#and they don't even have a tag i can look through :(

[kiszjuli]

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ──── [𝐋.𝐃𝐇] 𓈒  𓈒  𓈒 

( 이동혁 ) ; 𝐟𝐞𝗺!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝗼𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤

──in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.

✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really , lmk if i missed any !

𓂃 w.c [ 7.4k / 22.7k ]

!! not proofread !!

▸ j.note ; woahh i didn’t expect you guys to like this gif so much but im glad you did! i hope this lives up to the rest of the strontium happy reading !! also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.

▸ this is part two and part one can be found here .ᐟ (please read it first)

© kiszjuli 2025 ⟳ likes & reblogs are appreciated

your heart in your throat, your breath shallow as your mom stands in front of the both of you in the living room. ironically, the first time haechan was on there. she was watching you and haechan like she's just discovered the most unforgivable thing. the two of you are frozen, your lips still tingling from the kiss that was abruptly interrupted.

"what the hell was going on here?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, and you can see the flicker of shock and anger in her eyes. her gaze darts between you and haechan, her lips pressed into a thin line. the tension in the air is suffocating.

haechan steps back, but his eyes don't leave you. he looks like he's about to speak but holds back, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

your mom's gaze flicks from him to you. "this is what i've been worried about," she says, her voice sharp. "you're not a child anymore, but you're making reckless decisions. boys like him-they don't care about you."

your chest tightens. "you don't even know him," you reply, though your voice trembles slightly.

she shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. "i know enough." she takes a step into the room, her eyes narrowing. "you can't see it now, but you will. he's trouble, and if you keep going down this path-"

"mom, stop," you cut in, your voice rising before you can stop it. "this is my choice."

the room is thick with tension. haechan stands silently off to the side, still processing what's happening, his hands balled into fists at his sides. he's been silent, waiting for your mom to finish, but you can see the frustration on his face as she continues.

"you need to leave," your mom commands, her voice icy, cutting through the air like a knife.

haechan takes a breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. he's about to turn away, about to leave, when you step forward.

"wait," you whisper, a sharp sting of regret flooding through you. you didn't want this. you didn't want him to leave-not like this.

haechan stops, turning slowly back toward you, confusion written across his face. he doesn't speak, but the look in his eyes is soft, almost too soft for a situation like this. you take a step closer to him, your heart racing, and in a moment of vulnerability, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible, feeling the heat of his skin against your cheek. the words feel heavier than you expected, like a weight you didn't know you'd been carrying.

for a moment, neither of you moves, just standing there in the fragile silence of your embrace. then, he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, "i'm not going anywhere, you know."

his voice is quiet, but there's a certain determination in it that makes your heart skip a beat. you want to say something, anything, but before you can, your mom interrupts.

"you need to go," she insists, her voice breaking through the moment.

reluctantly, you pull away from haechan, your hands lingering on his shoulders for just a second longer than necessary. you glance at your mom, who's watching you with a look of disappointment, and then back at haechan.

he takes a deep breath, eyes meeting yours one last time. "i’m sorry too," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that only you see.

without another word, he turns toward the door. you watch him leave, the weight of your mom's disapproval heavy in the air. but just before he steps out, he pauses and looks back at you once more, his gaze full of quiet determination. it's a look that says, i'm not giving up on us, even if everything else feels like it's falling apart.

the door clicks softly behind him, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, the silence in the room almost deafening. your mom's disappointment lingers, but you can't shake the feeling that whatever this is with haechan is far from over. "what did i tell you?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and furious. "how did he even get in here? you are grounded for... until i say so! now go to bed. your father and i will deal with you in the morning."

well, fuck.

—

after your mother’s furious words, the weight of reality settles over you. your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling from the way haechan had touched you, but now it’s mixed with something colder. hame, fear, the undeniable knowledge that you’ve been caught.

without another word, you turn on your heel and head to your room, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind you. you lean against it, exhaling shakily, trying to process everything. grounded indefinitely. your parents furious. and yet, all you can think about is the look in haechan’s eyes before he left—the quiet promise, the way he lingered just a second longer, like he didn’t want to leave you behind.

you pace the room, hands running through your hair, restless. you’re supposed to feel regret, supposed to feel ashamed, but instead, something else burns in your chest. defiance. yearning. maybe even something close to a thrill. because for the first time in your life, you aren’t just following the rules. you’re chasing something you actually want.

climbing into bed, you grab your phone from under your pillow, half-expecting a message from haechan. nothing. you sigh, staring at the dark ceiling, but just as you’re about to put your phone away, it vibrates in your palm.

[1:42 am] haechan: you still awake sunshine?

despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips. you hesitate, but only for a second before replying.

[1:43 am] you: i hate you.

[1:43 am] haechan: no, you don’t.

[1:44 am] you: i’m grounded until further notice.

[1:44 am] haechan: damn. worth it though, right?

[1:45 am] you: go to sleep.

[1:45 am] haechan: not until you do.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the way your lips curve up, no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. you sigh, setting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling. you should be panicking about what’s to come, but instead, all you feel is him.

and maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.

—

you wake to the sound of voices just outside your door—your parents, low but firm, clearly waiting for you to come out and face them. sunlight spills through the blinds, too bright, making your room feel smaller than usual. for a moment, you consider staying in bed, pretending to still be asleep, but you know that won’t work. you’re trapped, and you might as well get it over with.

dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and take a deep breath before opening the door. your parents are already at the kitchen table, your mom with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, your dad with a weary look, like he’s already disappointed before you’ve even said a word.

“sit.” your mom’s voice is clipped, no room for argument.

you sit.

the silence is heavy, thick with tension. then she takes a deep breath

“what were you thinking?” your mom demands, shaking her head. “letting that boy into your room, sneaking around behind our backs—do you have any idea how reckless that is?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping the hem of your hoodie. “nothing happened.”

your dad exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “nothing happened this time, because i walked in. but what about next time? do you even know what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

trouble. the word lingers in the air like smoke. you’ve heard it before, always in the same breath as haechan’s name. boys like him were nothing but trouble. you know that’s what they think. maybe it should be what you think too.

“we’ve warned you about him,” your mom continues, voice softer now, but no less serious. “he’s not—he’s not the kind of boy you should be involved with.”

you flinch, something defensive curling in your chest. “you don’t even know him.”

“we don’t need to know him,” your dad says, exasperated. “his reputation speaks for itself.”

you shake your head, frustration bubbling up. they don’t understand. they never have. if they knew the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

but they won’t listen. they never do.

your mom’s words settle like a weight on your chest. “you’re grounded. no phone, no going out. and we don’t want to hear another word about him.”

you stare at the table, jaw tight. the sessions were already over, but that wasn’t really the point. they wanted him out of your life completely. like he was some kind of bad habit you just needed to quit. like he wasn’t already tangled up in your thoughts, in your pulse, in the way your skin still burned from where he touched you.

“do you understand?” your dad asks, voice even but firm.

you swallow hard and nod, because it’s easier than fighting. because you know they won’t listen.

but as you sit there, hands clenched in your lap, you realize something.

they can take away your phone. they can take away your freedom. they can make rules and set curfews and keep a close eye on you.

but they can’t change what’s already happened.

they can’t change you.

—

monday feels different.

the hallways are the same, the usual chaos of students dragging themselves through the first day back after break, but you feel off. like you’re walking through a version of your life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

it’s the lack of your phone, mostly. no morning texts, no unread messages waiting for you, no way to check if he even tried to reach out again. your parents had taken it first thing saturday morning, and the silence had settled in fast.

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. that a few missed texts aren’t the end of the world. but as you step into the building, scanning the crowd without meaning to, you already know who you’re looking for.

and then—there he is.

leaning against the lockers like he always does, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he listens to something one of his friends is saying. but his eyes aren’t on them.

they’re on you.

your breath catches, your steps faltering just slightly before you force yourself to keep moving. to act like everything is fine, like your parents didn’t just rip away the one thing tethering you to him over break.

but then he pushes off the lockers, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts toward you, gaze dark and unreadable.

you barely make it to your locker before he’s there, sliding in beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“so,” he drawls, leaning in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “thought you were dead for a second.”

you sigh, spinning your lock with unnecessary force. “my parents took my phone.”

he hums, like that explains everything.

“figured they’d do something like that,” he says, and when you glance at him, there’s something knowing in his expression, something frustrated. “so what, they think ignoring me is gonna make me disappear?”

you exhale sharply, finally yanking your locker open. “i don’t know what they think.”

he watches you for a second, then suddenly reaches out, fingers brushing against your wrist before you can move away. it’s quick, barely even a touch, but it’s enough to make you freeze.

“meet me after school,” he murmurs. it’s not a question.

you hesitate. it’s stupid, reckless. risky. and you should probably say no.

but you don’t.

you just nod.

—

the rest of the day crawls by, every second stretching longer than it should. you go through the motions—taking notes, nodding at the right times, pretending to listen—but your mind is elsewhere. stuck on him. on what you agreed to. on the way his fingers skimmed your wrist like he knew you wouldn’t pull away.

when the final bell rings, your heart stutters.

you could go home. act like today was normal, like nothing is pulling you in the opposite direction. but your feet have already made the choice for you, carrying you through the crowded halls, out the side doors where the air is crisp with early spring.

he’s there, waiting. leaning against the brick wall, one foot propped up behind him, hoodie pulled over his head. but the second you step outside, he straightens, dark eyes locking onto yours.

“thought you might chicken out,” he muses, lips curling at the corners.

you cross your arms, tilting your head. “thought you might get bored and leave.”

he grins, slow and lazy, but there’s something sharper beneath it. “not a chance.”

you exhale, glancing around. “so? where are we going?”

he nods toward the parking lot. “just walk with me.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t want to—because you do, more than you should. but this is dangerous, walking this line when you know exactly where it leads.

then his fingers brush yours again, like earlier, but this time he doesn’t pull away. just hooks his pinky around yours, barely holding on, like he’s leaving the choice up to you.

“come on, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rough at the edges. “just for a little.”

and that’s all it takes.

you don’t say anything, just step forward, closing that last bit of space between you. letting him lead you somewhere you probably shouldn’t go.

—

he leads you deeper into the park, past the usual paths and toward a hidden trail. the air shifts around you, growing quieter as the city noises fade into the distance. soon, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees, their branches swaying gently, the leaves rustling softly as though the earth itself is breathing with you.

you stop at the edge of a small pond, its still surface reflecting the warm, amber glow of the early afternoon sun. everything around it seems to settle into a peaceful hush, as if the world outside this moment has no place here.

he turns to you, and for a second, you’re not sure whether he’s showing you the pond for your sake or his. “this is where i come when i need to clear my head,” he says, his voice lower now, almost reverent. he gestures toward the water, his gaze lingering on the surface. “it’s quiet. no one bothers me here. i can just think.”

you take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh air. it’s hard to reconcile this calm, serene version of him with the boy who’s been impulsive, reckless, and unpredictable. yet, somehow, it feels right. this side of him, this peace.

“i didn’t think you’d have a place like this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he glances at you, a small, almost sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “no one ever does,” he says, a glint of something dark flickering behind his eyes. “that’s kinda the point.”

the way he says it makes your stomach flip, and you can’t quite put your finger on why. maybe it’s the vulnerability that tugs at the edges of his words or the way he’s letting you see a part of him no one else does.

for a moment, you think he might say something more, but he simply steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. the touch is casual, but it sends a spark of warmth shooting through you, a connection that seems to hum between you both.

“do you wanna see something else?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, and there’s a soft challenge in his tone that makes you want to lean in, to see more, to feel more.

you nod, unable to resist. you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can’t explain, your breath catching when he doesn’t pull back. instead, he closes the gap between you, moving closer until the air between you thickens, charged with something unspoken.

his eyes lock with yours, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that sends your heart into a wild, erratic beat. he tilts his head slightly, and before you can think twice, his lips are on yours.

the kiss is soft at first, like he’s hesitant. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, the kiss deepens, the heat between you both growing with every brush of lips, every soft gasp that escapes. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you nearer, and your hands instinctively clutch at his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours.

your heart races, the world around you nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his touch. you break away for a moment, gasping for air, but his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in uneven bursts.

and then, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “i shouldn’t want this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “but i do. i want you.”

his words make your stomach flip, the intensity of them washing over you in waves. something about the rawness in his voice, the honesty, catches you off guard.

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i want this too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the moment will shatter if you speak too loudly.

there’s a quiet beat, just the two of you, caught in this fragile space between wanting and hesitation. but then, he presses another kiss to your lips, and you forget everything except the feel of him, the way his touch makes everything else fall away.

when you finally pull apart, breathless, he smiles—a small, almost wistful thing. “i think this place is special for more than one reason now,” he says, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite place.

you smile back, though your heart is still racing. “yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

—

that night, when the house is dark and quiet, you barely hear the sound of him climbing up the tree until there’s a soft thud against your window. your heart stutters in your chest as you rush over, pushing it open just in time to see him balance himself on the ledge.

the moment haechan lands in your room with a quiet thump, you glare at him, arms crossed. “you’re unbelievable,” you whisper harshly. “do you have any idea how much trouble i’d be in if we got caught?”

he grins, completely unfazed. “but we did get caught.”

you smack his arm, making him flinch. “not the point.”

he raises his hands in surrender, but the smirk stays. “yes, ma’am.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his teasing tone. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you still let me in.”

you don’t have a response to that, so you just sigh, motioning toward your bed. “sit down before you break something.”

he flops onto the mattress with a little too much enthusiasm, making you shake your head as you sit beside him. the room is quiet except for the hum of the night outside, the occasional rustle of leaves from the tree he just climbed. neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can feel the shift in his energy—less playful, more… tired.

“so,” you say softly, “what are you really doing here?”

he exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “couldn’t sleep.”

you glance at him, catching the way his jaw tightens before he looks away. “bad night?”

“something like that.”

his voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual bravado, and it makes your chest ache. you hesitate for a second before shifting slightly closer, your fingers barely grazing his on the comforter.

he notices. you feel it in the way his hand twitches, in the way he inhales just a little sharper. but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his pinky moves just the slightest bit, brushing against yours again.

“you ever feel like you’re running full speed toward a cliff,” he murmurs, “and you can’t stop?”

you swallow. “yeah.”

he huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“there’s nothing wrong with you.”

he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “you’re the only person who thinks that.”

you turn to look at him, really look at him, and for once, he doesn’t hide. his guard is down, his eyes raw with something you can’t quite name. and in that moment, he’s not the reckless boy who teases you endlessly, who smirks like he owns the world. he’s just a boy who’s trying to keep himself together.

you shift your pinky again, letting it hook around his for the briefest second before pulling away. his fingers twitch, like he wants to chase the touch, but he stays still.

“you’re not running off that cliff alone,” you murmur.

his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes flickering to your face. “you make it really hard to stay away, sunshine.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. you just sit there in the dim glow of your room, fingers barely brushing, hearts quietly syncing to the same rhythm.

—

the next school morning felt different.

it’s been just a few nights since you let haechan in through your window, since he talked to you so deeply; revealing himself to you in a way you never thought he would. you felt something deeper than just adrenaline when you whispered that you wanted him there. and now, stepping into school, that night feels fragile, like something you shouldn’t have touched, something that shouldn’t have followed you into the daylight.

because now the whispers have grown louder.

“did you hear? they were together again over the weekend.”

“she sneaks out with him. she’s not as innocent as she acts.”

“it’s cute how she thinks she’s different.”

you keep your head down, fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag, trying to push past it. but it’s everywhere. in the halls, in the classroom, even when you sit down with your friends at lunch—where, for the first time, the usual chatter dies down when you approach.

“so,” giselle starts carefully, “is it true?”

“what?” your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“you and haechan.”

your stomach twists. you already know there’s no right answer. deny it, and you sound guilty. confirm it, and they’ll pick it apart.

“we just study together, karina, you know that,” you say evenly. “that’s it.”

a look is exchanged, one that makes your skin prickle.

“you don’t have to lie,” winter says. “we’re just… looking out for you.”

“looking out for me?” you let out a sharp laugh. “for what?”

“we’re just saying,” giselle chimes back in, quieter, hesitant. “he has a… reputation. you know that.”

“i know him,” you counter.

“do you?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the air shifts awkwardly, and lunch carries on, but the words stick.

by the time the final bell rings, you feel raw, rubbed down by a day of passing glances and quiet judgments. you don’t know what’s worse—the people who whisper like you can’t hear them, or the ones who make sure you do.

you’re halfway to the front doors when someone else’s words catch your ear.

“he’s just playing with her. like he does with everyone.”

your breath stumbles.

“he gets bored fast. wonder how long she’ll last.”

yourchest tightens. you know you shouldn’t care. you know it’s just talk. but it digs in anyway, settling like lead in your stomach.

then a voice pulls you out of it.

“sunshine.”

you turn. haechan’s waiting near the steps, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking over you like he can tell something’s off.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer. “you good?”

“fine.” it’s automatic, too quick. his brows pinch slightly, but he doesn’t push.

“come with me,” he says instead, nudging his head toward the doors. “let’s get out of here for a bit.”

you hesitate. for the first time, you aren’t sure if you want to go. because you can still hear their words. and worse—you can’t shake the fear that maybe they’re right.

but then you meet his eyes, warm and steady despite everything, and that fear doesn’t seem so loud anymore.

“okay,” you say.

and just like that, you follow him out.

—

he takes you somewhere quiet. away from the school, away from the weight of a thousand glances and whispers pressing down on you.

it’s a small clearing just past the neighborhood, tucked behind a line of trees, where the ground slopes gently toward a creek. the sky is wide here, open, stretching endless above you in soft hues of late afternoon.

“is this where you spend some of your time too?” you ask, looking around.

“one of the places.” haechan drops down onto the grass, leaning back on his palms. “not a bad spot, huh?”

“no,” you admit, sitting beside him. “it’s pretty.”

he grins. “figured you’d like it. you have that whole… poetic, pretty-things type of vibe.”

“oh, do i?” you glance at him.

“mhm.” he shifts closer, voice dropping slightly. “that’s why you like me, right?”

your stomach flips. you don’t answer, but the way you go quiet gives you away. his grin widens.

“i knew it.”

“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his shoulder lightly.

he laughs, but the teasing fades after a moment, leaving something quieter in its place.

“you don’t have to listen to them, you know.”

you tense. you don’t ask who he means—you both know.

“they don’t know me,” he says, eyes still on the sky. “not really. but you do.”

“do i?” the words slip out before you can stop them, laced with something you don’t quite recognize.

it makes him pause.

“do you think they’re right?” he asks after a moment, voice unreadable. “that i’m just messing around?”

you turn toward him. his expression is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something waiting.

you should say no. you should tell him that you trust him, that you don’t care what anyone else says.

but the doubt is still there, tangled up in everything else you feel for him.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

his jaw tightens. he looks away.

the silence stretches, thick and heavy. your heart pounds.

and then, before you can stop yourself, the question leaves your lips.

“what are we, haechan?”

he stills.

for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s searching for something.

then, slowly, he exhales.

“we’re whatever you want us to be.”

you blink. “what?”

he shifts closer, so close that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “if you want this to be nothing, i’ll leave it alone. if you want me to be just some guy you tutored, i’ll deal with it.”

his fingers reach for yours, tentative, brushing against your knuckles.

“but if you want more…” he trails off, voice low, gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

your heart is a drum against your ribs.

“what if i don’t know what i want?” you whisper.

he lets out a quiet laugh, almost breathless. “then tell me what you do know.”

you swallow, pulse thrumming as you feel his fingers slowly interlace with yours.

“i know i don’t want you to be just some guy i tutored.”

his grip on your hand tightens.

“then you’ve already answered your own question, sunshine.”

the nickname is soft, almost reverent. and before you can second-guess it, before you can let the fear creep in, you squeeze his hand back.

he smiles—one of those small, secret ones, like you’ve just given him something he thought he’d never have.

and for now, that’s enough.

—

the evening was calm, the sun dipping lower in the sky as you walk with haechan beside you. the two of you had just finished the day at school, chatting and laughing, not realizing how close you were to your house until you were almost at the front steps. everything felt normal, easy, the way it had been recently, and you couldn’t have imagined what was about to happen.

you notice them—your mom and dad—standing in the doorway, watching. your stomach drops and you instinctively grip haechan’s hand tighter. his smile fades when he feels the change in you, his attention shifting to what you’re looking at.

“shit,” you mutter, but keep walking, praying they won’t notice you until you get inside. but just as you reach the steps, your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet air. “what did i tell you?” it’s sharp and furious, each word heavy with the threat of anger. “what is he doing here?”

you freeze. your dad steps into view beside her, arms crossed. his posture alone is enough to make your heart race.

“mom, i…” you start, but you’re immediately cut off.

“no excuses,” she snaps, voice dripping with disdain. “you think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? sneaking around with him? what do you think you’re doing?”

“mom, i—” you try again, but her dad’s icy glare silences you.

“you’re still grounded,” he says in a low, dangerous tone. “go inside. now.”

you glance at haechan. he’s standing beside you, quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets. he doesn’t know what to do. he probably doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to say anything.

your mom turns to him, her face contorting with barely-contained fury. “you. what are you doing here? you have no business with my daughter.”

“i’m not causing any trouble,” he says quietly, but his words hang in the air, useless against the tension.

“no,” your mother snaps, “you’re not just causing trouble, you’re ruining everything. you don’t belong here.”

you can feel the heat rising inside you, the pressure of everything that’s been building in the last few days, and you can’t hold it in anymore. “stop,” you say, your voice trembling but strong. “i—”

and then, before you can stop it, the words slip out, raw and unfiltered. “i love him.”

the air around you freezes. your mom’s eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. she takes a step back, clearly not understanding what she’s hearing. it was the first time you ever said it, hell even thought it. but it felt right.

“what did you just say?” her voice is cold now, sharp as a knife.

“i said it,” you repeat, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “i love him.”

her mother stares at you, disbelief and disgust flashing across her face. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. you’re just a kid, and you think you love him?” she sneers, voice full of derision. “you don’t know anything about love. this… this is just a phase. and he—he is not good for you.”

your dad doesn’t speak. he just stands there, arms crossed, his silence just as loud as your mom’s words. you feel yourself shrinking under their gaze, as if everything inside you is getting smaller, more insignificant.

“you will not see him again. do you understand me?” your mother’s voice rises now, almost breaking with fury. “you are grounded, and this… whatever you think this is, it ends now.”

“i love him,” you whisper again, more firmly this time, trying to hold onto something—anything—before everything falls apart. “i love him.”

“no,” your mother spits, “you don’t. and you will forget him. you will go to your room. and you will stay there. i won’t have this in my house.”

haechan looks at you, his face unreadable. the words you shared earlier seem to echo in his eyes, but something changes in him. he takes a small step back, like he’s retreating from something, unsure how to fix this.

“i think it’s better if i go,” he mutters, his voice tight, as he begins to pull away. “i don’t want to make things worse for you.”

before you can stop him, he’s turning, walking away. you reach out, your hand grasping for his wrist, but he pulls away gently, avoiding your gaze. “no..haechan,” you say, your voice shaking. “please. don’t leave.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, just looks at you for a long, agonizing moment. then he lets out a shaky sigh and turns to leave, his footsteps growing fainter as he walks away from you.

you stand frozen on the front steps, your heart racing. your mom’s voice cuts through the silence again. “you’ll go to your room. and you’ll stay there. you will not see him again. do you understand me?”

you can’t even answer, your throat tight, your mind spiraling. without saying another word, you walk silently into the house, up to your room, and shut the door behind you. hard

you sit there, the weight of your mother’s words crushing you. her disapproval and disappointment are suffocating, and you can feel the space between you and haechan growing larger with every passing second.

but the hardest part? the hardest part is knowing that you love him, and yet, here you are, too afraid to reach for him because of everything that’s standing in the way.

—

it’s been a few days since the argument with your parents. the silence between you and haechan feels heavy, almost suffocating. you can’t stop thinking about him, but you haven’t been able to reach him either. you’re grounded, no phone, and it’s like a piece of you is missing.

you’re sitting in your room, staring at the wall in front of your bed, when you hear a light tap. your heart races. you hurry over, parting the curtains to find haechan standing there, looking just as conflicted as you feel. he looks tired—like he hasn’t been able to sleep—but his eyes light up when they meet yours.

you open the window quickly, and without a word, he climbs inside. it’s the same familiar move, but there’s something different now. there’s an unspoken tension between you both, a hesitation in the way he moves toward you.

he steps closer but stops when he sees you retreat a little, like you’re unsure whether to welcome him or pull away. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, running a hand through his messy hair. “but i didn’t want to make things worse. i thought… maybe i was doing the right thing.”

you meet his gaze, and for a moment, you both just look at each other. there’s no need for more words. you can tell he’s been thinking about this as much as you have. but there’s still the weight of your parents’ words, their expectations, hanging in the air. and you know they would never approve. you’re supposed to stay away from him.

“i don’t know why i’m even here,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down for a moment. “i knew things were gonna get messy.”

you step forward then, frustration and confusion bubbling inside you. “you left me hanging, haechan. i didn’t hear from you, i didn’t—”

“i know,” he interrupts, his voice laced with guilt. “but i thought maybe you’d be better off without me. i didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

you don’t know how to respond to that. you want to be angry, but the truth is, you feel the same confusion. you wanted to hear from him. you missed him. but it’s hard to ignore the fact that your parents would never understand this. would never approve.

he takes a deep breath and steps closer again, almost as if he’s bracing himself. his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of whether to reach out or not. you know the pull between you is undeniable, but there’s still a wall between you, the one built by fear and responsibility.

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i could, but i can’t.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “i can’t ignore everything, haechan. my parents—they won’t let this happen.”

he looks down, disappointment flickering in his eyes. then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to yours again. “i didn’t want to make things harder for you. i didn’t want to be the one who messed up your life.”

you feel a knot in your stomach. his words sting, but it’s clear that he’s not giving up. and neither are you.

“then why are you here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

his answer isn’t one you expect. he steps forward and brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “because even if i shouldn’t, i can’t stay away. i don’t know how to.”

the words hang between you, unsaid but understood. your heart beats faster in your chest, and for the first time since the argument, you feel something other than confusion or anger.

“i can’t either,” you admit, your voice low.

before you can say anything else, haechan closes the distance, pressing his lips gently to yours. it’s tentative, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away at any moment. but you don’t. you kiss him back, softly at first, savoring the moment, the closeness. and for a brief moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

when you pull away, you both stand there, breaths mingling. he looks at you, searching your face, as if trying to make sure he hasn’t crossed a line.

“i’ll make things right,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resolve. “somehow. i don’t want to lose you.”

you take a deep breath, the weight of the situation sinking in. your parents’ disapproval, the complications, the risks—it’s all still there, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

“i don’t know what’s going to happen,” you murmur, your hand brushing lightly against his. “but i can’t stop wanting this. wanting you.”

he gives a small, bittersweet smile. “then we’ll figure it out together. i promise.”

and just like that, you feel the tension between you ease, even if only for a moment. the future is uncertain, but right now, all that matters is the warmth of his touch, the closeness you feel, and the quiet promise of something more between you two.

—

the tension in the living room is suffocating. it’s been a week since the small talk with haechan in your room. you two had been interacting a lot less at school, yet here you both were. your parents sit stiffly on the couch, their eyes locked onto haechan as if he’s something they need to purge from your life. he stands in front of them, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, but he doesn’t lash out. doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes like they expect him to.

his usual confidence is still there, but tonight, there’s something else underneath it. something raw, something desperate. because this isn’t just about proving himself to your parents. it’s about proving himself to you, too. proving that he’s worth fighting for.

“this needs to stop,” your father says, his voice firm. “you sneaking around with him. whatever this is. it’s done.”

your mother shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “you don’t see it now, but this isn’t love. boys like him don’t stick around.”

boys like him.

haechan’s jaw clenches. he’s heard those words before, from teachers, from people in town, from kids at school who assumed they knew everything about him. reckless. dangerous. a mistake waiting to happen. but it’s different coming from your parents, because this time, it actually matters.

“you don’t know me,” he says, voice steady but edged with frustration. “you only see what you want to see.”

your mom crosses her arms. “oh, so tell us, then. tell us why we should believe you’re any different.” you eye her as she speaks so sharply to him.

please just give him a chance.

haechan hesitates for just a second, and your heart clenches. because you know he hates doing this. hates explaining himself to people who have already made up their minds. but he does it anyway. for you.

“i know i don’t look like the kind of guy you want your daughter with,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i know i don’t come from some perfect family, and i know i’ve made mistakes. but i swear to you, i—i’m trying.” he swallows hard, his gaze flicking to you before going back to them. “i’m trying to be better. for her.”

your mother’s lips press into a thin line. “people don’t change overnight.”

“i’m not asking you to believe me overnight,” haechan says, his voice stronger now. “i’m just asking you to see me the way she does. not as some lost cause, but as someone who cares about her more than you could ever understand.”

silence stretches between all of you. your father looks away, exhaling through his nose. your mother’s expression is unreadable. you know they don’t fully accept him—not yet. maybe they never will. but there’s something in their faces that wasn’t there before. doubt. hesitation. a crack in the walls they’ve built around the idea of who he is.

your mother sighs, rubbing her temples. “this… this is a lot. i don’t know what to do with this right now.”

your father doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t push the conversation further either.

it’s not approval. not even close. but it’s not outright rejection either.

haechan shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against yours—not holding, just there. grounding.

“can i…talk to her alone?” he asks.

your parents exchange a glance, and for a moment, you think they’ll say no. but then your mom sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “five minutes.”

you don’t wait for them to change their minds, grabbing haechan’s wrist and tugging him down the hall to the guest bedroom. the moment the door clicks shut, you turn to him, taking him in—his disheveled hair, the way his rings catch the dim light, the way his shoulders are still tense.

—

the tension lingers even after your parents leave the room, their quiet murmurs fading down the hall. you stand there with haechan, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours, the weight of everything pressing down on you both.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting out a soft chuckle. “well… that went great, huh?”

you give him a look, half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

he grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “nah, guess not.”

you squeeze his hand, grounding him. “thank you. for standing up for yourself. for… for me.”

his expression shifts, something softer taking over. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “i meant everything i said,” he murmurs. “every damn word.”

there’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken things. then, without thinking, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders , pressing your face into his neck. he hesitates for half a second before melting into you, his arms coming up to hold you like he’s afraid to let go.

“i don’t know how this is gonna end,” you whisper.

haechan swallows hard, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. “me neither,” he admits. “but i know one thing.”

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “what?”

“that i love you,” his lips quirk into a small, lopsided smile—one that still holds a trace of mischief, but there’s something deeper beneath it. something real. “and i’m not letting you go that easily.”

your heart stumbles over itself, and before you can second-guess it, you surge forward, kissing him with every ounce of feeling you can’t put into words.

he responds instantly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. the kiss is slow, lingering, like a promise neither of you are willing to break.

when you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, you whisper, “we’re kind of doomed, aren’t we?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “probably. but at least we’re doomed together.”

and somehow, despite everything, that feels like enough.

—

▸ taggies ; @ikykyuno @ashopatata @tynivr @ilujkm @maiyhw @413cl @flaminghotyourmom @yunjinsart @theandypark @nae-vm @czennilove @yutaswh0re — i hope this was everyone <3

▸ big thank you to everyone who left feedback on the first part ily guys :(

[drewswife]

You and ex boyfriend Spencer Reid broke up a month ago, but after a particularly hard case, he needs you more than ever

warnings: angst with comfort

A month. Thirty agonizing days since the forced smiles and the "we need space" speech that had shattered your world. Now, here you were, back in the place you'd sworn you'd avoid, summoned by a text from Elle: "Brutal case. Spencer's a mess. He needs you."

 He needed you. The thought sent a jolt through you, a mixture of anxiety and a longing you thought you'd buried deep. You'd tried to move on, to fill the void with work, with friends, but the ghost of Spencer lingered in every corner of your life. His quirky humor, his encyclopedic knowledge, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about – it was all still so vivid.

 Walking into the bullpen, you felt a wave of tension wash over you. The air was thick with the residue of a difficult case, the kind that left even seasoned agents shaken. You scanned the room, your eyes landing on Spencer. He was hunched over his desk, his usually meticulous notes scattered haphazardly around him. He looked pale, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled – a stark contrast to his usual put-together self.

 Hesitantly, you approached him. "Spencer?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a wave of raw emotion. He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into a desperate hug.

 The force of the embrace surprised you, but you quickly wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He felt fragile, almost broken. He was always the one who held it together, the brilliant mind that could solve any puzzle, but now, he was just Spencer, vulnerable and in need of comfort.

"It was… it was awful," he choked out, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I… I couldn't… I…" He trailed off, unable to articulate the horrors he'd witnessed.

 You didn't push him. You simply held him, letting him know that you were there, that he wasn't alone. After a few moments, he pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "I shouldn't… I didn't mean to…"

 "It's okay, Spencer," you reassured him, gently cupping his face in your hands. "You're okay. We're okay." He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and something else, something you couldn't quite decipher.

 "I missed you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that still lingered between you. You missed him too, more than you cared to admit. The rest of the evening was spent in a quiet companionship. You didn't talk about the case, didn't try to solve his problems.

 You simply sat with him, offering a comforting presence, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone. You made him tea, listened to him ramble about obscure historical facts, and even managed to make him laugh once or twice. As the night drew to a close, you prepared to leave. Spencer walked you to your car, the silence between you comfortable, no longer strained.

 "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "I don't know what I would have done without you." "You would have been fine," you replied, giving him a small smile. "You always are." He shook his head. "Not tonight," he admitted. "Tonight, I needed you."

He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch sending a familiar warmth through you. "Can we… can we talk sometime?" he asked, his eyes searching yours. "About everything?" A flicker of hope ignited within you. "I'd like that," you said, your voice barely above a whisper

a/n: lowk sucks lmk i wanna delete this

more

taglist

tags: @sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @kkenzie2706

[bunny-jpeg]

can i pls order crostata, english muffin, and mango sorbet with a side of margarita and a vodka shot w/ lando norris

bakery menu

thank you for submitting to the bakery. i hope that you enjoy the fic! i've been still trying to get into the groove of writing again. i've been recently working on original fiction so it's been a bit of a struggle to balance both kinds of writing. but i hope that i can provide more in the future! thank you! <3

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.” + english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?" + mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?" + a vodka shot: rough sex served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rough sex, mean!lando, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship (dating), after care, clit teasing, dirty talk/degrading language, doggy style, protected sex, mild spanking

you liked when it hurt. not that it was a bad thing. but you liked the feeling of when sex got a little rough. it was something that excited you to no end and often made you squirm at the thought of.

everyone sort of assumed that you and lando would be into simple, vanilla sex. lando adored you, it was like you hung the moon and all its stars! you were the center of his world in some respects.

but looks could be deceiving. for every gentle hand on your lower back there was a swift smack across your ass. for every caring hand on your shoulder there was that same hand wrapped around your throat. every "i love you" had it's equivalent, “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

together in his apartment in monaco, the season was going to begin soon. it was hard not to squeeze every last moment together, especially when pre-season testing made it a reality that there would be some distance between you two for a while.

lando wasted no time making sure that you didn't forget who you belonged to. not that you could forget, the ache of his last fucking could still be felt between your thighs. he had you in his bed, with one hand teasing your clit and the other scrolling through his phone.

he told you he was checking emails, but he was in instagram for several minutes now. his nose practically in his phone as he played with your clit. he knew he was overstimulating you, you weren't keeping it a secret.

"lando."

"shut up." he said as he got more rough with his movements, "i'm trying to focus on something here. i swear if you cum, you won't get anything until i come back. but, you'd like that right?"

the dirty talk was unmatched, it made something fire in your brain as you squirmed next to him. you were naked, he was clothed. you were falling apart, he seemed uninterested. you were a mess, he was in total control. that was how the game was played.

"please, lando."

he loudly sighed, "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate? like honestly! did daddy pay for that degree." he rubbed faster, his quick fingers made your eyes roll back a little, "i'm doing everyone a favour by keeping your slutty little body busy. they'd pass you around like the slut you were."

you whined and arched your back a little. the feeling was intense and it made your pulse leap. it was erotic, you knew that for certain. lando knew exactly how to make you feel hot.

he put his phone down and finally gave you the attention you needed. he pulled his hand away, fingers slick with your wetness. he eyed his digits for a moment and said, "what a slut. getting off to this? shame." then licked his fingers, "on your stomach, slut. i don't wanna see that whorish face tonight." and you were eager to get on your stomach.

you whimpered when he pressed his hand onto the back of your neck, pushing your face further into the covers. how sweet, how cute.

"have to get a condom." he pulled away and got his clothes off. once everything was shed, he grabbed the gold and black wrapper from the drawer and put it on. he stroked his cock a little at how obedient you are, "gotta protect myself. you're such free use that i'm pretty sure if i got you pregnant you wouldn't even know it was mine." his words were like venom and it made you core clench.

he soon sank into you, his force was heavy and it made you toes curl at the feeling. you gasped into the covers then whimpered from the stretch. lando's cock was big and sometimes it took a little while for you to get accommodated. but yet, the pain made you wet.

"aw, is someone crying?" he asked.

"no." you squeaked.

he slapped your ass once before he planted both hands on your hips. his pace was brutal, there was little room for tenderness. and why did he need to be tender? you got off to this. you loved when he took what was his without little remorse.

it got you off being used like this, to give up a sense of autonomy and power to have your boyfriend fuck you rapidly. to feel him deep inside of you from the angel. it was erotic and it made you heart shudder. you felt a haze came over you, the pleasure jolted in your body as lando made the bed squeak from how intense his movements were.

"fuck, only thing you're good for, huh? keeping my cock wet. can't find another whore like you." he chuckled lightly as he pressed his chest against your back, "special, huh? that's what you think you are. at least i found use for you. keep you dumb and quiet with my cock in your throat. i know you drool when you see me in my fireproofs. i bet you finger that tight cunt of yourself to thoughts of me. i've ruined you, and it's an honour. to know that you may be dumb, and you may be a total slut. but at least there's only one cock in your empty little head." his breath hot in your ear as he continued to fuck you with such a feverish pace that you felt yourself losing track of most things.

nothing else mattered at that moment besides lando's cock inside of you. his balls hit against you and the angle meant that he was deep inside of you. he kept you pressed under him. you held onto the covers and felt the pleasure wash over you.

sex with lando was unlike anything else, you never had another partner like him and you never would. this was all you craved for, in every respect. his words were filthy and it made your pussy flutter around him. eager to keep him inside of you.

"lando."

"shut up." he purred.

he could feel the thump of his heart in his head. the rush from it all made him excited, he loved the feeling. he loved you, even with your need for such filthy language. he would be happy to provide it. because the sound of your pussy soaked around his cock was more than enough incentive to talk to you the way he did.

you held onto the covers tightly. you felt the pleasure surge through you. everything felt hot and heavy in your head. you felt the sweat on your body and how painfully slick your cunt was. only lando could make you yearn for it all so badly. for the language and the pain. how he could move yu and fucked you as so desired. it left you a panting mess in bed.

it all belonged to him.

and he knew that. he could feel the tension in your body and worked you harder to get you to climax. this is what heaven felt like, this was everything he so desired sexually. he heard your sweet noises and it only encouraged him. spurred him on as he fucked you. he panted heavily and gripped onto you tighter.

"fuck, baby." he said, "that's it. see. see what happens when you behave. when you take cock like a champ. it's only my cock you want. fill that head of yours with thoughts of me fucking you. i'll come back and you'll still be soaked for me. you're mine, right?"

you whimpered loudly, "yes, lando. fuck yes!" you sounded so desperate. it was no surprise to him that soon you arched your back and buried your face in the pillows as you came around his cock. orgasm hit you hard and it made you swear under your breath between heavy pants. you tensed up and it made lando shudder.

you relaxed soon after against the bed and lando held on tightly as he fucked you quicker to get to his own climax. the entire thing felt intense in his core. he swallowed back the pleasure in his mouth. he swore under his breath as he gave it a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you.

"fuck, that's it. that's my special little slut." he purred as he rocked against you through his climax. it felt good, so good.

you moaned in response and he slowed to a spot. he rubbed the spot where he smacked you earlier before he gave you ass cheek a firm slap once more.

he pulled out and threw the condom out. he got back into bed with you and threw the covers over top of you. he asked, "too hot? too cold? do you need anything?" his voice was so gentle. you just looked at him and nodded your head.

"i'm okay."

"not too much right?" he got under the covers with you too and rubbed your shoulder, "you have to tell me." that was also part of the game. feedback and communication, they went had in hand.

you reached for his face and pulled him in for a tender kiss. he kissed you back, eyes closed as he got his arm around your middle. he pulled you in close and you smiled against the kiss.

"anything you need? water? snack? anything." he said when he pulled away and looked into your eyes, "tell me, baby."

"right now." you said as you yawned, your heavy climax made you exhausted, "i just want to be held by you. but after... maybe we can have some of that frozen yogurt in the fridge?"

lando chuckled lightly, happy that you were okay. he kissed you on the forehead, "you drive a hard bargain, baby. but anything for you." and you knew that didn't just mean dirty talk and rough sex <3

[cookies-after-dark]

BRO AND W/ THE BEAST SOUNDS

i think they have?? multiple grows?? stay with me now-

there's growls that are mildly threatening, smth small that are used as a warning (think of like,, animals getting nipped during play and they get annoyed; it's a sort of growl that says "hey i didn't like that")

AND THEN there's the growls that are actually threatening, like they're wildly pissed off, and in my head they sound eldritch, like something you would never hear on earthbread, something that awakens primal fear in cookies (altho all growls sound different, they cause the same effect)

i can imagine w/ all the beasts in yandere contexts (altho smilk is always on my mind), when their darling escapes that growl leaves them and the jam (?) of everyone around gets cold. or they catch their darling mid-escape attempt and growl like that, to scare the darling out of ever trying that again (picture smilk growling like that while his darling is almost out of the spire, the darling freezes, and he picks them up by the scruff and drags them back to his bedroom *ahem, nest*, no words needed; as a side note, i think the darling would never expect a sound like that to leave smilk, which is even more terrifying and they remember that truly, at the end of the day, they're dealing w/ an eldritch god)

eldritch beasts my beloveds

additional tags: yanderes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, kidnapping, isolation, predator/prey dynamics, possessiveness

ships: yan!burning spice cookie x reader, yan!mystic flour cookie x reader, yan!shadow milk cookie x reader

The very very few (two) mutuals from my mains/discord that I allow to see this blog will read this and look at me like 😒 because projecting animal linguistics and animal behaviors/socialization onto animal-like characters are like, the only things I ever talk about.

I cannot imagine in any universe that any Beast (that have so far been released) other than Shadow Milknwould ever he angry that you escaped, even the yabdwre versions. Burning Spice Cookie delights in having another chance to hunt you down like a prized buck, and Mystic Flour Cookie is so emotionally balanced and capable that any feelings or urgency or dissatisfaction can be tempered before she brings you back herself.

Burning Spice Cookie, upon seeing your nest empty and your scent stale, would growl in excitement. He'd climb atop the highest ledge and let out a loud bellow; not of rage but a rallying call, a mighty sound that carries for miles. Whereever you may be, it's most likely you hear it, and so does any other spice warrior in the vicnity. Burning Spice Cookie wants to let everyone in his territory know that the hunt is on.

Mystic Flour Cookie is mostly unpreturbed by your escape, she knows you won't be gone for long. Her vocalizations are mostly saved for you anyway; so the most you'll hear is a chuff or a deep sigh as soon as she curls your arms around you to take you home.

Even as yanderes, those two are pretty "well adjusted", for Beasts anyway, that they won't immediately fly off the rail in anger if they find you missing. Surprisingly, yandere Burning Spice Cookie is slower to anger than yandere Shadow Milk Cookie for several reasons (BS isn't nearly as insecure, for one very important reason).

Shadow Milk Cookie, though? It would be a straight up lie to say that Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't enjoy scaring the wits out of you when you step out of line. Either through his illusions or his straight up Eldritch Call that basically says "You little annoying gnat, stop right where you are." in unholy monster language. But make no mistake, it pisses him off when he has to go fetch you again.

He's possessive in a way that feels more personal and targeted than even Burning Spice Cookie, and he's unrelenting in a way that feels more restricting than Mystic Flour Cookie.

Even Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie can't help but back off when they hear Shadow Milk Cookie snarl so dreadfully like that. They don't risk getting in his way to bring you back and discipline you; they know he's got a handle on that.

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 2 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: i dont know what im writing but im enjoying it, so suffer (kidding). the guy that inspired me to write this recently posted smth, so I HAD TO. he looks good and i hate it. nway, this might be shorter than i originally planned bcs 1) i might cut some parts 2) univ is so demanding

word count: 865

Scrolling through your archives, you saw a picture you took a year ago—one in the range where the archery team in your university frequented. It reminded you of  the fact that it was around the same time when you started to orbit around Caleb's circle.

The first time you saw him was when you were thirty minutes late for orientation of the organization that you wanted to join. At first, you didn't notice him at all because you were too embarrassed to look around. I mean you were late and had to walk towards the front since there were no seats available near the entrance. Where's a catastrophe when you need one?

Anyway, after you introduced yourself as someone whose desire is to advocate for human rights, you finally had the chance to look around—you saw him immediately. Why?  Someone that tall couldn't go unnoticed. His looks alone could prove the existence of a divine creature; God probably pats himself to congratulate himself whenever he sees Caleb.

You thought that would be last time you'd see him. It wasn't. 

After gushing over him to your friend, you found that he's also in the archery team. They were literally teammates, so being the ever-supported she is, she devised a plan: you'd be tagging along during their training sessions.

And that started it all.

Initially, you started questioning why you even agreed to this since it wasn't like you were desperate to find someone right at the moment. However, after several attempts of your friend, Zan, urging you to push through, you accepted defeat. Plus, it wasn't that bad of an idea—you have a crush on him, so why not?

The plan was to present yourself as someone carefree and effortlessly cool. That was the plan. But fate is cruel—such a dramatic conclusion—because when Caleb arrived, you didn't even get to say ‘hi’ at him. Your reason? Nothing, you just happen to not be able to say anything because you froze. God forbid your mouth that seems to automatically work every inconvenient moment stops working the moment you needed to be social.

It was embarrassing, even for you. 

A voice suddenly came from your back knocking you off your little reminiscing moment. You looked around to see MC approaching with a frown. There she was again, looking like an angel sent in the world of mortals as an apology for every sin that everyone had committed. You pondered every day how someone can be your friend at all too.

“Lost your hearing?" she said laced with sarcasm and affection.“I missed you," she sighed dramatically as she tried to take away your supply of oxygen with her embrace.

“Oh, dear, I know." 

"Can we go get lunch together? I ditched Caleb for today.” 

Oh. They were supposed to eat together? You didn't know what to feel as your stomach formed a circus within its premises. It felt funny and unsettling. To be honest, you're a fool for even getting surprised with how they do the most mundane things with each other. You hated yourself for having such thoughts because you guys were perfect as friends. It's starting to feel as if you were the problem with all these negative thoughts that you concoct nonstop.

“Serves him right,” you laughed as if you didn't bear any thoughts you just had, "but I don't think I can join you today, MC.”

You had to decline her but not because of your self-loathing! It just happens that you have to finish a group presentation today with people you barely know. Another challenge for you.

You heard her sigh dramatically—it almost made you laugh. Her theatrics never seemed to be on a time out. Truthfully, you wanted to be with her, too, because it might remind you more of the reasons why you were in each other's lives.

“Trust me, if this shit wasn't so important, I'd choose to eat with you." You tried to defend yourself to not make it seem like it wasn't out of willingness that you won't join her.

“I know, it's just, you know you're too busy these days. I mean, I know why because you're such an exceptional woman but still!”

You? Exceptional? Those words being in a same sentence doesn't feel right at all. Was she blind?

“You’re trying to flatter me! But I'll call you once my schedule lets me. I promise, MC.”

She sighed defeatedly as she bid her goodbye. You really did feel bad for not having been with her for such a time. You missed the times when you didn't feel comparatively smaller to her.

You walked for minutes. Gosh, didn't know university was a field for you to battle with so much stairs. But as you neared towards the range, you heard a familiar voice.

“I mean, I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.”

Was that him?

“Didn't you approach her only because you were trying to recruit someone that time?" 

You knew that voice, a senior of yours and MC’s. They were laughing. You had a bad feeling brewing up. 

All was confirmed when the first voice spoke again.

It was him.

Caleb.

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry

[spicycinnabun]

for make me write: 🤖🤖🤖🤖

adore this au!!

The team had decided they were going for a beer after work. Tommy had skipped the last two outings, so he agreed.

He shouldn't have.

“Bring your girl along, huh?” Sal said. “We all wanna meet that little pistol you're bein' so tight-lipped about.”

All eyes turned towards Tommy. He didn’t react much beyond a quiet hmm, though his pulse jolted.

EB, who was busy organizing the tools in the rig, started getting noisier. Clang! Bang! Slam!

“I’ll ask,” Tommy hedged, pulling his chamois through his hands. She’s not my girl. She doesn’t even exist. “Not sure I want to subject her to you boneheads.”

Anderson laughed. “Aw, come on. We’ll play nice. Won’t we, boys?”

“Can I come?” EB asked abruptly, turning to face them, prybar clenched in his hands. His firemark darkened as their conversation halted.

Tommy frowned.

EB had never asked to join them before. They'd never invited him, either.

EB was always at the station. A permanent fixture. He only left to go on calls or to run errands.

It hadn't occurred to Tommy that he might want to come out and do something unrelated to his tasks. Maybe bots needed to unwind, too.

Eventually, there was a ripple of shrugs and okays.

EB looked to Tommy first, seeking. Tommy nodded. Then, EB looked to Gerrard.

Gerrard scoffed. “Fine. Just don’t break anything. We’ve spent enough on repairs already. You’re leaking money like a faucet, EB600.”

EB nodded, full bobblehead mode. “Y-yes. Understood, Captain.”

“I, uh... actually don't think the bar allows androids, EB,” Bailey interrupted, hesitant.

“Let me check.” EB’s LED flickered for less than a second. “Oh. You’re right. It's an anti-android establishment.” He failed to hide his disappointment, deflating like a balloon. “Um, n-never mind. You guys have fun.”

He turned back to the drawers of tools, arranging them much more quietly than before.

Tommy had seen the signs on the doors. It hadn’t bothered him before how androids were treated, but now that he was close to one, his feelings had shifted.

“We can go somewhere else,” he said. EB failed again to hide his reaction, this time a hopeful noise full of static. Tommy succeeded in repressing a smile, just barely. “The drinks there are overpriced, anyway.”

“I know a place that does flaming Thirium shots,” Anderson offered, eyebrows raising.

Gerrard sighed, breaking them up. “Alright, ladies. You can enjoy your cocktails and gossip hour later. Back to work!”

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

@rcmclachlan @popfly @powersuitup @nonotyourspumoni @espressopatronum454 @loulou-land @all-the-feelss @comeon-intothemadhouse @jake-is-screaming-in-tune @therealstacyfakename @whizzzerbrown @the-omniscient-narrator @5ammi90 @crazypenguin88 @thuperrah @just-barrow @exhaustedpirate

[yogurtkags]

❝ DON'T BE A STRANGER ❞ — itoshi rin

tags. gn!reader, reverse hurt/comfort, mild angst, brother troubles, spoiler warning! set after the U20 game, hand holding, childhood friends, written with a platonic relationship in mind but it's up to interpretation → wc: 0.9k

there's helicopters over my head / every night when i go to bed / do you feel ashamed when you hear my name

rin finds comfort in knowing that you stayed when no one else did

masterlist

rin never thought much of his teal eyes, never quite understanding why you love them so much.

to him, it only served as a cruel reminder of his brother who has a matching pair that’s equally icy, seemingly devoid of feelings and love, just stone cold and unimpressed.

every time they bore into yours, he can’t help but feel almost bad, reluctant to taint the pure, comforting presence your gaze holds. there’s constantly black swirling behind his corneas, a thick dark energy that he can never seem to get rid of especially on the field, like a veil that blinds him, casting shadows into this vibrant world that he lives in and makes it anything but. he never did hold eye contact well with you anyway, even since you were kids.

rain’s pouring down into the stadium from the open roof, showering the astroturf in a glistening dampness. he stands right smack in the middle of it simply staring upwards disregarding the barrage of droplets pattering on his face, wetting his hair and potentially causing him to catch a cold, but against his bettter judgement, he decides that’s a problem for tomorrow.

rin often keeps his troubles stewing and brewing in that head of his, always keeping things to himself and never letting anyone in past the threshold. as you stand five feet away with an umbrella over your head, you watch him, keeping your distance and letting him make the call.

despite the weather, you don’t miss the sheen of moisture along his bottom lash line.

“he came up to me just to praise isagi, he never really did care about me even though i bested him in that moment.” he dryly chuckles, shaky words laced with an age-old resentment, spilling from a quivering lip bitten raw. “i don't know what else he wants from me.”

your heart sinks at the knowledge, eyes softening as you take in his hunched frame. he's standing tall, height still imposing but there's a droop to his shoulders and a tension so palpable, you don't even need to be up close to see it.

you know very well how much his older brother's departure and sudden change in demeanour affected rin, having been there to pick up the pieces both times. you understood sae must've gone through a lot in spain for him to get to that point, but he was evidently too harsh on the poor bright-eyed boy who simply wanted to continue chasing the innocent dream he shared with the one he looked up to.

staying silent, you take a tentative step towards rin, and when he shows no sign of discomfort, you take another, and another, until your shoulders brush against each others. you're keenly aware that there's not much you can do to mediate whatever's going on between them, but as you lift the umbrella over the both of your heads, you do what you do best, cover him from the storm, even if it's just for a little while.

as you take his larger hand in yours, you keep your grip firm yet gentle, something for him to hold onto, anchor himself to until the anguish in his heart simmers for the time being. despite his rough, dominating style of play on field, his hands remain soft save for a few callouses from intensive training and exercise, much like his heart hidden behind the impregnable fortress he's built brick by brick.

it's rare to see him cry, usually composed and headstrong. seeing him crumble beneath his own expectations and his brother's lack of acknowledgement leaves a pang of guilt beating in your chest, never knowing the true extent of how much it weighed on him until this very moment.

“he—” he stutters, words clipping against his tongue, “how can he just leave everything behind?”

“cast me aside like mum and dad, walk away and leave me in the dust like he did those years ago, like all i am to him is a shameful shadow of his past." the last part is unspoken, but you can tell what's running through his mind by the way he clamps onto your hand, the motion desperate and vulnerable, like if you let go, you'd disappear just like he did.

you don't tell him that his grip is hurting you, if that's the only way you can bear at least an ounce of pain he's experiencing, you'll take it in a heartbeat. instead you squeeze back in kind, praying it speaks to him in a way your words can't begin to convey, hoping it's enough to soothe his weary heart.

the two of you stand there in the middle of the field until the rain lightens and his tears slow, until the tension leaves his body with just a shell of exhaustion, your thumb drawing circles against the back of his hand. only now he looks at you, fringe sticking to his forehead and cheeks painted in tracks of dried up tears.

his expression leaves little for the imagination, but the lack of bite and edge in his aquamarine eyes is a sight that lifts a small smile to your face, one that speaks of relief and reassurance, of permanence, that you'd be there through the wind and the waves, the sunshine and the storm.

and as you lightly tug him towards the exit with the slight jerk of your head, you don't let go of your clasped hands, a silent promise that you're here to stay.

taglist. open (link to form) @saucejar @somniachant @returntothefae @daisy-room @stellar-headquarters

@whatisnureotypical @haruhi269 @cherrysurf @cyxjz

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[sl-vega]

SWEET N’ SOUR ! - a scaramouche celebrity smau

˚୨୧⋆｡ synopsis:  the bright lights of fame and fortune aren’t for everyone, and you’re starting to think you’re part of that majority. You just can’t seem to catch a break! Every movie you’re in goes straight to DVD, every album you drop just barely gets any streams. From child star to sub par popstar, it seems clear that the world has some kind of vendetta against you and you love to blame it on a certain rising musical sensation; Scaramouche. Thanks to your godforsaken luck you happened to go out with the wrong guy at the wrong time because he just so happened to be Scaramouche’s ex, next thing you know you wake up to truck loads of death threats, your record label dropping you, AND a whole album labelling you as the ‘other woman’! After what seemed like a never ending onslaught of straight bullying and harassment, you had long since retreated from the limelight, the only thing left from your music career being ever so occasional covers on YouTube that only your few close friends watched religiously. However, after writing a heartfelt original piece and uploading it from your humble bedroom, it goes viral! A single song has thrusted you head first into stardom once more, and face to face with the person you ruined it for you.

genre: rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, enemies/rivals to friends (?) to lovers, celebrity smau, singer smau, social media au, modern au, gn! reader

warnings: cursing, kms/kys jokes, mentions of death threats, brief slut shaming, just parasocial fans and weird behaviour towards celebs in general (much like irl unfortunately), photos are used as placeholders and are not meant to depict reader's appearance

status: ongoing!

side ships: lumine x ayaka, beidou x ningguang, kokomi x gorou

additional notes:

so um, THIS smau will get consistent updates trust me this time (no click bait)

i actually had to physically restrain myself from posting this the second I made it, so by the time the masterlist is out i'll probably have most of the first act planned out/maybe even fully planned out

inspired by the sabrina carpenter and olivia rodrigo drama!

^^ not a one to one creation ofc I obviously took some creative liberties

i'm aware this isn't really a trending topic anymore, but I thought it would make a damn good fic!

taglist is open! comment/ask to be tagged!

[🍬] means the chapter contains written content!

PLEASE let me know if I can use your username as a fan, the main reason I can't mass produce chapters is cuz I need fan names T^T

dividers by @nicodefresas and @aquazero

-> OPENING ACT

TEASER 001 // TEASER 002 // PROLOGUE

˚୨୧⋆｡ STARRING:

0.1; winx club on crack // 0.2; d1 y/n haters

ACT ONE; that's that me espresso!

01; it's brutal out here // 02; caffeine high // 03; hot cacao in hotter weather - [🍬] // 04; have you ever tried this one? // 05; you'll just have to taste me // 06; in my good graces - [🍬] // 07; bleeding me dry like a vampire // 08; not in my time zone but you wanna be // 09; it's been a cruel summer - [🍬] // 10; good 4 u // 11; dancing with the stars - [🍬] // 12; two steps back // 13; twiddling my thumbs // 14; looking at me - [🍬] // 15; in another life - [🍬] // 16; on air! // 17; don't just stand there staring honey - [🍬] // 18; floatin' through the memories // 19; short and sweet - [🍬] // 20; maybe we could've been friends

ACT TWO; girl, so confusing

21; - // 22; - // 23; - // [TBA]

ACT THREE; i'm so obsessed with your ex

[TBA]

ACT FOUR; you make me wanna make you fall in love

[TBA]

🍬 (open) taglist: @shrii-kk @freyao7 @analiee6 @thetwinkims @bellflower1257 @blvdmrcnry @bloukoup @yuan1819 @yourstrulymauki @fungaltoehehe @enrions @atlatcaheart @mywillt0live @myeomiz @adornavia

[lsunstreakerl]

lil snippit from "honey, your father". at this point it's more of a proof of concept than anything lol. I promise I'm writing it.

the good news is I'm on break now! so you can all expect to see a decrease on the ficlet side of things and an increase in AO3 updates :) it's just spring break though so it's only a week, don't get too excited

Seb POV, 800 words!

Daniel's new teammate is tiny. The kid's a "prodigy", and the media keeps trying to paint him in a mythical light, a new golden boy to fill the void Sebastian has left behind.

As if.

Honestly, the next golden boy better be Danny, for all the work Seb's put into him. This younger generation doesn't get it, but Danny- Seb's pretty proud of what he and Red Bull have managed. Sure, he's got his own set of problems, but they all do, it's part of being in Red Bull.

It'll be interesting to see how Daniel handles having a rookie. Personally, Seb thinks he's a little bit young for it still, but whatever.

He's got his own set of problems, Finn shaped with a permanent frown and a jawline to die for. It's a tad bit distracting, honestly. Sure, he's in Ferrari- prancing horse and Rosso Corsa, all that fun stuff- but if he doesn't sleep with Kimi at least once he'll be letting down the Redbull legacy.

Danny and Max will need to grow into it. The kid's too young- not even a legal adult in some countries. He's a bit of an oddball, now that Seb thinks about it.

He's practically permanently attached to Daniel. Or Rosberg, actually. Seb almost wants to be offended, because if the little limpet wanted a German buddy, Seb is literally right here. Nico's not Red Bull, or even properly German either, which is a double offense.

Maybe Seb needs to step in here. Nico's been on a complete bender with Lewis, and their mess is screwing with the rest of the paddock. Nico doesn't have time to be dealing with an aggressive little tag-along.

Maybe Seb can come off as an older brother figure. Max seems desperate for some kind of family, anything at all to cling to- it's gotten him attached to Nico, so it clearly can't be that hard.

Maybe Seb can encourage him to temper that flame a bit. Settle into his role, his job. He's there to collect any leftover points and scraps Daniel leaves him, and he clearly needs to be reminded of that.

Sebastian nods to himself. This is a good plan. It gives Nico some breathing room to figure out how to next best fuck with Lewis, which is an advantage for everyone, it gives Seb something to toy around with for a bit, and it might even make Danny's life easier.

Never let it be said that Seb isn't a good senior- he's clearly still looking out for his little Australian rookie. A residual fondness for the accent, the dark hair.

That's about where the similarities between Mark and Daniel end. Mark had been something else entirely, blown into Sebastian's life with a brutal ferocity, never gave an inch even when Seb gave his most angelic smile.

He'd fucked Sebastian through the mattress on more than one occasion. Seb remembers it fondly- Mark probably only remembers it in therapy.

Daniel, though. He'd been so eager to please, wild hair and braces hanging onto Seb's every word. It was out of character, but-

Seb hadn't had the heart to break him in like the others. He was even a little bit sweet about it, showing Danny how the paddock worked, who to go to after a rough race, how to look up from under dark lashes to get whatever he wanted.

Jenson helped too, because Daniel pulls off the young and eager bottom look now, but Seb can already tell his rookie is going to be a leader. He knows what he wants, knows how to get it, leans more naturally towards commanding than submitting.

He still has to serve his time, just like the rest of them. It's tradition.

Max, on the other hand-

He's boyish, reminds Seb of a gangly little colt, long limbs with no idea where to put them. He's aggressive and snappish, and it's going to take more than just Daniel to break him in.

Sebastian had almost assumed his older Toro Rosso teammate would do it, based off the rumors of the explosive fighting between the boys fathers. It would be a natural course of action, getting a hierarchy established, but instead it almost seems like Max has wormed his way into Carlos' heart. His Spanish teammate is too soft on him, too fond. Danny seems like he might be falling for it too, which is concerning.

Seb taught him better than that. So did Jenson, and so did Daniel himself, with the way he came into his seat. He knows better.

It's okay, Seb doesn't mind doing Danny one last little favor. He'll get the rookie- Max- all figured out, soften him up and do the hard work for him, make it easier on Daniel when he comes in and crushes his career.

It's a solid plan.

[omnisentient]

✦¸.•°”˜✦ 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔈𝔪𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔢 ✦˜”°•.¸✦

Healing your weary soul ✦

Pairings: Xavier x mc.

Tags: Fluff, lovey dovey, slow evenings, comfort

Warnings: None. Enjoy ♡☆

"Hello honey."

"Hello, my love."

Xavier responds cheerfully, seated on the sofa with a book in hand. You kick off your shoes, flopping down next to him, completely worn out.

"Tired?"

"Yeah.." you sigh.

"Come here." He beckons you closer, setting his book down on the table.

You whine as you scoot towards him, letting him pull you onto his lap.

This is nice, you think, sighing softly as you sink into his arms. He caresses your hair softly, his other arm rubbing your back slowly to soothe you. You sink further into his embrace, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"Bad day?" He asks. You mutter something unintelligible into his neck, and he surmises that you'd rather not talk about it. That's fine.

You feel his lips press against your temple, and your heart swells, gripping onto the front of his shirt, clinging to him. You stay like that for what feels like ages, the gentle sunset breeze fluttering in from the balcony, and you think, the bad days might just be worth it.

If it means coming home to his warm embrace.

To be comforted by him.

"Is there anything you want, my love?" He asks, his voice so soft, you think you might cry.

What more could you possibly want, with the world at your fingertips.

"Radio.." you mutter.

"A radio..?"

You can feel him look down at you in his arms, his puzzled face clear as day even with your eyes closed.

"You want.. a radio..?" He echoes, lost.

"Do we have, a radio?"

You chuckle, practically seeing his mind spinning in real time.

"When was the last time i even saw a physical radio.." He ponders out loud.

You chuckle again, enjoying his confusion.

"No honey. I want Xavier fm.."

He looks down at you again, absorbing your words.

"Any particular station?" He asks when he finally gets it, a smile on his face.

"No, I just wanna hear you talk."

He laughs, and you can feel the vibration through his chest, making you smile too.

"Well, fatso visited me again today. He had a little friend with him this time."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They were on a lunch date. He showed her how to use the bird feeder and everything."

You smile, imagining the scene in your head.

"A new barbecue restaurant opened up nearby. We should check it out when you're not busy."

"Mmhm." You nod, already looking forward to it.

"The Egyptians believed the most significant thing you could do in your life was die." You laugh, not even trying for a response.

"Pigs naturally can't see the sky. How sad. They've never seen stars before."

"I'd kill anyone that hurts you." Your breath hitches, your heart squeezing in your chest.

"It's been scientifically proven that observing things changes their behaviour."

"In the the double slit experiment, when photons pass through a slit, they behave like a wave, spreading out instead of beaming straight ahead. But when scientists try to confirm this phenomenon with equipment and measurements, they behave like particles again, beaming straight ahead."

"So observation acts as interference. Which has interesting implications on all experiments held across time."

"Would scientists in future consider performing tests where one subject is observed from time to time, while the other is isolated? And how far would they go? Would it become a spectrum, based on the number of times observed? And would results differ based on the person observing.. That would... "

...

You don't know when exactly you fell asleep, but the echo of his voice against your ear and the comfortable rambling gently soothe your wearing soul, sweeping you away to dreamland.

...

Xavier may or may not have carried you in his arms to grab water, snacks and his controller as you slept, refusing to put you down. You woke up many hours later, the sun having since departed, to him playing video games with you still laying in his arms.

He smiled down warmly at you, once you began to stir, making no move to let you go.

"Hungry?"

"I ordered hot oil noodles and orange chicken while you were asleep. Let's eat, love."

And as you fully came to, warm, stomach rumbling and eyes crusty from sleep, you thought, this just might be, your very own slice of heaven.

˜”°•.¸✦¸.•°”˜

[split-spectrum]

CONCESSIONS

Chapter 5 - Finale

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Tags: sexually explicit content, elements of dubious consent, light bondage/restraints (handcuffs), masturbation, edging, orgasm denial, nipple play, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, cum play, this is 100% pure smut from start to finish

Length: 10.9K

Summary: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him. The rules of the trial are very clear. You make it your personal mission to find every exception.

☆☆☆

"I'm sorry," Obi Wan murmurs against your lips.

He says it even as he continues to kiss you. Even as his thumb nudges against your jaw, rubbing up the soft skin of your cheek. His hot breath is still inside your mouth as he whispers, "I don't know what came over me."

It's been over since it began. He's pulled away repeatedly, humming variations of denials and apologies against your lips, your cheek, your neck. But stopping still seems nearly as impossible as starting did.

The two of you don't do this. You don't kiss. You flirt, and you fight, and you share stolen moments that you can later pretend never happened. You touch him in the dark, and you don't talk about your feelings. You don't look at one another with heady desire coursing through your veins anymore. You just don't. You just can't.

And that's why, when he leans in again, instead of melting into his touch the way you want to, you glance up from his lips, catching his eyes. It's the barest of hesitations, but it's enough to make him slow down, swallow, pull back.

"Sorry." He says it low, stuck in the back of his throat, and it makes you feel like you're drowning.

It fucking kills you to hear him like this - quietly losing his air of formality. His hair is mussed where you'd grabbed onto it, and as he pushes himself up from the bed, he grazes thumb and forefinger over his short beard, like he's trying to wipe the taste of you from his mouth.

You watch his movements, entranced and silent. He glances back at you, and suddenly the distance between where you lie and where he stands feels like a growing chasm. You lean your weight onto your elbow, about to get up and join him. You don't know what you'll do or say, but you can feel him pulling away, back into himself.

As you sit up, he takes a single step back, and just like that, it's over.

"I-" he starts quietly, eyes meeting yours and then darting away, "I need to... clear my thoughts."

Your mouth falls open, his name about to come out. But you don't know what follows it. For once, he's tied your tongue.

"I'll be in the refresher," he says, turning abruptly. "Excuse me."

Before you can begin to think of anything to say, he's heading toward the refresher, the warm, damp air from your own use billowing out when he opens the door.

He stops only to gather a change of clothes, not even glancing back as he closes the door behind him.

 

--

When the room is quiet, and all you can hear is the soft sound of water flowing in the distance, you roll onto your back, closing your eyes. That had been too far. That had been looking for trouble.

And fuck, you're still aching for it.

You're still reeling at the things he'd said. His walls had dipped for the briefest of moments, letting you in, and somehow, you'd managed to blow it, snapping him back to his senses at the worst possible time.

He'd caught you off guard. If only you hadn't hesitated, he would have found relief. Instead, you have to lie here, just thinking about the way his mouth felt against yours. Thinking about the way he'd instantly started to pull you apart at the seams, from the moment he'd gotten his hands on you.

You're practically throbbing under the soft fabric of your sleep clothes as you slip your legs beneath the covers. Stars, what you wouldn't give for some privacy right now. Years of discipline are failing you spectacularly as you squeeze your eyelids tight, trying to think of something - anything - besides the way his beard had brushed against your neck when he'd been talking in your ear.

Your hand is flat against your leg, rubbing thoughtfully, when you hear the door open again, Obi Wan emerging fully clothed.

You try not to be obvious, glancing over at him only once, then returning your stare to the bunk above you. When he shuts off the light, you listen to his bare feet as he crosses the room, then vaults gracefully up the short ladder to his bed above you.

It almost feels like you've been caught at something, even though your hand is still resting at your side. You try to focus your thoughts, calm down, and go to sleep. But all you can think about is how big and warm his hands were when they'd held your waist. How hungry his kiss had been. How deep and dark his voice had gotten against your ear.

"I should thank you..." A softer, more subdued shade of that same voice drifts down from above you.

You nearly flinch at the break in silence.

"For keeping your promise," he adds.

The hum of the ship is the only sound as you process his words. It's the last thing you'd expected him to say, though you really hadn't expected him to say anything. Usually, you don't have trouble spotting his sarcasm. This time could be an exception. You aren't certain what would be appropriate to say back.

"You're welcome," you venture.

You fight the urge to admit that it had never been your intention to stop. That despite your better judgement, you still want to take things as far as he'll let you.

After a few long heartbeats, you speak up again. "I uh, thought you felt it was a mistake. Asking me."

A soft exhale. "I should never have said that. I've put you in a difficult situation. Forgive me."

Your eyes search the darkness. As usual, he leaves so much up to your interpretation. Another long moment passes. Suddenly, you want to keep him talking. Something about the way he's holding you at arm's length tells you that if you let things end here and go to sleep, your friendship is going to shift in ways that can't be undone. So you try to think of something else to say.

"How was your shower?"

"Cold," he answers. "Very cold."

Your eyelids flutter. You try not to picture his rigid body, his hand braced against the shower wall as the cold water pulls him back from whatever might have been on his mind.

"I'm sorry if I've made things more... difficult for you."

He doesn't answer for a long time. Then you hear him slowly shift in his bed. "I suspect that by this point, things would be difficult regardless of anything you had done."

"You mean going this long would have been hard for you no matter what?"

"No," he says quietly. "I mean that this was a terrible time for us to be assigned to a joint mission."

"Oh?" you reply, your heartbeat kicking up as you try to keep your tone casual. "Why is that?"

His hesitation is palpable, almost like you can hear him holding back his response.

"You can tell me," you encourage, letting your voice grow soft and breathy.

"Well," he lets out slowly, "I spent the majority of our conversation in the galley thinking only of taking you against the wall. If this was a solo mission, I would like to believe I could avoid such thoughts."

For a moment, all you can hear is the white noise of all the remaining blood in your head rushing to your center, and you ignore the urge to make an embarrassing noise. Instead, you swallow, replying, "It's a good thing I wouldn't have let that happen."

Another pause. "Can you be so sure?"

Your face is growing hot. It's like you can feel him toeing the line, waiting for you to pull him back. You open your mouth, words coming out tentatively. "It's, uh... it's my 'sacred duty', isn't it?"

"I might have tried to coerce you," he responds.

If he keeps offering up blunt confessions wrapped in his soft, chaste delivery, you're going to lose your mind.

"I'm well acquainted with your tactics of persuasion, Obi Wan," you say lightly, as if you aren't seconds away from touching yourself. "What would you have done to coerce me into letting you fail?"

"I think the question is better asked, what wouldn't I have done?"

Shit, he's doing this on purpose. He must be.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I might have appealed to your sense of decency; tried to convince you to have mercy on me."

You should stop the conversation here. You should laugh and give him some clever quip about him never showing you mercy in training matches. You should tell him it would never work, and leave it at that.

But instead, your throat going dry, you simply ask, "How would you do that?"

It's an opening that shouldn't exist; a lit path that should have remained dark.

He answers, slowly, "I would have held you against that wall, rather than let you leave."

"Mm-hm," you hum softly, listening intently as his words become quieter.

"I would have ended that foolish argument."

Your fingertips graze the side of your leg again. "How?"

"I'd have kissed you. Properly."

"Yeah?"

"And I would have shown you exactly what you do to me."

It's hard not to let your words come out as an airy whine. "What- what do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean."

Your chin tilts up. Your hand slithers below your waistband. "Obi Wan..."

"I might have pulled your clothes off, then and there. Would you have stopped me?"

You shake your head, though he can't see it. "No."

"If you'd let me, I would have touched you. Stars, I wanted to."

You can't answer. You're circling around your clit, wetness soaking your fingers.

"I wanted to ask for what you'd offered me before."

"Wh-what I'd offered?"

"Your mouth," he answers, sounding like the very thought is painful. "Though I couldn't. If you had said it, I would have had to refuse."

"Refuse?" you breathe, reduced to repeating his words. "Why?"

"Because I-" He cuts himself off. "I would have..."

You try to keep your panting quiet.

"With the way you... use your mouth on me, I couldn't have stopped there. I would have fucked you... I..." he grinds out. "I would have-"

A moan escapes your lips, and he goes suddenly silent.

The recycled air hangs still for an eternity.

He'd heard you.

You can do nothing but wait. Wait for the question. The confusion. The accusation.

But it never comes.

Then, finally, movement.

He rolls in his bunk, and you freeze, pulling your hand up and lying still as you hear him shift.

You want to say something, to make an excuse, to pretend nothing had happened. But the sound had been unmistakable. And your breath is coming too short to even speak.

You have no idea what he intends to do, but for some reason, he seems to be getting out of bed.

You can barely make out his form when he slowly steps down from above you, crowding into your bunk in the darkness. He comes closer, whispering your name, and when you don't reply, he leans down, giving you plenty of time to pull away.

You don't make a move; don't say a word. His mouth finds yours, and you sigh softly against it.

He kisses you, slowly this time, exploring you carefully and precisely. He waits to feel every movement that you reciprocate, brushing his bottom lip delicately across your top lip, waiting for you to spread open for him, which you eagerly do. Minutes pass before he finally slides his tongue into your mouth and drags a needy sound out of you.

He passes a hand down at the same time, reaching under your clothes and between your legs with a quiet certainty. Pressing his first two fingers down, he sinks into your wetness and draws them out again. His lips pull apart from yours.

"You were touching yourself," he says, the faint light in the room dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His hand drops to the bedding, evidence smearing across the fabric as he looks to you for answers.

"I..." You're obscenely embarrassed, but you try to keep from dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean for you to... to notice."

His features have taken on an emotion you can't quite place. "How long have you felt... like this?"

Your face flushes. It must be a joke, but you have no idea how to respond. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I had no idea you..."

"What?"

"When you offered to help me, I hadn't thought..."

You look at him for a long time, taking in his blown-out pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, his undeniable sincerity.

The truth washes over you, slowly sinking in.

All this time, he'd thought you'd been simply putting up with his request. That you were being a good friend. That you'd only offered to help him out of obligation.

His gaze falls off to the side, then drags back to you. "I had thought it was for my benefit alone."

You try to find the words to express how fucking mad with want that he's been driving you this entire time, but you come up empty. Instead, at long last, all you can say is, "No."

"No?" he whispers.

You shake your head softly. "No."

For a moment, he looks as if you've punched him. Then his wide eyes flicker down to your lap. "Show me, then," he breathes. "Will you?"

When he lowers his hands to your hips, resting his thumbs inward, awaiting your permission, it's like his touch is scorching you; boiling you over, even through your clothes.

You suck in air, trying desperately to clear your head. There's a reason you can't just give in and let him sink his fingers back in exactly where you need them. There's definitely a good reason. If only you could think of anything beyond how good his hands would feel on your skin...

But, no. Biting your lip, you shake your head and use every remaining shred of your willpower to say, "If you want, I'll show you. But not like this."

His face falls, confusion staining his features as he pulls his hands back. "What do you mean?"

You try to keep your panting quiet enough that he can't hear it, pressing back on your elbows and lifting your chin to look past him, over the side of the bed. "Could you get my pack for me?"

His uncertain look lingers, but he pulls your pack up and hands it to you. Digging inside, you find what you need.

His demeanor shifts the instant he catches sight of them. "You packed them anyway."

You give him a shy shrug, looking at him coyly through your eyelashes. "Never hurts to be prepared."

He swallows. "Those would not be necessary for what I had in mind."

He gives a pointed downward look, and you try not to shiver. Steeling yourself, you answer, "If you want to watch, we should put certain... assurances in place. As your witness, I think it's best to be safe."

It's a lie, of course. A lie to finally get what you want, after all this desperate trying.

His reaction earlier had shown you that the only way you can be sure to finish what you start is to literally hold him in place. You can't risk him losing his nerve again. Despite the fog of sex clouding your thoughts, you know this is your final chance, and you have no intention of wasting it. You aren't just going to offer him simple, straightforward relief. You're going to draw it out until it's the only thing he can think of. Until he can do nothing but give in.

"So," you ask, dawning your best false bravado and sitting up to encircle one of his wrists in the first of the binders. He doesn't pull away, but he hardly looks pleased. "What's it going to be?"

As you ask the question, you activate the first binder and meet his eyes. The uncertainty is still there, but it doesn't completely mask the excitement beneath. He exhales, then tucks his other arm behind his back, allowing you to chain him to the handle of the durasteel panel at the end of your small bunk. His shoulders are pulled into a hard line and he rests in a kneeling position, looking down at you as you slowly lie back on the bed.

"Thanks for trusting my judgement," you tell him, getting comfortable in the soft covers, but hesitating before slipping your hand beneath your clothes again. His eyes follow your movement, and your fingers rest just shy of where they should be going.

"You left me few other options," he replies, settling back against his restraints.

Looking up at him, you suddenly feel self-conscious. Has your coercion gone too far?

"You had options," you clarify. "You still have them."

He smirks. "Hardly. Remain a free man, or watch you pleasure yourself. To call that a choice would make me a fool."

You give a soft breath, then your fingers drop low. You can see his smirk falling away just as your eyelids flutter shut.

Your hand glides easily to where it had been only moments before, listening to the sound of his voice as you'd touched yourself. Your chest is tight with the anxiety of knowing he's watching you, but it's equal parts unnerving and thrilling at the same time. You start to play with yourself and the mix of adrenaline and desire shoots through you like lightning.

"Undress for me," he instructs. "Let me see."

It isn't said with anything resembling a demand, yet you shake your head, leaning back against your pillow. You're in charge. He has to know that.

"I know you aren't used to it," you reply, wrist slowing as you give him a soft smile, "but I'm giving orders at the moment." Your hand stills. "You're here to watch, nothing more."

You can feel him tense as your movement disappears. He stays quiet, as if waiting for you to continue, and when you don't, he finally speaks up.

"Don't stop, darling."

His soft encouragement nearly makes you pull your slippery-wet fingers over your clit and come on the spot. Even as you begin to drag your wrist in achingly slow circles again, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure anywhere dangerous, you're thinking about it. Maybe you could afford to tip over the edge and bite your lip hard enough to hide it. But not after he's worked you up this much. You're going to be a mess, and you know it.

Instead, you use your other hand to unbutton the top of your bodice and breathe a little deeper, holding your voice steady as you casually reply, "There it is again. You called me that earlier."

"What?"

"Darling," you say softly, trying to let it sound like an offhand observation.

"I used to call you that all the time."

Your brow creases. "I don't remember that."

"Ah," he says, sounding suddenly reserved. "Perhaps it was under my breath, then."

You open your eyes to look at him, expecting a smile, but finding him completely focused between your legs.

Stifling a whimper, you push your pants off with hurried, uncareful hands, staring up at him the whole time. You've given in much too quickly - you were supposed to draw this out. But you can't help it. He's talking you right up to the edge without even trying.

"Oh," he groans, watching you spread your legs for him and delicately begin to play with your pussy.

You lower your lashes and drag your eyes down his still fully-clothed body. You need to keep focused - keep pushing him closer to where you are.

"I should confess, this isn't the first time I've touched myself thinking of you."

He gives a small nod, not tearing his eyes from their spot. "I know. The holos."

You swallow, building your courage. "Not just then."

His eyes briefly flick up to your face, an urgent question in his gaze, but they hang there for only a second before he's distracted back to your center.

Letting out a slow breath, you let yourself ease your middle finger against your clit, the air on your skin chilling the wetness running along the insides of your thighs. "After that night we fell asleep together."

A loud huff of breath escapes him. "You... you didn't..."

Building toward orgasm isn't going to take long. You're practically soaking your fingers as you admit it to him: "Right afterward; just like this."

You let out a little shudder, speeding up your movements when you hear the soft clink of him readjusting in the binders.

"Let me touch you."

You leave it hang, as if you hadn't heard it.

"I touched myself here, too, imagining it was you."

Your free hand lifts to your left nipple, brushing it softly at first and then circling it until it starts to harden. Your bodice is open at the top, but still held tightly together at the bottom. As you near the edge, you study Obi Wan's face, watching his frustration build at each slow, deliberate movement. You pull your other hand up and drag your slick over your sensitive skin, using it to bring your other nipple to a hardened bud.

"Have you ever been touched like that?"

He doesn't answer, jaw tight and eyes fixated on your roving fingers.

"I think you'd like it," you go on, cupping your breasts and lazily drawing your fingertips over your skin. Then, you sit up and crawl the short distance to him.

"What do you think?" you ask innocently, hands spreading under his outer tunic. You rub your hand experimentally back and forth a few times to see if he'll bristle, but if anything, he seems to lean into your touch. Sliding your hand beneath his outer tunic, you brush his nipple through the remaining cloth. Delightfully, you find that it's already hard.

You smile, pushing his outer tunic over his shoulders. "You're a little more indecent than I thought, Obi Wan."

His lips are parted as he stares down your body, then back to where you're touching him.

"You have no idea."

You suck the edge of your bottom lip into your mouth, then take both your hands and trail them lightly against the soft fabric of his inner tunic, from his shoulders down to his stomach, palms flat. Then you bring your thumbs up to his nipples and begin to tease. His eyes roll up, then fall shut. He doesn't say anything out loud, but his chest begins to heave with shallow, harsh breaths.

You go on like that for a long while, drinking in every sharp intake of air, every roll of his shoulders, and every time he opens his eyes to look at you through a glossy daze.

"Let's make you a little more comfortable, hm?" you finally say, reaching to remove his inner tunic as well, but struggling with the resistance of the rest of his clothes, the multiple layers all held tight by his belt. You lower your hand, then stop to look at him before gently tugging at it.

"Can I take this off?"

"Yes," he answers before you even finish your last word.

You grin, freeing his waist and shoving both his tunics back, pushing open his neckline to reveal the bare skin beneath, until he's naked to the waist. With his clothes still draped halfway over his arms, you simply stare. The muscles bound to every inch of his frame are almost too much of a distraction to notice the obscene bulge straining in his pants. Almost.

"You, uh..." Your voice nearly cracks and you carefully clear your throat. "You look... really good like this."

Obi Wan, still gazing at your nearly naked body, barely seems to have noticed you talking. "I can't say what I think of the way you look." After a moment, he adds, "There aren't words in Basic for the things I want to do to you."

You feel a pulse between your legs, then smile weakly. "Let's just focus on you for the moment."

Your thumbs brush over his bare nipples again and he gasps. "That- that feels..."

He dissolves into short breaths, going silent for a long time as you drag the tips of your fingernails up and down his chest with feather-light touches. His biceps flex in time with your hypnotic rhythm as his skin pricks into goosebumps.

"Good, isn't it?" you say softly, not expecting a response as you watch him curl and flex beneath your touch. You go lower, daring to slide your hands low enough that they graze the skin beneath his belly button.

When you can see his stomach beginning to tighten in apparent frustration, you start to tease his nipples again, and he lets out a noise somewhere between startled and relieved. You only tease him briefly, then give him a moment's break to catch his breath, tracing his bare shoulders with your fingertips.

"How..." he manages after his panting subsides, "...did you know..."

You give him a wry smile, flicking your thumbs back and forth softly over his nipples again. "How did I know you'd like this?" you finish for him. "Just a feeling."

He moans in response, hips bucking forward. His face is starting to get flushed, and you suppress the urge to lathe your tongue over his neck.

"Why don't you lie down for me?" you purr into his ear.

He pulls at the binders, making an obvious point. "You've made that rather difficult."

Hesitating, you look him over, trying to let the logical part of your brain swim back to the surface. On the one hand, you know taking him out of the binders is going to lead to a conversation about getting him back into them, which ultimately could put an end to this. On the other hand, the image of Obi Wan lying beneath you, spread out, completely at your mercy...

"Just one hand."

You hold his gaze for a moment, waiting for him to agree. He raises his brows in that charming way he has, not saying anything back. Ever the skilled tactician, even in a moment like this, he's not going to volunteer anything he doesn't have to.

"I'm going to let one hand free, just so you can lie down," you clarify, reaching behind him to use the fingerprint scanner on the pre-programmed binders. You rest a hand on his shoulder, leaning close to the side of his face. "That means you lie down as soon as I press this button, right? Nothing else. Nothing to break the rules."

His eyelashes are hanging low as he stares at your mouth, not answering. It takes him a long time to drag his eyes back up to yours, and when he does, your heartbeat kicks up wildly. You click the button, only vaguely aware that he hadn't yet answered.

His hand finally loose, he doesn't let go of eye contact as he reaches for your chest, lightly dragging his fingertips beneath your collarbone.

"L-lie down," you whisper, not moving as he smooths the side of his knuckle down your bare skin. You arch your back instinctively, letting out a short, soft moan when he grazes your nipple. Your eyelashes flutter closed, despite your efforts. You force them open again.

"My goodness," he says breathlessly, sweeping his hand up to your cheek. "You are beautiful."

Fighting hard against the flush that you can already feel is settling deeply in your face, you force a dismissive smile and lift your own hand over his hand. "The words of a man currently tied to my bed, who would say anything to make me let him loose."

He meets your gaze straight-on. "The words of a man too desperate to tell anything but truth."

"Obi Wan," you murmur softly, not sure if you mean to chastise or encourage him.

He slides his hand to your jaw, starting to lean in for a kiss. That finally pulls you out of your daze. Heart racing, you lean in first. And harder.

Before he can meet your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, you close your mouth over his, plunging your tongue deep and drawing out a moan from him.

Using the momentum to push him back against the panel, you raise his hand up above his head, kissing him with every bit of the passion you've been holding back, ignoring the pulsing need to give in and simply press your body up against him, kiss him, taste him. Instead, you focus on getting his hand into position, and give a satisfied hum against his mouth as you clip the second binder back into place.

He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat, but he does not stop kissing you.

His lips are ravenous, as if he knows the second he stops, you're going to pull away. He isn't playing with you; isn't going along with your teasing. He's unabashedly trying to feel whatever he can get. You use it to your advantage, pushing his pliant body toward the bed, sucking his bottom lip as you ease him down until he's lying beneath you.

When you finally pull apart, you murmur against his mouth, "I'm sorry."

He's looking up at you, lips parted, looking slightly accusatory but overall like he would very much like to continue kissing. "That was quite unfair."

"I... I couldn't trust myself," you admit, sitting up.

He licks his lips, then answers in an infuriatingly calm tone, "You might have trusted me instead, then."

You sit back, letting your eyes travel brazenly over his body, his arms held above his head and the rest of him lying spread out for you. You swallow, then try to match his unaffected tone. "Well. You never agreed to the terms, did you?"

His chest is heaving, but he still maintains that silky-smooth intonation. "I was hardly given the chance."

You drag your fingers up and down his skin, starting with his arms, which look thick and bracing from this angle. The dark hair of his underarms is inexplicably salacious.

"And if I gave you the chance now?" you ask, fingers drifting lower, brushing over the sensitive skin of his sides. You watch him shiver, skin prickling.

"The terms were... quite restrictive," he retorts, then closes his mouth to breathe through his nose.

By the time you reach his waist, he's visibly straining under your touch. He no longer looks combative. He just looks very, very serious.

You brush your fingers along his pants, taking care to stay above the waistline. After you've run your nails along it a few times, you casually ask him, "Can I take these off?"

He nods his head, ruffling his hair in the back. "Please."

"Mm," you answer, then slide your thumbs back up to play with his nipples again. "Good to know."

He sucks in, letting out sharp, harsh little breaths as you toy with him. You bring one thumb up to your mouth, lick it, and then slide it across his right nipple. Then you lean over his body to blow softly over the wet skin.

He jerks, sucking air between his teeth at the sensation, and meets your eyes. "Wh-why did you ask, if you weren't - ah - going to..."

He trails off as you lightly drag your nails down his chest, not stopping as you brush over his hardened nipples. His back arches off the bed and you can see the muscles of his arms clench tight.

"Because," you reply, forcefully nonchalant, "I want to make sure you won't stop me."

"I assure you," he grinds out, "That is the furthest thing from my mind."

He's dangerously close to encouraging you. Should you remind him that he can't technically ask for this, or you will have to stop?

No. He knows the rules. He said it himself.

You tease a finger beneath his waistband, then go back to stroking him lightly over the chest, humming approvingly at every little panting breath he gives in return.

You try to think of a way to re-frame things, giving him a careful reply. "Besides... it's not like you have the means to stop me, if you wanted to."

He nods along vigorously, watching you get closer and closer to his straining cock with every brush of your hand.

"You're right," he breathes.

You palm him through his clothes, his head falling back in relief when you finally touch him. The weight of his cock in your hand makes you want to moan. He's leaking through the fabric, so hard it must be painful. He gives a small whimper at the contact.

Your mouth already watering, you continue to give him soft, slow strokes, watching his face contort beautifully. Enjoying the sensation, you intend to draw this out as long as possible. The thought suddenly makes you shake your head a little.

"I can't believe you thought I was doing this all for you," you say softly. "You really thought I wasn't enjoying myself? That I wasn't into this?"

"Believe me..." He pauses to catch his breath, opening his eyes to look down at you. "If I had thought that those holos you sent were anything but instruments of torture, I would have taken your door off its hinges getting into to your quarters."

"What?" you blurt out, hand stilling on his cock. "But... you wouldn't have been able to do anything."

His brows furrow slightly. "On the contrary. Giving myself pleasure is strictly forbidden. Giving you pleasure..."

"...would have left you even worse off," you finish for him, trying to be reasonable.

He gives you a rakish grin. "A sacrifice well worth making."

Fuck, you need his cock in your mouth.

You gather fabric tight in both your hands, dragging his pants off his hips all in one slow, deliberate pull. You keep the fabric taut, gripping hard until his cock bursts out, standing rigidly all at once. Enveloping the leaking tip in your mouth, you can't hold back any longer. You take him all in one swallow.

He gasps, shockingly loud this time.

The sound warms your cheeks, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you begin to bob your head over the length of him as he lets out anguished sounds from deep in his chest.

You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, pumping him steadily, drool filling your mouth embarrassingly fast. His hips are bucking to meet every jerk of your hand, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of him filling you up. You lift your eyes to see his face, but from this angle all you can see is the underside of his beard and his flushed, open lips. His head is thrown back in what looks like silent agony.

You slide your lips back to his head, sucking there until he makes a deliciously urgent, overwhelmed sound. Then you pop off of him for a moment, licking your lips and letting him catch his breath. His chest is flushed red, sweat beading at his brow. He looks down at you, eyes wild.

"Fuck," he whines raggedly. "Oh, fuck..."

You smile innocently. "Good?"

He drops his head back, panting. "Unbelievable."

You hum in response, gently kissing the side of his cock. He twitches, and you flatten your tongue, licking a slow stripe from his base to his tip, then spread your lips and take him again in one languid mouthful. You drag several more expletives out of him, gripping his thigh with one hand and starting to tease his balls with the other.

"Oh, yes," he moans, hands dropping limp against his restraints. "That's it. Don't- don't stop..."

Your eyes go wide and you slow down, hesitating. Isn't that... isn't what he just said...

You hold him with one hand, stopping and swallowing so you can speak. "I, uh- um..."

He sits up, pulling at the chain to look at you, eyes glossy and lost. "Your mouth," he rasps. "Please."

That seals it. Damn him.

He's at the edge of coming. You can feel his dick throbbing in your hand, and you could give it to him. You could, but...

"I... I can't," you answer, hating the words. You stroke him a little, not able to move away or let go. Not able to stop entirely.

Breath escapes him in erratic huffs. He sounds like he's almost laughing in disbelief, but his face is all desperate panic. "What?"

"I can't," you say, sounding like you're pleading. "You told me you couldn't ask for it. You made me promise."

His mouth is hanging open. All he says is your name as an obtestation.

Your face crumbles. "I'm sorry. I have to. You... you wanted this."

He shakes his head. "No, no, listen-"

"I should really..." You need to excuse yourself. Put as much distance between you as possible. Lock yourself out of the room if you have to. But looking at him like this... His hair is a matted mess. It's flattened against the crown of his head and jutting up behind his ears where he'd rubbed against his own arms, writhing under your touch. His jaw is slack, his chest ruddy and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You've never seen him like this before. If you didn't know better, you'd think he'd seen battle.

"S-should really..." you repeat, face pinched tight in denial as you jerk him slowly and watch him buck at the slightest touch. "I should go."

"No, wait," he urges, voice cracking a little. "Just- just stay. For a moment."

"I don't think I should." You finally pull your hand away and he sighs roughly.

"Let me feel you," he pleads, eyes meeting yours.

"No, I... I'm not supposed to," you reply, wanting absolutely nothing more than to give in.

He shakes his head. "Please. Let me touch you."

A flush overtakes you, and you sit up to pull the edge of a blanket over your unclothed lower half. "I can't... let you do that."

He looks physically pained at your answer. "You cannot leave me like this. Only a touch. Just one hand. I'll do nothing to break our agreement."

His offer is so clearly going to make things harder for him, and perhaps it's selfish to accept it. Perhaps you should hesitate; let him take some time to reconsider.

Perhaps a better friend would have taken a moment to meditate on exactly what it meant for you to allow this one final concession. Or any of the other little concessions that have led you to this very choice.

But you aren't a good friend. You are a very bad, very fallible friend. And you release just one of his wrists. And he's sitting up, leaning toward you before you've even moved the blanket.

He kisses you, hand dropping down immediately, dragging from your stomach down to your navel. It feels like he's setting you alight. When he goes lower, you bite back a pathetic whine. You're already so worked up, the faintest attention from him is overwhelming.

"Uncuff me," he whispers against your lips, fingers grazing your sensitive skin.

You sigh helplessly. Stars, you want nothing more. You swallow, shaking your head in a feeble attempt to regain control. His fingers slide between your legs and his mouth falls open when he feels how wet you are.

"Oh, darling, uncuff me."

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers delve deeper, your slick dripping over his hand. "N-no, Obi Wan, I can't," you plead, close to the edge already.

How can you tell him that the binders are now your last shred of self-control and you have no idea what will happen if they come off?

"Mm-" you whine high in your throat, letting yourself give into the feeling of him touching you, if only for a moment. Then you reach down to grasp his wrist, as if to stop him, but making no effort to actually go through with it.

Feeling his wrist move beneath your palm, you can't deny the thrill of letting him do this to you while holding onto his arm. You're acting as if you're holding him back when you're practically guiding him through it.

He curls his fingers up and presses them deep inside you, making you moan. It's such a needy, depraved sound that your eyes widen in surprise and you suddenly realize that you need to stop before you lose control completely.

Obi Wan catches the look in your eyes, though, and it's in that moment that you realize - you already have.

He leans forward to kiss your neck, pumping his fingers faster. "Let me taste you," he whispers against your neck, breath hot and ragged. 

You lift your head, giving him more space to drag his tongue across your skin. "We shouldn't."

"There isn't a single rule you would be breaking."

You bite your lip, unable to focus on anything but the way he feels inside you.

"Please, let me hear you come, or I'll spend my nights dreaming of it until I go mad. Let me taste you. It's all I ask."

"Fuuuck." You drag out the word.

Every other day of your life, you can be a Jedi. You can be mindful and temperate and restrained. But not tonight. Not with his eyes so soft, his deep, accented voice sliding thick around your name, pleading for all these lovely sins.

If it had been anyone but him, you could have said no. But it's Obi Wan.

Obi Wan, whispering soft encouragement when you lean into his side, pressing your finger on the button.

Obi Wan, rolling over your body and wrapping you in his arms the instant he's free, pinning you to the bed and sucking at your neck like you're dripping honey.

Obi Wan, pulling you down to the edge of the bed with the strength and wildness of a man who's been denied far too long.

Obi Wan, kneeling between your legs and sliding his tongue into your pussy before you can say another word.

"Obi Wan..." His name spills out of you like a confession. Like you've been waiting to moan it like this since the day you'd agreed never to do it again.

His eyes are closed, his proud, regal nose buried deep between your thighs. He starts to drag his tongue up the river of slick pouring out of you, over and over and over while you squirm at the warm, unyielding pressure he's giving you. He's nowhere near your clit. This is all for him. Just tasting you, like he'd said.

It takes him a few minutes to gain some semblance of composure, finally pulling back to lick you properly, from the pool of your wetness all the way up. His tongue is flat and firm, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat when you roll your hips against him.

"Shit-" you gasp, pleasure winding steadily through your body with every methodical drag of his mouth. He's kissing you; sucking you - fervent, hungry, almost punishing. When his tongue delves into you again, the bedding twists beneath your hands.

"So good," you urge him on, wishing you could come up with better words to describe what he's doing to you, but your mind is half gone already, melted into a puddle of 'yes' and 'ohh' and 'just like that...'

You fight to open your eyes. It's going to be over too quickly if you keep them closed, letting the heat curl up hard and sudden. You need to stretch this out. You want to enjoy every moment, every detail. But looking down, you quickly realize, is only going to send you rocketing over the edge.

His eyes are still closed, his brows knitted hard together. You can't resist running your fingers through his beautiful golden hair, enjoying the way the dim light plays in the feathery locks. Running your hand along his ear, you sigh without meaning to. You could come just from the sight of him.

"We can... slow down," you force out, trying to make him give you a second to breathe. He just keeps licking you. Same steady pace. Same hard grip on your thighs.

"If you want," you try again.

He finally slows, murmuring warm words against you. "You haven't the faintest idea, do you?"

An electric thrill courses through you at the sound of his deepened voice, hearing and feeling it at the same time. "Mm?" is all you can manage to squeak out.

Then he pulls his mouth from between your legs and looks up at you, beard sopping wet and just the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "How badly I've longed for this."

As he replaces his mouth with his thumb, rubbing softly at your clit, you gasp and stammer out, "Because of the Nikk-" you shudder, shocks of pleasure rolling through you as he slides the back of his index finger up and down, gathering your wetness. "Th-the trial?"

He slides that finger, along with a second one, back inside you. Your gasp turns broken, choked off in the back of your throat.

His blue eyes are piercing in their intensity, his voice low and a little rough when he gives you his answer before sealing his mouth over you again.

"No."

Your eyes roll back in your head as he plays with your clit, tongue stroking over you as your hands bury themselves in his soft hair.

"Obi Wan!" you choke out, all the heat inside you gathering tightly and ready to burst. "Fuck!"

He gives you perfect rhythm, working you from two directions at once; inside and outside, steady and merciless. You can feel the soft bristles of his beard against the tender skin of your inner thigh as his jaw moves, and you mentally file it away - knowing the memory is going to haunt you every time your own fingers bring you relief when you're alone.

When he finally sends you flying over the edge, your moans turn into ragged whimpers, your body tensing hard as your pussy convulses and twitches around his fingers. You cry his name again, almost in shock at how good it feels. He's wringing every bit of your orgasm from you, dragging his fingers in that perfect curl until you have to sit up, palms digging into the mattress and rocking your body forward as the pleasure starts to flirt with overstimulation.

When you do, though, you can see the motion his body is making. It's dark in the room, but the light coming off the nearby control panel is enough to see Obi Wan's hips thrusting even as his upper body stays pinned between your thighs.

A sudden wave of euphoria shoots through your veins as you realize he's fucking himself against the bed while you're coming in his mouth.

"Fuck," he gasps, pulling off only when you shove back his shoulders. His eyes don't leave your center. "I can't... I need-"

Your mouth is still hanging open as you collapse back on the bed, legs trembling. You blink at him through a daze, watching him where he kneels. His hand - the same one he's just slid out of your pussy - goes straight between his legs and he moans.

His expression is like nothing you've ever seen him wear before. He looks completely debauched; eyes so big and soft and tormented, deep red flush set high on his cheek bones, and mouth dropped open like he's fighting for his breath. Despite your bone-deep satisfaction, you feel a flutter in your stomach from seeing him like this.

"I can't," he repeats, using one big palm to cradle your thigh as he strokes his cock furiously. "Please..."

Your hand slides down to touch his as he grips your soft skin, thumb dragging through the wetness that's spread all over your inner thighs. Your head still in the clouds, you manage to pant out, "You... made me promise..."

"A promise, is that all?" he asks, voice shaking. "Keep it. I just... need to feel you."

Wondering if it's your hazy thoughts or his words that are making no sense, you loll your head to the side. "How... could we...?"

"It isn't against the rules. I swear it."

Technically, many things could be allowed within the rules. The way the Nikkama is worded... though it's been translated so many times...

There's the letter of the law, and the spirit of the law. Which one can you bring yourself to follow?

With Obi Wan staring up at you, stomach smeared with his own sticky mess from rubbing himself against a mattress instead of you, technicalities suddenly sound incredibly tempting.

"Damn," you say softly as you unabashedly stare at him. "You truly are a great negotiator."

His brows knead together. "Negotiating? No, darling, I am begging."

He sinks one knee into the edge of the bed, leaning over you. "This is a cry for mercy."

As he strokes himself, you find yourself spreading your legs.

"Obi Wan..."

"Please, I... a-anything," he stammers hoarsely, hand grazing his cock and then tightening as he looks down. "I need it quite- quite badly."

You watch the way he palms himself, brazenly drinking in every inch of your body. And you realize how truly weak you are.

"You... couldn't put it inside..."

Relief seems to flood him as he shakes his head, leaning into you and stroking himself faster. "No... no..."

He thumbs gently at your pussy, spreading you open, and groans.

"Stars, you're so... You're dripping," he murmurs, sounding awestruck. "Lovely girl."

You make a high noise in the back of your throat, not able to answer as the heavy warmth of his cockhead is pressed against you, sliding between the lips of your pussy.

Obi Wan makes a sound like he's taken a blaster bolt straight to the chest. He still has one leg on the floor and you can feel his thigh shaking, struggling to hold him up. He's half pressing himself down into your warmth, frantic and messy as his hips buck at their own pace.

You're still buzzing from your first orgasm, but there's something deeper than just the physical that's starting to burn again already. The look on his face alone is enough to make you throb.

"We... we have to stop," you say, in a voice that's anything but convincing. "We- we have to."

"It's alright," he pants out, eyes glassy as his hands slide to your waist, holding you steady to fuck through your slick, inviting warmth. "It's alright."

You know it's not, but feeling him rocking against you like this, desperate and needy and savage, you can no longer bring yourself to care.

"F-fuck." His voice breaks, dropping off from a whine. "It's too much-"

He drops his hand into the bedding, the other hand holding your leg open as he thrusts against you, slipping over and over through the wet mess of your pussy as you writhe beneath him, hips rolling at the stimulation. His thick head dragging over your clit with each thrust is stoking the heat inside you, building it up all over again.

"Too much, it's too... oh, stars above, I'm going to come, I-"

He looks up at you with sudden, shocked eyes as if he's pleading for you to stop him, but you're too blissed-out and worked up to do anything of the sort. He reaches down, gripping himself and whimpering, still rutting against you, even through his fist.

His hips buck once more, twice, then...

"Fuck, I'm coming..."

He shudders, the head of his cock thrusting over your clit and shooting warm ropes of cum over your pussy, coating you until you're dripping with it. As each spatter of cum hits your skin, waves of pleasure and relief flood you, almost as if you're the one who's finally being allowed to come after weeks and months of building it up.

When he finally finishes, you let your head fall back, exhausted.

"Shit," you breathe out. "That... was incredible."

A low groan is all he gives you in response, still thrusting his softening cock against you. His eyelids dip low and he seems lost in a trance. You close your own eyes, letting yourself enjoy it. You can't deny your satisfaction, soaking in his sticky mess.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Obi Wan," you tell him after a few long moments of feeling him slowly drag against you. You wonder if he's quiet from disappointment, or something else. He doesn't answer you.

"I guess we failed, then?" you ask softly, trying to hide the desire in your voice when he slides over your clit. He doesn't stop moving, just slows to a pace that sends shivers down every inch of your body.

Still looking like he hasn't quite come back to himself, Obi Wan finally replies, "I wouldn't say that."

You smirk, but it's cut short when you feel him start to glide against your entrance. You stiffen, unsure whether it was an accident.

"I... I thought..."

"It's alright," he says soothingly again, just as he had before. He doesn't make any effort to elaborate.

He slides back and forth a few times more, then gathers some of the cum that's dripped down your legs with the head of his cock, pushing it back inside you. It's only when you feel him pressing at your entrance again that you realize he's starting to get hard.

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, eyes rolling back when he tenses, about to push in.

"Yes." He says it as a statement and a question, all at once. Looking up to meet your eyes, he waits, as if wondering if you'll ask him to stop. As if terrified that you will.

It's then that you realize, you aren't going to stop him. You simply don't have the power within you. Whatever it is that draws you so deeply to Obi Wan is stronger than you can bear to hold off anymore. But you have to put up a show, even if the lie is only for his benefit.

You swallow. "I don't think we should."

His eyes close with a particularly slow thrust. When he opens them, he replies with an edge of nervousness in his voice. "You don't think we should, or you don't want to?"

Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. You tamp down the hot whine in the back of your throat. "It doesn't matter," you reply, knowing you just gave your answer.

"I -ah - I won't..." he breaks off into a moan when the head of his cock presses shallowly into you.

 "...won't put it in?" you ask, vulgar. 

He shakes his head, mouth open. "No, I won't."

Your pussy sucks him tightly, making you gasp. "N-not all the way?"

He moves, and you hear the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of you. "No. No."

He shoves in a little deeper this time, making room for himself. Everything in you is burning to ask him for more. Feeling this much of him is like torture. He's right there, so big, so thick, and you just want him to fill you as completely as only he can.

Instead, you nod along with his words. "As long as you're in control."

He pulls out with a gasp, thrusting against the side of your pussy as if you've brought him back to reality for a moment.

Gasping to catch your own breath and fighting the urge to clench your thighs around him in frustration at the loss, you ask him shakily, "You're in control, right?"

He nods, arms trembling as he holds himself over you, still simulating fucking you with quiet ferocity.

"Perfectly," he promises, the word sounding drawn out, like he's barely aware he's saying it.

"Good," you tell him, fully concentrated on his cock spreading you open again, pushing into you with careful restraint. "Okay."

He holds there for one blissful moment, then frantically pulls out again, rubbing over your clit and moaning. The sound makes your pussy throb, clenching around nothing.

"I- I just need..." he lines up with you again, and you can feel a heavy spurt of precum dribbling from his cock just before he pushes inside. "Oh, need to feel you."

This time, when he stretches you open and you watch his face get drawn and tight, you realize this is the last time you can stand it. If he pulls out again, you will actually lose your mind. You feel like you've lost it a little already.

You reach a hand up, brushing back the hair that's fallen over his face, then wrap both your arms around his neck. "You are feeling me, Obi Wan."

He lets out a deep groan, pushing shallowly in and out of you.

"Do you want to come inside me this time?"

He makes a choking sound, hips stuttering wildly as he pulls back out. "You would let me?"

Heat warms your cheeks, as you suddenly remember his earlier words. "Well... didn't you say something about begging?"

Obi Wan meets your eyes, his cock hanging heavy against you. "Please, let me finish inside you."

It makes your stomach flip, and it takes your full concentration not to come on the spot. You force out a teasing, "What happened to your Jedi resolve?"

He's still holding you in his gaze as his voice goes low and plaintive. "You've broken it, darling." He gives a little groan as he pushes the tip of his cock back inside. "Along with the rest of me."

His hips shift down a little this time, and his next thrust is world-shattering.

You make a noise somewhat like a sob and he slowly pulls back, moaning deep in his chest.

"I'm sorry, that- that was a mistake, I-"

You spread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, drawing him down to your lips for a kiss, and he sheaths himself again, fucking into you as if by instinct.

As you melt into the kiss, all the smiles and the wide eyes and the hesitating glances disappear instantly, as if a switch has been flipped. The air suddenly feels electric, and he's inside you, and everything is right in the universe.

He caves his body into yours, pounding into you with a desperate, relentless rhythm that you can feel humming in your blood. It feels like someone kick-started your heart for the first time in years.

"Thought about this for so long," you confess, losing yourself in the perfect strokes he's giving you. "You feel... so fucking good, Obi Wan."

He's panting out obscenities between every moan, but pauses to hear you speak. When he stops, at long last, it's to take off your bodice. Your breasts fall softly free of your clothing and you sigh in contentment as he pulls your naked body close, kissing you deeply.

His arms fall to your waist and he pins you down to the bed, fucking you hard and mean and perfect. His cock is so deep it's making you want to cry in relief as the waves of pleasure overtake you.

"I'm... I'm gonna come," you blurt, embarrassingly quickly.

He answers in a voice you've heard in devotary halls and senate chambers. A voice of smooth confidence and authority. A voice you've heard speaking countless holy words. 

His voice is shaking as he begs.

"Come for me, please."

You gasp his name.

"Come on my cock."

Your fingers clasp helplessly around the muscles of his arm as you twitch and writhe, face pulled tight in devastating bliss.

"Come all over my cock and let me feel it."

You come for him, the feeling ripping through you with shocking intensity as he fucks you recklessly, hungrily, desperately.

He snaps his hips hard suddenly, a shocked, "Fuck, Fuck!" tearing out of him. He spills deep inside you, coming and coming and coming as your pussy milks every drop out of him.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, as he pulls back and stuffs you full again. You can feel his cum starting to leak out as his thrusts become slower and more ragged.

"Ohhh, stars," he breathes out, suddenly empty of obscenities. "Oh, my word."

He stays there, head bowed and cock deep inside you, draining the last of himself until both of you have quieted your moaning. Then your eyes meet, and you blush. You share a knowing look, and then you kiss him.

He kisses you back, cupping your jaw gently, then slowly pulls out, making you both groan. He lies down next to you in the messy blankets, pulling you close, and you roll over to look at him properly.

"That was..."

"I know."

He kisses you again.

You lie in silence, then, just enjoying the feeling of being held by him. Finally, you work up your courage and ask him the question that's been waiting at the tip of your tongue.

"Are you... I mean... was that alright?"

He regards you, looking confused. "My darling, how could you ask such a question?"

Your lashes flutter and you look down, caught off-guard for what feels like the hundredth time by his affection. "No, I mean... with the Nikkama, I'm just... I'm sorry if I let you down."

Obi Wan's eyes go soft, and he whispers your name. "Would you like to know why I chose to ask you to act as my witness?"

Despite your bone-tired body, you're suddenly wide awake. Finally, an answer to the question you'd repeatedly thought you'd figured out.

"Yes. Please tell me."

He looks down. "Because..." He pauses to lift your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. "Of all the people in my life, there are few with whom I would feel comfortable discussing... well... matters of a carnal nature."

You nod, unsurprised.

"And... of those few, there was only one person whom I felt I could trust never to return any feelings of mine."

Your eyes go wide.

"No matter how absurdly attractive..." He kisses your hand. "How wildly intoxicating..." He kisses your cheek. "How maddeningly irresistible I may find her."

He leans down and kisses along your jaw, tracing his thumb alongside it. His words are making your head swim.

"Wh... why would you think that?" you whisper, utterly stunned and confused.

Obi Wan answers matter-of-factly, "When you ended things between us-"

"When we ended things," you interrupt, brows furrowed.

He looks at you evenly, then softly continues, "When things came to an end between us, you asked me to promise we would never behave inappropriately again. It was my belief that was what you wanted."

You feel like a rug the size of a planet has been pulled out from under you. 

"We both agreed... I mean, I thought we both agreed we were becoming too attached."

He smiles gently. "We did agree on that."

"And I... I mean, we..."

"When you asked that we spend less time with one another, I certainly agreed it would do some good. What I didn't expect was that the next time I reached for your hand, you would pull away."

You can hardly speak. "So you never..."

He lifts his eyebrows good-naturedly. "You broke my heart, my dear girl."

Years of unrequited moments come crashing down all at once. Every time you'd looked at him longingly from across the room, wondering if things could be different...

And the way you'd treated him during this entire trial...

You'd been torturing him. It was no wonder he thought you were doing him a favor by indulging him.

"Obi Wan, I... I regretted ending things," you confess, looking up at him. "I thought so many times about telling you my feelings, but I always held back because I thought it was what we both wanted."

"Well," he replies lightly, though his eyes are penetratingly intense. "What do you think now?"

You capture his mouth in a kiss that's full of every emotion you've left unspoken for years. You don't need another moment to think about it. You've thought about it so terribly, terribly long.

He pulls you close, deepening the kiss as you sigh softly through your nose. This is where you want to be. No question.

When you part, you're both smiling like a couple of padawans. You lay your head on his shoulder and pull the blankets tightly around your neck. Obi Wan drags lazy kisses along your brow, and your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You should really get up and tidy things before you drift off, but right now there's nothing that could make you want to move from his arms.

In the silence that follows, Obi Wan draws slow circles with his fingers over the soft skin of your shoulder. You clear your throat quietly.

"Just to say it, though," you murmur into his skin, "I am sorry we didn't pass the trial."

You can feel him smile against the top of your head.

"What is achievement without failure? I am more than willing to try again. Provided that... you were there to help me?"

"In ten years?" You lift your eyes to him, warm in his embrace. "Of course I will be."

--

A/N: Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this final chapter! I hope you liked it! <3

Taglist: @slinkygail @wheres-mylove @millercontracting @cacti5539 @b0xerdancer-writes @spcecadet6

Previous Chapter // Masterlist

[arget-star]

I've Got All These Sparrin' Scars

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

Summary: A companion piece to this, wherein Sakura celebrates White Day with you.

tags: fluff, canon-typical violence (there's a brief fight scene), not beta read. a creep hits on reader so terms like "pretty girl" and "baby" are used

a/n: once again i bring you a fic that is far longer than i ever meant for it to be. perhaps the ending is a bit rushed but that's okay we cringe on :)

wc: 4.0 (.........don't look at me.)

Thanks to Nirei’s tireless efforts, the former members of Furin Class 1-1 gather once a month for a casual dinner at Pothos. While not everyone is available, a sizable crowd still descends upon the café with all the enthusiasm (and appetite) they had in their high school days.

It’s a lovely tradition; one Sakura looks forward to, even if he won’t outright say as much. He’ll grumble and pout when he receives the text announcing their next dinner. Yet he always leaves early, hands shoved into his pants pockets and something close to excitement tucked in the corners of his mouth.

You kiss him farewell at the door. Tug at the lapels of his jacket so it lays just so while he watches you, expression soft. “Have fun,” you tell him, releasing your hold. He blows air out of his nose on instinct.

“Saw half these guys today already.”

“Now you’re going to see the other half. Bring me pack some pudding, please?”

He appreciates the way you at least acknowledge his complaints, unlike his friends whose tendency to completely ignore them has never gone away. You make him feel heard. (They do, too, but differently. Theirs is a language of unspoken understanding and fistfights.)

“S’long as I get the cherry,” he says, walking down the front steps. “…be home soon.”

You laugh softly, lifting your hand in a wave. His goodbyes are always so stilted. Unsure. Like that scared little boy who still lives inside his head expects you to be gone by the time he returns. You hope, one day, he’ll be able to reassure that little boy. “Tell everyone I said hi!”

Sakura—about to turn the corner—looks back at you. “Any other demands?” There’s no bite in the words, only fond resignation.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

You’d bet money his flush lasts all the way to Pothos.

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

With Sakura gone, and no pressing responsibilities demanding your attention, you spend the evening relaxing. You’re diligently not thinking about floral arrangements or what injuries Sakura will incur while on patrol. Work is most certainly a tomorrow problem, and your boyfriend is simply out enjoying a nice dinner with his friends.

Well. There’s still a thirty percent chance he will, inevitably, be sporting a bruise or two by the end of the night.

Time passes slowly but pleasantly. You make dinner—a simple rice cooker stir fry and accompanying teriyaki sauce. You throw plenty of vegetables into the dish despite someone’s disdainful scoff echoing in your ears. It’s a personal goal of yours to get him to eat one singular piece of, say, broccoli without him silently removing it from his meal.

Once dinner’s finished, you set up your laptop on the low table so you can rewatch an episode or two of your favorite show while curled on the couch. Neither you nor Sakura have expressed any interest in purchasing a television. Your computer works perfectly fine whenever you two settle in for movie night.

(“If we did get a tv,” Sakura explained one evening, fingers loosely entwined with yours, “then everyone would insist on havin’ video game night here.”

You squeezed his hand. Sakura’s video game skills had improved, but not by much. He’d never stand for being humiliated in his own home. “I don’t really watch a lot of shows, anyway.”)

Through with both dinner and your show, you languidly rise from the couch, arms reaching above your head. You don’t expect Sakura for another couple hours, barring any mishaps. So you turn on some music, something mellow and soft, humming along with the melody as you clean the kitchen.

Minimal chores now done, you begin your bedtime routine. You shower. Wash your face and brush your teeth, basking in the simple pleasure of enjoying a cozy night alone.

Sakura returns while you’re in the middle of blow drying your hair. You don’t hear him come in over the noise; just see his shadow playing against the walls, a flash of white hair out of the corner of your eye. He treads softly, deliberately, like he never wants to take up more space than necessary. You thumb the blow dryer’s switch, flicking it off, then set it on the counter.

“Welcome home,” you call, padding into the small kitchen. Plastic rustles. Sakura’s in front of the fridge, placing something inside. His shoulders stiffen, then relax.

“…ate the cherry on the way home,” he returns, pivoting around. (Bruise free, your brain helpfully supplies.) The fridge door thumps closed behind him.

You laugh quietly, the sound tapering off once you catch the slight pout of his lips, how his expression seems a little distant. He distracted; otherwise, he’d comment on the fact you’re wearing his shirt. Quiet momentarily seeps in. You give yourself a mental shake and brush past him, heading for the cutlery drawer.

Utensils rattle. “How was everyone?” You ask lightly, grabbing two spoons.

“Fine.”

He scratches at his nape. You maneuver around him, reopening the fridge to claim your pudding. They asked too many personal questions, you think, undoing Kotoha’s careful wrapping of the to-go bag. “Mm. Is Kiryu-kun still begging you to come in for a haircut?”

“Don’t trust him near my head with scissors,” Sakura replies, hand dropping from his neck. He absently swipes one of the spoons. “Bunch of annoyin’ jerks.”

You nod. Pick up your own spoon and dig happily into the dessert. “Yeah? What did they do this time?”

His white eyebrow twitches. He forcefully cuts into the pudding’s opposite side, cheeks tingeing light pink. “N-nothin’! Just bein’ nosey!” They’re annoying because they care. Hell, he wouldn’t have survived high school without their obnoxious, nosey asses. But did they have to carry all that over into your relationship?

He’ll be grateful for it once he’s done being irritated.

There it is. Licking a smear of whipped cream off your lips, you tilt your head. Something prickles the back of your thoughts, a realization you haven’t quite reached. “So the usual, then.” You scoop up another bite. “Thank you for bringing this, by the way.”

The sudden shift in topic pulls him from whatever thoughts he’s currently turning over and over in his head. Sakura’s attention snaps into focus, like he’s finally seeing you for the first time since he arrived home. His eyes widen, then narrow.

“Is that my shirt?!”

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

Two days later, that almost-epiphany finally strikes. White Day is next week.

Of course Sakura’s friends would bombard him with questions about his plans. Small wonder he was so pensive that night. You don’t mention it—the holiday is holding less and less sway every passing year, anyway.

Sakura gives no indication he’s thinking about the matter further, either.

You’re content with treating White Day as a normal, run of the mill weekday. So when the expected morning does roll around, you make breakfast and get ready for work and ask him about yesterday’s patrol and completely ignore any extra significance about it.

You forget, that sometimes, Sakura can be quite sneaky.

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

A small bouquet of white roses sits atop your work table. It certainly wasn’t there when you left last night. Perhaps Mariko-san received a rush order after you left? Or she was working on a new window display and set it aside for your opinion? You slip your apron over your head, absently reaching behind you to tie the strings as you step closer. The bouquet is small, beautifully arranged, interspersed with sprigs of blue baby’s breath.

Apron tied, you reach a hand out, fingertips brushing against impossibly soft petals.

There’s a ribbon wound around the cylindrical glass vase, its shade of blue almost matching the baby’s breath. Your favorite shade of blue, you realize belatedly, mere curiosity now bleeding into confusion. A tiny flutter of hope stirs in your chest. No card nestles among the flowers, no tag hangs from the expertly tied bow, and yet, you wonder.

Footsteps sound behind you. They slow, coming to a stop once Mariko-san stands beside you. “Good morning!” The old woman beams, as chipper as ever. You don’t have time to murmur a reply before she speaks again. Honestly, you can only admire her seemingly endless reserves of energy. “I see you discovered your gift. That Sakura of yours is quite a sweet boy, isn’t he?”

You hum in agreement, your small kernel of hope now transformed into delight. A smile grows along your lips. Fingertips again gently caress the rose petals, then skim lightly along the baby’s breath delicate blossoms. They shiver underneath your touch.

Gifts were not high on your list of expectations for today. You knew better than to hold Sakura to so-called normal expectations. That’s no fault of is, nor do you mean to sound cruel. He had no opportunity to learn those expectations beyond watching every day interactions from the sidelines, and you wonder how much of that observation was meant as a survival skill instead of mirroring peer behavior.

“—knew your favorite color without hesitation, too. Wasn’t easy keeping this a secret from you.”

Mariko’s voice filters back into your thoughts. You lower your hand from the petals. “When did he come in?”

The old woman pauses. Purses her lips in thought. “Last Thursday. Poor boy was here after dawn. Looked like he hadn’t slept all night!”

No, he hasn’t been sleeping much these past couple weeks. Just as Valentine’s Day inspires increased foot traffic around Keisei Street, so does White Day. Sakura, thankfully, hasn’t come home with anything worse than skinned knuckles; the exhaustion is getting to him now, and he’s often just waking up by the time you return to the apartment for dinner.

You remember last Thursday, specifically because he wasn’t asleep beside you when you awoke. Occasionally, he does stay out until the blush of dawn turns golden with sunlight, cleaning up ruined property from particularly nasty fights or enjoying a free cup of coffee from a grateful patron. So while your levels of worry didn’t rise from their usual baseline, it did strike you as unusual.

He’d come home some twenty minutes later, yawning, suit jacket slung over one arm, tie loosened, acting perfectly normal. Just like that, your concern had faded.

Now, warmth continues to spread underneath your skin. “Sneaky,” you say, then lean over the roses, inhaling their soft, sweet scent. Baby’s breath tickles your cheeks.

You imagine Sakura, standing in the middle of the shop, wildly out of his depth, hands shoved in his pockets while frowning at the variety of flowers on display. You laugh quietly into the roses. Your Sakura indeed.

After another inhale, you lift your head, facing Mariko. “Thank you, Mariko-san.”

Her face wrinkles as she laughs. “For you, my dear, anything.” She pats your shoulder once before shuffling off to the front of the store.

You reach into your apron pocket and remove your phone. The first picture is just for you; a memory caught in pixelated amber. For the subsequent photos, you adjust the angle, scoot the vase a little closer, mess with the lighting. The camera shutter flickers in rapid succession.

A bell chimes faintly, followed by Mariko-san’s voice. A customer, presumably, rumbles a reply. You analyze the handful of pictures now in your camera roll, deciding on one where a shaft of sunlight makes the petals glow.

You send that one to Sakura, simply captioned, ‘they’re beautiful. thank you <3’

Phone set aside, you consider the bouquet one final time as more voices echo just beyond the curtain separating you from view. One rose near the center calls out to you; wiggling it free, you twirl it between two fingers, then deftly snap the stem down to about two inches or so. You tuck the flower behind your ear.

You’re slipping your phone back into the apron pocket when it buzzes. Already grinning, you tilt the device up. Welcome.

Perhaps today is a little magical, after all.

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

”Why’s there a flower in your hair?” Sakura asks, busying himself with taking the bouquet off your hands while you remove your shoes in the genkan.

You hadn’t expected to find him still at home this evening; another pleasant surprise on top of the flowers. “Good evening to you, too,” you tease, placing your shoes neatly next to his sneakers. “It was festive for the day. And I felt pretty, especially knowing it was a flower you got me.”

He nearly trips on his way to the kitchen, shoulders rising up to his ears. “Yer always pretty!”

Warmth spreads across your face, down into your chest. Compliments are not rare, but they are precious, jewels in a treasure chest. Sakura gives them when he means them, not as empty, pithy phrases out of mere obligation. “Thank you.”

You follow him into the kitchen, lightly touching two fingers to the rose behind your ear. The outermost petals wilted throughout the day, curling inwards as brown creeps along their edges. “Wait. Don’t you have patrol tonight?”

He’s so, so gentle when he places the bouquet atop the counter. “Asked Nakamura if I could join patrol later.” His back is still facing you. “Thought we could go out to dinner.”

Oh. Your heart stutters, that warm feeling returning tenfold. He’s deceptively good at planning dates. Always thinks two steps ahead, agonizing over the details, only to shyly ask without quite looking over his shoulder. You’ve not yet figured out where the threads of his awkwardness about romance and fear of mockery intersect. All you can do, for now, is fray their edges day by loving day.

“Give me ten minutes to change, okay?” You dart beside him and plant a quick kiss against his cheek.

Before you can pull away, he wraps a hand around your wrist, fingers loose enough that you could break free if you wanted. His touch is warm.

“Keep the flower in your hair. Please.”

Your heart is about to burst out of your chest. “I will.”

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

“Come on, pretty girl! Have a drink with us!” The tallest one in the assembled group of men—clearly their leader—cajoles. His leer is all teeth. A chip mars his top left incisor in a way that could be charming were he not a total creep. Snickers echo from his cronies.

You glance between them and Chipped Tooth, hands instinctively rising to about chest level, prepared to push him away or wriggle out of his hold should he try anything. He looks mere seconds away from reaching for you. “Not interested,” you snap back, tamping down the nerves churning in your stomach.

Chipped Tooth scoffs. “Aw, don’t be like that, baby! We’re upstandin’ gentleman. We can’t let a cute thing like you spend a holiday alone.”

Sweat turns your palms clammy. You risk a glance behind you, finding nothing but the closed door of the restaurant.

It’s a cute, hole in the wall ramen shop, the kind you’d walk right past if not for the enticing smells of miso broth and pork. On your walk over, Sakura had explained he only discovered the place because he’d saved the owner’s son from becoming caught in some low-level gang’s rampage. The gang had already destroyed half the street by the time Sakura arrived. The son—brave but lacking skill, according to your boyfriend—bravely tried keeping the shop safe. He earned a black eye for his trouble, but it could have been far worse without intervention.

The owner made a point to come over to your table during dinner, profusely thanking Sakura and making not so subtle comments about how adorable of a couple you and Sakura make. Throughout the entire conversation, all you could think was, he is so cherished.

And right as you’d been about to leave, the son had appeared, asking for advice in the event he’s caught in another fight. You told Sakura you wanted some fresh air; not long after stepping onto the sidewalk, the men had descended like wolves circling prey. Maybe they’re the gang Sakura stopped before.

“I’m out with my boyfriend.”

More snickers. Chipped Tooth makes a show of looking around. “Yeah? Some boyfriend. I’m running out of patience, pretty girl. Let—”

Light spills onto the street. Clanging dishes and low chatter can be heard. An arm extends and you shrink back as a shadow blurs past you.

Sakura flies out of nowhere, outstretched leg connecting with the leader’s chest. He stumbles back; there’s a collective intake of breath from his cronies. Sakura lands between you and the gang. “Stay back,” he orders over his shoulder, tugging on the lapels of his jacket.

He doesn’t wait for a response before diving into the fray. You back up until your shoulders hit the rough brick wall of the building’s facade. You’ve seen plenty of fistfights. Dealt with injuries they cause without thinking too hard about it. But there’s something especially captivating about the way he fights. All confidence and grace and speed, not one movement wasted.

Three men move in to attack. You bite back a cry; it isn’t worth distracting Sakura and re-alerting everyone to your presence. He notices, immediately flipping into a handstand, spinning around in a truly impressive display of core and upper body strength. His kicks land, hard. Someone’s nose cracks.

You flinch as the trio falls, stunned and bleeding. Sakura regains his feet. Only four guys remain standing, Chipped Tooth included. “Tsk, I didn’t know she was taken! We coulda solved this like gentleman.”

“Shut the hell up,” Sakura returns. He cracks his neck. “Haven’t I kicked your asses already?”

“Nah. I’d remember a freak like you.”

The insult is weak. Still, you ball your hands into fists, ready to leap in there yourself.

In reply, Sakura runs forward, raised fist aimed for Chipped Tooth, but one of the remaining men steps in, covering for his leader. It’s incredible, how quickly Sakura adjusts in a fight; all that momentum shifts and he jumps, shin connecting directly against the guy’s temple.

He drops like a stone, and Sakura’s already moving on, dispatching the final two idiots before rounding on Chipped Tooth.

But you’ve lost track of the fight. A small, black object had tumbled to the ground in time with your boyfriend’s leap. It bounces along, nearly lost amid the groaning bodies, until it comes to a stop some ten feet away from you.

Tearing your attention away, you find Sakura with a hand curled in Chipped Tooth’s t-shirt, poised for one last strike. Heart pounding, you take a cautious step away from the wall at the same time Sakura speaks.

“Guys like you are pathetic. Bunch’a lame bastards preyin’ on women, then gettin’ pissed when they want nothin’ to do with ya.”

You step over a fallen gang member, then another. You hear rather than see Sakura’s fist make contact with the leader’s nose. He falls, unconscious, as you crouch down, fingers curling around soft velvet. A jewelry box?

“Are you—the hell’re you doin’!?”

Standing, you give an apologetic smile. “I’m fine. You got here before they could do anything.”

He stalks over, all adrenaline and—worry. The genuine concern behind his eyes makes your lips part, prize in your hand momentarily forgotten. “Sakura, I’m okay.”

“Then why’re you kneeling in the middle of these assholes?” Absently, he shakes out his hand, knuckles bloodstained. It’s the only mark on him, and you’re fairly confident that’s not his blood, anyway.

Sakura conducts his own once over, that coiled anxiety loosening when he verifies you’re unharmed. His anger isn’t at you; it’s just, finding you, surrounded by the exact type of men he protects women from night after night…that’s a certain type of fear he hopes he’ll never feel again.

The question goes unanswered. He notices the box. Pats at his pockets, mouth twisting into a grimace even as he flushes scarlet. “That—it ain’t worth you getting hurt for.”

You hold the box out to him. “I didn’t want to risk one of them stealing it.”

He eyes the box. Considers snatching it from your palm and begging you to forget you ever saw it. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and jerks his head to the side. “Don’t open it here.” Sakura pivots on his heel and starts walking.

Nodding, you fall in step beside him, brushing your arm against his. The flush hasn’t faded, and he looks like he just swallowed a lemon. The streetlights highlight the flashing gold of his eye but reveal nothing of his inner thoughts.

It’s not a far walk; just a block down the street, turning a corner until a park bench is revealed. You keep the box clutched to your chest as you sit.

Sakura plops down next to you, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Meant to give it to you before I left for patrol. I know the tradition is usually chocolate or whatever.”

He says it like he doesn’t care if you hate his gift. Like it’s an afterthought. You lower your hand. “May I open it?” It feels important that you ask.

He stares. “Why’re you askin’? Do whatever you want.”

In other circumstances, you’d laugh. He’s putting up that wall you so meticioulslcy wedged yourself through. You don’t want to make him feel like he’s doing something wrong, or all his time and effort has gone unappreciated.

Gently, you pry the lid open, the tiny pop revealing a necklace. The delicate chain ends in a stylized silver branch. Two small leaves grow from it, a cherry blossom sprouting from the branch tip.

*“*Oh, Haruka,” you breathe, running the pad of your thumb along the cool metal. Simple, yet all the more beautiful for it. You look up at him in awe. He’s avoiding eye contact, scarlet to his ears. “This is lovely. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Sakura audibly swallows. “You really like it?” The two hours he’d spent browsing at the mall with his friends weren’t totally worthless, then. Relief punches through his chest. He was so scared he’d mess this stupid holiday up and piss you off to the point you’d want to leave.

What a stupid thing to think.

You scoot closer to him. “I promise. Hey.” Your hand alights on his cheek. He finally meets your eyes. “Today was perfect.”

“Do I have to do this shit again next year?”

This time, you do laugh, bright and happy. “No.” You move your hand and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his heated skin. Sakura freezes. You pull away, concerned he may actually pass out from all the blood rushing to his head.

“Will you put the necklace on for me?”

────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────

Bonus:

Dinner is well underway when Nirei nudges his best friend. “Sakura-san,” he starts, voice lowered, “what did you get her for White Day?”

Sakura, mouth full of fried onigiri, stares at Nirei, then looks away. His cheeks puff out as he swallows. “…Haven’t gotten anythin’ yet.”

Nirei’s eyes widen. “What? It’s next week! Do you need help shopping?”

“Keep your damn voice down!” Sakura hisses, trying for discretion and failing miserably. He feels more than sees a dozen pairs of eyes slowly find their way to his rapidly heating face. Grains of rice stick uncomfortably in his throat.

Suo gives that infuriating smile of his. “Ah, I see. You have no idea what to purchase”

A fist slams onto the table, rattling the dishware. “S-s-s-shaddup! That ain’t true! And since when were you part of this conversation?!”

“Then what did you have in mind?”

“None of your business!”

Nirei places a placating hand on Sakura’s shoulder and shoots Suo a look that says cut it out, please. Kiryu has lowered his phone, a musical chime faintly emanating from whatever game he’s currently hooked on. The dining room has fallen entirely too quiet for Sakura’s liking. Two more seconds and he’s storming out of here, the fact he’s a grown man notwithstanding.

“Hey, Sakura.” Someone pipes up, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s Anzai. “When have we ever let you down?”

Sakura opens his mouth to retort, but he finds his anger has melted away, replaced by that weird, pleasantly warm feeling in his chest that only appears when he remembers he’s no longer on his own.

(They all agree to meet at the mall on Saturday, where they spend a solid two hours browsing jewelry stores and debating the significance of bracelets over necklaces. In the end, Sakura purchased the first thing he’d seen that reminded him of you.)

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hello lovely! 💖 I've got a quick question/request. You said that you like BSD and you've got Hunter x Hunter in your tags.

Could you write a Ranpo fic xreader, who's kinda like Illumi from HxH? She's an assassin, maybe raised by the port mafia and is more or less an emotional robot. So she doesn't feel things like others and doesn't see or rather care between right or wrong? And maybe you can add the part where she's immune to poisons, like all Zoldyck children were trained to be? She joins the detective agency through Dazai and Ranpo just can't figure her out since she'd so detached and emotionless?

I know this is a rather specific request, so feel free to ignore it or change it the way you prefer!!! 😌

The Case of the Unreadable Girl

A/n: I've tried my best to fulfil the request, but I'm not quite sure if this is how you wanted the reader to be. Also, I could add a part 2 where the reader slowly starts opening up to Ranpo if you'd like to read that.

Synopsis: A detached and emotionless new recruit at the Armed Detective Agency captures Ranpo's curiosity. Can he uncover the reason behind her behavior, or even change the way she feels?

content/warnings: Ranpo Edogawa x fem!reader, fluff, 3.298 words

Part 2

The air inside the Armed Detective Agency was unusually quiet—at least until the front door swung open with a loud creak, and Dazai strolled in with his usual carefree grin. But this time, he wasn't alone. You followed behind him, your presence starkly different from his playful energy.

Ranpo Edogawa, self-proclaimed greatest detective, barely spared them a glance at first. He was too busy savoring the last few bites of his strawberry candy. But then he heard Dazai speak "Everyone, meet our newest recruit!"

That was enough to make Ranpo finally look up.

You standing beside Dazai was… ordinary. Or at least, that was the best way to describe you at the first glance. You had no exaggerated expressions, no hints of nervousness, no curiosity in your eyes as you scanned the room. You simply existed in the space, still and silent, as if waiting for something to happen.

That was strange. Most new recruits were easy to read—nervous energy, excitement, wariness. But you? Nothing.

Ranpo narrowed his eyes and put on his glasses, already analyzing. And yet… something was off. Something was missing.

"Hmm?" He tapped his chin, curiosity piqued. "Dazai, where'd you find this one?"

Dazai's smile stretched wider. "Oh, we go way back, don't we?" He turned to you, but you only gave him a small, indifferent nod.

Ranpo hummed in thought, watching you carefully. It was instinct at this point—he could see through anyone in a matter of seconds. One glance, and he knew their habits, their fears, their weaknesses. It was almost boring how predictable people were.

But you…

Nothing about you made sense. No hesitation, no subconscious tells, no nervous ticks. It wasn't confidence, either—confidence had a certain air to it. You were just… blank. Like a book with half the pages missing.

"Oh?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "That's interesting." For the first time in years, Ranpo found himself intrigued.

He prided himself on his ability to figure people out within seconds. It was effortless—like solving a puzzle that had already been assembled, just hidden beneath a thin layer of dust.

But you? You were starting to bother him.

At first, he assumed it was a fluke. Maybe he was distracted, maybe he wasn't in the right mindset. So he tested you.

"Hey, new girl," he called out from his seat, kicking his feet up on the desk. "What's your favorite food?"

You turned your head slightly, considering his question for only a second before answering, "I don't have one."

Ranpo blinked. "You don't have one? Everyone has a favorite food."

You tilted your head. "I eat to survive. The taste doesn't matter."

A lie? No, it didn't feel like one. If it was, he would've caught it—micro-expressions, slight hesitations, the usual giveaways. But you spoke as if you were stating a simple fact, like saying the sky was blue.

Weird.

Ranpo squinted at you, munching on his latest snack. "Okay, what do you hate eating?"

"Nothing."

His chewing slowed. "Nothing?"

You gave a single, slow blink. "Food is food."

Now that was suspicious. He turned to Dazai, expecting him to at least offer some playful commentary, but the former mafioso just watched with an amused glint in his eye. He knew something Ranpo didn't, and that only made this morefrustrating.

So, Ranpo tried again.

Small talk, subtle questions—leading questions. He asked about hobbies, childhood memories, opinions on mundane things. Anything that would give him an opening.

Each time, you answers were blunt, direct, and lacking anything that could be considered a personal touch.

"Do you like music?"

"I don't dislike it."

"What's the most exciting thing you've ever done?"

A pause. "I don't know."

Ranpo narrowed his eyes. "You don't know?"

You shook your head. "Excitement is subjective. I don't feel it often."

There it was again—that empty, factual tone. Not defensive, not guarded. Just… hollow.

Ranpo leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. This wasn't normal. People weren't like this. Even the most composed individuals had some level of emotion, some kind of reaction. But you were just a blank slate.

No excitement. No fear. No hesitation.

It was almost unnerving.

"Ranpooo," Dazai finally chimed in, his sing-song tone grating on the detective's nerves, "you look like you've hit a wall."

Ranpo scoffed. "Yeah, right. I never hit walls."

"Oh?" Dazai's smirk widened. "Then why do you keep looking at her like she's a riddle you can't solve?"

Ranpo clicked his tongue, glaring at the smugness radiating off his coworker. "Tch. Whatever. I'll figure you out soon enough."

Dazai simply laughed, clearly enjoying the rare sight of Ranpo struggling with something.

But Ranpo wasn't enjoying it at all. For the first time in years, he had encountered someone who didn't fit into his usual calculations.

And he hated it.

Ranpo hated not knowing things. It wasn't just a pet peeve—it was unacceptable. He was the greatest detective in the world. There was no puzzle he couldn't solve, no person he couldn't read.

Except you.

And that was a problem. So he did what he did best—investigate. While the others at the Agency treated you like any other new recruit, Ranpo watched. He studied you.

You were efficient, methodical. You didn't waste movement, didn't second-guess decisions. You followed orders with precision but never seemed engaged in the work. It was like you were operating on logic alone, as if emotions were nothing more than an afterthought.

And that wasn't normal.

No matter how well-trained someone was, there were always tells. Even Kunikida, with all his discipline, had flashes of frustration when Dazai pushed his limits. Even Atsushi, trying to be professional, still wore his feelings openly.

But you? You were empty.

Ranpo's fingers drummed against his desk as he pieced together the little information he had. You had no strong preferences. No real emotional responses. No fear, no excitement, no hesitation.

That only left a few possibilities.

You were a master at deception, better than anyone he had ever encountered.

You had no memories, no real experiences to draw from.

You simply weren't wired like everyone else.

None of these answers satisfied him. So, naturally, he dug deeper. Ranpo rarely used traditional detective work—he never needed to—but for the first time in a while, he actually had to do some research.

First, he checked records. Nothing. No school history, no civilian background. Suspicious.

Second, he traced your connections. Dazai had brought you in, which meant there was only one real possibility—the Port Mafia.

And sure enough, the deeper he looked, the more concerning it got. You weren't just from the Mafia. You were raised in it.

An assassin. A ghost in the underworld. A person who had lived in the shadows for so long that you barely even registered as a person anymore. Ranpo's hands tightened around the papers in front of him. It all made sense now. Why you didn't have opinions, why you didn't react to things the way normal people did.

You had been raised to be a weapon, not a person. And that was why he couldn't read you. Because there was nothing to read.

And then, Ranpo found something that made his stomach tighten—a curious detail that he hadn't seen in your file at first.

You drank poison. Every morning, you would drink a small dose in your coffee. Not to die, of course, but to make yourself immune to all poisons. It was something the Mafia had taught you early on. Survival. Detachment. The constant state of being ready for death while refusing to acknowledge it.

You didn't just reject emotions. You rejected vulnerability. Even to the point of poisoning yourself, day after day, so that you wouldn't be vulnerable to anything, not even the threat of death itself.

Ranpo set the files down, exhaling through his nose. The weight of the truth settled in his chest, an odd mix of understanding and… irritation.

Not at you. At himself.

Because the moment he knew, he realized—this wasn't a case to be solved. You weren't hiding anything. You weren't deceiving him. You were just like that.

And for once, Ranpo didn't have a neat, satisfying answer to a mystery. But that only made him more determined. Because now, he had a new question.

Not "What is she hiding?"

But "Can she be taught to feel?"

And that? That was a puzzle worth solving.

Ranpo wasn't the type to hold back when he wanted answers. He didn't believe in patience—why wait when you could get to the truth now?

And now that he knew what you were, he had no reason to hesitate.

So, the moment you walked into the Agency's office that morning, he made his move. "Hey, new girl."

You paused mid-step, turning to look at him. Your gaze remained as unreadable as always. "Yes?"

Ranpo grinned, but there was an edge to it. "Let's talk."

You didn't question him, didn't hesitate. You simply followed him into the back room of the office, away from the others. You were obedient—but not in a submissive way. More like you simply didn't care enough to argue.

That irritated him.

He flopped onto the couch, stretching out as he peered at you through squinted eyes. "Alright, I'll just get straight to the point. You bother me."

You blinked. "Okay."

Ranpo waited for more. A reaction. A question. Something.

Nothing.

His eye twitched. "That's it? Just okay?"

"Yes."

Oh, this was going to drive him insane.

He sighed dramatically, draping himself across the couch. "Alright, alright, let's break this down. I'm the greatest detective ever—obviously—and I can read people in seconds. You? You're like a brick wall." He sat up, eyes narrowing. "And I finally figured out why."

You stared at him, waiting. Not tense, not impatient. Just… waiting.

Ranpo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You don't feel things the way other people do, huh?"

A pause.

"No."

No denial. No defensiveness. Just blunt honesty.

Ranpo tilted his head. "You were raised that way, weren't you?"

Another pause. Then you nodded. "Yes."

His fingers tapped against his knee. "Port Mafia, right? Raised as an assassin?"

You nodded again.

Ranpo exhaled slowly, watching you with sharp eyes. He was used to people reacting when confronted with the truth—getting defensive, embarrassed, something. But you? You just… accepted it.

Like you weren't even ashamed. Like it wasn't something you considered important. That threw him off more than anything else.

"So, what?" He tilted his head. "You don't get scared? Don't get excited? You don't enjoy things?"

You considered the question. "I don't know."

Ranpo frowned. "How can you not know?"

"I've never thought about it." You blinked.

…What?

Ranpo stared at you, trying to wrap his head around that statement. How could someone go their entire life without even considering if they felt things?

You weren't lying. He could tell. And somehow, that made it worse.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "So, what do you feel?"

You were quiet for a moment, as if searching for the answer. "…Nothing, most of the time."

Ranpo's fingers twitched slightly. That answer felt… wrong. Not in the sense that you were lying, but in the sense that it shouldn't be true. People weren't supposed to be like this. It wasn't that you were emotionless—he could tell you weren't. But you had been taught not to feel. Conditioned into it, over years of training, until it had become second nature.

And that realization made something unfamiliar settle in Ranpo's chest.

Not frustration.

Not curiosity.

Something else.

Something that almost felt like—

Sympathy.

Ranpo scoffed, shaking off the thought. "You're weird, you know that?"

You blinked at him. "You said that already."

He couldn't help it—he laughed. "Yeah, well, it's extra true."

For the first time, your head tilted slightly, like you were studying him now. "Why does it bother you so much?"

Ranpo's laughter faded as he stared at you.

Why did it bother him?

Maybe because he had never met someone he couldn't figure out.

Maybe because you were unlike anyone he had ever encountered.

Maybe because, deep down, some part of him hated the idea that someone could go through life without ever truly feeling.

Whatever the reason, Ranpo had already decided one thing. He was going to fix this.

With a smug grin, he leaned back against the couch. "Alright, new girl. Change of plans."

You blinked. "What plans?"

"I've got a new case," he announced dramatically, pointing at you. "It's called teaching you how to be a normal person."

You stared at him for a long moment before replying, voice as monotone as ever. "…Good luck with that."

Ranpo was obsessed. Not in the dangerous way—no, no, of course not. He was far too brilliant to let an unsolved mystery eat away at him.

Except that was exactly what was happening.

Days passed, and no matter how much time he spent around you, you remained an enigma. He watched you interact with the Agency, trying to see if you reacted differently to certain people. But no—your tone never changed, your expressions never wavered. You were like a robot.

And Ranpo hated it.

Not because he found it annoying—no, it wasn't just that. It was because it felt wrong. People weren't meant to be this way.

So, naturally, he kept pushing.

"Alright, let's try something else." Ranpo planted himself in front of you, hands on his hips, blocking you way as you attempted to leave the office for the day.

You stared at him, waiting. "What now?"

"I'm testing something," he declared.

You blinked. "Testing what?"

He smirked. "You."

You remained silent, unimpressed.

Ranpo held out his hand, revealing a handful of candy. "Pick one."

You stared at the candy, then at him. "Why?"

"Because I said so," he said, wiggling his fingers. "Come on, you have preferences, don't you?"

You didn't move for a long moment. Then, finally, you reached out and plucked one from his hand.

Ranpo watched carefully. "Why that one?"

You examined the candy between your fingers. "No reason."

His eye twitched. "There has to be a reason."

You tilted your head slightly, as if genuinely confused. "Does there?"

Ranpo let out an exaggerated groan, running a hand down his face. "You're impossible!" Normally, he was calm and calculated, but you had a way of driving him to the edge. Your complete nonchalance was maddening. 

You blinked at him, unbothered. "So I've been told."

He huffed, crossing his arms. "Alright, new question. Have you ever been happy?"

You hesitated. Not much. Just a fraction of a second. But Ranpo noticed. "I don't know," you admitted.

That answer. Again.

Ranpo's fingers twitched slightly. He had never met someone so utterly unaware of their own emotions. It wasn't that you were hiding them—no, he would have caught that. It was that you genuinely didn't know.

And that was worse.

It wasn't that you lacked emotions. It was that you had never been taught how to recognize them.

Ranpo's usual playful smugness faded as he studied you, something serious creeping into his expression. This wasn't just a personality quirk. This wasn't something that could be fixed with teasing and pushing your buttons.

This was conditioning.

You had spent so long ignoring your emotions that your no longer even registered them.

And Ranpo suddenly understood why it frustrated him so much. Because he couldn't read something that wasn't there. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Man…" He shook his head. "You really don't get it, huh?"

You blinked at him. "Get what?"

Ranpo rested his chin in his palm, watching you. "You do feel things," he said, quieter this time. "You just don't realize it."

Your expression didn't change, but there was a pause before you spoke. "…If you say so."

Ranpo narrowed his eyes. That wasn't agreement. That was disinterest. Like you truly didn't care whether he was right or not.

That was the problem. This wasn't a case he could solve with deduction alone. This was going to take effort.

And Ranpo didn't like putting in effort. But for some reason, this time…He didn't mind.

A slow smirk curled onto his lips. "Alright, challenge accepted."

You blinked. "What challenge?"

"You," he declared, pointing at you dramatically. "I'm going to make you feel something. Anything."

You stared at him, completely unimpressed. "That sounds unnecessary."

Ranpo only grinned wider. "Maybe. But I'm doing it anyway."

Because if there was one thing Ranpo hated, it was an unsolved mystery. And if you didn't know how to feel? Then he'd just have to teach you.

Ranpo wasn't giving up.

Days turned into weeks, and still, you remained the same—calm, composed, indifferent. But Ranpo wasn't discouraged. If anything, your stubborn emotional emptiness made him more determined.

He tried everything.

He took you to a sweets shop, hoping sugar would unlock some hidden joy. You ate without complaint—but also without enjoyment.

He attempted to startle you with a fake crime scene (Dazai was all too happy to help). No reaction.

He even tried annoying you to the point of frustration. Nothing. Not even a sigh of exasperation.

It was infuriating.

But then, one day, something changed.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Agency. The others were out on missions, leaving just Ranpo and you alone in the office.

Ranpo was sprawled across the couch, flipping lazily through a case file when he suddenly spoke.

"Hey, new girl."

You looked up from your work. "Yes?"

"What do you want?"

You blinked. "Want?"

"Yeah." Ranpo turned his head to look at you. "You never talk about what you want. What you like, what you care about. What matters to you."

You were silent for a long moment. Then, like always, "I don't know."

Ranpo sat up, watching you closely. "You have to want something."

You thought about it. Not just for a second—this time, you actually thought. "…I want to be useful," you finally said.

Ranpo's eyes narrowed. That answer was too practical. Too much like an assassin's response. "Nope," he said immediately. "Try again. That's something you were taught to want. I mean you. What do you want?"

You hesitated. That hesitation—that was progress.

Ranpo leaned in slightly, watching your face carefully.

Then, barely above a whisper, you spoke. "…I don't want to be empty."

Ranpo's breath caught. For a moment, all the usual smugness, all the playful arrogance, disappeared. He just stared at you, watching the way your fingers curled slightly into your sleeves—an unconscious, human reaction.

You hadn't even realized what you had admitted.

Ranpo felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

It wasn't amusement. It wasn't triumph.

It was something softer.

Something like—

Understanding.

Ranpo let out a breath and leaned back, smiling—not his usual cocky grin, but something a little more genuine.

"See? Told you, you had feelings."

You blinked at him, your expression still neutral—but there was the slightest shift in your eyes. Something different. Something real.

Ranpo crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Alright, new goal. You don't want to be empty, right?"

You nodded slowly.

He grinned. "Then I'll make sure you're not."

For the first time, you didn't have a quick response. You just looked at him—really looked at him—before finally saying, "…Okay."

And that was all he needed. Ranpo didn't know what exactly he felt in that moment. But for once, it didn't matter. Because for the first time since he met you, he had found something in your expression. The tiniest, barely noticeable hint of something alive.

And that?

That was his greatest victory yet.

Masterlist

[gradmacoco]

Not strong enough. | Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

chapter: one

summary: away from home and the chaos of it all, here you can finally let loss and be free, but what if here is just like there, but only worse. And worst of all, it's a guy fucking up your life.... how pathetic could your life get? summary: away from home and the chaos of it all, here you can finally let loss and be free, but what if here is just like there, but only worse. And worst of all, it's a guy fucking up your life.... how pathetic could your life get?

genre: MDNI, college au, angsty and maybe some fluff, fem reader, use of y/n, mention of past violence, drinking, cheating, divorced parents, reader has a younger brother, first daughter troop, Gojo being Gojo, future smut, reader in her head a lot she's been through enough staff give her a break, will add more tags as this progress.

a/n: WOW would you look at that, finally releasing this series^^. Please be nice, this is my first fic and I'll be making this into a series, yippie! I hope it's to your liking, yeah, I mean YOU!

N.B. found the pictures on Pinterest.

word count: mmm forgot to, please forgive me.....

Where should you even begin.......

You never really believed in love after your parents' divorce. call it whatever you want, but seeing the two people who were the representation of what love looks like hate each other, break each other's hearts, and in the process forget how everything they're doing is breaking not only them but you and your brother as well, broke you.

The fights were constant, the cheating got worse, the drinking increased, and in the midst of this all, both parents seemed to have forgotten the children. You had to step up at such a young age and be the mom and dad to your younger brother, and honestly, you tried with whatever a 12-year-old could do at that time, you tried shielding your brother from all those horrible fights and screaming fits, you tried, you really did.

But there was only so much one could do.

. IN THE PRESENT.

''College was the one place youth got to redeem themselves, start anew.'' is what your father said to you on the drive to your student residence. It was the week before classes would start, and your father insisted on driving you there because he wanted to spend 'some time with you'. Being in a 5-hour drive with the old men wasn't your idea of bonding or whatever this is. The guy was way too quiet and said weird dad jokes. OKEY!! The jokes were kind of funny, honestly, you don't know at this point, the men always had a way to make you laugh and cry and hate him and love him........

Ughhhhhhhhhh

Anyway! The point is things got awkward pretty quick, and the atmosphere was so tense you could cut it with a knife. But at the end of it all, you reached your destination and unloaded a batch of your bags, and the old men were generous enough and helped taking your bags up. Before he left, he gave you an awkward hug and...

''y/n, I know......you and me aren't as close as we used to be and the reason for that is me, but please......Please promise me you'll call me whenever you're having a hard time or anything at all, anytime of the day or night, I'll pick up...promise me, please?

This was new, and is he crying? Ooh god, what's wrong now? And what's with the promising him things, he's making this hard for you as always. Why couldn't he just say bye and leave, what's with the overly display of emotions?

What y/n wouldn't say is, what her father was asking from her is what she always wanted, she always wanted him to care, to show emotions, to hug her, but y/n made a wall so high around her emotions that no one could climb them nor break them down, not even she could escape from within them they were solid and unclimbable and that was that. So, she did what she thought she was good at and lied as always.

''......ok dad, I promise I will'' y/n said as she hugged him back, after that whole ordeal, father left and a whole lot of un-packing had to be done.

The week passed so quickly, it was already Monday, and guess what? You had at 7:30, who starts a class at 7:30 MAN? ooh and you know what's the funny part about this, you woke up at 10.......yeah 10! class ended two hours ago, and this was the first day THE FIRST DAY! You seriously need to fix your sleeping schedule you can't go on like this.

With that, you got up and hit the shower, got dressed, and headed to campus, you know that feeling when you go out in public, and the public is there? yep, that's how you feel right now.

''Ooh god, why did I leave my earpads? oh yeah, to interact with people, Pshh! what a joke, as if I'd do that. What was I even thinking?''

''huh? are you talking to me?"

"What? ooh no sorry, I was just.... I wasn't talking to you I'm so sorry about that"

''okey, but like why are you talking to yourself? that's kinda weird if you ask me, and it also kinda makes you look creepy''

''Well, I never asked in the first place, please excuse me''

You said, as you walked past him and headed to your statistics class, OK, maybe murmuring to yourself isn't the brightest idea out there because this blue-eyed freak was looking at you like you just murdered his pet or something, but damn! can't a woman think out loud or something?

You got to the lecture hall and settled for a seat in the middle, the safest choice, honestly, not too much at the back and not too much at the front, just right this way, maybe you won't get picked out or something. Being the center of attention is something you do not need this semester or the next or ever, this way it will cause you less stress and maybe you'll be less anxious.

Gojo's prov

''what the fuck....'' he said as you walked past him, damn where you really pissed by that? it was a damn joke, somebody should get that stick out of your ass, so uptight.

Gojo met up with his friends, Geto, Nanami, and Shoko. and as they talked about different topics, and someway somehow, he ended up bringing up the little interaction he had with you.

''yeah, and after that she just walked away, like come on man I try to be nice for a day and that happens, ughh! never again.''

''Satoru, you do realize you literally called her crazy right? maybe that's what pissed her off.'' said the raven-haired men.

''I'd get pissed too honesty, she's vailed.'' shoko charmed in as she took a drag of her cigarette and passed it on to Nanami. ''either way Satoru you can't expert everyone to be as cherry as you are and she's probably a freshman with how she reacted to you'' shoko added on to that.

''yahhh, makes sense but still, really Satoru?'' Geto asked Gojo because sometimes he wondered how Gojo's mind worked.

''I'd be pissed to, can you imagine seeing Gojo on your first day here'' Nanami added on to that while giving said men a glace and shivering at the thought.

''WHAT! NUMBER ONE, I DID NOT CALL HER CRAZY AND SHOKO WHAT THE HELL, SHE'S NOT VAILED FOR THAT'' Gojo said. ''AND ANYONE WOULD BE VERY PLESSED WITH SEEING THIS FACE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING MY BEAUTY IS UNMATCHED NANAM!!!''

Gojo was always throwing a fit over something as useless as whatever this was, but his friends were used to it. It was kind of the Gojo-package deal that came with him. It's either you get used to it or you don't, either way, he wouldn't change, that's just him.

''Anyway, I got to go, Utahime is waiting for me'' Shoko said as she got up from where she was sitting.

''utahime...why would she be waiting for you?'' Nanami asked as he heard Utahime's name, Nanami thought he was being slick about it, but Shoko could tell that he had a thing for her friend, and she finds it rather funny at how he always asks about her and how he acts around her, it kills her on how utahime hasn't sensed that Nanami has a HUGE crush on her but hey, that's none of her business.

''yeah, I'm meeting up with Uta and she's gonna introduce me to her new roommate, we're probably gonna sit around and do-nothing, bye guys!'' Shoko waved goodbye at the boys, headed straight to where Utahime said they'd meet up.

later on...

Your roommate Utahime got back from her classes with a friend she said she'd introduce you to. Shoko was her name and damn was she pretty.

''Shoko, this is y/n and y/n this is Shoko. I already kind of told you that her name, right? Anyway, yeah y/n is a first-year student,'' Utahime introduced the two girls to one another as she went to the kitchen to grab a couple of drinks for the three of them.

''yes, you did tell me, hey Shoko'' y/n said as she gave Shoko a hug'' it's nice to finally meet you.... you're pretty''

''Well, that's very nice of you, thanks, and it's very nice to meet you too, sorry I couldn't come on Saturday, had a killer headache thought I was gonna die''

Utahime got back from the kitchen and placed the beverages on the coffee table, as she sat on the floor crossing her legs.

''I bet you were out getting drunk with them huh? Shoko, you should really turn it down a notch before your liver gives out on you, you're literally studying medicine, how do you not know about this?'' Looks like Utahime isn't big on that huh.

''You're the last person to be telling me about that, you're the biggest drunk I know, Utahime'' oooh guess I was wrong about that.

''WHAT? I am not a drunk and I stopped drinking a long time ago, I'm cleansing my body, mind, and soul, I'm a changed person''

''ooh please, we both know that won't last at all. You do this every time the year starts, and you've only stopped for like what? four days only'' It looks like they've known each other for some time, that must be nice, I wonder if-

'' y/n....y/n hello! Did you hear what I asked you?'' what did Shoko say?

''no, what was it?''

''I was asking if you're a drinker or not? And what's wrong where's your mind at, girl?'' Shoko asked as she noticed that y/n was kind of daydreaming about something.

''OH, yeah, I do, and I was just thinking about...my dog kinda miss my boy you know'' aaaah there it is the lying, you weren't even thinking about your poor dog, but you couldn't tell her what it is you were exactly thinking of right?

''that's great! since uta has a thing going on, I hope you wouldn't mind coming with me for drinks, right?'' Shoko asked with a gleam in her eyes, hands pressed together as if she was begging you.

''totally, I'd like that, gives me the excuse of actually going somewhere'' you laughed awkwardly

''GREAT!''

Well, Shoko looks happy about that, maybe this will be a good thing. Who knows, you might make some friends.

Nah!

All rights reserved © 2025 gradmacoco. Do not copy, translate or modify my works in any platform.

[mydearyanderes]

Yandere Sugar Mommy x Fem! Reader Part 1

Divider credit: @smittenseraphim

Word count: 718

Tags: Financial abuse, age gap, fem reader, isolation, cliff hanger

You met her at a bar, a place beneath someone like her. Her beauty and elegance sliced through the haze of neon lights and spilled liquor, sharp as a blade. Her gaze met yours. You didn't know how you caught her attention. Maybe it was because you were the only one alone. Maybe it was your quiet beauty. Maybe, just maybe, it was because she already claimed you as hers. Either way, she walked over and with a charming smile she said hello.

"Be mine," she said, "and I can give you anything your heart desires." She had money, you knew that just by looking at her designer clothes. She was an older woman, yet still breathtakingly beautiful. Your breath hitched at the idea of a woman of her caliber taking care of you. It sounded too good to be true. She extended her hand, long slender fingers longing to meet yours. You took it, holding her unnervingly cold hands in your own. Her skin was cool, impossibly soft, like silk over steel. And in that instant, you knew. You had just made a deal with the devil.

The first few months with your sugar mommy were absolute heaven. She dressed you up like a cherished doll, selecting each outfit with meticulous care. If you hesitated, she'd only smile, cupping your face in her perfectly manicured hands. "I love you," she'd murmur, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "And you give me something far more valuable than money: yourself." Then she'd buy you more gifts to ease your doubts. More jewelry, more clothes, more tokens of her love. And yet, with every present, every whispered devotion, the weight of her love pressed down harder. It was adoration, indulgence—a golden cage. And no matter how beautiful, a cage is still a cage. It all felt so suffocating.

The cracks began to show when you were struggling to pay your rent one month. Her eyes flickered with concern as she lay in bed with you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you asked her what could you possibly do to make up this month's rent. She combed her fingers through your hair, her voice unbearably sweet, "Oh sweetheart, I'll buy you a place to live. You won't have to worry about living in this place anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat. Buying dresses is one thing. Lavish gifts, weekend getaways—fine. But an entirely new apartment? That was something else. That was ownership. You shook your head. No. No. You couldn’t take that. You wouldn’t. You'd find another way. You had to. You’d be damned if you let yourself become that dependent on her. She talked so casually about it, too. Like buying a whole new apartment was like buying a new dress. Moreover, what would she want in return?

The very next day is the worst day of your life. You come home from work, getting out of the car you pass by your landlord. He seemed... unusually distant. He didn't even glance at you when he passed you by. Then you see it: "EVICTION NOTICE" Your heart quickens as your knees buckle, collapsing to the floor. Why? This has to be a mistake. Your rent isn’t even due yet. Right? You feel cold hands drape themselves over your shoulders. "Now, now, darling. This is a good thing." She coos, her eyes lowering to you. You look back up at her. Did she do this? No. She wouldn't. She couldn't. She wasn’t a bad person. She was just… protective. Overbearing, sure, but she wouldn’t do this. Right?

"I did this." She was blunt. Cold. Those three words made your world shatter around you. Why? She continued, "It was for your own good, darling. I wanted to show you just how good you could have it with me." She extended her hand, palm up, like an offering. Like the night you first met. But this time, it was different—twisted, suffocating. You should have run. You should have screamed. But your body betrayed you, your fingers twitching before they curled into hers. You don't know why, but you took her hand. Maybe it was because you were scared to disobey. Maybe it was because you felt you owed her something. Maybe, just maybe, you knew she owned you.

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience:~The host club declares dissolution!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: The ouran fair and the arrival of the host club's families causes disruption. ➼ what to expect:  "Anything you do will be in my name until the moment it becomes Ootori, bury your head in the sand all you like but is still mine." ➼ warnings: angst ➼ Part Twenty three | Part Twenty five

"Uh... aren't school fairs meant to be, i don't know, more about students proudly showcasing unique things they made by hand?"

"Perhaps for a mere average school yes, but at ouran the emphesis is on planning and leadership skills, keep in mind, most of our students are being groomed into leadership postions so they're required to showcase their talent for upward mobility, not arts and crafts"

The twins pull up with a horse drawn carriage before kyoya and haruhi, yourself sat in the back.

"We're rehearsing for the big ouran fair parade!"

"Wow it's just like something out of a fairytale!"

"How romantic" "Can we have a ride too?"

The eight of you all go on a lap around the courtyard "Hey you're getting pretty good at this" Hikaru turns back to kaoru "There's nothing to it, you should've practiced with me earlier"

"Well, just because we're twins doesn't make both of us good drivers"

"It's kind of neat having us all together like this for a carriage ride huh?"

"Oh and for the actual parade tomorrow we'll all be in 18th century-french costumes" Tamaki's statement causes your head to snap towards him "What?"

"I had them imported directly from france they are divine, I heard you've always wanted to go to the ball at versailles palace y/n"

"I...have...but something about dressing up as 18th century french artisocracy feels a little...tone death"

"but you'd look great as marie antoinette" "More like madame de pompedor"

The clock tower chimes to mark the hour "Ah the fairs opening ceremony has started let's make this fair the best one yet"

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

The host club declares dissolution!

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

"Okay we both know what we are doing right?" You whisper, you and Kyoya huddled in an alcove just outside the host club which was filled to the brim of guests and their parents.

"Yes y/n I know, but i still think this plan is risky, convening with some CEO's in the same room as both of our families while also facing the brunt of reactions of the announcement is quite the balancing act."

"I know, but we aren't going to get this opportunity again...well other than obviously next year but we can't wait that long"

Kyoya sighs "Yes...I know, you ready?" you nod, taking his arm as the two of you enter the host club.

"Kyoya ootori, it is good to see you, miss l/n, I heard congratulations are in order"

"Indeed, thank you sir" You both politely nod to those who approach you as you continue through the host club, occasionally subtely making arrangements to meet with certain individuals when you reach them.

"This is a bit too much even by our standards, you can buy a small country with the money we're wasting"

"Nonsense, that's not the host club way at all and you know it, happiness is above any price tag! Besides think about all the exposure!"

"No haruhi's right, you have overshot the budget, the use of the salon withstanding you had a period style carriage and costumes shipped all the way in from france. Must you be so capricious? Your impulsiveness overwhelms my accounting skills" Kyoya notes, standing in the centre of the salon with Haruhi and Tamaki. "Typical" Haruhi wanders off

"Whatever! Capricious is just another word for creative! I'll have you know that the whims of the host club king are the stuff of dreams! No price is too high!" Tamaki throws a fit.

"Father" Tamaki's demenour shifts entirely when the school's superintendent enters "Do not refer to me as Father, the term is far too familiar. You will address me properly as chairman"

"Kyoya we gotta do something" You whisper, him nodding back, already out of his seat. "Ah very good. welcome sir, please let me show you to your seat" Kyoya puts on his usual polite smile "Would you like a drink sir?" You add "Thank you, that would be lovely"

The two of you lead the superintendent away from Tamaki to a seat. "Kyoya my boy without you I'm sure this club would be in shambles. My son must give you no end of trouble."

"Oh on the contrary sir, your son's vision is what keeps us viable." you hum to agree "Indeed, while tamaki surely has big dreams it is also his dreams that bring in the most guests."

"I see, may I say it is wonderful to see the newly engaged couple working together so well, it is a shame though I must admit miss y/n, I was going to approach your father about possibly matching you with my son"

You pause at the revelation, not even imagining being engaged to tamaki "Oh... while i am flattered chairman our families agreement has actually been in place for many years, but only felt the need to announce it recently as we head towards our final year"

"Oh I see, well congratulations regardless"

"Would you like me to bring you anything sir?" The chairman motions for kyoya to come closer, whispering into his ear. He nods, standing "Haruhi, you're needed"

Haruhi hesitantly sits with the chairman.

Kyoya politely nods, taking your arm as the two of you step away from whatever is about to unfold "Kyoya"

the two of you freeze, knowing that voice very well, turning to find Yoshio Ootori, Kyoya's father. "Sir" You nervously smile.

"Y/n, it is good to see you, so close with my son might i add, I am glad to see that you two are well acquainted. May Kyoya and I have a moment?" You glance at kyoya with concern, who returns you with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "How about you go and check on the twins?"

You hesitantly nod, stepping away, immediately feeling the absence of his presence as you do so, however you do not get far as the sharp crack of skin to skin contact makes you freeze in your tracks, you whip back around to see that Kyoya had been sent to his knees glasses flown off in the process.

"This is how my son has been choosing to waste his time?"

"That's Kyo-chan's father isn't it?" Honey appears next to you "Yes, yes it is" You desperately avoid the urge to run over and cause more of a scene, despite the fact you want to, you know kyoya wouldn't want that.

"You are an embarrassment to the Ootori name" his father steps away, leaving an opening for you to swoop in. "Are you okay?" You reach up to fix his glasses "I'm fine" kyoya doesn't look at you, just over your shoulder towards the door.

"It looks like it's going to leave a bruise" You trace over the redness on his cheek, trying not to apply pressure. "It doesn't matter"

"Kyoya-" "Y/n listen to me, it does not matter" He nods ahead as you turn around to find most likely the only person who could make this worse. Your hand falls, turning around fully and all of a sudden it is like there is no feeling in your legs.

"Father" You slowly step towards the door. "Y/n"

You look down, suddenly the lack of pattern on the floor has become incredibly interesting. "Are you not going to welcome me in?" You look up but still not at him "I'll show you to your seat" you just about muster up the noise.

"Disappointing" he mutters, following you to a seat. "Haruhi? Would you mind getting my father an espresso shot? Thank you"

"Are you not going to ask me what I want? You just assume you want caffe?"

You raise an eyebrow "It is 1pm, like you would order a cappucino at this time" he seems to hum in approval. "I'm not sure i like your tone child, i thought you were meant to be a manager at this host club"

"Father why are you here? I know that this is not a social call"

"It is a social call, I have things to discuss with Mr Ootori, and with my future son in law of course." He stands stepping way too close for comfort "not to mention you have caused quite the stir, and I had to come see it for myself. See what exact rucuss have you been causing in my name"

"It is not your name it is mine"

"Anything you do will be in my name until the moment it becomes Ootori, bury your head in the sand all you like but is still mine."

"Sir I took the liberty of preparing your drink myself" Kyoya appears behind you, espresso cup in hand "Speaking of, thank you Kyoya" he sits back down, taking a sip.

"y/n would you give us a moment?" You a reluctant to leave kyoya with your father but knowing that he could hold his own you step away. "I think that Mr Maihara was wanting a tour of the gallery anyway" You step away.

"Strange, I thought his daughter went to Lobelia academy"

Kyoya sits opposite your father "The zuka club are frequent visitors, expecially during the cultural fair, some of his daughters artworks are here"

"Oh i see, I did consider sending, y/n there instead, keep her away from boys, but your father convinced me otherwise"

"Oh I see"

"Too much like her mother that one, too...independent" Kyoya raises an eyebrow "I would say that y/n's independence is one of her greatest assets"

He rolls his eyes "You are young kyoya, i was once like you, I am sure that her rebellious spirit is fine to you now. But you must learn that if you want to keep a girl like my insolent daughter you need to keep her in a guilded cage...make sure she doesn't stray away"

"Sir your daughter keeps out of trouble and gets good grades, by any measure she is the perfect heir to a company such as yours. Why do you speak as if she has spun out of control"

"Be that as it may kyoya, I know my daughter well, i look at her and see her mother, being led astray with her own ideas. That is why I am not making the mistake i did with her mother and keeping her on a firm leash. I only sent her to this...school...on the condition that she remained under your families survailance"

It is rare now a days that the rug is swept from beneath kyoya. but it was in this moment he was overtaken with vertigo. All these times that his family had asked about you, every time his police force insisted on your protection, every phone call he had made to them...it was not about your safety at all...it was about control.

Not only that but it made him wonder if that meant that he knew about what the two of you were planning.

"Sir...y/n told me about her mother...how she ranaway... left you and y/n when she was young...but that does not mean that y/n is like her"

Kyoya catches of a glimpse of Tamaki and his grandmother from across the room, realising that this battle was not going to be won right now "Excuse me" He stands, walking over but still keeping his distance, ready to step in if need be.

"So does he really plan to spend" "The entire fair escorting some stranger?" The twins question, watching tamaki walk off with a girl. "Eclair right? Or something similar" "Who is she to him thats the mystery"

"I could tell you" You appear, back from your meeting with mr Maihara. "Eclair Tonnerre, the youngest daughter of the renowned tonnerre family they descend from royalty"

"Indeed, the family has quite a history, their wealth is something of a legend among financial heavyweights. In fact, just being associated with them makes you a part of a very elite group. They also own grand tonnerre, a firm that has been buying up a lot of businesses in japan recently. Of course that doesn't explain why lady eclair has come here to visit tamaki" Kyoya explains, sitting nearby.

"Of course it does, isn't it obvious?"

"Huh?" You capture the host clubs attention.

"His grandmother wants Tamaki to marry lady eclair" you wander closer "How did you reach that conclusion?" Kaoru asks.

"Its what the chairman said to me earlier, that he was hoping to ask my father today for my hand on Tamaki's behalf but was beaten out by Kyoya and I's engagement-" "Wait what-" "-yes i know, I don't want to talk about it, anyway, it is clear that the chairman is looking for Tamaki to marry upwards to secure a good legacy for his only heir in the eyes of his grandmother because Tamaki is...well...we all know. Frankly there will be requirements for the chairman to even consider, wealth, power, most likely european, that shrinks the pool greatly. I'm already engaged so it could only ever be lady eclair...or well...renge"

You sigh, standing up "The truth is we are growing closer and closer to graduation. I think the engagement announcement was just the start of many things...which reminds me, kyoya, a word please" He is quick to rise out of his seat "Indeed" he takes your arm, leading you out into the gardens.

"I think your father is onto us" you hum "I would be inclined to agree, but the question is how much he knows, not to mention the presence of Lady Eclair is not good for us, I think she may be trying to do the same thing as us. There is also...one more thing"

"Hm?"

"All this time I thought that your father the one who is trying to hold on to the engagement, that he was the one with the most to lose if it breaks down…I’m starting to think it may just be the opposite, why else would he push forward the announcement”

Kyoya debates whether or not he should tell you what he learnt, but something withheld him from doing so. There was enough going on this weekend, you didn't need this aswell.

"I think...for whatever reason, your father wants access to the black onion squad"

"I can't see why...perhaps I have been so focused on looking into the Ootori group that I haven't been considering why my father would put himself at so much risk"

"Well...as someone once told me, the closer you look, the less you see"

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The host club members changed for the second time that day. "So where did the boss go?" "He was looking forward to this the most"

"Our king is lounging in music room 3, entertaining lady eclair"

"Well well well" "Looks like someone's a little jealous"

"Like I said i'm not"

"Like you said?"

"Look i...i just think that he's being more irresponsible than usual today you said it yourself Kyoya-senpai, he's impulsive"

"True, he certainly is, but in this instance he's obeying the whims of his grandmother"

"Um, now that i think about it, Tamaki-senpai's grandmother seemed really cold towards him earlier. Is there some special reason for that?"

The club members exchange glances "Well, everybody else knows about it" "See, Tamaki-senpai is illegitimate"

"See, twenty-something years ago, the suoh family patriarch died at a young age, for political reasons chairman Yuzuru rushed into marriage to the behest of his mother to a woman of her choosing, allowing him to become head of the family. But several years later the chairman fell passionately in love with a beautiful young woman he met in paris."

"Not long after Tama-chan was born"

"The boss' grandmother vehemently objected, because of her poor health, living in japan proved too difficult for senpai's mother so she raised him in france until he was 14. His childhood seems to have been a happy one, but as time went on, family business on his mothers side went belly up and they went into debt. When the boss' grandmother, worried about there being no heir to carry on the family name, came up with a proposal. Money to support his mother in exchange for tamaki coming to live in japan, with no contact between the two"

"Wow"

"While the patriarch of the suoh family may be chairman yuzuru technically, but for the time being all the family's assets remain under the control of Tamaki's grandmother. What's more, with his mother's health being so frail, Tamaki understood the grim prospects facing her if she were left to live in debt so...not long afterward, either out of anguish or just plain guilt over having bartered her son away for financial security, Tamaki's mother left France in shame and went into hiding, her current whereabouts is unknown. To this day, he's never seen her again. Not once." Kyoya explains, looking out over the salon.

He stands "It's easy to feel sorry for him, but the harships he endured as a child helped mold him into the person he is today. He'll be fine, the host club is his refuge so that means when all is said and done, he still has us"

The doors creak open, tamaki and lady eclair stood behind them. "Everyone I have an important announcement, as of today, Lady Eclair Tonnerre and I are officially engaged. Furthermore, the host club will be permanently dissolved after the ouran fair. That is all"

Next time on patience 'This is our Ouran Fair!'

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