#[Puff-chested Has-been Supreme over here]

[miserycorde]

👤+ Gideon Ofnir

Send me 👤+ a character name for my muse’s opinion on that character

"Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing? ... Interesting, how little he actually seems to know. I have run into his proxies, but not the man himself. Does he even leave Roundtable hold? ... If not, I worry for what that indicates as far as combat capability..."

Intelligence doesn't beget wisdom, and Nepenthe thinks Gideon is the shining example of that. She finds him staunchly unimpressive, though this doesn't mean that she doesn't take him seriously as a threat -- on the contrary, she has had to dispatch his spies more than once when they got a little too close to the mausoleum.

Not that she doesn't want somebody to find it, eventually; she just doesn't want him to. Nepenthe has an inkling that he's not doing things for all of the right reasons.

Perhaps it's just a hunch, but she did happen to stumble upon a certain village, formerly full of Albinaurics...

[moonyinpisces]

🥃 alternate reunion | post s2 good omens snippet

to celebrate finishing act 1 of my s3 fic how do we turn on the light? , here's the original snippet for aziraphale and crowley reuniting after s2. i had began writing this before chapter 1 was even posted, and if you've read hdwtotl, you can see how different the plot ended up along with a few key similarities. the tone of this scene for the story i was writing felt way off so i did away with 99% of it in the actual chapter, but i feel bad about it existing all lonely in my snippets doc, so. enjoy!

1.7k words. context: aziraphale has been supreme archangel for 3 years, and has received instructions from the metatron to meet with the grand duke of hell to negotiate sanctions for the second coming. aziraphale assumes that crowley's been asleep this entire time. he was wrong.

He approaches Marguerite’s, the ivy climbing the walls having died from the winter chill. He glimpses the outdoor seating, feels a flash of something—a memory of—

‘Smitten, I believe. You’re being silly—‘

Aziraphale shakes it away, blinks in rapid succession until the image fades. The interior is more or less as he remembers it, lightly Tuscan and dimly-lit enough that it made every conversation somewhat intimate. The server is unfamiliar, and Aziraphale is grateful that he’s not meant to have small-talk with someone who recognizes him. Someone that he may or may not end up recognizing back, all this time later. He requests the table up against the window at the far corner. 

He purposefully doesn’t look at his bookshop through the window, can remember—the last time he was there, when—when Crowley—Snap out of it, he thinks desperately. His memories are becoming too much to contain, fragmented as they are, and it’s enough to make him wary, intensely disoriented. Perhaps it can simply be attributed to his return to Earth, but, no, there’s a feeling in the air, something unfamiliarly evil but familiarly miserable. Almost as if there’s a… badness about London, now, something miserable seeping into the concrete, cloying the smoggy air. Either that means the end times somehow already began in his absence, or—

Crowley’s awake. 

The thought makes Aziraphale's unnecessary heartbeat falter, makes his hand flutter to his puff-tie and dig into the fabric. There’s no guarantee, of course, and three years is on the shorter side for the handful of times he’s slept a period of time away, but—

Through the window, Aziraphale can just see the building next door. Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. There’s a woman—Nina, her name is Nina—wiping down the outdoor seating, stacking up the dishware following the lunch rush. He watches a familiar figure come out from inside, donned in an apron and a sunny dress, immediately reaching her arms forward to help Nina with the load. Maggie, he remembers with a rush of warmth. Nina says something to her with a crooked smile, and Maggie laughs, then tips forward to press their lips together over the stack of dirty plates between them. The gaping, dormant thing in Aziraphale’s chest lets out a slow, mournful whine. A flash of red and black passes his vision. 

It all happens rather quickly after that. 

First, something sharp and jagged slides between his ribs, buries into his organs, the celestial ones. He jolts, gasps, immediately pressing a hand low to his chest, grabbing at—nothing. He looks down and frowns, seeing no blood, golden or otherwise. A voice pulls him back up. 

“Are you ready to order?” The waitress asks him. 

“I—“ he starts, then smells it. Staticky, slight, but deep still, like—like the ocean before a storm, or the smoke after the incense has already burned off, like bourbon and he feels—he experiences it all again, every moment together in the past 6000 years, the things he poured futilely into ink and pressure to suppress, and—

When Crowley slides into the seat across from him, something fractures and mends at the same time, like re-breaking a bone. It’s all he can do to stare. 

Crowley’s looking at him evenly. Crowley’s there, he’s perched in front of him like a—a materialization. It feels impossible, Crowley being here on his own volition. And now he’s raising an expectant brow, and when nothing is forthcoming he looks to the waitress, then back to Aziraphale. “Erm,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll have a double Macallan, neat. He’ll take—“ Another look. “A dry vermouth, maybe. The sweetest one you’ve got.” 

His voice. Aziraphale’s fingers clench into the seat of his chair so tightly that the wood splinters. 

The waitress departs. Crowley crosses a leg over his knee, leans back casually in his chair like he’s going to fall right out of it. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and a thick, dark-gray blazer. A fine maroon scarf drapes untied around his neck. His hair is identical to how it was three years ago, only—wavier. Disheveled, maybe. It’s not the worst bedhead he’s been afflicted with, in comparison to all the others. There’s dark circles just visible beneath the bottom curve of his sunglasses. He’s tilting his head imperceptibly up and down, and it takes Aziraphale a moment to understand that he’s being scrutinized right back; if Crowley has an opinion over Aziraphale’s own change of wardrobe, though, he doesn’t voice it. 

“Hello,” Crowley says finally, almost politely. He has his hands folded at the curve of his knee, pulling his arms taut, and he says in a too-delighted tone of voice, “Been too long, hasn’t it?” 

Aziraphale blinks. That’s the only possible movement he could make. “I—“ 

“—Of course, maybe it wasn’t long enough, to you,” he acquiesces with a tilt of his head, as if Aziraphale had voiced anything of the sort. His ankle is bouncing in midair. “We’ve certainly gone longer, though, haven’t we, Oh Supreme Archangel of Heaven.” He announces each part of the title distinct from each other, lips curled into a frown that looks more like a barely-schooled smile. “Who would have thought it, truly? Not me. Especially not me. You could have given me thousands of years, and I’d never have guessed this is where we’d end up.” He leans over his crossed leg dangerously. “Do I need to call you some sort of—I dunno, special biblical thing? Bow my head? Bend the knee?” 

Breath rushes back into Aziraphale’s chest, and he dislodges his grip from the chair. He tries to look away from Crowley, back out the window unseeingly, but it’s as though his body can’t physically bear the absence, and his eyes snap back forward. He tries to form words that don’t exist. 

The waitress returns with their drinks. Crowley barks out what sounds to be a genuine laugh, takes his whiskey and throws it back like a shot. His throat ripples beneath his turtleneck. He drops his hand back to the table with a thud, but keeps his long neck tipped back. “Fuck,” he sighs, long and slow. “Been a long time since I’ve imbibed, to tell you the truth.” 

“You’re a demon,” are unfortunately the first words Aziraphale can find. They come out automatically, well-practiced. “You never tell the truth.” 

Crowley drops his head back down and grins. It’s entirely teeth. He gestures towards Aziraphale with his empty glass, and says conspiratorially, “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself, then?” 

Blinking rapidly, Aziraphale finally musters the ability to pull himself from his reverie. He looks down to the dry vermouth. Perfect guess, of course, though—he’s not sure he could swallow it without it coming back up. It’s been a while since he’s ingested anything. “What are you…” His voice softens. “What are you doing here, Crowley?” 

It’s a hard moment, the way Crowley looks at him. His eyes are only glints behind his glasses, somehow both dulled and intensely alive. Then he sniffs, clenches his jaw and snaps to refill his drink. “What do you think?” He says tiredly, as if he’s exhausted himself of whatever charade he was trying to put on, just now. “Where else would I be? You’re here. I’m waiting for you to tell me why, by the way, though I—hah, I have a sneaking suspicion I know what it is already.” 

“This isn’t—“ Aziraphale can’t look at him directly anymore, needs a moment to acclimate. “This isn’t a social call, Crowley. I’ve returned to Earth to—“ 

“—Make a deal with the devil?” asks Crowley, quirking a brow again. 

Aziraphale frowns. He knows Hell talks, just as Heaven does, but he’s under the impression—well, Crowley had said he’d given it all up, before. An independent agent, if an agent at all. A proper human. Aziraphale eyes him from the peripheral. “How do you know that?”

Crowley freezes. His glass is suspended halfway to his mouth. “You…” His expression does something complicated. “You don’t know?” 

Though he doesn’t know what Crowley’s referring to, these past three years has told Aziraphale that the answer to that question is usually ‘no’. Spending time aimlessly in Heaven has convinced him more than ever how little he truly knows. So he just shakes his head. Crowley watches him do it, eyes tracking the movement like he’s simultaneously a predator and an animal of prey. 

“They didn’t tell you?” A dramatic juxtaposition to the feigned pleasantries earlier, Crowley’s expression tightens into something hard and angry, a rarely-seen darkness slithering just beneath the surface, causing his nose to twitch, his jaw to tense impossible more. He slams the glass back to the table, whiskey splashing up and over his fingers. It sizzles at the contact. His skin flashes imperceptibly, makes dark clouds roll rapidly in outside, causes the light directly above them flicker—Aziraphale has only seen him like this a handful of times before, and usually he’s nearly discorporated in what comes next, so he leans back in his chair cautiously. 

But Crowley takes a deep breath. The light steadies, the sky clears. He looks away, out to the bookshop across the street, and laughs something humorlessly. There’s no clarification. 

Aziraphale starts carefully, “I was told—The Metatron told me that I’m to meet with the—the…” Crowley doesn’t move. Aziraphale trails off, and that feeling returns, the one that’s fear, but comes before it still, like—like—

Oh. Oh, no. 

Crowley’s still staring out of the window, tonguing at the inside of his bottom lip. His other lip is curled up, baring his bright, bright teeth. His crossed leg is now entirely flexing and unflexing with a rapid, inconsistent rhythm. And then something in his expression shutters, flattens, and he looks back to Aziraphale with his mouth pressed tightly together in a ghastly interpretation of a smile. 

“Oh yes,” he says slowly, sardonically, tipping his head up like he’s basking in the realization. He holds his hand out over the table, long fingers twitching, perhaps wanting to curl into a fist instead. “Grand Duke of Hell, at Lucifer’s service. Can we begin?” 

Dread, Aziraphale remembers weakly. The feeling is dread.

[phillippadgettwrites]

Just finished reading the Partager series a third time, it is is very good and hot and I had a great time reading it thrice over. I hope you consider adding to it every now and then. Take care and keep up the hot and good work.

These freaks can't be stopped.

Partager 6

Rated X / 5163 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

The air in Seattle is water-logged but deceptively warm. Mulder drives while Scully stares at the blur of greenery whipping by outside her window, her knee bouncing nervously and a now-ragged thumbnail pinned between her teeth. She feels the weight of his intermittent glances across the console, but he doesn’t say anything. This is a good instinct on his part, because if he asks her one more time if she’s sure she wants to do this again, she’ll scream. 

She’s sure. She’s sure he’s sure. She knows they both want this, but nerves are nerves. 

Bradley greets her outside his apartment building like she’s just returned from sea. He scoops her up around the waist, lifting her off the oil-slick pavement and parting his lips in preparation for a searing kiss, which she delivers after a beat of hesitation. The flood of heat that sparks in her lips and rushes to her pelvis converts her nervousness into excitement, and she suddenly can’t wait to get inside. Mulder, appearing unbothered by Bradley’s enthusiastic greeting, shakes his hand and allows him to carry Scully’s bag up to his second-floor apartment, though the weight of Mulder’s hand on her lower back as she ascends the stairs reminds her who she will belong to when all of this is over. 

It’s clean but sparse, a one bedroom with a full-size mattress on the floor and a rented couch. Bradley asks if they’d like to get dinner, and Scully’s libido tells her to say no while her stomach growls loudly in protest. The men laugh, sharing a knowing look and a joke about needing to feed her so she’ll have plenty of energy later. Scully feels her cheeks warm, but she also feels a little buzz from the high of being the center of attention. From watching these two handsome men puff out their chests and make lewd innuendos about what they have planned for her. 

She and Mulder have talked about the possibilities—all the many arrangements one can make with two cocks and three available orifices. It’s been the fodder of their fantasy for weeks, ramping up further after they booked their tickets to Seattle. She’s not even sure what she’s hoping for at this point, but she feels open to just about anything. 

Bradley takes them to a little Italian restaurant that is dripping with romantic ambiance. Mulder insists on sitting across from the two of them, observing them together with a curious and lustful expression on his face. Tarantella Napoletana leaks from the blown out speakers in the ceiling and yellow candle light flickers across the bridge of Mulder’s nose. He catches her eye and blinks slowly, and the intensity of his gaze makes her heart skip a beat. It feels salacious when Bradley rests his hand on her thigh, slowly inching it up until the tips of his fingers brush against the seam of her jeans, because Mulder can’t see it but their waiter probably can. She feels her heart pounding between her legs, and is almost relieved when their food arrives and Bradley has to bring both his hands up to artfully wind pasta around his fork with the assistance of a spoon. 

“So, how do you like the Pacific Northwest?” Mulder asks casually, like they’re just a few old friends catching up. Like both men won’t be inside her later. 

“It’s not too bad, but I think Virginia will reign supreme as my favorite assignment,” Bradley tells him around a mouthful of linguine. 

“Are the patients here more difficult?” Scully asks innocently, her eyes on her plate as she spears a cherry tomato with her fork. 

The men are silent, and she looks up to find them smiling conspiratorially. She realizes the meaning behind Bradley’s remark, and again she feels her cheeks warm. 

“It’s a lot easier to find pot out here,” Bradley says, mercifully changing the subject. “The attitude about it is more laid back. And my dealer is an aerospace engineer at Boeing, which makes me feel less like a common criminal for some reason.”

Scully sighs, and Bradley looks over at her with a mildly perplexed expression. 

“You good?” he asks, and she furrows her eyebrows, mirroring his confusion. 

“She’s nervous,” Mulder says levelly, and both she and Bradley turn to look at him across the table. He looks gratified. He knows her best. He knows what every sigh, eye roll, and smile means. “The good kind of nervous, though. Right, honey?”

She feels his toe bump up against her leg under the table and she smiles coyly. 

“Well, let’s get out of here and get some of that Boeing grade, California grown reefer in you. That oughta take care of those nerves,” Bradley says, punctuating the statement with a squeeze to her thigh. 

-

Scully is floating, drifting around in circles, the solid mass of Mulder’s chest an anchor beneath her cheek. Dancing had been his idea, but she happily obliged. She loves it when he’s romantic like this, wooing her with Sinatra and his own brand of feminist chivalry. 

Her nerves have long since melted away, the THC in her system holding her steady in the current moment. She forgets, just briefly, where she is, and when she feels a second set of hands touch her waist from behind, she startles. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Bradley asks, and Mulder passes her over to him, pulling her arms free of his neck and draping them over Bradley’s shoulders as her cheek finds a new anchor.

She inhales deeply, and her cunt throbs at the muscle memory that his smell evokes. Sandalwood and spice, and the stretch of his thick cock inside her. She thrusts her pelvis against his gently and whimpers, feeling needy and piqued. 

Mulder is still right behind her, brushing her hair back over her shoulders and slipping his hands under her T-shirt to touch her bare waist. Scully smiles against Bradley’s chest. She feels so safe, so cared for, so desired. Mulder unclasps her bra and cups her breasts beneath the silky fabric, brushing his thumbs over her hardening nipples, and Scully groans. 

“Does that feel good?” one or the other asks her, she’s not entirely sure who. 

She hums her answer, and Bradley holds her arms up over her head while Mulder divests her of her shirt and then slides her bra down her arms. She imagines herself swathed in silk, lounging in a triclinium while the men feed her grapes and keep her cool with vellum fans, and she giggles. 

Mulder turns her around to face him and she finds a mischievous smirk on his mouth. 

“Having fun?” he asks, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose before he gets down on his knees. 

She takes the question to be rhetorical; clearly she’s enjoying herself. She scrapes her fingers through his hair as he wraps his smart mouth around one of her nipples, and when her knees nearly buckle she leans against Bradley’s chest for support. Her eyes fall closed and she basks in the hot rough of Mulder’s tongue and the teasing fumble of Bradley’s fingers at the fly of her jeans. As soon as he gets the zipper down he slips his hand under the stiff fabric and beneath her panties, his middle finger gliding down her slick slit and settling over her opening. 

“She’s soaked,” he remarks, and Mulder hums. 

Scully imagines the triclinium again, but this time the crown of Mulder’s minky head is tucked between her splayed legs, and Bradley is kissing her and playing with her breasts. It strikes her that this fantasy could easily come to fruition if she’d only ask, but she doesn’t feel inclined to make requests of them. She spends so much of her time giving orders to her patients and other hospital staff, making critical decisions and solving complex problems. She doesn’t want to decide how they should fuck her, she just wants to be thoroughly fucked. She’s confident that this is already on their agenda, so she cedes control and lets it happen. 

Bradley works her jeans down her hips and Mulder reluctantly releases her nipple so she can step out of them. She’s now fully nude, and the two men are still clad in their jeans and T-shirts, impatient erections straining against denim. She can’t decide which one to undress first: Bradley’s body is more novel to her and slightly more intriguing, but she never wants Mulder to think for one moment that she’d want to do this without him, or that his naked body no longer excites her. Indecisive, she lays one of her palms over each of their groins, giving their matching erections a simultaneous firm rub. The harmony of their moans makes her cunt water, and she finds herself trying to take both of their pants off at the same time, which proves impossible. Mulder chuckles and unbuttons his jeans, and she quickly slips her hand under his boxers to feel the smooth skin of his cock. He steps closer and she kisses him, her tongue tangled up with his as Bradley kicks his jeans off and guides her hand around his own length. 

They stand there in the middle of the living room, Scully nude and stroking the two partially dressed men while she alternately kisses one and then the other. She can’t help but compare the taste of their mouths and the feel of their tongues. Mulders taut, silky shaft to the slightly slack foreskin that glides up and down with her fist over Bradley’s cock. She moves her hands lower and cups their balls, delighting when both sets draw tighter under her touch. She feels like Aphrodite, or maybe even Eros. She feels powerful and sexual, desirable and wanton. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself with a cock in each hand and every possible untoward intention for them, but even if she’d tried to, the fantasy would have paled in comparison to this. 

Her attention is startled away by the trill of Bradley’s cell phone, and he utters a string of profanity as he jogs across the room to silence it, his erection bouncing comically. Scully continues to kiss and touch Mulder, pushing him slowly back until his calves make contact with the couch, then she tugs his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. He pulls his T-shirt off over his head and then sits down, kicking off his shoes and the remainder of his clothes. Scully drops down to her knees and situates herself between his open legs, stroking him idly while he watches her face with an erotic mix of adoration and desire. He reaches out and cups her cheek in his palm, and she closes her eyes. For a moment it’s just the two of them, slipping into a secret world that has never been accessible to anyone else. It’s the place where their shared memories lie, and their shared heartbreak. The parts of themselves that they have given only to each other. The parts that he knows are not on the menu to be shared, and never will be. Scully sighs and opens her eyes, leans forward and kisses him, and then lowers her head to his lap and guides him down the back of her throat. Immediately his hands are tangled up in her hair, his hips flexing up off the couch and agonized groans rumbling in his chest. It’s hard not to try to make him come, as het up as she is, but she knows that they are only getting started. She eases up a bit, bathing him with the broad flat of her tongue and squeezing his balls rhythmically. 

“Sorry about that,” Bradley purrs from behind her, and she feels the smooth warmth of his palms gliding over her ass cheeks. Instinctively, she moves her knees apart, humming with satisfaction when he runs his hand between her legs and brushes his fingers across her swollen clit. “Goddamn, you’re wet,” Bradley murmurs under his breath, then shifts his body closer to hers. She feels the spongy head of his cock taking the same journey down the crack of her ass and over her slick folds, and her cunt throbs in anticipation. “You ready for me, pretty girl?”

She flashes her eyes up to Mulder, and he blinks once in agreement. 

“Mmmhmmm,” she hums around Mulder’s cock, and it lurches against her soft palate. 

She stills, letting his cock sit idly on her tongue as Bradley pushes into her. Immediately she quivers around him, and he blows out a slow, steady breath behind her. 

“Too good,” he remarks with a chuckle, and she hears Mulder laugh in response. 

“Been there,” he quips, brushing her hair out of her face. 

She resumes sucking Mulder off, slowly drawing him in and then dragging her tongue up his shaft, finishing with a swirl around the head of his cock. Bradley fucks her in long, steady strokes, his hands on her hips to hold her steady. At one point, the men groan in unison at the pleasure of her mouth and pussy, and she feels the very edge of an orgasm tingle in her toes. 

“Shit,” Bradley hisses as his hips pick up speed, which feels amazing, but it also knocks her forward and jams Mulder’s dick against the back of her throat. She gags, and Mulder pushes on her shoulders to relieve the pressure. 

“Easy,” he admonishes Bradley sharply, and the younger man immediately freezes. 

“Sorry, I got a little carried away there,” he says sheepishly, and she gathers that the apology is just as much for Mulder as it is for her. 

“You okay?” Mulder says quietly, his head dipped down to create a bubble of privacy. 

She lifts her head off of him and smiles. Always her protector, even now. Especially now. 

“Yeah,” she says warmly, taking him in her fist. “You okay?” 

Mulder sighs and looks her over. 

“Very. Only one thing that could make it even better,” he says playfully. 

She lifts her hips and Bradley slips out of her as she climbs up into Mulder’s lap. Their bodies are so intimately acquainted that her cunt finds him without the use of her hands, and she settles fully into him with a wistful groan. 

“Home,” she whispers in his ear, too quietly for Bradley to hear. 

Mulder sits back and lets her ride him, smiling up at her until she hits a sweet spot and his eyes roll back in his head. 

“That’s enough of that for now,” he says urgently as he stills her hips with his hands. “And that’s not actually what I meant, to be perfectly honest.”

“No?” she asks with a tilt of her head. “You want…?”

She flicks her eyes over her shoulder, and he laughs. 

“Also a big fan, but also not what I meant,” he says as he pushes her up and withdraws from her. She lets him guide her down to lay on the couch beside him, and a flush of anticipation warms her pelvis as he pushes her legs open and kneels on the cushion at her feet. 

“Can I come out of the penalty box?” Bradley asks cautiously, and she looks over to find him watching them, his half-hard cock in his fist. 

Scully beckons him to her with a finger, and he kneels on the floor near her head. Mulder begins to lick her in broad strokes as she coaxes Bradley’s erection back to life with her tongue, all three of them whimpering and moaning in turn. The stiffer Bradley becomes, the harder it is for her to blow him at this angle, so she strokes him with her hand while she suckles at the head of his cock, drawing out a salty slick of precum. 

Mulder lifts his head, though his fingers are still tucked inside her, stroking at her front wall, and she hears a quick exchange between the men. Bradley pulls his cock free of her hand and bends to kiss her, trailing down her neck and clavicle until he has one of her nipples perched between his lips and the other pinned between his thumb and forefinger. 

Scully looks down and smiles as she realizes her fantasy has come true after all. There is no triclinium, no vellum fans, but there is the firm press of Mulder’s fingers and the sweep of his tongue across her clit, paired with the hot suck of Bradley’s mouth on her breast. Heaven. This must be what Heaven is like. 

She lets herself get lost in sensation, basking in the novelty of Bradley and the time-tested reliability of Mulder. She has just enough reach to snake her arm down and grab hold of Bradley’s cock, squeezing and stroking purely for her own enjoyment as Mulder teases her close and then backs off over and over. He knows her body so well, so intimately, and there is no need to provide instruction. One “Yes,” from her and he knows that she’s ready. That it’s time. 

She nears the edge again, and this time he doesn’t stop. He curls his fingers and brushes firmly against the top of her opening on each withdrawal, concurrently flicking his tongue back and forth across her clit. She climbs higher and higher, trusting him to take her all the way, unencumbered by the pressure to perform. 

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” she keens, and Bradley grunts as his cock swells in her hand. 

She stops existing in the corporeal sense that she’s familiar with. There is not a single thought in her head, not a single cell in her body that does not have its attention focused singularly on her cunt as she clutches and releases around Mulder’s fingers over and over, her clit pulsing like a hammering heart under his tongue. Bradley continues sucking on her breasts, drawing it out for an eternity, and she writhes indelicately against the rough upholstery of his rented couch. In increments, she returns to herself, slowly becoming aware of one of her hands clutching a fistful of Mulder’s hair, the other wrapped limply around Bradley’s cock. She’s wailing like a feral animal, somehow still coming. It feels like it will never end until finally the crashing waves subside into gently lapping surf, and she sighs. 

Bradley sits back and looks her over with an impressed smirk, and slowly Mulder withdraws his fingers, making her shudder. He crawls over her, planting his hands on the couch on either side of her head, and smiles at her in that dopey, love-struck way that makes her heart ache. She grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, which slowly progresses into full on making out, and she feels him hard against her lower belly. 

“Fuck me,” she implores him, canting her hips. 

“Mmmm,” he groans, pushing his pelvis against her. “I’d love nothing more, but I promised our host that there would be no cum on the couch,” he says against her ear, his breath hot and wet. 

“Bed’s all made up. Ready and waiting,” Bradley entices them from the doorway to the bedroom, wagging his eyebrows for emphasis.

Mulder stands and holds out his hand to her, and she takes it before rising slowly onto wobbly legs. He smiles proudly and then scoops her up behind the knees, and she squeals in surprise as he carries her off to the bedroom. 

“Will you get her a glass of water, please?” Mulder instructs Bradley as he moves to lay her down on the bed, and the man complies without hesitation. Mulder lays down beside her and tucks his face into the crook of her neck. A single standing lamp in the corner washes the room in warm yellow light that doesn’t allow for any shadowy corners. 

“You still good? You want to stop?” he whispers, and she smiles against his cheek. 

“I’m not done with you, G-Man,” she whispers back, then grabs a fistful of his ass. 

“M’lady,” Bradley says regally as he offers Scully a glass of ice water, which she gulps down gratefully.

They take a few minutes to rest and recuperate. Bradley lays on the bed behind her and runs his hand along the curve of her waist and hip, palming her ass while he plays with his own cock. Mulder kisses her slowly, deeply, like that’s all he plans to do. When she reaches for him, he’s rock hard and silky smooth, a steel beam draped in velvet. She squeezes her thighs together, ready for more. 

“I want you,” she mumbles against his mouth, a phrase that she long ago discovered will instantly put him at her complete mercy. Mulder groans and flexes his hips, pushing his cock through her fist. “Lay on your back.”

He quickly complies, shuffling more towards the center of the bed as she climbs over him and sits proudly astride his lap, his shaft nestled into the valley of her cunt and pinned to his belly by her weight. Scully looks over at Bradley, who is lying on his side with his head propped up on a fist. 

“Don’t mind me,” he says with a smile. “I’m happy to watch for a bit.”

Previous to this, the idea of fucking with a third party lying in the bed beside you would have made her skin crawl. Now, trusting Bradley like she does, it makes her clit jump. She leans forward and kisses Mulder as she slides forward and back over his cock, her own wetness allowing her to glide effortlessly. Each time she moves back and the head of him bumps over her clit, she whimpers. 

“You want to come again,” Mulder tells her, and her whole body trembles. “I want to see you come.”

She lifts her hips and he snakes his hand down between them, pointing his cock north towards her soaking cunt. She slams down onto him, feeling his balls sack against her ass cheeks. She does want to come again. She needs to. 

She leans forward again, pressing her cheek against his. “Please,” she begs, even though she is the one on top. “Please make me come.”

“You heard the woman, Brad,” Mulder says tightly, trying to hold back. “Help me make her come.”

The bed shifts, and she feels Bradley move behind her. She slowly raises and lowers her hips, drawing Mulder out and back in again, and Bradley rests his hands on her ass, gently guiding her. He lets out a low wolf whistle. 

“This is some view,” he says, impressed. 

Scully imagines what he must be seeing—Mulder’s cock disappearing inside her over and over— and she arches her back in an attempt to make more of herself visible to him. He settles his thumbs into the crack of her ass and spreads her cheeks wider, and she feels him shift again before the soft heat of his tongue swipes over her asshole. 

“Oh my god,” she blurts out, overwhelmed. “Oh my fucking god.”

She finds it hard to remember to keep moving, to keep riding Mulder, so he starts pushing up into her from below while Bradley thoroughly licks every inch of her asshole. She lifts her head slightly and makes a feeble attempt to kiss Mulder, but she can only hold her parted lips against his, moaning into his mouth. 

“You want him to fuck you too?” Mulder asks breathlessly, his voice hushed. “Same time?”

They’d discussed the possibility. Scully was intrigued, but opted to wait until they were in the moment to decide whether she wanted to try it. Now that the moment has arrived, she feels every neuron in her body fire at the idea. 

“Yes,” she says confidently, already limp-limbed in anticipation. “I want it.”

Mulder moves his head to the side so he can get Bradley’s attention. Scully can’t quite process the words they’re saying, too distracted by what is about to happen. Bradley shifts around again, and she feels his cock brushing around her opening, right where Mulder is currently tucked inside of her. She realizes that their cocks must be touching, and the idea of it makes her quiver around Mulder. He hums and bucks his hips a little, and Bradley puts one hand on her lower back to hold her in place. 

“Down here okay?” Bradley asks, squeezing her hip gently so she knows he’s speaking to her. 

“Yeah,” she says, dazed. Anywhere down there is more than okay with her. She’s ready. 

“Okay with you, Mulder?” Bradley asks, and Mulder hesitates half a beat before he says, “Yeah.”

There is the plasticky tick of a bottle cap popping open, probably lube, and then she feels him there again, brushing around beside Mulder’s cock. She waits for him to move higher to her asshole, but instead she feels him press against her opening, and then a deep stretch as he pushes inside. She realizes that he’s entering her pussy right alongside Mulder, and there is a flash of adrenaline in her ears. 

“We okay?” Bradley asks, his voice low and sultry. 

“Uh huh,” Mulder grunts. 

Scully’s mouth drops open as the girth of both men stretches her open wide. 

“Dana?” Bradley asks with another squeeze to her hip. 

“Yes,” she keens, on the edge of overwhelm. 

She feels the bump of Mulder’s nose against her own, and she opens her eyes. He locks eyes with her, reading her demeanor. 

“I’m okay,” she reassures him. 

“But do you want to keep going? We can stop,” he says tenderly.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she whines, pushing her hips back against Bradley. “I want to come. Make me come, Mulder.”

“Fuck, I love you,” he mumbles, kissing her. 

Mulder begins to flex his hips up and down, pushing his cock in and out of her as Bradley fucks her from behind. They move in alternate rhythms, one retreating while the other advances, and she can’t stop thinking about them rubbing up against one another inside her. How much of their pleasure is from her cunt, and how much of it is from the other man? She’s surprised by how much that arouses her, how being the vessel for two cocks engaging in frottage feels like the most erotic thing imaginable. She wants them both to come inside her, one on top of the other. It’s all she can think about. It builds and builds, her muscles tightening and a warm, wonderful lightness spreading across her skin. It’s slow and powerful, overcoming her like a tsunami. 

“I’m coming,” she announces as she clamps down on them, and the room explodes in a cacophony of moans and whimpers. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Bradley bellows, and she can feel him throbbing inside her, running down the seam of her legs. 

“I want you to come,” she tells Mulder, knowing that he’s holding back. “Be a good boy and come for me.”

He groans and she feels the hot spurt of his orgasm, and he keeps fucking her even after Bradley softens and slips out. With more room to move, Scully sits up and grinds against him, setting off another, smaller orgasm for herself and making Mulder’s shoulders lurch up off the bed.

“Fuck, I can’t take anymore,” he pleads, oversensitized, and she mercifully lifts her hips to free him. 

As is apparently his M.O., Bradley is suddenly gone from the room, leaving them to enjoy their afterglow privately. Scully sighs and slackens, draped over Mulder like a blanket. He draws circles on her back with the tips of his fingers, and the mess of liquids between her legs begins to cool. 

“How you doin’?” he asks her, his voice low and gravelly. 

She hums and squeezes him, and he accepts this as an answer. 

“That’s good,” he says, wrapping his arms across her back. “You were incredible.”

Scully smiles, feeling proud of herself. There is a knock at the door, and she turns her head to rest the other cheek on Mulder’s chest so she can see Bradley peeking in. 

“Sorry to disturb you. I ordered a pizza, if you want to grab a shower before it gets here,” he tells them, not making any attempt to conceal his open leering between Scully’s still-spread legs. 

As before, Mulder has to carry her from one room to the next, though as they stand under the hot spray of the shower she slowly regains strength in her enervated limbs. She leans her back heavily against his chest as he tenderly washes between her legs, murmuring words of praise and adoration. Given, she is still far from sober, but she cannot imagine regretting what they just did. She feels closer to him than ever. 

They re-light the joint and enjoy it with their pizza, telling stories and winding down. Scully starts to doze off with her head in Mulder’s lap as he gently scratches at her scalp, Bradley rubbing her feet at the other end of the couch. She could get used to this. 

“Let’s get you to bed, sleepy girl,” Mulder says fondly, and although she is more than capable of walking she lets him carry her one final time. 

They emphatically assure Bradley that he is welcome to sleep in his own bed, but he insists on taking the couch and letting them have his bedroom. Scully brought pajamas, but opts to sleep in Mulder’s dirty T-shirt while he wears only his boxers. They leave the door open, having nothing to conceal from Bradley that he has not already seen, and Scully curls up with her head resting on Mulder’s chest and one of her legs draped over his. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mulder says after a time, sensing that she is still awake. 

Scully smiles against his chest. 

“What do you think?” she quips, and he puffs a laugh through his nose. “What are you thinking about?” she asks in return. 

“You,” he says simply. 

“Pure, romantic thoughts, I’m sure,” she teases him, and he takes the hand that is resting on his belly, moving it to his groin. He’s hard, and she feels her body respond. 

“Not quite,” he says. 

Scully clucks her tongue in mock judgment. 

“You’re insatiable,” she says, even as she’s pulling his cock free of his boxers and moving over him, hitching her T-shirt up around her waist. 

“I’m insatiable?” he retorts, his voice tightening when she sinks down on him. “I’m not the one who took two men at once and is already back for more,” he says proudly. 

Scully leans forward, rocking her hips slowly and dropping kisses across his cheeks and mouth. 

“Two is nice, but there’s only one I’m interested in,” she tells him, and she hears the parting of his lips as he smiles in the dark. 

“You’re my girl,” he says, running his hands over her waist and hips. 

“I’m your girl,” she assures him, then sits up and begins to ride. 

[octolingkiera]

decided to start posting the fills i made as a part of @sariphantom's Rise August prompts. got six so far. sorry the tumblr post is so late lol. i don't normally post fics to my main like this.

check out the fic on ao3 to get the full experience!!

Prompt: Day 1: Mad Dogs

Summary:

“Okay, Mad Dogz,” Raph says one day when they’re out following a mutant crime alert, “let’s roll out.”

“Still can’t believe we haven’t come up with a better name than that,” Leo gripes, rolling his eyes and following the motion with his whole body. “I mean, really. None of us are dogs, and none of us are really that mad.” He looks between each of his brothers, searching. “Right?”

Words: 1,295

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“Okay, Mad Dogz,” Raph says one day when they’re out following a mutant crime alert, “let’s roll out.”

“Still can’t believe we haven’t come up with a better name than that,” Leo gripes, rolling his eyes and following the motion with his whole body. “I mean, really. None of us are dogs, and none of us are really that mad.” He looks between each of his brothers, searching. “Right?”

“I dunno, Leo,” Mikey says, contemplative. “I am filled with a lot of rage…” He adopts a thinking pose, brow furrowed and eyes distant, hand gripping his chin.

Raph sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He says nothing but his reaction speaks for itself.

Donnie, not bothering to look up from his phone, flaps a hand in the air dismissively. “I keep all my anger bottled up in here,” he taps his chest, “and hope one day it will just kill me. Like a normal person,” he adds, as if what he just described is unequivocally a universal experience.

Leo purses his lips and steeples his hands, holding this fingers to his mouth. “So that’s a yes to the mad, then.”

“Or it could be, like, the coo-coo for cocoa puffs type of mad!” Mikey chimes in, crossing his eyes and swirling a finger beside his ear. “Y’know, like British people say.”

“Ew,” Leo says, because that’s all that needs to be said about that.

Raph slices his hands through the air, groaning. “Alright, that’s enough!” He sighs again and crosses his arms. “It’s a cool name. I like the name. We’re keeping the name—”

“For now,” Leo cuts in, arching a brow.

“We’re keeping the name, and that’s it.” Raph turns on Leo to growl out the words, then straightens. “Now quit stalling. We got a bad guy to bust!”

“I’m just saying,” Leo says, hours later, after the bad guy is beaten, their victory Run of the Mill pizza has been consumed, and their after-victory pizza (aka, tomorrow’s lunch) has been purchased to take home. “There’s gotta be a better name out there. Something that really says who we are and what we’re about. Something that describes us. Something that makes people think of us when they hear it.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Mikey groans, slumped over on Raph’s shell as the biggest brother carries the youngest and also the stack of half a dozen pizzas. “Maybe if we just let it happen he’ll tire himself out.”

Raph’s next exhale is heavy, the burden of Atlas in his eternal torment. “Pizza Supreme, I wish.”

“Like who?” Donnie asks, unable to help himself from engaging with Leo in a verbal spar. “Who exactly are we trying to get to remember us? The bad guys? They don’t even know our names.”

“They don’t?” Mikey asks, frowning. “Well that’s rude of us.”

Donnie rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “We’re not trying to market ourselves here. We’re effectively vigilantes, moonlighting as heroes for no other reason than we can. It’s better we stay under the radar, so to speak.”

“Just a secret between us and all of New York,” Leo says with a laugh. “Face it, guys. We’re not exactly very subtle.” He gives Donnie a sideways look as he says, “Especially not when we’re in the Turtle Tank.”

Donnie gasps and glares at Leo. To anyone that doesn’t know Donnie, they might assume that he’s genuinely offended, but Leo knows his brothers better than himself—there’s no heat to Donnie’s glare, and he’s holding himself the way he does when he’s entirely at ease with himself and the situation. “Gasp! You take that back! My baby is a marvel of engineering! A masterpiece of technology! How dare you imply that she’s an eyesore!”

“You said it, not me.” Leo shrugs, feigning disinterest. “I mean really. Who drives a tank around? Especially in the city.”

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to your slander! You’re just jealous she’s better than you!” Donnie tips his nose up and crosses his arms, looking away with a huff.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” Leo says, shaking his head, expression full of melodrama as he flings the tails of his mask over his shoulder. “I’m already the best-looking thing in this town.”

As Leo and Donnie devolve into increasingly nonsensical arguments, Mikey pokes Raph in the temple to get his attention. “So why’d you pick that name anyway, Raph?”

Raph tilts his head away from the prodding and lets out a singular chuckle. “I dunno. I just thought it sounded cool. Tough. Somethin’ that would show that we’re heroes. Hero teams have team names.” He shrugs, nearly jostling Mikey from his perch. “That’s it.”

Mikey giggles and snuggles closer. “Well I like it,” he says, wrapping an arm around Raph’s neck in a loose hug. “Leo’s just jealous he can’t come up with anything better,” he says, whispering into Raph’s ear to avoid drawing Leo’s attention.

“Heh, well, you know Leo. He’s just gotta do everything he can to be a pain the ass,” Raph says, picking up the pace to take the lead of the group, scooping up Leo in his free arm as he overtakes him. Leo squawks and struggles, but soon resigns to his fate as Donnie snickers at him.

It’s during one of Leo’s will-they-won’t-they sleepless nights that he decides to brainstorm a few new team names. He plays around with a few options, narrowing down the elements he wants to include—namely the turtle, the ninja, the mutant, and the teenage aspects—but he just can’t make the connection work. He even writes it down, filling a whole notebook page with scratched out suggestions that don’t make the cut, but eventually he gives it up, promising himself to come back to the idea when he’s had a bit more sleep.

He never really gets to do that.

Between Draxum, the Foot, the Shredder, Big Mama, the Shredder again, adjusting to the new lair, trying and failing to adjust to the new leader thing, and then the Krang, the whole issue of their team name falls to the wayside.

It’s not until a week or so after he wakes up from his brief coma that the topic ever comes up again.

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” Raph says one day, apropos of nothing, sitting beside the medbay bed Leo’s been (and will be, for the foreseeable future) laid up on. “Hell of a good team name.” He smiles and it pulls funny at the bandages still sitting over his damaged eye. “Good job, Leo.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Leo says, immediately, instinctively. He takes a few seconds to process what’s being said to him, then shakes his head. “It wasn’t all me. We came up with it together.”

Raph chuckles and shakes his head, cradling Leo’s hand between his own. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

“Not as good as Mad Dogz though,” Leo admits, a tiny smile on his face. It lights up his eyes, despite the sallow complexion and mottled bruises. “Well,” he backtracks, shifting into a smirk as he turns his eyes away, pretending to think, “maybe not worse. Just as good. I did help come up with it, after all.”

Raph laughs, the sound coming from deep in his belly, and Leo joins in with breathy little giggles that rattle his broken ribs and irritate the cracks in his shell and plastron. It hurts but it’s the good kind of hurt; the hurt that comes from joy.

It feels nice to laugh, even if it’s about something as silly as a team name. Who really cares, in the end? Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Mad Dogz, or something else, they’re still the same people.

Mutants. Turtles. Whatever.

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - two

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: charming javi. (yes he needs his own warning) kissing. making out. doubtful javi. curse words. in thoughts. flirting. a lot of it.

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: the slow burn is here. ugh.

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You made your way through the stuffy bar, eager to finally try a Colombian specialty of a drink. You had done some researching from home, and it excited you. You knew you wanted to try the traditional aguardiente you had read about, and that was exactly what you were going to try.

You propped your elbows onto the counter of the bar, liquids smearing against your elbows as you leaned over the bar to place your order to the bartender. With a nod directed toward you, he places the shot in front of you.

It’s clear as water and with shaky hands you empty the shot into your mouth. It’s strong in your mouth, and you wince slightly at the taste of anise lingering on your tongue. You’re not used to the heaviness of anise and liqueur in this way, and with an intake of breath you’re coughing roughly, having inhaled the fumes stuck in your mouth.

You wince as you hear a voice beside you, flagging down the bartender to get you something to take the edge off your coughing. The music is loud in your ears and you feel slightly uncomfortable in the given situation. You smile warily when something bubbly and orange is placed in front of you, a straw being presented to your lips.

You open them reluctantly before taking a big sip of orange soda. You sigh in content before you take another sip, feeling the way the stranger beside you is eyeing you up and down. You feel the stranger’s eyes linger on your exposed ribcage, barely covered by the silver, glittering low-cut top you’re wearing over your bralette.

“First time tasting guaro?” His voice is smooth as velvet, the words rolling off his lips sensually as he brings his elbow to the bar, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, watching you as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

For the first time, you turn and look at him. And holy shit. The white button-down he’s wearing is neat, very neat, the mustache on his upper lip so perfectly groomed, his brown eyes watching you intensely as you stand there, possibly looking like a fish out of water - gaping and lacking breaths.

He’s hot, beautiful even, and you’re easily taken aback by the way he moves when he orders a double whiskey for himself. His hair is slightly unruly - tousled to what you would call something between perfect and what would be left after hands had run through it under… Stop it. He’s a stranger, for god’s sake. You bite your lip, trying to slowly compose yourself as he looks away, bringing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“First time in Colombia,” you tell him and take another sip of the soda he’s bought you. The right side of his lips draw up slightly as he nods and you feel a surge of heat go straight from your heart, into your cunt. God damn it he was a sight for sore eyes.

“You up for anything else than a shot of guaro and soda?” You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, with the way one of his eyebrows raises as he turns back to you, but you shrug slightly before moving a tad closer to him, to hear him better over the noisiness of the bar.

“If you’re offering to show me what’s good, then I’m not one to decline.” You retort with a sly smile, grinning inwardly when he braces himself slightly against the bar. You watch as he flags down the bartender yet again, ordering something you don’t hear over the music.

You blink slightly when another six shots are placed in front of you, slightly scaring you. Was he trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you? You weren’t really sure, but… you decided now was the time to get drunk with a stranger in a stuffy bar in a city you just landed in.

“Three for you, three for me.” He says as he moves two at a time, three toward you and three toward himself. “Let me know what you think.” You grasp the first shot in between your fingers at the same time as him and bring it up to your lips simultaneously with him. Then you halt.

“Wait.” You stop, still holding the shot by your lips. You watch as he raises his eyebrow just once, yet again, as if it was the twitch of a muscle. “I don’t even know your name.”

He smirks before letting out a short puff of laughter, shaking his head slightly. You pout slightly at his reaction before you decide to defend yourself. “What? I wanna know the name of the handsome stranger whom I’m about to get drunk with.”

His teeth tug his bottom lip between them swiftly, before you both down your shots at the same time, maintaining eye contact through the whole ordeal. He leans in closer to your ear to shield his words from the noise. You can smell the alcohol radiating between the two of you - you’re not sure if it’s your own breath or his - but it’s good. New. Exciting.

“I’m Javi.”

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You have no recollection of how much time you and Javi spend at the bar. The two of you hit it off so easily, like you’d known each other for a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol continuously spilling in between you, or the fact that he was charming and transparent with you.

You learned that he was pushing 40, had worked at the Colombian embassy for a couple of years as an agent in the Drug Enforcement Administration, and was currently on leave after a gunshot to the shoulder. He told you it barely hurt anymore, but you definitely noticed slower movements from his injured shoulder.

You also learned he hated being on leave, and that he was better off working his days away than relaxing and being bored, as he said so himself. It was a very last-minute idea he’d gotten, to go out on a Wednesday evening to get drunk, but he made it clear that it was more than worth it.

He told you about how toe-curling he found the telenovelas constantly playing on the only three channels his tv could take in his building, how he almost only listened to American artists like Lionel Richie and Prince (even though The Supremes were his favorites) and how he always had a cup of coffee before and after every meal.

With the number of cigarettes he smoked, you wondered how he was able to keep his shirts so white. Every time he put out one, barely five minutes passed before he’d lit another. You wondered where they kept coming from - if he had a whole carton on him, just for the sake of it. You remembered hearing somewhere that smoking excessively would leave awful stains on everything, but so far, you didn’t see where that statement was coming from.

You told him about yourself too, and how boring you found your parents to be. He laughed with you as you told him one of the most embarrassing moments you had experienced with your parents, which they hadn’t found embarrassing at all.

How you had trouble finding someone like-minded like you. You told him how you hated when your parents would set you up with whomever friends’ sons, they were meeting, as if they could find a perfect fit for you to date.

That was one of the main reasons you hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. Because there just weren’t any alluring men in your city that could be a potential man for you. They were just boys. You weren’t even sure they had proper knowledge about the female genitalia.

You told him that your favorite book was none other than the classic Pride and Prejudice, how you’d read Jane Eyre more than ten times because of the storyline Jane has, which you find so heartbreakingly beautiful, and how you sort of relate to it.

You also tell him about how hard it is getting through uni as an English Lit major, with the period you’ve just finished. “Right now, I hate the renaissance. I mean… Shakespeare is amazing and all but analyzing so many of his works in tow of each other is just tiring.” You sigh and take another sip of the rum and coke in front of you. Javi is listening to you intently, watching your every move as you explain.

“I mean, Cervantes is truly one of the best Spanish writers of all time, and Don Quixote is a masterpiece that deserves all the recognition it’s getting, but I also feel like we’re all oblivious to everything else it stands for.” Your breathing is heavy as you finally stop yourself from rambling and you look at Javi with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m… rambling...” you feel the heat spreading through your cheeks with a giggle, wondering if you’ve scared him off completely by impersonating a waterfall. You can feel his eyes on you when you look away, like they’re trying to get through to something hidden inside you.

“It’s alright.” Your eyes return to his face and there’s that smile again - it makes your heartbeat faster in your chest. “You’re passionate about literature. It’s impressive.” He reaches out, and for a moment you’re sure he’s going to take a hold of your hand. Instead, he diverts his hand when he notices you watching him and brings it back to rub at the back of his neck. He breathes out, whispering out another word you can barely make out. “Impressive.”

“Oh… Okay,” your words are too barely a whisper, and you’re unsure if he’s heard it. You feel all the shyness that hadn’t been present all night slowly seep into your body while watching him through your lashes as he takes another swig of his whiskey before lightning another cigarette.

You silently admire the way the orange hue makes its way toward his lips, slowly dissolving the tobacco. It was almost like art - watching him suck the dangerous fumes into his lungs before exhaling the white smoke. You watch as his fingers tap the body of the cigarette, flicking the spent ashes into the tray on the bar.

He sighs, his hands find back to its original spot on the bar, and you discretely reach out to caress the underside of his arm, where the white sleeve of his shirt is stretched over his tan skin. It’s like the last few hours didn’t happen, and you’re back to strangers. It’s a bold move of you to even reach out for him.

Why did it have to get awkward now? You think as you swiftly play with the hem of his sleeve, watching your fingers as you twirl a thread around them. His hand finds yours and you look up at him, catching the way the lights reflect in his eyes. He has put out the last of the cigarette just seconds before, his exhale still white from smoke.

You close your eyes slightly, enjoying the way the smell of nicotine lingered on him. You had never been one to like the smell of cigarette smoke, but the way he wore it made your nerve ends tingle. What you wouldn’t do to taste the nicotine on his lips. You flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze again.

His face is closer now than when he whispered in your ear, and you find yourself blushing again. You really want to kiss him. His lips look so kissable as well, like… like soft, plump pink rose petals. You felt every sense of restraint disintegrate slowly, while you unhurriedly gather enough courage to lean into the heat radiating off his body.

You’re watching his face as you deliberately lean in, closer, closer, until your lips are resting just over his. You should be disgusted with the smell of his cigarette filling your nostrils, but the way it mixes with the scent of him, you find yourself loving it. Craving it. Wanting more.

“Don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispers against your lips, the gentle brush of his lips against yours setting your every nerve ending on fire, causing electricity to burst through your limbs. “Want you comfortable,” he breathes again, tilting his head just the slightest before flicking his eyes over your face. “Want to taste you.”

He takes in the gradual reddening of your cheeks and the way your lashes rest against them. “I am comfortable,” you murmur, before tilting your head sparsely, your lips finally meeting his. The feeling that hits you is indescribable, like somebody has ignited a thousand firecrackers behind your eyes and in your body.

It sounds cliché - the first kiss with someone drawing out those reactions in you. It’s the cliché of every teenage romance movie you’ve ever seen, like the way fireworks go off behind them or the casual leg-bend that happens every time. That’s what it feels like, though.

His lips move against yours ever so softly, his tongue gently swiping across your lower lip as his hand finds the side of your neck. The rough pads of his fingers are considerate and tender as they softly caress your skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You silence a whimper into his mouth as his tongue finally gains the access it’s begging for, the tip of it gently meeting yours. It’s unfamiliar, both the feeling of a foreign tongue in your mouth and the coarse feeling of his mustache against your upper lip.

It feels amazing, though. Your fingers, previously playing with the sleeve of his shirt, are now gripping the front of it tightly, holding him close. Your heart is beating so loud against your ribcage you’re afraid he’s going to hear it over the deep bass still flowing through the speakers of the club.

You find it hard to breathe, mixed with the breathlessness of kissing him, finally, and the lack of air from you not wanting to breathe into his mouth directly. Your lungs are struggling with the lack of air, and you squeeze your eyes tighter, to hold on for as long as possible.

Your parting comes sooner than you would’ve liked - way sooner - you silently wish that your lips would’ve stayed connected for eternity. His forehead is resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the sparse space between the two of you. You flick your eyes upwards slightly, taking in his closed eyes before they fall again, focusing on the way his shoulders are rising languidly.

Before you know it, he’s kissing you again - pulling you closer to him with one single pull. His arms are holding you tightly, one hand swiftly caressing your back as the other holds the back of your neck, softly caressing your hairline.

This time it’s your mouth that’s insistent on getting another taste of him. Your tongue explores the soft pillow that’s his bottom lip, tasting the lingering essence of tobacco and whiskey. A small moan escapes your lips as his tongue meets yours in the opening of his mouth, pressing against yours to let him back into your mouth.

Your hand comes up to grasp the back of his neck, fingers intertwining in the short, dark brown curls resting at the nape of his neck, urging him on. Your other hand is working its way under the arm that’s holding your body close, landing against his shoulder blade like it’s where it belongs.

His mustache is tickling your upper lip as his mouth ravishes yours in the most intense kiss you’ve ever experienced. Well, it was easy to make out the intensity scale with the two kisses you had ever experienced. This one definitely took the crown.

You didn’t even know how it had come to this point, kissing a stranger on your first night on vacation - well, not exactly a stranger anymore, but certainly not a previously known acquaintance. All you knew was that it felt so damn good, and that you wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

Your hand slides down swiftly, feeling up the side of his body, and there’s no doubt he’s in shape with the number of tensing muscles you feel under his shirt as he holds you, but it’s also clear to you that he is indeed an older man.

There is a soft bagging over the top of where his belt is resting on his slim hips, and it ignites something inside you, that you hadn’t even thought possible. There’s no doubt this man has experience, but you’re not exactly keen to find out just how much. All you want to do, is to stay lost in the flurry of emotions you’re feeling at this point.

In a shortage of breath from both of you, you finally peel yourselves from each other, taking in the others disheveled state. There’s a slight pause between the two of you, before you both break out into grins, soon thereafter joined by giggles and laughter.

You finish the rest of your drink swiftly, watching him over the rim of your glass before you put it down. “One more?” He smirks and you offer him a smile, before you nod.

“If you’re offering.” You watch as he nods before signaling the bartender again, for the 10th time that evening. You watch as he makes your drink behind the bar before placing it in front of you. He looks between you and Javi swiftly, before speaking up.

“Cerramos en 20” he says, leaving you two again, but this time with a bill in front of Javi. You look it over with a smile, wondering how much you had to contribute with. Javi blocks your view before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, throwing a good amount of pesos on the bar to cover the bill.

Your mouth falls open when he turns to you, his eyebrow raised at your expression. “He should be the one tipping us for the show we just gave him.” He laughs, and you can hear it comes all the way from his stomach. You can’t help but join in. Well, that’s one way to say it.

“They’re closing in 20. Finish your drink,” he pulls on the leather jacket he draped over the back of the bar stool he’d been sitting on, and damn if that one piece of garment doesn’t suit him startingly. “You mind if I walk you home? I’d like to make sure you’re getting home safe, so I have a chance of seeing you again.”

You can’t help but smile at his question, giggling as you quickly down the drink the bartender has placed in front of you, before you’re getting off the bar stool you were sitting on. “Sure.” You whisper in his ear as you walk out of the bar with Javi hot on your heels.

You can feel his eyes on your hips as you saunter out of the bar, twirling once to see if he’s still following you. He is. And his eyes are trained on you like a hawk on its prey. His lips tug between his teeth as he watches the curve of your body being engulfed in the dim rays of the rising sun.

It’s like you’re some kind of ethereal being right then, sent to him by the gods. He never truly believed in heaven and anything else superstitious before this exact moment in time. Seeing you right at that moment - it changed something within him. He usually did the whole relationship without the aspect of love. Scratch that - he never did proper relationships.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that you, at that moment, could be a part of his future. He felt his heart pick up the pace when you smiled at him, as you reached out your hand for him to take. It was like he imagined what your whole future could look like, right there.

He steps out into the morning light overshining Bogotá as he takes your hand, his eyes reacting poorly to the already brightly illuminated city. He brings a hand to rest against his brows as he halts in his steps, squinting his eyes to get his vision back. As the whiteness clears from his eyes, the first thing he sees is you.

It’s in stark contrast to the dim lighting of the bar - out in the sun he can see just how beautiful you are. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he feels his heart pick up the pace again. He feels like a teenager again. Your voice fills his ears and at first, he doesn’t really hear what you say. Your plump pink lips are just moving angelically, taking his breath away.

Then you’re pulling him by the hand, and he follows you. He’s amazed that you manage to hurry through so many small passageways, since it’s only your second day in Bogotá. He watches your back the whole time you’re leading him wherever the two of you are going.

He notices a constellation of freckles on your shoulder that slithers its way up the back of your neck, and he finds himself wanting to kiss the skin there. He almost runs into you when you come to a stop, turning to face him with rapid movements.

“How do you still have this much energy?” He breathes - he is out of breath. He watches you, your chest rising rapidly as your smile beams at him.

“You’ve paid for my drinks through the night. Let me repay the favor.” You grin as you gesture toward the small restaurant you’ve led him to. The small restaurant is already buzzing with life, and Javi still has no recollection of what time it is.

It doesn’t really matter when he’s in your company. “I walked past this place yesterday when I was exploring. I wanted to try their pancakes and a cup of real Colombian coffee.”

His hand is still intertwined with yours, and you’re swinging it slightly between you, as if it would help you convince him to let you buy breakfast. He nods then, making you smile even wider.

“Guess I could use a cup of coffee that isn’t homemade.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The pancakes you’re eating are the perfect combination of sweet and spongy dough. You almost moan when the freshly made syrup-glazed bite fills your mouth. You notice Javi watching you from the other side of the table, and you offer him a close-mouthed smile.

Your cheeks are full of pancakes, and in that moment, he realizes just how young you are compared to him. It unsettles his stomach just slightly - he’s never been one to overthink hooking up with someone, but right at this moment he’s starting to second think his decision.

He’s afraid he’s gonna be the one who ruins you completely with who he is, and the story he has. It’s never been easy for him to have relationships. He even had the audacity to leave his former fiancée at the altar.

He never knew why he was unable to commit himself, yet he found so much hate within him, diverted at himself. He just didn’t understand the impulses he would have. He could fuck three different women in the same day, if he wanted to. He didn’t even know where his libido came from.

He watches you as you chew your way through your sugary breakfast, all while occasionally taking a few sips of your coffee. He sips his own coffee in silence, just observing you as you fill your empty stomach. He should be eating something.

When you finally lean back against the backrest of the chair, your plate cleared and your mouth swallowing the last bite of pancake, you offer him another smile. This time it’s with teeth, though.

He feels his heart beat like that again, and he doesn’t fucking understand why you’re doing this to him. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about someone he just met. Yet he can’t help himself.

He watches you without a word, simply observing you as you look around the small restaurant, the street in front of it bustling with life by now and your eyes observing every person walking by.

He admires the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip, your tongue most likely finding some residing syrup. It runs over your lips twice more and he feels a jolt run from his heart right into his groin.

It ignites everything inside his body, and he closes his eyes slightly, imagining things he definitely shouldn’t be imagining at this point. He barely knows you. He sort of feels bad. Yet he can’t stop himself.

When he opens his eyes, you’re looking directly at him. “Where did your head run off to?” You tilt your head with a slight smile playing on your lips, and he finds himself getting lost in your eyes again.

This is the first time he’s actually getting to look into them properly. Dazzling orbs are watching him through lashes, compelling him to do things he’s sure he’s going to regret later. He’s simply mesmerized by your eyes. He feels like you can see right through the barrier he’s been working on and putting up for so many years to shield himself from the problems of the world.

“You really don’t wanna know, hermosa.” The words leaving his lips make your heart beat faster in your chest, again, and oh man if this man isn’t going to be the end of you. Even with the little-to-no experience you had, you were sure you would let him do anything he wanted with you.

You scoot to the edge of the chair you’re sitting on, feeling a sudden surge of confidence overcome you as you let your chin rest on your palm. Your foot slowly extends out, finding the inside of his calf under the table before it makes its way north lazily. “Try me. Maybe I’m thinking the same thing.”

He feels a breath getting stuck in his throat. That he definitely did not expect from you. With the little knowledge he had about you, he hadn’t expected you to come onto him so strong. He definitely didn’t mind your interest in him - you were a beautiful woman.

He leans forward slightly, over the table to get closer to you. He doesn’t need the whole restaurant knowing their business. “Maybe I’m not the man for you, hermosa.” Your hand unexpectedly takes his, and he yet again finds himself taken aback.

“Maybe I’ll let me decide for myself.” You whisper to him, before retreating yourself from his personal space. You dig through your small handbag to find your purse, pulling out pesos to cover the bill along with a tip. You rise from your seat with a smile, scooting the chair back under the table.

He’s reluctant to follow your movements, so you speak up. “Were you going to follow me home, or have you changed your mind?” You challenge him as you watch him stand as well. His eyebrow raises slightly at your statement before he signals you to leave the restaurant with his hand.

“So, where do you live?” You ask him as you both leave the restaurant. He walks beside you with his hands deeply buried within the front pockets of his jeans as if he’s scared of touching you.

You walk beside him with your hands clenched at your sides, desperately wanting to touch him again. There’s something infuriating and infatuating about him at the same time. It’s not easy to read him, and he knows it. He loves it.

“I live in one of the apartments ordinated to me by the organization. They have some apartments close to the office.” He tells you, and the rest of the way home to your rented apartment is with small talk between the two of you. You feel the distance between you now, like he regrets the fire he undeniably has started within your body.

You turn to him when you finally stand in front of the small apartment, you’re currently residing in. You offer him a small smile, unsure of what to do at this point. How were you ever going to say goodbye to him? You didn’t really want to.

His fingers move a strand of hair out of your face before he’s grasping your head in his hands again, placing his lips against yours again, finally. You realize by then that you have been craving the feel of his lips against yours, the smell of him once again making its way to your nostrils. Tobacco, whiskey and something you can’t place - maybe sandalwood or cedar.

Your lips move against one another slowly - sinfully - and you catch yourself grasping the front of his jacket within your fists so tightly it hurts. His hands are persistently holding your face close to his, further deepening the kiss.

The kiss leaves you breathless yet again, and you find yourself craving more and more of him. You want to know everything about him. You want all of him. You detach your lips from his with a sigh, your eyes closed as you await something, anything.

Yet nothing happens. When you open your eyes to look at him, he’s already watching you. You turn your body slightly, digging through your handbag to find your key. You unlock the door swiftly as he watches you, slightly out of breath himself. He watches you step into your apartment, feeling a slight sense of anguish at the way you’re not inviting him in. Or so he thought.

“Would you like to come in?” Your words are low and soft as you ask him, almost like you’re afraid he’s going to refuse. Your heart falls in sync with your face, as he hides it in his face. You watch as he rubs his fingers over his eyes with a sigh.

“I better get home. I need to sleep for a bit. I am an old man, after all.” He tells you and watches the way your face falls. You nod though, as if you’re letting him know that you’re alright with it, even though he can clearly tell you aren’t. “I’ll come pick you up later today? Maybe I can show you some of the city.”

Your face brightens instantly, and yet again he has to remind himself just how young you are. He knows already he’s going to hurt you, but how he’s going to do it is unclear to him.

“I would love that. I think I may need some sleep as well.” You say with a smile before you’re stepping back out through the door to place another kiss against his lips. You know by now that you will never get tired of the feeling of his mustache against your skin. And boy were you wanting to feel his mustache against other parts of your skin as well.

“I’ll see you then.” He says as he departs from your front step, and you watch him as he walks down the road, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see if you’re still watching him, before he turns around a corner, and out of your sight.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

next chapter

[iron--spider]

my favorite superhero

Tony sits there, cuffed to a chair in whatever the hell facility this is, and he stews. He doesn’t enjoy being kidnapped—his ego always takes a hard hit when he allows it to happen, and now that the end of the world has come and gone, he figured this kind of shit would fall off.

 But he stews, particularly angry, because this one is personal.

 Justin Hammer paces back and forth in front of him. He’s a little weightier than he was when Tony last saw him, sporting a patchy, uneven beard and what looks like a borrowed suit. Still an asshole.

 “Haven’t I been through enough?” Tony asks, twisting his hands in the cuffs behind his back. The iron arm is just not strong enough to break whatever the hell these are made of, and he’s angry because Justin thought ahead. When does Hammer think ahead, ever? 

 “Honestly,” Tony continues. “I’ve got kids now, you’ve gotta stop stalking me. I lost my arm saving the fucking world—apparently whatever the hell repercussions of all that got you out of prison, surely through no lawful avenues, so you’re welcome, by the way.”

 “Thank you very much, Mr. Stark,” Hammer says, pointing over at him. 

 “No, you know what, you’re not welcome. I take it back.”

 “You can’t take it back, you said it,” Hammer says, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his head high.

Tony sighs and looks away. There’s what looks like a kind of forcefield around where he’s sitting, and he sighs even harder. The room isn’t too large, with a vaulted ceiling, and Hammer’s situated himself on the platform in front of what looks like a couple empty offices. He prances back and forth above the few stairs that lead down to where Tony is, so he can stay above him.

 “You know, I’m really proud of this,” Hammer says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This whole thing, right? So I snag you, and then we set off that bomb threat over in Midtown, so all your other super buddies fly over there and just think you’re slacking on the job when you don’t show up. Because you’re still handling the lower level shit like that, I know what you’re doing. I even think that Strange guy is over there, so they’re all there and they’re probably all judging you for not helping.”

 “Cute,” Tony says, bitter.

 “And this place is state of the fucking art, Anthony, like this could be the Queen’s bunker, and I’ve got all the buddies that left the Raft with me protecting the perimeter—chiseled, rugged guys just—ready to beat the shit out of everybody—”

 “Nice, the guys that left the Raft with you, like you’re on vacation—”

 “AND we’ve got you in vibranium handcuffs, you’re welcome, your pal in Wakanda’s gonna be real pissed when he realizes how far into the villain layer his shit has gotten—”

 Tony looks at him, brows furrowed. “Villain layer? Layer—layer of villains? Is that what you were trying to say? And you’re including yourself there? Or like, lair of villains, like their lair where they keep their stuff—but that doesn’t really work—”

 “No, just, shut up,” Hammer says. “Forget it. But that—yeah, vibranium handcuffs, so you’re not getting out any time soon even with your shiny new arm. And that forcefield is brand new Hammer tech, even if your buddies did fly over here once they’re done with their nice little distraction, they’re not smart enough to take down the encryptions, not even Banner, I checked into his degrees and what he studied and covered all my bases.”

 Tony’s bitterness is mutating into something else, something more bitter and why the shit can’t this asshole leave him alone? 

 “Congratulations,” he says. “Today marks the first day in history that you weren’t a complete dumbass.”

 “Thank you, thank you very much,” Hammer says, bending over in a deep bow, hands whipping with a flourish. “I thought about every variable, every avenue, now we just need Miss Pepper Wifey to answer my calls and—”

 Tony experiences a flash of anger at that, and then a high pitched tone starts going off in his ears, and now he feels like a dumbass. 

 Peter. Was with Pepper. 

 Peter.

 Like a shining light in the darkness and someone Hammer has clearly not paid attention to despite all his fucking planning, because he would have mentioned it amongst all the other bragging. Spider-Man isn’t an official Avenger yet to the world, just among the group. And Peter would never think Tony is slacking. Because Peter just doesn’t think that way. 

 Tony’s heart warms, because even though there’s no indication, he knows Peter is coming to get him.

 “You know what?” Tony asks, looking up at Hammer again and interrupting whatever dumb shit he was saying. “I was wrong. You’re still a dumbass.”

 Hammer stares at him. “What? No I’m not. Why? But I’m not.”

 “You are,” Tony says, glancing away. “I’m not telling you why.”

 “Oh Jesus, Tony, c’mon,” Hammer says, waltzing down the couple of stairs from the platform he was standing on, like the supreme idiot he is. “You’re such a—”

 He stops, abruptly, and pulls out a small tablet from his pocket. His eyes narrow.

 Here we go. Let’s go Spider-Man. 

 It’s faster than Tony could have imagined, and he looks on eagerly. “Oh, what’s that? What’s going on? A little hiccup, maybe?”

 “Gotta be some kind of bullshit,” Hammer says. “Super friends are all at the coordinates I set them up at, my guys checked, my guys—oh my God, Raul.”

 “Oh my God, is Raul okay?” Tony asks, flexing his fingers a bit behind his back. “Where’s Raul, is Raul here? Is something wrong—is Raul sick?”

 Hammer glances up at him but he’s shaking more now, and his pacing gets more panicky and stilted. He holds the tablet with one hand and taps on some kind of ear com with the other, and Tony shifts back in his chair a bit, relaxing. 

 “Jason, Jason, can you hear me? Are you there? Buddy, the whole reason I gave you this earpiece is so you can report when I need you to report—”

 He gasps, dramatically, and looks up at Tony.

 “Not good?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “Not good news? Did they go on dinner break early? So hard to find good help these days.”

 “Do you know somebody else?” Hammer asks. “I thought the Avengers were very exclusive, I thought you didn’t chat with all the other ragtag Times Square assholes.”

 Tony leans forward and stares at him just as all these red, fiery lights start going off on the ceiling, and Hammer looks up and around, dropping the tablet and letting it shatter. Tony catches a glimpse of it now that he can see the screen, and he watches as guard after guard goes from green to red.

 He looks back up at Hammer and grins, full of pride. “You don’t know shit about me if you don’t know who my favorite superhero is.”

 And with that, the door behind Hammer opens and the lights snap out, only leaving the soft purple glow of the force field around Tony amongst inky darkness. His heart leaps when he hears a gun go off, three times with angry ricochet, and then he hears Hammer shrieking like a little girl, followed by the unmistakable sound of Peter’s webs and a body falling to the floor.

 Tony sits there in darkness and silence for a long moment.

 “Uh, Spidey?” Tony asks, blinking in the purple glow. “Where are you, bud? You okay?”

 The lights click back on and he sees Peter kneeling on the ground, checking Hammer’s pulse. 

 “Oh thank God. You okay?” Tony asks again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? The asshole.”

 “No, he didn’t shoot me,” Peter says. He pulls off his mask and stuffs it in his belt, looking up at Tony with a grimace. “He just, like. Passed out. I didn’t even punch him. I was gonna hit him, like, to knock him out, but he was already passed out and I didn’t even use impact webs, Tony.”

 Tony snorts. “It’s fine, that’s just how he is.” He grins at Peter. “Thanks for coming, kid.”

 “Duh,” Peter says, approaching him.

 “I’m sure he’s got a computer around here or something, so you can disable the forcefield—”

 “Yeah, I already did that,” Peter says, walking right through it, and Tony watches, mouth agape. “For some reason he had a stealth mode, and I was able to mirror that and it put it on standby for twenty minutes.”

 Tony nods. “Alright, shit, that’s great, okay, plenty of time to figure out the handcuffs, find a key or something—”

 Peter walks around behind him and kneels down. “He was stupid enough to alter them and add a code and a second latch.” 

 Tony feels him do something, and then the handcuffs drop off, like nothing. He laughs, feeling a little lightheaded, and he gets up, turning around to face the kid.

 He feels completely and utterly in awe of him. He always knew Peter would surpass him, but he has with such grace and candor and it’s—amazing.

 Peter puffs out his chest and points down. “One day, I’m gonna be able to break vibranium with my own strength, and then I’ll tell King T’Challa—”

 Tony nearly launches himself at him, wrapping him up in a hug. He ruffles Peter’s hair and pats him on the back, sighing and holding him close. “I’m very proud of you. Very very. Really very.”

 “Oh,” Peter says, holding onto him. “Really?”

 “Shit, of course,” Tony laughs, wondering if he doesn’t say it enough or if that’s just Peter, always doubting himself. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”

 “No, I’m—I was done. I’m just—I’m just gonna tell him.”

 Tony hugs him for a couple more long moments before letting go, pulling back and gripping his shoulders in continued appreciation of what he’s done here. “You’re the best, you know that? Better than Cap or Bruce. Better than all of them. Number one.”

 “Nah,” Peter says, but he’s grinning. 

 “That idiot,” Tony says, pointing over at Hammer, encased in webbing, “is one of my worst enemies.”

 Peter narrows his eyes. “Really?”

 Tony lets his arms drop. “Well. Definitely the most irritating.”

 Peter laughs. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Don’t get mad, but I took one of the quinjets to come get you. But Friday flew the whole way so it’s technically like, not that bad.”

 Tony scoffs as they head for the way Peter came in, the red lights still flashing and indicating the absolute fucking wreck Spider-Man left Hammer’s facility in. “Kid, that quinjet? It’s yours now, I’m gifting it to you.”

 “Don’t say things you’ll take back later,” Peter says, leading him through the corridor, where a bunch of guys are webbed to the walls—some squirming, some still.

 “Nope,” Tony says, patting him on the back again. “I will not be taking that back.”

 “Okay,” Peter says, eyes wide with excitement as he grabs for his mask. “Then I would also like an Iron Man suit.”

 Tony scoffs and turns right when Peter does. “Okay, that—that we can negotiate.”

[forcefully-awoken]

LOVE LANGUAGES

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance, but he does enjoy a challenge

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for: Attempted sexual assault, my shit romantic writing, Kylo Ren doesn’t understand romance and neither do I.

Note: This was written for the Citrus Dome Lovers Day Literature collab.

Read on ao3 here. Header by the lovely Elmi.

Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance.

There has never been a need for it in his life, growing up the only couple he had truly seen in action were his own parents. The volatile relationship they had together, one moment embarrassingly in love and physical, the next a screaming match with random objects flying through the air. He couldn’t imagine attaching himself to a person like that, letting their emotions influence his own. No, there was no need for something as trivial as romance in Kylo Ren’s life.

That is, until you come along.

You trail behind Hux, of all people, taking diligent notes of whatever the General says on your data pad. You’re new to Starkiller, he can tell from the wide eye look you give everything as you pass by it, the way your head jerks towards him and then away when you realize he’s staring right at you. He doesn’t even know why he’s staring at you. You were, you are, irrelevant to him. He hardly gives you a second thought when you leave the room.

Until you collide face first into his chest. It’s the middle of the night, there’s no reason for you to be wandering the halls (there’s no real reason he is either, aside from a bout of insomnia, but he’s Kylo Ren and you are, well, you). You stammer out some pathetic excuse about the base being so big you get easily turned around. You’re nearly in tears by the time he takes as much pity as he can on you, barking out a short “Enough.”

You stop speaking immediately, even though he made no use of the Force. With your mouth closed he takes a moment to appreciate you. He lets his eyes drift over your form under his mask, and delights in the way you squirm under his gaze. You look so small like this, so soft in all the right places. You look so deliciously breakable.

“Come to my quarters,” he instructs you, wanting to see just how much you can endure under him. He turns, expecting you to follow but to his incredulous surprise he hears your voice calling after him.

“No, I won’t be going with you,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a certainty in it. Your tone leaves no room for debate, and before he can even get back to you, you’re gone. Moving around him and through the hallways, leaving him standing in your wake. It’s the first time someone has denied him in… far too long. He’s used to taking now, to everything to be one challenge after the next, none of them too strenuous for him to overcome.

But here you are now, a new little thing. Telling him no, walking away from him without so much as a second glance. It shouldn’t get under his skin in this way, but when he finds himself alone in his room again he’s consumed with thoughts of you. It wasn’t just your rejection, he realizes, but your outright dismissal of him all together. He was leader of the Knights of Ren, the Supreme Leader’s right hand, but you had acted as if he were some random trooper. It wouldn’t do, he decided, it wouldn’t do at all. He stumbles across an issue he’s never encountered before- how to talk to someone like you.

He’s had his fair share of beings across the galaxy, but they were paid for, or had willingly given themselves to him for a small taste of power. A means to a brief end, he couldn’t remember half the names or faces. There had been nobody exceptional. Until you. He doesn’t think Hux will take kindly to it if he offers you money, and while he doesn’t care what Hux thinks of him, the thought of it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, the victory would ring hollow.

It makes him think of the vague talks his father gave him as a child, when the old man would indulge just a little too hard. Han Solo was, by his own account, a scoundrel, leaving broken hearts in his wake without a care. The trend had kept up into Kylo’s own childhood, only the heart of a son is a lot harder to mend. It’s never been what Kylo Ren wanted out of life, and isn’t what he wants out of you. He banishes the memories from his mind, forces himself to focus on what’s right in front of him.

“Why did you say no?” It’s the first time he’s seen you alone in almost two weeks, always in Hux’s shadow. You’re taking notes on the bridge now, while Hux is off doing Maker knows what, probably something Kylo will have to correct later on. The only thing that matters to him now is standing next to you. He’s never been one for posturing before, but now he stands a bit straighter, puffs his chest out a little more to see if he can pull a reaction from you.

You barely spare him a second glance.

“I’ve heard tales about you,” You begin, voice so casual that someone might think the two of you are discussing the weather, “I’m not looking to be the next conquest of the great Kylo Ren. I’m here to work not to… dally with you.” It made sense, laid out in front of him like that, but it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection. He says nothing else but stalks off the bridge, grinding his teeth together.

It’s Phasma, of all people, who has the best advice for him. He doesn’t even approach her about it, the tall commander simply seems to know what’s on his mind. She finds him after a meeting, blocks the doorway so he can’t leave the room.

“You have to woo her,” Her voice is painfully flat, almost strained with how casually she’s forcing the words to be. He considers for a moment simply running her and then himself through with his lightsaber, but thinks better of it. The First Order would fall into ruin if Hux was the only one left. “Find out her love language, and approach it as you would a battle- with a clear strategy.” She saves him any further embarrassment by blessedly leaving him alone with his thoughts now.

He has to research what the fucking things are, something that galls him. He can’t remember the last time he had to do his own research on things, having briefings prepared for him for so long now. He finds out there’s five of these so called love languages (they sound like something his parents would have fought about). It’s easy, after that, to come up with a plan.

He starts with the easiest and most obvious- quality time. It’s easy enough to request your transfer. Hux sputters and complains but ultimately it’s useless. Now you shadow him to war councils, diligently typing away at your data pad with pursed lips. He watches you to see if any of the meeting makes you blanch, after all a meeting with the Knights of Ren is drastically different than what you might be used to.

You say nothing to him the whole time.

“Send your notes to me,” It’s a needless reminder- you’ve already sent them to him but he feels the need to condescend, just a bit. Your lips flatten into a thin line and you give him a curt nod. His own lips mimic yours behind his mask before he bites out, “Is there a problem?”

“Don’t interfere with my career,” Your words are quick and quiet, eyes staring up at him with a burning anger. He can feel it radiating off of you in waves through the Force, almost as fierce as his own.

“Duly noted,” is his only response, before you turn on your heel and stalk off without being dismissed. He should reprimand you for it, but all Kylo Ren can look at is the soft sway of your thighs as you go.

The next language he decides to test out seems easy to him as well, until he has to put it into practice. Gift giving is something that he thought would be almost laughably menial. It isn’t until he starts to think about it more that he realizes he comes up short in this arena.

While the conditions on Starkiller base aren’t luxurious by any means, the workers and troops want for nothing on it. There is hardly even a black market for contraband goods, with how tightly regulated the ship was. He selected the only thing that even made slight sense to him, given how cold it was on the base.

“Here,” He acosts you after a meeting one day, thrusting the bundled up fabric in your general direction. You take it with hesitant hands, unfolding it to hold it away from yourself as you eye it up and down. Your head tilts to the side and you bite your lower lip in concentration, something he’s seen you do more than once during particularly intense meetings.

“This is a sweater,” What it is is the only thing he thinks would be a suitable gift for the frigid planet base. It’s black, but the fabric is soft and warm. He thinks you’d look good in it as well, but he would rather talk to Hux than admit it.

“The base is cold,” He tried to keep any irritation out of his voice, the both of you know this fact already, “This will keep you warm.” He doesn’t wait for you to say anything else, already burning with humiliation. His strides carry him so far away so quickly he almost misses your quiet reply-

“Or you could.” When he turns back to you, you’ve already turned away from him as well, falling in with a group headed towards the residential area.

But the next time he sees you on a day off, you’re wearing the sweater.

The next love language he attempts to conquer gives him pause. Words of affirmation seems to be the stupidest thing he’s ever heard of. Of course anybody would like to be complimented, it’s in the nature of being. Mindless and meaningless compliments seem dull and almost insulting.

He could compliment you on your work, of course, though he suspects you’ve heard all there is to hear on that subject. You’re a quick and succinct note taker, he’s seen it first hand, but that doesn’t scream romance to him. On the other hand, being complimented on a skill you’ve clearly worked hard at is better than any alternatives.

This time he finds you before a meeting, situating yourself in the corner of the room. He’s noticed that about you- that you press yourself into the back of the room, so you can observe everything all at once. You stand up straighter when he walks in, an action he’s read is a positive sign. Because of how you position yourself you’re back into the corner of the room with him in front of you, blocking any way out.

“Your notes are good,” Fuck, it sounds even worse saying it out loud. Your face remains impassive but he continues on anyways, “They’re direct and to the point, but you never miss anything. You do a passable job.”

“Thank you,” Your reply sounds sincere, but your voice is so small it barely reaches his ears. There’s a hint of a smile quirking at your lips when you continue speaking, “My parents were both officers for the First Order. They taught me well.”

More people are trickling in so he wrenches himself away from you, ignoring the pointed stare from Hux as they both seat themselves. The meeting passes slowly, something about trade routes and treaties. Kylo is happy to have his helmet on now, his eyes never leaving your face as you type away.

“Do be so kind as to not break my assistant,” Hux says to him after, as they walk to their audience with Supreme Leader Snoke. It takes Kylo by surprise, the quiet steel in Hux’s voice. Neither of them say anything else, but Kylo nods his head in acknowledgement.

Hux’s words stick in his chest for the rest of the day. He had wanted to break you at first, wanted to crawl inside your mind and see what made you tick but this dance the two of you were doing was far better than any easy conquest. It was… interesting to see whatever barrier you had put up between the two of you come down slowly.

He’s quiet in his thoughts when he returns to his quarters, until a scream tears him back to reality. He hasn’t heard your voice make a noise like that before but he knows with surety that it’s you calling for help. Kylo makes quick work of finding you, cornered by two drunken troopers.

One of them has the sweater he gave you halfway off your body while the other is struggling to get your pants off. Rage rips through him like a storm, and with one violent sweep of his arm the two of them are flying off of you, hitting the wall with enough force they’re either dead or about to be. He turns on them with a snarl, ready to wipe them from the base and from memory when he hears you sniffle.

Turning back to you he can see now how badly you’re shaking, trying to wrap the sweater back around you. There’s tears streaming down your face, dripping down onto the floor beneath you.

“I-I’m sorry you had to see that,” You manage to get out, and his rage returns. For all his wrongs he knows you don’t need to apologize to him. When he tells you this your head snaps up so fast he thinks you might hurt yourself. It’s only when your eyes widen and your mouth drops open a little he realizes- he left his helmet in his quarters.

This time it’s Kylo who stands a little bit straighter, posturing under your gaze. He knows he’s an attractive man, and now you get to know that as well. He’s silent, letting you drink him in until-

“Can you take me home?” His heart stutters out a tango in his chest as he nods. You grab onto his arms, your hands so hot he can feel them through the layers he’s still wearing. Perhaps you meant for him to lead you back to your own quarters but you say nothing as he leads you to his own. You don’t speak when he closes the door behind you.

And you don’t speak when you grab the front of his shirt to tug him down, pressing your lips to his.

Whatever doubts you had before have been wiped away, as your mouth opens under his to invite his tongue in. You whimper when his large hands dig into your thighs, manhandling you up until your legs wrap around his waist. He walks you both to the bed, his mouth only leaving yours to dip down and suck a mark onto your skin.

He lowers the two of you down onto the bed, calling on all of his training not to simply tear your clothes off and rut into you like an animal. He’s worked for this, for you, for this reward.

But then you grind your clothed cunt up against him and he decides there will be time to savor you later.

He pulls back just enough for him to shed his clothes and watch you scramble out of yours too. Your eyes trail up his body ravenously, and his trail down yours in delight. You look better than he ever could have imagined.

You’re practically dripping when his fingers find your clit. He rubs a few quick circles around it, trying to get you just wet enough for him to slide into you. Your back arches off of his bed, offering your chest up to him. When he takes your nipple into his mouth you melt into his touch.

“Hurry up!” You sound as impatient as he feels, grabbing onto his shoulders to pull him closer into you. “Waited too long already!”

“Yeah?” He lines his cock up with your entrance, presses himself completely inside with one thrust. You don’t- can’t- answer him now, not if the way your cunt fluttering around him is any indication. He grips your chin, making you look at him and says, “Tell me you want me.”

“Fuck!” You moan out, shaking underneath him, “Wanted you since the first time I saw you!” His hips snap into yours, setting a brutal, punishing pace. Your nails bite into his shoulders, leaving little crescents of red behind. His hands twist at his sheets around your head, so tightly they rip a little but he doesn’t slow down.

He continues like this, driving you into orgasms until you’re sobbing underneath him. Even then he doesn’t slow down, not until your eyes are drooping, threatening to pass out on him completely. He pulls out quickly, cumming over your stomach and chest. Kylo collapses on the bed next to you, staring at the tremors that wrack through your body.

“Well, that was certainly worth the wait,” your voice is rough from screaming underneath him, but your comment brings a smile to his face. He gets to study you now, eyes tracing over the contours of your face, committing how you look now to his memory. You shift forward, delicately walking over to his bathroom to use the shower to clean yourself off. He knows he should too, but instead he simply lays on his bed and waits.

Once you’re clean and dry you dress yourself again, barely sparing him a second glance. Still he remains silently lounging on the bed. Finally you look at him, hands twisting nervously in front of you.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting?” You don’t even let him reply before you’re out his door, leaving him alone with another sting of rejection. Kylo slumps back onto his bed, but now his mind is reeling. Pulling out his own data pad he types a few inquiries into it before falling asleep.

————————————————————————

You try not to think about it all the next day.

You had hardly been able to sleep that night, body sore from the sex. It had been so long since you were with anybody, and Kylo Ren had been anything but gentle. You avoid looking at him during meetings, being the last one in and the first one gone from them so he can’t speak to you.

You manage to avoid him all day, making your way back to your room to hide away there until the urge to return to him passed. You stop in the doorway, taking in the flower on your bed.

A singular red rose waits for you, a note attached to it. You don’t have to guess who it’s from, though the note only says ‘For You’. You think for a moment about throwing it away, about putting in for a transfer, about getting the fuck off Starkiller before you can make any more poor decisions.

But then you think about the past few weeks, not just the previous night.

You think about the time, the effort Kylo Ren had shown for you. How he had saved you. How he hadn’t made a move until you did. His gestures had been a bit awkward but the meaning behind them seemed genuine. You take the rose and place it onto your desk, right there it will be the last thing you see at night, and the first thing you see in the morning.

Kylo Ren doesn’t do romance.

But for you he might give it a try.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (End) - Dating Game

Woo Doggy! This has been fun to write and I mean FUN. Having no real holds barred and getting really silly was a lot easier than I expected and I had a great time with this arc. 

One of the biggest complaints in the mobile game fandom is the Main Story offers no love interest for the MC and it trails off at this part as the MC is reduced to a go-fer for every NPC’s sidequest. Well I say NO MORE, you will be quite literally the center of everyone’s attention from here on out.

Cars lined up around the entire block of the street and women were lined up along the sidewalk for their tickets. From 8 to 10 p.m., the busiest time of the night was when the stage was filled with shows by the performers, from ancient erotic dramas like Cleopatra and Marc Antony to Chu Zihang's swordplay; off stage, the guests were already drunk. The guests who came late were often groups of girlfriends who had eaten dinner elsewhere and came to join the singing and dancing party in Takamagahara, the performers had to go over and greet them, there was a shortage of manpower everywhere. Both the escorts and waiters were running to work, Whale was roaring outside the dressing room backstage, like the circus troupe master. 

The message of the Romanceable MC Contest had caught fire and boosted to epic proportions. Princess Night was in full swing and featured all the top names in Male Escort business. Even before they got out of the cars, the women were screaming and taking pictures having lined up for hours.

The  white Cadillac Escalade stretch limousine rolled like an anaconda and reflected the millions of electric lights of the Tokyo night. It took up half the block, but there was space left for cars like this, reserved for the VIPs of the Takamagahara elite. No one could park there on pain of towing and a hefty fine.

A man in a hooded cloak pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. His bright green eyes scanned the crowd waiting outside. He crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back. “What percentage of the fans out there are mine?”

“From the ticket sales it seems that you are about 30% of the crowd today, Master Inoue.” The driver, a veteran and son of drivers, had been there for him since he first made it big hosting the Bliss Hall. This driver was so skilled at avoiding paparazzi that he put him under a lifetime contract. Now he was much older, but his driving was still as sharp as ever.

The man in the back seat was barely visible, dressed in all black and keeping the lights down so that it looked just like an empty limo. He huffed with a slight smirk. He crossed his arms and looked down. “Wow. And I’m supposed to have competition?” 

“You are the top male escort in Tokyo, Master Inoue,” rumbled the driver again.

That sharp green eye flicked up to the rear view mirror. “Second… to the top. If you would, sir. But apparently Ruri Kazama isn’t competing.”

Ruri Kazama. The name was so legendary among the escorts of Japan that they scarcely dared to utter it. Although he rarely appeared outside private showings, the man reigned supreme as the king of the male escort business.

“He’s unlikely he would have been able to respond on short notice, Master Inoue…”

“No one skips the Takamagahara…” He looked back outside, pushing back the thick velvet curtain slightly.

“You’ve skipped it by 3 hours sir.”

“I”m only here to see one woman. There’s no need to see any others or stay here too long. I come here, win her little heart, and leave with my prize money.”

“You’re really not going to entertain your fans, sir?”

He grinned, his radiant and white smile shining in the dark of the limo. “There’s value in scarcity. If I popped up in full all the time, there’d be no chase. And as you know very well, my most excellent driver… It's all about the chase! If you would, please?”

The driver put the truck in park and stepped out in his sharp suit and driver’s hat. He pulled the handle on the pearly side door and opened it.

Shining black cowboy boots covered in sparkling rhinestones stepped down from the limo. He moved as smooth and graceful as a dancer in skin tight leather pants. His black leather jacket was open to reveal his bare chest and sculpted abs. His hair, bleached white streamed from a black cowboy hat decorated with shark’s teeth.

His appearance sparked immediate mayhem, screams, and mad panting. Dozens of hands reached out desperately, stretching their fingers towards him as though they were pulled by an extremely powerful magnet. They were all screaming, “Diamond!”

Master Inoue - or to his fans, Diamond - stood still as a statue, hat tipped over his eyes, listening to their desperate pleas with his eyes closed.

It seemed arrogant, but for him, it was always like this. From the time he was a child, people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. When they caught sight of his brilliant green eyes they were drawn to him before he even knew the difference between boys and girls. Sitting in the stroller, all he had to do was smile and the women would come and coo and smile and ask, please, can I hold him. Please!

“Please! Hold me, Diamond! Never let me go!”

Diamond lifted his head toward the voice. It was a woman in her thirties, tears in her eyes, begging with the desperation of a leper before Christ. If he just wanted to, he could heal her broken heart. He walked casually towards her and saw her eyes get bigger and bigger and then he took her delicate hand in his and gently kissed it.

The woman, struck with a Pentacostal frenzy, trembled and fell to her knees sobbing in desperation, clutching her hand and rocking back and forth. She would probably never wash that hand again.

The little favor revved the up crowd even more and the bouncers hurried to line up and make a barrier. That kiss was all he would grant. He turned and walked through the velvet rope staffed with burly workers with black masks over their eyes. They opened the doors to Takamagahara and he stepped inside. Immediately, two more workers turned to lead him to the VIP area.

“So who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Deep down, he was quite excited. His clients were usually 35 and older. For thousands of dollars, he would have dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks in some VIP Lounge. Or he would be asked to clean the house naked. Or pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. There was the common misconception that his clients were old or undateable. But that wasn’t his experience at all.

People who had $5,000 to spend on a naked butler could have anyone they wanted.

And they wanted him.

This challenge was new for him. The club picked his woman and they would be paying his escort fee. 

His only task would be to ‘Love her.’ If she felt that then she would give him tickets. Whoever got the most tickets was the winner. When she picked his ‘route’.

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

It wasn’t that you got a private party, MC. This was a show.  You were on the floor with everyone else. Rather than sticking to the edge of the crowd you got your table in the shape of a figure 8 in the middle of a raised platform filled with fish swimming about and surrounded by plush red couches in the shape of women’s lips. And already, the bottles were open. 

You’re wearing another dress, not a cheongsam this time. It was a light green satin tube dress that hugged your figure and barely covered anything. Your hair was long and down your shoulders and your make up again was light. For such a simple look, you had spent hours in the spa that day while they made sure your hair was softer than it ever had been. You smelled like lilac and roses. 

A man with short blond hair cropped above his ears, blue eyes and a black shirt so tight it conformed to every muscle in his body yelled above the music. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Russia!”

“Russia! Woooow! Are you some sort of Oil Baron?”

“Yeah!” You yell figuring nothing you said mattered. They wouldn't remember anything anyway would they?

He flicks his wrist and produces an unopened rose stem, seemingly from thin air and offers it to you. “To me you’re worth more than all the oil in the world. I hope we get to know each other well, MC.”

Below the shirt, He wore pale form fitting jeans that hugged his considerable muscle just like Caesar’s outfit did. But his shoes were casual sneakers without ornamentation.

You accept the rose he offers you, feeling a bit shy.

Another man in a golden blouse that is made of fabric so sheer you could see the belly button piercing underneath, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He puffs out a perfect ring of smoke between his thin lips. “That would be Oil Baroness, Calypso…” He says. “She must have more pull than just money to bring us all to the same table.” His voice was deep and carried through the noise. He pulled another drag and sipped his liquor. But he was looking at you with calculating dark eyes.

A silver coin goes spinning on the table. A man in fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail, puffy red coat and a long chain over his bare chest lifts his chin at you. His eyes are as silver as that coin. “Heads or Tails, MC?”

“What am I betting on?” You ask.

His smile spreads further. “I just said heads or tails.”

“Hey, go easy, she’s new!” The man in the skintight black shirt returns with a bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass.

The redhead slaps his hand over the coin. It’s painted with an elaborate henna tattoo, elaborate, like stained glass. “You’re not going to win by going easy…”

The smell of the vodka is the mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Light a match and it might produce a plume of flame! You lean away, repulsed, but the man next to you brazenly pours himself a glass and downs it. Sighing roughly like he might breathe fire, he grins. “That’s the good stuff! But you must drink it every day right?”

“Yeah!” You take cautious sips but the burn builds and builds until it overwhelms you and forces you to stop and cough into your arm.

Caesar, Mingfei and Chu Zihang were nowhere to be found. It was clear this club was over occupancy and over staffed so there was no rescuing you. All the waiters were running around. From somewhere in the hall, glass breaks.

A finger taps your shoulder. You’re met by a bright green gaze in a pale face.

You flinch as a crown is laid on your head.

“Your Majesty…” The man bows to you.

“Your Majesty!”  They all echo with bows and kittenish smiles. For years, you’d never considered trying to date anyone. You lived like you were preparing for war. Then the war came and never let up. Now, you’re surrounded by men who could honestly be called the handsomest in Tokyo who were placing their hands on their broad chests and bowing their heads in fealty.

Off stage, the women on the floor whooped with delight.

Cowboy hat tipped over one eye, shirtless in his jacket, with a bare hairless chest, the man who gave you the jeweled tiara leaned over the couch. Every muscle stood out in carefully carved relief and your eyes followed them down to where they disappeared below his waist. The elastic band of his boxers peek up from the pants. You’d seen naked people before. But they were all familiar, people you knew and were fine with. This is the first time encountering the bare chest of a complete stranger and he’s so close you can smell his sweat. “Wow…” He says quietly, in a low purr next to your ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are… beautiful.” His eyes roamed about your body with a lopsided smile, his eyebrows raising. “I have to say I am caught by surprise.”

If your face gets any hotter it might catch fire.

He vaults over the couch, plops next to you and leans in, filling your vision. He gives a quick wink. “I’m yours for the night.”

“Diamond is always this forward but the truth is, he’s the most inexperienced of all of us.”

Diamond shoots the yellow shirt a glare. “I’m experienced in everything she would possibly want, Armani.”

“Yes, but we must go gently, gently…” The black shirt lightly rustles your hair. “We don't want to scare her off.”

“I’m here to do what she wants me to do…” Diamond waves the other men away before addressing you again. “Well, what’s your name?”

You tell him.

“Beautiful… let me guess? Russian?” His hand crept over to envelope yours in a steady grip. His fingers were so much larger than yours and soft like they were bathed in milk every day. There were no calluses. When Mingfei or Caesar touched you, there were roughened, thick patches of skin from hours of practice at the shooting ranges. His nails were even, shining and unbroken.

He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me, Diamond.”

“Okay, Diamond.” You glance up at his eyes. He follows your gaze down when it falls again, trying to hold it as much as possible to the point where he leans over and tilts his head to do so. Every time you look up, those eyes are there, to catch that glance, like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

He holds your drink out to you and you accept it with thanks.

“Are you cold? I noticed you’re keeping your feet tucked under.”

“Yes, it’s… a little cold.”

He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over your shoulders. It was very warm and you realized that the smell of the cologne he was wearing surrounded you like a thick heavy fog.  You could now see his body in all its glory. You belatedly realize that the observation of your being cold was just an excuse for him to remove one of the few pieces of clothing he had!

His shoulders.. The way his neck curved into them and then down to his back. You’d seen shoulders like his before but for some reason, in seeing someone new, made your eye rest on it that much longer, on the way the muscle hugged his bone . The cold in the room made his nipples stand out and...

“Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Your Highness?” He stayed turned to you. The way his abs wrinkled. That little valley on his side that disappeared when it met the leather pants. You were naturally observant. Everything you saw was getting laser etched into your mind. In an effort to stop it, you return to his eyes but even that wasn’t safe. He was so close, you could notice small flecks of blue and gold that enhanced the color. 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” You say this, but it doesn’t sound right even in your own ears. It wasn’t really his eyes you wanted to say something about.

He gives an easy relaxed smile, his eyebrows lift once. “Your eyes are prettier.”

“No they’re not.”

“I think I’m gonna barf. Let a pro show you how it’s done.” The redhead plants one arm between you and Diamond and ignores his furious glare.

His lips were really pink, almost cherry red, but you don’t see any sign of gaudy lipstick that Caesar wore. Everything about this man was gorgeous, even the light smatter of freckles on his nose. And everything about him was natural, save his hair color. The breath from his nose tickles your lips. He’s not backing away, he only tilts his head a bit.

You start to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. He draws a bit closer… closer. You close your eyes and wait. Wait… nothing.

“Can I?” He asks, quietly pleading.

“Uh...huh?” You press the words out from a stomach that was already squeezed tight like a fist.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind for later.” The redhead pulls back and sashays back to this spot on the couch, giving Diamond a sharp snap of his fingers, just inches on his face. “Get on my level.”

“Alright, Alright, point taken.” Diamond pours himself some vodka.

The man in the yellow blouse, Armani, tilts his glass a bit. “Popularity is just a sign of good marketing and ubiquity. None of us can doubt your social media prowess, Diamond, but this is much higher class.”

He’s then staring at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Perhaps the baroness should accustom herself to someone who has dined with high officials. The ones with real power.”

“Okay…” You whisper, you’re completely captivated, unable to move.

“But that’s boring.” The Redhead sighs. “She needs to have more anticipation and suspense!”

“Your name is Chance because whether or not you’re any good is a complete crapshoot.” Armani sips his whiskey.

“But you could hit the jackpot.” He winks at you. “I’m one in a million.”

A loud popping sound  made you suddenly duck but he held you close. Confetti and glitter rained from the ceiling and cascaded over your skin. You look at your arm and watch the play of the disco lights on the sparkle.

“It’s time to give out Star-Heart Tickets! Who is the Ikemen who’s won this round?!” Whale is still emceeing this event and apparently was watching you. A waiter comes by with a basket full of stars with hearts in the middle.

You look at face after glorious handsome face. They were all leaning forward, smiling, waiting. Off stage people were yelling. Bets were being taken. “Diamond! Diamond!”

“PIck Armani he’s the best!”

“You’ll love Calypso!”

“Go with Chance!!”

“I don’t know…” You say, your voice weak. You look at your glass but it seems like the level has hardly moved even though you already feel dizzy.

“No one!” Whale shouts loudly. 

There must be a microphone because you’re not sure how he’s hearing what you’re saying. A gasp ripples through the crowd surrounding you and they fall to a confused silence. All the men sitting around you sit up straight, their faces each registering different levels of surprise and consternation. Save Chance, who whooped loud. “Yeah! Now this is what I’ve been waiting for! Let the games begin!” He pumped his fist.

Chance makes a mighty leap on the table and stands in front of you, all six feet of masculine bravado. “Let me give it to you straight. It’s true, I’m not always everyone’s cup of tea, I go buck wild sometimes.” He sweeps his arms across the table at the other men. “But if girls just fall into your lap at the first sight, how do you know how to compete? Ya don’t!”

Armani stares up at Chance and slowly sets his whiskey down. The others also suddenly changed their demeanor, grave determination and desire in their eyes.

[yukipri]

Okay, I’ll bite XD How do the first interactions with Smoker go? First mermaid he’s ever seen, and she’s dragging herself along the ground to find the platform. Awww, Smokey could give her a lift, though who can say if he’d appreciate her boobs on his head as much as Ace does, haha!

EYYY a bite ;D

Here’s some Smoker

~~

The first time Smoker sees Straw Hat, the mermaid is perched on top of the execution platform.

Smoker had read the reports, and had seen her bounty poster, and yet some part of him hadn’t quite believed. A mermaid, as a pirate? With a devil fruit? And in a crew with infamous pirates like Portgas and Thatch no less, in East Blue of all places?

It’s laughable, and the cropping of her photo makes it seem all the more likely that it’s all just a dumb joke.

And yet there she is, red tail gleaming and unmistakable against dark clouds, so ridiculously and jarringly out of place, but very much real. Her announcement that she’ll become Pirate King of all things almost manages to top the ridiculousness of her very existence.

Despite being disoriented, a pirate is a pirate, and Smoker’s duty is to capture her, and she makes for an easy, gullible victim with no Haki to speak of to counter his smoke. Smoker feels a tinge of regret, briefly wondering what unfortunate history and poor decisions led her to be here, pinned by his seastone jitte, when she could have been in the mermaid lagoon on Fishman Island--when he’s stopped by an even more disorienting figure.

Dragon, Supreme Commander of the Revolutionary Army.

Smoker doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because a roar of flame whips past them, and then the mermaid’s gone, now swinging from the back of the fire logia pirate, who has the nerve to give Smoker a cheeky wink before they vanish.

They meet again in Alabasta, and Smoker intends to avoid Fire Fist to take Straw Hat as hostage, but the pesky older sibling keeps getting in his way. There’s now a third brother too, one he hadn’t noticed in Loguetown, but whose identity makes sense given the presence of Dragon, and the man has infuriatingly powerful Haki that bats away smoke like nothing. And to make Smoker’s day even worse, he sees the Whitebeard Fourth Division Commander exhibiting some weird power that wasn’t in his reports, and he’s there with the two older brothers blocking Smoker’s path. Smoker isn’t used to facing challenges, there are few things that can threaten a logia user this far down Paradise after all, and he doesn’t like the odds of him against two logia and a strong Haki user just to get at one damn fish. It’s distressingly predictable that they get away.

He isn’t thrilled when not too long after the incident, his enemies end up rescuing him from certain death via drowning.

He’s on the ground, clothing soaked, having been heaved from the water by Roronoa under Straw Hat’s orders--Straw Hat, who’s suddenly too close, peering down at him with droplets of water still clinging to her hair.

She smiles, seeing that he’s awake and alright, and Smoker feels more winded than he’d been by the crushing water entering Crocodile’s prison room. And then she’s gone, a safe distance away, fists readied to fight.

Smoker doesn’t get it, doesn’t get why all these powerful pirates seem to listen to her, doesn’t get why she feels like no other pirate he’s ever seen, doesn’t get why she seems so close and yet so untouchable.

He lets them go. Straw Hat grins at him, and says, “You’re not so bad!” as she leaves, swinging from Roronoa’s back.

The words stick with Smoker.

~~

Over two years later (and after that damn cursed War), Smoker runs into Straw Hat again. It’s awful timing, because that damn Trafalgar’s just switched his and Tashigi’s bodies, and Tashigi’s body just doesn’t move the way Smoker’s used to. Smoker distractedly thinks that he and Straw Hat seem better matched now, at least physically (her chest looks a bit bigger though), and he’s insulted when she laughs and says they’ll fight again when he’s back to himself.

They end up having to team up, which Smoker is very disgruntled about indeed (and also, Fire Fist is very VERY not dead like the government had announced, which is its own separate problem), but sometimes the greater evil must be defeated first, and Caesar and Vergo are that evil.

Smoker has known for a while now, that despite their crew’s complete and utter lack of respect for authority, Straw Hat and her brothers aren’t...the worst. The kernel had been planted in Alabasta, and had slowly festered in the back of Smoker’s mind during the two years of their crew’s disappearance, when he’d had had time to question whether Portgas’s execution was truly in the name of justice. And now, in Punk Hazard, they seem even grayer, as reluctant but undeniable allies.

The subtle shift in his perception of Straw Hat still doesn’t remotely prepare Smoker for the mermaid shouting, “Hey Smokey, we’re going to the same place, gimme a lift!”

Smoker doesn’t even have the time to refuse, because suddenly rubbery arms are looping around his neck, without Haki or intent to harm, and Smoker stops his body from turning to smoke just a second before she’s crashing into him. 

And then he suddenly has a mermaid on his back, her soft chest squashed against his coat, her tail whipping through the space where his torso would be if he wasn’t flying. Her arms are loose and trusting around Smoker’s neck, and she peers down at him expectantly, her face close enough for him to feel the soft, foggy puffs of her breath.

She’s perched there like she belongs there, as though Smoker’s her brother or crew, and Smoker HATES how he doesn’t feel angry, disturbed, or even annoyed.

(It’s as though a subconscious part of him wants this, wants to know what it feels like to have her strength and willpower and insanity all compacted into that misleadingly small package and settled against his own body. As though that part of him wants to know what it’s like, to be trusted by the enigma known as Straw Hat Luffy.

(And now that he’s experiencing it, he hates that he can’t feel anything but humbled, and now that she’s there, there’s no way he’ll drop her).

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[detroitbydark]

Part Seven

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+. Sexual intercourse. breeding kink. You’ve been warned.

Summary: He just can’t stop wanting more

A/N:  So, yeah. 6800+ words. Foxy Babies this is for you. This was supposed to be a simple Fuller chapter and well.... I lost control.... 

All parts can be found here on my Masterlist.

The fourth floor sparing room in the tower of the Coruscant Guard was the favorite place of many a Guardsman. Offering reprieve from the public eye and an avenue to release pent up frustration, it was rarely empty. 

The walls, a flat neutral beige devoid of character, helped the men concentrate (according to the Kaminoans) on their lessons, sparring, and the occasional (unsanctioned) fight.

Fox enjoyed his time there, one of his favorite places in the building. That being said, he’s unsure if he’s been in the position to study the ceiling so well before.

Rule reaches down and clasps his forearm, pulling Fox from his back into a sitting position. The younger Sargent folds to a cross legged position across from him, sweat catches along his temples as he grins like a fool. Fox can’t help but grin back at his kit. To say he was proud of what Rule and Wren were becoming was a gross understatement. The fact that Rule had now bested him two out of three rounds and he was still able to find amusement in it was testament to that.

“Getting slow, Commander”

Thire and Wren plop down near them. Thire takes a long pull of water from a bottle before using the excess to spray over his sweat soaked hair.

“Too many late nights”

Thire is his second in command, the one he trusts at his back no matter what the situation. He was serious, pragmatic, and observant. Also, a complete shit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren asks propping his knees up and laying on his back. Rule looks between his commanders and then to his batchmate. 

“Commander Fox has been missing from the  barracks more than he’s been there lately”

“Missing?” Wren is a damn good sargent but sometimes he’s as naive as a Padawan learner. Rule spells it out.

“The Commander is sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

For all the engrained training and military bearing he held, Wren can’t help the ‘O’ of surprise and the wide eyes he turns on Fox.

“Di’kut” Fox grumbles with only fondness coloring his voice. Rule smiles cheekily.

“Sir? Really” Wren seems genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, really?” Thire deadpans. Fox gives them a flat look.

Wren looks from his batchmate to Fox, “does this mean Mouse is available-“ he must notice the almost imperceptible stiffening of Fox’s spine because recognition shows. “Oh. Oh”

“Shut it, all of you” Fox grumbles. He and Mouse had discussed the need to keep things private. He wants to crow from the rooftops and he can’t. It was kriffing banthashit is what it was. 

It hadn’t been a topic he'd wanted to broach but like everything Mouse was looking out. He remembers the nervous look she’d given him, peering up from her spot, draped sleepily across his chest the night before. He remembers the soft way she’d asked what this was. 

Laughing at the question had not been the appropriate response. It has taken near pinning her to the bed after he’d barked one out to get her to listen. He’d need to be more careful in the future. 

They couldn’t put a name on what they were doing but it didn’t stop Fox from wanting to. Maker, he had wanted too. He wanted to run headlong into whatever it was they’d fallen into. He’d never known a feeling like he did when he was with her.

Just a few nights spent curled around her and all he wanted was to spend the rest of his nights the same way but he had responsibility and a duty to the Grand Army.  He didn’t have the freedom to make choices or plans. One slip and he could risk being demoted, or worse, sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Mouse didn’t know about reconditioning and he wasn’t going to tell her. She was risking enough as it was, both her job and her career if it ever came to light what they’d begun.

As much as they’d given in to their desires there was a line they couldn’t cross. She understood that. She understood that he couldn’t give anything else. The soft kiss she’d given him had told him as much. 

But when the war was over, then- 

He was thinking too far ahead again. 

The only way for them to be safe was to keep it under wraps. He should have known though that his men were too observant for any sneaking he did to be of any good.

“Keep it under your buckets, would you?”

There’s nods of ascent and matching “yes sirs” from the two youngsters. Thire gives him a raised brow as if he’s going to argue but nods as well. “She’s a good kid. Deserves better then the likes of you.” He jokes. Fox laughs, pushing off the mat.

“You act like I don’t know it.” He reaches for Wren and helps the younger clone up, “ready for the next round?”

He manages to take Wren three in a row.

Thire catches him in the locker room as he’s attaching his kama. The two sergeants have gone their separate ways and the few stragglers milling about pay them little attention.

“You and Mouse? She worth the risk?” Thire asks quietly, his eyes searching Fox’s. 

Fox isn’t offended by the question. He’s asked himself the same one a half dozen times.

He woke early this morning, eyes open by 0445 as usual, and had to disentangle himself from the grasp of the small woman curled around him in nothing but his black undershirt. All that hair had worked itself into a convores nest of tangles. Her lips had been slightly parted as her brow knit together. She’d grumbled and reached when he’d pulled away and like that he’d learned that his cyar’ika was not a morning person. He finds he likes learning all the ins and outs of her. The fact that, given the option, she wouldn’t open her eyes before 1000 made him appreciate all the more the warm smile she had for him each morning when he’d get to the office.

“Definitely.” The single word answer seems to please Thire who nods once.

“Good, that means Hound owes me a weeks worth of traffic ops”

Because, of course, there had been a betting pool. 

——-

The offices are two levels up from the gym and training room, just seconds by turbo-lift. Thire’s office and his own secretarial droid are on the opposite end of the floor from Fox’s. It doesn’t stop him from walking side by side with Fox. He doesn’t respond to Fox’s grumblings. He’d been keen on seeing Mouse since he’d left her warm bed this morning and he didn’t feel like tempering his enthusiasm for an audience. Even if his second hadn’t given him an official blessing- because officially nothing was going on- he still wasn’t going to be anything other than professional with another set of eyes in the room. Which was a problem because when she looks up from her work when he rounds the corner he feels anything but professional.

“Good morning Commander Thire” 

Fox feels a little disgruntled that Mouse hadn’t said it to him first-

“Good morning Commander Fox” and he doesn’t miss the slight blush that creeps into her cheeks when she says his name or the way she shyly bites back a smile. She motions with her eyes to the mug of caf waiting for him. So maybe he puffs his chest out just a little bit. No one could fault him. Thire muffles a laugh behind a poor excuse for a cough.

“Mouse that’s a nice scarf you’ve got today” Thire notes. Mouse’s fingers go to her throat and the silken scarf tied in a neat knot to the side. She smiles and fiddles with it nervously.  

Fox knows he should probably feel guilty about the love bites littering her skin, instead he’s only slightly miffed no one else can see them. It was some of his finest work to date.

Her eyes dart away as she offers a quiet thank you. Thire can’t hide the chuckle that escapes his mouth as he slaps Fox on the back. “I’ll see you later and we’ll discuss the assignments for the rest of the week and through the weekend. It looks busy.”

Fox sighs, allowing work to put a damper on his good mood. Busy was an understatement. There were far too many senators needing a detail and too few men to do the job. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” He offers as encouragement.  Thire gives Mouse a wave as he retreats back to his side. 

“Commander? I have the Senate schedule for the week. Also, the Chancellor has personally requested your presence for his detail the beginning of next week” she glances down at the datapad resting across her arm. A small frown flits across her face as he heads towards his door. She’s on her feet following him. 

Fox smirks as she continues chatting, “he has two days in Senate hearings than off world for-“ the door slides shits behind them and he turns to see a sour expression on her face. It was almost as if…

“Are you pouting?” Fox cocks his bucket as she stares back up at him. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her lower lip sticks out just so. “You’re pouting.”

“I am not-“

“Says a precious girl trying to convince me she’s not pouting.” 

Mouse's eyes narrow at him as she pushes past him. He can’t help the smile that’s taking up space under his helmet. “Aww come on now, I was just teasing. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The Supreme Chancellor is going to be off world for at least a week.”

And suddenly he understands why she was sulking.

Getting assigned duty to the Guard made a clone the shebs of many a vod’s joke. Being called a desk jockey was the nicest thing a new recruit was bound to hear. They weren’t in a ‘war zone’. they got zero credit for the work they did and even less recognition that it held any importance. It seemed to Fox that unless you were blocking blaster bolts from Jedi with your body you weren’t going to get a pat on the back from anyone. 

The work they performed was just as integral to the protection of the Republic, just as vital as the boys on the front lines. They didn’t see it that way. It got to the point where the Guard had to deal with resentment not only from citizens -happy to act like war was a dirty word that happened to other people- who didn’t want a military presence in their city and their own brethren, who looked down on them as less than equal. 

The old adage that the only people that liked the Coruscant Guard were members of the Coruscant Guard was true as far as Fox was concerned. One of the few things a member of the Coruscant Guard had to look forward to was a fairly routine existence, about as close as a clone was going to get to normalcy, on Coruscant. Fox hadn’t been gone from the Triple Zero for more than four, maybe five days tops since reporting.

Now, just as he’s starting to suss out what he was doing with Mouse he’d need to be gone on assignment? He was unamused but his hands were tied. This was a clones lot. You went where you were told and did what you were ordered.

“It won’t be so bad” he lies, trying to make his voice just as convincing as possible. Mouse’s jaw is set in a hard line that indicates she does not believe him as she moves past him. “You know I have no choice in the matter.”

She stops at his desk and takes a deep breath. Fox takes in the way her shoulders dip. “I know you don’t.”

He feels like a used speeder salesman, like he convinced her anything with him was a good idea and now she’s beginning to see the shabla ride she signed up for. 

“Ok then” he murmurs moving slowly behind her. Fox wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest. 

She lets out a contented breath as she settles willingly against him. Maybe she still hadn’t figured out what a kriffing bad deal she’d signed up for just yet. He wasn’t about to point it out.

Turning in his arms she reaches up and pecks him on the helmet.

“No fair, cyar’ika. Couldn’t feel it through the bucket.” 

She laughs. He’s gotten spoiled with that laugh over the last couple days. 

“You’ve got work, Fox.” She says primly, “finish that and maybe you can get some more where you can feel them” the twinkle in her eye has him already half hard. He’s learned what that’s meant too. 

“You’re trying to bribe me.” He notes, smiling underneath the helmet.

“It’s not trying if it’s works.” She says slipping from his grasp and moving out of arms length. “Now, you sit and you do the work.”

Fox tosses her a lazy salute, “yes, ma’am”

“That’s more like it.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Fox likes the way she blushes before she turns to leave. He doesn’t miss the way her hips sway as she moves to the door or the way she peeks over her shoulder to make sure he’s watching. 

“Out.” He demands “or I’m not going to get anything done.”

He doesn’t miss her peel of  laughter as the door slips shut.

———

As with most days, timelines and schedules change on the fly. What once was a meeting with the Jedi council for tomorrow turns into one today. 

Fox and Commander Thire leave shortly after lunch and you don’t see either before it’s time to punch out. This was the way.

 You’d become accustomed to the rapid change early in your time with the Commander. Now that you and Fox were... well you didn’t know exactly what you were but now that your relationship with the clone commander had changed you’re still trying to figure out just what your expectations needed to be. 

Besides low. 

Of course, this wasn’t going to work out. You knew this. You were sure he knew it too, he just wasn’t saying it. Unfortunately you already found your head and your heart had reached a disconnect between wants and expectations. While your head told you to enjoy the physical attention of a very attractive, very competent man but keep your distance emotionally, your heart was trying it’s best to drag you all in.

His office door slides open as you punch in the code, taking a lap around to make sure everything was in place. Fox was typically fastidious in his cleanliness. Everything had a place and it was rarely ever out of sorts. The only thing you notice today is a stray datapad parked in the corner of the desk. The same one you’d put there this morning. The same one that only has signatures on half the things you need to file it all. 

Because Fox was a sly little shit.

You hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight. He’d made mention that some of the boys were onto the pair of you and he thought it was a good idea if he didn’t come to your place for a few days. You’d agreed wholeheartedly. Of course, you come to realize, he hadn’t meant he wasn’t going to see you at all. You just had to go to him. You can’t help but shake your head as you pick the pad up and leave the office. You slip it into your shoulder bag after putting your coat on and head toward the barracks. 

Located on the first two expansive subfloors, the Coruscant Guard’s barracks levels were expansive, housing the entirety of the clones who patrolled Coruscant and served the Senate. You smile nervously at faces you see, some familiar and some not so familiar. While it wasn’t uncommon to see a civilian face in the barracks apparently a female one, this late in the evening was. You try to keep your head down as you make your way to Fox’s stateroom, knocking lightly and trying to avoid the curious looks you're getting.

“Well hey, sweetheart. What are you doin’ down here?” You don’t recognize the clone and offer a nervous smile.

“She’s here to see me trooper.” Fox looms out of his door as it slides open. The trooper snaps to attention. “Is that an issue?”

“N-no Commander Fox”

You glance at the Commander in the doorway. Even dressed in just his blacks he cuts a striking figure. “Well? On your way then.” He orders, his voice offering no room for argument. The trooper snaps a quick salute and begins his journey down the hall at a quickened pace.

“You didn’t need to scare him” you fight back a smile as you enter his room and he closes the door behind you. “He was just being friendly.”

You're taken off guard as your back is pressed up against the door and Fox presses himself into you.

“Too friendly” he mutters, leaning in and slotting his mouth over yours. You lean up and wrap your arms around his neck as he licks into your mouth. He hums appreciatively as you press further into his chest, sucking gently on his tongue as it slips past your lips. You sigh as he pulls back, hands moving to cup your bottom. “Took you long enough to get here” he mumbles against the crown of your head. 

You swat uselessly at his chest as you squirm out of his arms. You roll your eyes as you fish the datapad from your bag and toss it to him. He catches it readily. “You’re rotten.” You mutter, “could have just asked me to come over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He doesn’t seem fazed by your skeptical look, “no fun at all because now you're going to finish your kriffing work.”

He barks out a laugh, “and what do I get if I do?”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” 

A sly grin crosses his face as he stalks toward you. The room isn’t large, a bed in the corner, an armchair next to a dresser and a desk scarcely large enough for a child to work let alone a grown man. You back up, giggling, until the back your legs hit his desk.

“What about kidnappers?” He looms over you, taking your chin in hand, “I don’t plan on letting you out of here anytime soon, Little Mouse.”

Warmth spreads through your belly at the low tone of his voice. You inhale sharply through your nose and he knows he’s got you. His hand slides down your neck working loose the scarf you’d worn all day. His thumb strokes over the dark, bruised marks he’s exposed. “Stay tonight.”

“Is that a question or a command?”

The smile he gives you is absolutely wicked and full of promise, “what do you want it to be?”

It’s hard to pull yourself together, he barely had to try and you found yourself falling under his sway.

 “Work then play.” You mumble softly. You wait for him to push because that’s what he loved to do, but he doesn’t.

“Work then play” he concedes as he takes the few steps to the armchair wedged into the corner of the small room. You watch him sink into the cushion, legs spread wide and inviting. He pats his lap, “come sit with me. Keep me company while I finish.” He sounds innocent enough but you know him to be anything but. Your arms cross over your chest. 

“If I had known you were going to hold me hostage, I would have brought a change of clothes.” The scarf is removed completely and dropped unceremoniously on his desk. Your faux indignation does little to dampen his mood.

“You could just take it all off” he leans forward grinning lasciviously before setting the datapad down and pulling his shirt over his head, “or you could wear this?” You catch the black shirt he tosses at you as he picks the datapad back up.

 Two steps toward the 'fresher and Fox is clearing his throat. You stop and look over at him. You don’t miss the way his tongue wets his lips or the hungry look in his eyes. “Right there, Mouse.” 

Your tummy flips at the order- because that was what it was. You’d heard that tone before, Fox used it with his men. Your teeth press into your lower lip. You’d been sleeping with him nearly every night for the last week but something about this is different. 

The buttons of your blouse come undone slowly underneath your nervous fingers. You can feel Fox’s eyes leaving a heated trail over your skin as you let the blouse slip to a rumpled pile on the floor. 

“Skirt next” he demands. His posture appears relaxed, maybe even lazy but you can see the play of his forearms as his hand grips the chair. You turn your back to him as you unzip your skirt next. It slips to the floor and, along with your shoes, is kicked off. 

The low rumble from behind you lets you know he appreciates the view. Straightening, you glance over your shoulder, trying to offer your most innocent look. If he wanted to be the boss you’d give him every opportunity, “what next?” you ask sweetly.

“Panties. But don’t turn around. I want to stare at your ass a little bit longer.” 

The admission sends a bolt of electricity to your center. Hooking your fingers in the waistband you slide the simple black underwear down over your hips.

“Nice and slow.” He encourages. 

Bending at the hips you make a show of sliding the fabric over your thighs and down your legs. You hear him move restlessly in his seat as you stand back up. The hooks of your bra are easy to unclasp and you let the straps slip down over your shoulders before slowly turning around. 

Fox’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide. “Take it off” he rasps. The garment falls to the floor. You should feel nervous, maybe embarrassed, but the look you see on Fox’s face is longing, reverent. You feel like a goddess and he’s worshipping you with his eyes. Your thighs squeeze together to relieve the tension that’s beginning to slowly sparking low in your belly. “Gorgeous girl. Now put the shirt on and come sit on my lap before I change my mind and we skip right to the fun portion of the evening.

You slowly pull the black fabric over your head. Fox is larger than you and it shows when his shirt is in place. The hem of it hangs down enough to cover all the places he’d been eyeing minutes before. Nearly all the points where the shirt fit snugly against the clone, it fits loose to you, except where it clings gently over the slope of your breasts and your taut nipples. 

Fox follows every movement you make as you walk to him. He holds a hand out for you to take as he guides you into his lap. His chest is bare and your eyes trace the light scarring you see across his left pec and the small scar - that you’d been told was a blaster burn- on his right flank. The scars stick out, pale against the deep tan of his skin. They were a roadmap across his body that you never seemed to have enough time to explore. 

Fox sits you on one thigh as your legs are draped over the opposite one. You tuck in to his bare chest as you breath the scent of him. He’s just as tense as you feel as you lay your head on his shoulder, your fingers begin a slow slide up over his skin, tracing the marks you found, like playing a game of connect-the-dots.. 

With a harsh breath of his own Fox picks up the datapad, “work first” it’s said to himself more than you. You watch as he opens up the to do list you’d made and scans it quickly before opening the first series of documents. 

“How was your day?” You ask softly. One hand smoothing flat against his chest while the other strokes over the short hairs at the base of his skull. He is nearly purring as he clicks through the work, signing his initials where needed. Work is intermittent as he pauses to let his eyes slip shut and enjoy your touch before he silently reminds himself what needs to be done and goes back to it.

“Long.” He murmurs, “the council meeting was useless. We need more boots on the ground here but we’re not going to get them. There’s a siege starting on Anaxes and they’re diverting the 501st that way in a few days.” He explains, head leaning back into your touch. You make a soft hum of understanding.

He wraps an arm around your waist to readjust you, the firm press of desire is easily felt through his blacks along your bottom. 

“I’m working Mouse. Stop wiggling” he chastises as you squirm against him. Inhaling deeply, you force your body to relax. It’s hard, knowing what Fox is capable of and being made to wait, you’ve gotten spoiled very quickly. This was a trial for the both of you.

He moves onto the next series of documents, related to the recent trafficking incident, “I just want to make sure I’m doing everything right. Not just for my men-“ 

Fox reaches up to his head, pressing the heel of his hand hard against it.

“Headache?” You frown softly. He makes a sound of confirmation.

“I finally looked at the Fives file again today.” He explains softly. You hum for him to continue, “I can’t- everytime I get into it my head starts hurting. It’s got to be stress. I think I missed something and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Let it rest for tonight?” 

He nods slowly.

“I’ll try. Maybe you can help me forget?” You highly doubt that but willingly accept the kiss he turns to give you. Unlike the heated one when you first come over this one is soft, tender. Like the one earlier, it’s over way too soon as he returns his attention to his work, “almost done”.

He scrolls through one interrogation than the next. Finally, he pauses at the picture of the children that had been rescued. You watch as his finger traces over a tiny Twil girl, 

“Adorable.” You note softly. With her pale green skin, gap toothed smile, and sparkling eyes she was absolutely captivatingly sweet. Fox tenses under you.

“You like children?” He seems surprised when you laugh and you're not sure if you should be offended or not.

“Of course I like children. They’re darling, what’s not to like?” Fox makes a small sound and rushes to the next screen. Silence falls between you and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. 

He retreated into himself sometimes and, when he did, you were at a loss as to what he was thinking. The best thing to do was be patient. If you’ve discovered anything it was that pushing Fox accomplished nothing, he was too stubborn for it and you’d only frustrate yourself.

Your gentle touch not only soothes Fox but it begins to lull you, lazily you nuzzle against his neck, occasionally pressing dry kisses along it. The only indication that he notices is the slight tip in his head offering more for you to kiss. 

“Do you want children, Mouse?” Even given the previous idle chat you found yourself freezing. Fox lays the datapad off to the side and his strong hands begin massaging your thighs. The full strength of his gaze is focused on you.

“I- I hadn’t put much thought into it.” A bold lie if you’ve ever spoken one. 

You did want children, had thought about it since you were one yourself. Growing up in the children’s home you’d been the one to help look after the tiny infants and small children. You were the one that always woke up with a little one in your bed after they’d had a nightmare. You were the one they ran too when they had boo boos that needed tending and comfort to be given. As you’d come of age you’d had to put the idea out of your head. Taking care of yourself in the world had to come first because there was no one else to look out for you and that was ok. You got your apartment and held down  your jobs. You threw yourself into work and helping those around you. Relationships and motherhood became an afterthought and eventually, a pipe dream. Nice to think about but out of reach. “What about you?”

Fox’s hands knead the soft flesh of your thighs, teasing your legs slowly apart and sliding higher. “Officially or unofficially?”

“Both” it comes out in a breathless way that makes him smile. His touch is featherlight as he rubs tiny circles into your skin.

“Officially, my mission is to serve the Grand Army to the best of my capabilities, laying down my life if necessary. The GAR is my purpose and I have no need to want for anything else.” He sounds like he’s repeating a slogan that has been drilled into his head. You frown. it probably had been.

“Unofficially?” A conspiratorial smile cracks his serious facade and your heart flips at the spark you see in his eyes.

“Unofficially? I want a whole pack of them.” His fingers knead slowly, opening your legs for him. 

“Yeah?” You let out a breathless giggle as he turns his head and nuzzles his stubbled cheek against the column of your neck. Goosebumps spring to life over your arms. The thought of Fox with a baby in his arms and one clinging to his armored leg flashes in your head. It’s...attractive, to say the least. “How many?”

There’s a slight hesitation when he answers but he manages the response with a question of his own. “How many would you give me?”

“Fox…” he ignores your sigh. 

He couldn’t just say things like that. You want to chastise him for even thinking such forbidden things. For getting your hopes up for a future that didn’t exist but you can’t because now that you know about this desire of his, your tummy flips excitedly when you imagine-

“Shh, precious- you can tell me later” you can feel his grin against your throat and you want to grumble at his arrogance but the hand sliding up and over your belly beneath his shirt and the other moving to cover your breast feel too nice to interrupt. Through the material he gently plucks and plays with your nipple until your back arches delicately and your hips are grinding down against the growing hardness between his legs. His teeth sink gently into the spot behind your ear as you moan softly.

Hands fall back to your hips as he lifts you. You feel him bridging his hips off the chair and pushing his blacks down over his hips just far enough to let his cock spring free as he repositions you. Your legs fall to either side of his. Straddling him, you're now able to glance down at his cock between your legs, the head deep red and leaking precum. When you look back up there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his eyes.

He takes himself in hand as you rise on your knees. You're already soaked as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds collecting the lubrication. 

“All for me, precious girl?” He questions, voice low and harsh, “I’m spoiled- always so wet and ready for me.”

The head of his clock presses hot and heavy at your entrance. “Take it, cyar’ika” he urges lowly. There’s no denying him, why would you ever want to?  Slowly, painfully so, you begin to sink down over his length, inhaling sharply at the fullness that comes along with him.

“That’s it- that’s perfect. So fucking perfect” Fox groans as you take him all the way until your body is tucked neatly against his. The stretch of him was still something that you needed a minute to accommodate for. Fox leans in and kisses along your shoulder, still wearing his shirt, before he’s carefully rucking it up. His mouth descends to your breasts and he lays soft kisses in the cleft between them before letting his mouth slide over the soft curve and catching a rosy-peaked nipple in his mouth. Your head falls back and again, you feel like a goddess. He laps and sucks until you’re squirming and unable to hold still, the tiny electric shocks of pleasure become an uninterrupted current flowing through you. Then he’s switching to the other side and repeating the process until you feel like you’re going to come apart from his mouth alone. 

Your cunt flutters around him and Fox bucks up once, making a strangled sound in his throat, half-way between a cry and a snarl. 

“Imagine- imagine cyar’ika,” the words spill from his lips in a mad rush “that when I finally spill inside you, it’s with purpose...” 

There’s something different about his voice, less controlled than usual. It stirs something in you. Fox was always so put together, even during lovemaking he managed to exude the air of a disciplined soldier but that’s not what you're hearing now. There’s an edge of something raw and desperate to him. You don’t know what it is that he needs but you want to give it to him. You want to give him everything.

You had the implant, you remind yourself, there was no harm in indulging a fantasy.

“Tell me” you demand breathless. Slowly, your hips begin to circle, testing the position. That electric current arc and sparking in your belly ebbs and flows. You chase the spark, rising up to your knees you mewl softly at the drag of his cock inside you before sinking back down and sheathing him fully. Fox lets out a hiss.

“You want to hear?” There’s something broken and rough in his voice. You shouldn’t encourage this line of thought because nothing could come of it but it’s too enticing not to. 

A sharp thrust has you inhaling sharply. Fingers twist in the hair at the base of your skull, firm and unyielding. “You want to hear how I want to bury myself in you. Again. And. Again?” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips  “Coming inside you day after day until it takes and my child is growing inside you?”

You gasp out his name.

“Yes… wanna- wanna feel- wanna be a good girl for you and take it all” Fox buries his head into the crook of your neck and growls lowly. Strong arms wrap around your waist as you feel him rise from the chair. Instinctively your legs wrap around him as he takes the three short steps to his bed and presses your back into the mattress. The look on his face is wild and intense as he begins to thrust slow and deep into your willing body. It feels like heaven because it’s Fox and you-

“Always so good for me” he grits out as he sinks into you. “Can’t stop thinking about you. All day you're in my head. Want to Keep you safe. Protect you-” The words spill from Fox’s lips. “My precious girl. So good to me.”

“I need- more- harder please” you manage out, the achingly slow torture of what he was doing not enough, only making you desperate for what you knew he could give.

One hand is tangled in your hair and the other supports your lower back, angling you just the way he likes, “don’t want to hurt you.” He grits.

“You won’t-“ you feel desperate, the raw need he was radiating only managing to stoke your own.  You almost cry when he pulls from you completely, the cool air chilling your skin where his body had once warmed it. You sob uselessly. “Fox-“

“On your hands and knees, Little Mouse.”

You rush to comply. His hand smooths over your back as you get into position, fingers sliding down the base of your spine than over the round globes of your ass. He gives an affectionate squeeze. “Love your ass…” he mutters, voice thick with want. 

You wiggle your hips temptingly and Fox gives you a light slap that sends more sparks racing direct to your core. 

“Impatient.” There’s a fondness to his muttering you can’t ignore but you don’t have time to think about it because than he’s pushing into you and- oh Maker- you hadn’t tried this position with him yet and he’s going so deep, making you feel so full that you can barely breath. His hand smooths over your lower back, his thumb brushing across the pair of dimples on either side of your spine.

“Good girl-“ he grits, moving inside you. That feeling building inside you grows by the second. You focus on on the sensation, a ball of electricity crackling deep in your belly, ever expanding and engulfing as Fox continues to fuck into you. The hard snap of his hips, the rough thrust of his cock in stark contrast to the loving praise he doles out.

His name becomes a prayer on your lips, later you’ll wonder how loud you were? Could anyone hear you? In the moment, you can focus on nothing but the way your bodies connect to one another and the primal feel of him behind you.

“You're too far away, cyar’ika” Fox growls, frustration evident in his voice as he leans over you and wraps an arm around your waist. He bring you with him when he sits back up, your lower back arches obscenely so he can hold you and fuck you at the same time.

 Everything feels tight and tense. Too much and not enough. Your head falls back along his shoulder and he buries his face into your neck, growling against your ear.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to pull out.” You would laugh if you weren’t so precariously close to the edge. 

“No” you manage to get the word out as his free hand slips between your legs and begins quick circles over your clit.

“I’m going to come inside you unless you tell me to stop.” He sounds almost desperate, afraid that he can’t control himself. Your body pushes back in time with his thrusts.

“So close- so close- Fox, do it” you plead, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You're desperate and you need to feel him.

His strokes over your clit become erratic as words spill brokenly from his mouth. Praise and curses and feral sounds all twisting together. “Come” he demands finally, “be a- a good girl and come. I’m close- I’m-“

Fox’s hips stutter and you feel it, the way his cock jerks inside you, the warm flood of his seed filling and coating as he pulls you tight. You can feel the low rumble of his groan through your back, the way he bites down on your shoulder to hold the sound back.  The combination is enough to throw you over the edge and then you're falling apart too, keening high and long as lightning travels through your body, white-hot and fast. Your mind blanks out as you ride the sensations, feeling it more deeply, more intensely than any orgasm you’ve had before. It’s as if you’ve shattered into a million beautiful, glittering pieces and your slowly being pulled back together. A  tiny sob escapes your lips as Fox places wet open mouthed kisses across your shoulder, his cock still deep inside you twitching in time with your body. 

He strokes you softly, lovingly as his own movements inside you gentle. His voice is soft, soothing as your cunt continues to flutter around him, milking him for every last drop. A single tear rolls down your cheek. Fox wipes it away.

“Ner cyare… shhh… Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” 

You don’t speak Mando’a but the words sound pretty, particularly coming from his mouth. 

“That sounds nice” you rasp out, your throat is dry and you swallow spit trying to correct it. Fox tenses then hums in acknowledgement as his arms surround you. He eases his spent cock from your body. You feel like a rag doll, boneless and pliable and he’s careful to move your limbs into a more comfortable position, laying you on your side and pressing in behind you in the tiny bed.

“It’s very nice” he says with a sigh.

“What does it mean?”

He inhales softly the scent of your hair and gives your hip a playful, if not exhausted squeeze. “It means nosy little mice should learn more mando’a.”

You're pretty sure that’s not the case but you're too tired to argue, safe and warm in your lovers arms, sleep takes you without a fight.

[iamakiller]

FaceTime with Nicole

It’s Self-Care Sunday.  The one day a month Nicole gets to herself.

Henry spent the night at her mom’s yesterday, so Nicole was able to sleep in until the blissful hour of ten. No demands for breakfast.  No cartoons on full blast in the living room.  And absolutely no terrifying drives to the emergency room with an eight year old boy bleeding and crying all over the cream interior of the car.

No, none of that.  Today is all about Nicole.

Face mask on and tub of low-fat non-dairy ice cream beside her on the couch, she has just queued up the first episode of the new season of The Crown on Netflix when her phone goes off.

Of course it’s Charlie.

Fuck.

She answers it without thinking, forgetting that it’s a FaceTime call, so the first thing Charlie says is a rather shocked, “Jesus, Nicole!  What the hell have you done to your face?” and then he starts laughing.

She would scowl at him, but the mask has already started to dry, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with cleaning up shards of it off the couch. “It’s Amazonian Clay,” she tells him shortly.  “Great for anti-aging.  I’ll send you the link, if you want.  You should try it.”

Twenty seconds in to their conversation, and she’s already fired the first shot.  Must be a new record.  But it’s better to start off that way, isn’t it?  Assert dominance before her ex starts running rings around her.  Talking down to her.  Like he always does.

Charlie’s lips briefly press into a thin line, but he doesn’t reply.  The silence stretches … and stretches … and stretches.  Nicole begins to feel stupid and uncomfortable.  Beside her, the ice cream is already beginning to melt.

She cracks first, as always.  “What do you want?” she demands.  “You know Henry’s at my mom’s, right?”

“Yes, I know,” he replies.  She can’t see him rolling his eyes, but she can definitely hear it in the tone of his voice.  “That’s why I’m calling now. I wanted to talk to you without the possibility of him listening in.”

“O-kay,” she says, very slowly.  Now that she thinks about it, he looks rather more serious than usual.  Almost nervous.  And Charlie rarely looks anything but smug, self-satisfied and supremely confident. “You have ten minutes before I need to wash this mask off.  I’m listening.”

Charlie takes a breath ... and then hesitates, as though he doesn’t know where to begin.  Which once again, is completely unlike him.  In the absence of him speaking, Nicole’s mind starts running riot with the possibilities of what he’s about to say.  Maybe he’s going to jail for murder!  Maybe he has cancer!  Maybe he’s relocating to Europe and she’ll never have to see him again …

“It’s about Britt,” he begins, and then stops again, chewing on the inside of his lip in that annoying way he does sometimes.

Nicole frowns.  A puff of dust falls off the face mask, and drops onto the front of her nice white bathrobe, staining it pink.  That name again.  It’s been over a year, and that woman is still around, and Nicole can’t understand why.  Henry talks about her quite often, and has a photo of her, Charlie and himself on his nightstand. Nicole glanced at the photo just once, when Henry had been waving it in her face.  She remembers thinking that Britt didn’t look anything like her.  She didn’t look anything like those floozies Nicole used to convince herself Charlie was just flirting with, either …  “Oh?” she says, in the most disinterested tone anyone in the world has ever used.  “What about her?”

Charlie runs his hand through his hair twice, even though it looks annoyingly perfect as always.  “She’s been offered a transfer at work. We’ll be relocating next month -”

Oh, thank god, Nicole thinks, relief rushing to her head so quickly she almost feels drunk with it. Please let it be far away.  Like Europe.  Or Africa.  Or the moon.  

“- to LA.”

There’s a faint buzzing in her ears.  Her jaw tightens involuntarily.  A couple more chunks fall off the mask, and flutter down onto her robe. “I’m sorry,” she says, softly.  Dangerously.  “I must be hearing things.  I thought you just said you’re moving to LA.”

The bastard actually gulps, but he sounds extremely patronizing when he responds, “I did.  I wanted to let you know as early as possible. I thought it was only fair to keep you in the loop, as it were.”

Fair? Fair?  There is a tirade of words beginning to creep up her throat like a tsunami of bile.  But all she does is nod slowly, and all she says is, “I understand.”

She watches his shoulders slump slightly, and a smile begin to appear. “Okay, good-”

“I just think it’s funny how you’re deciding to do it now.”  The words tumble out of her mouth.  She hadn’t even known she was going to say them.  Hadn’t even thought them.  And now there they are, hanging in the air between them like a bad smell.

The smile fades, and Charlie’s brow creases as he begins to frown. “Excuse me, what?”  He’s keeping his voice quiet and calm.  The hand that isn’t holding the phone is raised, palm facing her, as though he is trying to deal with some rabid animal.

Well, two can play at that game.  Where she blurted out her last sentence, now she speaks slowly, enunciating every word quite clearly.  “It’s really interesting how you promised you were going to move out here two years ago, and then you changed your mind at the last minute.  But now that she wants to-”

The fingers on the raised hand are now flexing slightly.  “We’ve talked about this so many times. You know I’ve been trying to think of a way to make this happen -”

“BULLSHIT!” she yells.  In the quiet of the house, it echoes slightly, so it sounds like there are several Nicoles all calling him on his crap.

That stops him right in his tracks.  Half the goddamn mask has just cracked off, but it was worth it to see the bastard shit himself like that for once. But he’s still not rising to her bait, like she wants him to.  Like she knows he wants to.  He clears his throat.  “Nicole … sweetheart … let’s be reasonable …”

Nicole grits her teeth.  Fucking fucker.  “Don’t you dare ‘sweetheart’ me, Charlie Barber!  Don’t you fucking dare tell me to be reasonable.  I’m just pointing out a fact here.  You wouldn’t do it for Henry.  You wouldn’t move to LA for your own son.  But you’ll do it for her-”

“No. NO -”  Finally, he’s starting to lose his cool.  Finally.

She rolls her eyes.  “Sure, Charlie.”

His mouth opens and closes several times like a fish before he speaks again.  “Listen, Nicole.  Listen.  We’re doing it because I want to be closer to Henry.”

She snorts.  “It’s always about what you want, isn’t it?”

He’s pointing at her now, finger stabbing to emphasize every word he says. “That’s not true-”

This time, she lets out a mirthless HA!  “I get it, Charlie.  Now it’s convenient for you, you’re going to do it.  Well maybe it’s not convenient for us.  Maybe we don’t want you here.  Have you even thought about that?”

His big, stupid mouth snaps shut.  His face has gone even paler than usual.  He’s staring at her like she’s just slapped him.  “What?”

“You can’t just do whatever you want, Charlie.  That’s not how it works.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she has already hung up on him.

She slams the phone down on the couch, and marches up the stairs to the bathroom to wash the mask off.  It hasn’t been anywhere near ten minutes yet, but she needs to do something; needs to distract herself from the way her hands have begun to shake, and her eyes have started to sting. Even from upstairs, she can hear the phone ringing and ringing, but she ignores it as she dabs her face dry with a towel, then applies toner, moisturizer, eye cream, and a lip mask, all without looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

By the time she’s finished, the phone has stopped ringing.  Nicole straightens her robe and leaves the bathroom, but instead of taking a left and heading back downstairs, she turns right into Henry’s room.  She steps over and around the minefield of Lego that Henry promised he was going to clean up before her mom picked him up last night, sits down on the edge of his unmade bed, and after a few moments turns her gaze towards the photo she’s looked at only once before.

It was taken outside the Museum of Natural History last winter vacation, judging by their attire.  Henry is standing in the middle, clutching his latest haul of dinosaur merchandise, and pulling a funny face at the camera. Both Charlie and the woman have a hand on Henry’s shoulder, and an arm around each other.  Her head is resting against Charlie’s chest, and he is looking down at her and Henry with a small, soft smile.

They look like a family, Nicole thinks, feeling slightly sick.

And just like that, Self-Care Sunday is over.

[moonlightsolo]

bête noire

summary: After training with Kylo, he informs you that he has to embark on another mission but this time, it is without you. 

pairing: kylo ren x female reader

warnings: slight nsfw themes in the beginning, arguing, cursing...

wc: 2.5k

note: hi guys how ya doin sorry for being afk but I've started an adult job and im doing adult things

CHAPTER FIFTY

With a swift swing, the orange blade barely misses your opponents hair. Maybe singeing it slightly. 

He quickly retaliates by swinging his saber towards you causing you to do a backbend kick over to dodge the attack.

“Now that was hot.” Kylo chuckles as he walks toward you with the intention to kiss you. You have a feeling it will escalate to something more. 

You refuse to give into his charming ways and growl at him softly. His eyebrows furrow and he stops in his tracks, his saber does a figure eight in his hands. 

“Alright, I see how you want to play.” He chuckles and spins it one more as he gets into a stance.

Rey taught you one thing, it’s a move you’ve only done a couple times. A cocky smirk rises on your lips as you jump into the air, using the force to push yourself up higher. You do your infamous twirl in the air and come down to stab him in the chest with your saber. 

Of course, you turn it off before you actually do it. His large hands catch you as you fall into him with ease, resting against your bum as your legs wrap around his waist. The hilt presses against his chest, your eyes look down to it then back up into his eyes. “I would’ve gotten you.” 

Kylo chuckles deeply, shaking his head as he looks down to the hilt against his chest. His eyes slowly climb up your body, looking at you with his familiar dark look. His lips smash against yours as kisses you vigorously, his teeth gently bite your bottom lip as he pushes your back against the wall. 

His fingers slip under your shirt to unclasp your bra and slide it off of your shoulders. His large hand gently cups your breast as he kisses down your neck. 

He teasingly let’s his fingers roam down your abdomen, across your navel to slip into your flimsy shorts. 

Your head rolls back against the wall as you let out a loud breath of relief. His chuckle against your skin makes you shiver. 

-

Your hand gently plays with the little bit of hair at the nape of his neck as he keeps you snug against his side. His soft breaths make you smile and you gently kiss his jawline. He hums in response, his grip tightens on the dip of your waist. 

“I need to tell you something.” His groggy voice rumbles in his chest which makes you perk up. 

“Yeah? What is it?” You ask softly, a bit nervous to know what he wants to tell you. 

“There’s another mission I have to go on. I’ll be gone for a few days at most. You’re coming with me because it’s going to be dangerous... Please don’t get upset with me.” He sighs, his brown eyes are staring at the ceiling. 

You frown at his words and just lay down on his chest to snuggle into him more, “I’m not upset... I wish I could go but I’ll follow your orders and stay here.” You sigh defeatedly. 

“Thank you.” He kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips rest there for a moment. 

“Mhm.” You hum out. There’s no way he’s going to go by himself, you’re gonna get on that ship one way or another.

“Are you sure I can’t come?” You blurt our after a few moments of silence. 

A soft groan falls from his lips, “Yes.” He grumbles. 

You sit up slightly in the bed to look at him sternly, “I can hold my own weight. I’m strong enough. You know it.” You shake your head as you look at him with a frustrated face. 

He pushes you off of him gently to get out of the bed, his hands grab a pair of his boxers off of the floor so he could pull them on. “I’m not talking about this with you. My answer is final.”

You quickly scurry out of the bed after him, swiping your clothes up off of the floor and walking after him as you pull the shirt over your head. 

“Kylo. I get it. You don’t want me to get hurt again. If I do, it’s fine. I’ve gone through much worse than last time. Plus it’s been weeks since I left the ship. I’m like ninety-nine percent healed.” You follow him into the living area.

“Can you just stop talking? Fuck!” He lets go of his built up frustration which takes you by surprise. It ultimately makes you more angrier, “You’re so stubborn. I don’t understand why you have to be this way. Just sit down and stay the fuck here. Why can’t you just listen?” He turns towards you, his facial features are screwed up in anger. 

You can feel the angry heat rising up your body to settle on your cheeks, knowing your ears and cheeks are pink. 

“Because I’m not that kind of person. I’m not just going to fucking sit down like a trained animal and obey your orders!” You spat out just as angrily. 

He looks you up and down, his jaw tightens as he presses his teeth together. “You realize you have children right?” He slowly starts to walk towards you and your feet instinctively shuffle backwards, “You don’t seem to care much if you’re going to put your life on the line. If both of us would die, they’d be left without parents, Y/N. I want them to at least have you if something would happen to me.” His finger points at himself then at you. 

You evidently gulp as your back presses against the wall, “Stay. Here. I am your Supreme Leader, you have to follow my orders.” His breath puffs against your face. 

Your vision turns blurry as tears flood your eyes, you try your hardest not to blink until he walks away. He pulls back from your body, “I’m leaving tomorrow.” He walks back into the bedroom most likely to get ready for the day. 

Your hand instantly presses the button on the wall to open the door to the twins’ room to walk inside. 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, your emotions pummel through your body. You shudder as tears flow down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivers as you choke back sobs. You cry silently into the palm of your hand as you slide down to the floor. 

One of the babies babble as they wake up which causes a chain reaction and wakes up the other one. They babble to each other as you cry, your body shakes in your own embrace. Your legs are cradled to your chest. You don’t want them around this, you try to make sure they don’t know you’re upset. 

After a few moments, you muster up the strength to stand up and greet your children. You thank the stars for granting you these little angels because without them, you’re not sure where you’d be right now. 

You gently scoop up Ani, then you walk over to El’s crib to hold her in your other arm. Since they’re getting bigger, it’s much more challenging to hold them both at the same time. 

You begin to hum a soft tune, a lullaby you always sing to them. One your mother sang to you and her mother sang to her. You rock your body on your heels to soothe their fussiness. 

While being focused on the song, you completely disregard the heavy footsteps outside of the door. They stop in front of it, most likely just listening to what’s going on behind the door. 

As much as Kylo wants to walk in and join you, he’s still upset with what just happened. 

Your humming turns into a soft tune, singing the words quietly as the twins stare at you in pure awe as they suck on their pacifiers. You sway over to the rocking chair to sit in it with them. The wood creaks against the metal floor as it rocks with the movement of you pushing it back and forth. 

You notice the shadow under the door, he’s standing in front of it listening. He knows you noticed him so he walks away then the door to your home opens and shuts as he walks out. 

You sigh in defeat then look down at the twins and smile, “I love you babies. You’re my whole universe.” You smile sweetly at them. 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting peace wash over you. Images flash in your mind as you focus on the light, you broadcast your energy to the children to let them feel the positivity in the air. 

As you do so, you block out your thoughts so Kylo can no longer hear them. Almost like a impenetrable wall. 

“Your daddy is going to be sooo upset with me.” You talk to them in a baby voice and they giggle at you. 

Upset isn’t the right adjective. He will be livid. You don’t know how he is going to react to this insane plan you’re concocting in your head. Most likely terribly. Maybe he’ll scream at you again or pull his saber out. Although you know he wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’ll bring you to see nature again, my loves.” You stand up and lay them in a bed for a moment so you could grab a large blanket. You spread it out on the floor then grab the babies to lay them on it. 

They’re laying vertically next to each other, you’re sat by their feet. Each hand goes on their belly as their legs kick and they coo. 

You take a breath through your nose and out of your mouth, your eyes fall shut as you mentally bring yourself onto the grass fields of D’qar. It’s beautiful. Just how you remember it. 

The soft breeze blows against your skin, making your hair flow freely. You can hear the children giggle, seeing that they’re wrapped against your body in a fabric carrier. You smile as you watch the X-wings fly above. It’s peaceful. 

As you walk through the tall grass, it tickles the exposed skin on your legs. The smell of dirt and nature surrounds you. 

As you near the hangar, you spot a certain pilot. He takes your breath away. You gasp since you haven’t seen him in so long. The babies almost coo in happiness when they see their old friend. 

It’s just a vision. You keep telling yourself that. It’s only a vision. 

As you slowly ease back into reality, you realize the babies have relaxed completely. You smile at their little eyes blinking up at you. 

Ellie gives you a two-toothed grin and Ani just stares in awe. You love them so much and you wish you could bring them to D’Qar, the place where it all started.

As much as you love them, there’s no way Kylo is going by himself. Whether you’re stubborn or you just want to protect him. You’re going on that mission one way or another. 

As you meddle along through your day, you clean your quarters since they’ve gotten a bit cluttered. You found the baby wrap carrier Leia had given to you which allows you hold both babies at once with your hands free. 

Ellie sits against your chest while Ani’s head peeks over your shoulder. You talk to  them throughout picking up the living area, they coo back at you almost like you’re having a conversation. 

You feed them once you’re done and put them down for a nap so you could meditate, shower and prepare your plan to sneak on board with Kylo. 

Since you’ve closed off your mind, he won’t be able to feel you unless you allow it. Which you’re doing now because you don’t want him to be suspicious. It’s almost like a switch, you can turn it on and off once you access those points in the Force.

You have complete control over your mind after you meditate, the Force buzzes through your body. You feel powerful. It almost scares you. 

You get an outfit ready for the fight tomorrow, wanting to stay as concealed as possible so you opt for all black clothing and a hooded cowl. You slide the outfit under the bed for later, hoping he wouldn’t find it. You make sure to lay your saber on top of the clothes so you wouldn’t forget it. 

It’s going to be challenging to follow Kylo onboard. You let out a stressed sigh and run your fingers through your hair. 

You can’t doubt yourself. You can do it. 

tags: @officiallpeterparker @funnysadshit @ymariejp @attorneyl @fangirl570 @trinityrud20 @kylos-sassy-cousin @delicatelyherdreams @fizzywoohoo @savvy7392 @angelias134 @that-girl-named-alex @cas-backwards-tie @glimmering-darling-dolly @glitterypinkkitty @blxkstar @his-snow-white-queen @elsasshole @smiithys @nanocoool @deathbyarabbit @alex-skr @theholycakehole  @averillian  @crazynocturnalkiki @arcanebabe @tinydancer40 @superduckypower  @thomasscresswell @butterfly-writes @thatintrovertedbisexual @fangirlanotherjust @somekindofroger  @nicci442 @little-girl-who-dream-too-much @wildest-dream- @silverlambcaptain @cliffordmess @xkylorxn @lowkeyofsassguard @nickangel13 @carol-twinklefists-danvers @oopsiedoopsie23 @fandomshit6000 @baba-eina @cosmichellfire @ravngers @lipstickstateofmind @dorisfantasyworld @starrfruit

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 50

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 50: Demanding Answers

The Big Chapter 50 is here.

You were ready to walk out into the living area to wait for him. While you waited, you went behind the bar to see if there was anything to drink. You waved goodbye to the ladies and found a nice wine to drink while you waited. You poured yourself a glass and walked over to the couch to lounge, rather suggestively.

You heard the door open and you watched him walk in, he took off his helmet and set it on the buffet in the front entrance area. All while not taking his eyes off of you. He sauntered over to you while his eyes roamed over your body, “Do you want to play Kitten and skip dinner?” As he reached you he bent down for a kiss.

You turned away and moved to get up, setting your finished wine glass down on the coffee table. “No, I would like dinner, and for you to explain some things to me. And if I get my answers then we can play.” You made your way down the hall to the dining room before receiving an answer.

He did follow you. You made your way to your seat and pulled up the menu. He followed and made his way to kiss your cheek which you also avoided, with the back of your hand meeting his lips. “Dinner and questions first, play later,” you commanded.

He let out a frustrated huff but sat down. He made his order and you two sat staring at each other waiting for the food to arrive. You could tell he was getting more annoyed by the minute. You were keeping your face neutral, waiting for him to crack first.

Which he did, “So are you going to ask these questions of yours? Or am I supposed to pry them from your mind.” His fingers thrummed on the table. He hadn’t taken his gloves off yet, something that was starting to annoy you. You prepared yourself for dinner like a lady, but he failed to simply take off his gloves.

“I don’t know, would you rather have some food before you get angry and storm off or would you like to possibly ruin dinner now, before we have even eaten?” Your question was based on history. The last few times you had tried to get him to answer things he had blown up and walked out or made you do a 180 and forget about it until days later.

He was annoyed by this question you could tell. His jaw clenched and the hand that was drumming on the table turned to a fist for a moment before laying its palm flat. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your dinner,” he said through gritted teeth.

Your dinner came in, along with another glass of wine. You were going to need a bit of liquid courage to be able to keep your backbone. As you both ate the tension in the room was high. You could tell by his rough eating of his dinner that he was just getting angrier and angrier. When you were finished you slowly finished off your glass of wine before standing and leaving the room.

You heard a crash, but it did not stop you from your mission. You walked up the stairs to the lounge space and sat down in front of the fireplace causing it to turn on. Before he descended the stairs after you, you ordered a stronger drink from your phone. You could hear him stomp after you, like a child being told what to do. You smirked at that thought. Oh yes, like a child.

He did not sit next to you, but he stood off to the side of the fireplace, glaring at you. With clenched fists and a clenched jaw he asked, “Your questions?”

You raised a finger at him, signaling for him to wait. At that moment the door to your chambers opened and a droid flew up the steps and delivered you your drink. You took the drink from its tray and held up the glass to inspect it before taking a drink. You then hold it in your hand, “Why did you not tell me about the formal dinner? You, not Hux, not Phasma, not your knights, not my ladies-in-waiting, but you.” Your head was level but you glared at him through your lashes, your lips slightly pursed.

You watched him clench and unclench his fists for several moments. His clenched jaw allowed you to see him grind his teeth. If he could harm you with just the look of his dark eyes, you would have been painted across the walls by now, but you were serving him a look back. “It was not a matter of importance,” he sneered finally. His eyes were twitching and seething with anger and frustration.

“Really, because it doesn’t appear that way. Is this not a formal dinner with high ranking planetary officials of the First Order? Is this not the first official event where I will be presented as Lady Ren? Your match. Or is that not something that is important to you anymore, me being your match?” You leaned forward, testing him. Daring him to do something. You took a sip from your drink and swirled it around in your glass waiting for his answer.

You heard a crash come from somewhere downstairs, but you held your ground not moving, not being phased. “Yes, they are important to the First Order and the final agenda, but they are not important to me. You will be presented as Lady Ren because you are Lady Ren. You are my match, the other half to my soul. You are important to me.”

You scoffed at this, something that earned another crash only this time it was a chair that flew off the lounge space balcony and down to the floor below. You flinched for a second before regaining your composure. “If I was important to you then you would tell me such things, or at least you would have the decency to send me a message yourself. Or did you forget that I still have my phone?”

He tore his gaze away from you, his hands clenched tightly into fists, his arms tense and shaking with anger. “Is that what you want?” You were pretty sure his anger was burning a hole in the wall behind you.

“Yes, that is what I want. For you to message me at the very least. I don’t think that is a lot to ask for, or you could tell me before you leave in the morning. Is that such a hard request?” You tilted your head towards him. Your eyes analyze his reaction.  

His fist clenched and unclenched several times before he answered, “No,” through gritted teeth once more.

“Good.” You leaned back in your seat and took another sip of your drink. “Now, I would like you to tell me who you have been speaking to when you think I am asleep.”

This set something off, “I told you never to speak of her again,” he roared. You could see his chest vibrating with anger. Seeming to struggle to keep his emotions locked inside his chest, like a cage.

You racked your brain to think of who he was talking about, but then something clicked and your body felt like ice had been poured through your veins. You stood and turned to walk to the edge of the balcony, “So the scavenger is a she.” Your back was to him.

“She is nothing, she means nothing.” You could hear his anger, but could no longer see it.

Something inside you broke, “If she means nothing then why won’t you tell me about her? Or are you lying to me and yourself.” The ending came as more of a whisper.

You could hear him step forward, “She is no one, she means nothing.” His voice was flat. You turned to look at him, but the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. His eyes were windows that betrayed the privacy of his mind, and heart.

Your drink fell to the floor, your legs moving on their own. You ran down the steps, tears falling down your face. He was frozen in his spot. Your brain and heart were moving at two different paces, without thinking you went into your dressing room and locked the door. You fell to the ground, your heart shattered with the drink you left upstairs. You were alone, but without thinking you hit a button on a remote, to call for them. You did not want to be alone.

There was pounding outside the door. Kylo, he was yelling too, but your brain didn’t process what was being said. You felt numb.

After a few minutes, you heard another voice behind the door and the pounding and yelling ceased. You heard a simple knock and Adlez’s voice, “M’lady it is us, please let us in.”

You hit a button on the remote and the door opened revealing Adlez and Olivia-Rose, Kylo was looming behind them. Adlez’s face upon seeing you was a look of horror and sympathy. She and Olivia-Rose entered and Kylo tried to follow, but Adlez swiftly turned and pointed a finger into his chest. “This is no place for a man. And that very much includes you. Especially when you caused the problem now out.”

Kylo was a bit in shock at what Adlez said, he stumbled back out of the doorway. His face turned to anger and you could see his chest puff up before Adlez hit a button on the panel and shut the door in his face. And she hit another one, presumably locking it. You heard yelling and banging once more.

She quickly rushed to your side, “Now now m’lady, you are safe. Olivia-Rose and I will fix everything just you see.” They both hauled you up, helping you to the vanity.

You glanced at your reflection, your face was a mess, your eyeliner and mascara leaving streaks down your face with puffy red eyes. Your lipstick was smeared and mostly gone from your lips. Your hair was a mess, but you don’t remember ever touching it in the first place. You looked like a girl who was dumped on her prom night.

Both of them moved quickly around you. Taking down your hair, removing your makeup, putting on some weird face mask. You were hauled up once more and changed into a nightgown, one that was similar to last night. Your voice was hoarse, “But I don’t want to wear this.” More tears streamed down your face, making the face mask start to run.

“I said we would fix this, and we will. First, you must wear that and you must stop crying. Now tell us everything,” said Adlez sternly, both of them walked you to the chaise lounge.

You recalled all of the details from dinner and your questions. When you got to the part about the scavenger you could hear Adlez scoff.

“A scavenger for a lady, I think not. Especially when that lady is his match. Why are men, such idiots?” She was angry, you don’t know if it was for you or her own anger, but it made you feel minutely better. Adlez then got up and walked over to the vanity picking up a washcloth and bringing it over to you, she started to remove the face mask.

“Now m’lady if he is still out there, which I have a feeling he is, you will stand your ground. You will demand to know who this scavenger is. If he does not answer, then I want you to come back in here and call on us. We will stay with you all night. If he does not answer you will not sleep next to him. In fact, you will not sleep in his bed until he does.” She walked back over to the vanity to grab various creams and oils.

She applied them to your face and something cool to your eyes. “Remember what I said, men like pretty things in their bed, but they must know to take care of them if they want them to stay pretty. Now I have a correction to that. They must take care of them if they want pretty things to stay. I am more than prepared to spend many nights and days with you in here until he answers you.” A part of you wished you had an ounce of her conviction and confidence. He was a fool for assigning her to you. She finished applying whatever it was to your face and pulled you to stand.

She told Olivia-Rose to grab the perfume from last night, which she then sprayed you with. On either side, they joined you in front of the full-length mirror. Somehow they managed to put you back together again. “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men,” you mused quietly.

“Yes, but they were the king’s men, you are an empress,” said Adlez confidently. This caused a spark within you. “Now, you will go out there and show him exactly that. You are an empress and she is some dirty scavenger. You will not ask to be told what she is, you will demand it. You are an empress, now act like it.” This caused the spark to be a fire, a roaring fire.

“Head up, shoulders back,” said Adlez as she followed you to the door. You were an empress. Not a queen. Not a princess. Not just a woman. Not just a girl. And most certainly not a scavenger. You were an empress, and now you were going to claim your empire.

[viscariaa]

Day 6 - Saiouma Week - Fluff - Safe and Sound

Ship: Oumasai/Saiouma

Words: 1301

Type: Fluff

Trigger Warning: None

Posted: 08.07.20

Song: Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift

Description: Shuichi has been working on a cold case with little time to give attention to his boyfriend, Kokichi Ouma. But Kokichi is going to change that!

“Shumai! Give me attention! I’ll die without it!” Kokichi whines, spinning in a chair with his hands above his head. 

“Kokichi,” Shuichi mutters before continuing to work on the case, “let me finish this first...” 

They were both on opposite sides of their small apartment living room. The white door blends into the bare, matching walls, making the black coat hanger and shoe rack stand out. The modest living room turned into Shuichi’s office with papers and books all over the floor.

“Pleaaaase!” Kokichi begs, glancing at the night sky from the closet window to his left. 

“Saihara-Chan has been working on it for three days straight…” Kokichi thinks, glancing behind Shuichi’s shoulders to see coffee cups scattered on the wooden desk. 

He lets out a groan before standing up from his chair and playfully walking towards Shuichi. Kokichi wraps his arms around Shuichi’s neck, reading the files in Shuichi’s hands. 

“Why a cold case? I thought Kyoko-Chan said you weren’t ready for one?” 

“An emergency came up…” Shuchi calmly said, his head drooping slightly only for him to jerk up.

“All right, that’s it!” Kokichi announces, letting go of Shuichi. “You are going to sleep whether you like it or not! I refuse to see my Shumai surviving off of coffee for any longer!” 

“Kokichi, I appreciate the concern, but I really need to prove to Kyoko I can handle a case like this,” Shuchi stubbornly said, his amber eyes never leaving the files. 

Kokichi resists the urge to face palm, “wait...I know exactly how to get him to fall asleep!”

Shuichi hears Kokichi skip down the hall, “maybe he decided to fall asleep…” 

He couldn’t help but have guilt crawl up inside of him. Shuichi wants to spend more time with Kokichi, but he knows how important this case is. How much the family will be grateful when they locate their son’s body. How much Kyoto will be pleased. “Only a little longer, I just need to be able to connect the dots…”

I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I’ll never let you go. 

Shuichi feels someone spin his chair around, “Gah!” 

Kokichi looks down, his face inches apart from Shuichi. If Shuichi moves just a bit further, their lips would clash. Shuichi stares at Kokichi’s amethyst eyes, trailing down to his chapped lips. Kokichi slowly comes closer and closer to Shuichi. Their noses touched, making Shuichi’s heart race. Suddenly, Kokichi pulls back, taking Shuichi with him. 

When all those shadows almost killed your light. 

The song echoes behind the pair, drowning out Shuichi’s yelp, and Kokichi’s mischievous giggle. Kokichi grabs Shuichi’s hands, placing them around his hips while he hangs his arms around Shuichi’s neck. “Kokichi, w-what-?” 

I remember you said, don’t leave me here alone. 

Kokichi puts a finger over Shuichi’s lips, silencing him. “Just dance with me, Shuichi.”

But all that’s dead and gone and passed tonight. 

Shuichi gives his boyfriend a smile, admitting defeat. They begin to sway to the music, feeling comfortable in each other’s presence. Despite both in pajamas, Kokichi in a Panta shirt with purple basketball shorts, and Shuichi in a black shirt and sweatpants, it felt perfect. 

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. 

They begin to slow dance, even though they keep tripping over their own feet, along with the numerous papers and books on the floor. Shuichi starts to hum along to the music, feeling the stress lift off his shoulders. 

You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. 

“I’m sorry for not giving you attention, Kokichi.” 

“I understand, Saihara-Chan. I shouldn’t have been pushy. I know how important this job is to you. But~” Kokichi puffs out his cheeks, “keep humming! Supreme leader’s orders!” 

Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound.     

Shuichi lets out a laugh, making Kokichi blush. He hasn’t heard Shuichi laugh in a while, too caught up in his work to laugh. 

“How can I disobey a supreme leader’s order?” Shuichi gives him a kiss on his nose. 

Don’t you dare look out your window, darling everything’s on fire. 

Shuichi starts to hum again, causing Kokichi to smile. A rare genuine smile. Shuichi’s heart beats faster, saving the memory in his brain. “I can’t believe Kokichi out of all people is helping me relax…” 

The war outside our door keeps raging on.

They were better in sync, their feet moving together as one. Kokichi moves his hands from Shuichi’s neck and hugs his boyfriend. He nuzzles his head in Shuichi’s chest, smelling the scent of coffee and paper. 

Hold onto this lullaby even when the music gone, gone. 

Shuichi follows Kokichi and hugs him, patting his purple hair. “Sometimes, I like how short you are.” 

Kokichi hugs Shuichi tighter, “shut up! I can still break your kneecaps! Just...keep humming!” 

“Of course, Kichi.” 

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down.           

“Getting confident now, aren’t you?” Kokichi teases. 

“D-do you not like it?! I’m sorry! I-” Shuichi gets another finger to his lips. 

“I love it, Shumai!” 

You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. 

Soon, the song and Shuichi’s humming fill up the room again. Kokichi focuses on Shuichi’s heartbeat, “he’s alive. This isn’t a dream. I really have an amazing boyfriend that I get to call my own…” 

Kokichi could feel Shuichi going slower, he looks up, seeing a tired look on his face. “Yes! It’s working!”  

Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound. 

Shuichi could feel sleep start to seep in. “No...I need to still finish…” 

“Absolutely not! You, Mister Detective, will be heading to bed after we are finished!” 

“B-but-!” 

“No, if’s or but’s!” 

Just close your eyes, you’ll be alright. 

“This was your plan all along, huh?” Shuichi tilts his head. 

“Maybe! Maybe I just really wanted to dance with my beloved! Who knows!” Kokichi smirks before standing on his tip-toes to kiss Shuichi’s cheek. 

Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound. 

The song comes to a close as Shuichi pulls Kokichi in for a kiss. Shuichi tastes Kokichi’s grape lip balm, making him smile through the kiss. 

Kokichi feels his heart start to flutter, which happens every time they lock lips. Kokichi deepens the kiss, his hands entangled in Shuichi’s midnight hair. 

They both pull away to catch their breath, staring at each other with love-struck eyes. Kokichi starts to giggle, “this feels so cliche!” 

Shuichi could not help but start to laugh as well. Soon, they were both laughing at the magical moment. 

“Why are we even laughing?” Shuichi rubs tears out of his eyes. 

“Who knows? And who cares!” 

Shuichi picks up Kokichi bridal style, causing a yelp to emerge from the tiny leader’s mouth. “Let’s go to sleep, Kichi.” 

Kokichi wraps his arms around Shuichi, “yes, sir!” 

Soon, they were in their dark bedroom, snuggling under their grey bed sheets. Kokichi’s head is against Shuichi’s chest with Shuichi wrapping his arms around Kokichi.      

“Hey, Saihara-Chan…” Kokichi yawns before continuing, “let’s do this more often…” 

“We should…” Shuichi yawns, “I’m going to set an alarm for tomorrow. I need to still finish this case…” 

“Nope! You are going to call Kyoko-Chan and say you are taking the day off!” 

“I just need a nap and I’ll be fine,” Shuichi insists.  

Kokichi’s mouth forms an ‘O’, “lying to a liar!? How cruel! So very cruel!” 

Shuichi kisses Kokichi’s head, “fine, but you have to take a day off from DICE as well. Deal?” 

Kokichi kisses Shuichi’s jawline, “deal! Goodnight, my beloved!” 

Shuichi didn’t respond, making Kokichi glance up. Shuichi was already fast asleep with his lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling softly. 

“Not tired...such a huge lie.”

Kokichi smiles and soon falls asleep to Shuichi’s heartbeat. 

I’m a simp for reading slow dances! Expect more lovey-dovey dance scenes in the near future! This is Prompt #6 - Fluff by @saiouma-events​! Sending you lovelies a virtual hug! - December  

[temperancejones]

Some Kind of Curse- Chapter Four

But that all got thrown aside when he hears some movement coming from the house's garage as well as some muffled voices. Sighing, Danny quickly musters up the courage to head to the garage and arrest the possible intruders and give 'em hell, jersey style- maybe bust 'em up a little bit. He wasn't sure who would be stupid enough to trespass on a crime scene, let alone one that was investigated one of HPD's most respected and decorated officers. Danny tiptoes over to the garage door and lets out a puff of air before popping open the door and yelling at the intruders to put their hands up. Little did he know that he would be met with a man who would flip his life upside down. After a brief yelling match, mostly to see who has the most authority in the room, the intruder identifies himself as Lieutennant Commander Steve McGarrett. Once they look at eachother's ID's and lower their weapons, Danny sighs and looks at the man. "look, I'm so sorry for your loss, but you can be here, this is an active crime scene." Danny explains, sliding his gun back in his holster and slipping his ID back in his pocket. Steve does the same thing, but once he's done, he crosses his arms at the shorter Detective, looking a little amused. "doesn't look very active to me. Kris you can come out now." Steve says over his shoulder.

A woman slowly rises up from behind the car parked in the garage with her hands up. As a matter of fact, she only has her right hand up, as her left one is in a sling. Danny immediately assumes that the woman is Kris McGarrett, the daughter of John McGarrett. Her and Steve must be trying to investigate the murder of their father as well.

"Look guys, I can't share any information about your father's investigation. This is an HPD case, I'm sure you understand. But I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Danny tells the McGarretts, who only smile a little bit; Danny knows that they are definitely up to something now.

Kris walks around the car and stands next to Steve, who is now "Detective, were you aware that Hesse had an accomplice? He left behind a boot print and a mark from his laptop on our father's desk. We know this because our father hated technology." Kris says to Danny, which causes him to look at her fully for the first time. Despite her smart-ass/know it all manner of speech, most likely out of habit from her military background, Danny does have to admit that she is quite beautiful.

Kris is probably half a foot taller than him, and very lean; her muscular figure alone is enough to intimidate anyone who would approach her. It's easy to tell that she is definitely a soldier of some sort. Currently dressed in skinny tank cargo pants, a plain red v-neck and a pair of black runners, Kris looks like she is ready to ship out on another mission, or just switch into SEAL mode to get Danny out of hers and Steve's hair. Her brown hair is tucked neatly behind her ears, lining up perfectly with her jaw, all the way around her head. Not a single hair is out of place, which is something that is expected for someone as highly decorated in the Navy and Military as her. Danny is quick to admit that Kris is a beautiful woman, but he has a gut feeling that he will never truly get to know her. Just based off his first impression of her, Danny knows that Kris is Command material down to her bones. It almost makes him shiver when he thinks about what she would be like if she were ever crossed by someone- surely, you would be attending their funeral a few days later.

A loud clanking noise snaps Danny out of his thoughts, now drawing his attention to Steve, who is dressed almost identically to his sister, except he is in a pair of clunky cargo boots, and he is also wearing an open button up t-shirt, which still makes him look like a military man. Danny sighs once he notices what Steve is doing and puts a hand on his hip. "and you can leave the box. That is evidence!" Danny says in an annoyed tone, feeling really ticked off that someone could peg him as that stupid.

Steve scowls and picks up the box and turns to Danny. "we came with it." Steve says quickly, and then tries to walk by Danny. Trying not to roll his eyes, Danny puts up a hand to stop him. "No, you did not. I can see the dust void on the counter! What's in the box that's got you all hot and bothered, hey?" Danny grills Steve, which only makes him smirk in response.

Danny shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, now knowing that these McGarretts are going to be a real pain in his ass throughout this case. He hopes that by some miracle, he can solve this case, but deep down, he knows it's going to be damn near impossible, especially if he has John McGarrett's children working against him trying to solve it as well.

"How long have you been with Honolulu PD, Detective?" Kris asks, hoping to deflect and change the subject so her and Steve can make it out of the house without getting arrested. At this rate, they're going to have to pull a lot of strings and get some favours paid back to them if they're going to get blocked on the investigation and its leads as much as Detective Williams is doing to them right now.

Danny looks taken aback that someone would ask that. Was it really that obvious that he was fresh out of Jersey? "that's none of your business. What are you, Barbara Walters?" Danny asks in annoyance now.

Steve switches the box in his hands and points at Danny. "Actually, it is when you're investigating our father's murder." He says matter-of-factly, which makes Danny roll his eyes.

"Right. That is what I'm doing. Now, the sooner you two leave, the sooner I can get back to it. so please," Danny says, directing his hands to the door. Steve and Kris smile and try to leave, but Steve still refuses to put the box down.

"Leave the box or get arrested." Danny states in a disappointed tone, hoping that the threat of incarceration will knock some sense into the siblings.

Steve hands off the toolbox to Kris, who tries not to look confused at what her brother is doing now. Steve puffs out his chest, suddenly super confident about something, which worries Danny- he knows that Steve is about to either do something really stupid, or something really smart, and either way, it's going to piss Danny off.

"alright. You gonna call for backup?" Steve asks, and pulls his phone out of his side pocket. Danny sighs and rolls his eyes. "an ambulance." He mutters, seriously debating on shooting the twins who won't give it up and leave.

Smirking, Steve takes out the governor's card from his pocket and dials the number, immediately asking for governor Jameson. When the Governor's voice is heard by both Kris and Danny, Danny's hands fly up in the air in disbelief; who the hell has the governor on speed dial? And, who the hell thinks that they can undermine him like this?

Steve turns and looks Danny in the eyes, smiling now. "governor, we'll take the job. We'll run your taskforce. We will transfer to the reserves right away and-" Steve says into the phone with a touch of cockiness in his voice.

Kris shakes her head at the theatrics of her brother. Detective Williams looks like he's about to run across the room and tackle Steve because he's so angry at him.

"Right here? Okay. I, Steven J. McGarrett, do solemnly declare upon my honor and conscience to act at all times to the best of my abilities and knowledge in a manner befitting an officer of the law... thank you, Governor... yes. We will be right there." Steve says, and then hangs up. He smiles at Danny and grabs the toolbox back from Kris. Now it's our crime scene, Governors orders." Steve says in a chipper tone and walks out of the Garage. Kris grabs the tiger from the bench and follows him out, still shaking her head a little bit, mostly because she's trying not to laugh.

Danny uses a lot of self-restraint to not just wring both of the McGarretts by the neck as he walks past them and out of the house. He makes sure to slam the doors on his Mustang, so they know how pissed off he is. As soon as he is on the street, he punches the steering wheel a few times to make sure he doesn't spontaneously combust, and then dials his captain to ask him what the hell he should do now.

Now alone in the house, Steve and Kris walk into the kitchen. They both put the toolbox and tiger on the island and stand across from each other. Kris leans against the counter and looks at Steve, who is still riding his adrenaline rush from the confrontation with Detective Williams in the garage.

"So, I guess were staying for a bit, huh?" Kris chuckles.

Steve nods. "Let's try and use all the resources we have on the island to catch Hesse. If we don't have him in six months, we will reactivate and hunt him down with Naval intelligence, yeah?" he suggests.

Kris shrugs. "sure, why not. We've probably burnt out most of our resources in the Navy and Military, so this will be a good thing, I think."

Steve walks over to his sister, grinning. He claps her on the (good) arm, and says to her "that's the spirit, sis. Now come on, we gotta go meet the governor at the supreme court building."

Kris chuckles and follows her brother out of the house and to the car. It looks like they're definitely staying around for a while now, Kris thinks to herself, feeling a little bit worried about what life will be like back on the island.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Kinktober tho(ugh)ts: Demon/incubus boy and spanking, praise, body worship?

I’m exhausted, it’s past midnight, and I’m a little bit tipsy on the birthday wine so please just accept this as it is

tags: incubus, bdsm, pegging, ropes, praise, etc.

He’s tied up like a present, red rope threading through his iris colored limbs as dark and inviting as blood. His wrists are trapped against the headboard, and he writhes, briefly, his chest shaking with his gasping breath even though you haven’t tried anything yet. He’s angry, you can tell even through the blindfold that he’s scowling, but he refuses to allow the safeword to escape his mouth from either from perverse curiosity or pure stubbornness. It’s… cute, you decide, running your fingers down your lacy lingerie just to feel the texture against your skin, before crawling up onto the bed and settling down over his waist.

“Are you ready for me?” You ask, making sure to rub up against his naked waist, eyeing the way his jaw sets to keep from mewling out. When he doesn’t answer, you pinch a bit of skin at the collar bone, though with not nearly enough force to hurt a being such as him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” he grinds out as if he can’t even believe what he’s saying.

“You can leave if you want,” you say, opening the proverbial door a little wider in case he has any second thoughts about the tables turning so wildly.

“No.”

“Alright, then you need to listen when I speak to you,” your hand reaches out, gently grasping at his throat, though you don’t squeeze too hard yet. “Instead of giving me this attitude.”

When he doesn’t answer, you apply pressure to your grip around his throat, leaning over to give his chin a quick kiss. “You answer me when I talk to you, babe, or else you get punished.”

“Ye-yes ma’am,” he murmurs, his arms pulling at the restraints in an exercise in futility.

“That’s so much better,” you whisper, biting at the soft lavender flesh of his ear, “that wasn’t so bad, was it? Would you like a reward?”

You have to apply pressure to his neck again for him to answer, a soft, modest, “yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

“That’s so much better,” you praise, offer the grinding of your hips. “But I don’t think that you’ve earned anything yet, we’ve just begun, after all. Why don’t you convince me that you deserve it?” You can see movement in his throat, a strangled scream that dies before he sounds it.

After a minute of strangled silence, he mutters, “please.”

“That’s not very persuasive,” you murmur, leaning down to his chest and pressing your mouth against one of his pecs.

“I’ve been… I’ve been good.”

“You’ve been sassy,” you say, giving one of his legs a light smack. “I don’t think I should reward a sassy submissive.”

“Please,” he swallows thickly, “I promise that I… that I will be good for you.” It’s like he’s raising a white flag. You knew he would be a good submissive once he gave in to the temptation of your alluring promises, and the soft whispering and gentle nudging finally paid off, because he’s done with the facade of being a supreme being. He wants to be worshipped, oh, yes, but not the way he thought.

His dick is something to admire, that’s for sure. It’s thick and long, the epitome of what someone would what inside them, with ridges along the underlength that feels absolutely delightful when ridden. The tip is a weeping navy blue color, pulsing with arousal and need as you run your hand over the entire shaft, just to torture him. His lips pull back as he growls, his fangs glistening in the soft candlelight.

The strap-on is even more lengthy and thick than he; it’s why you chose it. False veins thread around the girth like a spider’s web, the black color complementing the blood-red lace that adorns your body like a continuous, intricate tattoo. As you slide down the bed, he parts his legs in a wordless invitation, his wrists turning white as he tries to wriggle out of the restraints. The lube is flavored with something that you might find bearable, and it’s cool against your fingers as you begin to massage the cleft of his ass.

Preparing him is easy, especially since he wants it. Your fingers gently push past the rim of his hole, working on stretching him open for the strap-on. He doesn’t want to make any noises still, you can see the struggle in his body as he tries to stifle any cries building in his lungs. Your goal may not be reached today, because you think he needs some more time to be comfortable before he starts sobbing out your name. Still, you’re not above trying for the impossible; it is, after all, how you got him here, tied up nice and pretty for you. His breath intakes sharply, and that’s almost just about good enough as a real moan for you.  

“Do you feel ready?” You ask, not wanting to be the judge of something that might hurt him, and at the same time giving him one last out if he really doesn’t want to do it.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Still forgetting his manners, you see, teasing the puckered skin of his ass.

“Yes, please.”

That’s probably as good as he’s going to give, for now, so you offer him his promised reward. You try going in slow, combating the temptation to just fucking rail him into the mattress, letting out a puff of breath at the restraint. His shoulders twist, a throaty gasp escaping his mouth from his chest, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think this is the first time he’s ever gotten dicked by anything, artificial or other. At his reaction, you try to only go halfway, leaving it in for just a minute to allow his body to grow used to the size, then pulling out.

“How’s that?”

“More, uhm, please.”

“Good boy.” He can’t see you smile through the blindfold, but you lean down to press a soft kiss against his thigh to show your approval, his body shuddering at your touch. You pop back up, bracing your hands on the mattress, push the strap-on in all the way to the base. And then you thrust. His entire body jerks, the groaning of your headboard hinting at how much force he’s using to struggle against his bindings.

You use a good, steady rhythm, his choking breaths barely any louder than a whisper. The sound of skin against skin brings a fresh rush of arousal through your body, your own breathing coming out in soft huffs from exertion. “Tell me,” you say, not enjoying the silence, “how you feel.”

“Nice,” he hisses.

“Not good enough,” you say, slowing your pace down significantly.

“Oh, fuck, baby, you’re doing so well.” It’s like a total switch, his body twisting as if he could barely keep from ripping the ropes away from his body.

Your mouth salivates at his voice, shivers running down your spine, sparks fizzling through your nerves. “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes, please, please let me cum.”

You think about it, offering some more thrusts in the meantime. “I suppose I may show some mercy since this is your first night as a submissive. But don’t expect this much leeway again.”

His tail threads around one of your legs, the poor thing twitching with the craving for touch. “Thank you.”

It only takes a few more moments for him to cum, the head of his cock flooding over. You slow down, eventually pulling out and working the various straps around your waist free. It takes a moment of finagling, but you finally manage to free yourself, tossing the thing in a basket for later cleanup. Then you begin working on the knots around his wrists, the skin turning blue from his desperate struggles. His fingers reach up, pulling the blindfold from his eyes as you go about unwrapping the rest of the ropes from around his body. Once he is free, he cocks his head to the side and gives you an overly smug smile.

“Your turn,” he says, placing the blindfold over your eyes.