#Rabbit’s name never changed

[brooklynisher]

Listen TikTok comment section, I know you’re well intentioned, but if I read another, “Rabbit goes by Bunny now” comment

[puhpandas]

I genuinely can only imagine beckory and no other Gregory ship. because Gregory doesnt need romance he needs friends and family. and in every beckory scenario that I like/write gregory has gotten those and beckory comes later. like I've always liked beckory because it's something that happens after a specific turn of events. it comes from the story. not just for the sake of shipping yknow?

[bambiraptorx]

my problem with all my oc's is that i wanna draw them except like none of them have actual designs lol

[purposefully-lost]

Reading this book has me once again thinking about Alex and pregnancy/parenthood

[valiantwolf]

ok good news lads everything is pretty much set for my mom's inurnment. hooray!

[stormsbourne]

unhinged, btw, that bioware has to keep assuring people that the game is still dark and gritty because the cinematic trailer was kind of flashy and the art style has changed. for dragon age. the game that was doing "marvel dialogue" before the mcu even really existed (iron man came out in 08, dao came out in 09). the game with a species of hairless pig rabbits, one of which is named schmooples. the game with swooping is bad. the game where you could solve a sidequest about a pining elf boy by fucking the girl he's pining for. we're really gonna pretend this game series never had a significant amount of silliness and humor? fenris tells varric he likes to dance through the empty rooms in danarius' manor. hawke has an entire personality archetype that can be summed up as "shitposter." we're really going to pretend dragon age (the series where people can walk in on you and bull having kinky sex) is all dark and mature and has never had light or silly moments as a major part of its formula. insane

[jaylaxies]

PERV NEXT DOOR I LHS

pairing: loser neighbour!heeseung x fem!reader

wc: 602 words.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni! loser hee headcanons, pervert hee.

a/n: hihii! this is honestly js filth! requested by anonnie, brainstormed by me and @hoondrop <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated <3

loser!heeseung who first sees you dragging boxes up to your front door, you’re the new neighbour, neck glistening with sweat, your voice chirping out a soft little “hey! nice to meet you,” when you catch him staring—and he almost drops his drink, nodding like a stunned rabbit while his cock twitches against his joggers at the mere sight of your beauty. 

loser!heeseung who moans into his palm the minute he gets inside, trousers barely pulled down, already leaking just from hearing you say his name, “heeseung, yeah? i’m y/n,” and he gasps into his wrist, humping his pillow like you’d touched him instead of just smiling. 

loser!heeseung who waits until it gets dark and steals your panties off the stand in your backyard. hands shaking as he clutches the warm fabric to his nose, breathing your scent in with his eyes rolled back, thick cock slapping his tummy as he moans, “she wore these—fuck, her cunt’s been right here—right fucking here,” before falling apart all over his bedroom floor.

loser!heeseung who can’t even last five seconds after spotting the outline of your nipples under your tank top one afternoon. rushes home, trembling, cock already twitching as he falls to his knees by the door, gasping, “i’m so fucking weak. she’ll never love me like this, she’d laugh if she knew.”

loser!heeseung who starts asking if you need help with chores, and he takes your bin out, waters your plants, feeds your cat—just so he can rub up against your laundry while you’re not looking, tongue out, nose buried in your panties like a depraved puppy in heat.

loser!heeseung who you catch peeking when you change near your window, but instead of screaming at him, you just smirk and draw the curtains away agonizingly slow, and heeseung gasps so loud you can hear him, knees hitting the floor as he starts grinding into the carpet, whimpering, “thank you—thank you, fuck, she wants me to see her.”

loser!heeseung who sits on the floor between your legs during your friendly neighbourhood movie night, with you absentmindedly stroking his hair—and he’s shaking, breath caught in his throat, because he’s so close to your thighs, so close to your cunt, and when you cross your legs and your knee bumps his cheek? he creams his pants.

loser!heeseung who starts begging like a pathetic little puppy, “can i kiss it? just once? fuck—please?” and when you finally guide his head between your legs with a smirk, he whimpers like a fucking dog, mouthing over your panties, tears already spilling before you’ve even said anything—and when you coo, “go on then, dumb pup,” he moans into your cunt like he’s been hungry for ages, not caring about his glasses falling down. 

loser!heeseung who eats you out like it’s absolutely his last fucking meal, so sloppy, even his tongue shaking against your clit as he sobs, “thank you, thank you, i love you—i swear to god, i’d die here, i swear, i’d never ask for more—” and you haven’t even touched him, but he’s already making a mess all over your carpet.

loser!heeseung who cries when you tease him, calling him a sick loser, “you won’t ever fuck my pussy, hm?” you’d say, moving your panties to the side. he begs you to let him touch you, fuck you, just the tip, and after hours of begging, you allow him to fuck your thighs as he ruts into you like a dog, even more so when you slap his cock, “be grateful for what you have, you pathetic loser.”

perm taglist:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @hoonprksung @mintchocoddeonut @lezleeferguson-120 @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal

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[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

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[andypantsx3]

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

[littlelovelunette]

comHow do you think our women would react to the reader in the fertile period after menstruation climbing the walls? (I'm like this

Headcanons (Ft. Violet, Sevika, Ambessa Medarda)

Ovulating!Reader

Violet

Teases you about it from time to time but her period aligns with yours so it's likely you both are ovulating together

Since you're both ovulating together... Fucking like rabbits it is

Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. This girl has no control.

Shower sex is her favourite during this time because "There's just so much lubrication!"

8/10 times you both fuck because you hear her masterbating and whimpering your name.

Vi takes a leave from work because she woke up to you humping her thigh needily and moaning her name in small mewls and whispers

"Baby, please," she begs during shopping with you in the mall so you have to pull her in the bathroom and give her a quickie

Since she's sensitive she cums easily (she's a damn squirter, she'll wet everything. Your hands, pillow, thigh, stomach, sheets)

Oh the amount of times you both change the sheets...

Sevika

Devours you whole when you're ovulating, eats you out like there's no tomorrow until you're passed out with her face stuck up your vagina

Her favourite time of the month is when you ovulate because you finally match her 24/7 sex drive for once

Fucks you even when you're trying to cook, "Look at this drooling pussy, of course, you want it," ; "Seems like your bottom hole is hungry too, let's feed it my cock then."

Ovulating doesn't impact Sevika. So she enjoys watching your vulnerable state during this time of the month

All you need to do is strip, bend and present your pretty holes to her

Forces you to go around in public without underwear and a short dress/skirt just to see how uncomfortable you get

Fucks you in public restrooms while you are in that condition simply to watch you struggle to hide the wet mess on your inner thighs

Intentionally teases you so you whine and beg to her desperately to get fucked hard and raw

"Hearing' yourself, slut? You beg harder than some of those whores at the brothel," Sevika taunts.

Ambessa

Fucks your ass and tapes your pussy so it doesn't distract her

You blabber, drool, beg, cry— Ambessa doesn't care you begged her to fuck you and now she is and you have the audacity to complain?

Takes 'fucking all night' too seriously

You're unconscious by the time she's done with you

Threatens to fist fuck your wet cunt (you're a crying mess before she starts thrusting with just three fingers inside)

If she has a long campaign to get to, she can and will tie you up with a huge dildo in your pussy, and a big vibrating dildo in your asshole to keep you company

When she's back, she'll take the best care of you and spoil you to bits

Touch yourself without Ambessa's permission and she will punish you in ways you never thought was possible

Discipline is a must to her, she doesn't care if you're ovulating, you have to play by her rules

Gives in to whenever you ask her to fuck you

Ambessa could be strategizing for an upcoming war but her left hand's fingers will be plunging in your wet hole as she planned out war strategies on paper

[multific]

The Wolf and The Rabbit

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: The meeting between the wolf and the rabbit never ended well. The wolf would devour the poor rabbit in seconds. And yet, this wolf would never harm the poor bunny.

When your betrothal was announced, it came as a surprise to you.

Cregan Stark is a feared warrior and for a reason.

He was brutal and killed men without a flinch. His sword drowned in the blood of men.

And yet, it was you he chose as his wife.

You have only met him once, when you were very young, both of you were actually. At the time, he called you a scared little bunny.

You didn't pay much attention to him, you only stayed in his father's Kingdom for a couple of days.

Sure, your house might not be as strong as his, but you held a great name. With a proud father and mother, you were a true Lady.

A Lady who was now declared to become the wife of Cregan.

"But Father, why me?" you asked your father who looked so proud.

"The word came from him, he chose you as his future wife."

"But... why?" you asked rather quietly as you looked at your mother.

"It doesn't matter why. He chose you, it is all that matters." your mother replied.

And soon, you were in a carriage, being delivered to him, wearing your finest dress.

You looked out of the small window of the carriage, letting out a long sigh.

"Why me?" was the question in the back of your head at all times.

As the carriage moved down the road, in between the trees, heading further and further North. 

You knew he would be waiting for you. 

He would be standing there. 

You wondered how he looked, how he had been since you had last seen him. 

From the tales, you knew he was fierce and strong. You couldn’t imagine what he looked like. As a young son, he was often told how he would be handsome. 

You couldn’t see it. But you were only a child, now you were a woman. 

Things might have changed. 

You at least hoped they did. 

You let out a sigh as you got closer and closer. The nervousness grew deeper and deeper in your heart as you got closer. 

Soon, you arrived and the door to your carriage opened. The cold immediately hit you. 

It wasn’t the kind of cold when you could see your breath, but you knew what was coming. 

Winter. 

Not so different from your home. 

Home. 

This was your home now. 

This will be your home now. 

You grabbed the servant's hand as you got out and soon, you saw him. 

His hair was shaved on the sides. He was handsome. 

Damn him. 

Even from afar, you could tell, he looked handsome. 

He wore fur over his clothes, keeping him warm as he stood tall and proud. 

He rolled his shoulders back as he saw you. You could see how he let out a sigh. 

“Lord Stark, I am here to announce you, Lady Y/L/N from the House of Y/L/N. As you wished, your bride is presented to you.” 

You bowed your head as you were introduced to him. You didn't look up or anywhere, but soon, you did look up.

Your eyes locked with him for the first time in a long while.

How cold and dark his were.

“How could I forget this Little Bunny.” He said with a smirk for a smile. 

You just kept your eyes on him. 

“My Lord.” You said as you waited for him to lead you into his home.

Lord of Winterfell had a home which looked incredible.

Snow has melted in some places, yet it is still present.

You liked it.

You were left in the hands of a servant who showed you the castle, The Great Keep.

And finally, your room.

"Lord Stark was very adamant about your sleeping arrangements," she said before she opened the door to his chambers. It was his. There were no questions about it in your mind.

The room felt and smelled like a man. It made you very nervous.

You were about to be a wife, his wife. It was up to you to make the Stark name strong and give him children. And that petrified you to no end.

“Why me?” you still asked yourself.

Even when you were left alone to catch a breath, your mind was running.

Soon, you were asked to join him during dinner.

You sat in the chair right next to him, to his right as he sat at the head of the table.

It was a feast, so many different food was placed in front of you, fruits you have never seen.

"I had them make everything as I do not know what you like, as of yet." his voice sounded strangely soft.

It almost didn't fit him.

And yet it did.

His eyes didn't meet yours, he only focused on the food in front of him.

"Thank you." you suddenly said, surprising both of you as you began to eat.

"Wine?" he asked and you nodded as a servant poured you a glass. "It is one which your father sent. Hopefully, it will make you feel more at home."

"Thank you," you said once more as you continued to eat. What felt like the first time in forever, you ate as much as you wished.

"You sure can eat." he suddenly said and you became aware of everything all at once.

"I'm sorry," you said as you pushed your plate and looked at him. "It is just... delicious."

"I'm happy you like it, I didn't mean to make you stop or anything," he said as he pushed the plate back in front of you.

"Oh, okay," you said as you continued to eat. Occasionally you looked at him, only to see that he was avoiding your eyes.

You wondered why he was doing it. You wanted to ask, ask how he ended up choosing you from all the women he could have chosen, he chose you.

Out of all the princesses and ladies, he wanted you. But why?  

You will have to find out one way or another.

But for now, you were taken to get washed even if you insisted that you were more than capable of doing it yourself.

You were quick to learn that Cregan Stark didn’t like the answer no.

And so, as you were bathing you asked one of the servants, “What kind of a man is Lord Stark?”

The servants looked at you with a smile.

“He is a wonderful ruler.” One of them said.

“I wish to know the real answer, not a political one, please.”

“He is a good man. A true warrior, he is always practising his sword, and he is a great leader. He always keeps his word. He will be a good husband.”

She did look as if she was telling the truth. At least that helped you to some degree.

But even if it wasn’t true, you feared that she would have not told you. After all, who would?

You knew the two of you would share a room, maybe you could get to know him more intimately.

At least you hoped to, but as soon as you got into bed, the soft furs embraced you and you almost immediately began to fall asleep.

You woke up the next morning.

His side of the bed was cold, which made you wonder if he even slept.

You were dressed in warm and beautiful fur as you headed out to the garden.

Although winter was almost here, and every tree and flower lost their colour, you still enjoyed the garden very much.

The lady who showed you around kept telling you stories about the garden and soon, you entered the training grounds.

"My Lady, we probably shouldn't be here," she said but you just dismissed her and continued on.

You didn't want these men to think that you were only a decoration, a pretty little thing too afraid of some blood and sweat.

But what you found rather interesting was Cregan. He was in the middle of practising his sword and all you could focus on was his muscles as he moved.

"Princess," he said when he saw you.

You were not a princess, you told him before, but he didn't care.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I'm having a walk. L-"

"Let me show you around," he said as he left to quickly put his sword down. You looked at the servant who had been walking with you, she simply bowed and left without another word.

You stood there as the men kept staring at you. You tried to softly smile at them as they kept murmuring between one another.

You knew those looks too well.

It made you so uncomfortable.

Finally, Cregan arrived back and you two quickly left the training grounds as he guided you back to his home.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Princess?" he suddenly asked and you looked at him in shock.

"Soulmates?"

"When I was a young pup, my mother told me a story. She said that every person is born as a half and it is up to them to find their other half. You see, she said in the beginning, men and women were one, but we angered the Gods and they separated the whole into two. It is said all of us a doomed to find our other half. And many of us don't while others do."

"I do remember my mother told me the same story."

"Then you must understand my feelings. When I first saw you. We were young and I didn't know back then what my feelings meant. However, now I do. We were meant to be. We are soulmates."

"You must be joking, Sir Stark. How can you believe that?"

"I believe it because I feel it. Do you not?"

"I-" You didn't want to say no, because truth be told, you never actually thought about it. But if you were honest with yourself, you did feel a certain pull towards him. "I'm not sure. Is this why you chose me as your bride?"

"Who else could I choose but you?" weirdly, you understood him, you should have thought he was crazy.

And yet you didn’t.

In your heart, this all felt so right.

“I used to watch you, Princess. Even as a young boy, I knew, there was something special between us. I asked for your hand in marriage because of this connection which I believe in. Do you also feel it?" he looked so hopeful.

His eyes shone as he took a step closer and held both of your hands in his.

"I asked your father for your hand but now, I ask you, Princess. Will you marry me?" you took a deep breath.

"You say such sweet things. Talking about destiny and love, Lord Stark, but how do I know you are truthful? How do I know your words are more than a deception to get closer to my family?"

"I had a feeling you would fear as such. It is why I tried to best my home with the things you like, to properly welcome you. Since I cannot share my feelings with you. I had a new library put in, since a garden in this weather would not hold."

"I will be your wife, Lord." you suddenly said. "Not because of your library or garden, but I do feel the same you claim to. And I'm tired of pretending that I don't. Ever since we were children, I never forgot about you. Even if it was so long ago." you looked into his eyes and they shined with happiness.

"My Love, I promise you will not regret being open about this. I plan on keeping you safe and happy. And tomorrow, after our wedding, I will give you an eternity filled with joy and love."

You believed him, you really did, after all he sounded extremely sincere.

You placed your hands on his chest as he pulled you in for a hug.

You knew this was the beginning of your forever with him.

---

The wedding went well. Suspiciously well.

You expected some kind of disaster.

But nothing.

You two were wed, and celebrated along with the guests.

Your parents were proud of you, you could see it in their eyes, but they also told you multiple times.

You danced, drank and had an amazing time at your wedding.

It was the very first time your husband kissed you and it felt as if everything just fell into place.

As if all of your hidden feelings came to the surface.

Then, years passed.

You heard of a war coming and you feared the worst.

You were with your first child when the news about the Dance of the Dragons came to Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon came to ask your husband for his help during the war.

Of course, Cregan promised the Prince his men and sword.

"What bothers you, My Love?" he asked the same night, in the dark of your chambers as he sat on the bed while you stared at the fire.

"I fear my child will grow up without a father."

"I know how much you hate war, My Queen, but-"

"No buts Cregan, I understand why war is coming and I understand why you choose to partake."

"Then you must understand, I am doing it for our child and their future." he stood up and knelt on the floor in front of you. "I promise you, I will be back before our son is born."

"Or daughter." he laughed a little.

"Or little princess. You are right."

You put your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheekbone.

"I love you, My Wolf."

"And I love you, My Wife." he moved his head and kissed your palm before he picked you up and carried you to your bed.

It might have been a simple story. A simple love story.

But it was yours and you knew it was special.

With a strong and dedicated husband, who would go to war for the future of your child and you.

Who trained a dozen wolves to protect you, who always made sure to not only tell you that he loved you but prove it to you in any and all ways that he could.

House of the Dragon Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[cloudwisp]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 · 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

contents: smut (18+ minors dni). you accidentally walk in on him naked once and he’s all that occupies your mind. childhood friends to lovers. temporary housemates. brief voyeurism. masturbation. fingering. overstimulation. unprotected sex. implied multiple orgasms. he’s actually sweet just a little domineering. pipsqueak + princess pet names. 3.6k wc.

You’re temporary roommates with Caleb while your housing situation gets sorted out. The Hunter’s Academy was experiencing an issue with its database and your move-in date had been postponed so your room could be properly arranged. In the meantime, Caleb was generous enough to lend a spare room in his apartment. Sharing the same space with him brought back nostalgic memories of your upbringing, and having his presence around gave you comfort that he’s still the same Caleb you know and love. Him preparing breakfast and dinner was always appreciated when you didn’t have to lift a finger, he’d even pack your lunch to keep you nourished and prevent you from skipping meals given your hectic schedule. Sometimes there’d be light roughhousing play between you and him, all in good nature like the fond memories of your shared childhood.

The more time you spend with Caleb, you slowly encounter situations with him that have never happened before in a domestic setting. You suppose that being adults now, with the distance and years apart pursuing different careers, there are bound to be changes and new habits. For instance, you notice how comfortable he is around you—or maybe you can even say careless. With the bathroom door cracked open, you think nothing of its vacancy and enter only to have steam obscure your vision and a very naked Caleb before your eyes. Normal people would have the door locked when entering the shower, and now you accidentally caught a glimpse of his flaccid dick moments before he wraps himself with a towel snug around his waist.

“Oh, Erm… Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already.” You avert your gaze and your cheeks feel warm while Caleb remains nonchalant, staring at you before letting a boyish smirk spread on his face. You feel his hand on the crown of your head as he walks past you, sparing you from his usual teasing since it's the early morning even though he could imagine the adorable flustered mess you’d become.

“Heh, try to pay attention next time, pipsqueak. Shower’s all yours.” Caleb’s muscular back is the last thing you see with water droplets forming on the ends of his damp hair before you close the door shut. After moving the shower handle valve to your preferred temperature, your clothes cascade and bunch around your feet and you clear your mind of the embarrassing encounter as water rushes down your skin. Accidents like this happen at least once in a lifetime and there’s no need to get hung up on it. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

There’s a sense of normalcy when you wander into the kitchen once you’re dressed for the day. Caleb had already prepared a simple breakfast, and he gestured that your plate was on the dining table while he sat on the couch overlooking some course material. He’s a dangerous distraction when you situate yourself and take a small bite of a rabbit-sliced apple, glancing at his manspread in those gray sweatpants and you could almost perfectly make out the outline of his natural bulge the longer you stared.

You swallow hard and lewd thoughts infiltrate your mind when he shifts his thigh slightly outwards, almost beckoning you to have a seat in his lap. The snap of his laptop draws you out of your reverie and you flinch at the sound before you can properly react and there’s a delayed smile gracing his lips as he studies your face. You’ve been made and you curse yourself for being so easily swayed over a carnal craving and toward your childhood friend no less.

You pretend to busy yourself and focus on your plate at hand. “Haven’t you learned that it’s rude to stare? You’re just the same as always, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckles softly, taking his seat across from you and starts to enjoy his breakfast. As though you weren’t feeling bad enough, he fuels your embarrassment. “By the way, your… uh, lace panties got mixed up with my laundry. The color’s light blue, was it? Guess there’s always something new to learn about you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when he’s brazen about your intimate undergarments, and you feel like he’s being insufferable on purpose when he could’ve silently returned your item and avoided this awkward conversation. “Oh? Well, that’s my mistake. I’ll be more careful next time so it doesn’t happen again.” You suppose that he always enjoyed poking fun even at your expense, but the sly innuendos were definitely new. And you hope the pending email about your dorm situation arrives sooner so you can forget about this particular morning altogether.

After finishing up breakfast and collecting your belongings for the academy, you and Caleb respectively go about your day attending lectures and training courses. However, your focus lies somewhere else as a certain aerospace engineering student crosses your mind countless times for it to be considered normal. You never thought about him that way before, and you’re certain it’s because of the dry spell you're experiencing. But when your mind drifts back to him, your thighs clench together at any suggestive scenarios before burying the very idea into a grave with the same swiftness.

Even with the constant internal battle with yourself, walking through Caleb’s apartment door once the skyward hearth welcomes the night made you feel somewhat apprehensive. However, your concern quickly dissipated when he acted as though everything before this morning was an ephemeral dream long forgotten. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant as you both conversed about the events of the day outside of your shared home. Of course, there was a moment of weakness where you’d catch yourself staring at his lips a heartbeat too long, and something akin to yearning springs within your chest.

Whether you realize it or not, Caleb has always been a chronic observer whenever it comes to you. Even your subtle hints weren’t as discreet as you believed them to be, and it only contributes to the pent-up frustration when you both retire back to your bedrooms. Not being able to have you and explore these anchored feelings makes him feel hopeless in his deep sense of longing. Maybe you still perceive him as the same kindhearted boy from your childhood and not the capable man he’s become today. The kind of man that can be everything that you need him to be.

As the night deepens, restless sleep prevents Caleb from catching some shut-eye and he’s quiet in his footsteps down the corridor for a glass of water in the kitchen. When he moves past your enclosure, something causes his ears to perk as though a siren’s calling unto him. His eyes widen a fraction and he feels blood rushing with a twitch of his cock. The pretty noises coming from your mouth as he leans closer against the wall make him question his senses. Were you touching yourself at this late hour? Naughty girl. And yet his pants grow increasingly tighter by the second, his mind racing to connect your moans with your movements.

“Mmh—hah. C-caleb…!” You gasp softly as your fingers continue their motions on your sensitive bud, a low groan escapes his throat from how perfect you sound with his name on your tongue. His jaw tightens as he holds himself back, but his self-restraint wanes when he’s the reason for your breathless sighs and cute whimpers. Without warning, your building orgasm gets rudely interrupted and fades when he peers into your room after twisting the doorknob. Perhaps you should’ve taken your advice from earlier this morning and made sure to lock it before commencing such activities.

“Caleb—!” You shriek out and half-heartedly cover yourself with the comforter pulling yourself into an upright position, and the nickname he has reserved for you is quite befitting even for a moment like this. He can discern your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes from the gentle gleam filtering in through the window, and he stares at you for a few more seconds before fully treading inside and closing the door behind him.

“Don’t stop on my account, princess.” You can feel the heat of his gaze trailing down your disheveled yet maddeningly beautiful form. The pearl opalescence streams kiss your vulnerable parts, making you appear even more heavenly. Caleb moves and dips his weight on the edge of the bed, sharing some of his warmth as his knuckles trace your bare leg before locking eyes with you. “What were you thinking about that got you so worked up?”

You’re rendered speechless as you shy away from his touch. He withdraws his hand planting it beside him on the soft cushion. “Shouldn’t you knock first before entering?” Your voice sounds small but it’s everything you can muster given the situation and you avoid his gaze as you pose your next concern. “…Did you hear something just now?”

“You were making so much noise that I wanted to check in on you.” He chuckles softly, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, huh?” You feel your stomach drop after hearing his words and shame prickles at your skin. Of course, nothing gets past Caleb even when you both were young children and you pull your knees to your chest hiding your mortification and face along with it. “All it took was just that little moment to get you thinking about me so much.”

He wasn’t wrong in his statement, and you hate that you’re not alone in your thoughts when he recalls the encounter of him wrapped in a towel this morning. It had completely seared into your memory, leading you to act on your impulses to solve your sexual frustrations. You’d envision the feel and appearance of his cock hardening as you handle him, how he would tease you gliding his tip along your clit and entrance, the hot and heavy breathing when his mouth’s beside your ear. “Ugh, just please stop talking. Can’t you see I’m already embarrassed enough as it is?”

“Not a chance.” The gentle pats on your head encourage you to come out of hiding, which happens to lessen your discomfort. He always had a way of soothing you, and you allow him to caress your cheek before he continues to speak. “I’ve been holding myself back for a while now since I was never sure if you felt the same way. But now that I know you do… let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?“

Through your parted lips, words get stuck in your throat at his long-awaited confession. All you could think about was how the nature of your relationship would completely shift. But you suppose there had always been telltale signs with Caleb yet you glossed over every indication because he’s your childhood friend and you convinced yourself otherwise. “I didn’t know you’ve been holding onto these feelings.”

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s been years in the making.” He offers you a sincere smile, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes close at the comforting gesture, Caleb loving you a little more than you realized starts to resonate in your mind and that opens your heart to him. You feel a slight coolness and a realm of muted purple radiance and cerise hue fills your vision. “Can I…?” He whispers quietly and the notion elicits a small nod from you.

Caleb’s gentle and deliberate in his actions as he moves to alight your lips for a soft embrace. He places his hand around the side of your neck, thumb tracing along your face's sharp contour and guiding you to lay on your back. Sweet and tender in the way his tongue teases your bottom lip for more, deepening the kiss that breaks emotional barriers and makes him feel closer to you. Your sighs turn into muffled surprise when he clasps your hand and together he makes a slow descent to where your cunt weeps for him.

A glistening string of saliva connects you and him when he separates for you both to breathe. “Show me how you like it, princess.” It’s a silent command for you to touch yourself, and he loves the cute expression you’re making at his words. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and sheepishly turn your head away from him, though it’s futile when he returns your focus back on him. “Don’t get all shy on me now. I want to know what makes you feel good, please?” The last syllable comes off as a sweet murmur.

“Don’t look too closely… okay?” He can detect the reserved tone in your voice and kisses your nose before straightening himself and pushing the blanket aside until you’re completely laid bare to him. He appreciates your soft curves and smooth skin, a low hum reverberates from his chest when you spread your legs wider and a primal desire for you rises between his groin. He observes your nimble fingers pleasure your clit in small circles to get yourself off, though your arm covers your face from the vulnerable intimacy in your wave of bashfulness.

“You don’t have to hide yourself around me. You look beautiful.” He captures your hand and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles and your breath quickens when that same hand lowers to still your movements. His fingers press against yours to rub the sweet spot before you retract yours and he fully assumes control. The pressure makes your hips squirm from the delicious friction and a wanton moan slips when he delves his tongue to explore your mouth again.

Caleb marvels at the feeling of your wetness when two fingers stroke your entrance, he collects some of your slick and continues to rub your bundle of nerves in languid motions. Your arms coil around his neck, tugging him closer and tilting your heads as you lose yourself from tasting him until the burning embers dim and you’re both rendered breathless. He uses this chance to litter kisses along your jawline and warmth spreads down to your neck, a gentle nip at your pulse point before moving further below to your chest and he welcomes your hardened bud into his mouth after a salacious swirl of his tongue.

“Mmh, need to feel your fingers inside me… need more. Please, Caleb?” When you beg so sweetly like that he wouldn’t dream of denying your request, even when his mind spirals with thoughts about your cute mewls and whines in his pursuit to test your limits. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself because he wants tonight to be nothing short of special for the both of you. He’s waited too long and he’s earnest in his intentions for this moment to be perfect in every sense of the word.

“Of course, princess. Your wish is my command.” You can hear the smirk bleed into his voice when he answers you even in your state, and your breath hitches drastically when he stretches you with two fingers. He considers your bodily reactions while he searches for a rhythm that elicits the pretties sounds from you. “So perfectly tight… You need this, don’t you? Need me. Just like I need you.” He keeps two knuckles deep, massaging something soft and almost spongy that causes your back to arch beautifully.

“Mm, yeah right there—so good.” He feels you tense and convulse underneath him when he palms your clit in tandem with his fingers still driving inside you. With your climax fast approaching, you gasp suddenly and attempt to push his hand away when the sensation starts to overwhelm you. “Caleb, I’m gonna—it’s too much!” He doesn’t relent even when your grip around his wrist tightens and you cry for him to ease down from his movements. Your thighs squirm and squeeze his forearm as your walls clench around his fingers and only then does he subside after he’s satisfied with the mess you’ve made between your trembling legs.

“That’s my good girl.” You’re turned on your side as you regain some semblance of composure while the euphoric high ebbs and you feel him lay the softest kiss on your forehead. Your gaze never leaves him when he undresses himself, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his gorgeous physique and his muscles flex under the moonlight as his thumb curls beneath the waistband of his sweats and he discards it. Your mouth salivates when his aroused cock commands your attention, and it’s almost as you imagined except you underestimated its sheer length and girth. But it makes sense when he’s standing before your eyes with the rest of him.

“Think you’re ready for me?” He smears the pre-cum over his tip and gives himself a few pumps before he moves above you after readjusting your position. He sweetly pecks your lips and you feel him caress your waist then hoist your thigh and push the underside toward your chest to spread you apart. Your other leg follows suit to make room for him and he aligns himself along your heat after moving back, the length of his member runs through your folds drawing a pleased hum from you.

“Now that I have a closer look, it’s actually kind of cute. Just like you.” Your fingers bump with his, reaching to feel his pulsing shaft and you stroke him delicately while propped on your elbow. The scent of lust shrouds him when he watches you for a moment, the way your fist applies just the right amount of pressure makes him groan from how much smaller your hand is in comparison.

“Heh, cute? That’s an interesting way to put it.” You feel his balls swell against you when he measures how deep he would sink into your pretty cunt by unabashedly resting his heavy cock on your navel. Your clit throbs when he extends just under your belly button and you anticipate the feeling of him fucking you and rearranging your guts. “I wonder if you’ll say the same afterward.”

You tuck your lower lip between your teeth and glance up at him, subconsciously gripping the sheets from the thought of taking him and how tight a fit it will feel in your mental preparation. “Promise me that you’ll go easy?”

He presses forward and seals the promise with a kiss. “Gentle, I can do that. But what do I get in return?” An elongated moan escapes you when he breaches your entrance, the burning sensation causing you to burrow your head into the pillow with furrowed brows and a slacked jaw. His hand intertwines with yours for a small squeeze to help ground you as the head of his cock teases you with shallow thrusts. “You’ll let me make it worth your while? Let me do what I want with you.”

Your adorable whines receive a chuckle from him and he slides deeper. “That’s not really an answer, princess. Use your words for me.” He loves how honest and expressive your writhing body is when swept up from the pleasure and he’s barely getting started with you. You feel him pinning your hips to the bed to keep you still as he pushes further into you with a guttural moan. It’s taking every ounce of his willpower to not lose himself in fucking you senseless with how soft and pliant you are underneath him.

“Yes—! Need more… Want to feel you deep inside me. Please fuck me, Caleb!” You feel so perfect when he buries his face into your neck with a strained groan in the last stretch and meets your cervix for a desperate kiss. The fullness makes your head spin uncontrollably and you tug his hair when you feel him dragging every subtle raised vein and thick head against your walls. His pace is sensual and unhurried until he feels the tension leave your body to ensure you’re enjoying this with him. Heat coils inside your stomach and you inhale sharply when his fingers coax your clit for you to cream around him. “W-wait, when you touch me like that…”

“Didn’t you say I’m in charge now?” A devious smirk rests on his lips when your canines sink into his shoulder, leaving an imprint of your mark that will serve as evidence tomorrow as he continues to pummel into you. You think it’s unfair that he has something on you that you don't and for him to use this harmonizing leverage against you so soon, even though it feels incredibly blissful and pushes you over the edge on a note higher. Your sweet moans of his name coming out in small chants only encourage him to bring you closer to another beautiful release. Your legs wrap tightly around him to subdue your quivering form as your velvet tissues spasm and contract around him and he purposely draws out your second orgasm of the night. “Just let go for me, princess. And don't hold yourself back.”

[utterlyazriel]

ain't you my baby?

word count: 4k ish pairing: din djarin x reader a/n: [old timey radio voice] interrupting your regular schedule of bat boy to bring you [does jazz hands] yet another man that could kill u! i will apologise for not updating wtssf and instead giving this but i do not control the brain worms <3 hopefully this is still tasty for sum of y'all ! title from NFWMB by hozier

synopsis: Din gives you an unexpected gift. A dagger crafted with beskar, a fine weapon, a courting gift. You misunderstand. It doesn't take long for you to catch back on. inspired by a convo with my beloved @djarinova

By now, the constant hum and rattle of the Razor Crest around you was nearly unnoticeable.

You travel enough light-years with one stubborn screw in your cot, almost always returning to the spacecraft with one injury or another, and eventually the low lull becomes something more familiar.

Almost, if you'd let yourself admit it, a comfort.

Sleep is funny on the Crest. You'd been a light sleeper for most your life and it had saved your skin more time than you cared to count. Yet, it was the simple knowledge that a Mandalorian roamed in the cockpit above that allowed sleep to drag you deeper than usual.

It had taken months to let your guard down, to realise there wasn't going to be blade buried in your gut as you slumbered defencelessly. In the safety of his company, for the first time in decades, you dream when you sleep.

He hates having to wake you, only doing so if it's absolutely necessary. It's always with the lightest of touches, the leather of his gloves pressing softly against your shoulder, your name murmured and diluted through the modulator of his helmet.

Despite his gentleness, it never stops you from jarring awake.

You shudder awake with a violent twitch, pressing up on your elbow in a split second, prepared to move. You're stopped from moving further by Din's hand on your shoulder. He's knelt beside your cot, visor fixed on you.

You're on a new planet. The foreign atmosphere gives that away in an instant, the chalky taste in your mouth and the swarming heat on your skin. Your jack-rabbiting heart calms a bit.

"Din?"

You know he's only waking you because he must. The momentary calm banishes again as you push yourself up again. Din lets you this time, his gloved hand retreating to his side.

"It's not an emergency." He says, knowing your train of thought already. He tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the ramp door. "I need to leave the ship. I didn't want you to wake and..."

Your trailing gaze darts back to his visor quickly, swallowing as you fill in the end of his sentence. Din doesn't finish it, but his shoulders readjust in a minuscule motion.

"I'm getting supplies. Watch the kid. Please."

You're nodding before he's finished his sentence. The sleep in your system is already dissipated and you push up, shifting onto your feet and trapping your pained hiss behind gritted teeth as Din rises to his full height.

There's a beep from his valance as he punches a button then a soft hiss as the pressure changes, the ramp door beginning to lower.

It's habit to watch the sliver of the outside grow, the new terrain stretching out before you as the mouth of the ship opens. As expected, a seemingly endless spread of sand greets you. You wrinkle your nose.

Din hadn't indulged the reason or destination of this particular trip. You hadn't asked. A deep slice in your thigh courtesy of a vibroblade and a mouthy Twi'lek had kept you off your feet and eager to rest.

The slice had been by pure luck—or so you thought.

But Din's silence following the patch up in the ship, his quietness suddenly uncanny, left you beginning to wonder if he was questioning your ability to fight. Weighing up your ability to defend.

And if those things were up for debate, certainly so was your position on his ship.

It had just been passed 3 years, almost six cycles if you counted how time passed on your home planet, since you had joined his crusade. Your job had one very simple, very crucial objective.

An objective that was now babbling at your feet, tiny claws reaching out for you.

"Hey, you," You say, reaching down to scoop Grogu up into your arms. He reaches his arms up as he does, making a happy gurgle as you tuck him against your hip.

His round, dark eyes peer up at you, his big ears twitching mischievously and you couldn't help but smile. You turn so he could see the stretch of desert and are surprised to find Din still in the mouth of the ship. He's turned back, his dark visor giving away nothing of his expression.

It's then you get the feeling once more; you're being evaluated. Your usefulness being weighed up. You shift beneath the weight of his gaze, unmoving but still not speaking.

"Did you forget something?" You ask, just to break the silence.

Din finally shifts, his helmet giving a small shake in answer. He doesn't speak, just stares another moment, before he's turning, his cape catching the wind as he strolls down the ramp.

You watch him go, heart in your throat, pondering with an ache of melancholy if your time on the Crest was coming to a close.

Another burbling noise from the little green monster in your arm tugs your attention away. You look down, smile already pulling at your mouth at his clawed hand reaching for you.

"At least I know you still like me," You murmur, letting his cling to one of your fingers. "You wouldn't fire me, would you?"

Grogu makes a noise of agreement, gripping your finger tight. Then he opens his little mouth and tries to direct your finger into it, the clearest declaration of his hunger he can give.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the ship, mentally tallying up your list of things to do.

—

By the time of Din's return, the sun has dipped low in the sky and the dunes glow a scorching orange in its rays.

You see him coming in the horizon, the only figure out on the desolate landscape. You wonder, for not the first time, if he's burning up beneath all his armour. He never seems to use the fresher to cool off like you do.

It's as he reaches the ship, his footsteps heavier than usual and betraying his tiredness, do you realise he's returned with a bag. Your eyes glue to in instinctively but you bite your tongue and swallow the burning question of what the contents of the bag is.

"Get what you need?" You ask instead, hands laying flat on your knees, avoiding the bandage on your thigh.

You're knelt besides the ship wall, sitting on your feet, one of the panels hanging haphazardly by a single screw and a box of tools beside you.

There's a function for cooler air on the Crest but it's been busted since a gnarly shoot up leaving the atmosphere of Coruscant months ago. You've been trying to fix it for weeks, each time with no avail.

Today is no different.

“You haven’t fixed it.” Din says candidly, instead of answering your question.

That suddenly familiar worry of your usefulness shirks up within you.

“Yet.” you counter, aiming for optimistic. It’s impossible to tell what the immovable expression of Din’s helmet means. “It’s not the same problem as I started with, at least.”

After a moment, he gives a short nod as if he understands — which is mean because there isn’t a single thing you can think of that Din Djarin is bad at. Besides talking to Jawas, of course.

He passes you and you force yourself to keep facing forward, even as you long to trail his broad figure. You squint at the tangle of wires within the panel and sigh. It’s feeling pretty fruitless. You were hardly a mechanic to begin with and—

A loud clatter beside you makes you startle, something heavy dropping into your toolbox.

You jump back and after a quick second, realise that it’s Din who had dropped something purposefully. Trying to calm your racing pulse, you lean forward and peer in.

“This might help.” He says.

You blink down at the new tool he’s given you. It’s the one spanner size that’s missing from your toolbox.

The last one had been lost when you lobbed it at an intruder’s head in a blind panic. Not your proudest moment— even if it did distract the guy enough for Din to put him down.

You swallow your heart in your throat. “Thank you.”

You don’t hear him retreat but the part of you that fizzles like a freshly born star when he’s near dims, a giveaway to his movements. You curl your fingers the new tool and try to tell if this a good sign or not.

Behind you, Din clears his throat.

You peer over your shoulder, your brows knitting together — it’s not often he calls your attention so forwardly, much preferring to stand and wait, staring long enough til you notice and flush.

He’s still standing in the hull, one hand curled around and holding the bag he returned with. You twist fully, letting him know he’s got your attention.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. You stare, waiting patiently and try not to let your eyes roam—especially after the last comment he made when he absolutely caught you staring at the broadness of his shoulders, eyes drinking in the cut of his figure.

You’d be a terrible criminal, cyra’rika.

What’s that supposed to mean? You had retorted, flustering just a bit.

He had turned and fixed you with a tilt of his helmet that meant he was likely smirking underneath it.

You have shifty eyes.

Your face had glowed fiercely at the reminder that just because you couldn’t see his eyes, that didn’t mean he couldn’t see yours.

Across from you in the Crest now, Din coughs awkwardly.

“I,” He starts. One of his hands clenches, the leather crinkling as he does. “I have something. For you.”

Surprise piques up inside you, fiery and delighted. It warms your stomach and there’s no fighting the smile that pulls at your mouth even if you wanted to.

Gifts from a bounty hunter are few and far between and he’d already replaced the spanner. Your bounty hunter in particular doesn't like to spend his credits unwisely.

Even less commonly does he acknowledge that something is a gift—but you've learned to love the quiet hum he gives you when you thank him for something.

"Oh?"

He shifts his weight ever so slightly, the most obvious indication that he's nervous.

You sit up a little straighter. The anxiety from earlier pools in quickly.

He gives a tiny, almost inaudible huff and then, instead of reaching into the bag, he pushes back his cape and reaches back. His skilled hand unclips something sheathed at his waist. He drops the bag and steps forward, his hand outstretched.

You hold your breath without realising.

It's... a dagger, you realise.

A very beautiful blade by all standards. As you press up to your knees, rising to get a closer look, the details of its intricacy begin to call out to you.

The hilt is twined in a delicate, leathery fabric, not yet moulded to any hand. The pommel holds a promise of a shimmer as though it's embedded with a mineral. And the blade itself... A darker metal curls through the lighter one that encases it, like smoke on a sunlit sky.

It's expert craftsmanship, with a precise balance of two metals — and if you stare a moment too long, you swear the darker one matches the hue of Din's armour. His beskar armour.

"Will you accept it?"

It's with the gravel of Din's voice do you realise you haven't moved. You haven't reached out for it, haven't even blinked since he offered it out to you. You exhale, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

It's elegant beyond words. It's too much.

Too much for you, too much as a... a... What was it?

A gift? A reminder of your sole duty on the Crest? Of what you nearly failed at during your last mission together? The wound on your thigh seems to throb painfully as if in response.

He's never got you a gift that's anything less than helpful.

"I," You breath, finally tearing your eyes off the dagger and looking up at the visor fixed on you. "Din, I—"

Your gaze drops back to the blade in his hands. This time, you're certain it's beskar twined within the steel.

"It's very beautiful but..." I'm not worthy of beskar. "I couldn't, it's— it's too much. I can't accept it, Din."

The words come out clumsily and you wonder if in your attempt at being polite, you've gone too far in the other direction and offended him. You wring your hand against your thigh, pressing your knuckles into your wound. The pain dances along your nerves, a welcome distraction as you force yourself to meet his gaze.

The hum of the ship fills the space between you and like almost always, you have no idea how to read his silence.

"I understand."

And then he's stepping back, resheathing the blade into its holster in one fluid motion. He does it so quickly you don't see the tremble in his wrist, his hand just a touch unsteady. Above you both, there's a beep in the cockpit.

This time, you do manage to clock his body language, well aware of the way his guard has suddenly been wrenched up and the anxiety in your veins quickens with a sinister twist. Oh stars. You've definitely made it worse. You should've just accepted the dagger.

He turns and wordlessly heads towards the ladder to the cockpit and you watch him desperately, a dozen words caught in your mouth and none of them the right ones to say aloud.

"I—"

Din pauses, one gloved hand on the rung of the ladder, facing forward. He gives you a moment to speak. Your mouth dries.

When it's clear you aren't going to, you catch the slight sigh he gives, his shoulders dropping an inch.

"Grogu will miss you."

What?

You don't even get a moment to consider what he’s said or to digest the implications before he’s climbing the ladder, deft and quick. By the time you’re on your feet, the swish of his cape is disappearing into the hatch on the ceiling.

You stare at it a moment, all your unsaid words suddenly transforming into confusion. Your mouth opens then closes, your hands held out in front of you in evident bewilderment.

“What—” You begin as you take the rungs twice as fast, following Din’s path up to the cockpit. “—is that supposed to mean?”

You’re halfway up when The Crest suddenly lurches to the side with a rumble, the powering of engines thrumming beneath your feet and you stumble to catch your balance. Below you, you hear the familiar hiss of the ramp closing.

Stars, what is he doing? He hasn’t been this eager to leave a planet since a bounty back on Hoth.

“Where are we going?” You ask, forgoing your unanswered question. You shift forward as the Crest continues to rise with a powerful whirling sound.

Casting an eye at the passenger seat, you’re relieved to find it already occupied by your favourite green friend. Grogu coos in your direction at the sight of you and despite the situation, you can’t help but smile.

“I can take you wherever you wish to go.” Din’s flat response has your smile fading, your head whipping around to face him.

But he doesn’t take his focus off the control in front of him for a moment, stoic and silent as he continues to initiate takeoff. The Crest rises higher, the sandy ground of the planet out the window growing smaller and smaller.

Wherever you wish to go?

Does he— does he think you want to leave?

Your head spins in a tizzy as you try to clue together how the hell he had come to that conclusion. The Crest rocks as it breaks through the atmosphere and you stumble again, struggling to keep your balance.

For whatever reason he’s thinking it, he’s wrong.

Action finally possesses you. You surge forward and slam your hand onto the console, killing the power to the thrusters.

The ship stalls with a loud droning noise, coming to a shuddering stop before it begins to float in the darkness of space. The only light is the glowing orange of the planet and stars beyond the glass.

“Why do you think I want to leave all of a sudden?” You demand hotly.

For a moment, you think Din will continue the silent treatment that he’s all but mastered. His helmet, visor gazing out through the windshield, doesn’t move — until he tilts his head toward you slightly. He sighs quietly.

“I don’t imagine after…” He waves a hand idly and you scan his figure intensely, searching for what he could possibly be referring to.

After…?

It suddenly seems quite obvious.

Even if you had no idea what it had meant to Din, clearly this has to do to you turning down his gift.

“Din,” you say very quietly.

His helmet turns another inch, his chin tilted up to show he’s listening.

You swallow and it feels like your heart in is your throat, burning and bursting all at once. But you have to ask.

“What did the dagger mean?”

Now he averts his gaze, his helmet dipping as he mumbles something, nothing, his voice almost too low for his modulator pick up, a gift, but in the gravel of his murmuring, you hear one unmissable word: courting.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a… courting gift.

A dagger blended with beskar, given as a courting gift from a Mandalorian. It meant you- and him — the hope you had been harvesting, the hope of something more blooming between you two, it had not been unrequited.

Your mind casts back to the exact phrasing as you turned what you believed to simply be a gift too prized for you— it’s too much, I can’t accept.

Maker. No wonder he thought you wanted to leave.

Whatever is crossing your face must be the opposite of subtle because as you grapple to find a response to that, Din’s head tilts back up.

“You didn’t know.”

There's a tiny wobble of relief in his voice.

“No,” You breathe. Blinking hard, suddenly you feel a bit wild because Din all but proposes to you but doesn’t even think to check if you knew the depth of what he was offering? Of the real question behind his gift?

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t know, Din.”

Silence lulls between you, charged and heavy. Even without seeing his face, you know Din must be squirming beneath his helmet — his intentions, his feelings, out in the open and you still staring at him speechless.

You manage to find your voice.

“May I see it once more?”

The request comes out softer than you intend, your courage suddenly quivering in your chest. You will it to rise, to embolden you. Din had been brave — now it's your turn.

Without a word, he shifts and reaches back to release it from its sheathe on his waist. For a split second you see it, the hesitation in his hand.

Then he's holding it out, balancing in his open and trusting palm, held out for you. The thickness in your throat grows.

You swallow tightly and grip your courage, searching within you for that warm, safe feeling that beats like a drum, Din, Din, Din. You seize it tightly.

Eyes fixed on the blade, you ask quietly, "Would you... offer it to me again?"

It's impossible to draw your eyes up, too nervous to see yourself reflected in the darkness of his visor.

"Yes."

Your heart becomes a supernova.

"Will you?" You whisper, finally daring to look up at him.

Your protector, your partner, the man who showed you the softness of his heart and asked for nothing in return. "Will you offer it to me again?"

The subtle motions of Din are something you've come to learn with the years you've spent at his side. Now, staring up at you, the inclination of his armour gives away his surprise.

Then he's rising to his feet only to step before you and sink down, brought to his knees before you. His hand remains steady, the offering held out, and this time the meaning of it cannot be misconstrued in any way.

"Cyare," He murmurs — and it's beloved, it's please, it's don't part from my side for as long as you'll have me.

Something within you trembles and your bottom lip quivers in emotion and then you're moving without thinking, sagging until you're on your knees too.

Equal heights, each of you in a position of devotion, facing toward each other.

Hand reaching out, you clasp your fingers around the hilt of the dagger and say thickly, "I accept."

There's a ragged exhale through the modulator of Din's helmet. He shifts, moving to strip the gloves from his hands and the sight of so much skin from him is enough to make you falter. But there's barely time to recover your stolen breath before his bare hand curls around yours, far larger, the dagger gripped in both of your hands.

His skin pressed against yours burns like starlight. You stutter out a breath, your smile coming so easily at the sight of your joined hands.

Din's other hand raises up and pauses momentarily, halting as if he's unsure if he's allowed before it settles gently on your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his skin and hear another sharp inhale through the modulator.

"I—" He begins, quickly cutting himself off. His thumb on your cheeks begins to wander, soothing over your skin lightly. He urges you forward and you bow your head, forehead pressing to the cool beskar of his armour.

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" You chuckle wetly, emotion clinging to your words. His thumb on your face traces another soft circle and you shudder beneath the loving touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“You could have been clearer." You chastise lightly, though your evident joy means your words don't have any real bite.

“I offered you beskar, cyra’ika,” He murmurs, voice warm and full of love. His thumbs draws another delicate circle. “How much clearer could I be?”

His point makes you laugh, eyes opening and seeing your own reflection in his visor. "I don't know," You say, averting your eyes down to your still intertwined hands. You squeeze your hand and feel him echo the motion. Your heart sings.

"Use your words?" You suggest with a cheeky smile, well aware that words were not a strong suit of your Mandalorian.

Din sighs, a faux long suffering one, and the mere familiarity of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

The worries of earlier bubble up within you, the reminder of why you had been so sure the dagger had some other meaning.

“I,” You begin, pulling back lightly and casting your gaze towards Grogu, who had been suspiciously silent as if knowing the significance of the moment before him. “I wasn’t thinking about the beskar, I was being stupid.”

With your free hand, you cover Din’s hand with yours, hiding your face away, which suddenly feels a little warmer. The nudge of your hand against his does nothing to alleviate the glow.

“I thought it was, like,” You mutter quietly, embarrassed. “You were saying I wasn’t doing my job well enough or— or something and I started worrying you were gonna…”

You can’t even finish the sentence with how foolish you feel.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?” Din asks, his voice dubious and warm. Like the mere thought of that is so far from believable that it’s amusing to him.

“Shut up,” you groan, eyes closing as if it can save your from your further flustering.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” You murmur.

His hand in yours tightens, the other on your face coaxing you out of hiding with the gentlest of nudges.

"Never. As long as you want it, I want you with me." He says and in his voice you hear nothing but utter devotion. "Close your eyes."

You follow his command without hesitation, darkness cloaking your vision and you feel his hands retract from yours. The dagger remains in your palm, still cradled in your fingers. Then, there's the tell-tale hiss of his helmet and you inhale sharply.

"Cyare," He says and this time, it's with all the richness and roughness of his natural voice.

The timbre of his voice is like gunpowder sprinkled across your soul and when his hand finds the curve of your cheek once more, it's set alight.

"May I?" He asks. You can feel the soft heat of his breath fan across your lips and feel your heart quiver in response, bursting forward, as if trying to reach him. His thumb soothes across your cheek, full of wanting.

Your nod would be imperceptible if it was anyone other than Din — if his gaze wasn't trained on your face, drinking the details like a starved man, finally with uncloaked eyes.

He moves forward, presses his mouth against yours, and finds home.

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (pt 2)

read the part one first! - moodboard. / requested! hope you like it, baby!

---

The first time changed everything.

You both pretended it didn’t. At first.

After that night, nothing was said. No what does this mean?, no should we talk about it?—just another morning, another day of walking, another city to pass through.

But things were different.

Because it happened again.

And again.

And again.

It was never planned, never talked about. Just something that built between you, something thick and heavy that neither of you could hold back. It happened in the dead of night, in the soft glow of a dying fire, in the cramped spaces of abandoned houses, in moments when exhaustion and tension cracked open just enough to let something else slip through.

Joel never said much, but his body spoke for him. The way he held you down, the way he groaned your name into your skin, the way he fucked you like he needed you—like he couldn’t stop himself.

But it wasn’t just sex.

That became obvious in the little things.

Like how he let you sleep against him afterward. How his hands, rough and calloused, ran up and down your spine absentmindedly. How, instead of pushing you away in the mornings, he started waking up with his arm still around you.

He didn’t talk about it. Didn’t try to define it. But he didn’t stop, either.

And neither did you.

Joel was different now.

He still sighed when you wandered too far ahead. Still grumbled when you talked too much. Still muttered, pain in my ass, under his breath when you teased him too hard.

But his touch had changed.

He was always touching you now.

Not just when you were tangled together under a blanket, not just when his hands were gripping your waist, pulling you down onto his cock, not just when his fingers were buried in your hair as he kissed you senseless.

But all the time.

His hand on your lower back when he guided you forward. His fingers brushing against yours when he handed you something. The way he sat closer now, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.

And he didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

Like tonight.

The fire was burning low, crackling between you, and you were both full—for once. Joel had managed to hunt a rabbit earlier, and now, with warm food in your stomach, with the stars hanging low and bright overhead, everything felt softer.

Joel sat against a tree, his legs stretched out, his arms resting on his stomach. He looked relaxed, eyes half-lidded, watching the fire dance.

You sat beside him, knees pulled up to your chest, the warmth of him just inches away. You could feel his body heat radiating toward you, familiar, steady.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the tree. "Feels nice," you murmured.

Joel hummed in agreement, his fingers twitching slightly against his stomach. Then, after a moment, he shifted, stretching his arm out behind you—casually, like he wasn’t thinking about it.

But you knew better.

You hid your smirk, letting your head tilt to the side, just enough to rest against his shoulder.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t tense. Didn’t pull away.

Instead, his fingers moved. Light, slow strokes along the back of your neck.

Your chest tightened.

You let your eyes flutter closed, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath you.

"Joel," you whispered, teasing.

"Hm?"

"You’re touching me again."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Shut up."

You grinned, biting your lip. "You like touching me."

He sighed heavily, fingers still trailing lazily over your skin. "Pain in my ass."

But it didn’t sound like an insult. It sounded like something else. Something softer.

And then, it happened.

You shifted, stretching your legs out, moving even closer. You turned your face into his shoulder, pressing a small, absentminded kiss to the fabric of his shirt. Just a little thing. Nothing serious. Nothing big.

But Joel froze.

Just for a second.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

"Baby."

Your breath caught.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.

Joel was staring into the fire, his jaw clenched slightly, his expression unreadable.

But you saw the way his fingers tightened on your shoulder.

The way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

The way he knew what he just said.

"Joel," you whispered, a teasing lilt to your voice, because you had to push him. "What did you just call me?"

"Don’t." His voice was gruff, warning.

You ignored it.

"You called me baby," you pressed, lips twitching into a grin. "You never call me that."

Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ."

"You did!" You laughed now, nudging him with your shoulder. "You called me baby!"

"Shut up."

"Say it again."

"No."

"Joel." You turned your body toward him now, hands braced on his chest, climbing onto his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin like muscle memory.

"Say it again," you whispered, your nose brushing against his.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

You watched his throat move as he swallowed.

And then—softer this time, like he wasn’t even aware he was saying it—

"Baby."

Something warm, something impossible, spread through your chest.

Your smile softened, your fingers tracing over his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your touch.

"You’re getting soft on me, Miller," you murmured.

His hands squeezed your hips, his lips twitching. "The fuck I am."

You grinned, tilting your head. "Liar."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. But he didn’t deny it.

Didn’t push you away.

Didn’t stop you when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, his breath hitching just the way you loved.

Didn’t stop himself from kissing you back.

And when you pulled away, when you traced your fingers over his chest and whispered, Say it again, he didn’t even hesitate.

"You're my baby."

And that’s when you knew.

He was yours.

---

[shaisubs]

✨ Your reality is 100% YOURS. ✨

Hey babes 🫶

👉 You can literally change any person or any situation in your reality. period. 👈

I know people love to throw around that whole “you can’t change a man,” “just let it go,” “it’s not meant for you,” blah blah blah — but all of that? yeah. It’s just someone else’s limiting belief system that you accidentally internalized. None of that is law. It’s just noise.

You don’t have to “let it go” if you don’t want to. You don’t have to walk away if you don’t feel like it. And no, it’s not toxic or desperate to want to change something. What’s toxic is telling people they’re powerless when they’re not.

So, if you want to change a person? cool. If you want to change a situation? amazing. If you want to walk away because it feels better for YOU? also valid. But just know that the only reason you can’t change someone is if you decide you can’t. That’s it.

And babes... can we talk about the self-concept rabbit hole for a sec?

People really out here thinking they need to become hot af, flawless, magnetic, glow-up royalty just to manifest a person to love them or money to flow in. No. like, pls stop making it complicated.

You don’t need to affirm “I’m a goddess” on repeat until your voice breaks just to get your SP to treat you right. You don’t need to morph into some aesthetic Pinterest queen to make $10k a month. (unless you want to for fun, then go off 🧚‍♀️✨)

What do you need? ✅ to change your assumption. ✅ to shift your concept of that person or situation. ✅ to STOP giving the 3D your power.

Neville said it best:

“To change a man, you must change your conception of him.”

He didn’t say “go to therapy for 6 years,” or “repeat ‘I am amazing’ 600 times while crying.” He said: Change your assumption. That’s it.

So let me hit you with a real example:

You’ve got a guy who’s a total player. Everyone says it. he’s never committed. He ghosts. you name it.

But one girl comes along and says, “No. He’s actually really loving and loyal. He’s emotionally available. He’s ready to settle down — with me.”

And guess what? Suddenly, he’s in a happy, committed relationship with her.

Was she prettier? no. Did she have some magical script? no. She just had a different conception of him. That’s literally it.

Same goes for money, career, friendships, and health. Your assumption decides how things show up.

Stop wasting time feeding old assumptions with inner conversations like:

“They’re probably ignoring me again.”

“They never commit.”

“It’s too hard to make that much money.”

Like… why are you affirming THAT when you could literally be saying:

“They’re obsessed with me.”

“They’re already acting how I want them to.”

“Money flows to me so easily it’s ridiculous.”

You already KNOW this works. You've seen success stories. hell, you've probably had one yourself. So, stop giving attention to the old story just because the 3D looks a certain way.

👑 You are the god of your reality. act like it.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter five: just a taste

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you attend your friend's bachelorette party and get really, really drunk. choices and calls are made. caleb shows up and things get heated!

word count: 8.9k words

warnings: not proofread! READER IS MESSY AND DRUNK!

author's note: hihi! things have spiced up! ooh la la ... i hope you enjoy the chapter! please comment because i love hearing what you all have to say!!!!!! please drink responsibly and make good choices!!!!!!!! also i haven’t written smut in a hot minute so please go easy on me!

content warning: it gets smutty. fingering, making out, tongues!, oral (f receiving), fingering, vulgar language, drunken consent given (REMEMBER TO ALWAYS GIVE CONSENT AND BE SOBER WHEN DOING IT OKAY THIS IS FICTION NOT REAL LIFE)

my rotten apples <3 : @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer , @bitchyzombienacho

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

The bass from the nightclub’s speakers vibrates your body. The lights flash on and off, other club patrons jumping up and down as confetti is launched into the air. The silver and gold pieces fall from the ceiling. You tilt your chin up, mind in a complete and utter haze, as the shining pieces flutter onto your skin.

Jane, your friend and bride-to-be, takes your hands. The two of you stand in the middle of the packed dance floor. Sweaty bodies surround you, the air humid as you sing along to the song. Jane twirls in front of you and your hands attach to her waist, helping spin her under the spotlight. She pushes back into you. The two of you yell the song lyrics, dancing with each other, and watch as men stare up and down your bodies. You can barely make out her laughs from over the blaring music.

This is the third club of the night that you and Jane and her bachelorette party have gone to. In the heart of Linkon, there’s a whole city street lined with bars and clubs. It’s typically packed on the weekends. You’ve always driven by have never gone inside, sticking with the bars you know well, never daring to venture outside of your comfort zone.

So when you entered the third club of the night, which goes by the name of Kaleidoscope, you were enthralled when you came to the, very drunken, realization that you love dancing and drinking and having a good time with your friends. It’s a fantastic change of pace compared to the angsty days you’ve been enduring.

The alcohol and music was a good distraction from a certain someone who remained on your mind. You used the hands and touch of other men in the club, under the colorful flashes of lights, to replacing the tingling feeling on your lips and hips and waist.

Your night soon became blurred together. Jane and her friends kept passing you shots and drinks and you drowned them as soon as they touched your hand. You loved any drink they gave you. The fruity cocktails were fun to chug and they went down easy whereas the harder and stronger cocktails took you an extra second or two to finish.

It doesn’t matter what you drink, though! You aren’t planning on remembering this night anyways! So to hell with it! You’re going to have all the Dirty Shirley’s and Gin Fizz’s you want! Nobody is there to stop you from having a good time!

Especially not a tall, handsome man with the most perfect eyes in a uniform who has been on your mind all day.

He is not here to hinder your plan to get absolutely fucked.

Jane takes your hands, holding on tight, and guides the two of you out from the claustrophobic dance floor. The air becomes more and more pure, well, as pure as it can be, and you swear you can catch a whiff of plain air compared to the mixture of pungent colognes, sultry perfumes, and body odor from the dance floor.

“Another drink?” Jane slurs, smiling brightly at you. Her fiancé, who is just one of the greatest guys ever so you can’t even hate on him, was kind enough to get your group VIP treatment from the Kaleidoscope team. Your large booth sits to the side of the dance floor, which is in the center of the building, and you have three bottle girls waiting to help you out with drinks for the night.

“Excuuuuuse me?” Jane leans over the edge of the leather couch, drunkenly waving her hand around. You swat at her but miss, falling forward, unable to stop yourself. Your face lands into Jane’s chest and she giggles, pushing you off of her. One of the waitresses comes up to you two with a smile on her face. Jane fixes her hair and puts on her best behavior, smiling back, “May we please have…”

Her words trail off, leaving you and the waitress in an anticlimactic silence. She blinks and her eyes roll into the back of her head, the bride-to-be plopping into the back of the couch. You turn to the waitress, chuckling. Your body sways back and forth, vision slightly blurred, as you finish Jane’s request.

“Two waters? Please?” You talk slow, trying to annunciate your words as clear as you can for the waitress. She nods with a smile, shaking her head as she walks away. You nod, turning back to Jane, shaking her arm. “She does NOT get paid enough to deal with usssss! We’re the worst!”

“We’ll tip her,” Jane grumbles and waves her hand in your face. You smack it away and look at the dance floor.

The other bridesmaids dance with random men and women of their picking. Some of them are about to take their clothes off and turn this into a whole new club when the designated mother of the group stops them. You shake your head and laugh.

The entire bachelorette party is a whole bunch of idiots. Idiots who needed to get away from their domestic lives and have a night where they can act like the party girls they used to be. You raise an eyebrow, watching as one of Jane’s friend, who a literal mother, shoves her tongue down a random man’s throat.

“Get it, girl,” you whisper with a slow nod, drawing your attention back to Jane. She stares at you with big eyes, scaring you. You gasp and push her away but she comes right back, getting even close this time.

“Stop that.” She says.

“Stop…stop what?!” Your hand flies over your heart. You blink like your life depends on it, your drunken state slightly sobering from the encounter. Jane shrugs and falls back into the couch, staring at the disco ball that hangs over the table.

“It’s kinda weird that it’s just hanging there,” she points to the glass ball.

This whole interaction has you feeling such whiplash. You’re unsure of how you got to this point in the conversation.

“I guess…it’s kind of like a kaleidoscope,” you try your best to respond, the dizziness slowly leaving your mind. Your body stops spinning and your sways become a lot less noticeable. You sharply inhale and smile at the waitress who comes back with two water bottles. You take them and thank her. Just as she’s about to leave, Jane grabs her by the wrist, shooting up from the leather couch cushions.

“Fourteen porn star shots!” She collapses into the leather once again.

“She’s terrifying,” the waitress points to Jane.

“Yeah…she is…I’m so sorry about her,” you sheepishly smile at the woman but she rolls her eyes at you, walking the hell out of the VIP section.

“Have you found your prey yet?” Jane asks. Your turn and look down at her, one eyebrow perking up. “What? Did you already forget your plan on being a big ol’ slut?”

“I had a plan to be a slut?” You repeat.

“Not just any slut…….a BIG fuckin’ slut.” Jane holds her hands out as if she’s about to light up a sign. You laugh and take a water bottle, chugging it in one go. “Do you really not remember?”

You shake your head at her. Some of the girls from the party join you in the booth, just in time as the waitress comes back with a tray filled with the porn star shots Jane ordered. You swipe two of the plastic shot glasses from the tray, handing one to Jane. Her eyes are half-lidded, borderline closed, and she begins to slump over. You hold her up, one hand smushed against her face.

You drink your shot with ease, the drunkenness quickly finding its way back to you. Jane opens her mouth when you wave the shot glass in front of her face, making an airplane noise, before pouring it into her mouth. She smiles and lets out an “ahh” when she’s done.

“So,” a woman by the name of Tonya, one of Jane’s co-workers she’s bonded with, drops onto the couch next to you. You turn and face her, looking up. She’s tall and muscular. If you didn’t know any better, you’d give up your life if it means she’d give you a chance. Unfortunately, she’s married with kids. Bummer. “Have you found your man yet?”

“She hasn’t!” Jane’s hand pops up. It’s like she’s resurrected once again but is fully awake and present. She leans over you, taking Tonya’s hands. “We need to find her a hunk of a man so she can forget about Caleb!”

“Yes! Someone whose nickname is, like, ‘Minotaur’ or ‘The Machine’!” Tonya and Jane feed off of each other’s excitement. The rest of the group joins in, adding to the already long list of needs you have for your future man.

“He needs to be tall!”

“A lottttttt of muscle! Those shoulders are like handlebars, girl, you just need to hold on!”

“Someone who won’t come with any strings attached!”

“HIS COCK NEEDS TO BE HUGE TOO! If you ain’t gargling, you’re not doing it right!”

Horrified by the last comment, you stand from the couch, phone in hand. You take the last shot and drink it, the fruity liquors easily running down your throat. You look to the dance floor, trying to see if any of the men stand out to you. You sigh, sadness sweeping over your tipsy body.

You hate to admit it, but all you really want is him.

Him and his tall frame. Those violet eyes you can stare at for ages and never get tired of. You’ve seen his muscles through his clothes. His shoulders are strong and sturdy. You can still the lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the way his hands slipped under your shirt, calloused hands taking hold of your waist. He took control and you let him.

Wait — shit — no! Aren’t you supposed to hate him? He’s turned your life upside down in the span of a quick month. You can’t fantasize about him and his plush lips or the way he looks at you when you speak, making you feel so seen.

Fuck. You’re so fucking fucked.

Jane sneaks up from behind you. She snatches your phone from your hand. You gasp and lunge after her.

“Give that back!” You yell. Jane giggles and tosses the phone to Tonya, who tosses it to Noë, who then tosses it to Tally. You become dizzy with how fast they pass your phone back and forth, eventually finding yourself on the couch as a second wave of alcohol hits your body.

The calm you felt before? Oh honey, you were just in the eye of the storm.

“What are you...doing?” You slur, watching as Jane opens your phone. She stands in front of you, swaying to the music, as maniacal giggles leave her mouth.

“I know who to call to get you over your little Caleb problem,” Jane wiggles her eyebrows. You slowly sit up, tilting your head to the side. “Someone get rid of all the apples because a doctor is about to—”

You gasp and jump at her. You push Jane into the couch and she gasps, holding your phone away from you. The two of you look like drunken idiots, yes, but you simply cannot risk Jane calling Zayne. He’d only hate you more than he probably already does after the stunt you pulled last night by leaving him!

“Don’t!” You whine, reaching for the phone. You watch as your white screen turns into black. You squint, trying to focus on the name, but the words are blurred. With one final push, you slide forward and snatch the phone from her hand. Jane laughs and the other girls help her up.

“When you’re done with your little phone call,” Jane stumbles over her feet, pointing at you with droopy eyes, “come join us on the dance floor! And tell Zayne to bring his stethoscope for…foreplay reasons, I dunno, I’m drunk!” She cheers and throws her arms up in the air. You cover the phone’s microphone and nod, grimacing as the girls trot away. You look at the phone screen and press the big red button.

Nope. You can’t do it. You’re too big of a pussy.

You sit back down onto the couch. A few left over porn shots stare at you from the tray the waitress left behind. Your foot taps against the floor. From lack of better judgment and ignoring all rationality, you took the rest of the shots, immediately feeling them take effect on your body.

The leather couch squeaks as you roll down it. You stare at the ceiling of the club, feeling your body warm up, cheeks pink. You huff and pull out your phone. Sure, you can’t make out the letters of your contact list, but you have something to say to someone!

You just…don’t know what it is quite yet.

Your fingernail picks at the crack in your phone case. You gnaw on your bottom lip, staring at his phone number.

The day he first showed up, he saved you. After that, he’s made it a living nightmare of childhood trauma and jealousy. He even ruined your night with Zayne then made things worse by kissing you. You should be angry at him! You need to be mad at him and his charming smile and the way he says your nam as if it’s last time he’s going to say it.

Yeah! Give him a piece of your mind!

You press his string of numbers, not having saved his number yet out of pure pettiness, and bring the phone to your ear. The waitress swings by with a drink in hand, passing it off to you. You thank you and take a meager sip from the cool glass, the fruity cocktail hitting your tongue. It’s the perfect liquid courage you need to yell at Caleb.

“Are you okay?”

You scoff. Of course his first words to you are those of concern and not out of hatred. You laugh, throwing your head back, body moving with the momentum, moving with you. 

“I hate you.” You slur into the microphone.

“You do?” Caleb doesn’t sound too surprised by your admission. “Why?” His question is deceptively simple.

“Because…” you hesitate, trying to think of the first thing to say, “because you faked your death. Or if you were, like, kidnapped or whatever I wouldn’t hold that against you and would completely understand.” You hiccup. Caleb doesn’t respond. You strain your ears to listen to his breathing, leaning into the phone. “I also hate how you got Darryl fired just because I don’t like him. And I hate that you ruined Zayne and I’s night because of your jealousy issues. Look, I get it. I’m a god damn catch,” you laugh, closing your eyes.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Stop! Stop that! Bad Caleb! Don’t care about me, boo,” you groan and pull the phone away from your face, flipping it off.

“Do you need me to come get you?” He says right as you bring the phone back to your ear. You sniffle and shake your head no.

“Don’t come here! Because if you do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to not kiss you again, you bastard.”

“You…want to kiss me?”

“Yes! But I don’t like you! Keep up,” you roll your eyes and groan. Are you even making sense right now?

“Where are you?” He asks.

“I’m not telling you! You’re not gonna find me and act like my hero, no thanks!” You vehemently deny what you assume to be his plan, which is actually very accurate.

“Just tell me. I’ll stop by for a minute for proof of life, how about that?” He asks. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of him grabbing his keys and wallet. He’s heading to the door!

“Caleb! I’m not gonna tell—”

“How’s everyone doing tonight? The Kaleidoscope Team wants to give a shoutout to Jane and her bachelorette party!”

The club’s DJ interrupts you mid sentence. You fall silent, listening as rap air horns blare off after the announcement. The music continues afterward.

“Well…that’s just unfortunate timing,” you mumble into the phone.

“I’ll see you soon.” Caleb ends the call, leaving you staring at a white phone screen.

Well shit. That just made things worse.

You got this, though! You can do it! You know what’s going to help More alcohol! Maybe you can blend into the crowd and hide in plain sight! He’ll never find you in the crowd!

Oh, to be a fool with a drunkard’s courage.

You meet with Jane and the other bridesmaids at the bar. A cup is pushed into your hand as soon as you approach, replacing it with your empty cup. You take a sip but Jane moves it back onto the counter, pulling you away.

“Is he coming?” She asks, drawing you closer and closer to the dance floor. You flash a toothy grin at her, slowly easing your body into beat with the music.

“I’d rather not think about it!” You call back with a shrug. The two of you slip into the crowd, keeping hold of each other with a hand. You move to the center, right underneath a spotlight. A few others are lit with you. The light casts dark shadows on your face and temporarily blinds you.

You catch flashes of your friend but can’t get a good image. At one point, you lose her hand and are pushed to the edge of the light’s rim. You lose your breath, hands touch and grab you, pushing you in and out of vacant spaces, filling in anywhere there’s air to breathe. You don’t even know how much time has passed since you’ve been dancing, being a partner to all.

Your body moves with the beat of the music. You laugh and tilt your chin up, your back connecting with a muscular chest. Their large hands attach to your sides. Their fingers slip along the thin material of your dress. One arm drifts down to your hip, fingers digging into your sides, threatening to slip further down. The other snakes up your chest, his fingers making themselves at home around your neck, fingertips tapping your jawline.

Your gasp meets Caleb’s face, his eyes shadowed from the harsh lighting. Goosebumps litter your skin, shivers running down your spine. A pool of warmth forms between your legs. You’re helpless against his touch, immediately melting into his body.

“Did you want me to come find you?” Caleb murmurs into your ear. He leads you two away from the spotlight, moving underneath the shadows, only being seen when flashes of light strobe by. Darkness overtakes your vision. You attach your hand to the arm that holds your neck. You firmly hold his wrist, pulling against him, but he dips his head down, lips grazing against your neck.

Caleb holds you as you squirm against his chest. You two are frozen in place, the rest of the world around you jumping and dancing to the music, the attention on themselves instead of others around them. He slowly inhales, your intoxicating perfume making place in his memory. The tip of his nose drags across the skin of your neck. His hand moves across your body, his palm pushing into your lower stomach. A groan escapes your lips.

“Caleb,” you breathe out, feeling his lips graze a sensitive part of your neck. You push back into him, his hardened crotch poking into your ass.

Fuck. He’s made this so much more difficult.

“We’re going home,” he mutters into your ear. Suddenly, his hot touch leaves your body. You whine, feeling his fingers curl around your wrist. You pull away his touch, not wanting to leave the protection of darkness and music. You want to stay hidden with him. You don’t want to face reality just yet.

“Dance with me,” you yell over the music. Caleb turns to look at you. The lights stop flickering on and off, the white hues turning to gold as the music comes to a swell.

The world moves in slow motion. Caleb slowly takes a step towards you. A tipsy smile graces your face, your cheeks the perfect shade of pink and your eyes half-droopy form the alcohol. His purple eyes are darkened and dangerous. You’re unable to tell what exact emotion he’s feeling.

It’s…thrilling.

You manage to pull your hand from his. The flashing lights return. You’re cloaked in flashes of blood oranges and purples, your body seemingly moving in slow motion as you lure Caleb back to you.

He watches you closely. Your eyes are still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your hips sway back and forth, drawing him closer and closer, as the hues of the room change between warm and cold tones. Your skirt slips up your legs, revealing more and more bare skin you have to offer. The music vibrates his body, drowning out the screaming voice in his head telling him to get you out of there, to whisk you to his hotel room and take care of you where you can be alone together.

You are just so beautiful. The way your body dances to the music. He loves how the club’s lights illuminate your eyes, your hair taking on the color of the purple and orange lights form above. Caleb loves how carefree you look right now. There is nothing holding you back.

No fears. No restrictions you’ve made for yourself. None of your walls are up.

Caleb wishes to see this version of you when you’re sober. He hopes that one day he’ll make you feel safe enough to just let go.

Caleb grabs your hips, pulling your back against him. Your body continues to move to the music, your hands sliding up his chest, making themselves at home on his shoulders. You bite your lip and squeeze his muscles. They’re rock hard under your touch. It causes you to shudder from desire.

Your hands move up his neck and to the back of his head. You play with the bottom layer of his hair, giving it a gentle tug. He groans and drops his head down to yours. He leans into you, his breath hot against the skin of your neck.

“I thought you hated me,” you can barely hear his words over the music. You shake your head, falling deeper into the blissful feeling that crashes throughout your body. Your body moves against his, helping him fall in beat to the music, before turning around in his arms, pushing yourself back into him.

You’re making it so difficult for him to not lose control, to not drag you away and punish you for all the teasing you’ve put him through. You are so merciless when it comes to him. Are you the same way with Zayne?

Caleb groans. Your intoxication rubs off on him, his head now feeling dazed and hazy underneath the club’s atmosphere.

“I do hate you,” you breathe out, his lips now attaching to your neck. He bites down onto your skin, causing you to gasp. Your ass grinds into his hardened cock, the man burying his fingers into your waist. “I especially hate the way you kissed me.”

“You do?” Caleb peppers open mouthed kisses along your neck. You nod, shivering under his touch. He hooks his right arm around your stomach, keeping you firmly pressed against him. His left hand drops to your thigh, slipping under the skirt. His fingertips dance along your skin, swirling small patterns into your skin.

“I hate the way you make me feel,” you gasp when he bites down on a spot below your jaw, sucking and kissing your skin. He leaves marks in his wake, slowly covering the side of your neck with dark red outlines of his mouth.

“Let’s go home,” he breathes into your ear. You push against is hand, wanting to get away, but he pulls you right back into him. “I’m not leaving you. Never again.”

“I don’t want to go,” you drunkenly whine. Your hands drop to his arm, peeling it away from your body. You slip from his grasp but he’s quick to grab you. You stand at an arm’s length from him. Your mind feels fuzzy and the club’s music becomes muffled. You giggle, looking at your connected hands. You’re quick to interlock your fingers with his. Caleb certainly isn’t complaining about it.

“You’re drunk,” he pulls you back to him. Your chests collide. You look down and bite your lip, pressing into him even more, watching as your boobs threaten to spill out from the low cut fabric. “Let me take you home.”

“Booooooooo,” you roll your eyes, pushing away and giving him two thumbs down. You drop his hands and turn around, quickly evading his hands. Caleb groans, staying close behind you as you weave through the crowd of dancing bodies.

Thank goodness he aced aerial pursuits when he was at the DAA Academy.

He looks away for a moment, trying to see where the rest of your bachelorette group is. You’ve been posting selfies on your story, a lot of them provocative, showcasing your body with a less than innocent face.

You were torturing the poor man while he waited in his hotel room, trying his best to pinpoint your location before he lost control.

A random man grabs your hand. He yanks you to him and you let out a surprised gasp. Your bodies press together, the man’s hands dipping down to your ass. He grinds against you, squeezing your ass. You tilt your head at him, shaking your head.

“Wait…” you groan, hands on his chest, “you’re not—”

Caleb breaks free from the crowd and spots you. He sees red and storms over to you and the man. He uses his Evol to rip the man off of you. He grabs the man’s arm and under the darkness, he twists it backwards with such force that it snaps in half. 

“Who gave you permission to touch her?” Caleb barks in the man’s face. The man whimpers and he drops him, turning around. He looks at you to see if you watched him but you were too busy spinning away and stumbling towards the bar.

You giggle to yourself, your body feeling light and airy despite the weighted feeling between your legs. The bar top comes into view and you lean onto it, looking for a bartender. People push into you from both sides but you push back, making space for yourself.

Caleb takes the spot behind you, his arms acting as barriers. He takes all of the hits from the surrounding people, his mouth hovering next to your ear. A raspy chuckle leaves his lips. You gulp, suddenly feeling tiny in front of him, and glance at him from over your shoulder. Your eyes meet his piercing stare. You push your legs together.

“You’re going to cause me a lot of trouble tonight, aren’t you?” He whispers into your ear. He leans his face into the back of your neck, seeking solace in your marked skin and addictive perfume. He sighs, his breath sending goosebumps to form all over your body.

Your core aches. You fight the urge to push back into him, suddenly remembering that you hate him and don’t want to do anything with him…or do you? Your mind and emotions are too much of a mess right now to make sense out of what you want.

Sure, you want Caleb. But is your need for him that from love or has it been born out of pure lust?

You turn forward, blinking rapidly as some of the effects of alcohol leaves your body. Feeling slightly sober, you clear your throat and tap your fingers on the lit bar top.

“I’m not doing anything with you,” you state, voice shaking.

“Oh?” He muses. “Your words aren’t exactly lining up with what your body is telling me, pretty bird.”

Pretty bird. Is that his new nickname for you?

You freeze. Your heart melts at the sound of the nickname, a quiet desire-filled sigh leaving your mouth. You can feel Caleb smile against the skin of your neck, pressing new and gentle kisses on top of the hickeys he left behind.

“You should leave,” you stammer. He shakes his head. To your left, Jane and Tonya wiggle their way to the bar. They gasp for air. Caleb keeps his head where it is, which is on your right side, his face obscured by your hair. Jane and Tonya finally look at you and your shocked expression.

“Is this…” Tonya points to the man behind you.

“Yes!” Jane squeals, shaking Tonya’s arm, “She found her Minotaur! Her Machine!”

Upon hearing the nicknames, and feeling you shake your head, Caleb peels his face from your neck, putting on his most charming and handsome smile on his face. Jane and Tonya blink at him, jaws dropping.

“Where can I find a Machine like that?” Jane purrs. Tonya hits her arm.

“Babe, you’re getting married.”

“Shit. You’re right,” Jane looks at you, waving her finger between you and Caleb. “This is the random man you picked out? Good job.”

“Random?” Caleb pulls away form you, getting a better look at your face. He raises an eyebrow and smirks, his arm muscles flexing. “Don’t tell me you were going to find another guy to fuck, pretty bird.”

“Wait!” Jane slaps her hand onto Caleb’s forearm. She yanks him away from you and you’re able to breathe again. “Are you the Caleb? Cause we all know Zayne! But we don’t know you just yet…you know. Since we’re college friends with her.”

Caleb’s eye twitches at the mention of Zayne. He glances at you and all you can do is look away and order a drink from the bartender.

“What can I do to help sway your opinions of me? How about I buy a round for my pretty bird’s lovely friends?” Caleb’s sweet talk always works. You roll your eyes while your friends swoon.

“Oh! And you have that Colonel salary…good man! What a gentleman! I don’t know why she hates you!” Tonya claps her hands together. Caleb laughs with them and he pulls out his wallet, handing his card to the stressed out bartender.

Your gaze flickers between Caleb and your friends, then they look at an empty space beside you. He’s to busy talking with your friends so you slip away.

“Tell me what I need to do to get back on her good side,” Caleb smiles at Jane, Tonya, and the rest of the crew. They all immediately burst into conversation, speaking over each other. Caleb pays attention to what they have to say, taking in mental notes. The bartender passes him a beer bottle and he takes it, knowing damn well that he’s going to need it if you’re keeping him trapped here.

Caleb shifts his weight to his back foot, his butt hitting nothing but air. He passes. He slowly turns on his heel and his purple eyes immediately scan the immediate area around him.

Where the fuck did you go?

He turns back to the group, Jane catching his eye. She drunkenly snorts, her words slurred when the worst words he can hear leave her lips.

“She’s a runner!”

Well…shit. That’s not a fun aspect of you being drunk, is it? Caleb shakes his head, chuckling from surprise and frustration. That’s okay. He’ll find you. He always does.

He leans away from the bar and looks around. His eyes scan the tops of many other women’s heads. None of them are yours. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, turning back to the bar.

Okay…this is going to be a little more complicated than he thought it was going to be.

Caleb closes his eyes and takes another sip from the beer bottle. He stays where he is, drinking up all the alcohol in one go. Cheers erupt from around him, the bachelorette party howling from his side, as a voice rings out from the speakers.

“Alright ladies! It’s time to show us what you got!”

Caleb opens his eyes and rests his elbow on the edge. His gaze is met with a familiar looking pair of legs. He glances down, tilting his head to the side. The woman is wearing the same platform heels as you. The Colonel’s purple eyes trail up your leg, his lips parting, when he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin under your skirt. His eyes travel up farther, landing on your goofy smile and the way you drag your hands across your body, dancing along to the music.

Caleb clears his throat, his pants feeling tighter than before, and looks around. Men watch you, drool falling from their mouths, as you put on a show for them. He groans and uses his Evol to make them look away from you.

You’re his to look at. You’re his to devour, to take. Not theirs.

Caleb chews the inside of his cheek. He looks at your legs, gaze drifting up. He shamelessly looks under your dress. It’s completely bare underneath except for a pair of lacy black panties. The man groans, his hand caressing your shin and calf.

“We’re going home,” he says. You look down at him and shake your head. You kick his touch away and prance in the other direction, earning more and more cheers from the crowd. Your skirt flicks up and he catches a glimpse of your ass.

Fuck.

Caleb follows you down the bar, shoving past people. They yell at him, telling him to fuck off, but he pays no attention to them.

Enough is enough. You aren’t going to listen to him, that’s fine, but my dear, actions have consequences and you are not immune to what Caleb is about to do to you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” Caleb uses his Evol against you. Your feet lift from the ground and you gasp, not enjoying the sudden feeling of weightlessness. With a flick of his hand, you’re back on the ground next to him. He snatches your hand in his and drags you away from the bar top. People boo him but you give them waves, blowing kisses to them.

Caleb’s mind is fried. He keeps you close to him, dragging you behind as he finds solace in a darkened and somewhat empty hallway. There are a few people scattered throughout, immersed in their own conversations. He heads to the back. You stumble over your feet. You try your best to pry his hand off of your wrist but it’s of no use.

Caleb stops walking but pulls you in front of him. He turns you around and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, he has you pressed up against a wall under the darkness. A single light hangs over you. Its light is dim and creates dramatic shadows on Caleb’s face while yours is soft under the light.

“You…drive me crazy,” Caleb’s breathing is ragged. He presses his hand next to to your head, trapping you against the wall. Your body shovers, panties soaking from your sudden desire. Your legs squeeze together to try and hide it from him.

You watch as he lifts his free hand to your face. The tips of his fingers graze your face. He cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb resting against your bottom lip. It’s quiet, the music being drowned out from distance and the ringing in your ears. He pulls your bottom lip down, a slight smirk forming on his face.

“What am I going to do with you?” Caleb’s voice is raspy. A surge of warmth hits your lower abdomen, legs squeezing tighter as your pussy throbs from his simple question.

Caleb leans down, thumb still on your bottom lip, closing the distance. His lips graze against yours.

“C-Caleb…” you breathe his name out. You push your face up to his but it’s his turn to play coy now. He draws back and shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Use your words, pretty bird.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

You’re desperate for him. For his touch. You crave the way his lips mold to yours. You love how he effortlessly takes control, that you can shut your mind off around him and know that you’re going to be safe.

Caleb looks at you through half-lidded eyes, drunk on the way your voice is so breathy, so needy for him. He admires the way your lips parted for him. He swipes his thumb over your glossy lip. He needs to know what your lip gloss tastes like.

Do you taste like apples? Or did you dare to go with another flavor that isn’t associated with him?

Caleb closes the distance. His lips capture yours in a slow yet passionate kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, closing the distance. His tented pants pushes into your aching core. You moan against his lips, the knot in your stomach slowly tightening with anticipation.

Caleb swallows every little sound that escapes your mouth. He rolls his hips up into yours, earning another helpless whimper from you. His Evol helps guide you up the wall and your wrap your legs around his hips, making yourself at home. You tilt your head to the side, fully pressed against the wall. Caleb puts his full weight into you. Your fingers slip into his hair, giving the dark locks a tug when he grinds his crotch into yours. Caleb hisses, deepening your kiss.

His tongue dances with yours, quickly exploring every crevice that you have to offer. Every time your lips part, he’s quick to reconnect them, leaving your mind reeling. You gasp for air, your hair quickly becoming frizzy, as Caleb asserts his dominance over you.

His hand leaves your face, sliding down your side. He cups your breast, squeezing it before he pinches your pebbled nipple. You gasp, head rolling back. Caleb attaches his lips back to your neck, deciding to make up the other side, to show the world that you are his and his only.

Look at you. You’re putty in his hand, his to use and play with. Caleb can do whatever he wants with you, the faint taste of cherry from your lip gloss streaked across his own lips, tainting his tastebuds.

“Keep making those pretty sounds,” Caleb bites down on your skin. Your chest pushes into his, nails gripping his hair tighter. He groans, cock twitching behind his pants and boxers. He reaches your collarbone, leaving one final hickey on your exposed chest. The tip of his nose drags up your neck and cover the curve of your chin, lips reconnecting in a fiery kiss.

Your hands drop to his shoulders. One hand stays not he back of his neck while the other slips under the collar of his shirt, your fingernails scraping against his skin. Caleb rocks his hips into yours. Your nails dig into his skin and you whimper.

Caleb pulls you off the wall, his hands grabbing the bottom of your thighs. Your legs tremble against his touch. His Evol forces a door to open and he carries you inside, pulling his face away from yours, a string of saliva connecting your mouths.

The bathroom has a single counter and a single toilet. His powers lock the door. He licks his lips and sets you down on your feet. With one slow turn, you face the bathroom mirror.

It’s dirty, grime and build up prominent on the corners. Lipstick smears and black ink cover the rim of the mirror. Your face sits in the middle. Caleb traps you between his body and the counter. Your hands grip the edge of the countertop, one of his hands resting on top of yours while the other snakes down your side.

You stare into his eyes through the mirror. His smirk sends shocks of electricity between your thighs, your poor panties soaked from the way he handles you. His hand slips under your dress. His fingers make their way to your clothed pussy, dragging across the lace. He chuckles into your ear.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he breathes the words out and into your ear. You close your eyes, head hanging low.

Caleb’s slides in between yours, his foot pushing them open. He slightly bends you over the counter, moving your dress and bunching it up at the bottom of your back. You shudder, feeling his hand squeeze your ass before giving it a slap. You whine and squirm in place but his Evol holds you still.

“Be good for me, pretty bird,” Caleb smirks at the sight of you. You’re so willing, so eager for more. He brushes your hair out of your face. “Look up. I want to see that pretty face of yours.”

You weakly nod and stare at him through the mirror once again. He turns away and slips your panties to the side and slides his fingers over your slick core. You bite back a moan, gaze turning as sharp as his. 

You stare at yourself, looking at how your lipstick is completely smeared from your kisses. Your cheeks are a bright shade of pink and your hair is a mess. You slowly blink and gasp when Caleb begins to slowly rub deep, firm circles into your clit.

“Do you want this?” Caleb hums, drunk off of how divine you feel under his touch. You’re unable to say a word, quiet moans falling from your lips as you nod. His gaze darkens. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer. Caleb smirks and slips two fingers inside of you.

You gasp at the sensation, already feeling quite full. You gulp and roll your hips to meet his hand, his fingers pumping inside of you at a steady yet quick pace. He curls his fingers, the digits swiping across your sweet spot, making you cry out in pleasure.

The only sounds that fill the bathroom are your moans, the sound of Caleb’s fingers moving in and out of you, and the sound of Caleb leaving open mouthed kisses on your shoulder and neck. Your hips sway back and forth, fighting against his Evol, and every time you moved too much for his liking, Caleb bit into your neck.

“Caleb! Caleb, p-please!” You cry out. Your walls clench around his fingers. He immediately slides his digits out of you, leaving you hanging. You gasp, suddenly feeling so cold, and turn to him. Before you can say anything, though, Caleb lifts you up with ease, setting you on the bathroom counter.

Your back hits the cold mirror. Your legs tremble, watching as he licks your juices from his fingers. He groans, getting drunk off the taste. He leans in and imprisons your lips in a breathless kiss.

You taste yourself on his lips, your tongues massaging into each other. You pull him close, hooking an arm around his neck as you guide him between your legs. You can feel his clothed cock brush up against your soaked pussy.

Caleb pulls his lips away from yours. He trails kisses form your lips down your neck to your collarbone, dropping below your breasts. He gives them a gentle squeeze, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers. The Colonel keeps his eyes on you, kissing your clothed stomach, moving the skirt of your dress out of the way.

He takes a step back, admiring your wet panties, all soaked and ready for him. He hooks his finger under your panties, tugging them down your leg. He slips them off and pushes them into his back pocket. You barely pay attention to it, eyes half open, mind in a complete haze.

Caleb flicks his hand and his powers slowly push your legs open. You’re fully exposed to him. You quiver from the exposure but don’t move, watching as he steps back to you.

He rests his hands on your knees, sliding them up and down your thighs with meticulous movements. He’s dreamt about this moment for many nights. He wants to savor every second with you.

Caleb’s eyes flicker to yours. You watch him, captivated by his actions, as he gets down on his knees in front of you. He places your legs on his shoulders, his Evol disappearing against your skin. He hums to himself and hooks an arm around your leg, keeping you in place.

Caleb slowly rubs circles into your aching clit with his thumb. Your head rolls back, fingers attaching to his hair. You tug on it, quietly urging him to move faster. He chuckles at your shaking body. He leans in. Caleb drags his tongue from the bottom of your entrance all the way up to your clit.

Your breathy moan fills the bathroom. The tip of your heel digs into his back, your grip on his hair tightening. He kisses your clit, lapping at it a few times, before connecting his mouth around the sensitive bud, sucking on it. He slips two fingers inside of you, curling them once he fully pushes them inside.

Your back arches and a loud moan leaves your mouth. Caleb pumps his fingers in and out of you at a furious pace, curling them at just the right moment to make you gasp. He groans as you tug at his hair, eyes closed as he’s ruthless to your now swollen clit.

Caleb removes his fingers from you, unable to control himself, as he slides his tongue along your slit.

Your thighs immediately close around his head. He groans from the hit, his tongue dipping inside you. His Evol pushes your legs right back open, fingers digging into the plump flesh of your inner thigh.

“F-Fuck!” You cry out. Without even realizing it, your hands tug and pull on his hair, moving his face exactly where he needs to go to please you.

His tongue swirls around, dipping inside you as you roll your hips into his mouth. The tip of Caleb’s nose brushes against your clit, causing you to cry out his name in the empty bathroom.

He groans against your soaked pussy, lapping up your wetness, the sounds from his tongue oh so quiet compared to your cries and gasps. He tightens his grip around your thighs, holding you in place as you begin to squirm under his touch.

Caleb buries himself between your thighs. He can barley breathe while his tongue moves at a hellish place, hitting you in all of the right spots, making sure to lick your clit to push you close to the edge before bringing you back to a low. He’s so focused on your pussy that his Evol disappears, letting go of your legs, which you tighten around his head. He doesn’t care, though.

The knot in your stomach tightens. You dig your heels into his back, not holding back on him, as your hips buck up to meet his eager licks. You look down at him, breathless, and meet his drunken stare.

You throw your head and scream out his name, jumping into the feeling of pure bliss and ecstasy.  You cum all over his face, your juices coating his mouth and its surrounding areas. Your legs tighten before falling loose, trembling.

Caleb slows his face, precum leaking from his tip, cock aching under his tight pants. He lets you come down on your own time. Your chest, once pushed up into the air, falls. Your back returns against the mirror and you heavily breathe in and out, catching your breath.

Caleb presses sweet and gentle kisses to your clit and your entrance before he moves to your weak thighs. His kisses are sloppy, leaving trails of your enthralling finish on your skin. He rises to his feet, immediately pressing his clothed cock to your exposed pussy.

Your brain is fried. You can barely string together a simple sentence as you try to comprehend what in the fuck just happened to you. You tilts your chin up and Caleb captures your lips in a kiss.

You can taste what he did to you on his lips, melting into his kiss. He grunts inside of your mouth, the vibrations making you shudder. You bite down on his bottom lip, drunk off of your orgasm, and watch as he tears himself away.

Caleb presses his back against the door. The two of you breath deep and haggard breaths. He smirks at you, which you return with a tired chuckle.

Your legs feel heavy, hands unable to hold onto anything. Can you even go another round?

Caleb takes a single step towards you, his hands reaching for his belt, when he’s stopped by your heel being pressed into his twitching member. He groans but keeps the distance, looking at you.

You shake your head, a tipsy giggle escaping your lips. You bite down on your bottom lip and push your heel into his crotch, watching as a mixture of pain and pleasure flash across his face.

“Not yet…” you whisper. You shake your head, trying to get back to rationality and your senses. “I need to go home. Can you take me home?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

Such a tease.

That’s okay…he’ll just make you feel even better next time.

Caleb’s body relaxes. He scoffs, looking away for a split second before nodding. He picks you up with ease, making sure to cover the lower half of your body with your dress. Caleb carries you out of the bathroom.

You rest your head on his shoulder, looking at him with a lazy smile. He carries you through the club, a proud smirk stamped on his face. As soon as you step outside, you close your eyes, allowing sleep to overtake your body when you’re placed in the backseat of a car.

You did not feel good the following morning. You woke up late, mouth dry, dehydration and nausea hindering you from rushing out the door and to the train station.

Did you have time to make breakfast? No.

Did you have time to make yourself look presentable for the outside world? Also no.

All you managed to grab was your suitcase, which was somehow packed, and your purse filled with your wallet, keys, and your charged phone. You raced out of your house and bribed one of your teenage neighbors, whom you haven’t seen in five years, to drive you to the train station. You threw in an extra fifty dollars if they got there in under ten minutes, which they did.

You wear baggy sweatpants that you swipes from your mom’s room, a bedazzled “SLAY” written across your ass. You matched it with an old college hoodie you haven’t worn in forever with a big pair of black sunglasses to keep the light out from your face.

Needless to say: you look like a train wreck.

As soon as you plopped into your assigned window seat on the train back to Skyhaven, you relaxed. You grab the water bottle from your bag and chug it in one go, moisturizing the inside of your dry mouth and throat. You breathe out a sigh of relief, melting into the train’s cushioned chair.

You close your eyes and lean against the window, groaning, wishing for your hunger to go away and for sleep to take you once again.

The worst part about your inevitable, and much needed, hangover?

You remember every single god damn thing you did last night, especially the part where you let Caleb eat you out in the dingy bathroom.

You wince from the memory, covering your ears as you hear your intermingled moans and the sounds of your sloppy kisses.

Go away! Shoo! Leave me alone!

You sense a person sit in the chair beside you. You hold back a groan and scoot away from them, getting close to the window so they can have more space. They chuckle and your heart begins to race. Slowly opening up your eyes, you see a bundle of aluminum foil.

It smells absolutely divine. Just fucking delectable. You knew what was inside. It’s a greasy breakfast sandwich, perfect for a hangover. You take it in your hands, unraveling the sandwich and immediately bite into the everything bagel, the grease from the cheese and meat blending together to create the best savory experience and extraordinary first bite of the day.

It’s so good that you moan a little, head rolling back and hitting the seat’s headrest.

“Is it that good?” They ask. You can barely process what their voice sounds like, going in for a second bite, nodding. They laugh.

The person besides you swipes the sunglasses from your face. You whine and open your eyes, looking at them.

Caleb sits besides you, wiping the smudges away from your lenses with his shirt. You look down and catch a glimpse of his abs, his happy trail prominent against his tanned skin. You move your eyes back up to his, feeling as he places the sunglasses back on your face. He leans in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“And here I am thinking that I was the only person who could make you feel that good.”

This is going to be one long ass train ride.