaches over to the drawers and Jeremy grins as Ryan tosses a new bottle of lube down by his knee. So he wants it messy tonight, huh?

Jeremy flips open the cap, tears off the seal and uses one hand to spread Ryan's ass while pouring a very liberal amount of lube over his hole with the other. Ryan jumps at the cold touch of it and shivers when Jeremy slips his fingers through the mess, rubbing briefly over Ryan's hole as he sets down the bottle.

He pets over Ryan's thighs to relax him, drags his dry palms down hot red skin and gently squeezes his knees before travelling back up. Ryan pants into the sheets and Jeremy taps twice against his ass before winding back and hitting it, Ryan's abrupt moan like music to his ears. Jeremy spanks him again, alternates his harder hits with softer ones, pinches over Ryan's trembling thighs. Ryan moans and hides his face in the sheets again, twitching with every strike and dripping pre-come in a sticky string down to the bed, his shirt damp with sweat between his shoulder blades.

Jeremy rubs the sting of his last hit into Ryan's ass and spreads it with his other hand, watching lube slide down over his balls and onto the sheets. He blows over Ryan's hole to watch it twitch and then taps it lightly with two fingers – Ryan clutches the sheets and groans and Jeremy swats him with two fingers, gradually increasing the force the more Ryan moans and shakes. He adds another finger and hits him hard enough for the skin to bloom red, his dick leaking steadily as Jeremy ups the pace.

During a brief respite, Jeremy eases his thumb into Ryan, hooking it down and tugging a little to gape Ryan's hole and Ryan cries out hoarsely at the burn, rocks back for more and Jeremy just fucks him with his thumb and withdraws it to spank his hole again. He has to take a moment to touch himself, kneading Ryan's ass as he jacks himself a bit – forces his hand away before he gets too close because he doesn't want to come just yet but Ryan makes the prettiest noises, small whines and whimpers that go straight to Jeremy's cock.

Jeremy switches between his thumb and the spanking for another few moments, and when Ryan's properly worked up, shivering and dripping and when Jeremy glances over, drooling into the sheets, Jeremy shoves his thumb all the way in to the base, twists it around to draw a ragged moan from Ryan and this time when he pulls out Ryan's whine is completely pathetic, needy and high and Jeremy knows it'll only take a few more hits to drive him over the edge.

He fondles Ryan's balls a little, rolls them between his fingers and pulls the tiniest amount to make Ryan's spine arch. It's gorgeous, as he always is, especially when he's strung out and desperate, Jeremy's name falling from his lips on the tail end of every other moan.

Jeremy spanks Ryan's ass hard and then focuses solely on his hole, hitting as hard as Ryan can take and groaning at the instinctive flutter-clench of Ryan's hole. The skin darkens and Ryan's whining near continuously now, hips jolting away from the pain and back into it, and on a particularly hard hit he comes completely untouched, whimpering loudly as he shoots messy over the sheets, his dick flushed and twitching and his balls drawn up tight, thighs trembling and shaking with every spurt.

Jeremy slows to gentle taps, rubs slow circles around Ryan's hole as Ryan comes down, quivering all over and still drooling into the sheet. He hooks a thumb in Ryan, tugs a little to provoke a shudder, and pulls away to roll Ryan over, away from the mess. Ryan flops on his back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his cheeks red enough to match his ass. Jeremy sweeps his hands over Ryan's thighs and ignores his own aching cock to settle him, leaning over to press sweet kisses over his clothed chest and his sweaty neck.

“Still want more?” Jeremy asks, wiping away the spit on Ryan's chin and kissing him. Ryan nods eagerly and grasps at Jeremy's arms, holding him in place while they kiss.

Jeremy pulls back to shimmy out of his clothes, kicking off his jeans and returning to straddle Ryan's thighs, sitting back on them with a smirk. He glances down at Ryan's dick, still half-hard against his hip and a less dangerous shade of red. Ryan sets his hands on Jeremy's thighs and Jeremy reaches over him for the drawer, pulling out a cock ring and pointedly putting it down on Ryan's chest. Ryan sucks in a breath and Jeremy lightly brushes over the sticky head of his cock, grinning at the hiss it gets him.

“Looks like you blew your load already,” he teases, swiping his thumb over the slit. “Guess I'll just have to get you ready again.”

Ryan groans low in the back of his throat. Jeremy grinds his knuckles against the base of Ryan's dick and sucks in a breath at the harsh buck of Ryan's hips.

Oh, this'll be fun.

Jeremy kneads Ryan's cock until there's tears springing up in his pretty blue eyes, staring up at Jeremy before turning his face to the side to press his cheek into the bed, a strangled moan slipping out as his body shakes. The ring bounces on his chest and Jeremy gives him a break from the stroking, instead runs his hands up Ryan's sides and rakes his nails down to make him shiver, his fingers digging into Jeremy's thighs.

Ryan moans again and Jeremy grabs the lube, slicks up two of his fingers while Ryan watches, his mouth parted and cheeks flushed. Jeremy returns one hand to the soft head of Ryan's dick, gently rolling his palm over it as he rises up on his knees and reaches around himself with his other hand, prodding two fingers up against his hole. The pained whimpers muffled in Ryan's throat make him twitch and ache and Jeremy shifts to wrap his hand around both of them, the sudden friction tearing a whine from Ryan as he slowly hardens again, his eyes wet and teeth sunk into his lower lip.

Jeremy cracks a smug grin, ruins it a moment later by edging a finger into himself and cursing at the slight burn – Ryan's hips jolt and Jeremy's quick to take his hand away, pinching him on the hip as a warning before going back to stroking. He takes it a little faster than Ryan would, twists his finger best he can and spears himself open on two, crooking them to hit his prostate with the backs of his knuckles. It's not satisfying, not nearly, but Ryan's quiet noises help with that, tight and strained as his cock jerks in Jeremy's grip. Ryan's hard again, hot with oversensitivity.

Ryan's fingers suddenly bend and his nails bite into Jeremy's thighs, his eyebrows knitted and forehead creased as he watches Jeremy fuck himself open. There's lube smeared on Jeremy's thighs where he overestimated how much he'd need, sticky and uncomfortable but he hardly cares as he eases in another finger, groaning at the stretch.

Jeremy rolls his hips down and gives up his hold on Ryan's dick to brace himself on his ribs, gasping hotly as he presses against his prostate. He can't quite get as deep as he likes, but Ryan'll help out there, he knows, sink in deep and thorough and if Jeremy let him control the pace he know Ryan would fuck him hard and sweet, leave wet kisses over his mouth and jaw as Jeremy comes all over himself.

If Jeremy let him control it. An if that's not going to happen tonight – Jeremy slowly withdraws his fingers, bites back a low, disappointed noise at the loss, and sits back on Ryan's thighs, snags the cock ring with one hand and steadies Ryan's cock with the other. He grins up at Ryan and strokes him until Ryan's leaking again, his moans escalating into near sobs as pre-come drips over Jeremy's knuckles and his hips buck desperately, trying to twist away but held fast by Jeremy's weight.

Jeremy works him over until he's a sweating, panting mess again, until his jaw flexes and he can't help the string of sounds leaving his mouth and Jeremy almost considers letting him come again. Almost. Except he knows he won't be able to get Ryan up again and Jeremy hasn't put all this work into prepping himself just to ride a toy.

So he holds Ryan steady and promptly rolls the ring down, sucking in a breath at the desperate cry Ryan makes, his nails dragging painfully over Jeremy's thighs as he turns his face into the pillow. The ring fits snugly at the base, keeping him hard and unable to come and god, Jeremy's never heard a hotter noise than the pathetic whimper Ryan gives when Jeremy liberally slicks him with lube.

Ryan's hands slip up to cradle his hips and Jeremy inhales deeply before rising up above him and lining him up, breathing out slowly as he presses the head against himself and starts to sink down, stops briefly when he's halfway there and then continues at Ryan's choked plea. Jeremy grinds down against him and shudders at the stretch, just as hot and thick and deep as he knew it would be.

“Shit, that feels good Ry,” he pants, rocking forward to test the ache. “Always fuck me so good, don'tcha?”

“Please, Jeremy,” Ryan moans, his hips twitching fitfully. Fuck, can't even come and he's begging – Jeremy has to grip himself at the base. “Please, move, you're – ohhhh - “

Jeremy manages a shaky smirk when he's slid all the way up, Ryan's dick barely still in him, and this time he drops a little faster – it sends a sharp ache through him, too much too fast, but he soothes it with a slow figure-eight, jacks himself to let pleasure override the burn.

When he's good and ready, adjusted to the thick weight of Ryan and Ryan's palms are sweating against his hips, he lifts up and sinks down, and repeats, building up a slow, shallow rhythm that makes Ryan's back arch a little. There's shuffling as Ryan brings his knees up, digs his heels into the bed to fuck up and meet Jeremy thrust for thrust, panting as Jeremy clenches around him.

Jeremy lets himself get close again before planting both his hands on Ryan's ribs, riding him a bit faster now, dropping down harder and squeezing as much as he can to drag out more of those pained moans. Ryan's trembling finely all over, huffing out these sharp groans and grunts while he tightens his grip on Jeremy's hips, guiding him up and down and the muscles in his arms flexing with each tug.

Suddenly one of Ryan's hands leaves and Jeremy's watching his midsection crunch up as Ryan pushes himself up on one hand, still fucking Jeremy down and the change in angle forces out a loud groan from Jeremy – he looks up to see Ryan staring at him with wide eyes, his lips wrecked from his teeth and eyes crinkled in pain, and he leans in to clumsily connect their mouths. Jeremy gladly kisses back, swallowing all those hurt little whimpers while Ryan licks into his mouth.

“You gonna come?” Jeremy asks, grinning wickedly as Ryan presses his mouth to Jeremy's cheek and whines. He nods frantically and harshly yanks Jeremy's hips down flush, grinding up into him in these desperate little circles that rub up perfectly against Jeremy's prostate.

“Wanna come,” Ryan says with a wavering voice, sucking in a breath that sounds a lot like a sob when Jeremy deliberately clenches. “Please, Jeremy - “

Jeremy gently pushes him back down on his back, but not before pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek, and Ryan flops easily onto the bed.

“Don't worry, I'll let you come,” Jeremy says, a tad breathlessly, and sits back on his heels before rising up, grabbing Ryan's cock as it slips out of him and fumbling off the ring one-handed. He takes a moment to jack Ryan a bit, peering down to watch more pre-come drool from the slit, smearing sticky over the lube coating him.

Jeremy discards the ring and steadies Ryan again to slide down, this time rolling his hips to get Ryan to bump up against his prostate and squeezing to make Ryan cry out and fuck up. Ryan's panting turns to near continuous sound, pained and pinched as he thrusts into Jeremy, his fingers shaking and hands slipping in sweat – Jeremy scrapes his nails over Ryan's ribs, leans forward to drag one around a nipple and Ryan's shoulders hunch up as he comes, shooting inside Jeremy and twisting to bury his face in the pillow, near-sobs wrenched out of him with every spurt.

When Ryan finally turns his face to catch his breath Jeremy sees he is crying, a few tears staining the pillow as he desperately sucks in air and jolts violently at every shudder that runs through him, his eyes slamming shut while he bucks up into Jeremy. It's absolutely stunning how thoroughly he lets Jeremy ruin him, how much he loves all this shit and how even when his sobs quiet to soft, pained moans he's still trying to keep Jeremy close, holding him down and shaking. Jeremy's dick throbs at the sight and he pulls up off of Ryan, shuffling up the bed while Ryan whimpers at the loss and turns his head to look up at him.

Jeremy straddles his chest and wraps his clean fingers around himself, stroking fast as Ryan blinks up at him, his mouth slack and open and he dips to brush his lip against the head, catching some of Jeremy's pre-come on his tongue.

“Oh fuck, gonna – can I fuck your mouth, Ryan, gonna let me?” Jeremy gasps, and Ryan's answer is to drop his jaw open more, rest his head back and let Jeremy rise up on his knees, slide a couple of inches into Ryan's slack, pink mouth.

“'M close, 'm close,” he mutters, jacking what's not between Ryan's lips. “Not gonna take long, shit, you got me so close.”

Ryan tries to seal his lips around Jeremy but he's too fucked out and hazy to get it right, and the angle's shit and they're not in the greatest position.

“Don't worry about it,” Jeremy pants, looking at Ryan's watery blue eyes to get his point across. Ryan lets his mouth fall slack again, grunting a little as Jeremy fucks shallowly in.

Jeremy groans loudly as his thighs tense up, his hand blurring over himself as he thrusts against Ryan's tongue and comes over it, pulling up to avoid choking Ryan. Everything goes relaxed with the release, all the tension melting out of his shoulders as he shoots messy over Ryan's lips, down his throat. It looks filthy, the pink stained with white.

“Fuck, Ryan, that's hot,” Jeremy says, working out the last few drops with a shudder and a moan, slipping out of Ryan's mouth before scooting back down his body. Ryan swallows – fuck – and licks Jeremy's come off his lips, closing his eyes as he lifts his arms up to stretch.

Jeremy leans down over him, cups his jaw with his clean hand and presses a kiss to his closed mouth. Ryan hums and opens underneath him, wrapping his arms around Jeremy. He's loose and lazy, thoroughly fucked out and flushed all over in the aftermath. Jeremy shifts to sit between Ryan's legs, pulls away from his mouth to kiss down his neck, his chest. He kisses over the bruise purpling up Ryan's jaw, runs a hand adoring down his side and spends plenty of time brushing his lips down Ryan's happy trail where his shirt's rucked up, carefully avoids his soft, sensitive cock before kissing down his thighs. Ryan murmurs something and places a hand on Jeremy's head, following his movements as Jeremy kisses sweetly over the burning hot skin on the backs of his thighs, bright red from Jeremy's hand. Jeremy makes a note to get the cooling cream after their shower.

Ryan pulls a little and Jeremy lets him guide him back up, dropping kisses over Ryan's hip on his way. He settles on his elbows, presses his forehead to Ryan's.  

“You okay?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan nods, eyes still closed as a slow smile creeps onto his face.

“'M amazing,” he murmurs, and Jeremy laughs quietly, plants another kiss on his mouth.

“Let me get you into a shower?” Jeremy asks, lowering himself to press their chests together, get as much skin-to-skin as he can.

“Only if you come with me,” Ryan mumbles.

“Of course,” Jeremy says. Like he's going to let Ryan be alone for more than two minutes right now. He presses his arms either side of Ryan's chest in a sort-of hug, noses at his cheek and feels a pleasant thrill trip through him at the feel of dried tears. God, Ryan's amazing to let him ruin him like this.

“Love you, Ry,” he says.

“Mm, love you, too,” Ryan replies, curling an arm around him and nuzzling into his neck.

Jeremy relaxes into it for a few minutes – yes, there's come leaking out of his ass and they're both sweaty and gross and lube is drying everywhere, but this is more important right now, pressed together as Ryan comes back down to earth. Jeremy grounds himself with his cheek smushed to Ryan's hair and hums quietly, enjoying the sensation of Ryan's hand stroking down his spine.

[winedwords]

AJ| Beware |Styles

Title; Beware

Words;~2700

Pairing; AJ Styles/Reader

Summary; Someone told me to stay away from things that aren’t yours. But is he yours if he wanted me so bad?

Warnings; NSFW. Adultery, cheating, older married man/younger woman, oral sex, no happy endings.

A/N: repost from the old blog

“I can’t resist you. I wait for you. I want you. I would do anything for you.”

Another night, another hotel room.

After years of being in this business, they all looked the same.

Especially when you’re wrapped around the love of your life.

It was the same over bleached sheets, the same scratchy comforter, the same too soft mattress, but none of that mattered. The titles, the work drama, the constant travel, the loneliness, it all melted away while we were here, in the sanctuary that the hotel room provided. These walls would never tell what we were doing.

Countless nights had been spent like this, feverishly undressing each other and flinging our clothes to the ether, with no cares in the world within the privacy of the hotel room. Each caress of revealed flesh was calculated and practiced, enough to leave us panting and burning for more.

Tonight though… Tonight had so much more urgency to it, the air heavy with tension and need. This was going to be the last time and I needed to commit everything about him to memory. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he tasted; I wanted it all seared into my memory. I wanted what we did tonight to echo in my flesh for years, so that when it all came crashing down, I would at least have this to keep me warm.

Since I couldn’t have him, not fully.

He wasn’t perturbed by how aggressively I pushed him to the mattress, giving a groan as I settled between his thick thighs and licked a stripe across his pubic bone. His breath hitched and his hips gave a stuttered thrust when I wrapped my lips around the thick head of his cock. I glanced up to those bright blue eyes that had darkened exponentially, my cheeks hollowed out and tongue tracing the underside of his cock. His long hair was tousled, mouth gaped open, broad chest heaving, the very image of him had me wet and aching. A large hand grabbed a tight fistful of hair at the nape of my neck and I needed no further encouragement. With a deep breath in and eyes closed in concentration, I surged my head forward, not stopping till my nose touched the soft skin of his belly.

“Fuckin’ shit, (Y/N)…”

I looked back up to make eye contact and gave as much of a smile as a girl can with a mouthful of cock. He’d looked like he wanted to say something else, but only a grunt came out as I withdrew, my tongue working wickedly along the length of him. Every gasp, groan, and murmured praise urged me on, to increase my pace, to make every bob of my head, each twist of my wrist, and swirl of my tongue count that much more.

There is nothing like the power of being able to reduce a man to a writhing and moaning mess with just your mouth and your hands. It was intoxicating to watch him shudder and gasp at the sensations I was able to elicit from his body. I reached between my legs with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his cock to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves with my fingers. The first touch against myself made me moan, the vibrations had his hips thrusting his cock up into my mouth.

“Darlin’, I love your mouth, but I want to be in that sweet pussy of yours.”

I slowly released his cock from my mouth, but making sure to increase the suction towards the head. He gave a full body shudder before I let him out of my mouth with a pop and a coy smirk on my face. The brunette man reached over to the small end table and produced a small rectangle of foil. I was quick to swipe it from his hands and tear it open with my teeth. It was with a waggle of my eyebrows that I placed the condom at the tip of his cock and used my mouth to push the rubber down the length of his cock. I had to fight back my gag reflect at the taste of the latex and the press of his cock to the back of my throat until my face was pressed up against the soft skin of his lower abdomen.

Once the rubber was secured, I settled over him and positioned the head of his cock at the apex of my thighs and I paused, drinking in the image of his prone form beneath my thighs. My gaze lingered too long, because his face became concerned. Before he could get a word out edge wise, I snapped my hips downwards, enveloping his entire cock in one fell swoop.

I hissed at the burning stretch of his cock as he groaned when he bottomed out within me. I left no time for either of us to recover, setting a demanding pace. Each crash of my hips against his sent him deeper inside of me, my bouncing tits and punishing tempo left him breathless, pain and pleasure sparking into all of my nerve endings. Both of his hands moved to grip my hips, guiding my almost desperate bucking.

“What’s the rush, darlin’, we got all night.”

My bouncing and rocking became more erratic at his growled words, the tension coiling in my abdomen reaching critical mass.

“Please fuck me harder and don’t be nice. Please, oh fuck.”

His eyes widened in shock for just a moment, before his features turned predatory at my words.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back with both legs over his shoulders as he repeatedly impaled me with himself. It took but a couple moments before I was screaming my release to heavens, my body clenching down on his intruding cock. He cursed, but kept his brutal rhythm, fucking me right through my orgasm.

My body was shuddering under his intimate assault, his mouth and beard leaving angry marks across my neck and my chest. The torment that he was inflicting was a pleasurable pain and my over sensitive flesh was already gearing up for another release.

His thrusts were becoming erratic and we both shouted again, my vision growing fuzzy.

“Can we just stay like this forever? Just the two of us?”

I knew that this was a bad decision, a decision that would haunt me for possibly the rest of my life. I knew how I felt, how this started, everything was wrong.

He had been married for almost as long as I had been alive. He had four children, was sixteen years my senior, and was the face that ran the place. He had a lot of pull in this company, both among the roster and with management. He was widely acknowledged to be the best damn performer in the business, had been for years. He was nowhere near ever being mine, I never had a chance.

If we were found out, I would never work in this business again. I would be ruined and all the work I had put into making my childhood dream a reality would be for naught.

If we were found out, he’d be given a slap on the wrist and life for him would continue on.

When we had met, I was a vivacious twenty one year old upstart in developmental. William Regal kept saying that I was his favorite headache, and I took a strange amount of pride in that. I was brash and fearless, the world was my oyster and I had everything at my fingertips. Anything I wanted, I went after and failure was never an option.

He wasn’t any different.

He was the forbidden fruit. He was a hazard to me and my sanity. He was everything I wasn’t supposed to chase.

He’d walked into the performance center as a guest trainer and all eyes were on him. How couldn’t they be? He was a living legend. He’d done pretty much everything  there was to do in this business and been all over the world. It was one look in those brilliant blue eyes and I was done for.

We had resisted of course, trying to sate the feelings of lust and desire and want with just heated stares and the innocent brushing of hands at crowded work functions or when he was in the ring teaching. Each encounter seemed to end with the both of us needing to use the bathrooms to furiously rub out an orgasm with clenched teeth biting back moans or ice cold showers.

The tension was thick between us, even if we had barely spoken a word to each other privately. It took the Suplex Incident for him to start avoiding being in the ring one on one with me during training, always suggesting that I be paired with another coach. That had irritated me to no end and I went out of my way to earn his attention and praise. I had worked harder and longer than my peers just to feel his eyes on me. I lived for the kind words and encouragement when he spared them for me.

Our paths crossed rarely and sporadically, given the different touring schedules of NXT and the main roster. If I saw him in passing once a month, let alone him being at the Performance Center for an extended period of time, I could almost immediately feel my pulse race and an uncomfortable throbbing begin between my thighs.

Nothing happened until after I came to the Smackdown main roster.

“I love you, darlin’. I just can’t leave her yet, it would make things too hard at work and for us.”

I wasn’t prepared for her to slide into the booth across from me.  I had looked up from my phone and I could feel all of the blood rush out of my face.

I wasn’t ready for her. I wasn’t ready to face the real consequences of my decisions. I wasn’t ready for a public confrontation with the wife of the man I was involved in an affair with.

“You’re beautiful. I now understand why he talks about you in his sleep. Do you just like ruining lives?”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, all the breath rushing from my body. I felt like I was suffocating.  I knew when this all started that there was a chance of being found out by her. It was part of the adrenaline rush I got in his presence, part of the thrill. I don’t know why it was a shock to me that being confronted by her felt like the world was falling away from underneath me.

“I’m going to take your silence as you knowing who I am.” Her smile was wry, her eyes suspiciously bright. “This has been the hardest decision of my life, wondering if I should face you. ”

I opened my mouth, to say something, to deny the truth, but she cut me off.

“You had to have known he was married. We’ve been together for over twenty years.  He’s got four kids with me. How could you do this to us?”

Her words were passionate, but her volume was low, as to not attract attention.

I knew he was married, there was no mistaking the gold band on his left ring finger. I knew about his children and I kept my mouth and hands far, far away from the tattoos on his right side. The woman across from me and the children were his lock screen background on his phone and I had been in the room for more than one phone call from his wife.

“I don’t know why you wanted him, a married man. I don’t want to know why. Did you at least use a condom with him? Because we are intimate when he’s home and I need to know if I need to go get tested.”

The barbed words hit exactly where they were meant to. I flinched away, my face ashen, and nodded. My tongue was made of lead and none of the thoughts that were whirring around my brain were forming into words.

“Well that’s this only silver lining in this mess,” Her laugh was self deprecating and almost cruel. The laugh died in the air, and there was just an uncomfortable silence between us. She was looking down, playing with her wedding band. I opened my mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, but she cut me off, her eyes still on her wedding ring.

“I am begging you. Please stop this. Don’t take him from us. You could have your choice of men, but I don’t think I could ever get over him. He’s my everything. He’s the only one for me.” She had looked up imploringly at me, during her speech, her face honest and distraught.

By this time, both our eyes were bright with unshed tears, chins quivering. I opened my mouth again to promise that I would end this, that I wouldn’t be the source of her heartbreak anymore, but nothing came out. My hands were trembling and I blinked rapidly to wick away the gathering tears. She stood with a shaky breath, her hands gripping her purse so tightly her knuckles were white.

“My family and their happiness depends on you and whatever you decide to do.”

Just as quick as she had appeared, she was gone.

I had tried to continue my meal, but the muffin just tasted like ashes in my mouth and my coffee provided me no comfort.

“Stolen moments in hotel rooms isn’t love, it isn’t a life.”

I waited until his breathing slowed and evened out to gingerly slide out of his grip. He’d always been able to read me so well and I knew that if he was awake I wouldn’t be able to do this. That I’d lose all resolve and back out.

I dressed slowly, the echoes of our actions screaming between my thighs. My limbs felt heavy and the air in my lungs thickened. This was it. With every article of clothing I had tracked down and placed back on my body, despair was bubbling within me and I had to catch the sobs before they could escape.

I left a note, on the nightstand. He was fast asleep, a thin sheet and blanket shielding his nude body from my watery eyes.

This was it. This was the last time I would see this man this way. The last time I would be able to see the love of my life, with the soft glow of the city lights outside on catching the peaks and planes of his features. I stared for a long moment, trying to commit that face that broke my heart to memory. This would be the last time I saw him so raw and unguarded. This would likely be the last time I was alone with him. Any interactions, if any in such a large company, would be limited to shared pay per view events.

This was a man who taught me so many things, so many positions that I wouldn’t be able to forget. He’d taught me how to love, how to want, and now, he taught me heartbreak. Sometimes you have to burn everything down to get some distance from what hurts you the most.

My transfer to RAW was effective at midnight tonight.

That walk out of that hotel room was the hardest thing I had ever done. I had checked the hallway, just to be sure that there were no prying eyes in the area during the twilight hours. I had made it into the elevator and down to my room before I had burst into sobs.

By the time you read this, I’ll be far away. Whatever this was, it’s done. Make things right with your wife. Don’t write or speak a word to me. I won’t reply. Goodbye AJ.

Instead of love and trust and laughter What you get is happy never-after

[justauthoring]

By My Side (3/8)

THIS IS A SERIES: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - final

Tag’s List: @fralackles - @maiden-of-gondor - @moonbearmeliox - @interwebseriesfan24 - @weasleyswizarding-wheezes - @thranduilxlegolasx - @chaostheoryy - @viv-vision - @keiko0 - @waywardskylo  let me know if you’d like to be added!

Prompt: nothing was your choice - not anymore. forced to leave behind everything you’ve ever loved, though you have no memory of it. but sometimes, when you’re alone, and not by his side, images flash and you’re reminded of what had been.

Pairing: Sith!Luke x Solo!Reader

Warnings: none

please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you’d like to repost my work, please ask first - but even then I might say no.

“She hasn’t replied.”

“Han...”

“No,” Han interrupted, his voice raising at the frustration he felt. Once he saw the look on Leia’s face, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he allowed his face to fall in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, the words muffled by his hands but Leia heard it all the same. “It’s just... she’s the only family I got.”

“Hey,” Leia called softly, setting her hand on Han’s shoulder and falling in the seat next to him. “If anyone understands... it’s me.”

Leia was right, Han realized, looking up to meet her soft gaze. He’d never felt this before - this shuddering fear that rang through him in huge waves. All his life, Han had kept a close eye on you. At first, you were never supposed to leave with him but after your constant begging and pleading to not be left back home alone, Han had finally agreed and you’d joined him and Chewie.

But Han was a smuggler and his life was dangerous - Han had many enemies. This enforced the danger that befall on you, and Han became very protective over you. Even if half of the time he didn’t act like it, you were the most important thing to Han. 

Not knowing where you were was crushing him. Han didn’t know if you were even alive, or being held captive. Maybe before Han would’ve known, there was a time in his life that he’d known Luke but now... now Luke was unrecognizable to him. The Luke Han had picked up that day would never do this and it often left Han wondering just exactly what the Imperial’s had done to Luke to twist him to the dark side.

“It’s been a day,” Han softly reminded. “Almost two.”

He hated seeming so vulnerable in front of anyone, Han liked to keep a front up. But if there was one person he could trust, Han knew it was Leia. And in reality, she was under the same boat. She’d lost her brother that day, same as Han had lost his sister and they were both desperately fighting to get them back. 

“She could be dead.” Han muttered miserably.

Leia’s eyes widen and tightening the grip she held on Han’s shoulder, she rapidly shook her head. “No, Luke wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?” Han asked, meeting Leia’s gaze with a certain anger behind his own. “We all thought Luke would save the galaxy, turns out he’s just helping destroy it.” Leia’s mouth fell open, hurt flooding through her but she pushed it back - Han was just hurt. Hurt and confused. After all it was Luke you went to see, and it was most likely Luke who was the reason why you couldn’t be contacted.

“I don’t mean it like that, Han.” Leia clarified, shaking her head. “Luke loved Y/N, I could tell the moment I met them. I don’t think all that would be lost just because he turned to the dark side.”

“Then what?” Han asked, shaking his head. “Where is she? Y/N would’ve answered by now if she was okay... she’d be back.”

“I don’t know...” Leia admitted, her head falling. “But something tells me she’s alive. And maybe... we just need to get to her.”

“You mean...?”

Leia nodded.

A sudden roar interrupted the silence that had befallen the two, and glancing to the side both Han and Leia saw Chewie. His gaze falling, Chewie let out a soft moan. 

“I know, buddy.” Han said, sympathizing. “But we’ll get her back.” He quickly added, meeting Leia’s eyes as she snapped up to look at him. “Right?”

Smiling, Leia nodded. “Right.”

“Oh-Oh, are you sure, Princess Leia?” C3PO suddenly cut in, fretting. “That’s seems highly-” R2-D2 beeped, interrupting C3PO. “Well, yes I know it’s Mistress Y/N, but-” Beeping again, R2-D2 paced. “Fine. You’re right.” C3PO finally agreed.

Chewie roared, conveying his agreement to the plan.

Grabbing ahold of Leia’s hand, Han found a new confidence spread through him. “We’ll get Y/N and Luke back.”

“Feel the anger.”

You closed your eyes, desperate to ignore the words Luke spat at you. It was only the two of you, stuck in a dark, black coloured room. There was no escape and he yelled and persisted that you learn the ways of a Sith. 

“Feel the rage.”

You thought of Luke, and the betrayal you felt. You thought of all that he had done and you thought of how captive you were. No control over your body, following Luke’s orders like a puppet but still able to feel and see everything that you did. And you thought of Leia, R2-D2, C3PO, Chewie and Han... and how badly you just wanted to be with them

Luke paced around you, watching your every movement and you were almost positive he could feel everything you thought. But you didn’t care, you wanted him to know. 

“Feel it.”

You thought of nothing else, the feelings of your utter sadness and anger flooding through you. And then suddenly, there was a pause and Luke was silent. You couldn’t believe it, but something just told you... you’d managed to levitate the objects Luke had asked you to. It felt like forever, but you’re sure it had only been a few short moments. 

“Search through.” Luke softly instructed, “search for your feelings.”

And then sudden an image of Han appeared, followed by Chewie and Leia. You even saw the faint image of the droids in the back. Your brows furrowed as you felt a sudden impending doom fall over you. They were in the millennium falcon, seemingly flying. Realization then clicked in - they were headed here.

Suddenly, all of it left and you were on the ground.

When you met Luke’s gaze, he was angry - beyond belief. “Your thoughts betray you, Y/N.” Luke spat, making his way to the door. You furrowed your brows at first, utterly confused by his sentence. “I see everything you do. Know everything you think.” And then it clicked in. He’d seen your vision, of Han and Leia.

“Wait!” You called, and you paused - it was almost like the mind control Luke had placed on you was gone.

Luke turned back to look at you, his eyes wide and scary. You flinched back.

“Please,” you said, this time much more softly. “Please, don’t.”

Luke only shook his head, as if tired of your games and he begun to make his way over to the door. Forgetting the consequences that would follow if you disobeyed Luke, you quickly got to your feet, running after the man you once loved. You didn’t make it far before your body was forced to a stop, and suddenly you couldn’t move.

“You will learn the ways of the dark side.” Luke said, his voice dangerously low. You breathed heavily, suddenly much more afraid of Luke than you’d ever been and of his power. “Nothing will stop you.” With that, you watched helplessly as Luke left, shutting the door behind him. It wasn’t until a few seconds after did your body collapse to the ground and were you allowed to move freely on your own.

You immediately ran to the door, grabbing the knob and desperately trying to open it. But no matter how hard you pulled, it wouldn’t budge. Your heart leaped, and you felt fear run through you - but not for yourself and rather for your brother and friends.

You had to stop them from coming, but how...?

Then suddenly you remembered. After Luke’s first encounter with Vader ever, after your brother had been frozen in carbonate, Luke had somehow connected himself to Leia and spoke to her - through his mind. It was the reason why you were able to save him.

Luke said you had the force and after what had happened to day, you believed it...

Maybe you could.

Sliding down to your knees, you leant against the door. Closing your eyes, you focused on the image of Han and every memory the two held together. In your mind, you repeatedly called his name, praying and praying that he heard it. You had no idea if it was working, but you could only hope.

You tensed, your body freezing as you only focused on one thing - Han.

Han.

Han paused, looking up from the control panel.

Han...

That sounded like you but it couldn’t be...

“Han?” Leia called, softly touching his arm. “Is everything okay?”

“I thought I heard Y/N,” Han admitted, furrowing his brows. “But it couldn’t be.” Leia’s eyes widened, an idea appearing in her mind. “Is it in your head?” She asked, “like a distant voice?” Han nodded and sudden smile slipped on Leia’s lips. “Y/N’s trying to contact us - through the force.”

“That’s impossible, she doesn’t-”

“Everyone does.” Leia interrupted, “but only some can use it.”

Han furrowed his brows, utterly confused by what Leia had just said. But, sighing, he complied; “what do I do?”

“Just focus on her.”

more? 

I hope you guys enjoyed this! again i worked super hard, so feedback would be appreciated.