#its like i can feel my brain literally melting inside my skull

[watchingthecredits]

it's so hot i'm going to literally fujkcing die

[acatalystrising]

ZWEI I, I, I literally am forcing my brain to make words because I have been a constant state of “oh my god” and “AAAHHH” and gjzzfffjcksbv I am TRYING to formulate the words I mean to say.

In fact, I think I’m actually dead and writing this as a ghost with too much to rant about.

This fic has become my absolutely favorite comfort story, and I am constantly re-reading it! The way you absolutely nail Boba and write him so masterfully is just, gahhh! It’s so, so good. I feel like I’m over here taking notes! The way you perfectly capture the masterful duality of this man is perfection, and I’m so genuinely glad others see him in the same depth I do. And goodness gracious is this chapter DRIPPING with wonderfully sexy goodness! At this point I’m posting whole paragraphs of this masterpiece because it totally deserves it!

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?” 

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

Like, GOOD. KRIFFING. MAKER. ABOVE.

Dom Boba would fix me. (Or make me worse) and I. Would. Let. Him. Something about his possessiveness and filthy words awakens something in me and I don’t think it’s going anywhere lol. And he’s so damn strong and commanding and ughhhh, I am not god’s strongest soldier.

I am literally weak kneed just reading this. This is SO Boba. His power, presence, and control. It just makes me melt! And THIS? I. Am. On. My. Knees. But on top of it all, after all that searingly hot excellence, you write THIS?!?

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” 

I hope you know I actually cried. This is so beautiful, so masterful, that you can capture how broken and loving he is all in one. The softness and the pain, but also the strength. These are the reasons why I love Boba. And you have our feisty librarian show him all the love he deserves, and more.

This story is a work of art, I am ensnared, and I absolutely cannot wait for the next chapter! (And it will be right after my birthday too so that’s even cooler!)

EX LIBRIS IV

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

—Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—Part Summary: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.

—Word Count: 11.2k

—Tags & Warnings: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader is bisexual (and on her shit again lol), reader described as having enough hair to grab, alcohol consumption by reader and others, little bit of Mando'a used (translations at the end), dom/sub power dynamics, bdsm elements, dom!Boba, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), creampie, lots of petnames, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—Author's Notes: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!

A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part I — Part II — Part III — Part V Coming June 9!

Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.

The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you. 

“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”

“Please, it’s all yours.”

He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.

“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”

Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.

Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey. 

You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?

When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.

“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”

“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”

“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”

“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”

He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.

With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life. 

Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.

The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”

“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.

Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”

Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them. 

“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”

The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.

“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.

Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”

You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”

“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”

“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”

“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”

You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore. 

Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?” 

A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”

Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”

She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.

You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over. 

Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…

“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?” 

Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.

It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge. 

After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter.  “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.

Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?” 

Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.

She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”

“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”

“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder. 

Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”

“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”

“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core. 

That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.” 

Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”

You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”

“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”

You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”

“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.

A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”

“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.

Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.

“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.

“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.

You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”

“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”

The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”

With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”

Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze. 

You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.  

You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion. 

His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.

Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.

Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.

Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it. 

Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.

He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?” 

“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”

You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”

You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.

You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”

The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.

“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.

Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”

“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips. 

If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?” 

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.

He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.

The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.

Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.

“Fuck, Boba!”

A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.

This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.

“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”

Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!

“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus!  The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.

You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”

Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute. 

“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”

Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”

Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.

“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”

Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”

Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”

“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”

Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.

“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”

Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”

The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.

Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.” 

The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”

“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.

A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess. 

“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”

Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.” 

“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.

Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.

“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”

You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”

A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.

“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.

“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you. 

Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”

He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”

“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”

You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”

You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”

Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.

Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.

“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes. 

You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion. 

“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”

You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex. 

You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.

“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.

He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.

Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”

His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.

“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.

“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.  

Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”

“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.

Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”

Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”

“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.

Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!” 

“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”

You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

 “You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.

“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”

“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”

He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles. 

“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat. 

Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”

“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.

Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”

Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.

“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.

“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.

You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.

You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”

Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.

Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak. 

“What, little one?”

“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”

He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.

“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”  

Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small. 

His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.  

He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”

“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”

Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you. 

“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.

“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”

“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” 

By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure. 

“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.

Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”

You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.

“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”

“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.  

“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”

You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”

“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”

You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.

“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”

—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)

I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!

Mando'a translations

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

Part I — Part II — Part III — Part V Coming June 9!

[secretsniper3]

Part 3: Well Hung

My Master was right to lock my pussy behind a wall of steel, I constantly woke up to find my hands caressing the fluid that would run around the belt, my need evident and throbbing clear to me but in my belt there was nothing I could do but roll over and go back to sleep. 8am, my usual routine is stopped right out the gate by my belt, clearly meant to skip it Im greeted by my Master in the doorway, I stand completely naked save the belt locked to my hips. He steps towards me and tell me to not bother getting dressed, and puts a latex hood over my head, my hair black now (did he dye my hair overnight?) pushing through the hood to form my ponytail as he laces me into my latex face. Arms placed behind my back im cuffed in place and a posture collar locked around my neck with a leash attached. Following the leash im led into the main hall of my Masters home and I see something new, something that wasnt there last night. My Master clearly worked through the night to complete this device, largest device Iv ever seen he takes me into the middle and unleashes me. Locking a chain to my posture collar more restraints are added all over my body, my upper and lower arms get binders locked on with chains, wrists too, Waist gets 1 and thighs, shins and ankles for their own. unlocking my hands from behind my back my Master steps back, marvelling at his work.

Holding a large remote he presses a button and all the slack in my chains vanish, held tight by the chains my actions are clearly not mine to decide. Spinning a dial Im lifted into the air 3 feet, and pivot forward, my arms move behind my back and meet elbow to elbow as my knees bend back and my feet meet my hands and Im amazing this device can pull you so smoothly. Stepping towards me and raising me up to meet his gaze my Master places his hand on my cheek and with a smile moves to remove my chastity belt, with my wet sex exposed to him, fluid running faster and harder with each passing second he takes a deep breath, savouring my scent as I try meekly to move my hands a little lower to cup my pussy. My Master simply puts a finger on my labia to draw a instant reaction from my body, a gasp and a moan follow as he rubs up and down my lips carefully with a smile on his face. My focus is broken by a knock at the door, my Master going to answer I see a woman standing there talking to my Master. She is a tall woman, the high heels helping with that, a long, black latex dress drapes down her slender thighs as she gazes over at me. Ruby red lips and beautiful blue hair running freely down her back, closing the door my Master leads the woman to me and says aloud, “this is the Slave i was telling you about.” the woman's eyes widen, her red lips part and my eyes are drawn to them as she speaks, “for how long can i play?” “how long are you in town for?” my Master responds with a chuckle.

Licking her lips making them shine flawlessly as my Master takes a seat infront of me, the woman circles around, like a bird of prey having found its next meal she scans my entire body with a hunger in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. A touch of her finger ends the shiver before it reaches my sex, all my focus is on that 1 finger, tracing its way over my limbs, seemingly scaring my flesh with its burning hot touch Im sure to melt no matter what this woman does, eyes flying to my Master as he sits with a drink in hand with his eyes glued to mine. My pussy making its need known to all in the room as the puddle that was small moments ago grows larger by the second as the finger moves down my waist and over my smooth, firm ass and down my thigh. Clit throbbing as my pussy spasms at the sensory overload at just a mere finger I hear my Master say aloud “im keeping her in denial for now, think you can make her pussy even hotter than it already is, you be my guest.” All I hear behind me is the hum of a hungry animal as the finger loops over my thigh and scratches up the inside, drawing a line in my skin leading right to my puffy lips. Right there, just a little bit further!

Pain strikes my pussy as her hand comes down on my lips, a shriek of surprise and pain bursts from my lips as my pussy shakes in the aftermath. Finger still moving, painfully slow Im met with another wet slap to my pussy, and then just as suddenly a finger dives deep into my pussy. My gasp of pain elevates into a gasp of joy and bliss, my drooling pussy is getting action and I cant believe it! The finger withdraws with a wet pop as I hear her laughter behind me.

“Come now my dear, youd think id really let you cum when your Master wants your pussy denied of such pleasures?” thrusting a finger inside again for a moment before removing it a second time I know she is, quite literally pushing my buttons as her finger presses the only button that counts. The button that stands out, big and red and throbbing with need, a simple glancing touch is all it took to get my body right to the very tip of the edge a simple breeze would push me over, my eyes shooting into my skull as my brain tries desperately to comprehend what I just experienced. She waits till I have calmed down enough then repeats the glancing brush, sending me back to the peak. Looking ahead my Masters chair is empty, looking around for him I hear him laugh behind me as I hear him give the succubus something, what could he have given her. I am greeted with a smile on his face as he looks at me on his way back to his seat.

“Enjoy the ride, Slave.” is all Master says as my urethra is jabbed with something long and hard, my juices serving to lubricate it so it slides in easily as she proceeds to sound me. The pain quickly being overtaken by pleasure as Im fucked in a hole I never considered fucking before, but shes watching me. Pulling it out before I crest the ridge of pleasure Im left to moan and beg for release, my Master stands and grabs a blindfold and a spider gag, taking away my vision and ability to speak he takes great pleasure in my loss of senses. I dont need eyes to know hes hard, and hell probably use me sooner or later.

My clit still throbbing dangerously close to the edge the woman starts to caress it with, what is that sensation? oh god no! its a brush, she circles around my inner labia with the bristles of the thin brush and I cant stop her at all, she eases the head of the brush against my clits hood and it slips between them, rubbing my clit at its very core removing it the second before I would otherwise cum hard! This torture would carry on for some time of painfully hard denials at the last second before my Master pushes a button and flips me over in the air.

My breasts now facing the roof and the device that holds me begins to pull my neck up, rising to meet the demand my mouth presses into the woman's pussy. She is done playing with my cunt, now Im to play with hers, and she isnt forbidden to cum so within minutes of my talented tongues assault on her my face is glazed with her juices but she still holds strong. Clearly seeking more from my mouth she presses down and my tongue dives in deep, tasting the woman's pussy as her cum drools into my mouth and down my throat. Her warm folds locked around my mouth as she grinds my face into her pussy, cumming again and again.

“shes very talented with her tongue, and her pussy wont stop shaking, i can see her clit from here!” she says with orgasmic bliss in her voice

“i know how to break a slave” My Master replies, and he isnt wrong. Im broken, his plaything to do with what he wants.

The woman stops grinding into my open mouth and my face is coated in a thick layer of her juices, I start to think its over as my Master takes my mouth for his own use. Driving his hard cock down my throat my tongue naturally wraps around the shaft as I accept my Masters meat in my throat, thrust after thrust Im rewarded with a hot burst that flows quickly down my throat. Removing my blindfold Im treated to a sight I havent seen in a long time, my Masters cock inside a pussy. pumping in and out, oh how I wish it was my cunt he was plowing as he thrusts harder into the woman and her back arches in erotic bliss, my Masters hand gripping her blue hair as he continues to fuck her to orgasm. Im treated to a first class show as my Master and the woman continue thrusting into eachother, orgasm after orgasm they wont stop taunting me. The woman constantly bragging about how good it feels to cum knowing my pussy is denied and having my clit throb making it all the worse!

So there I hang, fixed in the middle of the room watching my Master and the woman fuck to orgasm over and over again, I cant even look away, their moans, their screams, flooding my ears and my pussy with need! They finally stop their exhibition match at my expense and my Master reveals my new belt, it has a long slick metal dildo where my asshole would sit, and another thinner pole for my urethra, nothing for my needy box though. I moan helplessly as they both set to lock my body back in its cage. Flipping me over and standing me upright, the woman gives me a deep kiss, tasting her own juices on my lips as her tongue fucks mine with gusto and my Master escorts her to the door. I manage to make out “we should do this again soon” as they kiss on the cheek and she leaves me to my denial with my Master.

Locking my feet in ballet heels before removing my restraints I am left to wobble on jelly legs as my arms are locked in a strict reverse prayer binder with elbows meeting in the small of my back, he says this is just beginning and at that thought my pussy clenches a little. A corset around my waist to make breathing more difficult when combined with my latex mask and posture collar, blindfolded once more Im left in the dark as my neck gets yanked and I lurch forward in my toe crushing boots. Stepping forward a few paces Im forced to my knees as Im pulled over and down, my Masters got a hard cock again and its my life's mission to sate its lust as I take it in my mouth and down my throat. My Master not even helping me as my latex coated head bobs up and down on his member and he cums down my throat. Pulling me back he takes in my appearance. “you look amazing if i do say so myself.” he says with a smile, I can hear his joy in his words as he stands me back up and turns me around and with another yank, Im walking again.

Hard to focus on where hes leading me to, he keeps rearranging things while I sleep and my inserts are only adding to my frustration. The pain in my feet far from over as the inserts inside me are fixed to the belt, every step making them sway side to side inside me, though not enough to make me cum, I cant cum from anal or he wouldn't have put 1 in my ass. Continuing to lead me into a room he fixes me in place and pushes a tube in my mouth, unscrewing my urethra and pushing a tube up into my bladder. Pressing a few buttons Im forced to walk forward as he laughs beside me. Its a treadmill! With no way to get off as Im completely secure and forced to march on in silent obedience. Unable to draw breath through the tube my nose is uncovered and fluid pours down the tube and into my mouth, Im hesitant at first but my Master commands me to drink and so I do it since it is “your lunch after all” he said as he turns and leaves me to your walk. the fluid running into my mouth periodically consists of oatmeal, vitamins and minerals and 3 types of aphrodisiacs. Every step hurts my poor enslaved feet and legs but what could I do besides walk on the path my Master has set for me?

2 hours later my breathing is ragged and hoarse as my Master returns to stop my walking, unhooking me and leading me back to the lounge he lays me down and frees my toes from their prison. I moan as the boots slide off. Removing my belt from my waist he sits me down in the bathroom and tells me to relieve myself. following his command I do as Im told and he cleans up after me, reapplying my belt with little resistance as Im exhausted now and very tired from my walk, he leads me back to my room and lays me down, releasing my arms and removing my corset and latex hood he rolls me over and with a kiss on my forehead I drop straight to sleep. He pats my ass knowing that my pussy is safe behind that wall of cold steel and goes to set up the house for the party tomorrow, knowing I will be asleep the rest of the day and through the night. My Master always knows how to put me to sleep.

[anika-ann]

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.5

The A+ Day...

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2320

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

You get to spend the day with the Avengers. Should you be excited or scared? Well, Steve is by your side, so...

Warnings: swearing, FLUFF, Steve’s friends being Steve’s friends… go figure

Story masterlist

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You were very comfy and very warm. Maybe even too warm. Also, your covers were moving behind your back and that was a bit odd, but you blamed the sensation on the morning confusion. Your bed smelled nicer than usual too. You nuzzled closer into the moving warmth, content it stilled its movements.

Except that after that, it talked.

“Sorry to wake you,” the comforter whispered hoarsely and it was like a shot of adrenaline to your veins, making you jolt fully awake, sitting up straight, causing your head to pound with the swift movement.

That was Steve’s voice.

Because you were sleeping in Steve’s bed.  

“Are you okay?” he asked lowly, but you couldn’t respond right away. The memories came rushing back to you, messy but warmly fuzzy images of last night.

You had danced with Steve. Steve had kissed you. Steve had kissed you a lot.  

Your lips unwittingly curled up in a smile despite the abrupt wake-up process. You heard him moving at your side, sitting up as well, so you turned to him, still grinning in perfect contrast to his concerned face.

He looked adorable with his hair sticking in every direction, a bit sleepy expression on his face, and he was also still very much shirtless. You were sure you woke up to heaven.

“Sorry to freak out. I was just… ugh, confused for a bit,” you explained, keeping your voice on low level just like he did, worried you might disturb the peace. “Good morning, Steve.”

His face cleared of worried wrinkles and he charmed a smile for you. “Morning, doll. Slept well?”

“Very. You?”

“Yeah.”

You just stared at each other, grinning like fools, eyes sparkling. You must have looked ridiculous, but you didn’t care. Subconsciously, when he released you from the lock of his eyes, your gaze wandered over him, appreciating the lack of clothing. How could person have a body this marvellous? You knew it was probably the effect of the serum, but gosh. What a view.

Good morning indeed.

You noticed a blush spreading down his neck and quickly snapped your gaze back to where it was decent. But hey, when you were offered a view like this, you simply had to make the best of the opportunity!

Steve seemed a bit sheepish, but you couldn’t help but notice that a new glint appeared in his irises, something in the way he was watching you back that gave out that maybe, you weren’t the only person to enjoy the situation at hand. It took you a second to realize why that was – you were wearing his clothes.

You remembered Ryan telling you about what it felt like to him, seeing a girl – or a guy in his case – in his clothes. Like a flag on a flagpole, mark of ownership on a conquered land, he had told you.

No funny business had happened between you and Steve last night, but the thought still made your face hot all over. To cover your embarrassment, you ducked your head to Steve’s shoulder, resting your forehead on it.

Steve tensed at first, but quickly recovered and sank his fingers gently into your hair, very carefully caressing your scalp, wary of pulling at your hair and causing you pain. You hummed in appreciation, instinctively brushing the nearest patch of skin with your lips – an inked patch of skin. You smiled against your will at that. Your words. Your ridiculous first words to him.

His breath caught in his throat at your bold move, but a kiss landed at the top of our head, so you figured you didn’t overstep.

“How much do you hate morning breath?” he muttered, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“Not particularly…?” you answered, not sure where that headed.

Looking back, you really should have understood what he was asking. Then again, the pleasant surprise of his fingers gently finding your jaw and tilting your head so he could kiss you right on the lips, warm and soft and sweet, was worth the lack of your brain function. You melted, your palm finding a way to lie flat on his very bare chest, feeling every expansion of his ribcage, his skin burning. He deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair enough to make you notice and boy, did it do things to you. You sighed into his mouth, content and yet needy for more, a second from climbing into his lap, too fast development be damned.

Just as you were out of breath, he released you, his thumb drawing a soft circle on your cheek. It was cliché, but your fingertips were literally tingling with euphoria and excitement.

“Wow,” you breathed out, still feeling his breath tickling your lips as he had barely moved away. “Can I stay another night? Can I be woken up like this every morning?”

He gave a breathy laugh, making your eyes snap open, and you could see the blown black of his pupils, the gleam of wanting more now diluted with giddiness.

“Can’t say I’d complain,” he admitted with a lopsided smile radiant on his kiss-swollen lips.

God, he was so handsome. Had you mentally noted he was handsome before? You still couldn’t believe it.

“That an invitation?”

“I mean, if you convince Tony…”

“Oh god, I take it back,” you groaned, falling back to the sheets dramatically, rewarded with Steve’s light-hearted laugh.

He laid down on his side then, propped on his elbow, watching you with a soft smile. “Thank you for staying.”

You let out what surely was a very unattractive snort. “’Cause not having to go home and not having to hail a cab in the middle of the night was a real sacrifice…”

Steve was fully grinning now, dropping a playful kiss on your nose, which caused you to giggle.

“I know, my lady. Let me make up for the hardship you had suffered through with making you breakfast.”

“You sound like Thor. Also, offering breakfast to a girl? You are a dangerous man, Steve Rogers,” you stated, the stupid smile simply not disappearing from your face no matter how much you tried to get it under control; so you gave up on that. “You seem to know just the way to my heart.”

“I sure hope so. Are you coming with the adorable bed-hair or do you want a minute?”

You gasped at the cheeky comment, grabbing the pillow by his head to smack his stupidly perfect skull.

His laughter filled the room and you felt like the happiest person on Earth.

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When Steve led you to the communal kitchen and dining room ten minutes later, you were surprised to find three people already there. Clint was sitting at the bar, his head resting in his palm, a mug of coffee hazardously close in your opinion, just in case he would actually fell asleep and faceplanted on the counter; Bruce was sitting nearby, watching over him, while Natasha was standing at the cooker, making…

“Are those pancakes?” you gasped, your stomach instantly reacting to the smell, making you squirm in humiliation. Steve at your side chuckled, while Natasha grinned at you.

“Yep. There’s enough for you too. Unless Steve wants to impress you with his own cooking skills,” she teased and winked at him. He smiled bashfully in return.

“I mean… maybe next time? Since you already started…”

“Oh-ho, so there will be a next time?” Clint wolf-whistled, startling you with both the question and sudden sign of life.

“Let them be…. Coffee?” Bruce beckoned to the pot. You bit you lip bashfully. You didn’t want to be rude, but coffee… “Or maybe tea?”

You lighted up. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

“I’ll do it,” Steve hurried before the other man could rise from his seat. He pecked your temple. ”You go sit.”

“Yes, sir…”

Looking around, you weren’t sure where to. Between Bruce and Clint? Next to Clint since Bruce was at the bar stool at the end of the counter?

“You can sit next to Clint. It’s safe. This is his second mug of coffee,” Natasha supplied helpfully and you frowned in confusion. Perhaps an inside joke. “Yes, he is dangerous before he finishes his first.”

“Hey!” the man in question complained, but rolled his eyes for your benefit. “That’s actually accurate. You can sit here, I don’t bite.”

“He’s just a pain in everyone’s ass.”

“Morning to you too, Stark,” Clint saluted him and a mug of tea landed in front of you, soon followed by a stack of pancakes.

“You’re gonna spoil me. Thank you,” you said in earnest.

Natasha waved it off, while Steve let out a simple “Planning on it.”

“So you didn’t spoil her last night?” the billionaire hummed casually, pouring himself a coffee. Your eyes widened and you rather started eating to avoid an answer. Steve only sighed.

Neither of you replied, which earned you some raised eyebrows.

“She seems right at home in his clothes, huh?” Clint added and you shot him a look, mortified. Him too?

“She does, doesn’t she? Sign of a successful night?”

Steve grinded his teeth at Stark’s latest remark, turning a bit red in his face. You sipped your tea, figuring out a sassy response.

“Very successful. I slept like a baby. Sleeping duty fulfilled,” you announced and noticed that Bruce’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile. You continued. “That will be all, thank you for your questions. For further information, contact our PR department. ….Ouch, we don’t have one, looks like it’s none of your business then. Too bad…”

Tony’s mouth was theatrically hanging open, his hand clutching his chest and Clint’s eyes seemed rounder than a moment before; then again, that could just be because of the amount of caffeine in his system. Natasha chuckled, positioning a plate in front of Steve – his stack of pancakes was visibly taller and you wondered just how much he had to eat.

Speaking of Steve, he was smugly grinning into his mug. “I have nothing to add.”

“Still though. She’s like… shining or something. That’s released endorphins, I can tell. Good job, Cap.”

You internally whined.

If they keep that up, staying overnight is gonna start feeling like a sacrifice.

“Play nice, boys,” Natasha scolded them and you smiled at her gratefully. “Let the poor girl eat. She’s gotta make up for the calories Steve helped her burn…”

“You too?” you burst out simultaneously with Steve and Natasha raised her hands in a harmless gesture.

“I meant when you were dancing. What did you think I was talking about?” she asked innocently and everyone in the room but you two laughed.  

“I hate you,” Steve mouthed at her and she just winked in return, turning her attention back to her cooking.

You wished for the Earth to swallow you, but you liked the teasing air hovering above the group of friends. You smiled reassuringly at Steve, stroking him arm shortly.

“It’s okay, Steve. I still like you despite your annoying friends,” you emphasized the last words, which was followed by affective aww from Clint, Tony and Natasha.

Steve smiled at you, apologetic and kind. “Thanks, doll. You’re the best.”

To show his appreciation, he kissed your cheek, the innocent gesture drawing a wolf-whistle from Tony.

“Get a room!”

You just rolled your eyes and stole a quick peck from Steve’s lips for a good measure. He tasted like coffee; it seemed you might grow fond of that taste after all.

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Despite all the odds, everyone survived breakfast. They teased you once more after you asked about Thor, learning he had left in early morning because of an urgent matter on Asgard. After all, he was son of the King. And an Alien. And a demigod. Apparently, you knew those now. What an insanity your life became in such a short time.

The team went separate ways after the meddling over the most important meal of the day. Steve stayed with you, of course, showing you around the Tower. You marvelled at the view and despite having a tiny fear of heights, you agreed to Steve taking you outside at the top.

It was incredible. You found yourselves basically on the top of the world, steps slightly shaky, but with Steve’s firm reassurance. You trusted him not to let you fall. So trying to keep your mind of the potential life-ending fall, you busied your mind with how touchy-feely Steve quickly became after sharing the first kiss yesterday night. You loved it.

When you came to a stop, you were unable to resist the urge to spread your arms and let the gentle wind play with your hair and rather loose clothes; Steve’s hands found their way to your hips to steady you. Slowly, he moved further, his fingers running in a feather-light touch over your arms and threading his fingers with yours.

You giggled and dared to lean onto him with your back, testing the waters. His lips brushed your cheek and you couldn’t but turn your head, catching his mouth with yours in a searing kiss. He was so sweet. You trusted him with your life, knowing he would never allow you to even stumble, and yet you were falling, falling for him so hard. The realization was overwhelming.

How could you be… falling in love so fast?

Steve gently squeezed your fingers, brining your joined hands to your waist and you decided you didn’t care and let the kiss consume you.

When you finally parted, your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. You couldn’t stop smiling.

“Put Titanic on your list, huh?” you murmured, your brain turned into a useless mass of lovesick jello.

Laughter was twinkling in Steve’s eyes. “Not really. It’s a perk of the movie nights, we take turns in who’s picking.”

You frowned in confusion. “Who chose Titanic?”

For some reason, Natasha didn’t strike you the type. Clearly, you were right, because Steve chuckled.

“Clint.”

You burst out laughing, Steve soon joining you. You wondered if the whole Manhattan could hear you. Once again, you had no care in the world.

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Part 6

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Tags:

@cxptain​ @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx , @murdermornings​@irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall​ @eliza5616​, @rayofdawnworld  @victor-criss-bish​ @skychild29​  @elysianecho​ @simmisblog​ @scentedsongrebel​ @orions-nebula​, @sergeantrosabellaswan​ @songofcosplay​, @ilovesupersoldiers​ @wxstedhexrt @silver-winter-wolf @nova3312​

Tags are open, you want in or out, let me know :))

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I actually had to split it into two parts, because it was waaay to much fluff in one go an that coming from me?  You better believe it!

Thank you for reading. Attempt at humour will come later, promise ;)

[thepointoftheneedle]

Paul Engle of the Writer’s Workshop

@sullypants was kind enough to point out that the Writer’s Workshop is the postgrad writing programme at the University of Iowa.  It seemed like an excuse to share this essay about poetry by Paul Engle who ran the course for years.  It is such a great piece about poetry and I thought some folks might like to read it.    It appeared originally in the NYTimes in 1957.

Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power

by PAUL ENGLE 

POETRY is the only one of the arts which comes literally from inside the body a thing secreted as well as made. It is not so much written as it is breathed onto the page. It is possible because in our mortal oddness, we have a jointed jaw which waggles the sounds of love and rage and gloom in the daily air.

Of course all arts come naturally into our life.  Painting is possible because our eyes find color and movement in the world, and our arms can swing through space in many motions.  Music is possible because we have marvelous curled ears that listen every day to multitudes of sounds and we can order them into harmony. Theatre is simply an extension of our yammering, arguing, gossiping, conflicts and love. 

But the materials of these other arts are artificial. Painting uses canvas, brushes, oils. Sculpture has its wood, stone, wires and welding helmet. Music has its manufactured strings, shaped wood and brass. But the materials of poetry are the same common words we use for buying food, complaining about the weather, talking on the telephone, asking our friends on the street, “have you heard this one?” These puffs of meaningful sound, warmed by our heart and lungs are shaped into moving utterances and we call it poetry. 300 years ago Michael Drayton said, “And innocence is closing up his eyes.” The recent English poet Wilfred Owen wrote of an innocent doomed soldier “for his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.” These words are the plain speech of men ordered into art.

The Frenchman in the play was astonished to find he had been speaking prose but he would've been more amazed to find that, like all of us, he had been speaking the materials of poetry. "It hit me like a ton of bricks,” says the startled boy using the manner of poetry. We all raise and lower our voices for emphasis and if that sound could be stained it would have a visible pattern in the air from which meter would come. In one of his energetic, pounding lines Marlowe wrote of Cassandra that the soldiers “Swung her howling through the empty air,” and Othello in his agony to express his hard life's lack of tears said that he was seldom in a “melting mood.” 

This ordinariness of its medium is crucial to the nature and intent of poetry which always wants to make emotion orderly and to make ideas flame. Poetry is hyacinths and biscuits said Carl Sandberg. It is imaginary gardens with real toads said Marianne Moore. The glory and the grit of life join together make poetry, and only language can join them. Not the heart alone. Not the brain alone, for the heart is not deep enough, and the brain is not lively enough. As TS Eliot argued the poet is more civilised as well as more primitive than his contemporaries. It is language which allows him to combine intellectual subtlety with the sensuous touch in the fingertips. "A green thought in a green shade,” wrote Andrew Marvell.  “Green I love you green,” cried the Spaniard Lorca. The great expression of the power that ordered language possesses to combine the extremes of human experience occurs in Wallace Stevens where he says of poetry that it is “an abstraction blooded.” Thought in poetry should beat like an artery a thumb feels in the neck. The poet has his original shock of experience but to tell another person about it he has only words tripping over a page. Yet those words must try to make the feet reader feel, by the intensity with which they are put together, the intensity of the living event. Hence the ruthless obscurity of some poetry, as the poet struggles to make poor words carry the weight of his lucid and complex meaning. Elliot has said that often poems will begin with no words at all but with an undefined rhythm in the mind to which gradually write words and true feelings come. The process is a tough one he writes for “words strain, crack and sometimes break under the burden. Under the tension, slip, slide, perish. Decay with imprecision, will not stay still.” Yet it is that feeble medium in which was written “Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young.” So language becomes illumination, the deep dredged motive quivers in the hard air as if “a Magic Lantern threw the nerves in patterns on the screen.”

Shakespeare candidly said “While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.” He did not call her pretty or blonde or willing although she may well have been all of these but used rather the blunt expressive word. So Sandberg called a woman in love a pot rassler, a 20th century Joan. Lady Macbeth described the men she stupefied with drink “spongy officers.” Hamlet cried out “that skull had a tongue in it and could sing once; now the knave jowls it to the ground.”

Archibald MacLeish called the ocean “that endless silence edged with unending sound” and Hart Crane spoke of it as “this great whisk of eternity.” At the news of the death of Yeats, wrote Auden “the mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.” The Queen appealed to Hamlet “cast thy knighted colour off.” Of Cicero a character commented that he “Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes" Thus language works its rugged way. Reading it one should feel as Dante did when he said to Virgil, “Hardly a drop of blood in my body does not shudder.” Here we are on the colourful Earth held in the rough arms of history jabbering under trees and roofs. Then we suddenly read what Bishop King wrote a long time ago “But heark! My pulse like a soft drum beats my approach tells thee I come,” and after that what e.e. cummings said a few years back “when skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man.” So it is that words become not an escape from life although some ecstatic moments will always be that but a force and nourishment which return is more deeply to the middle of life more aware of that rough and noble human scene of which poetry is a part. “I have wiped away moonlight like mud,” said Wallace Stevens proving again that poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate tough skin of words.

[secretsniper2]

Part 3: Well Hung

My Master was right to lock my pussy behind a wall of steel, I constantly woke up to find my hands caressing the fluid that would run around the belt, my need evident and throbbing clear to me but in my belt there was nothing I could do but roll over and go back to sleep. 8am, my usual routine is stopped right out the gate by my belt, clearly meant to skip it Im greeted by my Master in the doorway, I stand completely naked save the belt locked to my hips. He steps towards me and tell me to not bother getting dressed, and puts a latex hood over my head, my hair black now (did he dye my hair overnight?) pushing through the hood to form my ponytail as he laces me into my latex face. Arms placed behind my back im cuffed in place and a posture collar locked around my neck with a leash attached. Following the leash im led into the main hall of my Masters home and I see something new, something that wasnt there last night. My Master clearly worked through the night to complete this device, largest device Iv ever seen he takes me into the middle and unleashes me. Locking a chain to my posture collar more restraints are added all over my body, my upper and lower arms get binders locked on with chains, wrists too, Waist gets 1 and thighs, shins and ankles for their own. unlocking my hands from behind my back my Master steps back, marvelling at his work.

Holding a large remote he presses a button and all the slack in my chains vanish, held tight by the chains my actions are clearly not mine to decide. Spinning a dial Im lifted into the air 3 feet, and pivot forward, my arms move behind my back and meet elbow to elbow as my knees bend back and my feet meet my hands and Im amazing this device can pull you so smoothly. Stepping towards me and raising me up to meet his gaze my Master places his hand on my cheek and with a smile moves to remove my chastity belt, with my wet sex exposed to him, fluid running faster and harder with each passing second he takes a deep breath, savouring my scent as I try meekly to move my hands a little lower to cup my pussy. My Master simply puts a finger on my labia to draw a instant reaction from my body, a gasp and a moan follow as he rubs up and down my lips carefully with a smile on his face. My focus is broken by a knock at the door, my Master going to answer I see a woman standing there talking to my Master. She is a tall woman, the high heels helping with that, a long, black latex dress drapes down her slender thighs as she gazes over at me. Ruby red lips and beautiful blue hair running freely down her back, closing the door my Master leads the woman to me and says aloud, “this is the Slave i was telling you about.” the womans eyes widen, her red lips part and my eyes are drawn to them as she speaks, “for how long can i play?” “how long are you in town for?” my Master responds with a chuckle.

Licking her lips making them shine flawlessly as my Master takes a seat infront of me, the woman circles around, like a bird of prey having found its next meal she scans my entire body with a hunger in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. A touch of her finger ends the shiver before it reaches my sex, all my focus is on that 1 finger, tracing its way over my limbs, seemingly scaring my flesh with its burning hot touch Im sure to melt no matter what this woman does, eyes flying to my Master as he sits with a drink in hand with his eyes glued to mine. My pussy making its need known to all in the room as the puddle that was small moments ago grows larger by the second as the finger moves down my waist and over my smooth, firm ass and down my thigh. Clit throbbing as my pussy spasms at the sensory overload at just a mere finger I hear my Master say aloud “im keeping her in denial for now, think you can make her pussy even hotter than it already is, you be my guest.” All I hear behind me is the hum of a hungry animal as the finger loops over my thigh and scratches up the inside, drawing a line in my skin leading right to my puffy lips. Right there, just a little bit further!

Pain strikes my pussy as her hand comes down on my lips, a shriek of surprise and pain bursts from my lips as my pussy shakes in the aftermath. Finger still moving, painfully slow Im met with another wet slap to my pussy, and then just as suddenly a finger dives deep into my pussy. My gasp of pain elevates into a gasp of joy and bliss, my drooling pussy is getting action and I cant believe it! The finger withdraws with a wet pop as I hear her laughter behind me.

“Come now my dear, youd think id really let you cum when your Master wants your pussy denied of such pleasures?” thrusting a finger inside again for a moment before removing it a second time I know she is, quite literally pushing my buttons as her finger presses the only button that counts. The button that stands out, big and red and throbbing with need, a simple glancing touch is all it took to get my body right to the very tip of the edge a simple breeze would push me over, my eyes shooting into my skull as my brain tries desperately to comprehend what I just experienced. She waits till I have calmed down enough then repeats the glancing brush, sending me back to the peak. Looking ahead my Masters chair is empty, looking around for him I hear him laugh behind me as I hear him give the succubus something, what could he have given her. I am greeted with a smile on his face as he looks at me on his way back to his seat.

“Enjoy the ride, Slave.” is all Master says as my urethra is jabbed with something long and hard, my juices serving to lubricate it so it slides in easily as she proceeds to sound me. The pain quickly being overtaken by pleasure as Im fucked in a hole I never considered fucking before, but shes watching me. Pulling it out before I crest the ridge of pleasure Im left to moan and beg for release, my Master stands and grabs a blindfold and a spider gag, taking away my vision and ability to speak he takes great pleasure in my loss of senses. I don't need eyes to know hes hard, and hell probably use me sooner or later.

My clit still throbbing dangerously close to the edge the woman starts to caress it with, what is that sensation? oh god no! its a brush, she circles around my inner labia with the bristles of the thin brush and I cant stop her at all, she eases the head of the brush against my clits hood and it slips between them, rubbing my clit at its very core removing it the second before I would otherwise cum hard! This torture would carry on for some time of painfully hard denials at the last second before my Master pushes a button and flips me over in the air.

My breasts now facing the roof and the device that holds me begins to pull my neck up, rising to meet the demand my mouth presses into the womans pussy. She is done playing with my cunt, now Im to play with hers, and she isnt forbidden to cum so within minutes of my talented tongues assault on her my face is glazed with her juices but she still holds strong. Clearly seeking more from my mouth she presses down and my tongue dives in deep, tasting the womans pussy as her cum drools into my mouth and down my throat. Her warm folds locked around my mouth as she grinds my face into her pussy, cumming again and again.

“shes very talented with her tongue, and her pussy wont stop shaking, i can see her clit from here!” she says with orgasmic bliss in her voice

“i know how to break a slave” My Master replies, and he isnt wrong. Im broken, his plaything to do with what he wants.

The woman stops grinding into my open mouth and my face is coated in a thick layer of her juices, I start to think its over as my Master takes my mouth for his own use. Driving his hard cock down my throat my tongue naturally wraps around the shaft as I accept my Masters meat in my throat, thrust after thrust Im rewarded with a hot burst that flows quickly down my throat. Removing my blindfold Im treated to a sight I haven't seen in a long time, my Masters cock inside a pussy. pumping in and out, oh how I wish it was my cunt he was plowing as he thrusts harder into the woman and her back arches in erotic bliss, my Masters hand gripping her blue hair as he continues to fuck her to orgasm. Im treated to a first class show as my Master and the woman continue thrusting into each other, orgasm after orgasm they wont stop taunting me. The woman constantly bragging about how good it feels to cum knowing my pussy is denied and having my clit throb making it all the worse!

So there I hang, fixed in the middle of the room watching my Master and the woman fuck to orgasm over and over again, I cant even look away, their moans, their screams, flooding my ears and my pussy with need! They finally stop their exhibition match at my expense and my Master reveals my new belt, it has a long slick metal dildo where my asshole would sit, and another thinner pole for my urethra, nothing for my needy box though. I moan helplessly as they both set to lock my body back in its cage. Flipping me over and standing me upright, the woman gives me a deep kiss, tasting her own juices on my lips as her tongue fucks mine with gusto and my Master escorts her to the door. I manage to make out “we should do this again soon” as they kiss on the cheek and she leaves me to my denial with my Master.

Locking my feet in ballet heels before removing my restraints I am left to wobble on jelly legs as my arms are locked in a strict reverse prayer binder with elbows meeting in the small of my back, he says this is just beginning and at that thought my pussy clenches a little. A corset around my waist to make breathing more difficult when combined with my latex mask and posture collar, blindfolded once more Im left in the dark as my neck gets yanked and I lurch forward in my toe crushing boots. Stepping forward a few paces Im forced to my knees as Im pulled over and down, my Masters got a hard cock again and its my life's mission to sate its lust as I take it in my mouth and down my throat. My Master not even helping me as my latex coated head bobs up and down on his member and he cums down my throat. Pulling me back he takes in my appearance. “you look amazing if i do say so myself.” he says with a smile, I can hear his joy in his words as he stands me back up and turns me around and with another yank, Im walking again.

Hard to focus on where hes leading me to, he keeps rearranging things while I sleep and my inserts are only adding to my frustration. The pain in my feet far from over as the inserts inside me are fixed to the belt, every step making them sway side to side inside me, though not enough to make me cum, I cant cum from anal or he wouldn't have put 1 in my ass. Continuing to lead me into a room he fixes me in place and pushes a tube in my mouth, unscrewing my urethra and pushing a tube up into my bladder. Pressing a few buttons Im forced to walk forward as he laughs beside me. Its a treadmill! With no way to get off as Im completely secure and forced to march on in silent obedience. Unable to draw breath through the tube my nose is uncovered and fluid pours down the tube and into my mouth, Im hesitant at first but my Master commands me to drink and so I do it since it is “your lunch after all” he said as he turns and leaves me to your walk. the fluid running into my mouth periodically consists of oatmeat, vitamins and minerals and 3 types of aphrodisiacs. Every step hurts my poor enslaved feet and legs but what could I do besides walk on the path my Master has set for me?

2 hours later my breathing is ragged and hoarse as my Master returns to stop my walking, unhooking me and leading me back to the lounge he lays me down and frees my toes from their prison. I moan as the boots slide off. Removing my belt from my waist he sits me down in the bathroom and tells me to relieve myself. following his command I do as Im told and he cleans up after me, reapplying my belt with little resistance as Im exhausted now and very tired from my walk, he leads me back to my room and lays me down, releasing my arms and removing my corset and latex hood he rolls me over and with a kiss on my forehead I drop straight to sleep. He pats my ass knowing that my pussy is safe behind that wall of cold steel and goes to set up the house for the party tomorrow, knowing I will be asleep the rest of the day and through the night. My Master always knows how to put me to sleep.

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [17]

Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

➜ Words: 6k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Angst, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warnings: depiction of a car accident, sad boi hours.

Your hands grasp the steering wheel and you take a long glimpse out the front windshield. It’s an empty street, reminiscent of an apocalypse especially when it’s pitch black outside and the horizon isn’t visible to the eye, but there’s a lack of zombies and pandemonium that would otherwise bring panic to you.   You’re waiting for the red light to flicker green, even when the intersection is void of any vehicles. It’s better to be safe than sorry since the last thing you want is to run the light and be ticketed. So as your fingers tap against the wheel, you hum and glance into the rear-view mirror.   “You must be really excited to see your family again.”   “Yes, I am.” The older man doesn’t bother concealing his ginormous smile. He looks out the window even when he really can’t see anything. “I don’t know why but a lot of my friends can’t wait to get away from their wives and their kids, but I miss them so much.”   Your heart melts from his genuine proclamation and a soft smile appears on your features. A rare feeling sneaks up your throat, one called envy. “That’s really sweet. Your wife is lucky.”   “More like I’m the lucky one.” He chuckles, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing. “I feel bad for always leaving on these business trips and making her stay with the kids. But my wife is literally superwoman. I don’t know how she does it, but she does.” He shakes his head in awe.   You look ahead again, still waiting for the light to flicker. It takes an unusual amount of time and you wonder if it’s broken. “Those flowers are for her, right?”   “Yeah.” He holds up the bouquet, the plastic cover crinkling. “It’s probably not enough, but I tried.”   Your smile only widens and a soft sigh leaves the seam of your lips. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, you find it’s three in the morning. In the quiet city, it feels like only you and this passenger are the sole ones awake. But right as you muse such a thought, you’re proven wrong.   Suddenly, there’s the sound of tires screeching on pavement from afar.   Headlights pierce your rear-view mirror, reflecting into your pupils and making you frown. Vision blinded and unable to see, you twist your waist around fully to get a better view of what’s going on behind you.   Your passenger shifts as well. “What is that?”   There’s another car coming in the same direction, swerving from the left lane to the right lane, out of control as if the driver is merely twisting their steering wheel in every direction for their own rush of adrenaline. The yellow headlights blind your vision and before you can even shout, “Oh my go—”, your car is being slammed into.   The entire vehicle is shoved forward into the middle of the intersection, the crash defending to your ears. Your spine straightens, neck whipping back before it accelerates forward with your torso and your head hits against the rear-view mirror. The airbag deploys at once, saving your skull from being smashed into the steering wheel.   The shock hits you in waves.   You knock unconscious for a complete ten seconds before your eyes are blinking back into focus. Your ears are fuzzy, vision hazy. And you’re utterly shocked. Confused. Reeling. Your lungs gasp for breath and you realize you’re okay….you’re alive. Your hands quiver as your fingers move to pull off your seat belt and open the car door. Against your will, your entire body shakes uncontrollably, but you forcibly lug yourself out the vehicle, nearly stumbling onto the pavement.   You’re bathed in the yellow headlights of the other car, unable to feel the tips of your fingers or your nose, but you pound against the glass window of the backseat before pulling the door open. “A-Are you okay?”   “I’m fine. I’m fine,” the man reassures with a groan. Luckily, his cheek only hit the front of the plush headrest. His face is a bit numb, but unlike you, he doesn’t sustain any real injuries.   “I’m so, so sorry.” You’re frantically hyperventilating while he gets out of the car, at a loss of what to do, how to fix this situation. “I’ll call another taxi for you.”   “It’s oka—”   The door of the car that hit you opens. The intoxicated male driver leans against his vehicle, eyes barely open. “Hey! Why din’t...y-you go, b-bitch?!”   “It was a red light!” Your passenger is screaming. “You were the one who hit us!”   “ino, I didn't liar! I didn't hiit any- anyone!” He’s barely coherent, slurring all his words together and you’re thankful no one got hurt more than they did. He could’ve killed you and stepped out unscathed to deny it. The very thought is haunting.   “I’m calling the police. This is ridiculous. He’s obviously drunk.”   The older man turns around, dialing his phone without missing a beat. A few seconds pass before it sinks in what he’s about to do and you begin to panic, even when it’s entirely illogical. Sheer hysteria takes its grip on your bones. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Wait—”   “Hello? Yes, I’d like to report a collision. I’m a passenger of a taxi and a car just rear-ended us. I’m pretty sure he’s drunk right now. He can barely stand up and he’s screaming at us.” There’s a slight pause. “Yes. We’re at the intersection between Imlings Avenue and Seventh Street. Yes...okay…”   The guy who hit you is still howling, “di'nddt do it!”   The situation is getting out of control. Again.   The car insurance wouldn’t raise your rates since it wasn’t your fault, even if the taxi is for lease. You won’t have to pay for any of the damages, and the male who rear-ended you can deny all he wants, but your passenger is your witness. Everything will work out…..but in this moment, you forget.   You forget that you’re protected by contracts, insurances, witnesses, health insurance provided by your good day job. In the midst of panic and fear, you forget everything that’s important and would otherwise protect your sanity. Instead, the concern that presses on your mind first and foremost is that you can’t afford to be hurt.   Physically. Emotionally.   You can’t handle any more than what you already have.   “Oh my god.” The older man points to your head, stopping his conversation. “You’re bleeding.”   Your right hand lifts to your temple and you can feel the rough ridges of your skin, glass stuck in it. Through the bright headlights, you find the tips of your fingertips red with blood and you’re unable to move your left arm. You still can’t feel anything, but you’re petrified.   When you snap back into it, there are police cars, a fire truck and an ambulance surrounding the intersection. The blue and red lights flash and burn to the back of your eyeballs. You’re sitting upright on an orange stretcher, strangers surrounded you while the guy who hit you is being escorted to the back of a police car in handcuffs and your passenger is speaking to an officer.   Panic rises in your chest again.   Your head is stuck in one position, unable to be moved when your neck is a brace, and your eyes widened in horror. “No….No! I don’t want to go to the hospital!”   “Ma’am, you need to go,” the female paramedic insists, shaking her head and trying to keep you calm. You were too disoriented to answer her questions properly and now you were being wheeled away.   “No. I-I can’t. I have work in a few hours.”   “Well, you probably won’t be able to work for the next few days,” the male paramedic says in a more lighthearted tone, but it doesn’t help the situation and you envision yourself jumping off the stretcher and booking it — the rational part that’s left of your brain prevents you from doing so.   “You’re in shock, ma’am.” The stretcher rolls towards the ambulance. “But everything’s going to be okay. We just need to get you to the hospital and check out your dislocated shoulder, alright? We also gotta check if you have a concussion.”   You might be crying, but you’re not so sure. You still can’t perceive or sense anything. The pain has yet to set in with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and maybe that’s a blessing in surprise. All you’re aware of is the franticness inside you. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to focus.   The stretcher is lifted into the ambulance. The doors shut. You watch as the paramedics work, checking your heart rate, if everything is in good condition. As they work, they continue to keep you calm and awake. “Is there someone you’d like to call, sweetheart?”   “I—...I don’t know.”   The female smiles, squeezing your hand. “Who’s your emergency contact?”   You nearly scream when you realize who you’ve always listed your emergency contact as. “Don’t call my mom! Please! Don’t call her. She’s old. She won’t know what’s going on. Or how to get here. She doesn’t even know I drive a taxi as a part time job.”   “Okay, okay, we won’t,” she reassures in a soothing voice. “Is there someone else?”   It’s the first name that comes to mind. The first person you think of. And his number tumbles from your mouth faster than your mind can register— “Hoseok. He’s a friend. Please call him.”   //   He comes running faster than his brain can register, feet stumbling, body lurching forward.   He pulls through the front entrance before it can even properly open and he dashes past clusters of people, scanning everyone’s faces and giving quick glances in every corner, anxiousness eating him alive, feeling like tiny bugs biting beneath his skin that he itches to get rid of. He sweats, every inhale and exhale slowed down, chest tight and uncomfortable.   He prays and hopes that you’re not one of the people being wheeled past him with doctors surrounding the bed, shouting commands and others on top continuing chest compressions.   He’s scared. Hoseok is out of his mind.   He makes it to the desk, the nurse lifting her head with wide eyes. The lawyer swallows hard, scraping together his dwindling composure. “I’m looking for L/N Y/N?”   Before the female has time to blink, someone else has stopped and interrupted behind him. “Are you Jung Hoseok?” He turns to face a male stranger and one glimpse of his expression has the stranger showing him. “She’s over there.”   Hoseok follows the older man and they both walk with quick steps. “I was the passenger in her taxi. I’m okay and I already talked to the police to file the report. It’s just that I’m not sure if she’s okay.”   They approach and Hoseok immediately pulls back the curtain. The doctor looks up. “And you are…?”   “I’m her lawyer.” Hoseok looks at you, breathless. You’re laying down flat on the bed with bandages wrapped around your head and gauze on the right side, bruise by your eye that’s darkening in a purple. You’re in a neck brace, left shoulder is in a sling, arm completely wrapped in the black material.   Hoseok feels a muscle in his cheek twitch. His jaw ticks. His teeth clench.   “Lawyer?”   “He’s a friend,” you clarify and when he takes another few steps, your eyes finally land on him. A tiny smile graces your lips, a bit guilty and sad, like a puppy that just got kicked. “Hi.”   Hoseok is wholly unimpressed. “Hi?”   “Oops?” Nervous laughter bubbles from your throat, feeling a lot calmer than earlier, especially now that he’s finally here.   You don’t feel so afraid anymore.   “Well,” The doctor clears his throat, putting down his clipboard. “It looks like you’ll be okay.” He looks off at Hoseok in case you’re still loopy. “We gave her some painkillers. She has a neck strain, so we put on a neck brace that she can take off after two to three days. It’ll heal on its own and can take a week to three months. Her left shoulder was dislocated, but we popped that back into place. She did a very good job handling that, by the way. She can stop wearing the sling after a few days and resume normal activities after two weeks. But it takes twelve to sixteen weeks to fully recover and be able to lift heavy things again. Until then, she should take it easy.”   He glances down and smiles. “We ran a CT scan and everything looks okay, but we recommend staying overnight in case something happens. Other than that, your injuries are only flesh wounds and should heal in a week’s time. And if all’s good, you should be discharged in the morning. Do you have any questions?”   “No,” you groan out. “Thank you, doctor. I’m good.”   He looks at Hoseok and he nods, to which the doctor dips his head slightly in acknowledgment and walks off with the nurse to attend to other patients. Hoseok stays completely silent and takes a seat beside your bed. You push a button, bed being reclined upwards until you’re in a sitting position.   “Oh. You should go home, Minseok.”   “Are you sure?” Your passenger was kind enough to check up and stay with you for so long. You feel lucky to have run into someone so lovely and an asshole who would’ve blamed you and ran off before helping with the police report.   “Yes, I have him now.” You hitch your right thumb towards the lawyer who’s brooding silently. It feels like you’re about to get into trouble with the way he’s glaring at you, but you laugh it off anyways. “Thank you for staying. I’m really sorry.”   “It’s not your fault. Honestly, I feel partly responsible too for not being able to help you anymore.”   “Please, you’ve helped me a lot.” You smile, glad to have made a friend in this whole experience. “Tell your wife and kids I said hi.”   “Will do.” He bids goodbye to you and Hoseok who mumbles a farewell too. The older man tells you his contact information is on the police report in case and you thank him one more time.   The curtain is pulled again for privacy and Hoseok stays quiet. He sits on the small stool while you’re upright in the bed. You can’t really move or shift yourself to look at him properly and if you could, you’d find his head downcasted, hair hanging over his eyes, his bottom lip quivering.   Suddenly the noise and chaos from before has completely dialed down into nothing but silence.   The crash, the wailing sirens, the shouts of paramedics and officers, of the blaring ambulance zipping past, the hasty actions of doctors, flashing fluorescent lights above you and wheels of the stretcher rolling against the floor, heart rate monitors flaring — it becomes absent.   All you hear now is your thundering heartbeat, the sound of his breathing. All you feel is the way he’s holding your hand, not sure when he took it, but so sure that he’s gripping you tightly.   “The guy who hit me…” You’re the first to shatter the silence. “...he’s saying he didn’t do it.”   Hoseok swallows hard, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I can handle it.”   “The medical bill….”   “I’ll take care of that too.” His voice is smooth and soft when he’s whispering, soothing to listen to. It tickles the hairs on the back of your arms.   “Thank you.” It goes quiet again. “It’s really not that bad…”   Hoseok lifts his chin and scoots closer until you can see him and he can lock his eyes with yours. You’re not sure if it’s any better. His gaze is too intense. “You don’t get to say that when your head is bandaged and you’re wearing a fucking neck brace and you have your arm in a sling.”   You wince at his sharp tone. “Sorry.”   An extended sigh comes tumbling from his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me you drove a taxi?”   Rarely is Jung Hoseok angry and you can’t say you’ve seen him like this more than three times. Bubbly, bright, warmhearted — yes. Strict, disciplined, hardworking — even more so.   But seldom does he let his emotions get the better of him. He is not easy to upset or made enraged. Hoseok is not temperamental. He is composed, but every word he speaks to you at this moment has a pointed punch to it and rather than making you feel guilty or bad, it reminds you of when your mom scolded you after you had a particularly bad fall as a child or when your dad used to chide your mom when she accidentally nicked herself in the kitchen making dinner.   You know he speaks from good intention, from sheer worry and concern, and that makes it all the harder.   “It-...I never felt the need to,” you murmur. “It’s just a side thing. To help me find more cash.”   “So you drive at night and work at the office during the day? How do you even find the time to sleep?”   “I...take a nap when I get home. And my shift really isn’t that long, so I sleep before work.”   He swallows hard again, trying to get past the thick lump in his throat. Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours and you’re unable to scramble back or distance yourself. “Are you having financial difficulties?”   “S-Sometimes….not...so much anymore.” You can feel the waves of his fury emanating off his skin. He isn’t pouting childishly or showing any affection, purely fuming in his spot. But even when the air is tense and he’s staring at you like this, you somehow don’t doubt your impulsive choice. If given the chance, you would pick Hoseok to be here, again and again. You’d pick him to be called. Out of everyone, you’d pick him to come to you. “Are you mad?”   “Yes.” He squeezes your hand, but never hard enough for it to hurt, just enough to show that he doesn’t want to let go. “I’m fucking pissed. What would’ve happened if the accident was more serious? What would happen if you ended up like me?! In the hospital for an entire year and having to go under therapy?!”   “That wouldn’t be so bad,” you mutter, barely coherent. “Maybe I can be the one to forget you this time.” There’s a pause drawn out, making their atmosphere more suffocating. “That was a tasteless joke. Sorry.”   “What were you going to do if something happened to you?!” He’s made more upset by your comment, that you could even consider that desire for a mere moment. While he’s been trying to rack his brain for memories, for what’s been stolen from him, you have the audacity to want — you want what he’s been grieving over most. “What about me?!” Hoseok is heaving, staggering inhales and shallow exhales pulling through his withering lungs. “I can’t go on without—”   “Sir.” The curtain is torn back, an annoyed nurse wearing an indignant expression on the other side. “You can’t shout or argue here.”   “Sorry.”   “It’s nothing. We weren’t arguing,” you rush to his defense. “We’re sorry.”   “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It won’t happen again.”   “We’ll lower our voices,” you promise.   The thin curtain is tugged back and he sighs once again in exhaustion. It occurs to you that Hoseok’s still wearing his pajamas. He only threw on a grey sweatshirt, but you can still see the blue collar of his pajama set and his spaceship-printed pants that match. His hair is messy, freshly washed, and it flops when he lowers his head. Hoseok holds your held hands up by his temple as if in deep thought.   “I’m sorry,” you murmur.   “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about,” he explains, still finding a hard time to find the right words. “Just get better for me.”   “Okay.”   //   He tells you that he’ll bring you to his house for a week to recover but you refuse. You don’t have anyone at your apartment to help, but Hoseok will be at work during the day anyways and it’ll end up being the same thing as being alone. So, you end up deciding to go to your mom’s, even if she barrages you with a thousand questions and concerns. But as long as you can walk and you’re not laying in a hospital bed, you won’t worry her to death.   Hoseok also tells you to quit driving the taxi around and he’ll talk to Jimin and increase your pay until you’re no longer struggling to make ends meet. Though you skirt around the issue. You don’t drive just for the money, it’s because you also enjoy meeting others — but it’s an idea he is unable to understand, growing increasingly frustrated as you stand your ground. Hoseok decides to delay the discussion for a later time before it spirals into another fight.   And while you catch up on some rest, the lawyer doesn’t catch a wink of slumber. He can’t even shut his eyes for more than thirty seconds without his head going into overdrive. And his inability to sleep is the reason why he ends up eating a stale sandwich at the cafeteria right when it opens. He eats it all before picking up his belongings and walking to the familiar west wing, taking the elevator to the fourth floor.   It’s ironic really — to have set an appointment a week ago and for things to line up in a way where he was already here. He wonders if he would’ve run into you anyways if you never called him. Then again, the hospital was massive, and he probably would've missed you and it would be yet another issue of bad timing.   The thought makes his chest feel uncomfortable.   “Why isn’t it Jung Hoseok?” The familiar doctor turns away from his desk, smiling at him. “To what do I owe the pleasure to?”   The lawyer releases a deep exhale, not knowing where to begin. And he closes the door.   //   The endless hallways fade behind him. His steps shuffle against the floor, body on autopilot. The intercom above him flares to life, squeak of wheelchairs heard echoing with the clacking of keyboards. The overwhelming scent of disinfect singe off his nose hairs, air tinged with burnt coffee from machines and bland hospital food.   “Retrograde amnesia,” he says it like it’s his second name.   “Yes.”   “You said I recovered from it.”   “You did.” The man in the white coat nods and recalls the event years ago. “Luckily, it was only temporary. Took only a few days before you remembered everything again. Sometimes it’s like that for traumatic head injuries.”   “See, that’s the problem.” Hoseok braces himself. “I didn’t recover.”   He turns the left corner, walking towards the nurse’s bench and preparing for your discharge. He fills the form with ease, sign his name and is briefed by the nurse on how your recovery will look like, what to do to help, and that if anything should happen, you would return to the hospital just in case.   “There’s this person that was in my life.” He inhales a breath. “I don’t remember them at all.”   Hoseok pulls back the curtain, shedding light into the space. And you’re there, smiling at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your right hand is still mobile and he takes it, palms clamped together, knitting his fingers through yours before helping you stand and walking off.   “And apparently we spent years together. She was really important to me, enough that I was thinking of marrying her.”   The doctor only hums, listening to his grief. Hoseok doesn’t know what else to say but— “Why?”   Once you’ve made it to the car, he helps you get in before sliding into the driver’s seat. He reaches over, pulling the seat belt over you with gentle care and you thank him. He doesn’t say anything, putting the keys into the ignition, letting the engine roar to life and then driving away.   “Why can’t I remember her?”   Hoseok’s brows are furrowed deep, wrinkles permanently creasing into his skin. His temples thump at a constant beat, but he remains concentrated on the road ahead. You don’t speak a single word, letting the quietness settle in and around you.   “I’m honestly not sure. Maybe this person is linked to your trauma somehow. Maybe your subconscious doesn’t want to remember. Maybe the brain injury destroyed the neurons that were linked to her. There’s a lot of reasons for selective amnesia and it’s hard to be certain of the reason.”   Once he’s stopped in front of your apartment, he helps you unbuckle your seat belt and holds your hand again, helping you get off. Hoseok still doesn’t let go, even when you’re inside the elevator, only when he takes your keys and opens the front door.   You both walk inside your small home and he’s left staring at the knick-knacks and photo frames on your shelf. He peeks into the kitchen, imagining you cooking and eating there, envisioning you sitting on the couch in front of your television, watching by yourself and curled up in that blue blanket.   Slowly, Hoseok makes his way into your bedroom.   “Then how can I remember her again?”   You’re running around, grabbing your necessities, clothes and toothbrush and all your little items. He helps you open your luggage and pack things into it since you can’t move your left arm at all or your neck for that matter.   “You can’t force these things, Hoseok. There is no definite cure. You can try looking at old photos, talking about it, spending time with this person, try to go to therapy or even unconventional methods like hypnosis. But there is no guarantee that you will recover these lost memories.”   You close the suitcase, satisfied with what you’ve packed. As you walk out, you turn off the lights and gently shut the bedroom door.   “I want to remember again.” Hoseok has never been more earnest and it’s not a statement he speaks towards the doctor. He is making a begging request. “I—”   His feet stop. You almost bump into his backside. He puts down the luggage in the living room and turns around to face him. You blink a few times, feeling a bit silly with your arm in a sling and your neck with a brace on, but you know he doesn’t care about how you look, so you’re not bothered by it much. It aches, but never hurts too much that it’s unbearable. You’re beginning to think that it’s the placebo effect caused by Hoseok’s sheer presence.   You’re an idiot for falling into his trap. For feeling this way. Again.   “I know.”   “Know what?” You frown, confused at his simple remark. And maybe you are aware that what’s about to stumble from his lips, but your fixation on denial doesn’t allow you to see or believe.   “That we dated for four years.”   Your ears fail you. “What?”   “Y/N, we dated for four years. You and I. We were together.”   He repeats it, but it’s not enough to lessen the shock, the shock that should be nonexistent. Part of you wonders if you should deny it — laugh and tell him that it’s ridiculous, that he’s mistaken, that he’s wrong. But you’re not sure if you can handle lying or holding back the truth anymore.   “Oh. Who told you?”   “Doesn’t matter.”   There it is.   It’s finally out in the open. There’s no more running away...and you don’t think you could even try with a neck brace and your arm in a sling. You wouldn’t get far either in tip-top condition. Jung Hoseok would be able to catch up to you within seconds. You can’t jump out the window without him holding onto you or catching you — you can’t lie without him detecting it in an instant — you can’t hide, escape, instead forced to face the terrible music meant for a tragedy.   “We were engaged.”   “Only because of the pregnancy scare.” Your next coping mechanism is to make light of it, to embrace it in hilarity like it’s a joke. It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal. But your lighthearted laughter bleeds with too much nervousness. “So, it means nothing really. You just felt like you needed to propose.”   “A pregnancy scare?!”   More and more bombs keep dropping on his shoulders and he’s appalled.   “Look, just let it go, Hoseok,” you tell him and at the same time, you’re telling yourself. “You told me the past is in the past. It was years ago. Eight to be exact. But I’m not counting. We should just leave it there.”   “I can’t just leave it there!” His arms are in the air, upset and shocked that you could say these things so lightly, as if it means nothing to you. “You think I can?! I can’t! You lied to me!”   You stand your ground. “I didn’t!”   “First you told me we were acquaintances.”   “Which we were,” you defend. “At some point, we were acquaintances.”   Jung Hoseok ignores you. “Then there’s the entire story about how we were in the same class and we worked on a group project and you bailed.”   “It’s true.” You follow him when he walks off his anger, turning to face the window. It’s ironic — how you’re the one who’s injured on the outside and you’re beginning to find out how he is too, but on the inside. “That’s how we met.”   “Then you told me how we went on two dates and I never called back.”   “That’s true too!” Your voice strains and it burns, but you disregard it. “So I called you. I never lied.”   “But you never told me the entire truth,” he spits out bitterly. “You lied to me. You pretended like we were nothing. You pretended that you were never important to me.”   “And I wasn’t!” You scream out, not noticing that you’re crying, that tears are flooding down your face unwarranted. “You want to know why I never talked about it?! I don’t want to remember! I don’t want to remember you. I want to have nothing to do with you.”   Hoseok shifts and his eyes lock with yours. He is still lost. Confused. Disoriented. Doubting everything he’s ever known. And he questions himself, pummeling his past self in curses and insults, wondering how much he actually hurt you, what he exactly did to gain this response.   A staggering inhale is stolen from your lips. “Did you think I could just sit you down and tell you that I loved you?! That we lived together and we were supposed to get married?! That you were my best friend?!”   You face him, forcing him to look into your eyes, even when you’re pathetically crying and breaking through the spaces of his fingers, like sand he could never hold. You keep yourself together, feet rooted in the floor, mustering the strength to confront your greatest fear. “Didn’t you think it was painful for me?! I had to see you every. single. goddamn day. You have no idea what we were. You have absolutely no clue whatsoever.”   “You still could’ve told me.”   “For what?! For what reason?!”   “Because I deserve the right to know!” He shouts, pushed to the brink. “I deserve not to be left in the fucking dark! I deserve not to be lost and confused! I deserve not to find out from some god stupid reunion! Those are my memories too! They’re not just yours!”   “Fine. You want to know?” You poke him in the chest, hard enough where it hurts your own finger. “I was ready to move across the country with you when you got accepted at your law school. I would’ve followed you to the ends of this Earth. Why? Because I cared about us.”   “I loved you, Jung Hoseok.” You’re sobbing and you hate it. It’s ugly. It’s hideous. You can’t see where up or down is, you don’t have any grasp of control on your own emotions, of how tears run down your face, of how you’re slobbering over your own words, spitting them out.   This is what you’ve been running from and to be forced to face the music, you realize how ugly the melody is, how ugly you are, how ugly your precious love was. “And I was supposed to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you!”   “Then why? Why did we break up?”   “I-...I don’t know.” You step back, distancing yourself from the man you can’t bear to stand in front of. “Y-You dumped me. During your second year of law school. You broke off our engagement and dumped me. Probably because I wasn’t good enough.”   There’s a long pause and you blink, forcing the tears to stop clinging onto your lashes. Your timbre is broken when you speak again. “There. Happy? Now you know.”   It’s silent. The warm light from the hallway and kitchen casts his shadow on the wall. It illuminates half of your visage, making your teardrops twinkle as they fall. “....did I….did I cheat on you?” He tries to find reasons why he would’ve left, why he would’ve left you.   Nothing makes sense.   “No,” you respond confidently, bringing the back of your hand up to wipe your face. Your nose is red, eyes swollen red and the lump in his throat thickens enough for him to realize that he’s crying too. “I asked you and you said you didn’t. And I know for a fact that you didn’t.”   “How can you be so sure?”   “Because you’re Jung Hoseok,” you whisper, as if it could explain everything, as if could show how much he actually cared for you, how surprised and broken you became when he severed your ties, when he called off the marriage, when he broke off the future you were so prepared for.   Hoseok still can’t remember. No recollection. No memories. Part of him doesn’t know if he can even believe it.   While you….you remember everything. The first time you sat beside him. The first exchange of conversation. The first time you lifted your head and saw him sitting across the table at the library and a shy smile graced your features. The first time you shook hands and you heard the sound of his laugh. The first time he held your hands, cautiously and gently, like he was afraid to scare you away. The first time he asked you out on a date. The first time you shared a warm meal with him. The first time he called your name softly and he leaned in to kiss you.   The first of everything. You remember it, as clear as day.   “I think you should go.”   Hoseok stays standing motionlessly in the middle of your living room. “Y/N...”   You don’t want to look at him anymore. “I don’t want you here. I can manage by myself. So...get out. Please.”   For ten full seconds, he stays in his spot. Then with ten more strides, the noise of the door closing echoes throughout your small home. And all at once, all your grief spills into your hands.   You cry, sorrowfully and heart wrenchingly. Wails pull from your aching throat and you sob, not knowing what else to do, not knowing who to call.   On the outside, Hoseok presses his backside on the surface of the front door. He hears you, loud enough that he stays and cries silently. His chest hurts, put under torment, wanting to know what he’s forgotten.   Wanting to know more about the girl he was about to spend the rest of his life with.   “I want to remember again.” Hoseok has never been more earnest and it’s not a statement he speaks towards the doctor. He is making a begging request. “I love her.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Stakeout

Loki x Reader

Prompt: @marvelrose had this awesome idea of taking Brooklyn Nine Nine’s episode Stakeout and turning it into an angsty fic. Will it end in smut or will it end in more angst?

Warnings: a tiny bit of violence, anger, love blossoming??

Word Count: It feels weird not to cry. The meds seem to be doing a pretty decent job I must say. So guess who’s going to watch Infinity War this weekend.

MASTERLIST in bio, my wonderful beans

“This is all your fault, you stupid minx.”

“Say that again and I'll cut your pretty locks, goth Rapunzel.”

“Enough!” Tony's voice boomed through the comms, almost piercing through the eardrums, making you and Loki wince. Yet neither of you let the pain reflect on your faces- despite being in complete darkness- to not show the other person the level of discomfort both of you were feeling right now.

“Both of you are at fault!” Tony announced, “I don't expect much from our goth princess here but I thought you'd be better, Y/N.”

Your mentor's words pierced through your heart making you straighten up a bit.

“Tony, I swear I had mapped the route. The point of contact was secure and all the kids were supposed to be taken out safely from there but Addams here just had to throw someone through the freaking wall and compromise my location!”

You tried to wiggle a little but the space was packed; not to mention dark. The bumps on the road made your entire body jump, reminding you of the pain in your shoulder from the recent injury on your last mission.

This is so not good for my back, you growled to yourself internally.

“They already knew your location, which was not very discreet you, darling. I was just taking the hurdles out before they could cause any trouble.”

You could feel Loki's hot breaths over your hair while he lay beside you. The heat radiating from his body was suffocating you and considering he could easily fluctuate his body temperature, you knew he was doing this on purpose.

“You let the three most wanted traffickers get away,” you responded through your teeth slowly for the God to catch every word, “what, did your hair get in the way of seeing where to land your punches, or better, your enemies?”

“Watch your mouth you wh-”

“Okay! What matters is-” Tony cut through Loki's words, knowing full well the van you and the God were being transported in would turn into a crime scene within seconds, “you rerouted the kids on time. Every one of them was safe. But your identity has been compromised, Y/N. The sons of bitches know about you. This is our last chance to know their location. Both of you have already been debriefed. I want updates every six hours, you are not to engage with the enemy and for the love of all the Avengers ice cream flavours do not kill each other in the next one week.”

“Yeah, I can't promise that,” you shot back in a whisper.

“Me neither.” Loki was quick to follow.

A tired sigh left the other side of the comms.

“Murder each other and I'll personally come and smack both of you in your thick skulls, you hear me?”

The van screeched to a halt, making you raise your arm over your head to avoid hitting the metal partition, forcing an immense jolt of pain rush through the injured limb.s

Loki had the same idea and so began the muffled shifting and smacking of arms away before you both felt the dark space slide and be picked up with a huff and grunt.

“Odin’s beard, you guys are heavy,” came a heavy voice from outside as it transported you up a flight of staircase before putting the dark space down and unzipping it to finally let some light and fresh air come in.

“Now go have fun.”

“I hate this. I shouldn’t be doing this,” you muttered under your breath.

“Right, you would rather be doing that agent from Coulson’s personal wing.”

Loki’s flat toned comment made you stop tipping your chair over its feet. The cool breeze entering through the window from the wall behind you didn’t do much to ease your throbbing head but rolling your eyes and sighing into the oblivion gave you a partial satisfaction of its own.

Both you and Loki sat cross-armed with boots over the desk where all your equipment lay. The camera set towards the dilapidated house standing opposite to the building you were cooped up in showed no movements whatsoever. Neither did the infrared screens. The only life to pass through this waste of a locality was the anti-rodent van you and Loki had arrived in and a garbage truck.

“I’m flattered you think sex is on my mind right now, Rapunz, but no, that’s not the reason-”

“And I care as much as that tree breathing out gases for people living here,” the God quipped, making you twitch with a flash of frustration at his shallow words.

“That tree could make a better company right now, I’m sure,” you commented as your right hand went to your left shoulder subconsciously, pressing it gently at different places.

Loki did not miss the scrunching of your nose and recalling of your fingers as you felt terrible pain ripple through you at every wrong- or right- touch.

“Oh, for sure. I’m thinking of joining it for some prep siesta soon,” Loki sang before retrieving his gaze from your form.

You mocked his words in the most childish way making him roll his eyes before getting up.

“You could literally disappear from here with your awesome powers any time you want. I’ll be the one doing all the work. Isn’t that right, my lord? Isn’t that why you so gladly let Thor and Clint drive you here? Hah?”

Loki turned towards you, his hands going towards his back while his lips slowly stretched in the most devious smirk you had ever seen.

Son of deception!

Your feet shifted from the table to the ground, watching him cautiously as he waved his hand at you.

“So long, darling. Hope you can survive the morning heat and cold nights without the luxury of your favourite comforter,” Loki stated before twisting his hands.

A moment passed before your hand went down into your duffel bag to get out a bag of chips. Tearing it open without ever taking your eyes off the confused trickster, you began munching as loudly as you could.

“This usually works,” Loki said more for you than for himself as he tried to portal out of the place.

Crunch!

He tried again with both his hands this time, moving them as if trying to impersonate Goku’s Kamehameha.

Crrunch!

The irritation on his face was visible now. Between your loud mouthful bites and his sudden loss of power, the trickster was apparently losing his signature cool.

Crr~unncch!

“Stop it!” Loki snapped, making you pause with your mouth wide open, waiting for the handful of chips to land inside and start the serenade from the top.

You closed your jaws over the physical notes slowly, almost feeling Loki’s Jotun blood boil before he turned towards the apartment door to smash it open, instead, being repelled and smacked away into the opposite wall like a fly.

The crunch continued with a happy and contented sigh.

“Everyday, some new kind of magic makes my life more entertaining somehow.”

The clock read seven thirty when your first yawn came without any warning. Dialing Stark, you got up and tried to move your injured arm a bit to remove the stiffness.

“Still alive?”

“Barely,” Loki announced in a dead tone.

“We’ve got nothing, Tony. Not even a dog has looked at that house yet,” you added, unzipping your jacket and pausing mid-way to allow your brain a way to figure out how to get out of it without hurting yourself more.

“Cool. Take shifts for a shut-eye and keep me posted. One day’s almost over. Almost.”

The call was disconnected, leaving you and Loki to groan in each other’s unavoidable presence.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you announced while trying to get your better hand out of the jacket.

Pushing it, flailing it and eventually jumping to force your jacket away from your skin, you managed to step over your own foot and fall down in a way that was anything but graceful.

Loki didn’t even turn at the sound of the loud thud to scrutinize what was going on.

“How you ever become an Avenger with your ever graceful movements is beyond my comprehension,” Loki articulated into the air surrounding him as his fingers played with a coin between them.

Getting up on your knees with your jacket half stuck on your elbow on either side, you huffed your hair away from your face. “Not many can master the grace that I have, my prince.” And with that, you laid down and struggled the fabric away from you eventually, out of breath, and moved to the bathroom- deciding it was better to struggle and cry in the closed space than in front of one sarcastic royalty.

“Hey, Loki, I was going through the whole extraction fiasco again and- you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You were barely out of the bathroom when your eyes registered Loki's form spread so sophisticatedly across the lone bed in the apartment. His arms were crossed over his forehead, trying to block all flashes of annoyance you were sending his way, while his legs were crossed across the length of the mattress Clint had plopped down on the bed structure this morning.

Peeping through one eye, he stared down at your wet hair sticking to your neck and your tee looking like it had been stretched beyond what was its comprehensive standards.

“Care to join me?” He purred and smirked.

“I don’t think the mattress is built to withstand all the rage and angst piled over it,” you debated, gesturing at Loki’s existence with your hands before walking towards the little makeshift station.

You could see him sit up on his elbows from the corner of your eyes; a little spark going down your spine.

“Are you implying that this bed cannot withstand the rage I can pour over it,” Loki’s hot voice melted through the air as he tilted his head with a streak of sublime darkness in his eyes, “or that I can pour out enough to make the things underneath me crack and cry?”

You did not notice that window had been closed and hence blamed the sudden chill your body felt over the outside air. But just as all the hairs on your body stood up to gasp at the audacity of this pile of pure mischief, you knew deep inside that the mere dull air could not do such damage to you.

“What? N-no, I meant y-” your flustered self tried to gather your pieces before turning to look at him with pure anger- “get your mind out of the gutter, dude!”

His chuckle made illicit vibrations run on the back of your neck. You considered it better to sit down and wrap yourself up in the warmth of your jacket to not allow him to see what things he was doing to you.

“You are so easy to rile up, darling.”

TAGLIST

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[elvencantation]

just went to see tros. major spoilers ahead

[[MORE]]

so i’m gonna try to go through this as in order as i can

- rey doing the avatar pose with the rocks orbiting her was super cool. as was her training with leia

- her getting distracted (and becoming somehow angry) by kyle ron staring at his grandads melted skull? not so much

- leia in general i think they handled pretty well. i even was okay with her death, though it did feel rushed. either way any glimpses of our beloved carrie warmed my heart

- i fuckin love bb8’s little sidekick. him being narratively incredibly important? felt forced

- lando? YES!!

- the weird rey doing force lightning? NO!!!

- i just have so many issues with this ‘dyad connection’

- stop trying to make more jedi powers. first the connection, then healing, then the lightning tree?? seriously?

- speaking of which, sith rey was way overdone. i could have understood her appearance in the first place, hearkening back to the dark cave luke went into on dagobah. but once again, it was played into the ground. and the teeth? seriously? (yes it was very attractive but that’s beside the point. evil versions are always hotter)

- kyle ron just kept pissing me off. but that’s a whole nother post entirely. i would’ve liked the helmet kintsugi for purely aesthetic reasons if it had any emotional impact at all. kintsugi is repairing a broken object and making it more beautiful for its having been put together again, and the love put into fixing it. none of that fit with the weird reforging of his helmet. he didn’t even do it himself palpatine’s little slaves did it. it looked cool but felt wrong

- hux being the traitor because he just ‘wants him to lose’? made absolutely no sense whatsoever and came completely out of left field. unless i’m just missing something. which i definitely could be

- rey getting completely distracted on the way to get the knife and letting her friends get captured? dumb. stupid narrative decision. it felt dishonest to the rest of her characterization up until now

- and it made for another weird connection scene with ofc i didn’t enjoy. vader’s helmet has great symbolic importance. it being left on that planet just to tell kyle ron that rey was on his ship? another stupid narrative decision!!

- also what the fuck was zorri and the whole spice runner being a secret thing? are we in dune? like let’s shoehorn in a backstory that has no emotional impact because there was no buildup or investment whatsoever. yes i understand they were trying to draw han solo parallels but it was just- once again- awkward and forced

-jannah just rubbed in our faces all the lost potential of finn leading a storm trooper rebellion from the inside. we were ROBBED

- if they had played with the c3po losing his memory storyline it could’ve had much more potential. but once again there was no emotional impact because it was badly written and awkwardly placed just to give us another ‘cute’ character. which yes. i fell for. i love babu. sidebar: i just looked up that characters name and they were voiced by moaning myrtle??

- the scenes on the destroyed death star. the fight looked beautiful, it was well shot and the set was amazing. i loved the giant waves, everything. but han? seriously? at least they didn’t try to make him a force ghost. that’s literally all i can be thankful for. leia reaching out to him could’ve had that very same narrative outcome of him throwing away the lightsaber. and it would’ve made so much more sense

- merry popping up everywhere without pippin was both sad and jarring for me personally

- and then we get to the final battle

-i’ve been drawing a lot of parallels between storylines in the movie and from the thrawn trilogy

- admit it, Exegol doesn’t sound half as cool as Mount Tantus

- cloning tanks, secret super powerful fleet, all of that was in thrawn but done much better

- i absolUTELY hated the view palpatine gave rey of the battle scene. it was done in the return of the jedi, it was done in the last jedi, it just felt overdone

- i’m not even going to talk about the reveal of rey’s identity. it’s just fucking stupid. her choosing to call herself a skywalker would have been just as impactful, if not more, if we’d kept her parentage a non plot point

- also don’t think that i didn’t notice the parallels to the alien at the festival asking her last name to the lady on tattooine. since when have last names ever been so stressed in star wars. it just felt awkward

- whats with the red storm troopers? yet another awkward detail added for #aesthetic with no reasoning behind it whatsoever?

- and onwards we go- to whatever the fuck happened when kyle joins rey in front of palpatine. this isn’t harry potter. he isn’t a dementor. it’s just- completely out of place. like wtf

- i am 100% convinced the weird chanting ‘audience’ was just rows upon rows of empty cloaks palpatine was animating because he’s a fucking drama queen. like if not, where did he get that many people? who are they? are they more force ghosts in inappropriate places?

- speaking of, i guess i could see what they were trying to do with the whole ‘i am all the sith/jedi’ thing, but it really didn’t make any sense, even with the ‘be with me’ thing rey was doing at the beggining of the movie. yet another new jedi power. ugh

- my brain personally has disassociated the re*lo kiss from the scene completely. it feels like something out of a different movie. there’s no lead up, it feels like two completely different characters than the ones we’ve been watching these past three movies

- we could’ve just had him die killing palpatine, or shielding her or giving her the chance to kill palpatine by sacrificing himself

- and no, i don’t count the part where she healed him any sort of lead up to the kiss. it felt just as awkward and forced as the rest of the directors/writers trying to redeem the relationship. no. emotional. impact. and the parallels they tried to draw between him and rey? also didn’t work

- the lightsaber trick did look really cool i enjoyed that a lot. i also surprisingly enjoyed kyle ron out of armor. he looked a lot more... real? in fact he looked so much like a different character i was even kinda emotionally invested in him in that scene. maybe i have a weak spot for ‘strong’ characters being vulnerable? or beat up angsty people? both? either way i actually enjoyed watching him onscreen those like five minutes. adam driver’s a good actor. ain’t his fault his character was written badly

- what’s with their bodies disappearing?? are we pulling a voldemort here? only yoda did that and he’s special. also leia’s body waiting to vanish until kyle died? i understand what they were getting at but it just doesn’t make sense

- that all being said, finn and poe’s screen time was lovely. they work so well together. that hug after the battle, thank you oscar isaac it was so gay. finn’s hair looked amazing, them being generals together felt so right, it had such potential

-the sandstormpilot hug was also amazing. poe kept grabbing rey’s hand and finn tearing up and- i’m gonna pretend they’re all together and everything is good with the world. they just make such an amazing team i love them so much

- most of the filmography and settings were gorgeous. the recreation of the podrace was eh, but rey wrecking the TIE fighter was better than that entire scene and pretty much made up for it in my mind. also since i’m in that scene, the scare of losing chewie was just plain cruel. it wasn’t a good plot twist, it didn’t work, it was just mean

- why did rey get a sentinel lightsaber?

[deckspair]

[TW: Blood, Organs, Medical, Live Dissection, Disembowlment, Graphic Organ Gore]

Law smiles, waving as though he's not about to go to his death. "The dead don't have the right to make requests, I know, but do me a favor! Watch my last show for me, will ya? I worked real hard for this."

Execution under the cut.

[sketch + lines by @kirvia​; color by @gay_jungwoo; music by @xix-the-all​, writing by @black-dreamscape​]

[CAUSE OF DEATH]

…

[EXECUTION, START!]

It's dark, and he can't see anything, and for a moment he's convinced he's already dead and gone and he missed the whole damn thing. What a shame that would be—out of any death, he's thought the most about his own, and the executions are by far the most exciting ends he's ever heard of. A literal once-in-a-lifetime event, and he doesn't get to see it? Now that would be torture!

Then the lights turn on, and they're bright, uncomfortably so, and he's on a metal table, and its cold, uncomfortable sensation is suddenly so, so, obvious.

Then he remembers that one's own death is really a terrible place to be, and that he would have been better off missing the event.

Then he looks deep inside himself, and he's always considered himself an accurate judge of his own workings, and it's spelled out as clear as day. He is scared. He's going to die, and it's going to be permanent, and serious, and that's what death is. Not a joke. Not an abstract concept. Definitely not a game.

At least he's figured it out now, before the screaming begins. He has a feeling he won't have the presence of mind soon.

For now, though, for now Law’s still a member of the real world, the conscious world, able to burn the last sight of his life into his memory. Not that it'll matter once he's gone, he knows that—oh, who is he kidding. He wants to think it won't be. He wants to think that, even now, laying almost completely naked on an operating table, the lights shining into his eyes like cold miniature suns, he'll still think of something and make it out. 

Law breathes in, staring into- Clang. All of a sudden, his moment of peace is over, as metal clamps shoot out from the table, pinning him down by the limbs, by the chest, by the neck. His mind goes blank, filled with a flood of static, and he forgets to breathe out, forgets to blink, forgets to move at all. 

A flash of green. Surgical scrubs, and a surgical mask, and the leering face of the mascot he likes so much, and the glint of metal. All this registers in his wide eyes, but he can't move, can't scream, can't do anything but hyperventilate and try to silence the snowy mess running through his brain. It's an autopsy, he would realize, if he could think. He's done them before. They're easy, because the dead don't move, just like him right now. 

And then the first cut begins, into flesh he hasn't realized is marked up and down with permanent marker lines. A vertical slice across the abdomen, then two horizontal, oh so precise and impersonal, oh so easily staining his field of vision red. 

Law remembers how to scream.

Law stands in a dark room, the basement of a hospital, smiling down at a cold cadaver. He’s usually not on autopsy duty, but it's something he should learn, and it's fun, in a way. Like dissecting a frog in Biology, lining the organs up neatly as though they're the parts to an IKEA chair. First you slice it down the middle.

And then you pin it open. Cut the tendons if they're making it difficult. Do the same to the limbs. Check for anything amiss.

Remove the intestines. Hang them on a rack. If they were alive they would be squirming.

The kidneys. The liver. The pancreas. The spleen. Open them up, take a look at what's inside. Any irregularities could be what did the stiff in, you know.

Cut the stomach out, careful with the acid. That stuff can melt solid wood.

Remove the ribs. Open the lungs. Is there any fluid inside? Any sign of rot?

The heart, all four chambers. What a joke, that this little thing could be the home of all human emotion, the source of what makes the world go round. Check for clots.

There's one part left. It works after detached from the body for up to seven seconds. Lobotomies traditionally reach it through the eye socket. Trepanation drills a hole through the skull. Most surgeries cut the skull open and sew it back together. The ancient Egyptians were known to get it through the nasal passage.

He knew so many things. So many fun facts. What a nice little container, for so many thoughts. Such a vivid imagination.

His brain joins its counterparts in the operating room’s trash bin, as the light above the door changes from red to green. 

Law Kiyuu is dead. He has been, for a while.

[kylorengarbagedump]

No Accounting for Taste (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

Word Count: 7100 (oops)

Warnings: Literally everything. This is NSFL. Rape, verbal abuse, literal torture, graphic violence, death. This is a Red Room fic.

Characters: Kylo Ren x (Fat!)Reader A/N: Hello, and welcome to the actual Worst Thing I've Ever Written. I went through this for a few reasons--one, just to prove to myself that I could, two, out of spite, and three, to gift this work to my beautiful friend @daddyrenn / @rosalinaballerina. She has listened to and supported me for like, years now, which is crazy, and I realized I never wrote her anything to thank her. So, here ya go, cupcake. I love you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this.

I also hope that whoever else enjoys gross nasty shit like this enjoyed it. It was really cathartic for me to write, so, I'm happy to put it out there for anyone else. Love y'all so much! Thank you for all of your support all these years. <3

laetus_lacrimosa: when’s the show starting?

blueeyeswhited: are you new here? he’s always late

laetus_lacrimosa: it’s been 30 minutes already

xwaifusayorix: yup

laetus_lacrimosa: i’m paying how much for some dickhead who’s always late?

mg3453: hopefully not as much as the rest of us

kyloren has logged in.

kyloren: Five minutes. Bidding at .52 btc begins now.

kyloren: Any other complaints will be addressed by me. In person.

kyloren has logged out.

A droplet of water hits your forehead, and your eyes open. The lights are still on, but you are alone. 

The roof is leaking, and not just over your bed, but in several spots across the room. You’re not particularly surprised--you hadn’t paid a fortune for the hostel, but to wake up to cold rain was still not an expected consequence. Sighing, you sit up, wipe your head, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Thankfully, your mattress is entombed in plastic.

Your brain spins. You’d wanted to sleep through the storm, but it doesn’t seem like that will be an option. And you’re not sure if you can manage sitting on your bed, alone, for the next however many hours. The last time you’d tried it, your legs ended up with a bunch of knife-slashes from the three-inch blade you keep in your backpack. The rest of your hostelmates have abandoned you, apparently, but there’s no surprise there. A knot in your throat grows thick. You can’t run away from your inferiority.

Planting your face in your hands, you draw in a deep breath, hoping the air will quell the burgeoning volcano in your chest. They left because you had said you wanted to sleep. That doesn’t mean you’re inherently uninvited from wherever they went. In fact, you could get up and meet them right now, if you wanted. And want you do.

You stand, shaking the jitters out of your fingers, and step through the sleeping quarters to the living area. Under the heavy rhythm of rain, you hear music, like a stereo blasting from inside a wave--and in its direction, flashing, rainbow lights. A party. A grin tugs at the corners of your lips. That didn’t sound like such a bad way to pass the time. Better than sitting in your room, alone. You snatch a hoodie from your bag and slip on your flip flops before darting through the storm, skipping over stone and sloshing in the tiny puddles already pooling in the grass. And after a few hops, you see it, beyond the curtains of rain: a tent, a safehouse by the shore.

By the time you reach it, your grin is erupting into a full smile, laughter eking out of you as you pull the hood off your head. You can’t remember the last time you’d run through the rain. And as the lights splash onto your face, you realize that you can’t remember the last time you’d danced, either. The music is spirited and electric, a classic reggaeton beat under lyrics in a language you don’t understand. Before you know it, you’re sliding further into the tent, looking for familiar faces, your hips rolling to the beat 

You spot a younger woman you’d shared a few light-hearted conversations with this afternoon--she looks totally trashed, but she’s definitely having a good time. Hopefully, being drunk allows her to be even more forgiving of your social awkwardness. But before you reach her, a hand on your shoulder halts you, and you yelp into the noise, whirling around to face the intruder.

“Evening,” he says, sounding as if he’d somehow whispered into your ear from feet away. “Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“Hey, yeah, I did!” You search his face, brow furrowed. It’s a handsome face--hazel eyes, dark hair, full, pink lips--and it’s on top of a tall, muscular frame. But somehow, you don’t remember him. You’re more self-centered than you thought. “I’m so sorry, can you remind me who you are?”

A tight grin crosses his face, and your name rolls off of his tongue in mock-disappointment. “Really? I’m hurt.”

“Aw, no!” Frowning, you latch onto his forearm, trying to placate him. It’s thick and firm in your grip, and a shudder crawls up your spine. “I’m so sorry! I’ve just been… kind of off. Remind me, please!”

Smiling, he tugs you closer, and your cheeks grow hotter. “It’s Kylo.”

You nod. “Ohh, okay! Hi, Kyle!”

“No,” he says, “Ky-lo.”

“What?” Your face twists, and you turn your ear toward him. “Kylo?”

“Yes,” he replies, and his breath brushes your face. “You’ve got it.”

Hiding an idiotic giggle, you inch back. “This is kind of cool, huh?” What you can’t hide is how your gaze travels his body. All he has on are black jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his thick chest and arms. Fuck, he’s built. “I mean, uh, the party.”

“The what?”

You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting over the music. “The party!”

“It is.”

Kylo stands there, staring, his eyes like voids, absorbing every flash of color in the tent. Under his gaze, your heart throbs, and in the back of your skull, the reptilian bit of your brain catches flame, screaming. But you can’t figure out what it’s telling you. Is it to run? Or to stay?

“Let’s dance,” he says, and barely waits for your nod before he curls one of his large, strong hands around yours and spins your back against his chest. Now you are on fire, your hips rocking with his, your face ready to melt when he leans his lips close to your ear. “Have you ever been to El Salvador before?”

“No!” Heat courses through you when you realize how loud you’ve been. The black-sand beaches of El Salvador weren’t your first choice for a runaway destination. But they happened to fit the three primary criteria: cheap, secluded, and U.S. dollar-friendly. Squeezing his hand, you tilt your head. “I mean, um, no.”

“Really? I come here all the time.”  Kylo tugs you closer. The air seems thicker, now. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think so too.” Your palm is slippery, and you adjust your grip again.

Kylo’s mouth scrapes the shell of your ear. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

Silent, you nod.

He leads you through the rain back to the hostel, through the living area and into the sleep quarters. You wait by the doorway as he saunters over to his bag, his shirt sticking to the rippling muscles in his back. Holding a sigh, you chew your lip. Kylo reaches into his backpack and pulls out a wine bottle--it’s wrapped and corked, brand-new--and urges you over with a nod. Lizard-brain wailing, you oblige.

“Where are you from?” Kylo is peeling the foil from the bottleneck while he speaks.

You glance at your feet. “The States.”

“Mhm.” The foil floats to the floor. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“What?” Head snapping up, you meet his gaze. It’s empty. “No, no. Not at all. What?”

“I meant where in the States.” His fist is tight around the wine. “Given your accent, though--New Jersey?”

“Philadelphia.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks.

“Really,” he says. “Say w-a-t-e-r.”

Your lips twist into a mock-frown. “Wuder.”

Something twitches on his face. A grin, you think. “Right.” Kylo twists the cork, easing it free. “What does your family think of you traveling alone?”

“Oh.” Your thoughts tangle. For some reason, you want to lie. “They, uh, they’re okay with it.”

“Hm.” A pause, and he locks you in his stare again. “They don’t know, do they?”

“Um…”  A swift twist and tug, and the cork pops out. You flinch. “No,” you admit. “They don’t.”

Kylo shrugs. “No shame in that.” He sits on the bed, beckoning you with a nod. “Sit. Have a drink.”

You gnaw your lip again, looking at your backpack. You consider grabbing your knife, just in case. He’s incredibly fucking hot, and you’d love nothing more than to hop on what you are sure is his massive dick, but something about it seems wrong. But you aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is real discomfort, or your own fucked-up brain working to deny anything good might ever happen to you.

“I don’t know… Something seems weird about a strange drink from a strange man.”

Kylo smirks. “You saw me open it. And besides…” He pauses to take a long swig, the knot in his throat bobbing with each gulp, and then pulls off with a short gasp. You find yourself wanting to swallow, too. “I hope that’s satisfactory.”

Sweat beads at your nape. “Uh…” Shrugging, you shuffle over and sit next to him. He radiates heat. After the rain, that seems particularly inviting. “Sure. Why not.”

You wet your lips and tip the edge of the bottle into your mouth, the lukewarm liquid spilling out. It’s tart and dry with a lingering salty tang, and you wince as you swallow, smacking your tongue against your palate. You pause for a moment, waiting for the inevitable wooziness and unconsciousness to hit--but they don’t. Maybe he isn’t full of shit. Warmth ebbs through you, and you look over at him, holding out the wine.

“Weird taste. What is that?”

His eyes scan your figure. “You didn’t like it.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. “That isn’t it. It’s just weird and salty. I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Hm.” Kylo blinks, gaze flitting to the bottle, then back to you. He takes it from you and has another drink, imitating you by smacking his tongue. “That’s what it is.” He does it again. “You’re aerating it. Don’t do that.”

You raise a brow. “Really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

He presents the bottle. “Try it.”

Pouting, you grab it, taking a long, slow drink, and pull off, fighting the urge to--how did it he put it?--aerate. But you still taste salt. Your brow furrows, and you look at him. The sirens in the back of your head are deafening, now, and you swallow, fingers starting to tremble. You glance at the wine, but the label is in Spanish.

“Um, hey, so… what… what is this? This wine?”

Kylo’s blank gaze meets yours. “Oh. Right. I forgot you asked.”

“Yeah. I did.” Your heart slams against your ribcage.

“It’s gammahydroxybutyrate.”

Shaking your head, you play it over in your head. “Gammahydro--what? What? Kylo--” You reach for him, but you miss. “What the fuck?”

He is flat. “Ecstasy.”

The next thing you remember is hitting the floor.

Darkness is torn from your face, and a matrix of light blinds you, pain leaking from you in gasps as your ears are swallowed by a shrieking whine. Groaning, you shift, attempting to jerk away from the brightness beyond your lids, but your arms stall, your body rocking into the chair. Wait--the chair? You kick, but your legs strain against the bonds around your calves. Wincing, you bow your head, waiting for the ringing in your skull to die before you even try to remember what the hell happened. Then, shade, interrupting the assault on your eyes, cooling your skin for a brief moment. A grunt escapes you; your lids flutter open. 

Light is a halo around shadow, the figure in front of you the shape of a man, if men are shaped how you remember. Your vision is water, the sound dull, like you’ve been plunged into a shallow tub. But as it clears, you make out details. He is tall, broad, muscled, wearing… black. A black tank top, black leather pants, black boots, all melting in the murky slime of your brain. The one detail you can’t discern is his face--because it is obscured by a mask. Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

“What? What are you talking about?” You want to shout, but every bit of effort you make to speak or move is tripled against the weight of your scrambling consciousness. “Let me go. Please. What the fuck is happening?”

He is silent. Your gaze darts around the room--the floor is dirt, the walls are blank, and there isn’t a single window that you can see. To your right, a large, flat screen displays text… lines of it, you think, discussing something. A chatroom. You see one of the names--kyloren--and your blood turns to ice.

El Salvador. The wine. Ecstasy.

Kylo.

Before you can speak, your gaze catches the lines on the screen moving, talking. And they’re talking about you.

laetus_lacrimosa: i love how fucking scared she looks

blueeyeswhited: it’s awesome. she has no idea what’s about to happen

gawinulim11490: what are the limits?

mg3453: are you serious?

xwaifusayorix: lol

Your stomach lurches, and Kylo moves, the light burning your vision again. You squint while your pupils adjust, and see that he’s walked to a terminal where a camera and laptop are arranged. The acid in your belly roars like a wave, eroding your esophagus and singeing the back of your throat, and your chin quivers, quakes resonating to your toes. Fighting your fear, you overcompensate, instead, and glare at the camera, hocking a thick wad of mucus and spitting it at your captor. It falls short, a glob in the dirt. Kylo doesn’t seem to even notice, but the chatroom has.

blueeyeswhited: she’s an animal

gawinulim11490: like every other female who doesn’t get her way. strip them of their privileges and they resort to this.

xwaifusayorix: lmao are you an incel

kyloren: Bidding begins at .29 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

As he types this, the screen explodes with chatter. From what you can tell, there are five people in this room, watching you. Bidding on something. They spit out different numbers, trying to one-up each other in a value you don’t recognize. .88 btc, 1.46, 2.19. The integers climb and climb.

laetus_lacrimosa: 2.93 to strip her and cut her fucking nipples off.

xwaifusayorix: oh shit 

mg3453: yeah i withdraw, i wanna see that lol

Breath flies out of you, and you choke. “What? What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

No other person speaks.

kyloren: 2.19 btc to watch. Beginning now.

Kylo clicks something, and the chatroom changes. One, two, three of the people who had been in the previous room appear in this one. Kylo appears to adjust the camera pointed at you and turns, pulling a knife from his belt.

You whip your head back and forth, straining at your bonds, toes digging into the dirt, hips twisting to rock the chair. “No, please, stop, what are you doing. Please stop. Kylo, or whatever your name is. Please don’t do this. Please--”

He doesn’t appear to respond, but grabs the back of the chair, stilling it while he slides the knife underneath your shirt. The metal is ice on your skin, and you shiver, whimpering as tears blur your vision. You can’t stop your chin from trembling, your heart from wanting to explode out of your chest. Kylo turns the blade to the ceiling and rips, standing to the side so the camera catches when your belly, chest, and breasts are uncovered. Noise wants to escape you, but it doesn’t--you can only whisper as the tip of the knife shreds the hem of your top.

“Please… please stop…”

If he is moved in any way by your display, his only reaction is to tear the fabric to the side, making sure the entirety of your torso is exposed for the three strangers watching you on camera. Snot slips out of your nose, and you whimper, a chill washing over you. Kylo stares at you--or at least, you think he is. The inability to identify any hint of humanity from his facade makes your blood run faster.

The pause is only brief, however. He grabs the chair again, and slips the tip of his knife underneath your shorts. You want to struggle, but the threat of a blade against your belly paralyzes your limbs. All you do is sob while slices open the front of your shorts, digging the knife into the fabric of your crotch until the mound of your pussy peeks out. You thank your stars that you’re fat enough that your belly sits on top of your thighs, but Kylo sighs.

“I forgot how fucking fat you were.”

Growling, he takes the knife and rips open the hems on your sides, tearing the fabric away so that your front is now completely naked to the camera. After that, he bends forward, working at the bonds at your feet, and for a moment, there is a tease of relief. The ropes--or zipties, or something, you can’t tell--come off, and your heart roars with adrenaline. You pitch forward, attempting to leap up, but the chair only squeaks, and Kylo’s head snaps toward you.

“Fuck you!” With a shriek, you try to drive a heel into his shoulder, but he snatches your ankle in a large, gloved hand, and before you even move your other leg, that one is seized, his strength so overpowering that you wilt in his grip, collapsing against the chair.

You realize that was his goal, now, all along, while he spreads your legs wider, revealing your cunt to the camera. Another sob wells up in your chest, and you wiggle in protest, feeling helpless as he rebinds you to the chair. Under his breath, you hear him laughing.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “It’s so much easier when you behave.”

“Fuck you.” Your breath shudders in your chest. “Please stop.”

Through your tears, you glance over at the chat--and immediately wish you hadn’t.

blueeyeswhited: christ she’s so fucking disgusting--her body is a fucking mess. has anyone ever actually fucked that? lmfao

mg3453: her tits are fucking embarrassing. she’s in her 20s and they’re already sagging to her pussy

gawinulim11490: are you kidding. her tits have looked like that since she was a teenager. her body is just fucked up.

laetus_lacrimosa: females actually do this to themselves

The terror and anguish inside of you boils, and you glance over at Kylo. You see nothing but a silhouette of darkness.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” You’re spitting, now, snot and saliva soaring from your face. “You’re all sick pieces of shit! Fucking sick misogynistic pieces of shit!”

xwaifusayorix: LMFAO

blueeyeswhited: “misogynist” is she a fucking feminist LOL

gawinulim11490: yes she is, but she doesn’t know the first thing about it. she’s a fucking idiot.

You hate that person in particular. They seem to know you. They talk about you like they’re an expert. You glare at the camera.

“Fuck you, whoever you are. I swear to god, when I get out of here, you will fucking pay for this!”

xwaifusayorix: lol

mg3453: well it makes sense that she looks like that now if she’s a feminist

laetus_lacrimosa: cutting off her nipples will be an improvement

Out of the corner of your eye, Kylo moves toward you, and you snarl. “Fuck you. Don’t even come near me.”

“You have no choice in that matter.”

He tosses the knife, catching it by the handle, and grips the chair again. Heart in your throat, you cry out, thrashing against your bindings, muscles tensing and untensing as words and spit fly, unfiltered.

“Please! Please, fuck no! Don’t do this! Don’t fucking do this Kylo please fuck don’t do this! Please!”

Underneath the mask, you hear a low, quiet laugh. Kylo stands behind you, steadies the chair against his body, and grabs one of your tits, pulling the skin of your areola taut. Your breath is rapid, drool streaming out of your mouth as you scream again, begging him to spare you. He brings the knife to your flesh, and you thrash, trying to slam your head back into his hips, hoping to knock him off balance.

Grunting, he crushes your breast in his hand, making you squeak. “Might not be smart to struggle while I have a knife so close to your chest.”

Face crumpling, you release a shuddering whine, tensing as you watch the knife pierce your flesh.

Searing pain streaks through your nerves, echoing in your fingers and toes, and you screech, throwing your head back in broken sobs while cuts through the layers of skin. A warm fluid spills down your abdomen, pooling in the crevices of your thighs and dripping onto the floor. Your teeth pinch your lower lip, lids shut tight as he carves through you, jolts of hot pain hitting you with each millimeter of skin removed. You can’t decide if you want to go to sleep or wake up.

Your breast flops against your stomach as the last bit of your flesh is removed, and you hear him toss it onto the ground. The thought of opening your eyes makes your stomach turn, but you find yourself cracking open a lid.

Blood has painted you in crimson buckets, and the fleeting pace of your heart is only making it pump out faster. Gasping, you feel faint, and close your eyes again, focusing on your breath, hoping to slow your heart rate so you don’t bleed out. Your entire body is pulsating, and you are trembling--you don’t want to go into shock, either.

Kylo clutches your other breast, tweaking your nipple in his fingers. Another laugh rumbles under the mask, and he cuts into your skin once more. The pain is duller, this time, your adrenaline still spiked and your brain focused on keeping calm. Yet you feel like a fish, filleted live on television, strands of hanging skin snipped and ripped from you, and you are bathing in warm fluid pumping from your own heart. Your second breast drops, and you groan, dizzy. It’s a lot of blood, leaving you--you don’t even need to look.

“That’s an issue,” says Kylo. His voice sounds filtered through water.

You hear rustling, and then the flicking of something--a lighter--and your lids pop open. Dread sinks into your bones when you watch him wipe his knife on his pants and hold it over an open flame. Whinging, you shake your head, the tears coming again.

“No, no, no no no…” You heave, swallowing vomit. “Please, no, no, we can do a tourniquet or something, please, no no no…”

“You’d rather bleed out?” His voice is dull, even under the modulator. “Besides,” he says, spinning the knife over the lighter. “We need you awake for every part of this. Otherwise it isn’t any fun.”

Vomit threatens again, but you swallow, shuddering. “Fuck you.”

Kylo releases the lighter and moves forward. Before you can even protest, he presses the flat end of the blade against your wound, and you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks, shivers wracking your body as blinding pain whites your vision. A sob crawls out, and then another, and another, before you are heaving, drooling, and wailing in desperation. You try to breathe, but can’t, gasping and whining for air--and you finally vomit, hurling onto your chest, the rest bubbling out down your chin in an acidic burble.

“Stop. Stop, please,” you wheeze. “Please, just stop.” A rare breath fills your lungs, and you cough. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The weight of his gaze heavy on your frame as he re-heats the knife over the flame. “Because someone paid someone to pay me.” He steps forward and cauterizes your other wound, and you screech again, agony wracking you as your skin sizzles and pops under the heat. The smell of burnt flesh permeates. You want to vomit again.

Finished, Kylo wipes the knife on his pants again and puts it back into the sheath on his belt. You are quaking with terror and pain, sweat has drenched your lower back and hair, and you are still trying to focus on your breath. Kylo clicks something at his terminal, the rest of the voyeurs are back in the chat.

blueeyeswhited: holy shit she looks fucked up

laetus_lacrimosa: dumb fat bitch lol

mg3453: this is exactly what all these commie cunts deserve

gawinulim11490: don’t compliment her by insinuating she knows anything about being a communist.

xwaifusayorix: lmao shit

Your head is spinning. Is that it? With the bidding done, are you just going to be tossed out like this? Maybe he won’t even let you go.

“Kylo, please…”

Then, he types.

kyloren: Bidding open again. Starting at 2.93 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

mg3453: 2.93 to shut her up. rape her mouth and make her vomit again

blueeyeswhited: nice

gawinulim11490: he’ll rape her?

xwaifusayorix: lmao cuck

laetus_lacrimosa: he’ll do anything--he’s a monster

kyloren: Going once.

gawinulim11490: i’ll double it. 5.86 btc to rape every disgusting hole. choke her. make her lick cum off the floor. remind her how repulsive she is.

Your heart sinks into your gut. Your mouth is dry.

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

kyloren: 5.24 to watch. Beginning now.

The chatroom changes in the same way it had before, only now all five people who had been in the chat before slowly join. After the last person appears, Kylo turns, pulling the knife out from his belt once more. You can only swallow, staring at him with pleading, wet eyes, hoping that if you seem pathetic enough, he’ll let you go, or spare you, somehow, with any hint of kindness.

When he cuts you free of the chair, you kid yourself into thinking, for a moment, that he’s done just that. You swivel to try and look at him, to catch his intention, but find yourself horrified when you turn to see him pulling his cock out of his pants, guiding his hand up and down the hardening shaft.

Heat licks up your spine, and you babble something nonsensical before shaking your head, blinking away the tears.

“Bend over the chair.” His voice is even darker, more commanding, under the mask.

You don’t want to bend over the chair, but you are so weak and tired, the thought of what might happen if you don’t bend over the damn chair is even more terrifying. You try to move, but find yourself slipping on your own blood. Puke hits the back of your throat again, and you gag.

“Bend. Over. The chair.”

“I’m trying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry who?”

You pause, and stare up at him. Static has blanketed half your brain. I’m sorry…

A flash of black leather smacks you hard across the face, and you whimper, too exhausted to even grasp at yourself in shock. “You’re sorry who?” he asks, again.

Clenching your quivering chin, you look at the ground, the dirt spattered with your blood. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Much better,” he says. “Now move.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble.

You sit up, and the parts of your shirt that hadn’t been shredded stick to your sweat. Your shorts, however, stay on the chair, matted a dark red. When you try to stand, wooziness slams you, and you stumble, grabbing onto the chair as your vision doubles, spinning out like a car wreck. Part of you wants to look at the chat screen--see what they are saying--but the other part turns with tiny steps until you are facing the side of the chair. Wincing, you lay yourself across it, ass in the air, knees off the ground. It’s hard to be still, as the seat is still slick with your blood.

“Let’s see if we can find your pussy in all of this mess.”

Leather gloves grip your ass, and you close your lids, wishing that you wouldn’t shiver as he pushed aside the hills of your flesh to find your cunt between your legs. You thought back to when you’d met him at the club--you would’ve happily had consensual sex with him, then.

“You really thought I wanted to fuck you?” he says, as if he’d read your mind. “Answer me.”

Your cheeks flush with fire. “Um… I, uh, guess I did…”

Thwack--your ass and hips jiggle with tremors of pain. He just fucking spanked you. “You what?”

Choking back, a sob, you say, “Yes, sir. I did.”

He laughs with an inhuman derision. “You’re fucking pathetic. I would never be desperate enough to fuck something like you.”

Kylo’s fingers dig into your hips, and the head of his cock pokes between your thighs--but before he can drive himself inside of you, you glide off the chair and collapse in a pile on the ground, and you retch while your burned tits scrape the dirt. Dust erupts in clouds, and you roll to avoid the pain, particles getting into your mouth, forcing a cough.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Fuck…”

Through your fit, you look up at Kylo, who is still stroking his cock--now fully erect. Your heart drops even further. It’s enormous.

“Get up, bitch.” Behind the mask, you know he’s smiling. “Get back on the chair.”

You push yourself up on buckling elbows, dragging yourself like a corpse back onto the chair. Shaking, you drape yourself across it, and Kylo once more grapples your hips. The warm, throbbing head of his dick slides across your legs, seeking out your cunt, aching to tear it open and make you scream. You bite your lip, grimacing in anticipation--but when he thrusts, you lose grip on the chair again and tumble back onto the ground, rolling onto your back while you stifle a whine.

“Stupid whore.” Kylo kicks you in the stomach with the toe of his boot, and you heave, curling into a ball. “Can’t even stay on a chair.” He sighs, his erection bobbing in need. “But you’re used to being fucked like an animal, aren’t you?”

“What--”

Kylo pounces, clutching a fistful of your hair as he whips you around, shoving your face straight into the dirt. You moan in pain, drool dripping in globs from your face, caking your mouth and cheeks in mud. Gloved hands pull your legs apart, and then a hard, thick cock is pushing at the folds of your dry cunt. Grunting, Kylo cranks your head back, his voice low in your ear.

“Not wet for me yet?” A smothered laugh. “That’ll change soon.”

Gasping for breath, you almost beg for him to stop--but then he rams into you, ripping through your walls, and you screech, bucking against him, arms flailing. He lays his entire weight on top of you, like a boulder pressing you to the ground, and curls his fingers in your hair before thrusting again. A throttled shout escapes you, and Kylo’s other hand wraps around your throat, strangling any other noise. All you can do is slobber as tears trickle along your jaw.

“Mm, fuck,” he hums into your ear. “I feel you getting wet. You like this, don’t you?”

A long, agonizing pull out, and then another excruciating drive in. Shame seeps out of your pores as you realize--he’s right. The base of his dick pulses when he seats himself inside of your pussy, and your body reacts, walls instinctively squeezing. He laughs, tugging you somehow closer, the cold muzzle of his mask settling in the crook of your neck.

“That’s right,” he says. “You feel like a whore.” He drags out, and slams back in. “You look like a fucking pig.”

Kylo finds his rhythm, punishing you with his dick as he growls into your ear, hand just tight enough around your throat to keep you conscious while you fight for lucidity through the pain. Your pussy is wet, now, a humiliating and automatic reaction to the painful fucking he’s forcing upon you. It’s only then that you can actually process it--he’s raping you. This is all actually happening. The realization is almost anesthetizing--you can’t feel your face anymore, anyway, you think it’s been numbed with tears--and any sound you make escapes as guttural, animalistic sobs.

“That’s right, little pig,” he says. “Squeal for me.”  Kylo releases your neck to smack the side of your face, and the sharp pain provokes something inside of you--you squeal, like a rutting, dirty farm animal, and when he returns to choke you, you squeal again, in shame. He snickers. “Good pig…”

The constant raking across the dirt has rubbed your body and pained nipples raw, making every movement above you torturous. Kylo pumps deep into your cunt, piercing your cervix over and over and over, his breath leaving in dark, mechanical huffs. You want him to cum so badly, just so this will be over. In angst, you groan, loud and long.

“It feels that good?” he asks. “You love taking cock, don’t you? You’ll take it wherever.”

Kylo pulls out, but before relief hits you, you feel the tip of his slickened cock pass over your asshole. Horrified, you groan again, but in his grip, under his weight--you are weary, helpless. You can only whine and screech in protest as he presses against you.

“You want it so badly. You’re fucking disgusting. But I knew that the second I realized you wanted to fuck me.” He huffs when he pushes the tip of his dick into your ass, and you grunt in pain. “You were so desperate. So lonely.” Another thrust, deeper, more unbearable. “And those cuts on your legs…” A hard, deep thrust this time, and you howl. “Do you think anyone actually wants to give you attention?” He pauses. Smacks you, and gasp. “Do you?”

Voice ragged, you reply, “N-no… No, sir…”

Kylo tugs you back and slams his hips against your ass, and you wail in agony as he splits it open. It feels hot and cold and empty and full all at once. You are dizzy with pain and exhaustion, overcome while he pounds you, fucking into you harder than before. His cock is hard and sharp, a nail trying to splinter you like a board.

“Go on, pig,” he growls. “Squeal for me like the filthy little swine you are.”

He slaps your cheek, and like a stupid, trained pig, you squeal--a horrible, wretched sob that scrapes its way out of your throat. Another moan leaves him, and he gives you two hard thrusts before pulling out of your ass, his dick like sandpaper against your sore flesh. You gag, and then yelp as he yanks you to your knees by your scalp. He is quick, smacking the side of your face to part, and then shoving his dirty cock straight into your mouth.

You retch, the taste revolting, but Kylo grips your skull in both his massive hands and fucks down into your throat, your hair his reins. There’s a visible urge to let his head fall back and cum, but he fights it, locking with your stare behind his mask. Water spills over your cheeks again, your eyes rolling as you fight your own urge to pass out. It is almost impossible to breathe with his thick dick constricting your airway, stretching your jaw, making you drool.

“Such a good little squealer… Almost made me cum.” His voice is uneven, now, his thrusting erratic. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it? And you’re barely good for this.” He slaps you. “Stay awake, cunt.”

Gurgling against his erection, you nod to the best of your ability. Your compliance has you wanting to throw up, too, but there has been too much to fight--knowing it is almost over, you want him to hurry so you can leave and forget him forever. After a lot of therapy, probably.

“Fuck… fuck--”

Kylo’s hips pitch, and he groans, pulling out of your mouth and jerking his cock as it twitches in front of your face, holding your head still. A gasp, a groan, and he climaxes, jets of hot cum splashing your eyes and lips, mixing with spit and tears and dirt. Sighing, he squeezes the last drops of his release from his dick, wiping them on your face and shoving you back into the dirt. 

You hit the ground and shatter, the pent-up fear and adrenaline pouring out in broken, weeping breaths. Part of you wants to cover your face with your hands, but the other part is too disgusted to touch any reminder of his presence.

“Clean it up,” comes Kylo’s voice.

It is an echo in the chamber of your bawling. You can do nothing but wheeze, ache, and cry. There is nothing left in you to do an ounce more.

But Kylo is unsatisfied with this. “Clean it up.” His foot collides with your stomach on the final word, and you screech, crying harder.

You fold into a ball, trying to block him from your private break-down. The crying is uncontrollable, at this point, all you can do is ride the waves of anguish. Then you hear Kylo snarl.

Pain explodes in your skull when he stomps on it, jamming his heel into your temple, and he kicks you again, knocking the air from your lungs. “Clean it up, you filthy bitch.” 

Coughing, you try to nod, acknowledging his order, shivering while you pull yourself up from the floor. Every part of you aches, resonating with pain and the tremors of torment. Glancing at yourself, you are covered in blood, dirt, spit, vomit, and semen. You can’t bring yourself to view the chat screen. What have they been saying this entire time? You suppose it doesn’t matter. 

Swallowing what scraps are left of your pride, you wipe the caked semen off of your face, gathering it in dirty clumps and dragging them onto your tongue. The taste is acrid, bitter and salty and dry and sticky--and you heave trying to finish the first glob. Closing your lids, you persist, steeling your stomach as you clean your face of every last viscous drop of his semen. As you finish, you open your eyes, blurred tears clear, and see the chat. 

blueeyeswhited: holy fucking shit

mg3453: that was fucking incredible

laetus_lacrimosa: i knew she could take a big cock

gawinulim11490: what a fucking whore. she fucking loved it.

xwaifusayorix: like every other female, lol

laetus_lacrimosa: look at her cunt, it’s so fat and wet

blueeyeswhited: what kind of feminist loves being raped? lmao

gawinulim11490: she does. she’s a fucking joke. i told you that she’s not a real feminist. she’s a boring, joyless, leftist cuntbag.

mg3453: goddamn lol. are you sure you’re not an incel?

gawinulim11490: fuck off.

Their words don’t bite, as they did at first. You’re too fucking tired to care. Glancing over, you see that Kylo has already tucked himself away, and is making his way to the terminal. This had to have been the last part. Surely his plan is to sign off and let you go. Surely… 

kyloren: Bidding opens at 5.86 btc. You have 30 seconds.

Adrenaline again. “No.” You try to scramble toward him. “No, no!”

blueeyeswhited: cut her fingers off. 5.86 btc

kyloren: You’ll need more than that.

xwaifusayorix: 7.86 to cut off her toes

laetus_lacrimosa: 9.44 to cut her guts out

xwaifusayorix: oh fuck lol

You slump onto the ground. They’re not going to stop until you’re dead. Heart skipping out of your ribs, you claw to Kylo’s feet, curling your arms around them, scratching the leather like a hopeless cat.

“Kylo, please… please, don’t…”

kyloren: Going once.

“Please, Kylo, sir, please, please, please…”

kyloren: Going twice.

“Kylo… sir, don’t do this…”

gawinulim11490: 15.73 to cut the dumb bitch’s head off. spare the world of another fat leftist idiot.

Breath freezes in your lungs. No one else in the chat says a word.

kyloren: Going once.

kyloren: Twice.

He pauses, you think, for a second longer. You don’t dare speak.

kyloren: 11.79 to watch. Starting now.

The chat switches, and the only one who joins is the person who bid.

You hug Kylo’s legs, trying to hold him, pleading and pleading for him to release you. It is mostly gibberish, nonsense strung together with despair. God, you didn’t want this, you realize now, if you were let go you’d be better, you’d do better, you’d do whatever you needed so that you were never hated this badly again. On some end, you must deserve it, if someone is willing to pay money over and over to see you brought to this.

Beyond your sorrow, you feel Kylo moving, dragging you across the ground while he moves in front of the camera. Without a word, he gnarls his fingers in your hair, wrenching you to your knees, twisting your body so you kneel facing the camera. You are sniveling, and just as silent as him.

It’s not that you think, perhaps, you deserve to die. It’s that you realize that it is inevitable. It is, you hope, the same revelation that hits a cancer patient after a grim diagnosis, or the one that blinks into the mind of a driver during a head-on collision. The same revelation that perhaps only half of the population is lucky enough to have, before they collapse or bleed or pass in their sleep. And here you are, having it now--you are about to die at the hands of this monster. At least you’ll finally be free.

Kylo stands behind you, and you hear a hiss and metal squeak. To your left, a heavy thump. Fingers still tangled in your hair, he snaps your head up, and you see his face again. For a moment, you can’t understand why he’s done this--but you realize the camera must only see you.

His eyes are voids. Yet he looks just as pretty as you remember. You should’ve known that no one this attractive had good intentions for you.

Then the blade of his knife slices into your neck, and you sob--but the blood is hot, spurting in a river, and you feel his fingers tighten in your scalp, and then another tear in your flesh, and you choke on your blood, coughing and sputtering and twitching in pain, and everything is fuzzy, and numb, you can’t feel your fingers, or your body, or even feel your breath, and soon you know you aren’t breathing youaren’t seeingand everythingis blankandemptyandblack.

blueeyeswhited: oh fuck that’s a lot of blood

laetus_lacrimosa: not exactly a clean cut job

mg3453: look how upset she was lmao

gawinulim11490: she deserves it.

gawinulim11490 has logged off.

mg3453: shit. good show anyway.

xwaifusayorix: i still think that guy was an incel

laetus_lacrimosa: incels don’t have cash like that, idiot

xwaifusayorix: true.

xwaifusayorix has logged off.

laetus_lacrimosa has logged off.

blueeyeswhited has logged pff.

mg3453 has logged off.

Session has ended.

kyloren has logged off.

[rickandmortygetschwifty]

Re: simpler question. Morty accidentally ingests Rick's stash. His experience, fragmentary, somewhat hellish, somewhat sexy. As descriptive as you can get it!

I’m assuming by “Rick’s stash” you mean the K-Lax that you mentioned in a previous unpublished ask? Here it is! Drabble under the cut for possibly triggering content and mildly sexual themes:

The parties on Proxinius-A were legendary.

They were known throughout the whole galaxy as celebrationsthat invited catastrophes of epic proportions. Many of them ended in numerousaliens dying from overexhaustion, buildings being destroyed, and propertystolen from under their owners’ noses. Yet people still visited the planet,still drawn to it by the wild tales and rumors spun by those (un)lucky enoughto have been witness to one of the parties. History had been made onProxinius-A. The greatest musicians have written their number one hits here.Scientists have made breakthroughs on this planet. Even politicians have signedtreaties ending world wars during one of the countless parties being held.

Many of the planet’s locals have fled the planet as touristsslowly turned it into a haven of eternal raves. It truly was one of thecraziest, most dangerous hangouts in all of the galaxy. Most everyone with twobrain cells to rub together would steer clear of this place.

Everyone except Rick, that is. And he just dragged hisgrandson into the center of one of the wildest parties the planet had held inyears. The stadium holding the party was filled with thousands of aliens fromdifferent star systems, and there were scenes of mass chaos wherever Mortyturned. The sweaty crowd of aliens on the dance floor looked more like an angrymob that was ready to tear something limb from limb at the slightestprovocation.

Morty was not amused.

“C’mon, Morty! D-d-don’t be such a fucking wet blanket,”Rick complained, tugging Morty’s sleeve. “Stop standing in the corner a-a-and jointhe party.”

“I-I-I never wanted this in the first place, Rick! Thiswhole place smells like piss, a-a-and I think one of the aliens just felt me up—I-I’mjust not feeling it, okay? Why didn’t you tell me w-we were going to a planetlike this? I-I don’t feel safe!” Morty retorted. “I just want to go home!”

“Fuck, all you do is complain! W-w-why do I even bother withyou? Fine.” Rick let go of his grandson’s arm, plunging a hand down his insidecoat pocket. He pulled out a large vial filled with pink powder and spread itscontents into his palm. “Maybe some ground-up Kalaxian Crystals w-w-will makethis more bearable for you. Now w-w-will you stop yapping about going home?”

“Are you kidding me, Rick?” Morty said, eyeing the powder inRick’s palm. No way, no fucking way is he taking that alien drug. Who knowswhat the hell it’d do to him? “That-that stuff made you go nuts. Don’t y-y-youthink I don’t remember what happened at the party back in our house. Y-y-youcompletely trashed the house! I’m not going to—” Morty was interrupted by Rick’shand shoving the powder directly under his nose.  The boy coughed hard as he inhaled the particlesof the highly effective drug accidentally, the ground K-Lax crystals coatinghis nose with dust. He stumbled away from Rick as bright pink clouds of dust eruptedfrom his mouth with every hacking cough he made. His lungs felt like they wereon fire and his entire body trembled.

Rick slapped his forehead. “D-d-damn it, Morty! Y-you weren’tsupposed to take all of it! Now there isn’t enough for me! Do yoUUGH know howexpensive these crystals are a-a-at these parties? Now I have to get thema-a-at three times the going rate from my dealer!”

Morty didn’t hear him. The sclera of his eyes turned blue,the K-Lax hitting him like a hammer to the head. The eye-searing strobe lightsthat swept over the stadium seemed as beautiful to him as the aurora borealis. Themusic, instead of thumping loudly in his skull and giving him a migraine,cradled his ears like a soothing melody. The hellish party transformed into abeautiful landscape before Morty’s eyes.

The mass of living bodies that gyrated on the dance floorwas all too appealing to Morty.  Hisentire being was tingling with the urge to melt into the mass. He could fuckingdestroy that crowd. He could make them grovel at his feet. Those pussies. Theyhaven’t seen what real dancing is. He was going to part this mob like fuckingMoses and the red sea.

Morty’s mind raced with the delusions of a thousandscenarios. He could just imagine what he was going to do tonight. He felt so powerful. Like he was untouchable. Likehe could do anything. Proxinius-A was going to eat from the palm of his hand. Hewas going to make all the aliens here love him. And by God, they were going toscream out his name.

“W-w-wait, Morty, are you even listening to me?” Rick said,snapping two fingers in front of his face impatiently. “I-I said let’s go andget some more crystals. I-I don’t want you being the only one who’s having somefun around here.”

Who’s this boring oldman talking to me? Fucking loser. Morty’s answer was immediate.

“FUCK YOU, YOU OLD MAN. I WANT TO PARTY. GET YOUR FUCKINGCRYSTALS YOURSELF. MORTY’S IN THE HOUUUUUUUUSE!” the boy screamed. Hedisappeared into a nearby herd of Norsodonts, pushing aside the surprisedaliens uncaringly.

“Oh shit. Morty’soverdosed on—UURP—Kalaxian crystals!”

Morty awoke with a pounding headache and a dry taste in hismouth.

He felt like a corpse and his limbs were aching from overuse.Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he slowly got up, fighting the pain thatcrawled up his legs. Once his vision cleared, no longer hazy and swarming withdots, he gaped at the sight that graced his eyes.

He had ended up passing out in a dingy two-bed motel roomwith six different aliens. There was one with six facial tentacles sleeping atthe foot of one bed, another one with ram horns curled up on the rubber mat outsideof the bathroom door, two with three arms and grey skin snoozing away in thecloset of all places, one that he recognized as a Glooptopian in same bed asthe tentacled one, and one with the thickest fur he’d seen on the floor. To hishorror, a lump under a blanket lay snoring away in the same bed he was sleepingin.

What the fuckhappened? I was at that party, and… oh no.

“Oh geez. Fuck. Fuck.” Morty clutched his hair. “I’m amoron.”

The lone occupant on the bed stirred, the lump turning intothe familiar shape of gangly limbs. The blanket was thrown off casually as theperson yawned.

“Morty, i-i-it’s too early to get up. Get back in here.”Rick mumbled, patting the pillow beside him.

“That-that’s all you’re going to say, Rick?” Morty said inhorror. “A-a-after everything that’s just happened last night? Do-do you evenrealize what happened between us? I won’t—I shouldn’t—I-I-I can’t even look atyou straight anymore!”

“Well, those are the side effects of overdosing on thoseKalaxian crystals, Morty, w-w-what do you expeUUGHt?” Rick sighed. “I don’tthink y-y-you should be worrying about that. I think you should be worried aboutthe fact that someone uploaded a-a-a video of you dancing the funky chicken tothe galactic Interweb. Y-y-you’re an interplanetary laughingstock, Morty.”

“That’s not worse than havingan orgy with—”

“Ugh God, again with the yapping. No one’s going toremember, Morty. No one’s going to care about this. This is literally businessas usual on Proxinius-A.” Rick shuffled in his seat, giving an expectant look tohis grandson. “Now stop fucking woOOUGHrrying about it. Y-y-you even did greatyesterday. Blew my mind. Now will y-y-you just get back in here?”

[stopmeifyouvealreadyheardthisone]

And Then It Got Weird: “Baby Games, 6 Weeks to 1 Year”

Yes, that’s right, folks, my oldest brother was partially raised by the record player. Possibly me, too. I have no clue what I’m about to listen to. Uh... Album cover looks...

... creepy...

Honestly, this is going to be my first real exposure to anything meant for parents. I’m roughly as terrified about the prospect of listening to this as I am about the prospect of eventually being partially responsible for the creation of a shrieking, poop-drenched nightmare-creature that stole half my DNA. I’ve been putting this off as long as possible while still knowing that when I go to bed, that child’s face is going to be, like, eight feet away from mine. I must write this. Or it will be watching me. Only by listening to the Sound of the Beast can I banish it to the dark cardboard box whence it came. Only then will its grim visage be stricken from my memories. Only then will I finally be safe from its complete lack of a pelvis. 

I wholly anticipate just turning this off. But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to sit through it. 

Oh, good. Whimsical accordion music. 

I can feel my brain starting to melt on the outside and run down the little folds.

They’ve brought in a cheerful clarinet. 

Please, no. Please, no, let’s not do it again, disembodied voice that I immediately picture as being a skinny guy in a blue polo shirt and huge wire rimmed glasses.

“Let’s cheer for the baby team!” 

Please let it stop. There’s a baby cheerleading team. There’s probably some information on whatever the fuck is supposed to be happening in this little booklet. I just can’t bring myself to look inside. 

Now there’s some weird, plonky harp music that’s accompanying a woman who is way too enthusiastic about making babies put their toes in their ears. 

It’s always creeped me out when shit for babies refers to your baby solely as “Baby”. They’re always afraid to use the possessive, as if people are trying to raise other people’s children all the time. Or as if there’s some shadowy cabal of baby-lib activists that have secretly been putting subliminal messages in baby products to make parents give their babies more freedom by not viewing them as something for which to be responsible, and that’s why kids these days all seem to be fucking insane. That’s not their end goal, though. They won’t stop until the cult of childrearing has gained so much sociopolitical power in this country that half the Supreme Court stands in direct opposition to the idea of a marriage that produces no offspr--wait... 

MOTHER OF GOD.

Right as I typed that, there was a huge. ominous synth stab. Do you think I’d get sued if I uploaded some of this? 

My brain is now a big pile of mush lying at the bottom of my skull. 

It must be the weird Casio keyboard demo music. 

That kind of weird, “Eh, that’s close enough to a piano, let’s just keep working on those 76 different variations on the sound of a marimba. That’s where the real money will be. The bedroom marimbaist is an untapped market, Jerry! UNTAPPED!”

“Get ready to meet Mr. Chin! Knock on the door! Who’s there? Why, Mr. Chin! Come right in. And shut the door.” Draw the drapes. Cindy, get the kid out of here. I don’t want him to have to see this. Now what do you want, Chin? I told Guangzhou I’d have his money by Thursday, it’s just taking longer than I expected to--

No. No... Not here. Please not here. 

oh, my god.

(press play for sp00py [unironic cw: actually pretty realistic torture noises])

MAMA PULLS YOUR LEGGIES OFF, LEGGIES OFF, LEGGIES OFF

MAMA PULLS YOUR LEGGIES OFF, JUST LIKE THIS. 

FIRST WE SEVER ONE FOOT, ONE FOOT, ONE FOOT,

FIRST WE SEVER ONE FOOT, JUST LIKE THIS.

Note: One week has passed. My mind has not yet healed, but I think the worst of the nightmares have gone. 

Time again to tread into the mind-shredding horror of the demon’s maw.

“Together we’ll smile

Together we’ll coo

We’re going to play snuggles together

Maybe we’ll dance

Maybe we’ll rock

But whatever we do we’re together.”

UNTIL THE STARS FALL, SCREAMING, FROM THE BLOOD-RED SKY. UNTIL CONTINENTS SINK BENEATH THE ROILING OCEAN. UNTIL THE WORLD FLIES WITHOUT A TRACE INTO THE ETERNAL NIGHT, WE WILL SHINE TOGETHER. OUR COVENANT UNBROKEN, OUR SOULS BOUND WITH THE GLISTENING THREAD OF TIME ITSELF.

I thought I had prepared myself. That week spent mainlining hardcore dissociative drugs and doing noga (nihilist yoga, in which you lie flat on the dirty ground and shriek wordlessly into the yawning void-pit that lies at the center of human existence), if anything, only heightened the psychic agony of listening to such an obviously tainted record. Because if I truly do not exist, and through some horrific accident of chemistry, geometry, and electromagnetism, this record does... 

What is it all here for, anyway? 

The next song is called “Feather Play”. This record just entered a whole new realm of fucked. Why did I volunteer for this? No record collection is worth having to endure this. This is “Don’t Stop Me Now” at the end of Shaun of the Dead, except it’s not a joke. This is some deep web shit wrapped in a pink and yellow package. 

“Legs Up, Boo!” does have some serious potential as an ironic tech-house remix. That is literally the only redeeming quality I’ve found in my journey into the nightmare dimension, where hell is given life. 

But that’s it. It’s over, Sam. 

God damn, that was torturous. The worst part is that at one point, I lost half the project file in Audacity, so I had to listen to half the record all over again. 

I genuinely wonder if there’s a way to attach an audio snippet of any of this. It was truly disturbing. Not in the way that watching someone club a baby seal is disturbing, but disturbing in the way that an old, crumbling statue of a clown is disturbing. All gleaming and polished and horrible, watching you blankly with its huge and sightless eyes. 

Imagine the music that would play while you looked at this fucking nightmare creature, knowing that for the last fifty years, it’s been turning the people in this dying late-Communist mining town into concrete simulacra that goose-step all over the Baltics, pumping jaunty vaudeville music out of their motionless faces. It’s going to take a team of sixteen people four days and twelve lives to figure out how to suppress the infrabass frequency it produces that shears electrons off of the atoms in our body and turns us into silicon. That’s the kind of music that is on this record. All because some kind of mucus-person with access to a keyboard thought it was the sort of thing that the kiddies would enjoy. 

Media: Most likely preserved with dark and forbidden magics/10

Music: Deeply unsettling/10

[curatedpetals]

I, Me, and Myself

I decide to stay and start shouting in joy at the people in the black robes who wave frozen ribbons made of snow. I grab the sad-looking boy and wrap my bony arms around his shoulders. I glue all of my blister-filled fingertips on his head, so tightly that they practically disappear within his greasy hair follicles. I feel both of my feet twist into thick neon-colored plaited rope that the boy lifts up into the crisp night air. Sobbing violently, he rips apart the rope into thousands of strands and ties them around the pine trees growing under the swamp. I emanate weak blue fire on the edges of my body and produce the divinity sword from underneath my heart that goes through my backbone. Blood rushes through so fast my flimsy veins are ready to burst. We look up to the blinding night sky where the white lights emitted by the stars appear to engulf the remaining black space. If we want to discover the moon, we have to start looking into the river polluted by the clouds instead of the fallen leaves. My tears slowly dissolve with the sand and white dust, creating flows of frozen flowers that circulate freely through the damp rubber floors. It seems that the overly shiny sky only pretends to topple down the rusty orange street lights, while at the same time it manages to erase our memories.

As I drag my oversized purple suitcase across the sleek marble floor, I discover lines of colorful buckets in front of me as if it is provoking me to just give up already. I keep ignoring them but they inch closer to me, until I am aggressively separated from my own fragile mind. My jawline drops to the floor and I turn into a human-sized yarn scarecrow with a bulging coat that is on the verge of melting. My torso is as thick as the library shelves, while my feet are as thin as an electron. I throw myself onto the ground and my brain crushes into pieces of glistening pink-shade pearls. I roll over to the scattering pearls and desperately wipe them all clean. Before I can properly bend my body forwards to hide inside of my luggage, liters of tears start flowing heavily from both of my eye sockets, drowning the strangers around me. I notice from the corner of my eye that people are frantically running for the steel door, even though they know in the back of their minds that it will never be opened. They claim that they want the taste of the outside world, but they never collect their sane minds from the nearby lock boxes. What remains is decades of false dedication spent sewing together the torn newspaper pieces.

I sit quietly in an empty oversized auditorium, yet forgetting what I am there for. I hold a piece of thick gold paper on one hand and a wooden cage on the other. I squint my eyes towards the paper only to realize that it has a watch that ticks backwards. Everytime it ticks, my memory span reduces by one second, until eventually I only have a three-second memory. My head now looks like a flattened balloon that has been ironed but does not explode, only loses air from its pores. I then look over towards the cage. It appears to be empty at first, but seconds later the cage is overwhelmingly full of tiny clouded rocks, which double in size every second. A thousand hands suddenly materialize from within the cage and start throwing me the palm-sized rocks. I try shielding my face with my hands before I realize that they are sewn to the red velvet chair I have been sitting in. I shut my eyes tightly and blinding sparks of fireworks coming out of them, battling the ruthless gifts from my coincidences. I can’t blink my eyes as my sleepy eyelids are still curious. After recognizing the resting episodic memories on my lap, my blurry vision turns into a pair of silver bells that refuse to jingle. They are just sitting on my frozen cheeks, drinking a can of expired cold beer while watching the raining stones silently. As the time ticks backwards, each one of the stones turns into dignity that I can never comprehend nor imitate.

I try tucking these moments into my jeans, because I can’t locate the door to get out of my cloudy judgement. I hear noises from the stage and I see my distant friends coming up to the stage. Several minutes pass and they do nothing but stand there while throwing cold stares at me. I raise both of my hands and produce sprays of green neon galaxy from my fingertips. I start painting graffiti on the invisible glass wall that separates me and my friends. Starting from my feet, parts of me are slit open and start transforming into bursts of maroon-colored helium gas. I unleash my limbs and begin spreading myself on the right-side of the wall, like a disarray of organized jungles.The auditorium seats are slowly filled with white roses that will speak the truth if you get rid of the thorns on their stems. I grab one of those and forcefully plant it on my numb head. The rose slowly curls inside of my eardrums and trickles drops of fairies in them. I feel my face is squeezed into my neck and my brain is pushed up into the back of my skull. The melody of disappointment from the fairies start filling my head up that my eardrums blast like a night market. The white petals start dropping and then burning the ground. I run towards the stage, trying to prevent the burning ashes from trickling on top of my bare feet. I rotate my head around to further integrate my face into the newfound world. Little did I know that I would no longer exist.

I walk on a bridge beside a skinny grim reaper with a funny hat, who holds a list of missing souls with him. I blow up a candle and an outdated soul appears with a handful of hot-pink flowers that are shaped like maple leaves. I put my face squarely in front of the grim reaper and I see a hopeless goblin that looks for his bride to end his immortal life. I look into the water underneath me and I notice thousands of tiny butterflies flying out of my stomach. I stare at the maple-shaped flowers and they begin covering my entire body. My feet is uselessly planted into the bridge while I watch the grim reaper walks away and then slowly disappear with the orange haze. Parts of my hands are tightly wrapped around my body while the rest grow branches with maple-shaped flowers on them. I keep standing on the same spot for what feels like an eternity, without signs of anyone passing by. I grow taller and taller that I can see another continent from my sparkling eyes. It is completely destroyed and is full of the missing souls that the grim reaper has been looking for his entire life. Some of them ride their heart, some ride their mind, and a minority rides both. Each of them has an hourglass that connects their heart and their mind. One of them approaches me and carefully places an hourglass on one of my branches. I dissolve with the whirlwind and turn into one of the missing souls. When the rough sand spills on the ground, I grab my ticking time bomb, dye it violet, and then wrap it with my paper eyelashes. I throw all of the lingering feelings and excessive worries into the air. Without looking back, I step onto the thorny passage and draw wrinkles on it.

[jmatik]

Paris: Redacted.

The flight was long and cramped. His six-foot frame did not easily fit in aeroplane seats making him stiff and sore. Inside the airport was loud and bustling despite the late hour. After grabbing his luggage he rented a car and drove into the city. It was well-past midnight by the time he reached the hotel; thoroughly exhausted.  The hour more than luck meant there was no lineup at the check-in counter. A young perky brunette woman who was much too cheerful and spoke much too quickly considering the hour gave him a room key and sent him up to the fourth floor.  He collapsed onto the luxurious bed and quickly fell asleep still fully clothed.

He woke suddenly, and panic filled him for a moment. He looked around the room, everything in its place, clean as a whistle. It came back to him and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was a nice change to be in an organized, clean room, unlike his own. He checked his watch, it was early, and the sun had yet to breach the horizon. He never slept well when exciting things were beyond a single sleep. A shower and fresh clothes, it felt good and he relaxed while he ate a simple breakfast.  He decided against looking at a map, the rendezvous couldn’t be that far. His memory of the city was foggy but it couldn’t be that hard to find.

He purposely moseyed. He took side streets and let himself be distracted by the buildings and oddities of the foreign city. The scenery was beautiful in the early morning light, the perfect mixture of orange morning and purple night turning windows into Monet masterpieces. The smell of fresh baguette filled his lungs, the smells so different from home. The ornate stone buildings from a different time. Somehow he had managed to forget the majesty of the city, years tended to do that to memory. As he approached the meeting place he decided his meandering stroll had come to its end. He found a quiet bench overlooking the river and watched the city wake up. The sun washed the city in a warm orange. How was it that a sunrise here could be so beautiful, back home a sunrise rarely deserved a second glance. Minutes flowed by, the cacophonous soundtrack of a busy city began. Eventually, he rose from his bench and began to stroll again. Lost in thought and architecture he found himself outside a small café around the corner from the Musee d'Orsay. The sun had risen high into the sky, and his stomach growled. He sat at one of the tables outside so he could still feel the fresh air on his face and ordered a glass of red wine, he was in Paris after all.

The minutes passed lazily while he sat and relaxed, soaking in the Parisian atmosphere. He wouldn’t bury his head in a book or his buzzing phone. The scent of the Seine, the honking traffic on the busy streets, tidbits of French conversation as locals walked by. A face in the foot traffic looked familiar.  Could it be? She’s very early. As she neared he was convinced it was her. Her eyes fell on him, widening, her small red lips spread into a broad smile showing off her straight white teeth. “John? Is that you?” She asked as she approached.

“Oh my god! Lindsay!”

He rose from his seat and opened his arms for a hug. Lindsay not expecting a hug jabbed him in the gut with a handshake. They both laughed at the misunderstanding and John pulled a chair out for her.

She sat down John entranced by her striking beauty, a narrow face accented by authoritative cheekbones Long blonde curls flowed elegantly, perfectly placed. Big ocean blue eyes looked back at him, confident in their stare.

John was a day early for the rendezvous. A reunion of sorts for the group he had come to Paris with in high school. Ten years had passed. He had never been back since. This would be his first vacation in what felt like years.

“So, what are you doing here? The meetup isn’t until tomorrow?” Lindsay asked.

“I wanted a vacation so I figured I would start early,” John replied, thinking maybe there was some element of fate at work. This was clearly the universe at work.

“A vacation, good choice. I would vacation here; if I could.”

“Join me. Stay a few extra days, work can wait. We’ll explore the city, drink too much wine and eat too much cheese.”

“If only. My boss would kill me.”

“I understand but I don’t agree.”

The waiter brought a second glass and set it down. John raised his glass and leaned it towards Lindsey.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They both took a swig, more of a gulp than a sip. Silence settled in, sounds of the city became distant.

“So, how’s life?” John spluttered, trying to get rid of the quiet.

“Good, it’s good. Not terribly exciting.” Lindsay said.

Their conversation continued, barely, neither offering acknowledgment of their previous encounter.

Another silence settled upon the pair. John broke, “I’m sorry for what happened!” he blurted.

Lindsay stumbled on her words, “I uh, I’m sorry too.”

John looked around avoiding her eyes. Literally searching for words as if they would be floating in the air.  

“Excited for the reunion? I can’t believe it’s been 10 years already.” She offered.

John sighed relief, feeling the awkwardness melt away.

“Ya, right! I can’t believe it either! It’s crazy, the memories felt so foggy but now that I walk around and see it all it feels like yesterday. I remember so clearly  standing at the top of the Eifel Tower.”

As the conversation continued, the pair fell back into their friendship as if nothing had happened. Talking felt good, it had been several years since they had spoken and they spent most of the morning learning about each other’s lives. Lindsey worked in the business world and had become a bit of a workaholic she admitted. John told her about his work unenthusiastically, he was bored and unfulfilled but that he decided to leave out of the conversation. After eating a luxurious lunch at the café they perused the city, exploring side streets and reminiscing about the last time they had visited. Dinner meant more delicious food and more wine, lots more wine.   Fresh air would bring back clarity after so much drink...

They sauntered around the city. John couldn’t shake the urge building in his gut. Their previous encounter needed to be addressed. It had driven a wedge between them and he realized how much he missed his friend. He couldn’t wait any longer and words burst from his lips.

“Why didn’t you talk to me after?”

“What? What are you talking about John?” She said with a drunken smirk.

He looked at her, his face serious, “the kiss. I want to apologize, or figure it out, or… I don’t know, fix it. I miss you.”

“John I miss you too. Today showed me that, today has been so great, so maybe we don’t need to go over it, maybe we can just forget it. Forget it ever happened.”

“I don’t want to, I think about it, about you, all the time.”

“Really? Then why didn’t you call? Or text? Or even send one single fucking email?” She said in frustration.

John couldn’t meet her eye, “I wish I had an adequate answer… I wanted to, I just…”

“Didn’t have the balls? I know you. John, I know you were too scared, just like you were in high school.”

“You could have said something, a hint, a text, anything. I thought you were pissed!”

“Well I was waiting for you, at least for a while, then I gave up waiting. I don’t want this, I don’t want to fight with you about some stupid, drunken kiss we had years ago.”

“It wasn’t some random event. That night was special! I shouldn’t have brought it up. Don’t worry, after tomorrow we can go back to our lives.” The words had come out too quickly, John, in his drunken state had gone too far.

“Goodnight John, tomorrow will be the last time you see me” Lindsey muttered, the words filled with an icy texture.

They parted, John walked back to the hotel in a huff. He fell onto his bed, punched the pillow a few times in frustration and turned on the TV. Soon he was asleep, again fully clothed.

He woke the next morning bleary-eyed, his brain was trying break through his skull with a sledgehammer. He stumbled to the bathroom and gulped down as much water as he could and climbed into the shower. It brought only a semblance of relief.

As he started getting dressed he overheard the television, a newsreader was talking about a girl who had disappeared the night before. She had last been seen near where he and Lindsey had fought. John panicked, had Lindsey been kidnapped? He grabbed his phone and searched through his contacts, realizing he didn’t have a number to call. He pleaded with the screen, hoping a picture of the victim would be shown. A blurry photo came up on screen, she had blonde hair but that was the only similarity between her and Lindsey. Relief washed over John, he fell backward onto the bed and sighed.

John decided he would make amends, she had been right. It was one drunken kiss and their friendship was more important. He ate alone at the hotel restaurant, his hangover kept at bay by the food. The group was to meet just before noon on the Pont Alexandre III one of the many bridges spanning the Seine.

Amends wouldn’t come easily, he tormented himself with apologetic sentences after breakfast. His mental anguish kept him in the room the moment of departure soon arriving. He left the hotel, walking at a brisk pace towards his parked car having forgotten his headphones inside. Peaceful Paris had returned and the hustle and bustle was far away.

A screeching sound pierced the quiet serenity startling John. A car tore around the corner in front of John and almost crashed into his parked car. White knuckled and heart pounding John could only stare at the vehicle that had nearly smashed into him. The lanky driver with a deep scar across his cheek leapt out and ran to John’s door, he nearly broke the handle right off as he opened the door. John found himself on suddenly on the street, his hands bruised from breaking his fall. His little rented Peugeot screeching away down the street.  

He sat up in a daze, had someone just stolen his car? Who was that? Why didn’t he try to stop him?

John’s  questioning was cut short as two black sedans careened by a little too close for comfort. A car chase? What the hell is happening!. He could only watch as the cars turned the corner. John still scratching his head in bewilderment until a honk erupted behind him. He almost leapt out of his skin at the blast of sound. He turned and saw Lindsey behind the wheel beckoning to him to get in. He did so, asking “Do you know who they are?”

“I saw you get thrown out of your car.”

The car bounded forward, John’s mind was spinning. Driving down the rabbit hole instead of the streets of Paris. Lindsey followed the chase at a measured, careful pace. Corner after corner, the city rushed by, it wasn’t long before they were outside of the downtown. John was now thoroughly lost in every sense of the word. Another black sedan joined the chase it weaved in and out of traffic right behind Lindsey. Attempting to shake the pursuer, Lindsey swerved into a construction site haphazardly turning and winding through the concrete pylons,  eventually parking.

They sat in stunned silence, listening for the grumbling notes of a motor. John couldn’t sit any longer, he got out of the car. Running his hands through his hair as if answers could be pulled from his brain he stood, and then paced and then slumped against the car. The sound of the door banging shut startled John out of his questioning mind. Lindsey appeared in front of him. She crouched down and looked him in the eye, “what, in the fuck, is going on?”

“I… I… have no idea,” John replied.

The distinct growls of an engine disrupted them once more. They jumped back into the car waiting, ready to react. The engine noises growing louder, Lindsey accelerated, The mazelike site made navigation difficult the dust clouds erupting beneath the wheels didn’t help either. All too soon they found themselves at a dead end. Lindsey stopped and yanked the keys out. She bolted to the nearest structure and hid. John was a deer in the proverbial headlights. He froze, the questions refused to let up, muddling his mind and not allowing him to deal with the situation.

He stayed frozen until the car turned the last corner, the dust cloud penetrated by headlights, two yellow eyes peering at him through the haze. John’s feet carried him, fast. His senses and muscles somehow working but his mind still lost. He ran through the concrete maze, footsteps echoed his path. A fence jumped out at him, as he reached the top he looked back to see two shadowed figures turn and bolt back towards the cars. Muscles burning and breath ragged John continued turning this way and that. Down a street, left, then right, run, just keep running.

The world rushed past, he only saw obstacles in his path. He had no concept of time, he couldn’t tell if he’d been running for hours or seconds. He glanced behind trying to see if the black sedan was following. He didn’t see it. He slowed, taking in his surroundings. Nothing looked familiar, not street signs nor a single landmark. The city’s background noise was still there but otherwise nothing. He meandered, lost unsure even of how to get back to Lindsey. Minutes passed, he was walking along a narrow cobblestone street. The sweet smell of baked goods filling his lungs.  A car puttered by, not some random car, he recognized this one. It was his rental car, puttering along; blending in. It turned the corner at the end of the street, John found an alley and figured he might be able to cut it off. Not thinking about who was driving the car. He ran down the narrow alley, at the far end he saw a black sedan, the black sedan, drive by. Pace increasing he was at full sprint as he entered the street. The little Peugeot blocked in by the two black sedans. Feet carrying him forward John moved towards the vehicles. He heard steps behind him, right behind him. Then the world went dark. He was falling down a pit, questions pummelling him.

John woke up slowly, his ears ringing and his vision blurred.