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quietmyfearswith · 4 years ago

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new year’s day ; andy barber x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count — 3,960 words

warnings — swearing, mentions of active sex life, SMUT, degradation, sir kink, choking, oral smut (receiving), fingering, unprotected penetrative sex (pls use protection), slapping, name calling, drinking champagne off of one’s body, fluff at the end?? porn without plot lol

pairing — andy barber x fem!reader

a/n — HAPPY NEW YEAR! im still high on my andy feels so yeah,, lmk what yoou think!

masterlist

“Fuckin’ hell my eyes hurt,” Y/N groaned out as she rubbed her palms on her eyelids, as if she was massaging the stress away. Rose could only chuckle at her friend’s distress, “Well I did warn you about how you shouldn't have gone to work today; you deserve to take a break once in a while you know?”

Cracking her knuckles once she was done rubbing her eyes, Y/N retorted, “Well it’s not like I had any New Year’s Eve plans so I decided why not go to work?” As she continued to torment her eyes with the light emitted from her desktop. Being her only real friend at the workplace, Rose took it as a responsibility to look after her; for she knew how she wasn’t really close with her family and her other closest friends were on the different side of the country. “Hey, I invited you to that party me and Agnes are going to!”

Tearing her straining eyes away from the screen, Y/N gave the brunette a pointed look, “You mean to say you invited me to party where I don’t know anyone but you and your girlfriend; which definitely guarantees that you’ll both leave me alone so you can fuck.”

Rose didn’t find it in herself to deny her allegation or defend her and her girlfriend’s active sex life; instead she could only give her a sheepish look as she joked, “Guess you’ve been spending too much time with Mr. Barber since you’re incredible at drawing conclusions and noticing patterns huh?” Seeing how much time she had spent with the mentioned lawyer over the past year, Y/N couldn’t help but nod and agree with her.

The soft chime of Rose's Favorite song rang and a cocky, “See! Can’t even wait an hour before you two get to be together,” was quickly being hushed by her friend. “Okay you have a point, we have a high sex drive — but can you blame us? And I need to leave early, stupid bitch burnt herself as she was baking.”

Chuckling without tearing her eyes away from the documents in front of her, Y/N greeted, “Yeah, yeah; don’t need to rub it in. Happy New Year’s Eve, babe.” Before heading to Mr. Barber’s office to sweetly ask to leave early, Rose went to where Y/N was seated and let their cheeks touch as their way of bidding adieu.

Andy was more than generous to allow Rose to leave the office early, “Go ahead and enjoy, you deserve it for being one of the few ones who chose to come in today,” He told her smiling form. Once she left his office, he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his button down shirt and let out a loud groan. Usually, this time last year he would be rushing to go home — if ever his work demanded his presence — in order to celebrate the New Year’s with his family. But now as he mourns the family he once had and lost it as his son was brutally killed by his ex-wife that had gone insane in disbelieving her son’s innocence was now serving prison for her crimes, he had nowhere to be.

After a couple of hours filled with silence and burying his head with paperwork, Andy noticed how there was a soft, melodious hymn coming from the other side of the office. The lawyer wasn’t necessarily alarmed, but he was curious about who was left working since there had only been 7 other people who decided to come in to work today; and to his knowledge they should have left by now.

He decided to check out who was left — but it really was an excuse to stretch his long, lean legs as he felt them cramping up a bit from being seated for too long — and was surprised to see the most diligent employee he’s ever met in his years of practicing law, “Ms. Y/N, what are you still doing here?”

Hearing his deep voice snapped her out of her concentration; seeing her boss in his less than organized state had her taken aback, “Oh Mr. Barber, I’m just doing some work on the Richards case.” Looking at the watch on his left wrist, he took note how it was a mere 15 minutes before the new year dawned on them. “No plans for the new year then?”

Deciding to test the waters she cracked a joke, “Are you talking about the holiday or the actual year? Because I have no plans for both.”Covering up her remark with a nervous chuckle, she was glad to see the older man wrinkle his eyes as he laughed out loud, “Well that makes the two of us; why don’t we grab a drink in my office?”

Eyes going wide and gasping silently, Y/N was pleasantly surprised at his offer but nevertheless nodded in agreement. Quickly shutting off her desktop, she moved out of her chair and decided to leave her footwear and floral kimono by her desk as she somewhat felt restricted by the light cloth. As she entered his post, she settled herself on the gray sofa he had placed near the office’s wall. Grabbing a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses, Andy sat beside her then poured them a drink.

“Never pegged you as a champagne guy, Mr. Barber,” She thanked him as he handed her a glass which she took a sip of; letting out a small moan of appreciation at the taste, the sound causing Andy to cross his right leg on top of the left in an effort to conceal his erection. “Please, call me Andy,” He cleared his throat as he took a sip of the liquor, “And whiskey and bourbon are my usual choices of poison; but since it’s the New Year, figured this was more appropriate.”

Y/N surprised the man beside her by drinking all of the champagne in one go and placed the now empty glass on the coffee table in front of them before turning to his gobsmacked expression and giggled, “Sorry, really need that one.” With his hooded eyes watching her intently, he drank some of his before answering, “Don’t be Y/N, it was quite a show.”

She could feel her wetness dampen the panties she wore with how good her name sounded as it left his lips, “Don’t think I ever heard you call me by my first name before.” Worried he crossed the line he was quick to fumble out an apology; but quickly stopped as he felt her hand on his thigh, “It’s okay, I’m not mad or anything. I really like it, actually,” She trailed off once she noticed how he seemed to have let out a quiet, but aroused purr. Tilting her head to the side with an amused expression plastered on her face, “You alright, Andy?”

Years of practicing law and appearing in courtrooms taught him not to lose composure; but with a simple touch and mention of his name had Andy forgetting how to remain calm and collected. But can you fucking blame him when the girl who walks around with so much grace and confidence — who also happens to be the subject of his filthy fantasies — is so close to him that he can almost feel her warmth piercing through his long-sleeved shirt. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if it was a wise or dumb decision to discard his suit jacket, but as their arms touched and he felt a surge of electricity run through his veins, he thought of himself as a fucking genius.

“I am, yeah,” Deciding to test the waters, he grabbed her hand that rested on her thigh and intertwined their fingers together; when she made no attempts at removing her hand from his he smirked, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but something tells me you want more than just this champagne I offered.”

Feeling her inhibitions disappear, she gave him a smirk of her own as she untangled her hands from his, “Well, I do want some more champagne,” Her finger was now tracing his lips as she moved to sit closer until she was now straddling his lap, “Maybe taste it from your lips?”

Silently, Andy brought the glass to his lips and downed the remaining sparkling drink; his free hand settled itself on the back of her neck, pulling her close to him until her lips touched his. As he bit her bottom lip, she opened her mouth and moaned out loud as she felt the alcoholic beverage enter her mouth. Both her hands caressed his bearded cheek as she drank up every last drop that he offered her. Groaning out loud when his mouth was now devoid of the drink, he let his tongue enter her mouth and asserted his dominance; something she willingly conceded to him. His hand on her neck traveled lower and rested on her bum, squeezing the soft flesh which emitted more moans from her.

“Been dreaming about this for so long,” His staff silently, mindlessly let out as she kissed him desperately. “Is that so?” He asked once he broke away their kiss, Y/N whined at the loss of his lips and confused with his question. Chuckling at her groggy state he squeezed both her cheeks with one hand, forcing her to focus on him and answer his question, “You said you’ve been dreaming about this, baby. Is that what you daydream about at work? Me fucking you so hard your dumb brain can’t even think straight?”

Letting out a pathetic whine, she could only nod her head enthusiastically, “Want that so fucking bad, sir.” He felt his cock harden even more at the title she called him; but he wasn’t even done with teasing her yet. “And that fantasy will come true; but first, stand up and strip for me, baby,” With a soft smack on her cheek, she stood up quickly and unzipped her dress. Andy watched her present her body for him as he poured another glass for himself.

Resting on the arm rest was the hand with the sparkling champagne, while the other was palming his erection as watched her push her dress down to the floor. “No bra? Just that poor excuse of underwear?” He moaned out as he observed the fabric that parts at the middle, teasing the paradise that awaits for his cock.

Lowering her gaze, as if bashful, at his filthy remarks before resuming her previous position of sitting on his lap with her hands moving to unbutton his button down. “Such an impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He clicked his tongue at her; to which she pouted as she stared at him with want written on her face, “I’m sorry, sir. What do you want me to do?”

“Ride my thigh like the slut you are, baby,” He commanded her without even thinking about it, which turned her on even more. Situating herself on his thick, lean thigh she moaned out loud as the fabric of her thong added even more friction. She began to ride him with slow but sharp movements, throwing her head back when she felt her wetness taint the fabric of his slacks, “How does it feel, baby?”

“Good, so good,” Her broken cries turned him on even more as he sipped on the champagne, enjoying the tingle it left on his tongue. “Do you trust me, baby?” Surprised at his question, she opened her eyes to look at him, her hip movements not faltering one bit. Upon seeing how serious he was she answered, “I do, Andy. I trust you.”

With a smirk, he then tipped the glass just above her breasts, allowing the liquid to run from her collarbones and down to her breasts. Gasping out loud when Andy runs his tongue on her skin, following the trail that the champagne took, “Don’t stop grinding on me, love,” He reminded her as his lips drank the liquid that landed on her nipple — subsequently sucking on the pebble-like flesh. Seeking purchase on his dark hair, Y/N continued rubbing herself on his thigh — his assault on her breast encouraging her to ride him even harder and faster.

“Time to drink some more,” Andy huskily spoke out as he poured some more of the beverage on her opposite breast causing the girl to stiffen a bit as she was taken aback by the sudden coolness on her breast. His tongue flattened against her skin, now more focused on kissing every inch of her skin instead of drinking up the liquor. His hand held her breast firmly, raising it a bit so he could suck on it and slurp the booze.

“Fuck, the champagne tastes even incredible on you, baby,” HIid praise got her flustered and she could only whine as she felt herself getting closer. “I’m so close, sir. Can I cum, please?” She fluttered her eyes at him sweetly, hoping he’d show her mercy; but his wicked smile and wink got her thinking she’d be shown the opposite of it. “Not yet, baby,” He was quick to shut her wails up with a smack on her breast, “Sit down on the sofa, baby.”

Even though she denied him her release, she followed his orders without a complaint — working with him provided her a clear picture of what happens when you don’t follow Andy’s orders, and it didn’t end well for everyone involved. As she sat down, she watched as the lawyer placed his glass on the table and reached for the bottle; poured some on her pussy. Y/N watched closely as Andy licked her clit, down to her hole. Without tearing his eyes away from hers, he inserted his tongue in her and tried to reach as far as his long tongue can go. “So good, Andy,” She grabbed onto his hair, pushing his face closer to her. The man was quick to smack her thigh, causing her to press her thighs more into his frame, “You know what to call me,” He warned.

“Sir,” She panted out, “Feel so good, sir.” Pleased with that, he rewarded her by rubbing his right thumb on her clit, making her moan even louder. Loving her blissed out sounds of pleasure, Andy began licking her ferociously; he drank up all of the champagne he poured and all the juices she had to provide. He inserted his left pointer and middle finger in her, taking her aback with the sudden simulation. Her thighs were shaking with how good he was making her feel, too weak to even grab onto his hair and her arms were now limp on her sides, “Sir, please! I’m so fucking close, please let me cum.”

Without tearing his mouth and hands from her he replied, “Then cum on my fucking tongue, you slut,” The vibrations adding more to the pleasure she felt. After a few more thrusts of his fingers, kitten licks of his tongue, she felt apart with a scream. Her thighs wrapped themselves around his shoulders, squeezing him so tight that she felt his beard tickle her delicate skin. Andy pulled out his fingers that were in her, replacing them with his tongue so he can gather all of her juices and drink some of them in. “You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” He groaned as he parted from her pussy, his fingers pushing her juices back inside her so he could use it as lube.

“Wanna kiss you, sir,” Her fingers touched the patch of facial hair above his lips, surprised with how it had her juices. Andy complied, giving her a brief, but sweet kiss. “Want you on your hands and knees, baby. Hold on to the back of the sofa okay?” Y/N couldn’t help but feel mushy with how gentle he was bossing her around — when she knew his next actions would be far from gentle.

Holding on to the back of the sofa, she used it to steady herself on her knees, bending slightly so she could arch her back to accentuate her ass. Andy quickly discarded his clothes before rubbing her pussy again and pushed some of her juices in, before entering in her pussy in one go. His forehead rested on her back as he groaned out, “Fuck baby you’re so tight. Been a while huh?” Anchoring himself on her hips, he slid in and out of her at a steady pace.

Y/N moaned out loud as she felt the back of her thighs meet Andy’s hips; he was thrusting into her with no remorse. Her hand travelled to her breast, switching between pinching the nipple or pulling on it. Grabbing her hair with one hand, the bearded man pulled her so her back was pressed firmly against his chest. You’d think that this would give Andy a difficult time to rut into her but it didn’t; instead it just made him drive his cock in her harder and faster, falling into a drum-like rhythm.

“Why are you fucking touching yourself, slut?” Feeling his breath on her ear turned her on more than she cared to admit and she couldn’t even string together a coherent response since the tip of his dick pushed into her g-spot, causing her to moan out loud. “You’re such a fucking mess that you can’t even think straight huh?”

Nodding pathetically was all the response Y/N could offer as she clawed on to Andy’s toned arms; the lawyer then decided to go all the way with his fun by wrapping his big hand around her neck, applying gentle pressure. “You don’t mind this do you, sweetheart?” Shaking her head no, Andy then smiled as he put more force on the sides of her neck as he rammed his cock in her until the tip of his cock repeatedly hit her bundle of nerves that made tears leave her eyes with how good everything felt. The other hand that wasn't wrapped around her throat then lowered itself on her clit, rubbing the hardened nub.

“If only you knew how hard you got me every time you came to work with a tight skirt or pants,” He breathed out against her ear, tickling her with his breath, “Giving me a perfect view of the shape of your ass,” And to emphasize his point he thrust so hard until his cock was all the way in and spanked her ass. “Walking around the office with so much fucking confidence,” He recalled the time wherein she called out an officemate for talking lewdly about her — that caused him to jerk one off in the office bathroom. “But now you’ve been reduced to a dumb cock hungry whore for me,” She wailed out in agreement as his hand squeezed her throat so tight to the point she was now gasping for breath as his other hand wrapped around her tit, loving the weight and feel of it on his hand, grabbing onto it to move it up and down his hand.

“Are you gonna cum again, baby? Gonna cum around my thick cock?” He could feel her walls clinging on to his cock even more, making it difficult to thrust in her but he was determined to keep on sliding his cock in and out. “Yes, so close, please let me cum,” She trailed off as he abandoned his hold on her tit and throat and returned to her hips so he could maneuver her and ram his cock swiftly and harder. “Cum then you, slut. Let me feel you milk my cock,” Was all the permission she needed before she dug her nails into his forearms as came with a scream, “Thank you, sir!”

Even as she was cumming, Andy thrust in and out of her; though his thrusts weren’t as powerful and quick. Once he felt her spasms die down, he slid all the way inside her and came with a groan. They both could feel his cock twitch as it released his load inside her, filling her up with his hot semen. Littering kisses on her back, Andy could feel his regular breathing return — as was hers.

Carefully, Andy pulled out of her, “Can you stand up for a bit, baby?” She nodded and stood up from her position, the lawyer guiding her to sit by the arm rests. Still stuck in her post-orgasm haze, she watched as he moved the coffee table away and transformed his sofa into a bed. Grabbing the spare bed sheet, blanket, and pillows he kept in the office — in case he had to spend the night in the office — he quickly made the bed before he helped Y/N to lay down with him, wrapping the blanket over their naked bodies.

“How you feeling?” It was amazing how he had a quick change of demeanor; Y/N was lazily tracing over Andy’s face with her finger, making the most out of this intimate moment. “Feel good, really good. Always wanted someone to fuck me the way you did.”

Her curt response had him chuckling, loving the way she was being open with him and the way she traced over his features. “Well I’m glad I fulfilled this fantasy of yours.”

Suddenly, Y/N felt small and insecure; was this a one time thing? Just something to release his frustrations and a fantasy of hers that's been fulfilled? Furrowing her eyebrows, she failed to mask her worry as she wondered, “So this is just a one time thing then?”

Hating what she just said, Andy kissed the wrinkle in between her eyebrows as he spoke, “I don’t want it to be. I really want to be with you; if you’ll have me, of course.” A small smile rested on her lips as her eyes brightened up, “I’d want that and you. You’re so amazing, Andy. I admire your strength, resilience, and determination. For someone who could easily give up in life you choose to carry on and look forward to what the future holds. It’s just a bonus that you have a thick cock and know how to use it.”

Her small speech had him chuckling and kissing her nose, pulling her close against him, “What I said earlier was true; I love how you walk around the office like you own the place. You take no shit from people and do your job damn well. Plus, I love your music taste as well.”

Grinning at him she jeered, “Wow can’t believe you still sweet talk your way even if it’s not in a courtroom setting.” Andy laughed at her retort and just grazed his fingertips on her sides, tickling her so he can hear her giggle. Once both their laughter died down, their lips met for a sweet, passionate kiss. “We have quite a mess to clean up tomorrow, Andy,” Y/N reminded him as she referred to the champagne bottle, glasses, their clothes, and his sofa bed — their whole situation, really.

“I don’t care,” He whispered as smiled at her, feeling so much lighter and better having been haunted by his personal demons for so long, “I don’t mind doing anything as long as it’s with you.”

Her heart fluttered with his simple statement; she was then reminded of the new year countdown. Reaching out for his wrist, she checked the time and noticed how a few minutes had passed 12. “Happy new year, Andy,” She greeted him with a peck on his lips.

A short, sweet kiss was returned to her as he planted his lips on hers again — quickly getting addicted to her, “Happy new year, baby. Can’t wait to spend this year with you by my side.”

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years ago

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Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It��s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

506 notes · View notes

no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion. He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong. But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs. I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh. Probably not. None of this is real. Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One. This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock. It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork. “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times. “Come, open the door. Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend. Truly exhausting. It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door. You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training. Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?” He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains. Bantha shit, you and him both know it. He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door. “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds. What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp. You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more. “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more. “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately. “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word. You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket. “First. You cannot tell anyone. Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.” He blinks up at you. Maker, his eyes are so… wide. Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes. “If you do not want it, just say. Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows. This is new. It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new. New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come. Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on. “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same. “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?” He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.” You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him. “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands. Where’s my cat, asshole? Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug. You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good. His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose. It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good. The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond. “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel. He’s never called you that before. Caraya. What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace. It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you. “No. Not a… a cat, but…” He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside. It’s. No, he’s right, it’s not a cat. It’s a… a stick. Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding. Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice. Hand-rolled. Expensive. Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of. Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base. Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light. “You don’t think we’re children. You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.” He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice. You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before. “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now? What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow? Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce. “Only five hours high, not detectable after. Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him. “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.” He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least. “Also—you were right. This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.” You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it. “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?” Cassian swallows. “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing. I will be leading red squadron tomorrow. Or, today.”

You blink at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it. “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically. “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects. “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.” He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away. “But only for that. Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it. “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully. The Rebellion is fucking doomed. You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize. A footnote. Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us. Died horribly and in pain. Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back. “Okay? You will start it then? Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right? So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth. “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call. At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.” He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter. “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here. Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling? It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot. You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor. His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that. His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there. A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding. Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now. They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.” His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat. It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine. He blinks twice. “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?” You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins. “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…” He closes his eyes. “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice. He’s fucking gorgeous. Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else. He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh. Oh. You see now. You see what he meant. Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body. Fuck, you’re getting turned on. You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence. How do you speak to him normally? “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want. Lay down. You’re too tall, your eyes are too big. Look like a… like a Kaminoan. Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke. Maker, he’s so beautiful. Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer. You both need to calm the fuck down. Hopefully the pillow will help. Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt. “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry. Fuck, it’s warm in here. Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you. Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder. “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?” He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you. You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative. Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now. Holy fuck, you’re sweating. What the fuck is in this shit? “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow. “Me too. Not.” He shakes his head. “Neither. Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal. “I’ll get us some water. We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him.

Stars, he was right. It’s not supposed to feel like this. It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn. Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones. The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before. Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source. Not the drugs—but him. The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed. He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before. He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize. This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real. Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now. You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here. Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now. At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand. If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep. Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided. Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went. He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him. It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No. Hold strong. Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it? Taking such a gorgeous fucking form. You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?” You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat. He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering. You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups. “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it. We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process. Your heart skips in your chest. “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop. Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet. What if this is just the beginning? What if this is just laying the foundation? What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid. At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet. You feel ready to burn up. “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you. “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly. Does he know what he’s really asking right now? He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right? But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently. Fuck, you should stop. You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup. “You need to. Chill out, alright. Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid? Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation. You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend. Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high. If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him. “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.” You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think. Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding. Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?” You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed. His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?” You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you. “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers. “They were very cute. But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly. “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?” You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange. “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more. “Caraya. What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second. As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you. You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him. Probably something to do with birthdays, right? Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit. But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence. “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare. I have seen it only twice. Each time, for less than a minute. It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.” His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words. “The sky shines with every color. Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east. It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you. “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari. To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him. Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing. Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight. He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…” You sound winded. “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you. “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly. This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start. You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers. You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him. You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did. It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost. Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands. It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life. Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t. He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…” He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again. “You can… come closer, if you want. Here. With me.” He pats his belly. “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now? Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you? His best friend? The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?” Your cunt clenches. Stars, you’re so wet already. You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more. “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you. He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into. Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good. He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you. You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples. “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath. “You have something on underneath, yes?” He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames. “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that. It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now. And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…” You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you. You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers. “We are best friends, and this is your room. You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous. He’s dangerous. He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle. He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore. Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all. Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now. Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules. You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out. He’s… he’s totally right. You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax. Nothing sexual about it at all, right? Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes. You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush. Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance. “You wanna help me? Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving. “What did I say? We are best friends. Of course I am not going to help you. You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way. It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now. Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is. You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart? Maybe? Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work. Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned. But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze. But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that. He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move. It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted. Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you? Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them? Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up. Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you. So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms. He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?” He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor. “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?” Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling. Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you. No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades. “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay? Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal? Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped. Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now. He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together. It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this. You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you. You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel. Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated. He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him. Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take. His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual. Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it. It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can. “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder. He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him. More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts. More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more? Do you want him to keep winding you up like this? More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you? Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something. To stop, maybe? Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs? Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face. Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it? Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes. A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once. You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement. Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him. He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy. The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it. You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?” He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns. They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it. Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist. “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings. “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice. “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—” You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat. You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly. Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh. “Is it the spice?” He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more. “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither. Both, maybe? Mostly it’s just him. Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word. His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you. “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence. He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire. You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing. “So it is the spice. Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…” Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t. “Yeah. It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him. He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he��s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers. “Take your hit. We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first. Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter. His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment. “Are you going to cum soon? You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close. Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you. You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you. You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?” He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice. “You are usually so… mouthy with me. Is this helping? Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers. “Right here. All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm. A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins. It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before. Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful. You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks. He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot. It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him. You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind. It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one. Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?” He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions. Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good. You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this. But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers. His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient. He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you. So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit. He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still. He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there. Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers. Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm. “We should do this. More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you. Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you. You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale. “You are. Very g-good. Fuck. And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm. Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this. Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva. Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning. You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head. “You’ll want more than one, okay. Trust me. Cum like this, okay? Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head. And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt. You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth. Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was. The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth. You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you. And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks. “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound. “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely. “Today.”

“Fuck. Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach. “Fuck. In a few hours. You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh. “Caraya. Two suns. Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts. Stars, why is he so… so lovely? Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky. Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with. Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?” You whisper. Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.

“You do not want me to taste you?” Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs. “I want to. I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence. He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared. “Sometimes. Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep. I think of… of you. What you taste like. Right here.” He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand. “I bet you are so sweet. Will you let me find out?”

Except. Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before? Like this? Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right? Just telling you what you want to hear? Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last. You feel like you’re dreaming, and it. It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him. You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips. The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you. Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he? Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load. You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms. You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly. You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss. The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment. “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock. Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure. You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body. It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you. He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean. He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said. Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat. “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out. “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya. You are. You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations. Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you. Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards. It’s huge. You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice. Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs. Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress. He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest. Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore. The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too. Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you. Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more. Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss. He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making. It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling. Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that. For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine. You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again. You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make. You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy. It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun. “What—what time is it? Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh. “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows. “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?” Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest. “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed. We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin. Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh. “You will not. Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling. What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs. “We are going to Lothal.”

#Cassian Andor x reader #Cassian Andor x you #Cassian Andor #Smut #fanfic #no-droids

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thornedrose44 · 4 years ago

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What Would It Take?

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Their friendship was stronger than it had ever been but it was also so, so, so different to what it once was for Kara.

They were open and honest about their day, their fears, their hopes… everything. And with all that came vulnerability, laying yourself bare and exposed.

For Lena, things were probably no different to the last time, she had always been open, had never hidden away parts of herself from Kara Danvers, had been honest about her relationship with Lex and all the positives and negatives that came with that.

But for Kara this was an entirely new experience.

Previously, Kara had kept her walls up and had hidden her defences behind lies and subterfuge. She would empathise with Lena but never reveal shared experiences, would keep her loss and pain close to the chest, would allude but never directly explain. Now, Kara was Kara Zor-El with Lena. There were no shadows to hide in, nor half-formed lies and rushed excuses to duck behind. She was no longer keeping a part of herself hidden away and protected.

When they re-started their friendship it came with the understanding that there would be no more lies or secrets between them. That for their friendship to work it had to be built on honesty at its most fundamental level.

With that agreement in place, over the course of their first few interactions, Kara came to a realisation that broke her.

It was the realisation that this (honesty and openness) was easier for Lena to do than it was for Kara. It was the realisation that Kara didn’t know how to have a relationship without some kind of secret to hide behind; even with Alex there were no-go topics and parts of themselves neither wanted to share. It was the realisation that Lena had time and time again, prior to the reveal, put herself out there thinking Kara was stood by her side, equally exposed and vulnerable.

With that realisation came a whole swathe of emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Pain.

Confusion.

But there also came a commitment.

A commitment to meet Lena halfway. To let herself be truly vulnerable with another person. Not just for Lena but for herself.

With that commitment came a strong friendship. A real one. More real than any Kara had ever had before.

Kara no longer filtered her thoughts to hide parts of herself. She spoke her mind and that… that was where the trouble really started.

For a number of reasons.

“Rao, you look beautiful.”

“Your mind is incredible.”

“You’re so graceful and elegant.”

“Lena, you’re just… fantastic, have I told you that recently?”

“I adore your eyes.”

All of those were said in a single day. Scratch that, a two hour period. Games Night to be exact.

Kara hadn’t even known she was doing it, let alone that frequently, until Nia had jumped into the air shouting “Bingo” after Kara had complimented Lena’s hair. Turns out the Superfriends (Kara was thinking of retracting that title) had started a ‘Compliment Bingo’ that they had been playing in secret for the last three months to capitalise on Kara’s tendency to sing Lena’s praises (literally singing Lena’s praises was on Alex and Brainy’s bingo charts and had won them the game at least twice). Nia and Alex had confessed all of this to Kara rather sheepishly after Lena had been pulled back to L-Corp to handle a business crisis following Nia’s ‘bingo’ exclamation.

Bingo-gate probably should have put an end to the compliments but by that point Kara had become somewhat addicted to the pink blush that would dust Lena’s lovely cheeks whenever Kara blurted out a compliment without thinking (having put her filter aside at the restart of their friendship).

See, the thing is… the big realisation at the restart of their friendship wasn’t just about Kara’s sudden self reflection nor her guilt for the earlier handling of her friendship with Lena. They were big parts, huge even, but they weren’t everything. And they weren’t the part that was plaguing Kara now, six months later.

The big realisation, the actual one that had come with having Lena in her life in a full and complete way after being deprived for so long, after thinking that she might never have her back again, never hold her hand, never hug her was…

Love.

Kara loved her.

The big kind of love.

The love Alex had been telling her about over the course of countless sister nights when it came to Maggie and now to Kelly.

The kind of love that meant every time you looked at them you saw something that was just so perfect and wonderful that you can barely keep the words of adoration back (not that Kara even tried to anymore). The kind of love that meant you wanted them safe and cared for.

And despite six months of carefully reconstructed friendship. Six months of coming to grips with the big realisation. Six months of being vulnerable with Lena. Six months of her eyes being open to a new reality where she was in love with her best friend.

Six life-changing months and it never even crossed her mind that Lena could feel the same way about her.

That was until today...

Today, Kara was going food shopping and, since she was also getting snacks for games night later that evening, Lena had offered to come along and help.

It was something that had become standard between them now. Keeping each other company for random chores and daily life excursions. Kara accompanied Lena to the gym to provide the CEO with light conversation and motivation despite not receiving any tangible benefit from the activity (though Kara found the sight of Lena, with a light sheen of sweat, stretching after a workout was a reward beyond anything she could have imagined). Lena, meanwhile, helped Kara with her taxes and happily kept Kara company when she had to sort out her laundry.

Kara had never had a friendship like this before. All of her other friendships (not including Alex) had required that there was some form of entertainment to go alongside every interaction. With Lena, there was no longer that pressure there. Lena would happily work away on her laptop whilst Kara edited her recent article without complaint, in fact, the raven-haired woman seemed to likewise appreciate how at ease they both felt when silent.

Therefore, when Lena offered to come food-shopping with her, Kara didn’t think twice about saying yes.

Kara worried her bottom lip as she looked between the two loaves of bread. One was freshly baked and still slightly warm to the touch. The other was store-branded, squashed on one side and far less appetising but it was a dollar cheaper. Kara let out a regretful sigh, as she put back the warm new loaf and grabbed two of the cheaper variety. Kara headed back to the trolley, tossing in her latest picks before dropping her gaze to scrutinise her scribbled list of items.

“Why didn’t you buy the other one?” Lena asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Hmm…” Kara hummed, glancing over at the raven haired woman who had an unreadable expression on her face.

“The other loaf of bread.”

“This one’s cheaper.” Kara replied gesturing to the squashed loaves in the trolley.

“Why not get both?” Lena prompted.

“I don’t need both.”

“You may not need that particular loaf but you definitely need more than two.” Lena asserted, moving forward to lean against the side of Kara’s trolley, bringing her into Kara’s space.

Kara barely held back the ‘Rao, your eyes are the purest green’ that flitted through her mind as she struggled to stay focused on the rather bizarre conversation she was having right now. “I only ever buy two.” Kara pointed out.

“Yes but you need more.” Lena insisted, her gaze narrowing.

“I do?” Kara said dumbly, uncertain where Lena’s intensity was coming from.

“Yes!” Lena declared, “With the number of calories you burn through due to your ‘extra-curricular’ activities, you require a far more substantive intake that what you are currently acquiring for yourself.”

“Huh?” Kara blinked, she had definitely been listening but her attention had been only half on what Lena was saying; the other half had been on the way Lena’s long, delicate fingers twisted around the wired bars of the trolley so elegantly.

“Kara…” Lena sighed, her green eyes going soft and melancholic in that particular way that always made Kara’s heart flutter and twist in her chest as if it wanted to reach out itself to soothe the other woman. “The amount of food you have in your trolley and how much you intend to buy are nowhere near enough to cover your daily requirements. If my calculations are correct, you need to be buying out the entire store every other week.”

Kara’s face reddened with embarrassment at the far too accurate assessment causing her to rub the back of her neck nervously.

It was the fact that they had promised to be honest with one another in tandem with the destruction of Kara’s filter when it came to Lena, that resulted in the following words coming out of the blonde’s mouth so easily, “Shockingly enough, not everyone can buy an entire store.”

Kara hadn’t said it to be cruel or to disparage Lena’s own wealthy status. It wasn’t about that.

It was simply an honest statement.

One which revealed far more about Kara’s financial woes than she had ever let anyone find out. Not even Alex knew how Kara struggled to afford the food costs that came with being Supergirl. Alex had never joined the dots that Kara’s increased power usage would require an increased calorie count.

One which Kara frequently struggled to afford.

Lena, however, had already made the connection if the unsurprised look on her face at Kara’s response was anything to go by.

“What would it take for you to let me pay for it?” Lena questioned cutting right to the chase.

Kara was suddenly struck with the clarity that this was why Lena had requested to come with her to the supermarket in the first place.

“No, Lena, you can’t.” Kara rejected without even bothering to consider it as an option.

“Why not?” Lena tilted her head to the side expectantly, obviously wanting a clear cut reason, “Is it pride?”

“You’re my friend.” Kara reasoned futilely.

“Your friend, who wants to help.” Lena pointed out.

“It’s too much.” Kara tried instead.

“It’s food, Kara.” Lena said simply, “It’s a basic necessity that is never too much.” Lena reached out and placed a hand atop of Kara’s one that was tightly gripping her list of food that she could afford. Lena’s touch was gentle and grounding. “It is the bare minimum especially considering all you do for this city.”

Kara shook her head, dropping her gaze to the ground, “I don’t do that expecting anything in return.”

“I know that, that’s one of the reasons why I-” Lena’s voice cut off causing Kara to look up sharply at her, “Just...” Lena huffed out a breath of frustration, “Just tell me what it would take.”

“Lena…”

“What would it take?” Lena pushed.

“Why does it matter so much?” Kara asked instead of answering, switching the focus around. “I’ve been fine for years like this, Lena. Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?!” Lena spluttered, looking positively outraged. “It matters because it’s you. It matters because you deserve to have as much food as you need without worrying about paying rent. It matters because you matter. It matters because I-” Lena paled, biting down on her bottom lip hard.

“Because you?” Kara whispered, blue eyes wide with shock and hope as her heart hammered against the cage of her chest.

Lena opened and closed her mouth, her whole body tense and rigid before she exhaled deeply causing her entire being to deflate in acceptance and her head to hang, depriving Kara of bright green, “We promised each other honesty.” Lena muttered helplessly to herself, before she raised her chin determinedly, “Because I love you.”

The whole world went still. Everything went quiet. And Kara completely forgot how to breathe as Lena, yet again, took that first step of vulnerability. Yet again ventured forward, tearing down her own walls, to do something Kara didn’t know how to do.

Rao, Kara was in total awe of this woman.

This woman she adored. This woman that loved her.

This woman that made her want to strip away all her armour so that all of her could feel what it was like to bask in the presence of the one and only Lena Luthor.

“It matters for all the other reasons I said as well.” Lena continued, utterly unaware of how she had caused Kara’s entire being to unravel. “But it also matters because I love you and I can’t do nothing, Kara. I can’t do nothing when I have the very means to help you. So, please, please, please just tell me what it would take. Tell me what-”

Lena’s demands were cut off yet again.

Though this time it wasn’t her own doing, but Kara’s.

Kara’s lips pressed against hers to be exact.

It was there in the bread aisle of the local supermarket that Kara Zor-El did the first thing in her life solely as and for herself. The first time that Kara Zor-El was simply Kara Zor-El with no barriers, no armour, no secrets… and the free version of her wanted nothing more than to kiss the woman she loved.

So she did.

And it was… transcendent…

Kara cupped Lena’s cheeks with her hands so, so, so gently. She wasn’t keeping her in place or even guiding, her palms were barely brushing Lena’s skin but Kara had never needed something so much, to feel like she had her whole world safely cherished in her hands.

Lena’s lips were soft and pliable and Kara took so much care in mapping them out. Finding out how to slot their lips so that they fit perfectly together. Where to apply pressure to cause Lena’s breath to stutter. How to coax Lena’s lips gently open with the lightest swipe of her tongue.

Kara eventually pulled back an infinitesimal distance, parting so that their lips were just out of touch and their foreheads resting against each other.

“Marry me.” Kara breathed out.

“What?” Lena gasped, jerking backwards, green eyes wide and kiss-swollen lips parted in shock.

Kara laughed gleefully as she dropped her hands away from Lena’s face to wrap them around the other woman’s waist and pull her close.

“Did… did you-” Lena stuttered.

“Answer your question.” Kara grinned, pressing swift and delicate kisses to Lena’s jaw.

“My question?” Lena murmured, turning her head to the side to allow Kara a path down her neck.

“What would it take.” Kara muttered, nipping at Lena’s tendon and producing a sharp intake of breath. “For you to buy the whole store for me every other week.”

“Oh…” Lena leaned back to arch a sharp eyebrow at the blonde as a mischievous smile took over her face, “Well, now I have a goal to work towards.”

Kara’s eyes crinkled at the edges with joy, “Yeah, I guess you do.”

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor

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writteninkat · 3 years ago

Text

xiii - hypocrite

w/c - 3,299

"god, it's brutal out here"

index

You squint your eyes open, blinking a few times to allow your eyes to adjust to the blinding lights. You look around you, feeling a sense of deja vu as you take in the white walls and white ceilings. Your father stands just a few feet away from you talking with someone who seems like the doctor.

“Unless she gets proper training on how to use her quirk, she’ll be fainting every time she uses at least fifty percent-“ The doctor’s eyes shift to you, noticing that you’ve awakened. H clears his throat, furrowing his brows at your father, lowering his voice into a more ushered tone. “Her quirk is too powerful for her body. I don’t know what that child had gone through, but all I can guess is that it must have been very painful for her quirk to enhance this much. You hav two options here, Mr. Kawamata; you either get her to stop using her quirk like that for the rest of her life or you get someone to teach her how to control it.”

The doctor leaves with a heavy ambience in the room and you watch as your father’s shoulders physically drop. “Are you finally regretting all the bullshit you did to me back when I was a child?” You ask, pushing yourself to sit up. Your father quickly turns around, smile stretching across your face to see you’ve awakened.

He steps towards you and you quickly hold up a hand to stop him in his tracks, not wanting a hug from him nor do you want him to be closer than three feet from you. “How long was I out?” You ask.

“About three hours. The doc says you will be discharged tomorrow-“

“If I can be discharged tomorrow then I can be discharged right now. There’s only a few hours difference.” You begin to pull at you IV tube only for your father’s much bigger hands to stop you. “Didn’t I tell you to-“

“You can deny me and reject me as much as you want, Y/n. But I am still your father and I’m worrying about your health.” He speaks in an assertive, dominating voice which pulls out the childhood fear you have in you. He’s always spoken to you like this back then, especially back then. You have no idea where this sudden change of heart came from but you don’t want anything to do with it, or him.

“I’ll contact a close friend of mine to be in charge of your quirk training. This way you will be able to control your quirk better and-“

“No way.”

Your father raises a questioning brow at you.

“I came to Japan because I knew you were here. Not because I wanted to be close to you but because I want to prove to you that I can become a respected and powerful hero without your help.” You grit your teeth, “when I was still a child, I expressed to you multiple times how much I wanted to be a hero and you turned that down every single time.”

You stand up, ripping the IV tube out of your skin, feeling the warmth of your blood slowly drop down your knuckles and fingers. “Well now you don’t get to meddle with my goals and dreams anymore, considering how much you’ve stomped on them my whole childhood.”

You quickly grab your phone, dialing a number you’ve memorized before you went home. It rings once, twice- “Hello this is The Endeavor Agency, how may I help you?”

You raise your brow, not expecting them to pick up since it was an hour past midnight. “Hello, it’s Y/n L/n. I’m calling to accept the recruitment offer you guys sent?”

“Of course miss L/n! We’ll send an email over to you in a bit regarding the schedules and information about the week long interning with Pro-Hero Endeavor. Thank you for choosing us!“

“Oh, and I’m sorry for calling this late. Something came ups and I didn’t have enough time to call.”

“it’s quite alright miss. then.“

You end the call, waving your hand up to get the attention of a taxi cab. You quickly get in, blinking your drowsiness away. You turn on your cellphone, feeling a wave of guilt hit you at the numerous missed calls you have on discord- presumably from Shinsou.

You: hey, sorry I didn’t play with you. Stress did me dirty and I passed out lol

You: I promise we’ll play soon, not now though, we’ll both be busy with interning

Shiin_s0u: u alright?

You: why aren’t you asleep?

You: yeah I am, just rlly tired

shiin_s0u: kinda fucked up my sleep schedule this week lmao

shiin_s0u: it’s ok we’ll have free schedules after the interning I think

You: fingers crossed

shiin_s0u: I’ll leave you to sleep

shiin_s0u: night lol

You: night

You look up from your phone, virtually paying the driver before getting off the car. By the time you reach your apartment, you barely have enough energy to walk towards your room, so you drop yourself onto the couch instead, allowing the heavy feeling of languor encase you in its arms.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own? You. Know, no matter how much we both loath that man he’s rich enough to have multiple cars that offer a comfortable ride to-“

“Mom. Please.” Your mother grows quiet as you sigh, “I’ve ridden a train on my own before.”

“I just wanna make sure you’ll be safe.“

“Yes, I know, thanks but I’ll be able to handle myself. Now I gotta go, I should have started walking to the train station half an hour ago.”

You bid farewell to your mother before ending the call, as you make your way down the building, your eye catches as black car with the windows tinted all over.

“Excuse me, miss Y/n L/n, we’re here to pick you up. We are-“ The man in the black suit starts, only for you to cut him off by bringing your hand up. “If you’re here on Mr. Kawamata’s orders, I would like you send him a message from me. Tell him to suck a dick.” You nod before you start walking away, taking out your headphones from your pocket proving to be a real struggle as you hold onto your stroller with your other hand.

“No, Miss L/n, we’re here because Pro-Hero Endeavor sent us.” You stop walking, turning at the balls of your feet and pushing the luggage towards him. “Well why didn’t you say so!” You chirp, stepping in the car.

You plugged in your earphones, allowing music to consume you as you leaned your head back on the seat, closing your eyes as you allow yourself to be lost in the cage of music. you stir awake not that long after, rubbing your eyes when you notice the car had stopped moving. You step out of the vehicle, whistling lowly as you took in the luxurious sky scraper in front of you with the front entrance decorated with a stylized flaming E for Endeavor.

You step in, allowing the man in the suit to carry your luggage for you as well as lead you to where you can only assume is the direction to the hero’s office. You’re greeted by a secretary right outside huge wooden double doors before she speaks into a telephone saying you’ve arrived. A stoic and deep voice tells her to let you in, it’s similar to how your father sounds, which causes a shiver to run up your spine.

You walk in the office, unable to quickly process just how large it is before your gaze lay on a certain two-toned boy. “Shoto?” You call out, making the boy turn around to face you. “Y/n? What are you doing at my father’s agency?” He ask, your jaw almost touch the floor with how big your mouth opened. “Your father own this?” You ask motioning around to the gigantic office.

You make your way towards him, feeling your stomach drop at the same large man that stood beside your father back at the sports festival. He opens his mouth to speak only for you to raise your hands in surrender.

“Nope, nope. I already know where this is going-“

“L/n your father has instructed me to teach you to control your quirk.” He starts only for you to clench your jaw. “I despise that man with all my heart. why the hell are you taking orders from him?”

“That man is the president of the hero association. He’s also a dear friend to me who I owe something to. To pay him back, he says I’ll have to take you under my wing. It’ll be beneficial to you; you’ll be able to fight better and control your power more.”

You huff and cross your arms at the idea, not wanting to argue with someone who made correct points. The help won’t be from your father anyways, it’s Endeavor who’s teaching you. Right?

“Well then, the two of you get ready. I’ll show you what a hero is.”

You quickly put on your hero suit, putting on your mask before meeting with the two guys outside the agency. the sun had already set and the winds are getting colder by the minute.

You and Shoto walk side by side, looking around the city as Endeavor continues to babble about being a hero and such.

Your heads snap towards the direction of the loud explosion near by, not having to think twice before all three of you start running towards the direction. You stop at your tracks at the sight of the same experiment you encountered back in UA, the walking biohazard named Nomu.

You look around you, noticing you’ve lost Endeavor and Shoto. You grit your teeth at the sight of the disgusting thing in front of you. You deploy your claymore as citizens begin screaming and running for their lives.

“Hey, kid! Get out of there! It’s not safe!” An officer yells at you as he helps an old granny back up to her feet. You look to your side, the blue neon lines on your mask glowing in the dark. “You continue helping granny away from here.” You put more power onto your claymore, allowing blue flames to start appearing on the thick blade. “I’ll handle this.”

You jump towards the monster, swinging your blade at it. It holds its hands up, blocking your attack as it moves its leg up to kick you in the stomach. You grunt, using your sword to push yourself off of it and back onto the ground.

It keeps its eyes you, charging the second it sees you staying still. You use your speed quirk, running around and towards its back, slashing your blade successfully at it. You smile, finally being able to drop an attack on it. Your smile a second later at the sight of the wound healing immediately, watching in disgust as the muscles patch themselves together.

It turns around, causing you to get on fighting stance. As it charges at you and as you ready yourself, large flames begin to surround its body, causing it to screech in pain. It falls to the ground moments later, showing you an irritated Shoto.

“Midoriya just texted me, they need help!” He yells, running towards an alley to which you follow immediately right after. Shoto looks down at his phone screen as you follow right behind him, coming to a halt at the loud of things crashing and Izuku yelling.

At the sight of a man in wrapped in shredded bandages with two katanas in hand, along with Tenya, a hero and Izuku unable to move close to him, Shoto uses his fire to force the villain back and away from the guys.

You run over towards them, pointing your claymore at the villain who tilts his head to the side. You hear Shoto scolding Izuku for not explaining the urgency of the situation because he could have gotten here sooner if he didn’t need to decode the green-haired boy’s message since he only sent his location.

Shoto sends his ice at the killer once more who continues to evade the boy’s attacks, standing on store signs instead as he looks down at you all, presumably trying to read the situation.

“Don’t let him ingest your blood! It will paralyze you!” Izuku yells, your head whipping back at the villain’s direction who looks like he’s about to lick on something on his blade. You those your claymore at him, causing him to let go of his katana and fall back.

You use your quirk to quickly run over to him, kicking him back onto the ground even before he can touch it, adding more pressure to his fall.

“Stop it, you guys! I inherited Ingenium’s name, I should be the one to stop the hero killer-“

“Quit yer yapping, Tenya!” You growl, deploying a scythe. “You say that but do you think your brother would have wanted you to do this?! We may not be close at all, hell, I only know your name but if your brother is as great of a hero as you say he is, he would want you to be a hero without such dark intentions in your heart!” You yell, your heart clenching as you feel your stomach twist at how hypocritical you sound right now.

Shoto creates a wall of ice, but Stain slashes through it. You jump towards the villain, swinging your scythe at him as he uses two daggers to repel your weapon. The two of you exchange blows before he suddenly lets go of his daggers, grabbing onto the handle of your scythe as he pulls you towards him, lifting you up by the weapon as he throws you upwards, causing you to lose your balance as you are thrown behind him.

Stain runs over to Shoto, stabbing him with throwing knives before moving over him. Before he can stab the boy from above, Izuku unexpectedly grabs him and tackles him away.

“Midoriya! I’ll support you-“

“Not so fast you two-toned bastard.” You growl, walking past him with the your trusty claymore in your hands. “You’re injured. Izuku and I will be able to fight him. Just stay up and watch over Iida and that hero.” You say, pointing your thumb back to where the two were as you point your blade towards the villain.

Stain runs over to Izuku, catching the boy off guard as you use your speed to run in between them, shielding Izuku from the villain with your sword. “I got your back!” You yell, pushing the villain away from you with your sword as Izuku runs over to his back, about to throw one of his ridiculously strong punches. Right before he can throw a blow at the villain, Stain jumps away, evading the attack as it hits you instead.

You quickly use your sword to block the gust of wind and power punched towards you as Izuku yells an apology. You click your tongue, “Couldn’t you stop being a klutz for just one minute?!” You yells, running over to Stain, swinging your sword towards him. He evades the attack once more, watching as your slice creates a large and deep slash on the cemented ground as well as the buildings behind him.

“What strong power locked inside a small body. I don’t think any of that belongs to you.” The villain smiles to which you frown at. “It was given and forcefully put inside me without my consent. But now it’s part of me, and I’m now naming it mine.” Your voice sounds powerful as you transfer more of your power onto your claymore, blue flames once again appearing on the blade.

“Come on, little villain.” You smile sinisterly, neon blue lines begin appearing all over your body, catching Izuku off guard. I shouldn’t be doing this, I might pass out again. But as my mother always said, there’s no gain without a little pain. You thought to yourself, once again leaving an after image of yourself in front of the villain as you strike him a scorching blow from behind.

“How the hell did you get behind me-“ Your claymore disappears from your grasp as fingerless gloves wrap themselves around your fists. You grab him by the face, slamming him onto the ground as your grip tightens around his head. “You’re supposed to be the infamous hero killer! Don’t tell me you’ll let a sixteen year-old child break you like this!” You yell, stepping onto his arms as you pull his head up only to smash it back down to the ground.

Smash his head open

No, no, make it so that he won’t be able to walk even after he heals up!

He’s killed many people, hasn’t he? So doesn’t he deserve death a thousand times over?

“That’s right! He does deserve death a thousand times over!” You yell, your hand never stopping as you continue bashing his head onto the ground. “Y/n, stop! We have to bring him over to the heroes alive for interrogation!” Iida yells as you feel arms wrap around from under your shoulders, pulling you away from the bloody villain. “Stop, stop! Y/n! Stain’s unconscious now!” Izuku snaps you out of your daze as the blue lines begin to disappear from your face. You look around, feeling your heart about to jump right out of your chest as you look at your palm, feeling a shudder pass down your spine at the sight of blood all over it.

You let the boys tie the villain up with some rope they found in the dumpster. All of you begin to walk towards the Main Street, Iida walking right beside you. “What was that back there?” He asks, his eyes staying up front.

“I have no idea what you mean.” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to talk about this anymore. “Okay, let me rephrase my question. /Who/ was that back there?” You stop at your tracks, keeping your eyes on the ground as you clench your fists together. “Her name is Y/n L/n but she’s also none of your business.” You say before you continue walking straight.

When you finally step out of the alley way, the hero that had been injured with Iida offers to carry Izuku on his back, claiming its the least he can do after being saved by you all. A short yellow man comes kicking Izuku on his face, as he gives Izuku an angry lecture.

You hear a group of heroes begin running your way, “Endeavor told us there was request for help here but… children?”

“Those injuries look bad, I’ll call an ambulance right away.”

“Hey, look!” One motions at Stain as another gasps, “Is that… the hero killer?”

As the adults begin contacting for help, Iida walks over to the three of you, bowing. “You guys, got hurt because of me. I’m truly sorry. I was just so angry I couldn’t… see anything else.” Your heart ached for Iida as you watched his tears drop to the ground, staining them wet. You sigh, walking over to him, propping him to stand up straight. You pull him into a hug, allowing him to sob harder on your shoulder.

You whisper calming hushes onto his ear as you stroked his head- something your mother would do to you whenever you felt negative about yourself. “It’s okay, Tenya. From now on, just remember to be good always. Always have kindness in your heart no matter what.”

Hypocrite. You’re the personification of the word hypocrite.

I know. You sigh to yourself, I know.

#bakugou fanfiction #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #bakugou bios #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #mha fanfiction #mha fluff #bnha fanfiction #bnha fluff #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia fluff #my hero fanfic #my hero fluff #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero fluff

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sunflowersoonyoung · 4 years ago

Text

imperfection | eunha

w.c ↠ 2.0k

pairing ↠ eunha x fem!reader

genre/s ↠ fluff, high school au!, featuring best friend!yerin

description ↠ You have spent countless hours observing perfect student Jung Eunbi. But it’s not enough. You want to see what lies beneath the surface.

warning/s ↠ possible underaged drinking (it’s kinda ambiguous as their ages aren’t mentioned)

author’s note ↠ my first piece of writing for this blog! woo~! i have noticed a severe lack of gfriend fics on this site so hopefully i shall stay committed enough to fill that hole :3

"You’re staring at her again.”

Yerin had her fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm, dragging you back to reality with a lilted tone. Her crescent eyes were crinkled, filled with amusement. It was not the first time she had commented on that particular tendency of yours, one that would be near-impossible for you to give up.

Jung Eunbi’s seat was two from the front, on the far right. You had that fact engraved into your mind. From your place near the back of the classroom, you could freely view the side of her features; you could lose yourself in her, commit to memory her subconscious habits.

Yerin sat back in her chair, reflecting back to you a mischievous smile, her thoughts as enigmatic as ever to you.

Ever since your friendship had blossomed in early middle school, Yerin had acted almost as a guardian to you. That role had remained despite both of you being almost adults. Although, recently it had taken on a new flavour. She was a little concerned that you were missing something - or rather, someone - in your life, and had been giving you small nudges towards finding that someone.

“I know she’s pretty but it won’t rub off on us,” she teased, seemingly unaware that her beauty was comparable to Eunbi’s. It was only due to her tomboyish and brash nature that male students were too nervous to approach her, whereas Eunbi was famously regarded to be sweet and polite.

“That’s not what I’m hoping for,” you muttered, taking care to be quiet enough that Yerin did not hear you.

Rather, your true wish was to capture a glimpse of Eunbi’s inner workings. Although you had spent over two years observing the school jewel, much of what you witnessed was only surface deep. You only wanted to know her deeper.

It all had begun when the round-faced girl had raised her hand to answer every question during orientation. Her chestnut irises would glitter, her enthusiasm to start the school year shining through.

That day you found yourself enraptured. You were not alone, either; boys flocked to Eunbi, drowning her with flattery and grasping for any scraps of affection from her. They reminded you of starved animals. Perhaps you might act like that if you were in a similar position, with the confidence that you had somewhat of a chance with her.

You had long since crossed that idea from your mind. Initially, you enjoyed clinging to the fantasy. Nowadays, however, that small sliver of hope stung, so you tried to stifle it.

“Then, what are you hoping for? I’m curious.”

Shock washed over your skin as you realised Yerin had, in fact, overheard you earlier. You met her firm gaze reluctantly, noticing the way heat rose on your face. You had not revealed your sexuality to Yerin but knew very well she had suspicions. It was only natural; not once had you offered your attention to a boy.

Just as pressure was building for you to reply, the bell sounded. You leapt upon this opportunity, hastily tidying your desk as you knew Yerin would be more eager to head home than pursue this topic. You were correct in this assertion. Immediately she abandoned her interrogation to stuff her pack with her notebooks.

Another time, you thought with passing relief, you would save that conversation for later.

The gradual walk home with Yerin came paired with a lukewarm breeze. She usually overwhelmed your ears with chatter, but today her mouth remained closed. A comfortable silence draped the air.

Abruptly, she spoke.

“There’s a party tonight. I know you don’t like them, but I thought I’d invite you anyway. I heard Kim Mingyu is going,” a broad grin stretched across her full cheeks as if the knowledge of the school flirt attending was thrilling to you. You could think of nothing worse than ending up pressed to a wall, enduring the wrath of a tipsy boy deadset on peeling off your clothes.

Feeling like an evening out regardless of potential consequences, you heaved a sigh and responded, “I’ll go. What time?”

Yerin clasped your arm tightly, offering you a giddy smile as her eyes lit up, “really? I’ll pick you up! Is eight o’clock okay?” It was rare that you joined Yerin on her drunken antics, and her excitement was bubbling up on her expression.

Before you could respond affirmatively, she was already skipping ahead, far more animated than moments earlier - when she had seemed almost subdued.

“Make sure you wear something cute,” she hummed, turning on her heel to face you with interlocked fingers held at her chest. Dread began to weigh down your gut like a heavy stone; usually, you would come to regret these evenings out.

But it was too late to change your mind. Yerin was far too overjoyed, and even the thought of extinguishing that burned you with guilt.

The night air was stuffy, and after only a few moments of exposure, sweat was sticking your clothing to your figure. Hardly heeding Yerin’s advice to dress in something “cute”, you had put no effort in your appearance, attending in only jeans and a tucked-in shirt. Upon scrutinizing this outfit, Yerin had only frowned.

Compared to your friend, you felt significantly underdressed. Her lustrous hair cascaded down her back in waves, a short baby blue dress revealing the ivory gloss of her legs. She was bound to receive attention tonight, and so would you - unfortunately not the positive sort. Standing beside such a gorgeous girl would surely cast shadows upon you.

Inside, the proximity of bodies overwhelmed you with nausea and shortness of breath. If it were not for Yerin’s hand enclosed around yours, you would have directly avoided the mass for the outskirts of the room. Instead, you ended up amidst all of the chaos, thanks to her iron grasp.

Yerin had filled a cup with liquor-laced cola and busied herself with casual conversation, leaving you to observe your surroundings out of boredom. The lounge room had been modified somewhat, fold-out tables squeezed into corners, lined with alcoholic beverages and a variety of soft drinks. As you took in the room, your gaze settled upon a crimson leather sofa - empty, save for a petite girl curled up on the end.

It took you a brief moment to realise the aforementioned girl was none other than Jung Eunbi.

“Yerin,” you hissed, drawing her attention, “what is she doing here?”

As if this was all a part of some diabolical plan of hers, she shot you a grin, responding with a dismissive, “who knows?”

Eunbi had never shown her face at a party before, perhaps out of fear of smearing her good-girl image. She looked horribly out of place, nervously glancing around her as if worried that someone might approach her. Her fingers would intermittently adjust the collar of her white blouse, then return to swirling the contents of her plastic cup.

By the time you recognised that you were staring unashamedly at her, Eunbi was staring back.

Initially, you grew panic-filled, searching for something else to look at as if it were mere coincidence that you had met eyes. It was too late to pretend; you had now drawn her attention.

Feeling hot and embarrassed beneath her curiosity, it took enormous willpower not to turn your back on her. Instead, you allowed the tension between you both to heighten, until you flicked your gaze back up at her. It was her who went scarlet this time. If you had not just witnessed it, you might not have believed it.

The evening melted away, much of it spent exchanging shy glances and nervous smiles with Eunbi. Occasionally she would stand and refill her cup, and these were the only interruptions, apart from when Yerin (who was now quite intoxicated) stumbled backwards into you, causing the world you and Eunbi shared to shatter briefly. The tension between you both was obvious.

As the night reached its culmination, she stood, this time making a direct bee-line for the doorway you had witnessed various couples disappear through. Her steps were unsteady, and she appeared less than confident in her ability to walk.

As her figure retreated from your vision, cold hands grasped your shoulders from behind.

“Go on. I think she wants you to follow her.”

It was Yerin, giving you the shove you needed. You would thank her later when she would remember it.

Although most rooms were undoubtedly occupied, the study remained open; this is where Eunbi had found herself. Her palm leant against a dark wooden desk, back turned to you as her almond-shaped eyes skimmed the bookshelves. She was not truly looking at them, however, her mind far elsewhere. She turned hearing the sound of your footsteps coming to a halt, expression brightening in the wake of you.

“You’re (F/n), the pretty girl in my class, aren’t you?”

Nothing could have prepared you for a compliment so direct, a blush heating the tips of your ears. Eunbi had an air of innocence as she spoke, perhaps due to the alcohol in her bloodstream. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she proceeded, and you could not help but look.

“Hey, (F/n), will you listen to me while I talk?”

Though you hardly needed to be asked, the way her voice trembled would have convinced you regardless. Her eyes glistened with tears as she began to describe her situation, opening up to you with such desperation that you realised she had no one else.

You learned that Seonghwa, a popular boy with questionable motives, had been pursuing Eunbi and that despite her obvious disinterest her friend group was pushing her in his direction. Uncovering her imperfections somehow made her more attractive.

“I’m too scared to say anything. They already make fun of me because I only focus on my studies. But I don’t want to date him, I really don’t,” as she began to sob, shock coursed through your veins. Out of desperation, your hands found hers. She took this contact as permission to bury herself in your arms.

It was strange, how natural it felt to hold her. You were frightened to hug her too tightly, her figure small and fragile. She did not share the same fear apparently, because she was clinging to you as if she had been craving this moment forever. You allowed her to cry, tightening your embrace in an attempt to soothe her. It seemed to work; gradually, her quivering slowed till she was still.

Somehow, this was happening. All you had ever desired was to be the very person who Eunbi took solace in, and this night had lead to just that. Her easiness in trusting you made you realise, perhaps this romance was not as one-sided as you had always assumed.

When she withdrew, her raven hair falling over her face in disarray, you were cold without her. Would this be the last of a breathtaking moment? Your heart threatened to break over the mere idea.

“I’d much rather date you, (F/n). I like you a lot,” she murmured, as if unsure whether she was ready for you to hear it.

You heard it regardless of her intentions.

Time passed amidst a thick silence, as neither of you could find the right words to say. You were not sure where the inspiration to kiss her came from, an abnormally bold move from yourself by your admittance, but Eunbi’s warm lips were inviting you to continue so you did.

Her fingers reached up and tentatively brushed your cheeks, gently tilting your jaw to draw you a little closer. She left a sweet flavour behind, and when she peered at you her round eyes sparkled with a clarity you would have expected from someone sober. It was all you could do not to sweep her up and kiss her till her lips were swollen.

For a moment you peered back at each other almost in disbelief.

“Do you think we could try being together?” Eunbi’s voice shrunk, barely audible.

This time you failed to fight your urges, cupping her face to taste her once more, a wordless answer to her question.

#gfriend #girl group fanfic #girl group imagines #gfriend x reader #gfriend fanfic #gfriend imagines #eunha x reader #eunha fanfic #eunha imagines #gxg imagine #wlw #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #eunha #jung eunbi #kpop #girl group fluff #kpop fluff #gfriend fluff

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bluesfortheredj · 4 years ago

Text

Behind Closed Doors.

A/N: This was for an event but apparently ao3 didn’t like my posting of this on the event page as I can no longer see it, so I’m posting it here as I don’t think the recipient follows me so it should be safe until the reveal! There will eventually be a part 2.

Rough smut ahead.

It was subtle at first; the way your top teeth sunk into your bottom lip when you heard him shouting down the phone at someone, then when you crossed your legs underneath the desk as his fist came down to bang on the table in front of him through frustration, and finally the way your breath hitched whenever he was near, instructing you on what to do next in his familiar authoritative tone. All of these feelings were completely new to you and very unexpected; you’d never felt like this over someone acting so dominant, it had never done anything for you before but it must be because of who it is. Mr Lee was your boss, the managing director of the company you were at, and you were his secretary; sitting in a little glass office directly next to his, only one thin window separating you both for five days of the week.

You were a few months into the job now and the telltale signs of your excitement over him asserting his position had certainly not gone unnoticed by the man himself; his eyes wandering over to that window every time he raised his voice just to see those teeth dip into your plump lip, his fist hitting the desk in a rage purely to see you crossing your legs and squeezing yourself tight at the action, and the way he’d drop a file on your desk unnecessarily loudly before using his stern tone to inform you what to do with it just to see your chest puff out as you hold your breath and wait for him to finish. How to progress from here though, he had no idea. Feelings he wasn’t used to were flooding his veins when he saw you, and he was desperate to both make you scream his name while you were bent over his desk and make you breakfast in bed; it was all very bewildering for him.

“Mr Lee, I have Eric from sales on the phone,” you say quietly, standing in the doorway that leads from his office to yours, “shall I put him through?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes before nodding, “go on, put him through.”

His eyes stay trained on your bum as your hips sway from side to side in the tight black pencil skirt you definitely hadn’t worn before, then as you turn to the side to pick up the phone he quickly averts his gaze to the phone that sits beside his hand. The call is brief and he’s soon back to eyeing you up through the window, lust clouding his stare as he watches your every move.

“(Y/N), could you come here please?” he asks, swallowing down his initial nerves about taking the first step.

“Yes Mr Lee?”

“Take a seat,” he instructs, gesturing with his hand to the chair opposite him.

You sit down, your knees together and angled to the side to protect your dignity, and your hands clasped as they rest on your lap.

“From now on I will require you to wear a black pencil skirt and white blouse every day to the office,” he states confidently, watching your face for some kind of clue as to how you feel about this instruction, “understood?”

He notices a smile tugging at one side of your mouth until you manage to get it under control, “yes Sir, understood.”

“Good. You may go.”

From then on he changes the way he acts around you, his body leaning in much closer than before, his arm around the back of your chair as he peers over your shoulder to make sure what you’re doing is correct while his warm breath ghosts over your neck causing goosebumps to rise along your skin, and the temptation to reach out to him almost overwhelms you on more than one occasion. The days blur together, all in a fog of desperation and need to feel him on your body in whatever way possible, and he can tell that you’re practically begging for him to do something about it.

“I need you,” he calls out sternly, making you jump in your seat.

You immediately rush to stand in front of his desk with your hands by your sides, waiting for him to say something, anything, and your breath halts as his mouth eventually opens.

“You sent the wrong letter out,” he says, balling up a piece of paper in his fist before throwing it past you and onto the floor, “go and pick that up.”

You turn away from his desk just as he rises from his seat then he follows you across the room where you bend down to pick up the discarded paper, and as your fingertips grab at the crumpled mess, a strong hand slaps your backside, jolting you forwards so much you end up with your palms and knees against the carpeted floor. You take a gulp as you feel him kneeling next to you but there’s no way you wanted to stop him from doing whatever it was he had planned.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” he asks, his lips pressed against your hair as one hand curls gently around your neck and the other rests on your buttock.

“Sorry,” you exhale softly.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Sorry Sir,” you reply louder.

His hand circles your bum over the skirt then lifts from the fabric and comes down with one more hard smack that makes you moan out loud as the imprint of his hand stings your skin pleasurably.

“Do you want me to do that again?” he whispers, his nose buried in your hair as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your neck.

“Yes Sir, please,” you beg instantly.

He takes his hand away from your neck, slips a pencil out from his top pocket and places it between your teeth before his hand resumes its position, his fingers gripping the exposed skin of your neck a little harder than before causing you to inhale sharply. You can feel your teeth sinking into the soft wood of the pencil already, the paint that coats it surely cracking as you bite down in preparation, then his hand strokes around your backside once more before being pulled away. Your jaw clenches, your eyes squeeze shut, and then you feel it again, that sweet arousing sting of pain as his large hand meets your skirt after bringing it upon you with as much power as he can muster.

“Again?” he asks.

You nod fervently with only a whimper drifting over the pencil that is now wedged between your teeth and he leans down to kiss the back of your shirt before his hand slaps your cheeks in turn repeatedly, your short pants turning into moans with each spank; your body jutting forwards and pressing your neck further into his open hand. After what you count to be twelve hard smacks he suddenly stops and takes his hands away from your body as his chest heaves with excitement.

“Stand up,” he instructs, and you do as he says as he says while wincing with the pain of your buttocks.

He steps towards you, placing his finger tips on the end of the pencil before taking it out of your mouth with a line of saliva following it, then wipes your chin with his thumb before threading his fingers through your hair and pulling tightly on it while he stands almost nose to nose with you.

“Think carefully about the answer to this question...” he warns, “do you want to continue?”

You’d been waiting for this moment for so long, to be completely under his control and allow him to do whatever he wanted to to your yearning body, and you nod slowly as a whispered ‘yes’ falls softly from your lips.

“If you say the word pencil then I promise I’ll stop,” he reassures, “are you sure you want to carry on?”

“Yes… Sir… please,” you breathe, your core already feeling slick with arousal.

“Okay. Shirt and skirt off, now.”

He lets go of your hair while you hurriedly discard your clothes to reveal the all black set of underwear you’re wearing; it was nothing special really, but it accentuated your figure and had a trim of lace to it which made you feel a little more sexy than usual, and it seemed to work as Mr Lee’s eyes drag themselves up your body slowly, taking in the beautiful sight before him.

“Stand facing the desk,” he orders, then you hear him opening up a cupboard as you walk towards the desk, standing with your hands by your sides obediently, “underwear off,” he then continues, coming up behind you and placing down some cuffs and a metal bar on the desk in front of you.

You quickly wriggle out of everything as he stands inches away from you, the heat of his body radiating onto yours as the excitement in your stomach builds, and when you take a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye you see that he’s already down to his pants with his shirt undone to show his broad torso.

“Remember the safe word,” he says quietly as he picks up the set of leather cuffs and heads around to his side of the desk where he attaches them to the handle of the centre drawer, “wrists.”

His eyes look from your face to your hands as you hold them out and bend over the desk until your breasts are pressed against the cold wood. He conveyed a lot through one look and you could tell that behind the stern darkness of his eyes that he just wanted you to himself, your body, your mind, everything about you he wanted completely selfishly. His fingers are delicate as they secure the cuffs around your wrists, making sure you had a little room to move but not enough to slip your hands out of the them, then he leans over and kisses your hair, your gaze fixed to one side as you rest your head on the desk and watch him walk back around to your side.

“Feet apart,” he commands after picking up the metal bar.

You shuffle your feet apart, feeling your lips spreading as well, then Mr Lee bends down to affix the cuffs at the ends of the bar to your ankles, moving your feet carefully to fit the instrument between them properly; again his touch is gentle, even loving sometimes, and there are no doubts in your mind that you are in the safest of hands. His eyes look up from your ankles to your cheeks that are darkened from the spanking, and as he stands behind you he can’t resist one more slap against your sensitive skin.

“Ah!” you cry out, not expecting the contact at all.

“Again?”

“Yes,” you groan, unintentionally wiggling your hips at him.

He alternates between your cheeks until he’s satisfied with the imprints of his hands that are now practically glowing, and he steps back to admire his handiwork as he shuffles out of his pants and shrugs his shirt from his shoulders. You look so beautiful right now with your legs forced apart, your glistening folds waiting for his erect member to slide past them, and your torso lying flush against the desk with your hands restrained so you couldn’t reach out for him. He strokes himself as he watches you twitch in anticipation, wondering what he was going to do next, and smirks to himself as you try to tilt your head to see him but fail.

“Please,” you whisper desperately, “please Sir.”

“Please what? What do you want me to do?”

“Anything,” you whine as you long for his touch, “please.”

He stays silent, slipping a condom over his stiff length in preparation, but surprises you by kneeling down on the floor and diving into your waiting entrance with his tongue, grazing your clit with his bottom teeth before pressing his tongue flat against it then lapping at the hardening nub. You automatically pull against the restraints as a surprised moan escapes your mouth and you’re craving your freedom to reach around and press his head against you, but you have to push your hips back instead in an attempt for more.

He stops flicking your clit and tuts at your action, “you need to remember that this isn’t for you, this is all for me,” he scolds, rising to his feet.

“Sorry.”

He smacks your backside, “sorry, what?”

“Sorry Sir,” you almost pant, your body aching for him to do something else to you.

“Better,” he says before pushing his erection into your core and filling you within a matter of seconds.

“Yes!” you gasp, your fingers curling around the edge of the desk.

He sets a punishing pace as the desk creaks and groans beneath you, the feet of it scraping ever so slightly against the floor with each forceful thrust inside your damp walls, and your body judders against the desk with each movement, your breasts being pulled back and forth every time.

“Mr Lee,” you pant, “oh, Sir.”

The hands that lay on your hips move up to the base of your back before sliding up your spine until he can gather your hair together and wrap it around one set of fingers before his free hand returns to your hip where it grips onto the soft flesh tightly, making sure he anchors himself securely as he continues to ram into you mercilessly. He tugs at your hair, causing your head to lift from the desk so that you’re facing the wall behind his chair, then he leans down while his hips keep moving and bites into the skin that lies over your shoulder blade which earns a stuttered whimper from you. He straightens up again, pulling you hair tighter as his finger tips dig into your hip, and you think of the small round marks that will be a reminder of this moment for days to come. Grunts start to come from the domineering man behind you, his body hitting against yours at full force as he begins to climb towards his orgasm already.

“Say my name,” he demands through gritted teeth.

“Mr Lee,” you cry out, “Mr Lee.”

He suddenly lets go of your hair, your head almost dropping onto the desk, and his hands go straight to your breasts to lift them from the table and knead them in his palms before keeping his fingers pinched to your nipples, twisting them from side to side as you arch your back. You can feel the sweat sticking your bodies together where they meet and his movements become sloppy as he chases his high with a renewed urgency, then with one final long groan and a tightening of his fingers on your nipples he stops still for a moment before shuddering a little as he orgasms.

His whole demeanour changes as soon as it’s over and he immediately lets go of your breasts as one hand slides underneath your stomach to rub your sensitive nub while he gently moves in and out of your drenched core, and soon enough you begin to pulsate around his length; letting go with an almighty cry. He’s quick to undo everything as you stay stuck to the desk unable to move on your wobbling legs, and he helps peel you from the wood before guiding you into the bedroom next door.

“My beautiful girl, you did so well. Thank you for indulging my fantasies like that,” Gwil breathes against your skin before kissing your shoulder and stroking your hair, “I never imagined the role play would be that much fun, but you… well, you made it perfect. I love you so much my darling.”

You lean into his body as you both walk towards the bed, your limbs tired and aching, your bum stinging, but an overall feeling of satisfaction and relief that you hadn’t broken character at all washing over you. Gwilym had suggested some sort of role playing activity a while ago, and now that you were in lockdown together it had been the perfect time to explore his fantasy; the thought of it definitely having a positive effect on you as well.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, kissing your cheek.

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, your hand rubbing your opposite wrist as the marks begin to show up from the cuffs.

“Darling, I’m so sorry, do they hurt?”

“No, not at all my love,” you smile as you turn to him, “I enjoyed every second of it.”

“You did? You don’t have to say that just because of me.”

“Honestly Gwil, I loved it. Couldn’t exactly fake my arousal, could I?”

“That makes me really happy. You make me really happy. That was incredible, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” he breathes, placing his hands on your cheeks and kissing your lips lovingly, “now you go and lay face down on the bed and I’ll help soothe those sore cheeks of yours.”

You climb onto the bed lazily and your body flops forwards, your head turned to one side on your pillow as you slide your arms up to rest your hands beneath the soft landing for your head, and you feel the weight of Gwil as he sits next to you with a bottle of your cocoa butter moisturiser in hand. Your tired eyes watch as he squeezes some onto the palm of his hand then rubs them together before reaching out to your pert bottom and carefully rubbing the cool lotion into your hot buttocks.

“Is that better?” he asks as you hum quietly.

“Mhmm, much better thank you.”

He leans over and kisses the base of your spine before shuffling off of the bed and continuing his soothing massage until his hands move down the length of your legs to the faint marks appearing on your ankles; a dash more moisturiser being spread on his hands to cover the irritated skin.

“Give me your hands sweetheart,” he whispers as he crawls back onto the bed and lays next to you on his side.

You slide your hands out from underneath the pillow then roll onto your side and extend your arms to him with a sleepy smile.

“That’s really taken it out of you, hasn’t it?” he asks with an air of concern as he gently runs his fingers around your wrists.

“It has,” you yawn, “but only in a good way.”

“I really love you, you know that right?” he questions with a furrowed brow of sincerity.

“Of course,” you chuckle, “and the feeling is entirely mutual. Why else would I agree to effectively not being able to sit down properly the next few days?”

He smirks at your comment then pulls your hands towards his chest so he can wriggle closer to you, “I’ll be thinking about what happened today a hell of a lot.”

“So will I,” you grin mischievously.

@painthatiusedto @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @drivenbybri

#gwilym lee smut #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee imagine #boss!gwilym x reader #smutty smut #kinda proud of this one

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blue---rose · 4 years ago

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White Widow - Chapter Six

Fanfiction.net | AO3

Title: White Widow Chapter: Six Author: Blue Rose

Huge shout out to my new beta - CherryBerry12. Thank you :) 💖

“Jesus, what did you eat today? Where did it all come from?!”

If Sakura could, she would have pinched her nose closed, but she needed both hands for the task of bagging up the dog poop while keeping the leash out of it. She didn’t understand why dogs never watched where they were going and tried to keep Akumaru from stepping in his droppings before she could clean up.

Finishing, she tossed the mess in a waste bin they passed before crossing the street.

“That crap was almost as big as your head.” Sakura laughed.

The pair had just come from a small park at the end of the block and were now heading to their intended destination. On the surface, it was just a smart thing to do — letting the dog relieve himself before they needed to go inside. In reality, it was her just procrastinating. And she used every second of it.

However, the growing puppy didn't care much about taking a stroll today. Especially when they approached the towering highrise. This was his other home, and his panting and excitement signaled he knew exactly where they were.

"Ok! Ok! We're going."

Approaching the entrance, Sakura was careful to watch her step while she admired the way the evening sun reflected off the smoked glass and steel. There was a dark, eerie beauty she found in the looming structure before them.

The last time she'd been here, a thin layer of snow had covered all of the asphalt. Frigid temperatures caused the flurries to stick to the ground like falling powder — perfect for making snow angels.

She remembered that the exterior had been decorated with strings of twinkling blue lights as well with poinsettias arranged beneath the windows in a festive holiday display.

Thank goodness the weather was not below freezing as it was prior, months ago. Though, that didn't stop a wave of nerves from washing over her, wondering again how she managed to get herself into another weird situation.

Oh, yeah... that's right.

It started with a favor.

It always started with a favor.

Because she had a difficult time saying no and was consistently willing to lend a hand to anyone in need.

Which is why she was opening the glass doors to walk through the vestibule, speaking to the concierge in the lobby to give her name.

Well, it was much too late to change her mind and Sakura sighed, releasing Akamaru from her arms after the elevator doors closed. Making a steady ascent to the top floor, she mulled over the reasons she was there in the first place.

Sasuke had asked if she could return the dog to Kiba's family.

He'd never met any of them, and correctly presumed she would know how to reach someone. It wasn’t much of a stretch. She and Kiba had been friends since freshman year in high-school.

Sakura conceded to do his bidding, but followed up with some questions of her own — like, why was he watching over the dog to begin with?

Despite being guarded, Sasuke answered all of her questions. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling things were being left unsaid.

What quickly followed however, were thoughts of the canine’s owner. And soon she felt the dormant bud of concern blooming within her, once again.

Kiba .

Gently nudging away the worry she'd felt, Sakura went along with it. Especially after Sasuke revealed that it was against his lease to have a dog — up until now he'd been taking a risk.

Feeling a little sorry that he’d been keeping him, she agreed to return the pup. Which is how she'd ended up here.

The elevator came to a smooth stop at its designated floor, the thick doors sliding open. Akamaru pulled her down the hall, towards the other home he knew by scent and memory.

Sakura only knew they were at the correct place because of the ' PH3 ' plaque beside the red door.

Reaching out, she pulled down on the lever-like knob, entering once a voice beckoned her inside.

"Hello?"

She unhooked the leash from the studded collar just to watch the ball of fur run deeper into the suite, his tiny paws gaining traction against the mahogany planks of wood. Following seconds later, she rounded the corner to catch sight of a figure standing near an alcove.

Sakura looked on as Akamaru whined near the person's feet, pawing at their immaculately pressed pants. He then proceeded to roll onto his back, completely exposing his belly.

Sakura brought her eyes up to greet a woman whose tips of brown hair curled around her sharp jaw. Defined lips were painted a deep violet with a peremptory tone to match. Her voice was smooth and rich, whisking past her ears.

"Sakura."

Tsume Inuzuka stood as statuesque as royalty. Her commanding aura matched the intensity in her swirling, chocolate brown eyes. The attitude alone was worthy of any crown, but she was far too brutish for something as dainty as a tiara. Her brassknuckles nature had served her well in business...

And, maybe in her personal life as well?

The matriarch was already married to husband number three if she remembered correctly. Despite being rather intimidating, there was another side to her... a more gentle side. Something that was softer around the edges and reserved only for a select few.

Sakura hoped she could tap into that side now. Maybe it would help, especially when a certain topic was brought up.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Reaching down, the brunette picked up the squirming pooch to move him under her arm, briefly inspecting his form with a keen eye.

"Hello, Mrs. Inuzuka...Er! I mean, ' Shimazu ' now... isn't it?" Sakura ran a hand across her neck, smiling to cover the wince she so desperately tried to hide.

"Tsume is fine. Come here, let me get a good look at you. You've finally got some meat on those bones, I see."

Almond-shaped nails dipped in black lifted the young girl's chin, fingers tilting her face and Sakura felt a blush warming her cheeks under the scrutiny.

"Ah... yes, it has been a while. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

The dark-haired woman moved to sit on a loveseat, reaching for her glass of wine.

"Lucky it's not the weekend, or I would have been in California by now," she asserted, swirling the Merlot around in the wine glass.

Sakura politely declined the offer to join her with a glass of her own. She did accept a seat, however, sitting across from the older woman as she continued.

"I thought he would've lasted a lot longer before dumping his responsibilities on someone else. Speaking of which..."

Tsume raised her eyes to meet Sakura's, the tips of her nails clicking against the glass before she pressed on.

"You mentioned that you haven't heard from that son of mine. He's decided to stop responding to me too, which has been very irritating."

The layered ends of Sakura's high ponytail swung across the top of her shoulders as she shook her head. Her bangs rested partially in her face but their eyes remained locked as she confirmed what she’d said earlier over the phone.

"No, I have not."

The hand that was twirling the glass stopped, digits gripping the stem while the ambrosia settled within.

Shadows from the lowering sun tilted across the walls signaling the oncoming sunset. Quiet and sobering — as something stirred in the air and the mood changed.

Sakura sat immobile and tried not to fidget under the weight.

The tension was broken when Tsume released a hum, cutting off eye contact to look down. Reaching over, she grabbed a piece of prosciutto arranged on a platter from the coffee table.

Sakura slowly released the breath she had no idea she was holding until then.

Hesitating, she felt the need to tread lightly but knew it was necessary to shed some light on the situation. Be that as it may, it didn't look like she was going to be discovering anything new with the way things were going.

"That's actually why I wanted to speak with you. He hasn't responded to my messages either. At first, I wasn't worried, because of... well-."

Kiba's history of disappearing was left unspoken, but Tsume grunted in understanding, taking a long sip from her glass.

His mother was instantly reminded of his past rebellious acts. Although there usually would be some sort of... warning that preceded any dark turn.

Her remarrying or becoming bi-coastal were just a few examples. She could remember the fights and fallouts that followed. Especially regarding his choice of outlets.

The reckless behavior, the unsavory habits, the disagreements... she remembered them all.

But...

Tsume thought they'd long moved past that. He seemed to finally settle down... as much as someone like him could. He'd been taking care of his apartment, had stayed out of jail-

As far as she knew ...

-and out of most forms of trouble for quite some time now. It was hard to recall the last time she'd received a phone call that ended with screams, threats, or sour disappointment. She'd hate to think he'd regressed.

"Is there anyone he's been hanging around? A new group of friends, maybe? Other than Ino and yourself—"

Tsume was in the dark to whom he was associating with these days. "...he rarely tells me anything and I can barely keep up with him."

Sakura was not the type to be dishonest but she found herself in an uncomfortable position. Choosing her words carefully and hoping her deception wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass, she gave what she thought would be just enough.

"No one I've talked to has seen or heard from him either. I'm sorry."

She was here to get as much information as she could, without giving too much away.

All because...

Sasuke had also asked that she keep his name out of everything. As far as Kiba's folks were concerned, he didn't exist. And he'd like to keep it that way.

He had his reasonings; he’d murmured some explanation and Sakura relented because it made sense at the time. Maybe not giving names was the safest route.

But now that she was here, it was uncomfortable as hell, and her stomach felt like bats were fluttering away in it. The calm expression she presented on the surface, however, was flawless.

Moments ticked, ticked, ticked away... before Tsume finally waved her fingers dismissively. She'd heard everything she needed to hear. Crossing one leg over the other, the perfect cuff in her pants rested against her heel.

"No matter. Someone is already looking into it. If that boy thinks he can get away with ignoring me, he has another thing coming. I'm just wondering what foreign jail cell or backwater whore house I'll need to rescue him from this time ," she sneered, gulping down the last of her wine.

Sakura adjusted slightly, not saying a word but giving her a small nod. But her fingers curled into fists hidden within her pockets, the rings she wore digging into her skin.

It's not like she wanted him to be caught behind bars. Or needing to be dragged to a health clinic the next day, for thorough testing.

It's just...

At least he would be found, and all this fuss would have been all over nothing. But until that happened...

Sakura gave Tsume a small smile, hoping to ease away any concern this conversation may have brought.

Hidden away on the inside, she wished someone was there for her right now — who could return the favor. Someone who would gift her the same comfort she'd just offered Tsume to maybe put her mind at ease. Because even after speaking with his mother and listening to her confident answer...

Sakura could not shake the feeling that just wouldn't go away.

Something was amiss.

But she hoped that she was off track... and just being paranoid. And that his mother was right.

This was just one of those... 'Kiba times'.

It's exactly what a large part of her was wishing for... and what she needed to believe.

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

He hated that damn bow.

Sure... on its own, it was harmless.

That was all an illusion, though. Being an inanimate object did not stop it from being a vexation.

And just how could something so insignificant, be so... troublesome? After all, it was merely a decorative accessory, attached to a pair of heels. Looking so innocent, affixed to the leather band caging her slender ankle.

But looks could be deceiving.

It became problematic when his eyes traveled north. And for the life of him, Sasuke couldn't fathom how a few inches on a shoe could be so devastating. The manner in which they elongated her legs as his focus strayed upward. Following an invisible path along smooth, pale skin.

Limbs that seemed to go on and on for days — filling out to thighs that were soon hidden from view beneath sparkle.

The dress she wore did nothing but accentuate her curves; dips and valleys that filled out an enticing figure.

Sakura's slender neck supported her head as it cocked to the side, smiling at whatever some teen girl in front of her said. And her green eyes crinkled in mirth as she let out a laugh, bringing the clear plastic cup to her lips for a drink.

Speculating if she always smiled that brightly for everyone.

Sasuke tore his gaze away, eyes landing on the DJ booth in the corner — the LED lights around the display throbbed to the beat of the track, playing across the speakers.

Like hell he’d be caught staring.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t just spent... what? The last two hours together? Getting everything ready for the party. He'd seen her then...

Same outfit…

Same smile…

Same god damn heels.

So what had changed? Could he not keep himself from finding her?

His eyes constantly tracking her, flickering to trace her migration around the open space.

Even when he caught himself it wasn't enough to stop the cycle from repeating. His eyes would be lowered, idly scanning the party, not focused on anything in particular.

Then...

A flash of sequins before his eyes would settle on that little black bow.

Wasn't that the textbook definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?

Sasuke's mind didn't pass along that bit of information to the rest of his body. Instead, his eyes would start the trek all over again, his avaricious gaze taking her in before cutting away.

Seeking out a distraction, he leaned against the expansive window behind him.

The tempered glass usually flooded the suite with natural light during the day. Now, it hummed against his back, miniature vibrations warbling along the surface from the tracks deep base. And it felt cool against him as he sighed.

Taking another swing of beer, Sasuke hoped the warm sensation he felt didn't spread to his face. But at least he could make it appear the fault of alcohol and not the salacious thoughts starting to run rampant in his mind.

Like...

If the rest of her was as soft as the skin on her inner wrist was. The pad of his thumb had brushed against it when he had passed something to her earlier. And watching now, at the exposed skin her dress didn’t cover...

Damn him if it certainly didn't look the part. He would only need a few seconds to graze his hands across the perceived silkiness to know the answer.

Lowering the amber bottle, he swallowed thickly, sighing after. A quick look at his watch had him quickly releasing another one, wondering again why he was still there. Glancing over his shoulder at the snow-covered streets below, a minute passed — before a prickling behind his ear caught his attention.

He was being watched.

Everything around them started to fade away when his eyes suddenly met hers. Twinkling stars locked onto his own, piercing through the smoky haze around them, her focus solely on him. And suddenly, Sasuke's mouth was no longer satisfied with the bitter taste of alcohol.

No...

He was craving something else entirely.

And as he moved closer—

His vision completely went white.

And like coming up for air after treading murky waters, he broke through the surface and was brought back to the present… somewhat painfully .

Surely, the sound of flesh meeting leather must have been heard during the impact. But his brain only registered the sound after as it echoed in his mind.

Then there was the ringing.

Lots and lots of ringing.

Ka-KLUMP-PAK!

whoooo-sh...

THUD.

...

"........... -ke? "

He could have sworn that the saying went: you were supposed to see stars.

Not feel them.

' Oh shit that hurt .'

"...... -uke ? Sasuke ?! Are you alright?"

' Fucking stars. '

"Sasuke...?"

And fuck him and his own negligence for not seeing that coming.

The ringing in his left ear dimmed low enough that he was finally able to hear the question. Blinking back the few spots that danced behind his eyelids, Sasuke grunted, pushing away the hands waving in front of his face. When there were no longer four eyes blinking down at him, he rose to sit up.

The boxing gloves that had been strapped to Itachi's hands were now lying between them, his profile relaxing though remaining in its hunched form.

"You were supposed to dodge the second hook. I pulled back but it was too late." He fussed over him again, but Sasuke batted away the concern, sitting up fully when the ringing in his ear finally disappeared.

He felt a trail of moisture slide down his temple but breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that it was only sweat. He still counted his blessings though, thankful it wasn't his brother's leg that flew at him instead. If it was, his head would have been knocked clean from his shoulders.

Sasuke removed the padded mitts he wore, tearing at the velcro with his perfect white teeth — more embarrassed than hurt. His brother had dangerously quick hands, and he should have known better than to allow his mind to wander when they were in the middle of sparring.

"Where were you?" the elder asked, mirroring his unspoken thoughts while moving away to grab them water from the kitchen.

'So he's going to call me out after all...'

Sasuke huffed, choosing to stay seated on the mat below the hanging punching bag. He slowly worked his jaw open and closed a few times, rotating the Temporomandibular Joint.

Good... nothing was broken.

"Nowhere." Sasuke deadpanned, feeling along the curve for swelling.

Itachi raised a brow at him as he passed him the chilled bottle. Knowing where further questioning would lead to, he pivoted to another topic.

"I see your temporary house guest is no longer here..."

Taking a much-needed sip, Sasuke began to explain what had transpired. Of how he had gotten Sakura to facilitate Akamaru’s return, along with agreeing to a few terms.

Terms that were presented more as a... suggestion, of course. Maybe gather a little information while she was there if she could?

He took full advantage of her gentle disposition, to coax her a little. Anything to help seal the deal.

And when it was all said and done, they parted ways with an agreement in place.

Sasuke didn't realize the amount of silence that stretched between them until he looked up, catching his brother’s stare. Keen orbs continued to study him, inky depths watching...

Causing his own brows to snap together.

"What?"

"........"

The corner of his brother's mouth twitched, deep lines appearing across his face before smoothing again.

" What? "

Sasuke didn't want to repeat himself, but the silence had struck a nerve. It brought back memories of when they were younger and how he felt whenever he was overlooked, ignored, or even excluded from certain things.

Being an adult now, he could understand why things were handled the way they were and he harbored no resentment. However, that didn't stop the feelings from returning every now and again and bringing him back to the times when he used to be shooed away.

Itachi never bothered to take the time to explain anything, because Sasuke was too young at the time. No one around had felt the need to, back then.

And then there were the other occurrences, where he'd be left with nothing more than a whisper of— "Next time, Sasuke."

As fleeting as it came, the memories all disappeared when Itachi finally caved.

Learning lessons from the past, Itachi saw no reason to get Sasuke unnecessarily riled up.

"Nothing."

It would have been convincing, too... if they hadn't known each other so well.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sasuke leaned back on his elbows, his damp shirt stretching across his torso. He dragged his water bottle with him as a fresh breeze stirred across the loft from an open window.

"Just spit it out already. You can either say it now and get it over with. Or later..." His nose twisted as if he was going to sneeze.

"...no doubt in some cryptic way. Do us both a favor and spare me the hassle," Sasuke ended boldly, taking another swig and draining the bottle below the halfway mark.

It took some time, but pointing out the obvious had its desired effect and Itachi finally asked what had been on his mind.

What came was an inquiry about the woman — whose name, he'd noticed; was always spoken with a certain... tone .

Was there something going on that he should know about?

And since Itachi had avoided using a condescending tone when asking the question, the prodding managed to disarm him.

"Nothing..." Sasuke answered; slate-colored eyes drifting as his brother moved to sit near him. Breaking eye contact, a few of his fingers pressed into the padded mat underneath them.

"... at least, not yet?"

He always did find it difficult to keep things from his brother.

Itachi could have easily sprained his wrist while sitting; his weight careening with a jolt at the quiet admission. He recovered well enough, sitting down fully and eyeing his younger brother with veiled surprise.

And for a while, the only sound in the room came from the jingling chains holding up the punching bag, as it drifted in small circles near them.

Sasuke finally gathered the courage to glance up, but his brother's eyes were peering outside, deep in thought.

The sunlight kissed Itachi's low ponytail, gathered across one shoulder and his umber touched gaze looked far away.

The question surprised him when his lips suddenly moved.

"You like this girl, Sasuke?"

He wasn't sure why, but he flinched.

What was he supposed to say, Sasuke thought as his teeth pinched the inside of his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue could almost feel the impression left by Sakura's teeth from their last kiss. The ghost of the intimate touch came to mind at the most inopportune time.

Did they really have to get into this when he still couldn't find the right words to describe what was happening between him and Sakura? It was all just one big ball of complication as far as Sasuke was concerned.

An intricate web, twisting with many threads of complexity...

With the label of 'friends ,' not quite fitting...

And it was far too soon to be thinking about ‘love’ ...

But 'just fucking' was too crude, and there was an interest there beyond the physical — as nice as that was.

A string of fate that seemed to constantly pluck at his attention whenever she was near, while driving him to distraction when she wasn't.

And it was comical and annoying at the same damn time. And, well...

Ah fuck , he'd asked for this, didn't he? Him and his big mouth.

"I-..." Sasuke hesitated, blinking in contemplation before trying again. "What I mean is-"

Long fingers wrapped in protective white tape lifted. Two digits extended to brush against Sasuke's forehead, effectively cutting him off.

"I just want you to be mindful." A sharp gaze fixated onto his own, and even though he took a breath to respond — his brother's gentle smile gave him pause.

"I also want you to be happy," he continued, lips curving into a knowing grin.

Rising from the mat with a stretch, Itachi made his way down the hall towards the bathroom, leaving his younger sibling alone with his thoughts. He also ignored the small frown zeroing in on his retreating back.

Sasuke slowly shook his head, following the figure of his brother until he disappeared around the corner.

Whatever surprise that lingered was quickly overshadowed with something else as he gulped down another drink of water.

An unexpected flare of delight engulfed him as he slowly returned his brother's grin...

And there was only the empty room left to witness the handsome sight of Sasuke's dimple — a rare, but genuine smile pursing his lips at the unclouded approval he'd just received.

✧ ･ﾟ * : * ﾟ･ ✧

"Is that the last of it? What about that other set in the back?" one mover asked the other as they stood near the rear of the box truck.

"The dresser with the mirror? Nah, that's going to a couple in Bethesda. That's our next stop. Here, take this when you go up and drop that off. She already tipped us... just get them to sign," the driver told him, closing the rolling door when he jumped down from the back of the vehicle.

The clipboard was placed on top of the sealed, brown box the taller mover was already carrying in his arms.

Making sure it was perfectly balanced in his hands, he turned to go up the freight elevator... making one last and final trip.

The front doors to the newly leased space were still propped open, and he placed the box down, just inside the sizable foyer.

"This is the last one," he called out, his russet eyes scanning the invoice, looking for the client’s name. "We just need an autograph from Ms.-... ah-."

"I'll do it!"

There was a conscious effort not to look down at the exposed legs of the young blonde as she came bounding towards him, hips swaying in a pair of forest green cotton shorts.

He also did his best not to stare at the: 'I love cock' written in graffiti font on her shirt — and the word 'tails' stamped right below it in smaller print.

Though slightly crude, the tongue-in-cheek message had made him chuckle most of the afternoon while he was working.

Ino smiled brightly, nibbling on the capped pen while her eyes took their time to locate the signature line.

Tugging on the brim of his hat, the helper began to calculate his chance of success in scoring her number. And in turn go completely against company policy.

His opportunity to risk it all was interrupted when the owner of the suite appeared from around a corner.

Sakura shooed the golden femme away, signing the papers instead. She thrust the paperwork back in his hands after thanking him.

Mouthing a quick 'sorry,' Sakura apologized for the actions of her all-too-flirtatious friend.

The company had done an amazing job and had earned the positive review she'd leave.

Ino twirled away to retrieve a stash — hidden earlier on the built-in shelf, snagging a lighter as well. Turning, she climbed over the back of the sofa.

The hand holding the bright red plastic waved in their general direction.

"We really can't thank you enough. Did you guys have to train to be so amazing?" Ino climbed down with a purr and a wink, still flirting as she settled on the floor.

Sakura let out a nervous giggle, ushering the smitten guy out the front doors.

"Is there anyone who is spared from your relentless-... philandering ?" She huffed, unlatching the mechanism holding both doors open, closing them tightly.

Really, her friend could be so embarrassing sometimes.

"What can I say? I love a man in uniform. Besides, I left them alone for most of the afternoon… you should be thanking me." Ino twisted the grinder in her hands, her spine resting against the front of the large sectional.

Sakura slowly came over to stretch out behind her, laying down on her stomach. Sinking into the cushions, she felt the tension slowly release from her overworked muscles.

Despite any possible... sexual harassment lawsuits, she was glad her bestie was there lending a helping hand. Moving was always a grueling task, so any help was appreciated. She'd even done some manual labor when she helped Sakura paint a room back at her old apartment.

Leaving the place in immaculate condition scored her most of the security deposit back. Her comrade teased that it was unfair and that the only reason she did was that the place was barely lived in.

"I'm just glad it's all done." Sakura mumbled from her sprawled position, her sweat pants resting dangerously low on her hips. They were already rolled down twice at the waist, and now a bit of blue cotton peeked from underneath.

Ino paused, oceanic eyes spanning the layout. One eyebrow pinched inward after taking in the bare dwelling.

"I wouldn't exactly call this... 'done,' Forehead. You have your bed and this monstrous couch. Other than that, you really need to get this place decorated."

'Let the nit-picking begin.'

"Yeah, yeah..." Sakura mumbled around a throw pillow, her face still buried in softness. "I'll order a bunch of stuff later."

There were three different flavors of frozen yogurt chilling in the freezer. And her books and medical journals were unpacked and stored away. As far as she was concerned, everything else could wait.

Ino wasn't convinced but instead concentrated on rolling the canappa before her, grunting at the stickiness.

They still had to officially 'bless the house,' after all.

Sakura turned towards her, raising a hand to cradle her head, cheeks still pink from burrowing into the pillow. It was only when she was spaced out that a particular thought drifted back to the forefront of her mind.

And with all the bustle from today, there hadn't been a quiet moment up until now, to bring it up.

"Did that guy ever call back again?"

As it turned out, Tsume wasn't kidding when she said someone was looking into Kiba's disappearance.

A private investigator reached out to her, asking a series of questions. Sakura told him exactly what she'd already shared, her story and timelines never changing. Not that there was much to tell.

Afterward, she'd given her best friend a heads up, instincts warning that she'd be next.

Much later he did get ahold of Ino, though, she had very little to say. Her answers were similar to Sakura's, as they'd both lost contact with Kiba around the same time.

And she made it clear that she didn't know anything beyond that.

Licking her lips, Ino brought a knee up to her chest, her sock covered foot dragging across the throw rug while she remained mindful of the low table in front of her.

"After the first time? No."

She then extended her tongue to wet the ends of paper as she expertly rolled the joint. Humming in affirmation, she eyed her handy work.

"He was a pushy bastard though. When you talked to him, did you tell him anything? Maybe let something slip you shouldn't have?"

Sakura sat up in surprise.

"What? No..." She shook her head although the blonde was still facing forward, away from her.

An eerie feeling ricocheted in her tummy.

"D-... did you?"

Ino snorted, flicking bits of grass from her nail bed. "I should have," she murmured.

"Ino!"

She was just being a bitch, but it's what she did when she felt annoyed... agitated .

"To be honest, I'm not getting a good feeling about any of it. Not to mention... a P.I. coming around? Asking questions? This is getting to be a bit much."

What's next?

The police?

It was not a good look to have a bunch of authorities hanging about, despite the reason for their presence.

"I know..." Sakura began, the cushions shifting under her movements. "I don't like any of this either... but even Sasuke-"

The blonde spun around so fast she feared whiplash. Sparks of contention lit the glare Ino threw her way.

"We don't know him, Sakura!"

When she yelled, it surprised them both, their eyes wide and staring. It hadn’t been on purpose. Of course it hadn’t been, and Ino couldn't remember the last time she'd been so quick to snap.

So, after taking a much-needed breath, the apology floated in the air between them.

But not for what she said .

No...

She'd meant that.

But… for the way she said it? Maybe she was a bit too harsh. She regretted it the moment it left her lips, so she made another attempt to apologize, keeping her voice even and much calmer.

"We don't know him. Now, I'm not saying he's a bad guy or anything, but he's Kiba's friend..." Ino stressed, "not ours . I think he's cool and all, but we need to think with our heads here, and not with..."

Her eyes lowered to Sakura's lap, hearing the sharp intake of breath when the seated girl immediately stiffened with indignation.

"I'm not!" Sakura tried to defend herself. And if her leg wasn't twisted beneath her body she would have snapped her legs shut.

'Guilty, much?'

"Then we need to think smart. I don’t know about you, but I can't be seen mixed up with anything shady. Having some private eye sniffing around is a no-go for me."

Ino turned back to the low table in front of her, her thumb rolling over the spark wheel twice, before the lighter flickered to life.

Sakura sighed, shoulders dropping as she just let it go. She looked instead to the beautiful vase of flowers sitting close by.

The arrangement of orange roses, honeysuckle — and a few other things she couldn't name were sorted together.

It was a beautiful house warming gift from Ino, and she appreciated the floral scent as it drifted through the air. But she knew even its sweet smell wouldn't stand a chance against the thick haze that was sure to come.

Sakura rolled to her feet, moving around her friend to approach the veranda door to crack it open. Nudging it slightly, she felt the crisp breeze charming its way past the small opening and into the room.

Ino continued her musings on an exhale, swirls of grey, blueish smoke wafting towards the darkened recessed lighting above.

"Sasuke was right about one thing, though..."

She stood up, approaching her friend from behind and passing along the lit herb. "We should stay out of it. Besides, someone is looking for him... his family has it covered."

Darting off to find an ashtray, she left the pink-haired woman to lean against the glass with her private thoughts, gazing at the skyline beyond the metal railings of her patio.

Taking a long drag, Sakura hoped the calming effects would kick in soon and burn away her lingering restlessness.

Everyone, it seemed, was just shying the Kiba issue away or even brushing it all aside. And it made her feel so damn torn inside.

Reaching around, she patted herself down, feeling around for her phone.

Oh, she knew what was going to happen... but she went for it anyway.

There wasn't a choice, was there? Besides, she was nothing if not steadfast.

And while fully aware of what was going to happen once she pressed 'SEND', Sakura didn't hesitate.

Her rather nimble fingers typed away, making another attempt to at least... try to do something.

Message:

Just let me know you're ok...

Please?

Sakura's hand reached up to remove the joint from her lips, holding her breath with a deep inhale as she re-read the note again.

Sending out the text, she slowly blew out a trail of smoke.

A familiar notification sound cackled in the air as the last cloud left her peach-stained lips. And her eyes caught sight of what showed up on the screen.

The message was undeliverable.

Just like the previous dozen she'd sent before that.

Some of the messages she sent were laced with concern, others spewing threats of sterilization. She quickly discovered that anything sent out was shortly returned after bouncing through mobile data and Wifi signals.

All of her messages went unanswered.

But whatever disappointment or irritation she felt was quickly tempered down as conflict echoed in her mind.

"'...-e.'"

Because wasn't this the same thing she'd done in the past? Completely ghosting everyone close to her?

Absconding without a care in the world, regardless of who it might hurt, or what it could affect?

Sakura had exhibited the same pattern of behavior herself a while ago. And at her worst, she had gone days without responding, keeping her distance.

"'...-ite.'"

The memories surfaced like the smoke drifting past her face as she took another hit, contemplating just how much it sucked... being on the other side now.

"'...-rite.'"

Ino returned, handing Sakura the found ashtray while quickly plucking the weed from her aloof grip. Humming a tune, she went over to go see about playing some music.

But Sakura stayed put, unable to shake the word that haunted her mind.

One that felt weighted like the heavy crystal she held in her grasp. Looking down, she caught the way a few rainbows appeared with every deviation of the ashtray, and every time a flash of color reflected she imagined a voice whispering in cool, mocking tones inside of her head.

"'...-crite.'"

Taunting all the emotions echoing through her, even as she accepted the bitter truth in the word, repeating over and over again...

"'Hypocrite.'"

✧ ･ﾟ * : * ﾟ･ ✧

" The sky is clear and you can see for miles across the grasslands. But as easy as she could look beyond the Serengeti, she could just as easily be spotted.

Shoulders hunched low, the lioness hugs her body close to the ground. Blending in among the straw-colored grass... she inches her way closer. She must eliminate as much distance between her and the intended prey before launching her attack. Her sisters are in tune with her, circling the herd on either side, bellies low to the ground as they stalk closer.

The pack has not eaten for days, and this may be their last chance before the grazing animals migrate north and out of their territory. There are plenty of mouths to feed back at the den and a few hungry cubs who will not survive the rest of the season without a steady supply of food."

The prone figure nibbled on the last of his fish cake sandwich, his heavy boots hanging off the edge of the loveseat. His large frame laid sideways on the furniture, leaning against the armrest as he watched the clip on his screen.

He always was a fan of a good old-fashioned hunt. There were just some things in life, that only Mother Nature could do with such... finesse .

You could learn a lot if you sat back and watched her work.

"The wildebeests were on alert, taking turns to raise their heads to keep on the lookout."

He listened to the thick, South African accent as it narrated the encounter playing on the phone. The screen zoomed in as long blades of grass hung from the wildebeests’ chewing mouths while they kept an eye on the young calves. Soon, the camera panned out to show how close the hunters had gotten.

"It is far too late to be overly cautious now. The lioness and her sisters were in striking range and had only to pick their target.

Digging their long claws into the heated dirt below, they sprint across the plain.

The chase was on..."

His phone suddenly chirped, and a notification for a new message appeared at the top.

The man’s narrowing squint flickered up but quickly went back to the action.

The screen flashed to the pounding of hooves kicking up clouds of dry dirt. And he focused, excited to watch what happened next.

"The ground vibrates as the herd stampede away, now catching sight of the fawn and black death machines barreling towards them. The chaos is enough for one to lose its footing, one back leg twisting beneath its lumbering body."

The front hooves clambered against the ground while the frightened animal tried to gain leverage, but it was too late.

"The seasoned lioness is there in a blink, ready to capitalize on the last mistake the prey would ever make in its life."

Slow-motion captured the way the lioness’s claws hooked into the large antelope, trying to gain purchase as her jaws opened wide across the prey’s neck.

The beast finally got to all four hooves just in time to feel the weight of another lioness as she bit at its spine, her body hanging from its rear.

Losing strength and blood, the scared animal let out a long moan as the lions worked together to bring it down. A third lioness bit at its heels and soon the pressure was enough. A billow of dirt rose in the air as all of their combined weight crashed to the dusty, hot earth below.

The narrator's voice decreased in volume once again, as another message notification came through — the rhythmic beeping much louder than the nature video, still playing on the screen in full-screen mode.

Sighing, the man sat up straighter, swinging his legs to the floor to check.

Message:

Any updates?

Message:

Or has this been a waste of time?

'Damn.'

And the documentary special was starting to get to the good parts too. Locking the screen, he stood tall in a stretch, straightening the henley shirt he wore and trudged to the adjoining room.

The small apartment was oftentimes used as a temporary working space. Although rarely used for the more... messy parts of their job, it was quite convenient for quick meetups. And with the newest development, it made for a well suited temporary office.

Located just behind a deli, but with a hidden entrance and secured parking, it had only made the best sense to set up shop here, for now.

The next room was much darker with the blinds drawn the way they were, but multiple computer monitors glared with artificial light as the man came to stand behind the seated teen. A pretty penny had gone into the elaborate setup — more than a few parts couldn’t be bought in just any store.

There were a few programs open that he was familiar with while scanning the screens, but most he was not.

And as intelligent as the man thought himself to be, he would never presume to understand what any of the letter and number combinations meant, trailing across the monitor on the left.

"Looks like you are up and running. What's the status?"

"I think I've found a way in," Chef replied, his eyes never leaving the screens as he typed away. His favorite song had just begun to play in his ear, and he was seconds away from turning it up before the guy showed up behind him.

" Think ?" The man's arms folded and his lips melted into a frown.

"Yeah. What? I can't go back and get in the same way I did before, my dude. They've already patched that shit. I also don't want to set off any alarms. Gotta be sneaky," Chef offered in a huff.

Besides, he'd already tried the old route and got locked out. But when inside before, he had discovered some other cracks — and hoped to take advantage of one of them now.

"But you can do it?"

"Yeah. I can do it."

The teen went back to work when he felt the figure move away, turning up the volume to catch the tail end of his song. This was exactly why he never took up private offers before. But... the money should be worth having to deal with someone breathing down his neck, in the end.

The man turned away, sheathing the hidden knife back into its pouch in silence, leaving the room just as quietly as he entered. Hopefully, the teens’ confidence would produce some good results... and soon.

A real shame too, that he didn't know...

His very life depended on it.

✧･ﾟ* : *ﾟ･✧

He was counting stacks of collected funds in his living room when one of his phones went off.

With their associate still missing, Itachi gave Sasuke the task of fulfilling a few orders and handling some assignments. He'd been on the run for the last few days, completing transactions that were left to be done in Kiba's absence. Just because he was missing didn't mean the business stopped and even grunt work needed to be seen to.

He'd used the opportunity to do a little digging on said person's disappearance, but not finding satisfactory answers left him feeling a little perturbed.

He had been in a sour mood as of late and could think of nothing that might turn things around.

So seeing her initials flash across his chirping phone's screen was bittersweet — he couldn’t tell whether Sakura calling him at this very moment was a good thing or not.

There hadn't been a chance for him to reach out to her. Though, no matter how busy he was, he knew he should have found the time.

And maybe a part of him was feeling guilty for only texting a few things in the last few days...

But she had his number too, damnit. He had made sure of it when he physically saved it on her phone the last time they were together.

It was a personal number that not too many people had access to, at that.

She could have easily called sooner too, but that was neither here nor there.

Maybe her voice would be the ray of sunshine needed in the otherwise shithole-pit-of-darkness his mood had been sinking into.

"Hello?"

Sasuke's voice was unhurried and a little scratchy — coming out husky after not being used for the last two hours since he'd gotten home and showered. He thought he might be coming down with something and made a mental note to drink some hot tea later.

In the future, Sakura will share with him just how much his voice alone could make her feel sometimes — even when heard over the phone. No way she could tell him that right now, though. There was too much power in that bit of information and she resisted the urge to clear her own throat, hoping the whimsical flutters would go away soon.

" Sasuke... "

Maybe one day — around the same time, Sasuke would finally admit how fond he was of hearing her say his name, regardless of its nature or the mood.

Nonetheless, an eyebrow hitched as he wrapped a thick wad of bills with a beige rubber band.

"What? Did you misdial or something...?"

If the answer was yes he wasn't sure he could handle it — not with how this week was going.

But she said no, and he could just see the smile on her face when she released a small laugh. He imagined the soft, cupids bow he could still remember the feel of... if he tried.

Maybe it was a good thing she called, after all. Even after a bit of chatter, he could already feel some of the day's tension releasing from his moody form.

" Actually, the reason I'm calling was... "

Why haven't you called?

Why haven't you taken me out on a proper date yet?

Already he could hear that — and the other half-dozen questions, all in his mind before she finished.

He could almost feel his answers forming, and hoped they wouldn't sound like excuses when he said them out loud. Because... damnit, he'd been meaning to see a bit more of her. But with everything going on-

" -I... well, actually, Kankurō wanted to know if you were coming to his birthday party? He said you already received his invitation. And his order, which — by the way, I won't even ask what's on that list ."

She trailed off but picked back up with a giggle.

" Anyway, he wanted to make sure you didn't forget, and were going to be there. "

Wait.

What?

Having the question ring inside of his mind was not enough, and his mouth opened to express the dumbfounded stutter his brain felt.

"What?"

She'd called him only... for that ?

It's all anyone was talking about, she said; oblivious with his disappointment. Sasuke listened as his hands slowed down to a full stop, trying to keep the frown at bay.

After the last few — irritating days he's had...

That's the reason they were finally speaking?

Kankurō ?

Maybe talking when he was in low spirits wasn't the best idea after all. Something in his clipped tone must have given him away because after a bit of silence she hesitantly asked.

" Is everything ok? You sound a bit... distracted? "

"Yes."

'No.'

Bloody hell, that's not what he'd meant. No... it is what he meant, but he didn't mean to say it like that-

"Just finishing up something."

" Oh ..."

'Fuck.'

Things were quickly spinning out of control and he needed to figure out a way to salvage it.

Or just end it... before he said something completely Sasuke like, and ruined it for everybody.

"Oh... well, it sounds like this is a bad time. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be-"

' Gentle ... you idiot, nicer!? '

"-I mean, it's fine." Sasuke continued after the slight pause.

Ok, so that wasn't much better and he winced when a rubber band popped, stinging his hand before reaching for another one.

Sakura waited a beat but wasn't convinced. " Ok... well, I guess I'll see you there? Sorry to disturb you."

Sasuke fumbled with the phone for a second yet wasn't quick enough to stop her from ending the call, and he sat there after feeling like he just dropped the ball in a major way.

He groaned, dropping everything in his hands and grabbing at his locks while sinking further into the sofa. It was no use trying to text her back because even he knew when to cut his losses.

At least no one was there to witness the embarrassment... but he could hear the guffaw his cousin Shisui would have released if he could see him now.

'Real smooth, Uchiha... real smooth.'

End Chapter

✧ ･ﾟ * : * ﾟ･ ✧

#sasusaku #sakusasu #ssfanfiction #sasusaku fanfics #ss fic

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kewltie · 5 years ago

Text

"Where's no. 3?!" Katsuki demands, storming into the front office of Yavin Elementary.

"G-Ground Zero?" the receptionist squeaks, hand clutching her chest as though she's in a heartattack.

"Midoriya Hikaru," Katsuki snaps, stomping his way toward her. "Where the fuck is he?"

"I—we," she leans back in a little and breathes, "r-requested to talk Midoriya-san about Hikaru, sir," she says, attempting to regather her bearings once more.

"He's busy right now," Katsuki asserts, frowning, "so I'm here in his stead. Tell me what the problem is then."

"We would prefer to talk to a parental unit instead," she insists, steeling herself in the face of Katsuki's thinning impatient.

Katsuki glowers. "I'm his fucking guardian," he bites out. "The brat lives under my roof, shit in my toilet, chow down on my food, and hog my TV, so as far as I'm fucking concern he's as much mine as Deku’s!,” he finishes with a snarl.

"Um," she says, blinking hard.

Katsuki drags his face down his hand and sighs. "Look, you can just over your paperwork and see that I'm listed as one of the emergency contacts for him. Or,” he gives her a pointed glare, “you can talk to my fucking lawyers."

"I—I'll double check right away, sir," she says hurriedly, turning to her computer. Several minutes pass by as Katsuki waits with a growing agitation for her to confirm what he already knows. Thank fucking shit, he'd actually listened to Deku about getting listed on the kids’ emergency cards.

They're a fucking menace, so he should have known something would happen, but he'd given them at least a month, not a week into the new school year, that he would get that call. And for it to be Hikaru of all people and not his twin or eldest sister. That's the fucking shocking part.

"Zero-san?" the receptionist calls out to him. "I apologize for earlier. You're indeed correct, your name is listed as emergency contact for Hikaru," she says, picking up the office phone nearby. "I'll go ahead and call Okaye-sensei to let her know to bring Hikaru up right away."

And that take even longer several minutes, causing him to start pacing a hole in the floor with his rapidly depleting patience. Fucking hell.

He hears the click of heels and the slow familiar gait of Hikaru approaching from a distant before he even saw them. It makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Zero-san?" Okaye says, walking into the office with Hikaru's small hunched figure in tow. From the tilt in her voice she's as much as surprise of his appearance here as the receptionist was earlier. "I was honestly expecting Midoriya-san instead."

"He's not here right now, so you're stuck with me," Katsuki says dismissively, his only focus is the brat next to her. "No. 3?" He drops down on to the floor on one knee and opens his arms to Hikaru. "What the fuck happen to you, huh?"

Okaye frowns at his choice of language, but Hikaru quickly lights up at the sound of his voice and breaks away from her side to fall into his arms. "Kacchan," he wails, sniffing into Katsuki's shoulder.

"Hikaru got into a fight with another student from his class," she explains slowly.

Katsuki pauses, pushing him back to look at him over. He eyes Hikaru from head to toe, noticing the bruises running up both arms and the split lip on his kid. "Okay, tell me this at least: did you win and kick that other kid's ass?" he asks gravely, completely serious.

"Zero-san!" Okaye gasps in outrage.

Hikaru nods, gripping the sleeve of Katsuki's shirt in his bruised fist. Katsuki grins and reaches over to wipe away the tear tracks on Hikaru's wet cheeks. "Good, I knew you had it in you, No. 3," he says, pride thickening his voice as ruffles Hikaru's tangled mess of green hair.

"That's extremely improper," she argues. "We don't endorse that kind of behavior here."

"Yea?" he says, shooting a glare over Hikaru's shoulders toward Okaye. "Well, I didn't spent hours teaching my brat to fight back so he can let some snot nose little twat beat up him while you all watched and do absolute shit."

Okaye frowns. "Our academy does not condone bullying. We do our best to stop it before it happen."

"Then what do you call this?" Katsuki demands, carefully gripping Hikaru's shoulder and spins him around to show her the blotches of purple and blue on him. "I know No. 3. He's a good kid, he wouldn't start a fight but he'll finish them." He squeezes Hikaru's shoulder in reassurance. "You're lucky we even let him enrolled at this subpar academy, because you certainly don't know how to fucking take care of my kid properly."

Okaye goes red in the face. "That-that's such a baseless accusation! We take the utmost care of the all children at our academy, Hikaru included." She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. "And besides Hikaru was the one who threw the first punch."

With a brow raised, Katsuki asks Hikaru, "Did you really?" Hikaru tilts his head back to look at him and nods again as he bites down on his lip. Understanding, right away, Katsuki continues to push, "What did that little shit do to you to make you wanna punch him?"

Hikaru looks down at his feet. He doesn't speak, so Katsuki waits, letting Hikaru decide when he's ready to talk or if he want to talk at all. Finally, Hikaru steps away from him, breaking contact only to turn around to face him properly with a dour expression on his face.

"H-he said I was the son of the devil," Hikaru mumbles, hands clenching by his side. "And that Papa was a bad person. A bad omega who mated with a villain and we, kids, were just as bad." Katsuki narrow his eyes as each devastating words pass Hikaru’s lips. “It made mad. I didn’t like the way he’d talked about Papa, Aki and Yuko-niichan like that,” he quietly admits.

"I hope you got more than a punch in on that kid," Katsuki says with every bit of sincerity that he can carry. "Because I would have pummeled him into the fucking ground and beat some more senses into him."

Okaye makes a noise of protest. "Zero-san, we don't—"

Katsuki's eyes flash to her with a hostile glare. "Shut your mouth, I don't want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses," he snarls. "Right now, I'm talking to my kid, so don't fucking interrupt us."

She reels back, face drawn tight in defense, but she wisely chooses to hold her tongue lest she test the infamous temper of Japan’s number one Pro-Hero Ground Zero that had landed more than one villain in the intensive care.

Katsuki turns his attention back to the more important matter at hand. Hikaru's shoulders are hunched over and his eyes are wary with hesitance. Ever since some rat ass bastard managed to leak the kids' face and names to the media, publicly linking them to the trashcan who donated the other half of their DNA, Izuku had been afraid of this moment. He didn’t want the brats to be exposed to the hostile reality of being the spawn of a villain and what the world thought about that.

Katsuki wasn't worry. Not really, he knows Yuko and Akira. They'll be fine.

It's Hikaru he is more careful about. He's too soft, too sweet, and too hurt easily for that kind of stigma he’ll have to live with when people eventually found out that his piece of trash other parent is a mastermind criminal, who'd menaced society for the last decade; the deathtoll number in hundreds, but those affected by his crimes are thousands.

Adults naturally shitty human being, but children can be way worst with their ignorance and youth. Katsuki would know, he was one himself before UA beat it out of him and made him better for it. "You want me to have a little talk with the twerp?" Katsuki muses, fingers flexing.

Teaching troublesome brats is way beneath his paygrade, but he’ll make an exception for Hikaru and only Hikaru; he can count on Hikaru’s sisters having no problem resolving their own issues. Yuko is a goddamn terror, and Akira can easily wipe the floor with kids who are even older than her.

Hikaru shakes his head. "I don't like fighting," he says quietly. "I just wanted him to stop saying mean things about Papa and my sisters." He looks earnestly at Katsuki as something akin to fear flash across his face. "Do you think Papa will be mad at me?" He wrings his hands anxiously in front of him.

Katsuki thinks of Izuku on that specific day: standing tall, shoulders straight, and with his kids huddled closely around him as he watched his alpha, husband, the father of his children, getting drag away in quirk suppression collar and cuffs. He didn't look away. Not one bit.

It took more than fucking guts to turn his back to his mate of over a decade and reported him to the authority for being a sack of villainous shit. Especially, when there were three children still under his care to think about, but he did it without a single drop of hesitation. He didn’t regret it at all.

It was stone fucking cold.

Even with all the heroes around them, even with Katsuki there, it didn't take much for Katsuki to clearly see how Izuku was easily the strongest and bravest soul there. Omega and quirkless, they were all just a footnote to Izuku's character. They did not define him. Not then, not now, and never will.

Katsuki smirks, leaning down to pinch Hikaru's cheek who puffs up his cheek indignantly. It’s cute as hell. "Disappointed sure, but mad? Nah," he says. "That would make him a fucking hypocrite otherwise. Didn't you know when he was younger Deku used to get into all sort of trouble and fight."

Hikaru's eyes widen. "He did?!"

"Yea," Katsuki's lip twitch in amusement, "you're a shit stirrer like you're good old Papa. And," he reaches for Hikaru's hand, "even if that wasn't the case, I got your back. The world could be against you and I'll still stand by your side."

Hikaru's face crunches up as though he's in pain. "K-Kaaaaaachan," he wails, but this time it's a river of happy tears as he slams his small body right up against Katsuki's legs and wraps his arm around him. "Y-You," hiccups, "mean it?"

"Yea, I wouldn't bullshit you, brat." Rolling his eyes as Hikaru happily sobs into his pant legs, Katsuki comments, "God, you're a crier just like Deku, alright.” But there's no bite to it as he pats Hikaru's back consolingly. He’s not Deku who can easily comfort the brats from nightmares and scary things that bump in the night, but if they need someone to protect them from the brutality of the world? They have Katsuki’s fists to protect them.

He casts an askance glance at Okaye. "I'll be taking him home early for the day," he tells her point blank.

Okaye actually has the audacity to look relief as though his brat was the problem in the first place. "I think that is a wise decision to make, Zero-san."

Katsuki pulls Hikaru back enough to lean down and hitches his hands underneath the boy's armpits. He lifts Hikaru up and hikes him over his hip. "Let's go get you some ice cream, but don't tell your Papa about it," he says.

Hikaru tucks a small smile in Katsuki's chest.

Just as they about to depart and Okaye is finally free of them at last, probably wishing she took a leave of absent today, they hear loud footsteps hitting the floor beyond the walls of the office. It's so loud that even Hikaru raises his head from Katsuki's chest in interest.

"Akira, you can't go in there!" someone loudly protest from outside. "Wait until Okaye-sensei is done talking and she'll call you in."

"You’ve been saying that for the last ten minutes. I'm not waiting around anymore!" a familiar voice argues back. "Let me see my brother!"

The back door to the front office is flung open to reveal a young girl who looks like an exact copy of Hikaru, except for the green insolent eyes and razor sharp tongue, and a taller tired adult trailing behind her.

Katsuki lets out a long exhale as Akira strolls in unprompted. Here is the real troublemaker. His small tyrant.

"Hikaru!" she says as soon her eyes zeroing in her brother right away, not even acknowledging Katsuki who has him in his arms. "I was so worried about you!"

"Aki," Hikaru returns excitedly back.

"Are you alright?" she coos, walking up to them. "Let me have a good look at you."

Katsuki gently lets Hikaru down and places him right in front of Akira. She immediately jumps on him as soon as his feet hit the floor, carefully looking over every cut and bruise she found on her brother, while happily ignoring Katsuki like he's just a rock on the road. He’s not even surprise at her insolent. Yuko is cooly polite, while Akira is so foul mouth and crass that sometimes he has a hard time thinking how Izuku managed to produce her, but her green eyes and hair are all Izuku’s.

Then, he remembers why she’s exactly like this.

"I'm sorry, Okaye-sensei," the woman who came with Akira says. "I tried to stop her but she was, very," she makes a pained face, "insistent."

Okaye heaves a sigh in acknowledgement. "Akira," she says warily the latest troublemaker. "Please refrain from breaking the school's property and causing a disturbance on the school grounds."

"Y'all rich as hell, so you'll be fine," she answers dismissively, not even looking back at her. Or at Katsuki either.

Here’s the thing: Midoriya Akira is self-proclaimed Ground Zero’s number one fan. She’d watched all his videos, tune into all his battles, and had all his merch. She absolutely adores him and tries her best to imitate her idol Ground Zero, but it’s a different story when Zero’s mask is removed and Katsuki is the one standing in front of her.

Okaye cuts to Katsuki with a drained expression on her face. "This child," she mumbles under her breath in pure annoyance and exhaustion, giving over to Katsuki to handle her now.

Katsuki grabs a hold of Hikaru's arm and pulls him back from Akira's attentive care. It's enough to finally catch her attention as her green eyes narrow and flashes toward him with open derision. He drags Hikaru close him as a hostage and prepares for the bloody battle ahead.

"What are you doing here, No. 2?" Katsuki demands with suspicion. "You should be in class."

"What the hell are you doing here, Kacchan? You should be out patrolling," Akira retorts back, and when he just glares at her, she scoffs before raising her bruised knuckles proudly.

"She kick started a brawl in the middle of the classroom and got the entire class involve,” the woman behind Akira answers for her, entirely too weary and vexed—which is the norm when dealing with Midoriya Akira. She’s abrasive and prickly as porcupine, but only those that are close to her does she soften up. “Several students had to be sent to the infirmary afterward.”

"I had to prove my dominance at the top of the pack," Akira announces proudly, who has none of Izuku's sweet temperament but all of his reckless diehard attitude that had sent more than one alpha packing with their tail behind their back. "Now, they won't bother Hikaru anymore."

Feeling a headache coming on, Katsuki glares at Akira. "What the hell, No. 2?" he demands. "Deku is going to flip his shit when not just one of his fucking brats got into a fight but two? And you even pick a fight with your entire class for that matter?!"

Akira pouts. “But you told me that if I want to protect my family I have to be strong, stronger than everyone else so that nobody can hurt them anymore,” she says sulkily. “I had to assert my power somehow!”

“I didn’t mean that you should start a one man war against everyone!” Katsuki snaps, exasperated. Akira got all that bravado, but none of that keen intellect of her older sister, Yuko.

Akira, whose bulldogged nature is more akin to Katsuki because blood be damned, that occasionally he forget whose daughter she actually is, but it's time like this when her eyes start to water and her lips wobble precariously, hands trembling at her side as the dam break, that he’s reminded how like Izuku she truly is.

"I-I didn't do anything wrong," she insists doggedly with eyes leaking a goddamn waterfall because she inherit Izuku's fucking cursed tears.

"Ah, fuck," Katsuki says warily. "Don't cry, No. 2."

"I'm not crying!" she yells back as another tear track rolls down her cheek.

Unlike Hikaru who openly cried like he's vomiting his emotions all over the place until he's emptied out, Akira is much more tightly wound up as though she's a densely packed ordnance that can go off at any moment and when she explode, everything give away to anger and hurt.

Katsuki sighs, dragging his hand down his face. He's trained professional who not only kick criminals' ass on regular basis but deal with plenty of crises. Hell, he'd even saved the country a few times in the past years or so but this—? Hardest fucking thing ever. Nothing can prepare him for the trial and tribulations of parenthood.

He doesn't know how Izuku does this on a regular basis especially when he's wrangling all these kids alone without any help from his dirtbag ex-husband and still managed to pull it all off like a true champion. A damn boss. Izuku can put Katsuki and his colleagues to fucking shame. Because this feel like disaster management 101 and he's failing spectacularly at it with the way the brats' teachers are looking at him like he's a giant disappointment because he's the asshole who made his kid cry in public.

"Akira," Hikaru says worriedly, stepping forward.

The line of his shoulders dips as his head bends low and Katsuki knows the sign well enough. They're twin. Creepily in sync and deeply emphatic of each other's pain. One crying kid is enough, but two? At the same time too? That’s fucking insane. He’ll leave that to Izuku.

Katsuki moves quickly to grab Hikaru by the shoulder and sets him in place. “Stay,” he orders, and without looking back, walks up to a sulking teary eyes Akira who looks like she would bite his head off if he get any closer.

"What you want," she snaps, sniffling hard.

Wordlessly, he drops down to her level. It's an even playing field here. Katsuki may know shit about kids overall but he knows his brats and Akira hates being patronize. He would know because she's like him in a lot of ways.

He extends a hand toward her; a peace offering.

She glares at the gesture like she can burn a whole in it. She doesn't move. Doesn't even respond to it, but he waits anyway. Katsuki doesn't have a lot of patience for anyone else but for Izuku and the brats, he'd learned it the hard way. In a series of trail and errors.

A minute pass by. Then two. Three. Four. Five, and then Akira's wall of defiance and anger softens just slightly enough for her to gingerly take his hand and he pulls her right into his chest, arms wrapping around her in forceful hug that leaves her no room to change her mind.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against her ear. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. That was mean of me.”

She snorts. “I don’t care,” she tells him, dropping her head on to his shoulder as her hand tightens around the front of his shirt that says otherwise. “It was your ugly face that made me cried anyway.”

He doesn’t laugh, because he doesn’t want her to punch him, but it’s a near thing. Kids, they’re going to be the death of him. Thrice over.

#bakudeku #fic snippet #stepdad au #series: numbers #this is a beta version of stepdad au aka the first draft #but i discarded for the newer adaption

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themangledsans0508 · 5 years ago

Text

Costume Hunting

Craig sat on Tweek’s bed, watching him root through his closet. Clothes were being wildly thrown in every direction as Tweek mumbled under his breath. He rested his chin on his hands and smiled in mild amusement. Tweek pulled his head out of the closet and looked over at him.

“Craig, have you seen anything that… what are you smiling at?” Tweek’s eyes narrowed at him. Craig shrugged.

“My boyfriend. What’s wrong with that?” Craig asked teasingly. Tweek crossed his arms.

“Okay, sure. Anyway, have you seen anything that would fit the fantasy theme?” he questioned, turning to resume his dig through the mass of clothes. Craig blinked.

“Fantasy theme?” Tweek looked at him.

“Fantasy theme, remember?” Craig shook his head and Tweek sighed. “Were you even listening to anything Cartman said?” he asked, exasperated.

“I don’t listen to anything fatass says” Craig deadpanned.

“Understandable. But it was important information! And just because he’s annoying doesn’t mean it’s right to ignore him!” Tweek lectured. Craig rolled his eyes.

“I know babe, he’s just a lot more than annoying. But what are the themes?” Craig asked.

“There are six themes: neutral, mythical, fantasy, sci-fi, adventure, and superheroes. We have to get costumes for all of them except neutral,” he explained.

“Okay, easy enough. One question, what’s the mythical and adventure theme? All the others are self-explanatory.”

“Mythical is like religious stuff like Timmy is the pope and Jimmy is a friar. I have a costume for that one. Adventure was supposed to just be Cowboys and Indians but Stan is saying that pirates can be in there too. I don’t know if those guys have decided on that yet. Any other questions?” Craig shook his head again. “Okay, well, I already have two costumes so that means there’s three left. You obviously don’t have any costumes so we’ll work on that.”

“I have a costume for one of them,” Craig interjected. Tweek raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Which theme?”

“Superheroes,” Craig said, “Super Craig returns. You know, if you don’t have a different Superhero idea you could make Wonder Tweek return too.” Tweek smiled.

“Yeah, you know what, I do need a superhero costume. As long as we’re on the same team.”

“Well I can’t guarantee we’ll always be on the same team but we will be often hopefully. It depends on who uses our cards. But on my terms, yeah, we’ll be on the same team. Just not your freedom pals” Craig teased.

“Not your Coon and friends either, dick,” Tweek retorted with a grin, “I still need fantasy and an adventure costume.”

“Wait, what are the costumes you already have?”

“Sci-fi and Mystical.”

“What are your costumes though?” Tweek blushed slightly.

“Well, you-you see, Wendy is going to be an angel for her mythical costume, and um, she got it in a duo pack with a demon costume. So, she gave it to me because she said I’d look ‘cute’ in it,” Tweek explained quickly. Craig laughed.

“Don’t laugh you asshole! And my science fiction outfit is just paint all over my body and pants.”

“Those are both pretty kinky, like dude we’re underage.”

“Shut up! It’s just a costume! I’m more prepared than you are!”

“I can be prepared in five minutes,” Craig boasted.

“Well, you’re not going anywhere until I am done making my costumes,” Tweek asserted.

“Okay, well we’ve got two more costumes to make then.” Craig hopped off the bed to stand besides Tweek. He slung his arm over his shoulder. “Why is everything you own green?”

“Not everything I own is green, you’re being dramatic.” Tweek pulled a brown cape out of the pile and diligently pointed out other non-green clothing articles. There was a red robe, a cowboy hat, and a purple raincoat. Craig took particular notice of the coat.

“Dude, why is your coat up here instead of downstairs. It makes more sense if it’s with all the other coats,” he asked.

“Because I want it up here. Get off my dick,” Tweek continued to search for more things to support his case as Craig thought about what could qualify as adventure or fantasy.

“Why don’t you just be a basic cowboy with a cool name? Like Tweek the wanted or-”

“You want me? I don’t see who else would,” Tweek grinned. Craig couldn’t help but grin too.

“Okay, maybe not Tweek the wanted. I already got you.” Craig pecked his cheek, causing Tweek to blush. “But I’m out of ideas now.”

“Well, let me think of some of the names of the others. Gunslinger Kyle, Sheriff Cartman, Calamity Heidi… We definitely need some criminals.” Tweek thought for a moment. “What about outlaw Tweek?” He looked to Craig for his input.

“Sounds good, as long as Cartman doesn’t arrest you. I’d kick his ass,” Craig stated firmly.

“I can defend myself, dude. Okay, that leaves fantasy. Any ideas?” Craig looked at the mess of clothing.

“Why not just be a barbarian again? That seems pretty easy,” Craig suggested. Tweek shook his head.

“I’d rather not be shirtless twice,” he said. Craig thought a bit more.

“Are you physically fighting or sniping everyone?” he asked.

“Well, there is magic too, but save for my mythical card I’m just going to be a ranged unit,” Tweek replied.

“What about being, I don’t know, Robin Hood?” Tweek looked at him.

“Robin Hood? Really?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you like stealing my shit, shooting things, and you tend to help people. Sometimes,” Craig pointed out. Tweek glared at him.

“I don’t steal your shit,” he protested.

“Yes, you do,” Craig argued. Tweek threw his arms up.

“Okay, fine, whatever! That’s all my costumes. Your turn. Now we have to go to your house.” Tweek pulled away from Craig started putting all his outfits out and into a bag.

“Why are you bringing all that?”

“The game could start at any time, I’ve got to be ready,” Tweek said. Craig waited patiently by the door for his boyfriend. Watching as Tweek hurried to gather everything together, Craig wondered why he put so much effort into his costumes. Craig himself wore basically the same outfit for everything.

Well, he did for a while.

When they got to Craig’s house, Tweek immediately went searching through his closet, tossing out his Super Craig outfit onto the floor.

“This is going to take more than five minutes,” Tweek assessed.

“Not if you let me do it,” Craig bickered.

“No, because you won’t put effort into it. We’re putting effort into these,” Tweek asserted. Craig leaned against the wall behind him, watching as he worked. He threw things to the side that he deemed unfit to be in the costumes.

“Dude, I can use my feldspar getup for the fantasy theme,” Craig proposed.

“No, you have to have your name in it,” Tweek replied. Craig groaned.

“Okay, then what if I used the same outfit, but got like, a badminton racket and called myself a dark mage,” he wondered.

“Dark mage Craig, okay, that sounds pretty cool,” Tweek agreed. He grabbed the clothes and tossed them to Craig, who caught them. “You still have mythical, sci-fi, and adventure.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” he admitted.

“I can tell you what some other people are doing.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Well, I’ll just say their names because it’s faster that way. Cyborg Kenny, astronaut Butters, space warrior Token, gizmo Ike, bounty hunter Kyle-”

“Bounty hunter? So, he has guns?” Craig interrupted.

“Yeah, I mean, a few people do.”

“What if I’m a marine, and I get a water gun and fill it with gross stuff and poison people.”

“I mean, yeah, you could do that. I thought you’d want to be an astronaut or something though,” Tweek confessed.

“No, Butters already took that, so, no.”

“Okay, well you still have to find something to wear.” Tweek scanned the assortment in front of him. He sighed and tossed a sweatshirt on the floor.

“I’ll make you some shoulder things to look like armour. I don’t know what else to do for that.” Tweek pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, honey, it’s okay. I’m not worried about it,” Craig comforted. Tweek twirled his hands in his hair.

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” Tweek mumbled.

“So, the two other themes, adventure and mystical. What could we do for that?”

“You could be a pirate or something. You’d fit that. Being Feldspar and all,” Tweek offered. Craig shook his head.

“No. Could I be an Incan?” Tweek blinked.

“Incan, like the tribe?” Craig nodded.

“Yeah. They used me in some ritual or something a while ago. So, why not? It’ll be cooler than Cartman’s thing.”

“Yes, it definitely will. But what are you going to wear?” Craig stared blankly at him.

“I didn’t think that far ahead.” Tweek looked at him for a moment.

“Does your sister have any headbands?” he asked.

“Yeah, probably. Why?” Craig raised an eyebrow.

“Because I’m going to make you a headdress. Incan priests have headdresses.” Tweek started heading out of the room with Craig in tow.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I pay attention in class, dumbass. ”

“No, you don’t.” Craig crossed his arms. “You’re always staring at me.”

“Nggh, you have one class with me! I pay attention in my other ones.”

“Sure. Don’t bother knocking, Trica isn’t home right now. She’s at one of her friends' house. She’ll have them in a drawer or something.” Craig watched as Tweek explored the area. He dug through a few drawers before coming out with a blue headband.

“This will work,” he stated, “do you have construction paper?”

“Yeah, in my desk.” Tweek hurried past him, heading back to Craig’s room with the headband in his hands. Tweek quickly sat at the desk, taking out some blue and yellow papers. He reached for some scissors, carefully cutting triangles out of the paper. Craig watched as his nimble fingers worked and within five minutes he had the best headdress one could make with the materials they had. He got up and placed it over Craig’s hat.

“You look more like a god than a priest, I like it,” Tweek murmured. Craig blushed slightly.

“We still have one left to go. Mythical. Hey, what goes well with a demon?”

“An angel, but Wendy is already that. And I know what you want to do, and I am not a demon, I’m an imp,” Tweek corrected.

“Okay, well they both get summoned, right?”

“I think so.”

“Who would summon an imp?”

“A Satanist,” Tweek said.

“Well, I’m not going to be a satanist. I couldn’t do their chants, it’s like Latin or something.” Craig’s eyes widened in realization.

“Pastors speak in Latin, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Tweek answered, confused.

“I’ll be a pastor. A youth one since I’m a kid, but then we’ll go perfect together. I even have a suit.”

“I think imps and pastors hate each other?”

“No, it’s like a forbidden love story. I accidentally summoned you, and now we’re together,” Craig smiled. Tweek laughed an airy laugh and pressed their foreheads together.

“If you had asked me last year if I thought you were the romantic type, I would’ve said hell no. Turns out you’re very romantic. Not complaining,” Tweek grinned.

“Only for you.”

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“That took a lot more than five minutes,” Tweek teased.

“Only because you decided that my costumes needed effort put into them,” Craig replied. Tweek kissed his nose before pulling away.

“I’m going to put your clothes in the same bag as my clothes since I think we’ll be going together.” Tweek turned around and carefully picked up the clothes he had thrown. “By the way, where is your suit?”

“My parent’s room because they don’t want me to destroy it by accident.” Tweek disappeared around the corner, leaving Craig by himself. Craig grabbed a squirt gun, slingshot, and a few other things for the duo to use.

Tweek came back with the suit carefully folded in his arms. He placed it on top of the pile of costumes in his bag before zipping it back up. He slung it over his shoulder and inspected the weapons in Craig’s hands.

“Craig, are you really bringing all of that?” he asked.

“You’re bringing all our costumes, why can’t I bring our weapons?” Tweek rolled his eyes.

“Guess it’s good, actually. Cartman sent a group text to everyone saying that we’re starting in an hour. Adventure because him and Stan are pissed at each other and it’s really cowboys vs. Indians, so I guess we’re on different teams.” Craig frowned.

“I’ll sit this one out,” Craig mumbled, “I don’t want to fight again.”

“Wait, the captain of the team needs our card to use us, and I think everyone decided you’re legendary in the adventure theme. I don’t think Cartman or Stan has your card. That new kid probably doesn’t either. So, we don’t have to fight!” Tweek exclaimed.

“What’s your rarity?”

“I’m just a common,” Tweek mumbled.

“Not to me. Hey, I’ll be on the sidelines to cheer you on until I get played.”

“Until I get played I can just hang out with you. Let’s get going so we aren’t late.”

“Dude, it takes us like ten minutes max to walk to Cartman’s”

“Yeah, I know, but if we stay here for a lot longer we’ll probably lose track of time and be hours late.”

They left the house, Tweek’s hand finding it’s place in Craig’s hand. They walked incredibly close together, smiling and chatting.

“I can’t wait to see you in a suit, I thought your skin was a sweatshirt,” Tweek joked.

“I can’t wait to see you in that imp costume.” Tweek playfully hit his arm.

“You’re only going to see it once and then never again.”

“Not for a few years, cause I’m in this for the long haul. Then maybe I’ll see you in it again,” Craig smirked.

“Nope, never again. But I’ll see you in that suit again.”

“I guarantee that, and I’ll place bets on your imp outfit,” Craig kissed his cheek. Tweek smiled and pushed him away.

“None of that with your dirty mind.”

“Hey! The fags are here!” The pair looked forward at the small group of kids. Kenny, Token, Jimmy, Butters, Clyde, Stan, Kyle, and of course the man who made the comment himself, Cartman.

“Hey, the fatass didn’t even leave his front lawn,” Craig snapped. Tweek sighed.

“Here we go.”

“I am not fat, I am big-boned!”

“Say that to the fifteen boxes of Cheesy Poofs under your bed.”

“Guys, the new kid is coming!” Kyle announced. The party looked down the street to see a silhouette coming towards them.

“Guys, divide into your teams! Let’s go!” Stan ordered and the kids scampered. Tweek pulled Craig down slightly and pecked his lips.

“For good luck. See you in a few minutes darling.” Tweek rushed after the other cowboys, leaving Craig to try and find a place to sit outside the battlefield, a spot close enough to throw stuff at people hopefully while he watched his boyfriend.

#Creek #creek sp #sp creek #tweek x craig #craig x tweek #south park tweek #south park craig #tweek tweak #craig tucker #tweek sp #sp tweek #craig sp #sp craig #south park

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cyn-00 · 5 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 4 - "the first one"

Season 6, episode 1 "The longest night" (at the end of the episode, when the team arrives to the couple's house where the unsub is - the "Prince of Darkness", and Morgan alone gets in)

I know I have just posted number 3 but hey, I felt productive, so...enjoy it while it lasts? I'm sure as hell gonna have a drop in creativity soon and won't be posting for like...weeks.

Also, it's a long-ish one, sorry ❤️ (? I guess? Maybe it's better for you). Note: I think I kept the unsub’s lines pretty much consistent with what he actually said in the show - the concept is the same, words might be different

Y'all this fucking episode...there was SO MUCH Moreid Angst potential...wasted. robbed. Ugh.

Read it on AO3

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

The team along with the police arrived to the home of the couple where the unsub was reported to be, after he let out of the car the little girl he had taken as a hostage.

It was melting hot and the sun was blinding, the bulletproof vests and the obvious anxiousness were surely not making any of it any easier.

Reid had been worried for Morgan all day long. After he was the first to find and succor him at detective Spicer's house in Santa Monica, the night before - where he was tied and kicked repeatedly by the unsub - Spencer wasn't sure he could think straight. But Derek was wired like that: if anybody doubted his capability to keep working efficiently even when hurt, they would get yelled at. Of course, Garcia and Reid got yelled at.

And he had only apologized to Garcia so far.

Just before getting in all together, they received a phone call. Spencer was too far to hear what it was about, but as soon as the local pd officer passed the phone to Derek, he gathered that the call was from the unsub. And that he wanted Morgan to deal with him personally.

"Wait- what's happening?" he nervously asked Prentiss, even though he knew exactly what was happening. He just wanted someone external to confirm that his theory was correct, and that he wasn't going batshit crazy.

"I think he wants Morgan to get in." Prentiss answered. Reid was so tense he didn't even register what she'd just said, even being the one who asked in the first place.

Morgan made a few steps ahead with Hotch right behind him. Reid's nerves started to untangle.

But then the man stopped and turned around to confront their team leader. Again: Spencer couldn't hear, but from the look on Derek's face, he seemed enraged just as much as confident in his ability to handle what he was walking into. Reid wasn’t equally confident in such thing, though.

Hotch nodded and stepped away.

"He- he's going in alone?? W- why isn't Hotch going with him? He cannot- Morgan! Morgan wait-" Spencer was about to run toward him, but Emily grabbed his arm strongly enough to keep him from getting any farther.

"Reid," she said softly.

"What?! Are we really going to watch him get killed? He's probably not even completely aware, he's hurt and he didn't even rest for a second like we all told him to do- and the MEDICS, too, I- I get that he doesn't wanna listen to me but at leas-"

"Reid, stop. You going in there is not gonna make things any better. You have to trust him." she reasoned, assertive.

Hotch, still a little far from them both, shot him a stern glare and shook his head, as if saying: "Don't. Let him go."

Spencer calmed down just enough to realize what Emily had just said. Was she intending that if he went in it would only get worse because he was the weak and clumsy one? Same old stuff. Was that excuse ever gonna stop being an argument to persuade him not to do things? Not to help people?

Spencer gave her a deadly glance.

"It's not about me. And it's not about trusting him- I don't trust the psychopath killer on a spree that's in there with Morgan, not Morgan. We should all go in with him, I- I don't understand why I'm the only one who cares, we are a team, right?? That's what you guys always tell me when I'm about to do stupid things or- or try to deal alone with matters that are bigger than me. So why are we purposely letting him go alone all of a sudden? That's EXACTLY what the unsub is waiting for." he explained rationally, but rattling on as fast as he did everytime he was convinced about something - which was...always.

He snatched his arm away from Emily's grip before she could reply with something that would only make him more mad, and quickly strode far from everyone, looking down at the ground while stripping off his bulletproof vest with twitchy fingers. He felt breathless, on the verge of crying and, at that point, even useless and on some measure mocked by his very team- his family.

When Reid screamed at him, Morgan obviously heard him. But in that moment, the anger he was feeling caused everything else to shift to a lower level of importance. Even his Spencer worrying about him - actually, it was especially the thought of his boyfriend worrying about him that Derek was trying to push back into a hidden corner of his head: he couldn't let the guilt of making him wait helplessly eat at him in that moment.

He kept walking toward the door. He just wanted to get over with that psychopath and run back in the arms of his lover, apologizing and letting him pet his neck while whispering forgiving words in his ear.

Once he entered the house, he heard the unsub talking to him.

"Over here, agent." he said.

Morgan slowly and cautiously walked toward the couple's bedroom, from where the disgustingly over-polite voice was coming, with his gun firmly pointed ahead.

When he got in, the two hostages were curled up on themselves on the floor; wrists, ankles and mouths duct-taped. The "Prince of Darkness" was sitting on the bed between them, denying the couple to even find comfort in each other's proximity; a gun in his hand.

And he was crying. Morgan wasn't sure if it was to try and make him pity him, or if he was actually feeling some kind of emotion besides...pure evil, if that can even be defined as an emotion.

"That's it. You have no way out." he said in an unwavering tone, approaching closer.

"You say?" the unsub laughed.

Morgan slowly but carefully lowered his firearm. "I'm not afraid of you."

"But they are." answered the man - though Derek was reluctant to deem him such - pointing at the two with his gun, making them squeak in fear.

"You see," he continued, still crying. "right after I killed my mother, she looked at me - I don't know if I was imagining it - but she looked at me with relief, sort of. Like I finally set her free."

Morgan scowled. He heated up and raised the gun toward him, again.

"That's what you think you were doing to those people? You thought that by killing them you were doing them a FAVOR?" he asked. The uncomfortable realization of knowing the answer to such question already, triggered in Derek's body the urge of vomiting from one second to another.

Both their guns were aiming right at each other’s heads now.

"Naah " the unsub replied; on his face a grimace akin to a smug, lopsided smile. He stood up from the mattress.

"I killed them because I decided they had to die. Just like...God." his self-complacent grin widened.

"You sick bastard." Morgan spat through gritted teeth, fire in his eyes, sweat drooling down his temples.

Two gun shots were fired. Everyone outside heard them.

Reid was suddenly like woken up from a dream - one that left him with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. His heart stopped for a fraction of second only to start pounding rapidly right after; his brain went blank, like static.

It didn't even cross his mind that everyone on the team along with the police were gonna go in anyway: he ran toward the house, forgetting to put on his vest; merely accompanied by his gun and the instinct to rescue the man he would’ve cut off all his limbs for.

Prentiss and Hotch screamed at him with all their breath, but in all honesty he couldn't have cared less. The voices of his two teammates sounded muffled to his ears, as if three layers of thick glass were separating them from him. He had this gut feeling that Derek had taken too much time in there to taste his revenge, and that's exactly what the guy was expecting from him, using it in his favor to hurt him or - more likely - kill him: he had NO intention nor interest in trusting those two again.

Both his thoughts and his steps were suddenly interrupted by someone who jumped in front of him and pressed a palm firmly on his chest: it was Rossi.

"You cannot go in there without vest, kiddo. We're going in."

"Then come with me, but I won't stand here doing nothing! What the hell are you guys waiting for?? I've seen no one moving for fuck 's sake- what, have you given up on him already??" Spencer yelped in response, his voice coming out way less steady than he'd wished to.

Their altercation was cut off by Emily's voice.

"...Reid..."

"What now??" he bit back, annoyed.

She was staring at the front door, pointing at something. Or someone.

Spencer turned around, hoping not to see the unsub, because that would’ve meant he’d got the better out of the two.

His heart stopped - again. His eyes filled up with tears. His bones shuddered.

Derek was there, right outside of the door, standing still. His bulletproof vest in one hand, his gun in the other. He looked physically and mentally drained out, breathing heavily as if trying not to pass out on the hardwood floor of the porch; but at the same time relieved that he could feel sensations and emotions again, instead of a continuous state of sheer rage and frustration, all the time: he could feel his eyes prickling with tears, his heart hammering in his ears, his skin cold-sweating from the breeze blowing hot and humid against it.

He was staring at Spencer and Spencer was staring back at him, but neither was making an effort to close the 30 ft distance separating them.

When Spencer saw him taking a few steps in his direction, he stilled. But then Derek froze in spot, as if suddenly realizing that his legs were crumbling under his weight, disabling him from getting more than a few feet ahead; ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be the "strong" one out of the two - out of them all.

JJ was watching from far away. Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi were standing, encircling Reid, like they were all waiting for him to do something, like they wanted to give him the privilege of going toward Morgan first.

Spencer got the hint. He absent-mindedly pulled away David's hand from his shoulder, and finally started walking forward, putting his gun away.

He didn't run. He didn't feel the need to do so: it was like the urge to go and "save" him was gone the moment he came out of the house and everybody saw him, alive, breathing.

Once he was right in front of him, he stared long and deep into his glossy eyes, immobilized. He didn't know what to tell him, and neither did Derek: there was nothing to say, they were feeling too much to think about the right words to speak, to give some sort of hierarchical order to the things they had to get off of their aching chests.

Derek could no longer keep his usual alpha-male show going. He dropped his vest and gun to the ground, falling on his knees with a thud, shedding his first tear since it all started. Nobody on the team had ever seen him that vulnerable - Spencer, on the other hand, was certainly not new to it.

He kneeled down as well, finally getting to wrap his boyfriend in his arms as tight as he could; dwelling on the unfounded, naive and anti-scientific conviction that he could keep his crumbling body whole only with his slim frame, hoping it could act as a glue to stick together the smithereens of Derek’s soul.

Derek hugged him back just as tight, forgetting that the same amount of strength that made him comfortable in Spencer's arms, could actually make it difficult for the skinny man to breathe, squeezed in a body twice as strong - albeit equally tall.

But neither of them cared, in that moment.

He buried his face in Spencer's neck, keeping at bay the volume of his choking sobs and probably soaking wet the collar of his shirt: hiding him from judgemental eyes was a small price Spencer was willing to pay, if it made Derek feel like he was finally allowed to find comfort in him.

Spencer closed his eyes, massaging the back of his neck; uncaring of the sensation of his skin melting from the heat imbuing the air surrounding them, only increased by the warmth of their hug.

Derek shifted a little.

"Kid I- I'm so sorry for treating you like crap in the past days..." he finally stuttered against Spencer's skin. He wasn't really expecting an answer: he knew that Spencer - and, to be honest, everyone else on the team - could not but agree on that, and that he’d probably already forgiven him, like they always did when they got mad at each other.

Derek kissed his temple.

"and I love you." he added, once he’d lifted his head just enough to reach Spencer’s ear.

He kissed his earlobe, risking to deafen him with the smacking sound - he could feel the man's muzzle scrunching at that.

"I swear to God I love you, Spencer, I love you so much."

He lowered his face, reclaiming his previous spot on Spencer’s neck, placing kisses on his damp skin - from sweat and tears.

"-love you, I love you, I loveyou-" he whispered in a loop, as if the more he said it, the higher the odds that Spencer’s body could absorb the concept.

Derek himself couldn't believe he was actually saying it out loud - not like that. He knew Spencer knew it, even by just demonstrating it - which was way more important and tangible. But that time he felt like he needed to actually voice it, and the fact that he told him so not that often, convinced Spencer more and more that the way Derek loved him was not the same way he loved the others on the team; each time the three words were repeated, again and again and again, like a gentle but forceful lullaby, wrecking down his wall of uncertainty.

"I know you do." Spencer interrupted Derek’s flowing of whispers, sniffling. "and you know I love you too."

Suddenly, he felt some kind of...drop, falling on his shoulder, sinking through the thin cotton of his shirt. He let go of Derek and looked at him: it wasn't the tears.

"Your cut is bleeding again...you should have known better than to just ask for a band-aid." he said, regaining a bit of composure while he cleaned the blood drooling from the other's brow with his thumb, careful not to touch the open scratch.

"It's just a cut." Derek shrugged, wiping off the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

"The ambulance is already here, you should go to the hospital so they can at least put a couple of stitches on it." Spencer insisted, playing the puppy-eye card.

Morgan sighed at how annoyingly and at the same time adorably caring Reid always acted when he was hurt. He resigned to stand up on his feet, prompting at the other to do the same, and they walked together toward one of the two ambulances.

Once they’d stepped out of their timeless, little bubble of emotions and tear-wet kisses and entanglement of limbs and whispered words; they both realized the only ones that had been looking at them for those few minutes were the policemen, mostly confused or even moved, but strangely not mocking: JJ was trying to shoo away some reporters, Hotch was on the phone - supposedly with Strauss or Garcia - Rossi and Prentiss were inside the house. All of them had probably seen the scene but were very good at hiding it.

Derek was sitting on the back of the ambulance. The medic hadn't arrived yet. Spencer was standing in front of him, trying to minimize the bleeding with a gauze, and more importantly to prevent any infections.

"I can do it alone, you know?" Derek told him, gazing at him with heart eyes.

"I don't care." Reid responded unbothered, concentrated on the task at hand.

He then removed the gauze from Morgan's cut, letting out a sigh.

"...I- I should stay here, you know? The team might need my help with some stuff." Spencer said in a tone full of resignation and apology, as he feigned to be studying attentively the bloody gauze in one hand, while the other rested on Derek's thigh.

Derek laughed good-heartedly at him.

"What?? You thought you were coming with me? For some stitches? C'mon now pretty boy. They need you more than I do." He retorted convincingly, but in reality he needed him way more than anyone else did in that moment. He just didn't wanna be a burden.

Spencer slightly frowned at the idea that he wasn't even considering him coming with to the hospital as an option. He didn't argue though, letting the conversation fall in a short silence.

"...is anyone around?" Derek asked, lowering his voice.

Spencer squinted his eyes at him, confused. He backed up a little and checked: they were all pretty far away. The rear side of the ambulance, where they were, was facing the other way, so clearly everyone just saw the front of it. He got closer again.

"Uh, no? I think they're all-"

He couldn't finish the sentence because Derek - who perfectly knew no one was around and, even if there was someone, he didn't care - had already pulled him closer by grabbing his arm and pushed his lips against his, all of a sudden. Spencer's waist so thin that his strong arms could've wrapped around it twice.

Spencer was definitely caught off guard - just like most of the times Derek kissed him out of nowhere. One would think he'd got used to it, by that point.

Admittedly, he’d been meaning to kiss him since the second he saw him getting out of the house - which was half an hour before that. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, in front of at least 30 people. But now that he felt like he could, he cupped the back of Derek's neck with his hand, guiding his head as he pleased, in order to draw his mouth deeper into his.

Derek spread his thighs a few inches so that Spencer could come closer - like there was any space left between them.

He stopped all of a sudden, gasping for air, resting his forhead against Spencer's with his eyes still shut; an attempt of closing out whatever other sensation could distract him from relishing a few seconds longer in the sweet taste of Spencer’s mouth, still clinging onto his tongue.

"I wanted to do it as soon as I saw you." Derek broke the silence with his confession, distancing himself a little to look into Spencer's eyes; caramel specks brought out by the sunlight.

"I had the gut feeling you were going to be the first one to look for me when I fired that shot. I knew it was gonna be you." he added, tucking an untamed, brunette curl behind his boyfriend’s ear.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, choosing to reply non-verbally by leaning closer and parting his lips again to lay another kiss on his - because, how could he not, after he said those things.

But they heard footsteps approaching.

They quickly got away from each other. Reid's body suddenly remembered how hot it was outside, and that situation surely wasn't helping.

The medic along with Rossi appeared from the side of the ambulance.

"The bleeding stopped...plus, it looks very clean. Good job whoever did it!" she congratulated, after taking a quick look at Morgan's cut. Reid and him exchanged a knowing glance.

"Alright, we can go now, agent Morgan. We still have to stitch it up a little. Sorry if I kept you waiting." she apologized.

Derek kept his eyes on Spencer.

"No problem." he answered briefly, trying to hide a smirk. He actually wanted to thank her for having given them the time to do...that.

While Morgan got inside with the medic and the ambulance left, Rossi stood silently next to Reid, with his hands in his pockets. He had clearly captured all the exchange of looks between the two. And Reid's messy hair, breathing rhythm and rumpled shirt were just a few other clues that they hadn't simply been talking.

"You guys know that we know. Right?" he finally put a halt to the awkward silence.

Spencer’s eyes remained glued to the ground, but widened instantly - as if he shouldn’t have expected such a comment, sooner or later...

"...I- I guess." he answered, not even bothering to make the effort of denying it, aware that it'd be useless. The blush he was trying to contain made him wonder if, maybe, he should've considered that option. Not that he was any good at lying.

Rossi snorted and patted Spencer’s shoulder. "I'm just happy you two have each other. We all are."

Reid finally raised his gaze from the tarmac to look at him with puppy eyes, without saying anything. What was there to say? Morgan and him had both been feeling like it was way more than just friendship since day one, even though they had actually been "dating" only for a year or so. It had to happen, it was clear to everyone on the team BUT them. Talk about being blindly in love.

David left the kid alone with his thoughts, strolling away toward Emily, who - Reid realized just then - had been grinning at them from afar all along, with her arms folded on her chest.

"I'm happy too" Spencer smiled to himself.

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missjanjie · 4 years ago

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Take Me Back to the Start | (9/10)

Title: Take Me Back to the Start Summary: Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn’t over yet. Word Count: ~3.1k (this chapter) / ~28.4k (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll) Rating: E

Read on AO3

Nine Years Ago

José was the type of kid that looked forward to recess more than any part of the day. He needed that time to run around and be loud, burn off some of that energy so he could at least try to sit still during the rest of the school day. His ADHD and general personality already made that an uphill battle for any teacher.

But after a good few minutes of running around on the playground, he found himself bored. Or at least, bored enough to notice a kid sitting by himself with his face buried in his notebook. Occasionally he would look up and around, like he was contemplating getting up and playing, but would end up only curling further into himself.

It took a split second, but José recognized him as the new kid. He was introduced to the class that morning but, even with the teachers’ encouragement, he didn’t have a whole lot to say. José was pretty sure half of the class would need to be reminded of his name before the day ended, and that just didn’t sit right with him.

Because on the other hand, José did not have a problem talking or remembering faces. No, he had an endless capacity to talk to and meet new people, so he sat right next to the shy blonde boy. “Hi! You’re Brock, right?”

Brock looked up, closing his notebook and setting it aside. There was a split second of hesitation before he answered him. “Um… yeah, hi,” he replied, shifting his legs so he was sitting with them crossed instead. “What’s your name?”

“José. Whatcha doin’ sitting by yourself?” He frowned, tilting his head. “Recess is for playing, you look like you was doing homework,” he observed, cocking his head the other way, towards the notebook at Brock’s feet.

“It’s not homework.” He shook his head, then thought for a beat. “Actually… I guess it is kind of like homework. But it’s not for school, it’s for my ballet class.”

José perked his head up with curious interest. “You do ballet? That’s so cool!”

Brock blinked in surprise. “You think it’s cool? Most people think it’s dumb, that boys aren’t supposed to take ballet,” he explained.

“Well, they’re wrong then. I think it’s cool. You should teach me something from your class sometime.”

“Yeah!” Brock beamed brightly, the excitement of having finally made a new friend bubbling over. Even then, he knew it was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Present Day

Brock woke up with a broad smile on his face. He glanced down. José was clinging to him like a koala, still sleeping soundly, and it was the most beautiful damn sight he had ever seen. It was hard to believe last night – the entirety of the previous day, really – actually happened. It felt like he was finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, like he was finally getting where he so desperately wanted to be for the longest time.

José yawned, his eyes squeezing shut before opening them. He slowly tilted his head up, smiling sleepily when he saw Brock watching him. “You watchin’ me sleep, B?”

“Just a little.” He chuckled, raking his fingers through his thick, brown hair. He gently scratched his head and laughed softly because José let out a noise that sounded like one of his cats purring.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he assured, kissing his forehead. “You’re just cute.”

José picked his head up, smiling at him before dropping back down to his chest. “You still corny as hell,” he murmured with a subdued laugh.

Brock smiled, squeezing him close. “Maybe so, but you’re the one that’s a sucker for it,” he retorted. The calm contentment didn’t last much longer as his upcoming schedule crept up on him. “You know I have to get down to the studio today. I wanna get in one last solid rehearsal before the competition tomorrow.”

“Alright,” José agreed. “But I’m going with you to make sure you keep that shit short and sweet. I’m not finna let you overexert yourself and wind up with sore-ass legs the morning of. And you better bet I’mma make sure you eat all your meals today.”

Brock blinked, taken back by the sudden assertiveness in the smaller teen’s tone. Though at the same time, he was touched. He thought it was sweet that he jumped right into making sure he took care of himself, he’d come to realize that was how José expressed affection. His mother was like that too, but it was especially endearing with him. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to prioritize self-care in the midst of this very important competition,” he told him.

“I’m just not ‘boutta let you psych yourself out,” he replied simply. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

Brock smiled, squeezing him close. “You’re right,” he leaned down and kissed his forehead before actually getting himself to sit up. “Is there any point in taking a shower if I’m gonna get all sweaty and gross in the studio?” He watched as his boyfriend lazily shook his head. “Alright, breakfast it is.”

José pushed into an upright position as well. “Yeah? Whatcha making me?”

“Cereal.”

------

Everything was business as usual when Brock and José entered the studio. But as Brock was warming up, José guided his coach off to the side for a moment. “Listen, we probably already on the same page for this, but I just wanna be sure. I don’t want him to push himself too hard today, ‘cause he’s gonna burn the candle on both hands and I want him to have energy and strength tomorrow, you know?”

Anna chuckled, clasping her hand on José’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, hon. And you’re not wrong about him. But it’s my job to keep him at his best, not just pushing him to his limits.”

He nodded, feeling a bit silly for going out of his way to say that – she was right, it was her job. But he couldn’t shake the need to take care of Brock. Maybe, he thought, it was because he wasn’t able to protect him from Kyle, and now he had to make sure he never let him get hurt again. Especially not because of him. “Right, yeah. You guys do your thing, I’ll just… be over there.”

“Hey.” She stopped him right before he could slip away. “He’s lucky to have a boyfriend like you.”

José opened his mouth to correct her, but then stopped himself and just smiled. “Thanks,” he said as he walked off to the side. Hearing Brock referred to as his boyfriend sounded like music to his ears and made his heart swell in his chest. He knew eventually they would have to put some sort of label onto whatever it was they had – he was never a fan of ambiguity. But he had also come to realize that talking about their feelings was like pulling teeth, so he had to broach the subject delicately.

Maybe that was why dancing came so naturally to them. José watched as Brock moved with such grace and ease, while still able to convey depth and passion that words could never capture. Words could get muddled and mixed up, the movement was straightforward and fluid, there was nothing to be miscommunicated.

Brock took a deep breath when he finally finished for the day, chugging down almost an entire bottle of water in one go. “That felt good. It felt solid.”

“You are gonna eat that shit up tomorrow,” José said with certainty. “Now c’mon, sweaty. You gotta hit the showers,” he added, walking with him into the locker room. “Oh, uh, my mama texted me during rehearsal. She wants to know if you wanna come over for dinner. And listen, you totally don’t have to if you just wanna rest up and take it easy or–”

“Are you kidding? I’d never turn down your mom’s cooking,” he said as he undressed and stepped into the shower.

“It’s not that, it’s um…” José was glad Brock was in the shower and not watching him shift and fidget awkwardly. “My older brother’s already home for Thanksgiving, and when he’s with my younger brother, they’re still a little, you know… rough around the edges.”

Brock shrugged, stepping back out and drying off shortly after. “I’m not worried about them. They can’t scare me off that easily,” he said, getting his clothes on and gathering his belongings up in his bag.

“That’s kinda hot,” José remarked with a smirk.

He laughed and threw his arm around the shorter teen as they left. “That’s the spirit. And hey, if they give us shit, we can just have loud sex in your room to get back at them.”

José looked up at him, admittedly a bit surprised that he was able to talk like that after just one time together. “Can… we do that even if they don’t?”

Brock snorted and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Yeah, even if they don’t.”

They went back to Brock’s house for the rest of the afternoon. After a light lunch, they retreated to the bedroom to watch TV. And they sat in relative silence until José cleared his throat. “I know we’re still shitty at talking about how we feel and all, but…” He gestured vaguely as he tried to figure out how to phrase it. “Anna called me your boyfriend and I really liked how it sounded. But I gotta know where you stand on that.”

Not unexpectedly, Brock didn’t know how to answer and sat silently for a few moments. In actuality, he knew exactly where he stood, he’d been standing there for eight years. But even knowing how José felt didn’t quell his fear of coming on too strong or taking it too far. So, just like always, he chose his words slowly and carefully. “I also like the idea of you being my boyfriend. I have for a while now. And… I see us together, not like the way we used to be, a better version of us together.”

Instead of a verbal response, José simply tackled Brock onto the bed and kissed him deeply. He couldn’t have articulated how he felt if he tried. There was happiness, relief, nerves, a little bit of arousal, just so much hitting at once. “Guess it’s official, then,” he murmured against his lips.

“It’s official,” Brock confirmed, holding him close and covering his face in small kisses. “We’re boyfriends again,” he beamed.

“Dinner’s gonna be a little more interesting now,” he mused, then glanced over and saw the time on his phone. “Which we better start getting ready for. She wants us there at six.”

Brock nodded, reluctantly untangling himself from José to change into a button-down shirt and jeans. He fixed up his hair and dabbed on a bit of cologne as well. “Alright, we good to go?”

José gave a thumbs up and the two of them left hand-in-hand, the same way they walked into his house. They looked around, his mother was in the kitchen and his brothers were on the couch, watching sports. “Don’t be fucking rude, say hi to Brock,” he said to them.

The two brothers looked up, nonplussed, and offered casual greetings before their attention completely refocused on the screen.

Realizing that that would be the extent of their interaction, Brock and José went and said hi to Anabel before going up to José’s bedroom. There, they waited idly until everyone was called in for dinner.

“So, what, you guys are dating again like when you were kids?” one of José’s brothers asked.

“You know what the difference is,” the older brother chimed in.

“Haha, gross.”

Their mother glared at them. “Ambos cierran la boca antes de que lo haga por ti,” she snapped in a firm warning that swiftly silenced them.

Brock and José didn’t do much but shift awkwardly. They weren’t completely wrong, in all fairness, but Brock definitely understood what José had meant by ‘rough around the edges’, and luckily they were able to make it through the meal without further incident.

When everyone was done and about to retire to their respective rooms, José’s older brother guided Brock off to the side. José noticed this and immediately went over to them. “Yo, I dunno what shit you’re about to pull but–”

“It’s okay, babe,” Brock assured. “Go upstairs, I’ll meet you there.” Then, he turned back to face the brother, standing in a way that he was taller and couldn’t be easily intimidated.

“Look,” he started, “I’m only saying this ‘cause I care about my little brother. I just think this shit’s weird. Not even ‘cause of the gay thing. But it’s just like… this childhood fantasy thing. How’s that ever gonna be a real love?”

The answer came surprisingly easy to Brock. At least, it must’ve, because he answered without his usual hesitation. “Yes, I fell in love with him when we were kids, that’s how I know it was real. Nothing else is as pure, as sincere. When you’re a child, you love with your whole heart, because that’s all you know how to do. That’s the type of love that stays with you forever. And that’s why I never fell out of love with him.”

José had been standing just out of their field of vision, listening in, in case he needed to step in and defend his boyfriend. But what he’d heard had caught him utterly by surprise and touched him in a way he’d never felt before. He didn’t hear how his brother responded, he rushed upstairs before either of them could notice.

Brock slowly opened the bedroom door, letting himself in. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he said as he shut the door behind him. He didn’t get a verbal response, though. Instead, as soon as he was in his reach, José pulled him into a deep kiss that he melted right into. He fell back on the bed with him, refusing to be the first one to pull away.

Reluctantly, José pulled back when the urge to breathe beat out the desire to keep kissing. “I heard what you said,” he confessed, still breathless from the passionate embrace. “I heard what you said and I realized I love you too. I love you in a way I ain’t never loved before. And I don’t know what that means but I know it means a fucking lot.”

“I…” Brock’s head was spinning and his heart was pounding a mile a minute. He needed a moment just to take that all in – José had heard him admit his feelings, not only that, he reciprocated them. Their relationship had jumped up so many levels so fast, but at the same time, it felt like the natural progression – they were supposed to be in love, it’s what they were destined for. “God, it means everything to me to hear you say that.”

He smiled and kissed him again. “This has been one fuckin’ day, huh?”

“Yeah,” the blonde exhaled, laying down on his back with an arm wrapped around his boyfriend. “Dunno how I’m supposed to calm down and relax for tomorrow,” he remarked with a laugh.

Suddenly, José perked up with a smirk. “I know what to do about that,” he said and got up, pulling Brock along so he was sitting on the side of the bed.

Brock sat with his feet on the floor and watched while the shorter teen sunk to his knees. “Oh, I think I know where you’re going with this,” he grinned, carding his fingers through his hair.

“You’re just so smart,” José teased as he undid Brock’s jeans, tugging them down to his ankles with his boxers following suit. He looked up at him, making heavy eye contact as he spat on his hand and wrapped it around his length, stroking slowly and steadily.

It didn’t take much for Brock to start to get hard. He bit down on his lip, gaze fixated on José, who had built up his pace as he jerked him off, then teasingly lapped at the head of his cock.

José smirked to himself, then focused his attention exclusively on the task at hand. He dragged his tongue from the head all the way down and back up. Then, with one hand resting on Brock’s thigh to steady himself, he took his length in inch by inch, occasionally flicking his eyes back up to him.

“Shit…” Brock grunted softly, eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back. His breathing grew heavier and he bit down on his lip. He tangled his fingers through José’s hair, gripping just a bit.

After another moment, José had managed to get Brock’s length all the way down his throat. His forehead rested against his lower abdomen as he focused his breathing through his nose. The hand on his thigh grabbed tighter while his free hand wiggled into his jeans so he could get himself off as well.

Brock was struggling to keep himself still and quiet, unsure if he was able to do both. The hand that wasn’t tugging José’s hair was clamped over his mouth to stifle his moans. As much as he tried to keep his body planted firmly on the bed, his hips rolled up every now and then.

José didn’t mind it. In fact, he thought it was hot that he could get him to lose control like that. He bobbed his head faster, with more fervor, eager to get him off.

And it was working. It was working very well. Brock was moaning louder, his hips were jerking erratically. He was cursing under his breath and all but yanking José’s hair. He tried to get out a warning, but when his orgasm hit, all he could do is cry out his lover’s name in a heated moment of pleasure.

José was ready, picking up on the physical cues and relaxed his throat in anticipation. He swallowed his load, lingering until he was certain his boyfriend was fully spent, then slowly eased off of him. In that time, he’d gotten himself off as well, making quick work of cleaning off before he stood back up and kissed him. “You relaxed now?”

Brock needed a moment to catch his breath. “Oh yeah.” He nodded. “I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

José grinned in satisfaction, getting in bed, pleased with a job well done. Their day may have been a rollercoaster, but they were ending it in each other’s arms, so it was all worth it.

#branjie #branjie fic #rpdr rpf

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cela-astral-projection · 5 years ago

Text

See the west wind move like a lover so upon the fields of barley. Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth among the fields of gold. I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken. I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold.

18+ under the cut. Asra is still gone and Celeste is still at the hut.

They returned to the hut and sat together in front of the fire. Muriel and Celeste were, for the most part, silent.

Muriel had never been much for conversation. Celeste had been, once, but she fought to find the words now.

In place of speaking, she had found a home between his thighs, and she sat, facing him, her legs hooked over his, on either side of his hips.

It was intensely awkward, initially. Muriel had blushed scarlet, unable to meet Celeste's reverent gaze. The feeling of heat from between her thighs creeping across the front of his breeches. The softness of her thighs against his hips. The smell of her perfume in his nostrils.

But, with time, he relaxed, allowing her hands to trace his scars, smooth her fingers through his hair, examine his face. Her fingers brushed across his eyebrows, his lips, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw.

Her hands settled on the collar at his throat, studying it. Pressing her palms against the spikes. Not hard enough to wound, but enough to feel their sharpness, how solid they were. Her fingers traced the length of the chain that fell against his chest. She shook her head, turning her face to his, meeting his eyes.

"Too heavy," she said, her tone worried.

"There are heavier things," he replied softly.

She caught his meaning, and moved her hand to his chest, to his heart, not breaking eye contact. He nodded in acknowledgment. She drew a long breath.

"Broken," she asserted, not a question.

"Yes," he responded.

She moved her hand down his arm and caught his wrist, bringing his hand to her chest, resting it at her heart. "Broken,"

He had to fight the urge to scoff. Celeste had no idea just how broken her heart was. And he couldn't forget. That horrible and beautiful thing that Asra had done.

"You love me?" she asked, pressing his hand more firmly against her chest.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Always. And you loved me, too."

"Love you. Not loved." Celeste corrected, squeezing his hand.

Muriel sighed. "How can you know that?" his voice was somber.

Celeste seemed to mull it over, twisting her mouth up, then blowing a tendril of hair out of her face. "I hear...echoes. From before."

He made a noise of affirmation. Not a memory. Something reverberating across time and space.

"And Asra? You love him, too?" he asked, curious.

She nodded, answering as if it was hardly a question at all. "My Master. My heart."

He tilted his head. "Master?" he said aloud. He gave a dark chuckle. The fact that he was letting her call him that. The fact that she was letting him get away with having her call him that? Spoke volumes to the depths of things she had lost. Celeste had never really been subservient to anyone.

She lifted an eyebrow at his amusement. "Asra is my teacher," she said, almost offended.

"Stick with 'Asra' for the time being," he replied, genuinely displeased with this 'Master' nonsense.

"You and Asra...like Asra and I. Right?" she questioned, trying to understand the dynamic.

It was Muriel's turn to think it over. He blushed a bit, considering what he could say. Though, she seemed to know already. He took a breath, drawing air between his teeth. He couldn't answer her directly.

Celeste giggled at his blush, and the color at his cheeks deepened. "Right," punctuating the subject. "Like us. That's good. Asra is...good." she said, a lilt in her tone, implying something more than the fact that Asra was a wonderful person.

Muriel was not at all prepared to have this conversation. He and Asra had been together for years. They weren't involved in any official capacity, but they belonged together. They had an understanding that they loved each other.

He didn't consider himself to be jealous. At least not with Celeste. That was what they had all wanted. To share each other. To be together. All three of them.

Julian had been another matter entirely, but he could even reason that away with the idea that grief made Asra do stupid things. Like fucking Julian Devorak. And bringing people back from the dead.

Though he didn't quite mind the second one quite so much at this very moment.

"And you and I...?" she pushed, just a bit further.

He huffed a sigh, then shook his head. "No. You and I never were together. Not like that."

She looked a little shocked at that, looking him over. "Why?"

He snorted. Derisive. "No time, unfortunately."

Celeste was puzzled. They loved each other, but weren't physically intimate? She was in love with this man, and they weren't fucking? What the hell was she thinking? That seemed impossible.

He watched her expression. "It was never a matter of want. I assure you," he said, trying to quell her confusion. "It just couldn't happen."

She knew enough to understand that she wouldn't get much more than that from him, so she nodded her assent. "We have time now?" she offered, shifting forward a bit, teasing.

'Oh, Gods. Please,' Muriel thought, staring up at the ceiling, swallowing hard. 'Please, give me strength.' he implored.

Strength for what, he was uncertain. To deny her? To not take her right there?

Then again, he really didn't want the Gods to know she was there. With him. Breaking the terms of his deal, with the one he'd made the deal for.

'No,' he amended. 'Fuck you. Fuck your deal. Celeste is mine. I'm keeping her.'

He had only ever kissed her once. Through the bars of his cell. Sure, there had been other little kisses, on the cheek, the corner of her mouth, when they'd first brought her back. He had laid alongside her and Asra, holding her, willing her back to them. Knowing that he would have to leave her.

But she was here. And she was flesh and blood. She was tender and soft and sweet and his.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, and her hand came up to his jaw, long fingers cupping his chin, drawing him to her. His arms snaked around her waist, conscious of the spikes at his wrists. Their mouths met. It was chaste. His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sensation.

How long had it been? Before she was resurrected. Before the plague. How many nights had he dreamt of this? Felt the ghost of her kiss lingering on his mouth? It was every blissful remembrance made real.

She loved everything about him. The scruff of his beard under her palm. His lips were chapped, but full and soft. He smelled natural. Of sweat, and cedar, and myrrh. His hair was silky but dense and heavy. Cut shaggy and mostly unkempt. It was dark, and the firelight glimmered in it. Dark brown, almost black. The silvery raised scars that crossed his body. It pained her to think of what may have caused them. What hurts he endured.

She still found him appealing. Beautiful. Powerful. He was hard, and yet, so yielding under her touch. The way he allowed her to examine him. Drink him in. Even as his face burned with a blush. He didn't hide from her. Didn't shy away. He wanted to be touched. To be seen. To be seen by her.

The kiss was slow, heated, pressure building. Becoming more passionate with each moment Celeste and Muriel were joined. His mouth parted hers, and she felt his tongue tracing her teeth. She could taste him. Her tongue met his, tips flicking against one another's, sinking deeper, rolling, and massaging.

His hands crept up her back, one resting at the back of her neck, the other coiling into her hair. Rough callouses skimming her scalp. She shivered. The small hairs on her body standing on end. She tilted her head back, seeking that sensation again, her mouth pulling away from his.

His lips drug along her chin, her jaw, to her throat. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could access her neck more easily. His tongue flicked across her skin, and then his lips would press, and he would suckle and release, leaving small pink welts in his wake. She laid back, allowing him to guide her lower to the pelt that lay on the floor beneath them. Inch, by inch, his kisses falling upon her chest. He had appreciated Asra's chosen wardrobe more, his stolen shirt parting easily enough, falling away from her shoulders. Her chest revealing itself to him.

He had wondered what her breasts might look like. Hazy memories of her form in the dark. So long had he seen her in the shadow, her silhouette, traced by torchlight in the dungeon. He had imagined them, but nothing came close to the reality of them. Dense and full. The areola barely visible, only a shade or so darker than the rest of her tawny skin, a small bud of a nipple rising as it was exposed to the air. He drew a ragged breath, marveling at her form.

He laid her down and made to disentangle his legs from hers, grateful that she'd been in such an advantageous position. Easy to move between her thighs, part them with his knees, her skirt riding up. He made quick work of the remaining fastenings that held her blouse closed and brushed the fabric away. He took a moment, moving a hand over the plane of her belly. Her stomach was soft, undefined. He was almost surprised to see a thin line of coarse brunette hairs from beneath the band of her skirt leading up to her belly button. He traced them with his finger. She gave a quiet giggle, then bit her lip, tickled by the caress.

Muriel lowered himself to her breast, laving his tongue over her nipple, feeling it stiffen slowly, the skin around it contract. Celeste hissed above him, her head rolling back. He wrapped his lips around the nub, suckling, releasing, suckling again, every once in a while, his teeth would graze the site, and she would squirm a bit. Her hands were up, above her head, pulling the soft orbs taut, her back arching, pressing them against his lips. He moved between the knolls, abandoning one for the other.

He moved down her body, drawing his mouth excruciatingly gently over her sternum, her rib cage, her belly, to the waistband of her skirt. She watched him as he went, eyes half-lidded. His movements were so deliberate and worshipful. His fingers moved to her skirt, and she lifted her hips to help him slide it down.

Muriel was confronted by the soft mound of her mons. He had assumed, given their prior seating arrangement, that she was, in fact, bare beneath her skirt, but seeing it first hand was entirely different. Covered in a dark thatch of curls. The same dark hairs that climbed upwards towards her navel, but thicker, curlier, and denser. It was a curiosity, fleshy and yielding under his fingers, soft lips that gave way to damp slick folds.

His lover of choice, Asra, had decidedly different anatomy. But Lucio had made a point to bring "gifts" to him after what he felt was a particularly good performance in the arena. The workers were always courteous, pitying. Preformative. And fearful of him. Putting on another show for Lucio. All of them under duress, but suppressing their desire to flee or resist under threat of further punishment. Lucio always framed it as a charity, but it wasn't above him to take himself in hand while he watched.

And Muriel couldn't deny there was some comfort in the release. He had learned about giving pleasure. Lucio would dictate to him precisely what he wanted to see. Of the indignities and crimes he endured, it was certainly the lesser of the evils. Traumatic though it certainly was. The sex worker's bodies were always perfect, groomed, perfumed, painted. It was all artificial.

But Celeste was real. And beautiful. She wasn't pretending. She wasn't intimidated. Muriel didn't want to separate himself from this.

He wanted the smell of her in his nostrils, the taste of her cunt on his tongue. She writhed and moaned as he lapped at her clit, his hands holding her hips down, feeling her strain to push up against his ministrations. His name flowing from her lips. Her fingers in his hair. He licked up the slick that trickled from her core, his tongue darting into her tight hole, stroking her, drinking of her body. She tensed and fell apart, her body vibrating. She keened and whined, and he persisted, repeating the same cycle over again. When she could take no more, she called his name, pushing at his cheek with her thigh, too overstimulated to continue the onslaught.

He moved to her side, hand at her jaw, drawing her mouth back to his. He whispered against her mouth, imploring her to taste herself. She ran her tongue along his lips, and he recaptured her, feverishly claiming her mouth. Celeste rolled towards him, mouths still locked. Her hands moving immediately to the waist of his trousers, making deft work of the ties and buckles.

He fell back, parting their kiss. His shoulders pressed into the pelt, and he lifted his hips, pushing the clothing down, kicking off his boots and the offending garment. When he settled, her hand found his cock, hard.

Her fingers moved along his length, sizing him up. She paused for a moment, unsure, and she pushed away for a moment to look down at his member to confirm what she was feeling. She looked up at him, and he looked equal parts embarrassed and amused.

It was...a lot. Not gratuitous or offensive, certainly. It suited him. Large man. Proportionate dick. All told, it was a gorgeous cock. Silky and veiny with a dusky head, the slightest slick of pre-come at the tip, forming under her touch. All the same, a bit daunting.

"I'll go slow," he reassured her, and she nodded.

She started to move down his body, and he caught her arm, pleading with her. "If you use your mouth on me, I won't last." he cautioned. Of course, he wanted it. But the prospect of her pretty eyes looking up at him as she sucked his cock, choked on it, swallowed his come...there was time for that, later.

He had been waiting years for this. The novelty of fucking Celeste's mouth was nothing compared to the idea of burying himself in her cunt. Riding her until she drained him and his come spilled out of her. He wouldn't be denied that.

She reclined again, and he rolled onto his side, his hand moving to her thigh, drawing her close. He pulled her leg over his hip and positioned himself at the slit at the apex of her thighs. Celeste drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her body relaxing. He pushed forward gradually. Celeste's eyes fluttered closed, and she focused on remembering to breathe.

The first sensation was the heat, pressing and sliding between her folds, seeking out her entrance. Then, the slow, agonizing stretch as Muriel entered her. Her breath caught, and he stopped, waiting for her to settle. She swallowed then nodded, biting her lip. He eased forward further, then withdrew a bit.

Muriel's movements were shallow, gradual. He was restraining himself. Acclimatizing her to his size. He watched her face, listened to the sound of her breathing, how quiet little mewls and keens started pouring from her lips as he continued to rock back and forth. She was hot and dripping, and so very tight. Each thrust was just the slightest bit deeper, taking him further in. She started to roll her hips forward against him, finding his rhythm and meeting it.

His movements became less disciplined as he sank further into her, the clench of her walls silken around his hardness. He called out her name. His hand gripped her thigh, rolling her against him with each drive forward into her cunt.

Celeste moved her hand to her clit, a finger on either side of the sensitive bud. He crashed into her over again, and she pressed and released over and over with each thrust. The pressure and stretch of him filling her combined with the stimulation on her already oversensitive nerves. Lights flashed behind her eyelids, and she made involuntary noises, breathy sounds that came unbidden.

Muriel's name. Over and over.

His beautiful girl, calling for him. He groaned, and his body hitched, overwhelmed by the dire need to release. A vibration that spread from every extremity. He was desperate for it to stop, but it could continue forever. Exquisite and beautiful, drowning him in pleasure. Transcending physical feeling. His whole body tingling, hot and cold. Helpless yet in complete control. The entirety of tactile sense surging towards a single exit point. He spilled into her, crying out, head falling back, pushing further into her, filling her with his seed.

He remained seated in her, coming down, getting his bearings. She used the thick, creamy come that leaked from around his cock to stroke her clit to another orgasm. Her canal clenching around his spent member. He listened to her moaning, felt the shuddering of her body.

For a long while, they lay, side by side, searching each other's faces. Muriel stroked her cheek, brushed her hair away from her face. She caught his hand and brought his palm to her lips, pressing soft kisses to his hands. They basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

It was nearly too much for Muriel to bear. So many years of longing. And now, he had her. It was everything he had wanted. She was his, and she was perfect.

How could he go back to the yearning? How could he let this go?

He wouldn't. Celeste would stay.

He didn't know how, but he would keep her. He would heal her. Asra could stay, or Asra could leave them. Celeste was his. He would fight for her. He had to. The idea of her ever being away from him again. Forgetting him was too much to bear.

Hadn't he paid enough? Surely whatever deities Asra had entreated were not so cruel to keep them apart. It had to mean something, this feeling in his chest. This surge of love and adoration. It couldn't be for nothing.

#the arcana game #arcana #the arcana muriel #muriel #reader x muriel #apprentice x muriel #fanfiction #mc #oc #apprentice oc #apprentice celeste #celeste x muriel #fanfic #apprentice #little bit of possessive!muriel #just a dash #like we don't wanna get too crazy it's the first time they're fucking #mention of non-con

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