#nobody moves furthest than she does

[zenathered]

As promised, here is Zena the Tav.

[1800titz]

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 

“Easy.” 

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 

“Hey, you.” 

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 

That’s dangerous. 

She’s glad he isn’t. 

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 

Her breath stutters. 

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 

“Would you like that?” 

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 

It’s not. 

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.  

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.” 

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 

The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 

Just friends that fuck.

[kometqh]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝

Pt 1, Part 2, Pt 3, Pt4. Viscount!Captain Rex x Maid!F!Reader The Viscount is a renowned bachelor, known for his kindness, his wits and his charm. Ladies from across the planet swoon over him, visit him, are denied by him. He is a respectable, well-known man. What nobody seems to know is his knack for venturing out into the night, returning home with treasures, jewels, drinks, and most of all, ladies of the night. What does one do when they are caught red-handed, by none other than a lowly maid? Word Count: 4,385 Warnings: none from what I can recall A/N: This is a bit more of a filler chapter, it's much needed to move the story forward and introduce new characters (one included in this) for later on ^^

You didn’t sleep well that night. Nor the night after.

Just hours after the Viscount had informed you of your change in positions, you’d been forced to move to the upper levels of the mansion. You had been gracefully gifted with a slightly larger room, in the furthest corner of the second floor. Your bed looked slightly bigger, felt slightly more luxurious, spacious, even.

By the time you awoke, your back felt stiffer, and your sheets warmer. Your mind felt hazy and disoriented, and the new room hadn’t quite felt like home yet. Your body itched to return to your small closet, the one place you found yourself craving after a long day’s worth of work.

But those fantasies and mind-puzzles could be saved for later. You had to focus on the ‘now’.

As soon as she had been informed, Mrs Opal wasted no time in assigning new tasks to you. Each morning, you and the Steward were to wake the Viscount, you were to prepare his clothing and follow him around as the Steward explained the proceedings of the day before disappearing off to someplace. You were to be a personal barber, daily personal assistant and sometimes caretaker. Not your typical Valet, but you realised there was little you could do.

The Viscount was insistent on keeping you close at all times.

And so, the next time you had crossed the Viscount, he took you by surprise. He hadn’t done so much as even acknowledge your presence. Whether that was for the better, or, for the worse, you couldn’t quite tell yet. The stiffness in your back prevented any more than a few simple thoughts.

Maybe it was typical to do so.

Either way, you were relieved. You did not need the entire staff to see the phantom interactions between you and the Viscount. But no matter what you did, it seemed that the entire household had eyes on the backs of their heads.

That first morning, you had almost received a lashing for simply looking at the Viscount. Apparently, it was in your job description to keep your head low and your voice lower. You were not to utter a word.

At least around the Steward.

Your eyes remained trained on the sharp slope of his jaw, the long blade clutched between your fingers feeling threatening with each precise incision along the tender skin.

Your breathing was steady, your fingers trembling, and your eyes focused as you ignored the burning gaze of the Viscount. He was definitely trying to mess with you. Make you slip up. At this point, you felt like simple game to him. An unsuspecting, grazing fawn.

He watched you with an eager curiosity, studying every inch of your face, like a little toddler exploring nature. This was probably the most intimate he was with a woman without the presence of sexual need or desire.

A curt, relieved sigh escaped you as your fingers carried out the last stroke, leaving the Viscount with a neat, freshly shaven face. You reached for the wet cloth beside you, wrenching the water from it before you gently wiped at his face, removing all excess foam. His eyelids finally fell, separating the two of you, and you allowed your eyes to stray a little, watching drops of water cascading down the expanse of his jaw and throat, before they connected with the towel wrapped neatly around his collarbone and shoulders.

You felt a tinge of pride as the Viscount was visibly relaxed.

You turned away for a moment, towards the chimney. A lone towel had been hung close to it, to ensure it was dry and warm. You observed the flickering, amber flames for a moment, before you returned to the Viscount. You wished to reach out, to feel the sunlight-like warmth of the fire on your skin. Instead, you confided in the burning comfort of the towel.

A soft sigh escaped the Viscount as you pressed the material against his skin. As you moved to wrap it around his face, you were promptly stopped.

“Don’t.” He muttered out, raising a single hand. His eyelids remained closed, and yet you felt more watched now than ever.

Your heart dropped, and the false sense of calm you had managed to conjure up had shattered into a million pieces. A cold sweat bloomed over your skin, your hands paused in mid-air.

“Don’t…?” You repeated, unsurely.

The Viscount took a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t wrap it around my face. Just… Stick to pressing.” Was all he said, his hand dropping back to the armrest.

“Yes, my Lord.” You muttered, giving a slight, courteous nod, even if the Viscount couldn’t see it. The moment felt like an eternity as you gently pressed the towel against his face, making sure it didn’t cover his mouth or nose. The Viscount didn’t protest, and so you assumed that was the most he’d tolerate.

You couldn’t slip up.

You had seen the state of the other girls who had.

Their wounds, if not treated, would quickly become infected. They’d fall ill and were forced to leave. And if they were treated, the scars would run deep into their skin, like valleys that weren’t ever meant to be there. Some would say they still hurt from time to time, even if their last lashing was years prior.

“That’s all, my Lord.” You softly spoke as you stepped away, collecting all the essentials. He took a moment to open his eyes, but when he did, he didn’t leave the seat. His gaze was trained on the fire before him, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. Instantaneously, your body went into full alert. You cleared your throat, attempting to gain his attention.

The Viscount didn’t even turn his head at the sound.

“M- My Lord? Are you feeling unwell?” You asked, keeping your distance. Whatever it was, you weren’t keen on getting involved in it.

After a moment of silence, you heard him sharply take in a breath.

“You’re dismissed.” His tone was ice cold, quiet as he hummed the words out.

You blinked in surprise. Were you supposed to argue? Remind him of his duties? Or leave him be until it was time to leave?

“Y- Yes my Lord.” You uttered, taking all your equipment. As you opened the door, you looked back, giving a slight bow of your head. The Viscount was still staring at the fire, unmoving even as the door slid shut with a soft thump.

Confusion prickled at the back of your head as you headed down the staircase, heading for the washrooms. Skilfully, you ignored the curious stares and mocking whispers as you kept your head down.

You were used to fellow servants gossiping about the daily lives of their employers, and occasionally you’d lend a listening ear. But you certainly did not enjoy feeling like the centre of the attention.

There were more important matters on your mind.

The Viscount was certainly odd; that went without saying.

It was strange, his behaviour. One moment he was intimidating and charming, the next he was oddly distant and quiet. His eyes would haze over with a fog, as if he was miles away in the past.

Whatever it was, you needed him to wake up from it. He had a ball to attend to that evening, and you needed him to feel ready and excited, after all, this year he was intending on marrying. You’d decided you would do anything to gain his trust and help him, although he didn’t need much help in the way of looks and charm…

A familiar voice reached your ears as you rounded the corner

“I don’t know what that girl did, but I do know one thing,” The voice spoke, and you quietened your steps so as to not betray your presence.

“And what’s that, Opal?” A masculine voice replied. It was the Butler, Mr Karr.

“Nothing good will come of this. She knows something that the Viscount doesn’t want anyone to know about, but sooner or later, the entire house staff and town will hear of it,” She paused, and you could hear the heavy sigh escaping her lips, “One way or another.”

You carefully peeked round the corner, looking Mrs Opal and the Butler up and down. Both had busied themselves with washing and drying some glasses.

It seemed as though they also enjoyed indulging themselves in a little bit of gossip.

However, you knew Mrs Opal was right. One way or another, this entire situation would turn sour, and you would be the sole victim of it.

You ducked out of sight and leaned your entire body against the wall. Just wait a little bit, or else I’m going to look suspicious, you thought to yourself. Your arms were slowly beginning to feel uncomfortable, the towels and shaving items were heavy, but you did not want to raise suspicions. Mrs Opal seemed to be the only person in this house that was trying to help you, to some degree at least.

The two didn’t say anything else, settling instead for a comfortable silence, and after a few more moments, you made your way into the washrooms.

You made your presence known as you stepped down into the lowered room, avoiding as many puddles as you could. The Butler glanced to you, acknowledging you with a curt nod.

“I have brought the Viscounts’ trimming essentials, Mrs Opal.” You quietly stated and stifled a laugh as the woman flinched and clutched at her chest.

“Goodness me, Y/n! You do not sneak up on others like this!” She exclaimed, half-heartedly whacking you with a rag on your bottom. A yelp left your lips as you hopped out of the way, narrowly missing a slip up.

“Apologies, Mrs Opal, I didn’t mean to!” You said quickly, “The Viscount dismissed me, it seems like he needed a moment alone, so I’ve brought his towels and tools to be cleaned.” You explained, setting the basket down on the floor. Mrs Ophelia looked towards you and with a nod, returned to her tasks.

“I’ll have a scullery maid take care of it. Now go back, you aren’t to be away from the Viscount for long.” She quickly dismissed you, and with a curt nod, you made your way out.

“That’s the maid?” The Butler was quick to ask as soon as you had disappeared out of sight.

“Careful! She might hear!” Mrs Opal scolded, and as you got further away, her voice became fainter and fainter until it blended in with the other background noises of the mansion.

It only had been a couple of days, but you felt yourself warming up to the woman. Previously, you had known her as a stone-cold, strict housekeeper, but now, now you felt there was more to her stony exterior than she let on.

Or maybe you were tricking yourself.

Maybe she was just gossiping and wasn’t looking out for you. Maybe she was as selfish as many of the others, after all, the life of a servant was anything but pleasant. Who could blame her?

However, there was that small inkling of hope within you; maybe she’d help you when you’d need it the most.  

Those thoughts could be saved for another time, though. For now, you needed to return to the Viscount.

You feared what the Steward, Mr Owens, would do were you to ‘neglect’ your duties for too long.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached your earshot, and you slowly turned your head to check out what was happening. You steadied yourself with a hand on the grand staircase, and quirked a brow as Mrs Opal came into view.

“Y/n, wait!” She exclaimed, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced around. It seemed that she not only caught your attention, but also everyone else’s.

“Yes, ma’am?” You inquired, twisting your body to face her.

“I forgot to mention it to you earlier,” She paused, catching her breath. “I’ll be taking you to the village today, as ordered by the Viscount. Be ready and waiting by five o’clock.” She said as she closed the distance between the two of you, looking up at you with a strange seriousness.

“We’ll be going to the village? Whatever for?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” She said, glancing sideways at the tuned in onlookers, “It seems like we have found ourselves an audience. Scram!” She suddenly exclaimed; your body flinched in response. She really knew how to raise her voice.

It seemed to work though as the scullery maids and footmen dispersed, leaving the grand staircase as empty and quiet as it was meant to be. It wasn’t common for staff to linger around the area.

“I’ll let you get going now.” She waved you off, descending the stairs.

“Yes ma’am.” You muttered, resuming your climb up.

How strange.

You’d never been tasked with duties that were to take place outside of the manor. What was so important the Viscount was willing to let you go into the village?

You bunched your skirts in your palms, lifting them just enough to not risk tripping. When did climbing stairs become so daunting?

Though your exhaustion was shadowed over by the awe you felt as you looked around the hallways.

Creamy white tapestries, golden accents on railings and paintings expertly placed everywhere. Navy blue curtains were drawn at every window, and you noticed they almost touched the ceiling as you craned your neck. Ruby pink and white roses were perfectly spaced, following the edge of the wall. They lead to different rooms and windows like a path of crumbs in a forest.

You wondered whether that was the Viscount’s influence or someone else’s.

You paused in your steps.

A figure stood atop the staircase caught your attention. You recognised him.

Lord Wolffe, one of the Viscount’s older brothers.

What was he doing here? As far as you were aware, he was always hiding away in his study, or disappearing for drinks late at night.

And now, he was watching you. His gaze scorned your skin, like a blaster bullet.

Maybe he’d be gone by the time you reached the top.

But with each step, and each glance up, he wasn’t budging. His stare was solely focused on you. You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you reached the last step.

“My Lord?” You asked, keeping your head low. You did not wish to upset another one of your employers.

You ensured to keep an appropriate distance between the two of you. You were close enough to signal to him that you needed to pass, but far enough to not invade his personal space, or make it seem as though you held no respect for him. But the Lord didn’t move.

“Yes?” He asked. You could feel his glare on you.

“May I pass by, my Lord?” You asked, keeping your focus concentrated on his shiny polished shoes.

There was no hesitation in his response.

“You may not.”

Your head raised faster than your mind could comprehend his response.

“Why n- not?” A small gasp escaped you, and your skirts dropped as you clamped a hand over your mouth. A slip up.

“M- My apologies, my Lord. I did not mean to be disrespectful.” You said quickly, bowing your head back down. You could feel your heart thundering against your chest, so quickly and strongly it almost hurt.

He did not respond. Instead, his feet moved, and his fingers cupped your chin.

“Look at me.” His tone was sharp yet gentle, like a blade, falsely comforting until you applied enough pressure to cut. Hesitantly, you allowed him to angle your face until it met his, but your gaze concentrated on the wall behind him. You did not wish to anger the Lord.

“M- My Lord?”

He studied your features with a scolding stare, causing heat to rush up to your face and shivers down your spine. What could he want from you, a lowly servant?

“You’re an obedient one, aren’t you?” He questioned, his hold on your chin tightening. Were you supposed to grant him a response or nod your head or remain quiet? Mrs Opal did not prepare you for this type of situation. You weren’t even sure she herself had ever encountered such one. You weren’t even sure this man before you wasn’t crazy.

You opted for the obvious; remain quiet.

He leaned a tad forward, just enough for you to feel the coldness of his presence on your skin. Your shoulders stiffened, almost shrinking back into your body. A lump formed in your throat and you fought hard to swallow it. You felt trapped, and in all honesty, you were.

He studied your features like an open book, his gaze dragging over each blemish and dip with clear precision, as if he did this kind of thing often.

You’d definitely have bruises on your chin if his nails added on any more pressure.

But his tone held more hostility than his touch ever could.

“What do you know? You’ve had my brother stressing all morning, ad’ika.” He hissed out, squinting at your figure. Maybe his cybernetic eye can read minds, you thought. Maybe it could see the quickening of your pulse or the dilation of your pupils.

Did he find this amusing? Certainly. But you were officially shitting yourself. Trembling in his hold. What did he want from you? Why was he so strange?

“I- I don’t know My Lord I-“

“Ah ah,” He tutted, easing his grip on you, “Don’t forget your manners, we only talk when talked to.” He taunted, abandoning your chin with a harsh tug. His knuckles moved to the side of your face, gently dragging over the skin before cupping it in his palm.  

The contrast between his touch and his tone was giving you whiplash.

His face neared yours, until you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over the shell of your ear. Your eyes widened and your hands felt clammy against the soft fabric of your skirts.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard or seen, ad’ika,” He paused, his hand tilting your head until your gaze was locked with his, “But the moment word gets out, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”

“Wolffe?” His own voice called out, but from your far left. You didn’t dare to look away, too afraid he’d snap your neck with the lightest of touches. Gods, what did you get involved in? Why?

Wolffe was quick to retreat, leaving your stunned figure breathless on the staircase.

The Viscounts’ steps were light as he made his way over, eyeing his brother curiously. He was well aware of just how menacing Wolffe could be, and he did not wish for him to scare you so awfully.

“What are you doing, brother?” The Viscount asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Just familiarising myself with your new maid, Rex.” He replied, sending a nonchalant nod your way. The Viscount glanced between the two of you with a raised brow.

“By scaring her shitless, brother?”

“Precisely.”

The Viscount took a long inhale, staring his brother down. Wolffe didn’t back down, and the two remained motionless for what felt like an eternity.

And there you stood, watching like a bystander with tense shoulders and a rattled heart and a running mind. That Wolffe Lord was definitely crazy.

“It’s a good thing I’ve caught you doing this,” He paused, throwing a glance your way, “Or else someone would’ve suffered the consequences.” He continued, walking past his brother. He halted at the top of the staircase, staring down at your frozen figure.

“Let’s go, we’ve got things to do and places to be.” He said directly to you, brushing past you without another word.

 Your mind seemed to be frozen as you remained in your place, looking up at the Lord. He returned the stare with a small smirk gracing his lips.

Damn, he was attractive. But awfully strange.

With a flutter of your eyelashes, you threw the Lord one last weary look, your hold on your skirts tightening as you turned and followed the Viscount.

The trek down was quiet, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. You weren’t even sure you should be conversing with the Viscount. Mr Owens would surely have your head for that. But how could he if he wasn’t around to see…?

Your mind kept wondering back to Lord Wolffe.

His character intimidated you, to put it lightly. His stare never relented even when his brother called out his name. He was interrogating you and was so keen and set on getting his questions answered. But you couldn’t. The Viscount would have your head for it.

However, he had impeccable timing, it seemed. Or Lord Wolffe has indeed done this before and the Viscount just knew.

You observed him, noticing how his blue and white armour hugged his body protectively. Beskar. Pure, expertly forged Beskar. Lord Wolffe was also wearing it. It was a symbol of the Mandalorians, though you weren’t aware of the Viscount and his brothers having any connection to the planet of warriors. What was he doing on the planet of Naboo?

You were the Viscount’s maid, and yet you knew so little about the man.

Where he was from, his age, his past, his favourite foods and favourite activities, even the place you were so urgently needed at right in this moment.

So, against your better judgement, you spoke up.

“My Lord?” Quietly, you asked. No response. Not even a hum.

“My Lord, may I ask where we’re headed to?” You tried again, watching each one of your steps. The Viscount didn’t look back, though his steps slowed.

“The Housekeeper didn’t tell you?”

“Mrs Opal?”

“Yes.” He replied, turning to face you as he stepped on the floor.

“She informed me that her and I would be visiting the village later on.”

“Well, we’re moving it to now. I’ve got other businesses to attend to later,” He was prompt in his response, and proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the mansion, “Inform her of the change of plans, will you?” He turned back to face you once more as the footmen opened the doors.

“B- But my Lord- “

“I’ll be waiting in the carriage.” He said nonchalantly, disappearing through the doors, leaving your gaping form in the hallway.

“What the-?” You questioned but shook your head. It seemed that there was a behavioural pattern between The Viscount and his brothers; so far, they all seem to be giving you whiplash. Their words and actions don’t match up, from what you’ve seen from two of them so far.

You were quick to inform Mrs Opal, though you weren’t quick enough to escape her confused frustration.

“He wants to what!?” She asked angrily as she wiped her hands on a dry rag.

“The Viscount insists on leaving for the village now.” You repeated, flinching as she tossed the piece of material to the side.

“That isn’t what we agreed on! He’ll have to wait, I need to change my skirts, I mean look at me!” She exclaimed, straightening her arms out and down, pointing at her clothing, “I’m drenched from head to toe.”

She let out a frustrated huff, before stomping out of the washrooms.

“Inform him he’ll have to wait; I cannot leave looking like this.” She sent you off with a glare, though you knew it wasn’t truly aimed at you. She knew you were just the messenger.

“Yes ma’am.”

With hurried steps you made your way back to the Viscount. The sun was shining brightly, the breeze cool against the humidity of the day. The sky was crystal clear, the grass an inviting lime green, and the carriage stood out like a scarecrow in a farmers field. It was a tall, mahogany brown thing with purple curtains and two horses. It was a bit too fancy to head to the village in, but it wasn’t up to you to decide.

The Viscount had a reputation to uphold, after all.

As you neared the carriage, you were ready to open the door to it yourself.

But the carriage driver beat you to it, and aided you inside with a practiced perfection. He did this on a daily basis, and yet it still took you by surprise when he asked to hold your hand, letting you use him as support to climb in.

The Viscount was already there and waiting, reading over some sort of pamphlet. His eyebrows were furrowed and eyes focused even when the soft click of the carriage door closing reached his ears.

“So?” He popped the question without ever drawing his gaze away from the words on the page.

“She said we’ll have to wait, my Lord. Mrs Opal was in the middle of washing up the cutlery when I told her.” Your voice was hushed, controlled as your body sunk into the seat, trying to take up as little leg room as possible.

The Viscount sighed loudly and placed the pamphlet down with a whack.

He knocked on the door; impatience clear as a vein popped out in his temple.

“Let’s go now!” His voice was raised, and a few moments later, the carriage slowly began taking off.

“My Lord? Aren’t we going to wait?” You asked, lifting from your seat. You moved the curtains away, peeking through the window and allowing some light to flood the carriage.

“No, I’ve got other businesses to attend to and I need you to be presentable by evening.”

“But what about Mrs Opal?” You paused, furrowing your brows, “I need to be presentable? Whatever for, my Lord?” You questioned again, this time turning your attention to the Viscount. His statement, once processed clearly, had caught you off guard.

With another sigh, he looked up at your staring figure.

“You’re my maid, you’re with me at all times,” He paused, raising his brows and tilting his head, “That means you will be accompanying me to the capital city, and to balls.”

“Oh.”

“And that means you need… New attire.” He continued, looking you up and down to emphasise his point.

“So, we’re going to a boutique, my Lord?”

“Yes, we are.”

[eomayas]

new thing (pt.3) • pcy

pairing: chanyeol x f!reader, age gap

genre: fluff & angst

synopsis: reader discovers shocking news about chanyeols past

warnings: swearing

series masterlist

seulgi drives while you handle the aux, playing songs that you both like and put into a joint playlist called ‘roomies on the road’. you’re currently on the way to mr. kims sons 5th birthday. you tagged along because you like the kims, and want to see their two kids, jisung and jimin. also, chanyeol is going to be there.

nobody, other than seulgi, knows about your little rendezvous with chanyeol. it’s been more than rendezvous, now being a month since you first fucked, and two and a half weeks since your first date. you see chanyeol almost everyday, and stay at his house at least once a week. you’ve moved kind of fast, but it’s pretty easy when you’ve gotten over the hump of having sex.

seulgi pulls up to the kims’ house, parking her car behind mrs. kim’s like she normally does. you both get out, grabbing the gifts for jisung. she bought him a lego set and a stuffed bear, and marked your name on a card.

you two walk up to the door, and she knocks. a few moments later, mr. kim opens the door, a big smile on his face when he sees seulgi. “hi, seul! hi, y/n, thanks for coming!” he says, giving both of you quick hugs. he lets you two in and takes the gifts from seulgi. “you know you really didn’t have to buy him anything.” mr. kim says. seulgi waves him off and tells him she really had to. “the kid is spoiled enough.” mr. kim says, glancing back at you, and you give him a smile.

he leads you two to his large backyard, where a ton of kids run around and adults stand around mingling. you follow seulgi to the table of presents, not really into being left alone without her. “there’s so many kids here, fuck. and ms. choi is here—she’s the one who flirts with mr. kim all the time,” she whispers, leaning in close. you follow her line of sight, and raise your eyes when you see her talking amongst mr.kim’s wife juhyun and a few of the other mothers.

“damn,” you say, shocked at this lady’s boldness.

“yeah, but i think mrs. kim knows,” seulgi says. you snort and look around. the backyard is divided between the children, all of the women pairing together, and the men hanging out. you recognize a few of the men from the bar, but there’s no chanyeol.

you decide to busy yourself with talking to the women while seulgi goes to play some games with the kids. “y/n! it’s so nice to see you!” juhyun says, introducing you to the other mothers. the topics of conversation range wildly in a short span: from motherhood, to their work-life balance, their marriages. but it all gets brought back to you, and they start poking and prodding at your life.

“don’t get married young, y/n,” one of the mothers, mrs. park, says, leaning in close. you laugh awkwardly, marriage the furthest thing from being on your mind. “do you have a boyfriend? are you dating?” she presses, a curious smile on her face.

yes, he just walked outside, you want to say, catching sight of chanyeol entering the backyard. you cant look for long, and you try to play your smile off as you answer her questions. “sort of—i’m just having fun,” you say vaguely, and a round of oohs pass through at your admission. they’re all married and you’re the closest thing to freedom that they’ll get for the rest of their lives.

they try to press you about more details; who are the types of guys you’re dating, how they act, what your type is. all your answers remain vague, and you cast you discreetly cast your gaze across the backyard every few minutes. you catch chanyeol sneaking glances at you too, and it makes you smile every time, but you have to keep that to yourself so you’re not found out. “honestly, i take what i can from these guys, and then im onto the next,” you say, though your ways have changed since getting involved with chanyeol.

the women giggle and they leave you alone about your personal love afterwards, satisfied with your response. when the conversation changes, you take the time to excuse yourself from the group, claiming that you need to use the restroom and want something to drink from inside.

the men crowd around the back door, so you have to walk past chanyeol to get inside. he stands on the edge, his eyes flicking to you momentarily as you walk towards them to go inside. you don’t try to touch him or get his attention, but you really want to pull him inside with you.

making it in, you walk down the hall to the bathroom. you go inside and lock the door behind you.

as you wash your hands, a knock sounds at the door. “somebody’s in here,” you say.

“it’s me,” you smile at the sound of his voice and quickly dry your hands on the towel so you can unlock the door. he lets himself in, his lips on yours in seconds and he kicks the door closed with his foot.

“hi,” you say, a smile spreading across your lips as he pushes you up onto the counter and stands in between your legs.

“hi,” he replies, pulling away, his hands resting on your hips. he smiles at you and you blush, putting your hands on his cheeks to anchor yourself to him. “missed you.” he says, gently squeezing your hips.

you can’t help but blush harder. you don’t know what it is about him, but everything he does makes you nervous or giggly. you thought you’d get over it, but it seems to have gotten worse the longer you spend time with him. “i missed you too,” you say, kissing him again. he smiles against your mouth and pulls his hands down to the tops of your thighs.

pulling away again, you grab the wrist that he wears his watch on. you’ve been in here for at least three minutes, and another second may raise suspicions, especially since he’s been gone too. “gotta go,” you say, sliding off of the counter.

chanyeol catches your waist in his hands again, pulling you back in front of him. “can i see you later?” he asks, his large handing sliding underneath your shirt and splaying across the small of your back.

“you can come over,” you nod. it’ll be the first time he’s actually been inside your apartment ever. he’s dropped you off and picked you up a handful of times, but he’s never been through the door. it’s exciting and nauseating all at the same time—you want to impress him, and your apartment is a shoebox compared to his house.

chanyeol smiles and strokes the underside of your jaw with his thumb. you kiss one last time, your heart skipping every single beat as you hold him before you disappear back into the backyard.

after the birthday party is over and mr. kim’s kids are out down for a nap, you, seulgi, the kim’s and a couple of their friends hang out for a while in the backyard. you sit on the arm of the chair seulgi occupies, chanyeol standing across from the two of you in the circle you’re all in.

mrs. kim comes back from inside with a few beers in her hand and starts passing them around. “you two want one?” she asks you and seulgi. both of you quickly shake your head and politely decline, earning a few snickers from the adults around you.

a conversation breaks out that you and seulgi aren’t really in, and you allow yourself to ogle chanyeol. as always, your nerves lose control as you look at him, though this time it feels worse because he’s taken his jacket off, thus leaving himself in a muscle tank. he runs his hands through his hair and you press your fingers to your lips and look away.

“when’s the last time we were all together?” minseok asks, and you snap your attention back to the conversation at hand. “a few months ago, no?”

jongdae shakes his head. “no, it was over a year ago… before the divorce,” he says. you raise your eyebrows at the mention of divorce, but you sober up when you see mr. kim’s eyes cut to your boyfriend. divorce?

it gets quiet for a moment before mrs. kim speaks up. “speaking of, have you heard from yunhee lately?” she asks, and you feel your stomach drop. you glance down at seulgi and share a look. your friend pats your leg supportively, but you feel like you’ve been thrown onto a stage in front of a crowd of people, naked.

“uh, no, i haven’t. it’s been a few months since we’ve talked,” chanyeol says, swallowing. you try not to burn holes through him with your eyes, but this is all news to you. you’ve never heard of a divorce from him, much less an ex wife. he’s never hinted to ever being married—you feel like you’ve been lied to this whole time; though he’s just guilty by omission.

you can’t seem to focus on anything other than the fact that chanyeol was once married and failed to tell you that, even long after they’ve moved on from his ex. you hardly register seulgi tapping you incessantly on the arm until she pinches you. “hey, do you want to go now?” she asks and you quickly nod, standing up from the chair and pulling her with you.

you rush through saying goodbye to everybody, but accept the leftover cake that the kim’s force into your hands. you practically run to the car the moment the front door closes, diving into the front seat and pressing the start button on seulgis car.

“divorce?!” you scream as she pulls off of the curb.

“oh my god, i know! he didn’t tell you?” she asks, her voice full of shock. you feel embarrassed and slighted by him.

the whole drive home, the two of you freak out about how he couldn’t have told you that. it doesn’t stop, not even when you get inside of the door to your apartment. “i literally don’t even know how to feel,” you say, leaning against the counter. seulgi puts the cake away in the fridge and sighs.

“i know, right. you should talk to him,” she says and it dawns on you that you invited him over.

“oh my god,” you sigh, pressing the heels of your hands into your forehead.

“what?”

“i invited him over earlier—i kind of need you to bounce,” you say guiltily. she shrugs and you let out a breath of relief.

“that’s fine, i’m meeting yunho tonight so,” she says, a small smile on her face at the mention of the latest guy she’s been talking to.

you nod and pull your phone out of your pocket as it buzzes with a text message. you eyes nearly fall out of your head as you see the text on the screen.

chanyeol: i’m on my way up

“he’s here, oh my god,” you say, doing a quick scan of the apartment. suddenly, all of the little quirks that make your apartment what it is, like the lopsided cabinet or the permanent stain on the carpet, become hard to miss. you don’t love the way the paint is chipping on the bathroom door, or the scrape marks on the counter seem so huge.

before you even have time to cover anything up, there’s a knock at the door. you silently scream in the direction of seulgi, and then walk to answer the door.

your stomach flips wildly in your stomach when you pull the door open and see him standing behind it, a smile on his face and flowers in his hand. “hi,” he says, passing the flowers to you, a smile on his face.

you accept them with a “thanks”, and motion for him to come in before you turn to take them to the kitchen. “uh, this is the kitchen obviously. don’t mind the…everything,” you say, frantically opening cabinets in search for a vase. you know you have them, and you know they’re in the leftmost cabinet underneath the sink, but you search everywhere else because your brain cannot process anything properly at the moment.

finally finding what you need, you turn on the water and hold onto the vase with a shaky hand. it slips out of your grasp and chanyeol runs over, catching the bottom of it before it falls into the sink. “thank you,” you say, turning off the water.

“yeah, are you alright?” he asks, placing a hand on the back of your neck, softly kneading at the skin. you nod and don’t meet his eye as your set the vase on the counter and stick the flowers in it.

“that’s the living room and seulgi,” you say, gesturing across the kitchen to the open room. chanyeol and seulgi greet each other and then you walk him down the hall to the bathroom, and then your room. “this one is the bathroom, that’s seulgis room, and this is mine,” you say, pushing open the door to your room. it’s clean, minus the bag of laundry sitting at the foot of your bed.

chanyeol looks around and takes off his jacket before getting himself comfortable on your bed. the contrast between your light blue bedspread and his dark outfit make you want to laugh, but you’re so focused on the fact that he’s really here, in the place that you call home for the first time. “y/n, what’s wrong?” he asks, and you finally look at him and his legs hanging off of your bed even though his head is practically at your pillows.

“nothing,” you say, leaning against your dresser. he squints at you, but there’s a small smile on his face. “what?” you ask, face burning under his gaze.

chanyeol motions for you to come over to him and you walk over to your bed, standing above him. he grabs ahold of your hips and pulls you down onto him, making you yelp in surprise as he brings you down onto him. chanyeol kisses your face when you fall on top of him, one of your legs on the ground for support. “what’s the matter?” he asks.

letting out a breath, you cross your arms over your chest and look down as him. and just as quickly as you find the words to say to him, they’re lost on you. when you look down at him, your mind goes blank and your insides feel gooey.

you roll off of him knowing that if you sit on him any longer there will be no talking. you get off of the bed and stand up to lean against your closet doors, your hands clasped behind you. “why… why didn’t you tell me you’ve been married?” you ask him.

“you never asked,” he says, holding his neck up with one of his arms. you scoff and look away from him.

“don’t be like that,” you mumble, feeling stupid for asking and overall just annoyed at him. “you could have mentioned it.”

“it just never came up. i never asked you about anybody that came before me, did i?” he asks, and that only frustrates you more because that’s completely different.

“chanyeol, ive never been married and divorced! it’s not the same!” you say, running a hand through your hair. “i dont like how you’re acting like it’s not a big deal, because it is for me.” you add. and this is where the age difference between you really shows—he’s experienced things that you haven’t even dreamed of, like marriage, been places that you’ve only begun to wonder about.

he sighs and sits up on your bed. “okay, i’m sorry. will you come here, please?” he says, holding his arms out for you. you shake your head and stay planted to the floor. chanyeol takes the initiative and gets up to walk over to you, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you in close to him. “cmon, don’t be like this.” he says, looking down at you.

you look up at him and sigh, rolling your eyes off to the side because looking at him for too long makes you forget how to breathe, how to think, how to act. “you could have mentioned it, at least,” you huff, succumbing to his charm and hugging him close to you.

chanyeol decides to spill everything for you later, once you changed and laid down on the bed. his ex wife, yunhee, and him dated for two years before being married for only 8 months. he filed for the divorce because he felt like she fell out of love, and because she used to complain about how much he worked. it wasn’t physical cheating, but emotional cheating and it hurt worse. their divorce was finalized less than a year ago, and they keep in contact sometimes, but he claims it stopped once he started seeing you regularly.

it doesn’t feel good, but you feel some type of relief at him being upfront and honest with you. “oh god, did you have a pet together?” you ask, a hand on his chest.

chanyeol chuckles. “a cat. i let her keep it, i’m not really a cat person,” he says smiling up at you. you roll your eyes and he puts one of his hands on your high, hooking it over his lap and pulling you on top of him like earlier. you rest your weight on him and cross your arms over your chest. “you’re sexy on top.” he says, his fingertips dancing underneath the hem of your shirt on your skin.

you hum and let him drag his fingertips across your skin; you both pretend not to notice the goosebumps that arise. “are you still upset?” he asks. and truthfully, you’re not. he at least was honest in the end. and even then, once you looked him in the eyes, it got hard to remember why you were actually upset.

“how sorry are you?”

he smirks and puts his hands your ass, pushing your forward and shows you how sorry he is.

chapter extension: 3.5

[onward--upward]

several sentences sunday!

tagged this week by @eusuntgratie thank u beloved!!

once again from my tashi pov!! i am trying so hard to finish this and it is fighting me w fists!! sorry this is so long <3 <3

Art announces his official retirement on a Friday, a statement he wrote himself going out to all of his social media accounts. Tashi and their PR manager, Giovanni, book him a couple of interviews to do over the phone, all softball questions about what he’s planning to do next. This is also where they get to start soft-launching Tashi’s pivot to Patrick, because every interviewer inevitably ends up asking the same questions: “And what about your wife? What’s next for the incredible Tashi Donaldson? Are the two of you taking a well-deserved vacation?”  And Art, media-trained golden boy that he is, with his mostly-blond hair and mostly-blue eyes and mostly-heterosexual marriage, laughs, shaking his head. “Tashi’s not huge on vacations,” he grins. “She has something exciting up her sleeve, but I’m not going to steal her thunder.”  Something exciting, that’s one way to think of it. It’s how they’re marketing it: an exciting challenge, a calculated gamble. Underdog story, blah blah. They’re even using the old doubles connection between Art and Patrick, some kind of spin on Art knowing his potential better than anyone. (Hah — Tashi is the only one who knows how true that is.) Giovanni is still a little anxious that the move won’t go over well, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter: as long as Patrick can go out on the court and play, Tashi will be happy. The court is where they can do the talking.  That announcement goes out the following week, and Tashi does all the interviews this time. Patrick is the furthest thing from media trained, and a fucking wildcard besides, so they limit him to a twitter statement that is heavily edited by Giovanni before it’s even approved.  Patrick had rolled his eyes. “Nobody who follows me is going to believe I wrote this.” It is, unfortunately, true — Patrick’s twitter is a horrifying mishmash of pop culture, snarky one liners, and the occasional argument.  “Well, nobody follows you anyway, so it doesn’t fucking matter,” she snaps.  It makes Art laugh, which makes Patrick grin, leaning his chin on Art’s thigh where they’re both sprawled on the couch. “You guys are so mean to me,” he whines. “At least my twitter has personality.” 

tagging some bestie beloveds if yall have stuff to share!! sorry, ive been very offline this weekend so apologies for any double tags, just ignore me <3 @shitouttabuck @insecuregodcomplex @eddiebabygirldiaz

@firenati0n @okaybutlikemakeitgay @lemmeaskthedevil

MWAH x

[okiesoapie]

come wind, come weather

kaedehara kazuha x reader

table of contents

TW/CW: descriptions of battle and warfare, implications of death, mentions of blood and injury

✧ iii. red string of fate

The rain is doing nobody any favors. Nearly every tent in the camp was starting to cave from collecting rainwater. You take mental note of that to bring up to the logistics team.

While your role requires you to remain stationed at Fort Fujitou, scouting the area entails a daily sweep of the whole Yashiori Island. Dendro does come in handy when everything is wet, turning your gift into a blooming explosion with each arrow that flies from your fingertips. It was a magnificent sight to behold, even drawing praise from Priestess Sangonomiya. Yet the feeling of your wet uniform plastered against the skin of your back made you wish that the rain clouds would hurry up and evaporate.

Most people are under the impression that wars are purely the clashing of blades. That is a misconception furthest from the truth. Most war “activities” include strategizing, politics, and subterfuge. Even now, Resistance members scattered within the city are slowly brewing dissatisfaction within the Inazuman people. Slowly but surely.

Ironically enough, change is the only phenomenon that is both inevitable and eternal.

You’re busy poring over a map of Yashiori Island under the safety of a canopy. Tracing over areas with ink, marking danger zones and other places for the strange new recruit: a handsome young man with sparkling golden eyes and a floating companion. It was surprising how he managed to become quickly acquainted with everyone in camp with charm that seemed almost otherworldly.

“Here you go! I marked everywhere that’s worth checking out but the squiggly lines are places you should avoid.”

The floating companion, Paimon, was a blunt one: “Thank you so much, Maple! Now, which lines are supposed to be the…not squiggly ones?”

Aether was quick to deliver a pinch Paimon’s side. She yelps and bounces around in pain, which is a strange sight since she’s several feet in the air. He gives you a warm smile before dragging his little friend away by the collar. While Aether isn’t a man of many words, his actions convey himself quite clearly.

You chuckle to yourself since he reminds you of an old friend. While the Young Lord always spoke poetically his actions were clearer than any prose. You could gauge his thoughts with even a slight movement of his brow. Snapshots float by in your memories like a steady stream of water and suddenly you find yourself missing him.

You can still picture the image of sunlight reflecting against his fair hair during the summer afternoons you spent in the garden. It was on a similar afternoon when you taught him that leaves could be used like a flute. He didn’t believe it until you demonstrated a few notes and sound rang through the air with crisp quality.

You hum an old tune, one that the both of you composed on a whim. A bittersweet feeling thrums in your chest and an old realization comes to the surface:

You would never stop missing Kazuha, perhaps that too was a phenomenon both inevitable and eternal.

…

“Remove all threats to Eternity—by order of the Almighty Shogun!”

Lighting crashes, thunder roars. Swords clash against each other. Nazuchi Beach is swarming with both friend and foe. Your boots are heavy with rainwater as your armor clinks with every movement you make. Your crossbow shoots bolts at every visage of a purple uniform. Arrow after arrow, shot after shot, there is no time to be idle. It is your life or theirs.

This is is the battlefield.

“Keep your formations!” Your voice cries out, hoarse but steady. “Stand your ground!”

How many have you taken down? Honestly, you’ve lost count at this point. The moment your target stops moving, you move on to the next.

You deliver a swift kick to a soldier who came too near, pushing him back with a burst of green light. Several of your blooms had already exploded in the rain, leaving dendro damage in their wake. Vines crawl up your arms and by the base of your neck, manifested by the exertion of your vision.

A stray arrow whistles past you. It felt like it tore through your armor, yet the pain hasn’t even registered. You can’t even tell if it’s rainwater or blood running down your arm, with all the injuries you’ve sustained. Weariness seeps through your skin. The Watatsumi Army is growing tired, and so are you.

Suddenly, iridescent bubbles float through the air with a resounding voice: “The wait is over my comrades, now is our moment!”

Her Excellency Priestess Sangonomiya brought forward a surge of troops, overpowering the Shogunate in mere minutes. Your knees buckle while you can watch in both relief and exhaustion. The battle is almost over.

You nearly collapse onto the ground when you catch sight of a familiar figure. A light breeze tickles your senses and makes the hair stand on your skin.

“All forces, retreat!” Shouts Kujou Sara to the Shogunate as they rush to the safety of their base. Your surroundings are a blur of blue and purple, but you can only see red.

Two pairs of eyes lock across the battlefield. Red rubies stare into yours, and thoughts ripple across his gaze like a skipping stone on a calm lake. Time stops, and now you aren’t in Nazuchi Beach. You’re in the forest behind the Kaedahara Manor, bathing in sunlight and the crooning of cicadas.

Kazuha rushes forward when you finally fall onto your knees. You can’t keep your eyes off of him when you finally get close enough. Kazuha has grown past his boyish looks, looking older and more weathered. His eyes seem much deeper than before, matured by loss and hardship.

You reach your palms towards his face and he lets you. Callused fingers graze his cheekbones in silence.

“Maple, are you alright?” Kazuha whispers. The solemn expression that spreads across his face makes you laugh despite the circumstances.

“I am now.”

[maybeimamuppet]

the melted clock

BOO IM POSTING ON A TUESDAY INSTEAD OF A WEDNESDAY BE AFRAID BE VERY AFRAID

lol but in all seriousness happy halloween!! welcome to the halloween chapter ooooooh spooky

tw fooooor

mentioned suicide

and as always if i missed something please let me know so i can add it in :)

enhoy!

----------

Cady sighs as she walks into the art classroom on the first day of school. She’s never really been one for art, but she needs the credits to graduate. 

She’s not quite the first one there, but she’s close to it. Two boys are set up on easels side by side towards the middle of the classroom, and a tall girl with thick, dark hair hides behind her own in the very back row. Cady picks one as close to the front as she can stand to be so she has the easiest view of what the teacher does. 

Her classmates trickle in, some by themselves, and others with a friend or two. Everyone picks an easel and takes their seats on the stools behind them. Their teacher comes in and passes out their (cheap watercolor, to start with) paints, and they get started. 

————-

The first week or so goes okay. It’s mostly about things like lighting and color theory and stuff Cady just has to take in and not act on. 

Then they get their first assignment. And Cady quickly realizes she has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. 

It’s a beginners painting class, so she’s positive that she could turn in the worst thing the teacher had ever seen and still get a decent grade, but it’s not worth the risk to her GPA to turn in anything less than B+ worthy. 

She goes to the teacher after class and gets some helpful pointers. She’s also told the room is open after school if she ever wants to come spend some extra time working on projects. 

Cady takes her up on it almost immediately. 

—————

The room is empty when she walks in, so she gathers her supplies and picks an easel. She’s not stuck with the front of the classroom since the teacher isn’t there and there’s nothing she needs to learn or focus on. 

She settles for the one furthest in the back, by the huge windows. 

She’s just clipped her painting to it to resume working on it when her the hair on her neck starts to stand on end. Is someone looking at me? 

Cady looks out the window she’s next to to see. Nobody’s there, and the windows are tinted on the outside. Unless they were pressed right against the glass, nobody could see in anyway. 

Must just be my imagination. 

Or not. 

Cady jumps as she turns back the other way and sees the girl she saw on the first day standing, staring at her. “Jesus!”

Somehow, she materialized next to Cady in almost complete silence, in spite of being about five inches taller than her and clearly weighing a bit more. She’s certainly not small, by any means, and her clunky boots look like they’d be hard to keep quiet. 

“Sorry.” is her only greeting. 

“No, it’s okay, sorry for screaming at you,” Cady says with a giggle. “Do you need something?” 

“…No. It’s fine,” the girl says softly. 

“Are you sure? You were kinda… staring,” Cady stutters awkwardly. 

“I’m sure. You’re just… in my spot.”

“Oh!” Cady says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“That’s why it’s fine,” the girl says. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I’ll move, you can have it back-”

“No,” the girl interrupts. “For today. You… you have it. I can work somewhere else.” 

She quietly shuffles to one a few rows away and starts setting up her things. Cady watches her for a moment before she speaks up. “…I’m Cady.” 

The girl startles, as if she had forgotten Cady was there. She looks at her. 

“I’m a junior. I just moved here this year. What about you?” Cady continues. 

“I-I’m Janis. I’m a junior too,” the girl says. With that, she’s back to her work, picking up a brush and getting down to it. Cady tilts her head at the girl for a moment before she decides to do the same, and they work together in comfortable, if slightly awkward, silence.

—————

Cady sticks around every day after school that week. Her project could use the work, anyway, and the art room is a surprisingly comforting place to spend an afternoon. The smell of paint and turpentine, the old wood of the easels that have been painted on again and again for generations. The rickety metal stools and the autumn breeze blowing outside the window.

And Janis.

She’s always there. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. But she’s always, always, there. 

“You… really seem to like it in here,” Cady offers as a greeting one day. Janis looks up at her from her easel.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” she replies. 

“No! No, of course not,” Cady says hastily. “I can’t say I blame you, honestly. It’s cozy in here.” 

“It is,” Janis agrees. Once again, she returns to her work. Cady frowns at her for a moment before she picks up her own brush and tries desperately to turn the blob of green she’s got into distinguished blades of grass.

—————

Time flies by, and before Cady’s totally aware of it, it’s almost time for Thanksgiving break. It’s getting cold outside, so she’s even more thankful than she usually is to have an excuse to linger inside the heated building. 

She’s done pretty well, so far. The worst grade she’s gotten on a project was a C+, which is far higher than she was expecting. The wonders of art class, I guess. She has two projects left before the end of the semester, so two more chances to boost her grade as much as she can. Unfortunately, they’re also the hardest ones yet. 

The one she’s stuck desperately trying to get right on the last day before break has to do with anatomy. They were told they could paint any living animal, but the animal had to clearly be in some sort of motion. 

Cady, naturally, decided to work off a photo she had of one of her lions leaping across the savanna. But somehow, with her skills, it just looks like a half-dead blob of orange that has something vaguely resembling four legs and a face. 

She’s grumbling to herself so much she barely hears the, “Could you quiet down a little?” 

Cady jumps. “Oh! Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Janis says. 

She’s working in front of Cady today, so Cady gets to peek and see what she’s doing. She can barely hold back a gasp at what she sees. “Whoa, Janis, that’s amazing!” 

“Huh?” Janis says. She follows Cady’s eyes. “Oh. Thanks.”

Janis has painted a fox. Its black, beady eyes seem to look directly out of the canvas and at Cady. Janis painted it so that it looks like it’s about to leap off the canvas and run amok in the world. Footprints are left in the snow behind it, it kicks up little flurries, its tail is swishing as it tracks the viewer, and Cady finds herself half believing it really will leap out and into her arms. 

“Wow,” Cady repeats. Janis blushes. 

“What… are you painting?” she asks. 

“Oh, uh… it’s meant to be a lion, but I’m not doing so well,” Cady says, rubbing the back of her neck, hot with humiliation. She can’t speak up in time to stop Janis coming around to see her painting. Janis bites her lip so she doesn’t laugh. 

“It’s not bad,” she says, a bit choked around the giggle stuck in her throat. 

“Yes it is, you can say it,” Cady grumbles. 

Janis chuckles. “It really isn’t. This is a beginners class, after all. You have the right idea.” 

“I do?” 

Janis nods. “It’ll help if you add some shadows and highlights. You can paint as big of an action scene as you want, but if it’s just flat colors, it still won’t look like much.” 

Cady tilts her head and looks at her painting. She considers this point, and nods. “I’ll try that. Thanks, Janis.”

Janis just nods and heads back to her own workstation. Cady picks up her brush, adds a bit of brown to her orange paint, and tries adding some shadows to her lion. 

She and Janis exchange the occasional word, but for the most part, it’s another slow, easy silence shared between them. 

—-

Cady packs up her stuff when she thinks it’s as good as she can get it. To her surprise, Janis is still there. Most of the time she’s slipped out the door so quietly Cady doesn’t even notice, let alone get a chance to wish her a good evening or say she’ll see her tomorrow. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Janis,” she says as she ducks out the door. 

Janis looks up at her, and a hint of a smile graces her lips. “You too, Cady.”

—————

To Cady’s surprise, there’s more people in the art classroom after school when she returns to work on their latest assignment after the break. Cady guesses the last project of the semester is probably important to a lot more of her classmates than the rest of them have been. 

There’s a bunch of kids crowded around the easels in the front, talking loudly amongst themselves. But in the back, all alone, Cady can spy the slightest hint of that half-blonde hair she’s gotten so used to. 

“Hey, Janis,” Cady greets brightly. Janis startles. 

“Cady. Hi,” she responds. 

“Why are you working back here all by yourself? You should go join the rest of that group,” Cady says. “I’m sure you could teach them a thing or two.” 

“I’m fine back here,” Janis says immediately, like she didn’t even have to think about the words before they were out of her mouth. She hesitates, looks away, before she adds, “They’d just ignore me anyway. Whether I go near them or not.” 

Cady frowns. “Janis,” she says sadly. “I didn’t know you were being bullied like that. You should tell someone.” 

Janis looks at her for a long moment. Almost like she’s considering something. “I’m- it’s… it’s okay, Cady, really. I like being alone. Kinda beats hanging out with a bunch of high school schmoes anyway.” 

“If you say so,” Cady says. Should she tell someone anyway? Best not to, she thinks. Janis would if she was worried about it, right? If she likes being alone I shouldn’t force her to be overly social. “I’ll just work with you then.” 

Janis looks away from her as Cady sets up her paints on the easel next to her. Cady looks at her, and sees that soft smile on her face again. She smiles to herself and gets to work.  

—————

The last day before winter break rolls around near the middle of December. It’s a slow day. All assignments are turned in, and the students are free to wander around the school as they like. They’re playing holiday movies in the gym, selling various snacks in the cafeteria, and the elementary school students are visiting to put on a holiday musical in the auditorium. 

Cady doesn’t really have many friends to spend the day with. She has classmates she’s friendly with, but for the most part, she’s kind of a loner. Just like another girl she’s gotten to know quite well. And she thinks she knows just where she’ll be, too. 

She stops by the cafeteria to buy a couple of candy canes before she heads to the art classroom. The old familiar smell of paint welcomes her when she opens the door. And sure enough, right in the back, is Janis. 

“Hey Janis,” she greets. She can see some dark hair pop up over the easel as Janis jumps, before the whole head pops out next to it. 

“Hey,” Janis responds. “What’s up?” 

“I knew you’d be in here,” Cady says with a smile, sitting on the counter next to where Janis is working. “I got you something.” 

Janis looks at her in confusion. “Me?”

Cady nods. “Here.”

Janis takes the candy cane and stares at it like she’s never seen one before. “Man. Christmas already?” 

“I know, right?” Cady giggles. “You… don’t have anyone you want to spend the last day with?” 

Janis is quiet before she shakes her head, unwrapping the long end of the candy cane before she pops it into her mouth to suck on. “Not really. I like it in here.” 

“I can tell. It’s almost like you live here,” Cady teases with a giggle as she opens her own candy cane. 

“Would it be a bad thing if I did?” Janis responds in complete sincerity. 

“…No, I guess not,” Cady responds quietly. “It’s kinda comforting, I guess. It’s like you’re part of the room. I know you’ll be here.” 

Janis nods quietly. 

A beat passes before Cady continues speaking, trying desperately to keep the conversation going. “It’s my first Christmas here.” 

Janis nods again. “…Where did you move from?”

“Kenya,” Cady responds. “My family moved there when I was three. My parents are research zoologists. Or, they were, I guess. We went there to study migratory patterns of a specific species of lions. Originally. Then my parents kept observing new things and getting grants to study them, so we stayed. But then my mom got a new job working at the zoo in Chicago, so we moved here.” 

“Kenya,” Janis says softly. Cady nods. “That’s cool. That’s why you painted that lion, then.” 

“Yeah! I’m surprised you remembered that,” she says. 

“It was only a month ago.”

“I guess so,” Cady giggles. “Yours was so much better, though. And thanks for the tip about shadows. You must really know art.”

“I know some,” Janis agrees. “I am still in a beginners class, though.”

“I think you should be moved up. I don’t know how Ms. Gray doesn’t see how talented you are,” Cady says. 

“Talent is in the eye of the teacher,” Janis says poetically. 

“I-I guess so,” Cady agrees. She doesn’t know how to continue with the subject, so she changes it. “Hey, they’re showing Christmas movies in the gym, you wanna come check ‘em out with me? We can stop by the cafeteria on the way and get more candy canes. And one of the lunch ladies made cooki-”

“No.”

Cady frowns. Janis looks… angry, almost. Not quite, but that was clearly the wrong thing for Cady to say.

“I… I’m sorry. No, thank you. If you want to go, you go ahead. I’m good here. Promise,” Janis amends. 

“Well… okay. Sorry to try to drag you away,” Cady says. “Bye, Janis. Merry Christmas.”

“Bye, Cady. Merry Christmas,” Janis echoes, watching Cady as she leaves the room. 

Cady thinks to herself as she heads down the hall to the cafeteria and buys a cookie before joining the mob in the gym. Maybe Janis really does live in there. Cady’s never seen her anywhere else. They clearly don’t have any classes together except art, and they must be far apart all day for Cady to never see her in the halls. She must just go there right when she gets to school and right when classes end. Cady can’t say as she blames her. 

—————

It takes Cady a while to get back into the swing of things when they return in January. She’s about to leave to start her walk home when she remembers she left her painting in the art room instead of packing it up to bring with her. 

She runs back through the hallways as they empty out for the day and crashes into the art room. Which easel was it? Ah, that one! 

She frowns when she looks closer and sees someone drew a little smiley face in the corner. It’s cute, but Cady’s glad she’s already been graded on this one. How rude! 

“You shouldn’t leave your paintings lying around for anyone to get into,” a voice says from behind her. Cady gasps and whirls around. 

“Oh! Janis, it’s you,” she says in relief when she sees her friend. 

Janis raises an eyebrow. “Surprised to see me?” 

“Well… yeah, kinda,” Cady admits. Janis tilts her head and looks at her curiously. 

“Why?” 

“I hadn’t thought you’d be in here, still. Basically everyone else has gone home,” Cady says like it’s obvious. Isn’t it obvious? “They’ll lock you in if you’re not careful!”

“Oh no, how awful,” Janis says sarcastically. Cady glares at her, and Janis laughs. “I’m kidding. It’s fine, I just didn’t realize it was so late. Got distracted.”

“Painting?” 

“You know it,” Janis says with a small smirk. Cady’s grown to love that smirk, even if it is infuriating. The little dimple Janis has on her left cheek and not the right one. That mischievous glint that always seems to be present in those chocolate brown eyes of hers. But they always seem to… soften, just a little bit, when she looks right at Cady. Almost like she melts the tiniest little bit. 

“Well, are you done now? You wanna walk home with me?” Cady asks. 

“No,” Janis says immediately. “I-I’m not done. Not yet. You go ahead, don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to just leave you here,” Cady says sadly. 

“I’ll still be here tomorrow. You’re not leaving me,” Janis says comfortingly. “Really, Cady, don’t worry. You should go home yourself. It’ll be dark soon.” 

“O-okay. Goodnight, Jay. Be safe getting home,” Cady says. She really doesn’t want to leave, but trying to get Janis to clearly won’t go anywhere. Literally. 

“Goodnight, Cady. You too,” Janis says softly. 

—————

When Cady goes to the art room after school the next week, Janis is there, like always. Cady says hi to her and sets up her easel like she always does. 

To her surprise, Janis joins her. She leans casually against the easel, one ankle crossed over the other, and looks down at Cady. 

“Hi,” Cady greets. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever come over to me.”

“I… I want to talk to you,” Janis says quietly, shuffling her rings around her fingers and looking down at her.

“Oh really? Well, aren’t you little miss surprising today,” Cady giggles. 

“I-I’ll leave you alone, if you’re busy…”

“No! No, I’m not. I’m never too busy for you anyway. Sit, girl, sit,” Cady says. She pats the stool across from her. Janis scoots it a little closer and sits down on it. 

She takes a breath. Another. 

“Janis?” Cady asks in concern. 

“Why did you come talk to me?” Janis asks in one rapid breath. “After… after the first time. When you stole my easel.”

“Hey!”

“Why did you come back?” 

“I… I dunno,” Cady says. “You seemed… kinda lonely. I was too. I thought we could be friends. And then talking to you just got easier and easier.” 

“Nobody’s ever… nobody’s done that,” Janis says quietly. “Until you. Nobody’s talked to me.” 

“All year?! Janis, that’s horrible! I’ll tell Ms. Gray, she’ll-”

“No,” Janis says. “You-you think I’m being bullied, right? I-I thought that too. But I think… I think it’s something else.”

What else could it be? 

“I’m not sure yet. But when you and I spend time together, things… come to me. Come back to me,” Janis says. “Sometimes. Not enough, yet. But I think-”

They’re interrupted by the door to the room opening. Cady jumps and looks up to see their teacher. “Ah, Cady, there you are.”

“Hi, Ms. Gray,” she greets. 

“You’re in here alone?” Ms. Gray questions as she sets her things on her desk. “Anyway, I wanted to see if you wanted any help with the lighting assignment this month.”

“I’m not alone, I was just talking with Jan- oh,” Cady says. She’s gone. She must have ducked out when Cady was distracted by the conversation. “Some extra help would be great, thanks!” 

—————

The beginning of February brings with it an absolutely massive blizzard. 

Unfortunately for Cady, it hits right as she was finishing up her artwork for the day and getting ready to head home. She sighs as she hears the wind rushing outside the window and looks to see the snow fluttering down in a thick sheet. She’s gotten used to the snow in America, but trying to walk home in this would be practically asking to freeze to death. She’ll have to hole up until it stops. 

She settles in by the heater and texts her parents to let them know the situation. They’re both at work, so they can’t come to pick her up, either. She’s well and truly stuck. At least she can use her backpack as a pillow and play some math games on her phone. 

“Hey. You’re still here?” a familiar voice says. 

“Janis! I could say the same to you,” Cady giggles. “I was about to walk home, but, uh…” 

“I think Queen Elsa’s coronation must be upon us,” Janis says with a chuckle. Cady doesn’t understand what she’s saying, but she laughs too. “Can I sit?”

“Of course. It’s warm here,” Cady says, scooting her things over to make room. Janis leans against the wall next to her and looks down at her. 

Questions about their last conversation are practically burning in Cady’s gut, swirling around behind her eyes so quickly she can barely see. But, she doesn’t say anything. She knows now that Janis will talk when she’s ready to. She feels it’s best not to bring something like that up during pleasant conversation.

“What are you doing?” Janis asks, ironically being the one to pose the first question of the day. 

“Oh, I’m playing this game,” Cady says. “It’s like a crossword but with numbers instead. I’ve always liked math.” 

“Ew, you like math?” Janis asks with a positively disgusted face. Cady laughs. 

“Yeah. I’ve actually thought about joining the Mathletes team here,” she admits.

“That’s social suicide,” Janis says warningly, but teasingly. 

“I know, I know. But I think they need it,” Cady says with a chuckle. “And I think it would be kinda fun.” 

“Wouldn’t see you in here much after school if you joined them.”

“I guess not,” Cady agrees sadly. “Maybe I’ll wait ‘til next year. I need all the extra time in here I can get, anyway.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Janis says teasingly.

“Hey! I’m getting better,” Cady pouts. 

“You are,” Janis agrees. “Definitely got shadows down, at least.”

“Thanks to you. I got an A- on that lion, by the way,” Cady says.

“Nice,” Janis says with a nod of approval.

“What did you get for your fox?”

“I-I don’t remember,” Janis says with a furrowed brow. “It was so long ago, anyway. Doesn’t matter. Nice job on the lion, though. Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Cady says. “But seriously, you can’t have only started painting this year. How long have you been doing art?”

“A few years,” Janis admits. “I started in eighth grade. I kinda fell away from it for a bit, but I picked it back up a little while ago and stuck with it. I like it. Helps me focus.”

“That’s nice,” Cady says quietly. Janis nods.

A beat passes. Janis inhales and says, “I went to art therapy. That’s how I got started.”

“Oh,” Cady says. Janis nods again.

“My best friend outed me at the end of seventh grade. It got so bad my parents pulled me out of school for a while,” Janis continues, pointedly not looking at Cady. “The bullying. I missed eighth grade. Came back as a sophomore.” 

“That’s awful,” Cady says. “I can’t believe someone would do something like that.”

“I couldn’t either,” Janis chuckles sadly. “But she did.”

“Did… did the art therapy help?” Cady asks. Janis looks away.

“A little. But like I said, I didn’t stick with it long enough,” she says quietly. She looks back, suddenly, and seems to brighten. “But what do you think about it? Are you turning to the art side?”

“Definitely not,” Cady laughs. “I’m a math person through and through. But I do really like this class. It’s hard, like, really hard. I don’t understand how it’s so easy for some people to listen to words about art concepts and then just… do it. But I like being determined to get something right. It’s a nice feeling. And it’s really satisfying if I do get it. And it’s nice to… make something, I guess. And be proud of it.”

“That’s what got me hooked too,” Janis says. 

“You should be proud of what you make. I really don’t understand how nobody else sees how talented you are,” Cady says. Janis shrugs. 

“You do.”

“Yeah, but I’m only one person.”

“That’s enough for me.” 

Cady smiles up at her, and they booth scoot the slightest bit closer.

—————

Cady’s done weeks of research leading up to Valentine’s day. She cannot mess this up. 

North Shore does a rose sale leading up to it. Cady buys one and signs the little note next to it, but asks to take it with her instead of having it delivered in class by ‘Cupid’. The student council member running the stall at lunch looks a little disgruntled by the breach in protocol, but lets her take the flower. Cady buys a chocolate chip cookie from the lunch line to pair with it and heads to find Janis.

And find her she does. Alone, like always. In the art room, like always. 

“Janis!” 

“Jesus!” 

“Sorry,” Cady says, blushing furiously. “I got you something!” 

“Y-you did?” Janis asks, like Cady’s accidentally speaking Swahili instead of English again. Cady nods eagerly, proffering the cookie and flower. 

“Here!” 

Janis looks at them for a long moment before she hesitantly takes the offered gifts. “Thank you.” 

“Um… they’re for-for Valentine’s day,” Cady admits shyly. 

“Valentine’s day?” Janis asks. “Right. I forgot it was even February already.” 

Cady wants to agree with her, but there’s absolutely no way she could’ve forgotten about this day, even if she tried. “I-I’ve been doing a lot of research about it. We didn’t really do Valentine’s day in Kenya.”

Janis had been smiling faintly at the single flower she’s holding, but looks up at Cady when she finishes speaking. “Research?”

Cady nods. “I… I read that people give flowers and sweets to… to people they… like.” 

Janis’ eyebrows raise high on her head. “Y-you…”

Cady nods. “I really like you, Janis.” 

Janis smiles faintly at her. “I like you too, Cady. I feel bad, I didn’t get you anything.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Cady says. “I don’t expect anything. I just wanted you to know.” 

“Message received,” Janis says with a smile. “Thank you. But… are you sure there’s… no one else you’d rather…”

“I’m sure,” Cady interrupts. “It’s been really nice getting to know you, Janis. Even though you look scary you’ve been… really nice to me. You’re one of the only friends I’ve made since I moved here. And I realized a little bit ago that I’d kind of like to be… more than that.” 

Janis looks at her with a smile, still holding her gifts so, so delicately. “I… I’d really like that. Um, Cady…”

“What is it?” Cady asks gently.

“Could you… meet me here after school? Like… after, after school? When nobody else is here?” Janis asks, with a tone so heavy Cady wouldn’t be surprised if she asks her to kill a man next. 

“Of course. I’ll be here,” Cady says. The bell rings, and they both jump. “Oh! Gotta go. See you later.”

Janis nods, and smiles as Cady goes rushing around to gather her things. “Bye.”

Cady waves and rushes out the door without a second thought.

—————

True to her word, Cady meets Janis in the art room after everyone else has left. She thinks this is technically trespassing at this point, but at least if they get busted she and Janis will go down together. 

“Janis?” 

“Cady.” 

Cady jumps as Janis’ voice rings out through the dark classroom. All the lights have been turned off for the day, so the only light comes from the setting sun outside the large windows. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Janis responds quietly.

“What did you need?” Cady asks gently. Janis nods.

“I want to talk to you,” she says. 

“Oh.”

“Not- you haven’t done anything wrong,” Janis says hastily. “The opposite, if anything. I-I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cady breathes with a smile. “But… what did you want to talk about, then?” 

“Do you remember a few months ago, when we were talking about me being… bullied? Ms. Gray came in to help you,” Janis begins. Cady nods. “I… I’ve remembered a lot, since then. God, where do I even begin?” She sighs. “Hey.”

“Hm?” Cady hums delicately.

“Let’s go outside.”

“What? But every time I try to get you to leave, you-”

“I know. But let’s go now,” Janis says. Cady frowns in confusion, but she pulls the door open. Janis gestures for her to go first, so she does. What is going on? 

Janis props the door open and takes a few steps back. She runs at the open door full tilt…

And bounces off. 

She lands on the hard tile floor with a dull thud and a pained swear. 

“Janis, what?” Cady whispers in disbelief. “If you’re taking up mime, now’s not the time to show me.”

“It’s not an act,” Janis says. 

She punches the open space as hard as she can, but as soon as her knuckles would pass the threshold, they bounce off again. Janis tries and tries, but no part of her body ever manages to make it through the doorframe. Cady can’t believe her eyes. She steps back through the door as easily as ever. 

“Janis,” she whispers. 

“I can’t leave,” Janis says, turning to see her. “I’m stuck.”

“Janis, what-what do you mean?” Cady asks shakily, feeling tears start streaming down her face. 

“I didn’t notice at first. But I’ve always been in here, Cady,” Janis responds. “I wake up here every day. After a while, I fade away, and then wake up again in the same place. I’ve always been here.

“I-I said I had started to learn things, since you started talking to me. Remember things. And I… I remember now,” Janis says. “I think you know too. Why-why nobody else talks to me. Nobody else notices me.”

“They… they can’t see you,” Cady realizes. Janis nods.

“I’ve been alone here for years. Kids would come and go. I noticed… a few weird things, but nothing really stood out. But nobody ever, ever talked to me. I tried to leave, and every time, I just bounced back. I got desperate. Started dancing around the classroom and screaming at the top of my lungs. And nobody noticed. Nobody… nobody could see me.”

She turns to look at Cady with tears streaming down her face. Cady reaches for her. “You-you’ve been here for years?”

Janis nods. “I can’t feel or sense time passing anymore. I’ve seen… at least four Christmases and Valentine’s days go by, in here. I can’t be sure exactly how many, anymore.

“Until you. You came, and you talked to me, like it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. The first one in years. And you… you wouldn’t leave me alone. As we talked, I started remembering things. Just little… flashes, here and there. I started to put things together. To remember. Remember why I can’t leave.”

She takes a step closer to Cady with a soft sob. Cady echoes it. “You’re a ghost.”

Janis nods again. “I-I killed myself here, Cady. I’m not here. I never-never have been. I’ve been gone for years,” she sobs. “My-my internal clock broke with the rest of me. That’s why-why I don’t recognize time anymore. That’s why I’m stuck. Every day, every single day, just repeated over and over and over until it lost… until it lost any meaning. Until you.” 

Cady gasps quietly as she looks at the beautiful girl before her, and notices she can see the wall behind her, through her. Janis… is fading. Disappearing before her eyes. 

“I’m not being bullied. I’m not being ignored,” Janis continues. “They can’t see me. I’m not here.”

“But-but you are!” Cady begs around a sob. “I can see you! I can talk to you!”

Janis is getting more and more translucent as they keep going. She shakes her head. “No, Cady. I haven’t been here for a long time. Not really. I’m… I’m sorry things had to end this way.”

“End? What do you mean end?” 

“Cady,” Janis says. Cady sobs at how echoey her voice is, how far away she really sounds now. “You… you reminded me. You got me unstuck. I have to go.”

“No, Janis, please!” Cady begs, falling to her knees in tears. Janis crouches down and tips up her chin. She’s so cold. 

“I don’t have a choice, Cady, I’m sorry. But listen. I… I have no regrets. I chose to do what I did, and I chose to do it here. I… I wish I hadn’t, now. I wish we got more time together. I would’ve loved to… to talk with you more. See you learn more about painting. Get to know you. Touch you. If I wasn’t… if I wasn’t like this, I would’ve loved to know you.”

Cady throws her arms around her. She can feel Janis, softly. Her cold arms wrap around her too. 

“I’m not in pain,” Janis whispers. “Because of you. But because of you, my… my clock ticks again. My spirit remembers. I remember. And I have to go.”

“No you don’t,” Cady sobs. “I-I’ll come every day, even on the weekends! I’ll come talk to you! You have to stay! You-you can’t go, Janis, you can’t! Dammit, you can’t leave me! If-if-if I do… if I come enough, you-you might be able to leave, someday! I’ll do it!”

“No, Cady,” Janis says, her voice echoing softly in Cady’s ear. “I’ve… I’ve been making up for lost time, with you, my love. You told me everything that happened this year. Even when I was a bitch and didn’t respond or even say hi, you did. The whole year is already done. My… my spirit got to make up for the time I never got to spend here. And… and Cady, I’m… I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. But I’ll… my spirit can’t stay here forever. My lost time is fulfilled. I’ll stop soon.”

Janis is talking right next to her, in her ear, but her voice is so soft, so distant, that Cady can barely hear her. 

“Don’t cry,” Janis begs around a sob of her own. “I… I’ll see you again someday.”

“Janis, no!” Cady begs, holding tight to the cold, fading form of her beloved in front of her. “No, wait, please! I-I still… there’s so much… so much to tell you. I don’t want this to be-be the last time.”

“It won’t be,” Janis says, with the burning intensity of the strongest oath. “Please, don’t cry. There’s nobody here to mourn. I’ve been gone for a long time, Cady. You’ve given me more than enough. I’m… I’m okay, Cady.”

“But-”

“Cady. Thank you. I love you.”

And with that, Cady’s arms hit her own chest. The coldness is gone, and Cady collapses to the ground. Nothing is there to hold her up. “Janis?!” 

Nothing. 

Cady frantically pats around on the ground, desperately searching for something she knows deep down… isn’t there. Never was. “No, Janis! Please!”

No one answers her.

—-

She stays there a long time, crying and screaming and cursing the world. But when her tears run dry and her throat is hoarse and scratchy, she picks herself up and wipes her eyes. She grabs her backpack and leaves the building. 

She doesn’t look back. 

She walks to the library. To the newspapers. Janis said she’d seen at least four. Four years… 

She finds her in a newspaper from six years ago. In the obituaries. Her photo is there, the same as the day Cady met her. That bright smile, dyed blonde hair with dark roots. Those beautiful brown eyes that Cady fell in love with in the first place. 

Janis Sarkisian, a local student, was found deceased last Friday afternoon by a janitor at North Shore High School. Sarkisian was a junior at the school and died by suicide in one of the art classrooms. 

She is preceded in death by her father, Luca Sarkisian. She is survived by her mother, Juliette Sarkisian, and her younger sister, Juliana Sarkisian. 

Janis was a bright, funny, rambunctious young girl and a joy to be around. She will be dearly missed by all who knew her. In lieu of flowers, the family ask that loved ones donate to the national suicide prevention organization, bullying prevention organization, or the North Shore School District arts department. Her memorial is to be…

Cady traces her face with a finger. She really was gone. The whole time. She was never there. 

She goes home and anonymously donates to the arts department. She leaves a message or just two words. 

For Janis.

—————

Cady doesn’t want it to, but time passes. She almost forgets Janis won’t be there anymore when she walks into art class. 

Eventually, she gets used to it. Kind of. 

She moves on.

She… forgets.

In the spring, there’s a showcase for students in the painting and photography programs to show off their progress through the year to friends and family. Cady dresses up nice, does her hair and a little makeup. She smiles as she reminisces on all the paintings she did. All the work. All the progress she’s made.

She stands next to the little gallery of her works hung up on the wall and accepts compliments and congratulations from some parents, answers questions about them from a few others. 

The hair on her neck stands up as she feels someone… watching her. She turns around.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you,” the girl says when she notices Cady looking back. “You just… you look really familiar.”

“You do too,” Cady says, tilting her head. She has short, dark hair, cropped to her shoulders. Dark brown, shining eyes. Almost like… but it can’t be. “Do we know each other?”

“I… I don’t know,” the girl says. 

“I’m Cady,” she says quietly. The girl’s eyes widen. 

“I’m… Janis,” she says. Cady feels her own eyes almost pop out of her head.

“You… no you’re not. You can’t be,” Cady says, feeling all the blood drain from her face. “Janis is… she’s…”

“Dead?” Janis asks quietly. Cady nods, biting her lip so she won’t cry. “I thought so too.”

She opens her wallet and pulls out an ID. Sure enough, Janis Sarkisian is written clear as day. The birth date is the same. 

Cady looks closer. Her hair is all brown, now, but… those are Janis’ eyes. Her dimple on the left side but not the other. That smirk. 

“Janis!” she sobs, throwing herself at the girl. “H-how?”

“I’m not sure,” Janis confesses quietly, squeezing her back. 

She’s warm, and solid, holding Cady tightly. She’s… alive. Memories start flooding Cady’s mind, things she and Janis did and said that she had already forgotten. They return so quickly she can barely keep up. 

“Cady,” Janis whispers, and Cady knows the same thing is happening to her. 

“How? How are you… how are you back?” she whispers through a thick, tearful lump in her throat.

“I don’t know,” Janis responds, pulling back to look in her eyes and squeezing Cady’s biceps. “I-I woke up in the art room again. But… different. And… and I left, Cady. I… I couldn’t remember anything since I had died at first, but once I left the room… things came back. I knew I had to find… someone. I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

“So have I,” Cady whispers, cupping Janis’ cheek. She almost can’t believe how real this is. How warm Janis’ face is, how wet the tears streaming down her face feel on her fingertips. 

“I’m here now,” Janis says softly. “To stay.”

“Stay with me,” Cady whispers desperately. She gasps as Janis leans in to kiss her. 

“Always.”

[moreliketearsofpain]

Stay | Din Djarin x Reader

Part 6 of my ongoing Mando fic, 'Weakness'

Part 1 .. Part 5

Full story also on Wattpad or search 'weakness' on my blog

The door closes behind you, leaving Din alone in the dimly lit bedroom. He waits a moment before finally removing his helmet, setting it on the table. He sits at the table, making sure to take the opportunity to savor the hot meal. Ask her to join you. Tell her to stay. Desperate pleading thoughts ring in his head. A longing. He can't deny he enjoys having you around. Despite having argued and fought in someway every time you met, he liked it. You added something, a sort of excitement. He knew what it was. He tried to play dumb, to feign ignorance to fool himself but truth was he knew what he felt, he was simply in denial. He tries to ignore it, doing his best to focus on the food, but it doesn't take long before his bowl is empty. She wants to stay. She'll stay if you ask. Tell her to stay. A gentle tapping at the door brings him back this time. He stacks his bowl on top of Grogu's and stands, placing his helmet back on and moving to open the door.

"He's getting pretty good already." you smile brightly as the door swings open, the child cheerfully waving his ball around. Beneath his helmet, Din smiles too.

"Guess he just needed the right teacher." that hint of warmth had returned to his voice. Grogu extends his reach towards Din, who takes him gently from your arms.

"He just needs to feel understood, it helps him connect." you grab a piece of bread from the basket along with your bowl and sit in the same chair where Din sat for his meal. "But, it's not your fault that you can't understand him yet. I'm just lucky cause I can."

A chuckle from both of you as you take a bite of your bread. Grogu yawns and Din moves to place him in his pod, making sure he's comfortable as you enjoy your food. The pod closes and Din pushes it gently into the corner furthest from the door. He sits in the chair across from you now, letting out a deep sigh as he does so. You look up from your nearly empty bowl and raise an eyebrow at him.

"You should stay...with us." somehow weight is both pushed on and lifted off of you at the same time. "It would be good for the kid.." he clears his throat.

You give a short nod and bring your bowl to your mouth, drinking the last of what's left and stacking it along with the other two. You take a glass and the pitcher and pour yourself some water. He wants you to stay. He wouldn't ask if he didn't want you to stay. Say yes.

"I can't promise I'd be the best teacher. I was trained by the dark side, remember?"

"And you were trained by a Jedi as well, yet you still live by your own code." you can't help but recognize the truth in his words. "You have already proven to be an excellent teacher. And you care for the child. That is more important than where you come from."

The words fill you with a rush of emotions. All you had ever wanted was to be more than your past. No one ever looked past who you were before so you had become nobody. You had shut off that part of yourself to the world, put up blockades to stop anyone who tried to know you. And here you sat, across the table from a man who you were sure wanted you dead just days ago, feeling seen for the first time in your life. Unable to speak, you sit quietly, every emotion playing on your face at once. Din's gaze is set on your face, analyzing every shift in expression, every catch in your breath as you fail to speak. He can feel the impact of his own words on you more now than ever before. It was like he had spoken some magic words that unlocked the sweetest of treasures, he only hoped he would be worthy of the reward.

"Perhaps the child isn't the only one who needs to feel understood." he places his hand gently over yours from across the table. "Perhaps...there is reason for our paths crossing all these times."

He couldn't believe himself. He worried he was being too bold but could not stop himself. Everything inside him said to do whatever it takes to make you stay. To never let you out of his life again. Never let you out of his sight for that matter. He wanted you close. He wanted you to stay. To be with them. With him. He wanted you. The longing desire building up inside of him, making it nearly impossible to resist pulling you close. He wanted to touch you, to feel you. He wanted to show you what he felt for you, not only with his words, but in everyway.

Your eyes nearly burned a hole through his helmet with the heat of your stare. All those barriers, all the locks keeping the gates closed, all the walls you hid behind, vanished in an instant. He saw you. He truly saw you. And he liked what he saw, you saw that now. Your eyes drop to where his hand lay on yours, his touch sending a warmth radiating through your body. You wanted more of his touch. To feel his hands roam your body. You wished for him to remove his gloves so you could feel his skin on yours. Wished for him to remove his helmet so you could see him the way he sees you. So you could look into his eyes. Rest your hand on his cheek. You wished to kiss him. Even if just once. His hand shifts and you shake yourself back to reality, clearing your throat and quickly standing from your chair. He stands as well, watching as you fidget with your collar and sleeves, a mindless, nervous habit. He takes a few short yet powerful steps towards you and reaches his hand up to your face, resting it gently on your cheek after pushing a strand of hair to the side.

"Tell me you'll stay. If not for me, then for the child." you instinctively lean your head into his hand, your own hand reaching up to rest over his.

"I'll stay." your voice is whisper soft. "For both of you."

"Good." his other hand now moving to your other cheek, holding your head in place so that he can look into your eyes. Your hands rest on his chest, your gaze drifting down, fingers tracing along the contour of his armor. His hands push your hair behind your ears, holding you now by the nape of your neck, gently forcing you to look back up at him. Never in your life had you felt such a need, such a desire, such a powerful, desperate longing. He holds you close enough that you can hear his breath, heavy in the silence of the room.

tap tap tap

A few firm knocks on the door interrupt what could have been, your head instinctively whipping towards the door. His hands pull away with a quiet groan as he moves towards the door. He cracks open the door, barely enough to see out of it before a blaster fires through the door. Din attempts to slam it shut as you duck down, but whoever is on the other side kicks against it, a hand grabbing onto the fabric around Din's neck and yanking him from the doorway. You turn to be sure Grogu is still safe in his pod and rush towards it, pushing it under the nightstand and tossing a blanket over it. The sounds of fighting only gets louder outside the room, and you remember that Din doesn't have his weapons. You rush towards the table where his weapons sit, glancing over to check that he's holding his own without anything. He was a fighter and he never went down easy, but this mysterious enemy was huge. And Din, without a weapon to aid him, was in fact not keeping up very well. Without hesitation your hand reaches up, focusing your energy on the large, angry man. It had been some time since you'd even attempted using the force to this extent, and you start to worry that your attack will fail. You inhale sharply. Eyes closed. The force is with me. I am one with the force.

Two loud thuds. You open your eyes. Din stood from the dusty ground, brushing himself off and looking up in confusion. The attacker also stood, slowly, his eyes scanning the area until they land on you. His face contorts into more anger than before, Din steps towards you quickly.

"My blaster-" rather than tossing him his gun, you step outside, moving slowly towards the attacker. "No, go back inside-"

"You have no conflict with this man." you wave your hand slowly in front of the man's face as you approach him. Din tries to reach for your arm as you pass him but you pull it away as you move. "There is no need for violence."

"I have no conflict with this man. There is no need for violence." the man recites in a gruff voice and drops his weapon. You pick up the blaster, tucking it into your belt where you usually store your own.

"You'll be leaving now."

"I'll be leaving now." his eyes void of expression as he turns and walks away. You watch until he's a good way down the road and then turn back towards Din. "Are you alright?"

"Thank you." there is a hint of surprise in his voice. His sight locked on you as you approach him, your hands grabbing either side of his helmet.

"I asked you a question." you demand with a soft look in your eyes.

"I'm fine." his hands grabbing yours and pulling them down, but not letting them go. You nod with a deep breath and head back to the room. You pull the gun from our belt and set it on the table as you pass by, checking that Grogu is still safe. He is. You sigh and turn around again, surprised to see the Din was right behind you. Before you even have the chance to process the shock, his hand slips around your waist. He pulls you close, his strong hand on the small of your back, the other sliding up along your hip, waist, up your side until it holds tightly to your back as well. You breath deeply as he holds you close, that warmth rushing over you once more. He walks you closer to the bed with a lustful sigh.

"Din..the kid." you whisper between breaths.

"He's asleep-" his own breath heavy as you reach the bed, your leg bumping the edge.

"But-"

"Just be quite mesh'la."

[remus-lupins-girl]

I like you too...|Remus Lupin

*THIS IS ALL OF MY WORK AND I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR IT TO BE COPPIED OR TRANSLATED*

Summary: You and remus are flirty but too shy to admit your feelings. That is until...

Warnings: you reffered yo as "she" or "mystery girl", fluff, fluff and more fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus Lupin sat alone in the gryffindor Common room, letting his thoughts get the better of him. It was quiet, nobody around due to it being quite late in the evening, but Remus couldn't get to sleep. Not when he had her on his mind.

In his mind, she was the most gorgeous girl he had ever laid his eyes on. She was around 5'6, long black hair that always had some sort of ribbon in it, and deep blue eyes, which could make any man fall in love in an instant. If only he had the courage to finally admit his feelings.

Little did Remus know, she was sat at the back of the library she had snuck into, thinking the exact same thing. She thought Remus would never like her back, not when he had so many girls throwing themselves at him left right and centre (oh how wrong she was). If She had to describe Remus in one word, it would be perfect.

This is because he was Remus, brave, strong, always there. He was everything she had ever wanted since she was a young girl, but she knew she could never have him. Not now, after liking him since 1st year when he saved her from falling flat on her bum when she tripped in the corridor, he would never like her like that, she would just have to learn to move on.

Remus was getting bored, just sitting alone with his thoughts, sat doing nothing but ponder over what he could do next. He had to go somewhere or do something, his mind was overtaking him. Slowly,he snuck up to his dorm room, it being quiet due to Sirius probably shagging a random girl he picked up at the Hufflepuff party, James with Lily and Peter off doing whatever ye usually does (not that anybody cares) He snuck to the back of the shared wardrobe and pulled out a small brown box, inside contained the invisibility cloak owned by none other than James Fleamont Potter. Remus grabs the cloak and puts it on as quietly as possible before slipping he way through the common room door and making his way to the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting in the corner furthest away from the huge doors of the well used library, She sat wondering about the world, the book "To kill a mocking bird" in her lap. It was quite unpopular for someone to like this book, but to her, it was one of the best.

Remus Lupin slipped through the corridors under the invisibility cloak, hoping there was no body wandering the halls ready to catch him out of bed at this time. The clock read 12.46 am, usually everyone was settled are resting by now but Remus and his mystery girl knew no one would find them. Not at this time.

Her head pirked up at the sound of the library door closing gently, wondering who would be around at this time. She quickly turned off her small lamp and hid in the corner under her thin blanket. 'Who is walking around at this time of night?' She thought as she hid as quietly as she could. As she heard footsteps coming closer, she began to hold her breath, she couldn't get caught, she would get a detention. That couldn't happen, not with parents like hers, they were always so strict especially when it came to school.

Remus Lupin had taken off the invisibility cloak the minute he had stepped in the library. The more he walked through, the more a small light shone in the corner, practically inviting him over. He slowly walked closer but as he got a few feet away from the light, it turned off abruptly, it came with a little bit of shuffling as if someone was trying to squeeze into a corner. He started to walk closer, hearing someone's breath stop as he made it to the light.

To say she was scared would be an understatement, she didn't want to get caught by a teacher, she would never hear the end of it. But little did she know, it was Remus Lupin standing a foot in front of her, just as scared and confused as she was.

Slowly but steadily making his way to the light switch, Remus couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips when he turned on the light and saw a human sized ball tucked into the corner, under a blanket, not moving at all.

"Are you alright over there?" Remus asked as if he didn't practically hear her hiding herself a few moments ago

She slowly removed the blanket from around her head, recognising the voice, thanking merlin it wasn't a teacher, ready to give her a detention.

"Remus," she said, as if she was out of breath "You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, but what we're you trying to do in that corner?" Remus chuckled thinking back to only a few moments ago

"I thought you were a teacher, why are you out of bed at this hour anyway?" She questioned as if she wasn't doing the same thing he was

"I couldn't sleep, I was thinking about everything going on in my life, especially this girl ive started to notice" Remus replied, his cheeks lightly coated in a crimson red colour

She swore she could feel her heart break in her chest. "Oh, who is the lucky girl?"

Remus swore he felt all the air being taken away from him. He had dreaded being asked this question for ages, especially from the girl he liked.

"I'm going to confess something...I've had a crush in you for years and I feel like I'm a million miles away everytime we are together. It's okay if you don't feel the same way because-"

"Remus," She interrupted, she was over the moon, she had even pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming about this moment. " I like you too, you idiot"

Remus couldn't hold back, he felt like he was on the moon the second he heard those words leave her mouth. "I really want to kiss you right now"

"Well, I'm not going to stop you"

Just then their lips locked, and Remus swore he could hear sparks all around him, he knew she was the one, and now he had her, he was never letting her go.

"I guess we should male it official?" The young boy asked staring at her dreamily

"I guess we should" she replied giddily

'So this is what love feels like' they both thought at the exact same time.

So that was love...Oh, young love, the best kind! Remus Lupin would agree, and so would she.

He would remember that library trip for the rest of his life.

He now had his mystery girl, and she was his forever.

[lothricknightgirl]

Document No. 887, filed in Major-Department No. 19, Jurisdiction: Sub-Department No. 19-A

How (not) to make a good impression

If you're reading this, you've just joined sub division 19-A, and have found this document in what used to be my office.

You sorry bastard.

I'd say that I feel bad for you, but dead people don't have feelings to feel bad about, so I'll just skip ahead to the useful bits to hopeful'y keep you more alive than I am at the moment.

Firstly, let's just get this out of the way.

This company is going to kill you one day.

You may ask yourself, "How? This is an administrative service company!"

Wrong.

This is more companies than you have teeth, smashed together into one gigantic Frankenstein monstrosity.

PMCs, tax companies, fucking whaling companies, you name it, they're in here, this one gigantic building, somewhere, somehow.

This place is literally infinite.

Nobody knows how they did it.

Hell, nobody even knows who 'they' are.

All you need to know is that this place is the furthest thing from an administrative services corp, and if you want to make it out of here with your limbs still attached, you're gonna need to listen.

There aren't any visible set rules here. Oh, make no mistake, there's an entire goddamn web of rules, they just don't put them up anywhere for people to see.

Breaking any of them is liable to get you skinned, dipped in acid and fed to lions. In that order.

So, to avoid that, you need to make a good impression.

Well, you're shit outta luck there, these people have hearts of fucking iron and aren't impressed for anything short of killing an entire pod of baby seals without shedding a tear.

I can't help you with that, but what I can do is tell you how to not not make a good impression.

AKA, how not to fuck up and meet a grisly fate by pissing off the Directors.

#1:

Do not screw with Director Sol.

The last guy that did?

I spent an entire month scraping him off the ceiling.

If you have to go out of your way to keep him happy, do it, because nobody is coming to get you if you piss him off.

#2:

Okay, Mergers and Acquisition? Yeah, stay far, far away from there, unless you want to end up spliced with an octopus. Yeah, the Mergers part is literal, Acquisition is just whoever they end up poaching for the day.

Sidenote, do you know how hard it is to move around with tentacles?! REALLY DIFFICULT!

#3:

The Cafeteria is the only safe place in the entire building.

For the love of god, don't try to start fights in there. The employees might just kill you themselves to save you from Chef Maw turning you into tomorrow's lunch special.

#4:

Director Rudde is a stone cold bitch, and also the only Director in here you can trust.

Trust to manipulate you to her own ends, that is.

She isn't like the others in that she'll kill you for the sake of killing you because you pissed her off, but she'll kill you if you knowingly get in her way.

Not herself of course, she has people for that, but she won't go out of her way to be a dick like the others.

#5:

Speaking of trust, don't.

Not in here.

I know that you'll find friends, and people you might want to call friends, and that's fine, but don't trust. Never, not that.

Friendship's a word, trust is a very convenient chain for people stronger than you to tug on. Be careful with it, and don't give it out without some serious forethought.

#6:

Sub-Division 19-A, strictly, does not exist.

I don't know how.

I don't know why.

But nobody in here knows what it is.

I'm the only one here. There's one office.

It's not on any listings.

None of the directors know about it.

The assignment just popped up on desk one day, and now I'm here.

What I'm saying is, if you ever need to hide, do it here.

#7:

Never, ever, ever go into any of the doors on floor 1-A-13-B.

Never, you get me? Never.

#8:

Make absolutely certain that you file everything correctly. If you don't, you'll have the Librarian on your case, and she doesn't stop.

There's a cheat sheet in the cabinet below the one you found this in.

#9:

When asked what company you work for, you say Listings and Filing Corp MD-1A, and then drop it. Don't ever say another word about it. Cut off your own goddamn tongue if you have to.

And for the love of god, never ask why.

#10:

Don't be vulnerable, but don't be standoffish.

Don't be dickish, but don't be too friendly.

Don't try to tough it out by yourself, but don't try for as many people as possible.

This place is a tightrope slicked with burning fucking gasoline, and you have to walk that line really precisely, or the it'll swallow you whole.

That's all I can give you. Be careful.

Employee No. 17, Sub-Department No. 19-A, Major-Department No. 19, Listings and Filing Corp.

Prompt 2149

Write a short manual on the worst ways to make a first impression.

[americancowgirl19]

Nobody to Somebody

Summary: You started in Riley’s newborn army and now you’re moving up to Volterra, Italy.

Warnings: violence, hints of possessiveness, fluff, 

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Felix, Demetri, Jane, Alec Volturi x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,114

A/n: Might make more parts to this, idk. Also, I know that Alec and Jane are supposed to be really young but I imagine them as older teenagers. Also, Alec and Jane are not mates. The guard are not mated together they just share you, the reader, as a mate. So, no incest.

Masterlist

You were a nobody. Honestly, you had nothing to do with the drama of the supernatural world yet you were still pulled into it. You were innocently driving through Seattle to Mount Vermont when you were killed. 

Riley had dragged you out of the motel parking lot and bit you in the neck. The pain is indescribable. You screamed so loud yet nobody came to your aid. When the torment stopped a different pain started. A hunger that could only be satisfied with the blood of humans.

You turned into a completely different person within a span of a couple hours. You were stronger, faster, and deadlier. You were put into a group of others like you. It was a constant battle for survival. Everyone fought for their food. Everyone fought to be higher on the pecking order. Everyone fought you.

You were at the top, just below Riley. You weren’t in charge of anything but you certainly were the strongest. Those with the balls to go up against you found themselves dismembered before they could touch a hair on your head.

You were one of the few that were gifted. You had the ability to control people. You couldn’t control their thoughts. No, you controlled their bodies. You could force anybody to do anything and they couldn’t fight against it. At least you haven’t found someone who could fight against it. 

You could make them rip off their own arms, bite off their own tongue, set themselves on fire and burn to death. You could force two or more of them to fight themselves if you so pleased. Your ability to control made you valuable. Riley did everything in his power to keep you. 

You loved the power you had over everybody. You loved the pampering Riley gave you. You were arrogant but not quite ambitious yet. You were satisfied with the way things were, for the moment. You didn’t think about the future, you didn’t think about expanding your power. You just lived in the moment.

You were also the only one who met Victoria. She had a special plan for you. She whispered promises of grandeur that you couldn’t deny.

No longer were you the family girl that was content with a normal life. No longer were you the girl who was satisfied with being in the background. No longer were you the girl who wouldn’t harm a fly.

No, now you were the girl who killed anybody who got in the way of what you wanted. You were the girl with power and riches. As far as you were concerned, you were on top of the world. You could take anything you wanted and as the months passed, your ambition grew. You were beginning to want more.

However, you felt obligated to help your creators with their Cullen problem. You vowed to help them. Once they were taken care of you would move on to grander things.

When the time to attack the Cullens came, Victoria kept you by her side. You knew she had a vendetta against someone specifically and you were chomping at the bits to tear someone apart.

“They’re not here,” Victoria growls loudly. You growl as well wanting to join the fight but loyally stayed by her side.

“Where could they be?” You ask her. Victoria huffs racing through the woods. You pursed your lips but quickly followed after her. Riley joined up with the two of your as you made your way into the mountains.

Riley steps into view of the Cullen and human first. You observe them from the cover of the trees. The Cullen stood protectively in front of the human. She shared the same scent that had lead the other newborns into the clearing. Had all of this fighting been over this human?

“Riley... Listen to me. Victoria is just using you to distract me. She knows I’ll kill you. In fact, she’ll be glad she didn’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“Don’t listen, Riley,” Victoria pleads standing on a rock to the side of Riley. You slowly make an appearce behind your creator. The Cullen’s eye moves to you as does the humans. “I told you about their mind tricks.” 

“I can read her mind. So, I know what she thinks of you.” He tells Riley.

“He’s lying.” Victoria insists.

“She only created you and this army to avenger her true mate, James.” Your eyes go to Victoria. “That’s the only thing she cares about. Not you.”

“There’s only you. You know that.” Victoria vows him but you can tell that she’s lying. You smirk enjoying the show unraveling before you.

“Think about it. You’re from Forks, you know the area. That’s the only reason she chose you. She doesn’t love you.”

“Riley, don’t let him do this to us. You know I love you.” Victoria promises. You watch Riley curiously. You could sense the doubt in him but then he goes to attack. You flinch and move away when a wolf comes and chomps on Riley. Your eyes scan the area for more wolves not wanting to fall victim to one of them.

“You won’t get a chance like this again!” Your head turns back to the Cullen and Victoria. He continues to taunt her while you turn your focus to the human. You take a few slow steps toward her until her eyes catch yours. Your gaze hardens as you try to control her. Your intrigued when you find her just standing there when she should be choking herself.

You step back into the tree when the human moves with her vampire. You wanted a good fight but you also wanted to observe. Everything made sense now. Victoria wanted revenge for the death of her mate while the vampire tries to protect his. I guess even as a deadly vampire you’re still a romantic. You weren’t quite sure who you wanted to win.

Riley came back into view, you briefly wonder about the wolf. He and Victoria gain the upper hand until the human cuts herself with a rock. Your eyes instantly go black and all you can think about is the blood. Before you know it you’re running for her but her mate grabs you and throws you into the woods.

By the time you return you gain control of yourself. You had been working hard on control when you found out you were stronger and more dangerous with a clear head instead of being controlled by animal instincts.

“Victoria!! Victoria!” Riley screams, breaking your concentration. You felt bad for Riley and took a few steps toward him before you stopped yourself. 

Riley and Victoria knew you wanted to branch out on your own but that didn’t mean they would let you go without a fight. You knew how valuable you were to them. Nobody gives up their strongest player. 

You didn’t want to be the one to kill him, you still felt the slightest connection to him for turning you. However, while the connection makes you not want to kill him it doesn’t necessarily compel you to save him.

You smirk, stepping back from the scene. You would let the wolf take care of your problem. You hoped that the other vampire would take care of Victoria as well. Then, you’d be free and could do whatever you wanted.

You look away from Riley and back toward Victoria. You were pleased to see her losing the fight. Only when you stopped hearing Riley’s screams and saw Victoria’s head on the ground did you turn to leave the scene.

“Wait!” The Cullen calls after you. You turn your head ever so slightly.

“I have nothing against you and your family. I won’t cause any trouble.” You promise him.

“I know,” He nods, stepping closer but keeping his body between you and his mate. You smirk slightly knowing he could stop you from getting to her if you truly wanted too. “I can help you.”

“You help me?” You tilt your head. “Oh? How so?”

“You want power, you want to be at the top. Have you heard of the Volturi?” He asks.

“No.” You answer, your eyes narrowing.

“They’re vampire royalty. They’ll be at the clearing to assess the damage. You can leave with them, join their coven.” He tells you. You stare at him.

“And what do you get out of this?” You wonder.

“Time.” He says, turning his head toward his human mate.

“I’ll stick around, doesn’t mean I’ll go with them.” You say before leaving them on the mountain. You find the clearing and unsurprisingly see all the newborns dead.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her!” A woman with short hair shouts when you walk out of the forest. You eye the wolves and the Cullens cautiously. “The Volturi will be here shortly.” You slowly nod. Eventually The two from the mountain join you. You watch as a stray newborn almost kills a wolf before the drama seems to end.

The Cullen clan stand together. You notice Bree standing behind them. She had been in the army. She was one of the lower vampires, a vampire that didn’t do much. You’re slightly surprised that she survived.

You don’t have much time to dwell on Bree when something catches your attention. Four distinct yet mouthwatering scents. Scents that tempt you more than any amount of fresh blood. You can just feel your eyes darkening even more.

Four figures in cloaks enter the clearing. The two in the middle wear midnight black ones while the outside two sport charcoal grey robes. They lower their hoods and their ruby red eyes fall on you at the same time.

Your instinct is to move to stand by them, your body even shifts toward them but you’re hesitant. You don’t know how to act. You don’t know what to do. Logic tells you that your scent appeals to them as theirs does to you but you hesitate nonetheless.

Seeing the conflict in your eyes, the furthest from you, the shorter of the two in the grey cloaks, holds his hand out in your direction. There’s a sly yet inviting smirk on his face. Your body reacts before your mind. You rush in front of him, your hand instinctively falling into his gloved one. He yanks you into his chest, his arm snaking around your waist.

Both of your heads fall into each others neck. You both breathe in each others scent but he’s the only one brave enough to place a gentle kiss on your marble skin.

“Impressive,” A melodic voice reaches your ears. You pull from his neck to look at her. He refuse to release you forcing you to shuffle around in his arms. 

When you’re settled, his grip tightens forcing you impossibly close. With your back pressed against his chest, you watch the exchange between the Cullens the the cloaked vampires you assume to be the Volturi. Any anxiety that may have been present disappears the longer you’re in his arms.

“I’ve never seen a coven escape an assault of this magnitude intact.”

“We were lucky.”

“I doubt that.”

“It appears we missed an entertaining fight.” Your eyes shift from the blond girl to the one beside her. You wanted to be closer to them but you didn’t want to leave his arms. You didn’t understand and the unknown was frustrating you.

“Shh,” He whispers in your ear as he senses your growing distress. “Just a little longer.” He promises bumping his nose against the side of her head.

“It’s not often we’re rendered unnecessary,” She mentions.

“Had you arrived a half an hour ago you would have fulfilled your purpose.” You glared at him as he spoke to her rudely. Before another work could be exchanged you broke his arm without lifting a finger. He tries to hold in his groan but everyone picks up on it. Naturally, everyone looks to the blond on your side of the field but you just stand there with a satisfied smirk.

“You missed one,” The attention turns to Bree.

“We offered her asylum in exchange for her surrender.”

“That wasn’t yours to offer,” She tells him. “Why did you come?” She asks but Bree doesn’t answer. Your eyebrows instantly raise when the newborn falls to the ground screaming. You look to the blond beside you and realize why the all mistook the vampires pain to be her doing instead of you. “Who created you?”

“You don’t need to do that, she’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I know,”

“I-I don’t know,” Bree whimpers. “Riley wouldn’t tell us. He said that our thoughts weren’t safe.”

“Her name was Victoria, perhaps you knew her.”

“Edward, had the Volturi had knowledge of Viktoria they would have stopped her. Isn’t that right Jane?”

Jane. A name so simple yet so perfect for the beautiful blond. You found yourself desperate to know more about her. To know more about all of them.

“Of course,” Jane assures them.

“Whatever Bree doesn’t know, Y/n will. She was in the thick of it with Victoria and Riley,” Edward tells them. The cloaks look at you but you keep your hard stare on Edward.

“You wouldn’t be suggesting something about our mate, would you?” The man equipping the midnight black cloak questions Edward, his voice edgier than before. As he spoke, the man holding you tightens his grip even more.

Mate. Of course the logical part of you knew but to say it out loud and to accept that it’s real is something else. You wanted to feel relief that they acknowledge that you’re their mate but you can’t help but to feel tense. They’re weren’t reacting to Bree very well and you had done more damage than she ever has. How would they treat you?

“No, of course not.” The leader of the coven promises before sending Edward a look.

“Felix,” Jane says, turning her head slightly toward the tallest. 

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Jane stops Felix. “We’ll take responsibility for her.”

“Give her a chance”

“The Volturi don’t give second chances,” Jane states causing your body to go tense. The man holding your nuzzles shamelessly into the crook of your neck. You can hear him purring quietly. It helps calm you down but the anxiety in your chest lingers. “Keep that in mind, Caius will be interested to see that she’s still human”

“The date is set.”

“Take care of that Felix. I’d like to take our mate home.” Jane says. Felix glances at her then to you before moving to take care of Bree. You flinch when Bree’s screams abruptly stop.

“It’s alright,” The man holding you whispers. “Come on.” He grabs ahold of your hand and leads you out of the clearing. You follow them, leaving the Cullen’s behind without a second thought. They don’t stop until you reach an airfield where a private jet is waiting for you.

You take a moment to stare at it. You’ve never been on a plane before. You wonder where they’re taking you but you keep your questions to yourself. You figured you could count your lucky stars you didn’t end up like Bree, now isn’t the time to push your luck.

You knew that if you needed too you could destroy all of them but the thought of putting them through any sort of pain is displeasing to you. In fact, you hated the thought of them in pain. You knew you would destroy anybody who harms them. Though, this meant you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against them should they decide to tear you apart. You’d much rather choose death.

“You’re thinking very hard,” You turn to look at Jane. You hadn’t even realized that the five of you had boarded the plane. “You must have questions for us.”

“Umm... Names would be a nice start,” You say, surprised by how quiet your voice is. The last few months you’ve had to be authoritative and demanding yet now you’re quiet and walking on egg shells.

“Of course,” Jane says giving you a gentle smile, a complete contrast to the girl you had seen in the clearing. She still seems reserved but she’s also more relaxed. “I’m Jane and this is my twin, Alec. That is Demetri and Felix.”

“Y/n,” You introduce yourself.

“You’re still tense,” Demetri notices. He sits beside you and rests his hand on your leg. “What worries you?” You look at him for a moment debating if you should keep your worries to yourself.

“No harm will come to you,” Alec promises. Your eyes turn to him. He notices the subtle relief in your posture. “We would never allow anything to happen to you. You’re safe with us.” Demetri leans over and kisses the side of your head as Felix sits besde you, the twins occupying the seats across from you.

“I thought you didn’t give second chances?” 

“You’re special,” Jane tells you. “You’re our mate. Our masters will be forgiving toward you.”

“Masters?”

“How much do you know?” Demetri questions.

“Up until yesterday I thought we burned in the sun,” You tell him. “I don’t know much of anything and I’m sure whatever I do know is most likely wrong.”

“When were you turned?” Felix asks. “We’ve been watching the army for a few months but we never smelt you.”

“Victoria and Riley liked to keep me separate from the others. I’ve only been a vampire maybe 5 months? I was only allowed with the others if they were getting too rowdy and needed to be knocked down a peg or two,” You tell them with your naturally cocky smirk.

“Oh? And what did you do?” Demetri questions.

“I can control people. I can make you do whatever I want,” You tell him.

“So, you could make someone shut up when they talk too much?” Felix smirks sending a look at Demetri.

“Well, yes but I normally just make them bite off their own tongue,” You state. Their eyes return to you and you suddenly get the feeling you spoke out of turn.

“Beautiful and deadly,” Demetri hums rubbing his head against yours as if to scent you. “Perfect,” He growls.

“Completely perfect.” Jane agrees. Your eyes turn to her. “You’ll fit right in, my love.”

“And where are we going?” You ask her.

“Volterra, Italy.” She tells you. “It’s where the Volturi reside and where you will live with us.”

“Sounds fun,” You smirk, holding her gaze feeling completely unintimidated by her despite knowing what she can do.

Volterra, Italy. Sounds like the perfect place to satisfy your ambitions with your mates by your side. 

[obscureamor]

— quiet

♡˖°꒰ ukai keishin x fem! reader

❥  t/w  |  nsfw, public sex, exhibitionism, daddy kink, mentions of keishin drinking, light choking, 18 y/o manager, spiritual successor to ‘gold’

»  certain feelings are revealed after keishin sneaks into your room at training camp.

The room is dully illuminated, faint slithers of moonlight creeping in from gaps in the curtains. Your eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, but every touch of his hands on your body feels like ecstasy. You can hear his gruff pants loud in your ear, the way he groans your name as you moan. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, drawn-out and breathy. “I need you to be quiet for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Keishin’s voice is soft as he speaks into your ear. It’s such a contrast to the way he’s thrusting into you. He’s hitting deep, strokes short and your eyes flit over to Kiyoko as she murmurs incoherent words in her sleep. The image of her is obscured with every snap of Keishin’s hips, your body moving with each thrust and eyes clouding with tears at all the sensations.

His voice. Your friend right next to you. It all makes your head spin, giving you whiplash as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds leaving you. Keishin isn't supposed to be here and when he said he had a surprise for you tonight— you didn’t think he meant this.

Your eyes snap shut to try and focus on everything around you. Keishin smells of cigarettes and booze with a dash of mint. It hits you all at once with his face against your neck, lips latched onto the junction of your shoulder while he sucks deep bruises into the skin. A harsh bite has you keening into your hand at the sensation causing a curse to leave his mouth at the alluring sound.

His hands grip your hips tight, so tight you can feel his blunt nails digging into your skin, little crescent shapes being engraved into the flesh. It makes you shiver, puffy lips parting as you pant out allowing drool to leak onto the pillow. The cold metal of the ring on his finger burns you, brands itself into your skin and all you can think about is—

Keishin. Keishin. Keishin. Keishin.

“Kei... Kei, I—” your words are cut off when he shifts his hips, hitting that spot deep inside you. Your hands shakily fall to his biceps, nails sinking into the skin and your thighs snap inward when his hand falls to your hard little clit. His thumb is moving in circles and your walls just greedily suck him in.

“Look at her...” he hisses, “look at her when you cum all over daddy’s cock.”

It’s embarrassing. Your skin feels hot. Your mind feels muddled. And you look at Kiyoko, heated cheek pressed into your pillow as you admire her features. Her soft lips are parted, silky hair fanned out around her as she lays on her back. The usual glasses she wears are placed neatly beside her and—

“Shit, shit, shit, oh god!” you whine out as Keishin pinches your clit harshly.

“Shut up…” He breathes out, hand coming to wrap around your mouth. His eyes are locked onto your center before he stops his movements altogether— robbing you of your end. A sob leaves you, eyes tightly clenching shut and tears now leak down your face. There’s a moment of silence before you open them again, locking eyes with him almost immediately. “You’re always so fucking loud.”

‘M’sorry, M’sorry’ oozes from your mouth. It’s muffled and muddled like the lines that are being crossed, lines that no one seems to care about anymore and the longer you stare at Kiyoko the more you realize you’d gladly do anything for Keishin— he knows it too. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me fuck your sloppy pussy right next to your best friend.” He rolls his hips into you, the words leaving him in a whisper. Somehow his voice drops even more with his next words, “You must really love me, huh?”

You do.

You both know you do and he loves you just as equally… maybe even more. Keishin’s hand leaves your face to grasp yours, fingers lacing before placing them down beside your face on the side furthest from Kiyoko. He noses at your neck, flesh being bitten softly as he thrusts into you steadily. 

“Keishin,” you keen. “Faster, please, please, please, daddy. I promise— promise I’ll be quiet, I just—”

He knows you like it rough, like it when he drives into you so harshly you can’t breathe and your eyes roll back into your skull. He knows you like it when you have finger-shaped bruises on your hips the next day from him grabbing you so roughly. He pulls back, lips curling into a smirk at your fucked out ramblings. “You want daddy to pound into this little pussy?” 

“Yeah, daddy… fucking ruin me.” His eyes widen. “Ruin me, please,” you repeat.

There’s not a second wasted as Keishin's free hand comes up to wrap around your throat. His hips snap into yours with such harshness you know you’re going to be sore tomorrow. The chain around your neck catches his eyes as it glimmers with every jolt of your body. The branding ‘K’ and gold ring reminding him of every little thing you two have done together. He can distantly hear you saying his name, crying it out as if he’s your god— the very and only thing you worship.

There’s a dull papping that makes its way through the room and the both of you wonder how none of the faculty in the room over has woken yet. In some fucked up way Keishin hopes they can hear you, hopes the coaches that were talking about your tight little body can hear that he’s the only one who gets to ruin it, claim it, own it. 

He needs them to know that all of you belongs to him and he knows he can say the same for himself. Keishin knows he doesn’t express it as much as he should but— he’s yours. The thoughts cause him to lean in, lips capturing yours as you moan into his mouth. His hand squeezes yours three times, each for a single word he still has so much trouble saying; I. Love. You.

You’re so lost in each other you forget about the other person in the room, sounds being swallowed by your mouths and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. In the corner of your eye, you see movement— Keishin notices it too.

Kiyoko’s moving.

She’s facing you now and your breath hitches when she reaches out blindly to grab for your hand. There’s a whine that leaves her unconscious state when she can’t find it. You can tell beneath her eyelids her eyes are flickering almost as if they’re searching around for you and in an effort to keep her asleep, you reach out. Her hand is soft in yours and it’s such a contrast to Keishin’s calloused hands. The ones that are holding onto you as he slams into you roughly right now.

You can see her mouth moving, lips forming your name and you try to wrestle your hand out of Keishin’s grip, needing something— anything —to muffle the sounds about to leave your mouth. You can feel the hand wrapped around your throat squeeze before moving up to your jaw, turning your head to the side to face Kiyoko. You can only wonder what her reaction would be like if she woke up right now, wonder what her face would look like at the sight of the team’s coach fucking you brainless.

“Daddy, lemme look at you, please…” you mutter, lip being bitten raw as you swallow all your sounds.

At the sight, his thumb falls onto your bottom lip pulling it out between your teeth before speaking, “Naw, don’t do that... Let daddy hear those sweet sounds before he cums, alright?”

You hum and Keishin’s body seems even closer than before like he’s melted into you as his pelvis rubs against your clit. The friction has you holding Kiyoko’s hand even tighter— mind not even worried about the consequences —and when she whines out your name in her sleep, your walls just pulse and cream around his cock. You cry out his name only to be muffled by his mouth, by his tongue as it laps at every crevice as if he’s never kissed you before. His cock twitches when you bite down on his lip and warmth fills you when he catches sight of the glimmering ‘K’ resting between your tits.

Keishin pulls out one last time before pushing back in swiftly. He hisses when your walls clench at the action and you can feel his cum seep down beneath you both. He lets out a curse at the sight; your pretty pussy stuffed to the brim with his cum. Even though he’s seen it so many times, he’ll never get over it. 

Your tired eyes flicker about, taking everything in. Kiyoko’s still asleep even with her hand almost being crushed by your death grip. The rustling of her blankets is the only thing that can be heard apart from your breathing. Her hand pulls away from yours as she turns over, away from you, away from Keishin and it’s only now that you register his hand toying with your necklace. 

“Keishin… I—”

“I’m—”

You both go to speak, cutting each other off, and instead of attempting again— you don’t. He places his head on your chest, fingers still fiddling with the chain. Immediately, your hands move to run through his hair, the thought of what you were both about to say festering in your minds.

He needs to tell you. He has to tell you. And so he does. 

“I’m tired of hiding this shit,” Keishin speaks so suddenly, determination laced in his voice. “One day… I’ll put a ring on your finger, not on some fucking chain where nobody can see it.”

Doubt flows through him when you don’t respond. It has him second-guessing himself, mouth opening to try and save whatever you have left, but he stops when he hears you take a shuddering breath. 

“I’d like that,” you whisper through a watery smile, “a lot actually...”

It’s quiet after. The both of you relish in each other’s company, forgetting about where you are at that very moment. Completely content and you know in the morning you’ll have to pretend like this never happened… like you’re not in love with Ukai Keishin.

»  a/n  |  happy valentine’s day! i’m sending everyone lots of love and smooches! i hope you enjoyed this! (つω`｡)♡

[the-modernmary]

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

 Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

  “BAU,” you supplied.

  “—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

  You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

  The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

  Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

  “So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

  Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

  Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

  “— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

  Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

  Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

  The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

  Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

  You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

  Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

  The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

  The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

  When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

  You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

  His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

  As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

  You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you. 

  Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

  A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

  “Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

  You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

  The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

  It was exhilarating.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

  Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

  You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

  The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

  His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

  “Yes. Or no.”

  Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

  “Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

  “Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

  Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

  “Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

  “Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

  “And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

  Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

  You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

  “Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

  “All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

  Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

  Two moves to checkmate.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

  Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

  “I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

  “What did you major in for your undergrad?”

  Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

  Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

  It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

  “None,” Aaron said finally.

  “None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

  You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

  You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

  “A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

  Checkmate.

  “Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

  He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

  You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

  The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

  “Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

  Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

  “The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

  You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

  Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning. 

  “In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

  That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

  Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

  “I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

  You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

  “He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

  Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

  “That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

  He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

  Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

  That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

  The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

  “Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

  You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

  The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

  If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

  Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

  With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

  A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

  You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

  Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

  “Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

  “I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

  Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

  Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

  As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

  “Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

  The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

  Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

  You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

  “What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

  Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

  “You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

  “Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

  You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

  Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

  Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip. 

  “I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

  You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

  His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

  “Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss. 

  His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

  Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs. 

  Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

  He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

  “What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

  Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

  Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone. 

  “Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

  That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

  “I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

  “More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

  Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. 

  You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

  You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

  That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

  You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

  His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

  “Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

  Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

   A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

  In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

  He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

  “By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

  Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

  Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

  He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

  Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

  Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

  In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

  “I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

  “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

  Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

  “I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

  You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was. 

  “Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

  Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

  “Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

  Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

  When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

  You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it. 

  The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

  “Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

  You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

  Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

  The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

  Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

  “Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

  You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

  “Forgetting something?”

  You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

  “These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

  You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

  Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

  “Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

  His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

  “I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

  “Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

  Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

  You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

  He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

[hashtagartistlife]

IR hunger games AU

pt 4/???

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

bonus comics under the cut + some more exposition 

bonus cut 1: 

bonus cut 2: 

Recap of the story so far: yuzu gets picked as tribute for the hunger games. Ichigo manages to volunteer in her place. Rukia gets drawn to replace yuzu, and ichiruki end up being the tributes for district 12. 

Ichiruki then meet urahara, their mentor, on the train to the capitol. On this train they may or may not have a conversation regarding the fact that Rukia saved Ichigo’s life as kids, and that they have consequently been dancing around each other for years now. I reserve the right to add more to this section later. Either way, they are awkward at best and frosty at worst as they enter the capitol. 

At the capitol, they meet their stylists, uryuu and orihime. They are new stylists, who only graduated last year. This is their first official stylist job. This in itself is not that surprising, as district 12 was unpopular and often stuck with the inexperienced or not-quite-so-talented stylists. However, though uryuu and orihime are inexperienced, they are the furthest thing from untalented or unpopular - since they had been students, they have been somewhat of a rising star in the styling community. So, everyone is surprised when they both (separately) apply for the district 12 styling job, because they really could have had their pick. 

Ishihime were both born and raised in the capitol, but their childhoods were far from the lavish, glamorous lifestyle commonly associated with capitol citizens. If the capitol had a caste system (which they do — it’s just unspoken, is all), they would be on the bottom rung — orihime grew up under her brother in as close to poverty as what you can get in the capitol, dreaming of the glitz and glamour of the upper crust life. Ryuuken, meanwhile, is very rich, but for whatever reasons uryuu ran away from home young and has been surviving on his own since. The fact that they both clawed their way up the ranks to become hunger game stylists out of pure talent and tenacity was a novelty for everyone, and contributed to their rising stardom. 

Ishihime hadn’t met prior to their appointment as district 12 stylists, but they HAD heard of the other— it was a pleasant surprise to both of them that the other had also applied for the job. Though they only meet on the job, they click instantly and develop an easy working partnership to create a sensation with ichigo and rukia’s opening ceremony outfits. The outfits had a fire + ice theme, based on the fact that district 12 was a mining district (coal > fire, diamonds > ice). 

Orihime applied to the district 12 job because of Ichigo— she saw him volunteering for his sister on TV and maybe fell a little bit in love with him, with the idea of him— how romantic, how heroic of him, how noble to be able to volunteer for his sister like that— the same age as her, and so handsome, too, she wants to be by his side, she wants to help him, she wants to make sure he looks his best at the games so that he can maximise his chances of returning to his sister… as stated previously Orihime grew up entrenched in the capitol mindset so she is not yet aware of how fucked up the whole system is. Uryuu, meanwhile, nobody is particularly sure why he applied for the job… he said something trite about wanting to use his skills where it’s most needed, how he likes a challenge, but orihime wonders if that’s really all there is to it— outwardly, he’s the picture perfect new graduate, enthusiastic, happy, proud of his job— but there are moments when they are being applauded for their latest creations when she thinks his expression goes a little sour… it’s always fleeting and gone so fast that she can never be sure however 

Ichiruki, meanwhile, are the talk of the town. What with their stunning entrance at the opening ceremony and rukia’s public confession, all they have to do now is ride this wave of popularity all the way through the games for an easy win— unfortunately, they are both terribly bad at knowing how to manipulate this situation to their advantage. They both understand the gist of urahara’s plan — act like they’re falling in love— but neither of them understand WHY or HOW this will work. Why would the audience be invested in their falling in love? What exactly do they want to see? HOW do they act like they’re falling in love? (and, in Rukia’s case— how much of it should be pretend, how much of it is real?) 

Enter Rangiku, the previous district 12 stylist. She and gin grew up in one of the districts, both hating the games and the capitol, until one day at 14 yrs old, gin said to her ‘i’m gonna make it so that you don’t have to be afraid of your name being called at the reapings no more’, volunteered as tribute, won the games, and promptly disappeared from her life. 

Years later, rangiku sees gin on tv as the new host of the hunger games. She’s stunned and infuriated— she thought they both hates the capitol for what they did to the districts and now he’s WORKING for them? What the hell is he thinking? So rangiku packs up and moves to the capitol— her plan is to try to see him, to talk things out, surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding— but gin is all rich and famous now, and very heavily guarded, and she’s a nobody. There’s no way anyone will let her within ten feet of gin at all— so, rangiku decides she’s going to have to join the circus to talk to its head clown, and becomes a stylist. 

Unfortunately, even as a stylist, she can’t get a word to him edgewise— and she’s starting to suspect that maybe it’s not that she can’t get to him, but that gin is actively avoiding her. She COULD climb the ranks until he can no longer avoid her— she is very good at this stylist gig, much to her surprise— but she doesn’t have the heart to do the backstabbing and bribing necessary for that. She is constantly warring between ‘I cannot pour my talent into something this morally bankrupt’ and ‘but maybe if I do my best, I’ll give my district’s kids a fighting chance’. 

Eventually, by the time ichiruki step up, rangiku is so sick of having to dress kids up nicely for slaughter that she hands in her resignation, gives up on gin, and is getting ready to move back home to her district. That is, until she sees what an absolute record-breaker ichiruki are becoming, and start to hope again— that maybe, this year things will be different. That maybe, they will be different. That maybe, at least one of ‘her kids’ won’t go home in a coffin this year, will instead require outfits for a victory tour instead— a victory tour that is accompanied by their stylists… and the host. 

So, rangiku comes back in an unofficial capacity to help ichiruki refine their act a bit more. But with less than one month left till the games commence, will what they come up with be enough to carry them through the entire games? And, even if it does— what will happen if at the end of it all, the two people who remain are ichigo and rukia— when only one person gets to return home alive? 

Very unrelated point, but: ichigo apologised to rukia for grabbing her wrist post-tribute interview. Just wanted to clarify it is NOT alright to grab at people under any circumstances— ichigo did it in the heat of the moment, but when everything was cleared up he apologised for it. Had to mention this somewhere because it bothered me so much while drawing this installment— Ichigo you have NO room to be scolding the reporter for grabbing rukia, you did it not too long ago yourself! Having said that, that’s probably why he’s being very touchy about this— it was something that had been a sore point for him too very recently. 

To be continued! 

[spinster-sisters]

Criminal. khj

TW: Violence kinda, weapons kinda, illegal stuff obviously, exhibitionism, marking, posesiveness, gang? au? possibly, I honestly dont know what this is.

WC: 6k

I normally dont do summaries but I got a funny one:

You and your boyfriend escape a bank robbery.

-

The toe of your shoe clicks against the marble floor as you tap your foot. Across the room, high up on the wall there is an analog clock ticking down the seconds. It’s getting late, and the bank teller couldn’t be going any slower. Only two people ahead of you now.

You check your phone for the fifth time in the past 10 minutes, no update. Must not be running as late as you thought. You shift your weight to your other foot only to start taping once again. Ok sure, you weren’t late, it doesn’t mean you like how long this damn lady is taking.

The line moves up as the teller begins helping the next person. You attempt to swallow your impatience as best you can, pulling out your phone again to quickly slide between apps, but the longer you stand there the louder the ticking of the clock seems to echo around the room.

Looking away from your device, you take another look around the room. Nothing has changed since you came in. In between the doors and the lines, there was a seating area filled with two uncomfortable-looking couches facing each other and a coffee table between them. There were still 3 tellers sitting at their desks, 10 customers in line counting you. Two in the first line, three in the second, yourself, and two others in the last. About as busy as you would expect at this time of day. But the waiting still sucked.

Finally, you hear the teller ask “is there anything else I can help you with?” And you know that soon it will be your turn at the window. Pulling out your phone again you shoot a quick text.

[ it’s my turn next, hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon ]

1:24pm

Just as the woman in front of you steps away a notification dings on your phone.

[ See you soon ;) ]

1:25pm

You sighed at your boyfriend's message, thinking the winky face was a bit on the nose for your taste. But Hongjoong liked to tease.

Dropping your phone back into your pocket, you look up just as the teller motions you forward. The click of your shoe against the tile seems almost deafening in the quiet room as you step forward, trying to mask the small smile Hongjoong’s message had given you.

“what can I help you with today?” The lady at the counter-question with subdued chirpiness. Clearly, she has had a long day, already ready for it to be over. The thought made you wince.

“Hi, there seems to be a problem with the direct deposit on my account. My last paycheck didn’t go in.” You start, placing both hands on the counter.

The teller nods, with mock understanding, clearly just an impulse for years of customer service. Somewhere outside several car doors slam, but no one inside seems to notice the sound.

“Could I have the number of the account?” The teller asks, placing both hands on the keyboard and frowning at the screen, prepared to type whatever comes out of your mouth. You don’t have time to say it.

All the lights on the monitor suddenly shut off. The woman helping you looks taken aback for a second, looking over to her coworkers only to see them doing the same. The hairs on the back of your neck shoot up as nerves build in your stomach.

The next thing happens so quickly you barely register it. The glass door slides open and a metal canister flies into the room. Acting on instinct your hands fly to your ears, your eyes screwed shut, and you drop to your knees. Even with your ears covered it does little to silence the ear-splitting bang that rips through the room. It sends the rest of the room's inhabitants to the floor seconds after you, either from shock or from the disorienting mix of light and sound that came from the small device.

Flashbang.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. You open your eyes but did not let your hands drop just yet. The ring was still sounding in the room, but the blinding light had gone. Just as the last of the ringing fizzled out the doors slid open again.

A group of masked figures took confident strides into the room. Your eyes searched the street behind them, looking for anyone who might notice what’s going on. There was no one. Your stomach dropped again. The others in the room finally seemed to be regaining their hearing and sight, only to shriek when the men came into view. Swallowing your nerves you do a headcount of the patrons. Three tellers, ten customers including yourself. All adults, no children. That was good, children would cause problems.

After assessing the situation and taking a few deep breaths, you look over to the group of men who were starting to spread out around the room. The more you looked at them the more frightening they appeared. Each of the men were were dressed head to toe in black with a mask covering the bottom half of their faces, but even as you sized them up you avoided looking at their eyes, drawing attention to yourself now would be stupid.

Every one of them carried a gun. But as they fanned out across the room only one had it pointed. The same one that spoke.

“Anyone not on the ground better get that way. We don’t have all day.” The voice that spoke was calm but had a clear edge. The tones meaning ran clear in your ears as much as everyone else’s, calm does not mean forgiving. You kept your head down, trying your best to sink into the shadows trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself, that’s what people always said to do right?

You heard a few thuds as the few people in the room who remained standing dropped to the floor. None of the other patrons or staff said a word. Thank god, fighting would make this much more difficult.

“Great, now I want everyone’s hands on the ground in front of them. Try to call anyone and one of us will put a new hole in your head, so why don’t we make this easy and nobody make a sound.” The voice continued in that same tone. Your eyes shot up to make sure everyone was following orders as you placed your own hands on the cold tile next to your bare knees, they were already getting stiff and you hoped this would be over quickly.

A few of the men began walking through the people on the floor, hands on their guns but not drawn, checking just as you did that everyone was behaving. As one of the taller ones drifted toward your spot you stared at the same tile a few feet ahead of you, matching the other patrons around you.

You heard the heavy thuds of footsteps as they paused in front of you, just for a moment. You felt the gaze burn into the top of your skull as you stared forward, holding your breath.

“You don’t look nearly scared enough.” The new voice spoke, completely nonchalant. The next moment, a heavy leather boot pressed down onto your hand, crushing it against the tile. You winced and let out a small cry as pain shot up your arm. It stung as he dug his foot harder onto your hand. Both hands started to shake as the pain built, the knot that had formed in your chest from the moment the flash-bang fell through the air tightened till your breath became choked and shaky. Suddenly the pressure was gone.

“Much better,” the voice all but giggled before moving on.

You took a heaving breath as soon as the boots left your field of vision. You felt sweat start to form on your brow bone. You looked up again. A few terrified faces of other patrons looked at you with fear, clearly expecting that the man was going to blow your head off.

The man who spoke first stepped forward and motioned to the middle teller who was watching petrified from behind his desk, head barely peeking over the edge.

“You,” he started again, taking long strides across the room, walking within a few feet from you on your right side to the opening that led behind the counter, “Why don’t you show me to the safe?” He asked, voice still disconcertingly cordial. The teller gapped for a moment, and the man tilted his head expectantly. The teller stumbled to his feet, eyes not moving from the shiny gun trained on him. He did little more than gesture vaguely for the man to follow him before they both disappeared behind the doors that lead to the back of the bank, 2 of the other men followed behind him.

The room was stiff with tension. For the patrons at least. All of you seemed to be holding your breath, but the men could not seem calmer. Their postures were relaxed, many of them had their arms crossed over their chest or were leaning against furniture. None of them even had their weapons drawn, but they were still visible. Enough to keep everyone shaking with fear with their heads down. It was bizarre but effective for the time being.

Your head was absolutely swimming. Trying to keep notice of the positions of everyone in the room, taking shooting glances around for a few seconds at a time, checking the faces of your fellow hostages. Everyone knows in situations like this it’s best to just comply, you sure fucking hoped the others knew that as well. You tried to lead by example anyway. And then there were the men. You didn’t dare look any one of them in the eye, knowing what kind of consequences that would bring. But you tried to keep tabs on them. They weren’t moving much in the few minutes since the three men disappeared with the teller, but any slight movement they gave was noteworthy into your mind. You had to keep things under control.

The minutes ticked on in almost complete silence, save for the one man who was humming of all things. How could they possibly be relaxed right now you did not know. The sound was harsh against your ears for how gentle it was, it kept distracting you from your thoughts.

The thought in question was a dangerous one. Your back was beginning to ache from being hunched over and your palms were sweating uncomfortably against the marble. From where you sat against the furthest teller window you were blocked from the direct view of every robber by either furniture or walls. What you wanted to do was risky, any slight movement on their behaves would land you in their line of sight. That was an opportunity for anyone who could take it.

You need to text Hongjoong. He needed to know what was going on. You watched the men carefully for the next few minutes, looking for any sign that they might start looking around, but they all seemed perfectly content in their places. With a shaking hand, you slowly began reaching into your pocket. You managed to pull the device out without anyone noticing, but as you slid it into your lap and under your shirt one of the other patrons saw, and their eyes shot wide open. Shit.

They looked at you with frantic, pleading eyes that screamed call for help. They were looking too obvious. You swallowed and shook your head, trying to get them to look away, but they didn’t.

“Heads down,” a deep voice called. Both you and the other patron snapped your eyes to the floor, but after listening for a few seconds it didn’t sound like anyone was moving toward you. You were still blocked from view. With a shaky breath, you slowly pulled the phone out. Unlocking it silently, you pressed on the messages app.

“Well, what’s this?”

Dread shot through you. The man had reappeared from the back, slinking quietly to your side somehow without you noticing. Your head shot up to look at him as he stood, barely 5 feet away from you staring down at your phone. The entire room's attention was now on you. You felt your blood freeze in your veins as the eyes above the mask narrowed into a glare. You didn’t even move to hide the phone, you didn’t move to do anything. You just sat there, staring dumbly back into his eyes. You heard the distant sounds of fear from the hostages and soft chuckles from the men.

The bag he had slung over his shoulder was tossed to the nearest member of his crew, the two that had followed him into the back of the back reappeared, took one look at the scene, one shaking his head before they both carried on out the door with the three bags.

A hand shot into your hair, grabbing it by the roots and pulling you to your feet. Your scalp burned, the pain was so sharp and sudden your eyes screwed shut and you lost Yoruba balance. Disoriented, you let out a shriek at the pain and if it weren’t for the grip on your head you would have fallen right back down. The phone was ripped from your hand. The man slid his hand from your hair to grasp the back of your neck firmly as he looked over the screen. When your eyes opened he was scrolling through the messages from half a moment before laughing a full and wicked laugh.

“Texting your boyfriend? How cute.” He all but cackled. He observed your face, your eyes hard and pricked with tears, and he giggled again. Shoving your phone into his pocket, he motioned to the others before pulling you towards the door. You stumbled over your legs multiple times, letting out cries and hisses as you went but doing little to resist.

The other hostages, let out distraught sobs but you blocked them out, their sympathy would do nothing for you now.

You were pulled out of the building at the same moment the sound of engines roared to life. In one quick glacé you saw that the street was still deserted.

Your back was slammed against the wall of the bank, just out of view of those inside and the barrel of the man's gun was trained on you. You shut your eyes tight.

You heard a bang. And the wailing cries of the hostages inside.

Then familiar lips crashed onto yours. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a peck. The man's lips moved against yours for only a few seconds, so little you had no time to react before they were gone.

You opened your eyes. His mask was pulled back up, and he had taken a step back. His gun was already holstered at his side.

You didn’t have to see the bottom half of the man's face to know he was smirking. You pushed yourself off the wall and glared at him. At that moment two cars pulled out of the parking lot, one stopping directly in front of you. With a huff you pushed past the man who you could almost guarantee was still grinning.

Opening the door you slid into the backseat against the far window and crossed your arms over your chest. Seconds later the man got in and closed the door. And you were off.

“Come on your not actually mad are you,” he giggled, pulling down his mask.

“You damn near pulled my hair out Hongjoong! Of course, I’m mad!” You spat. You heard the two in the front seat chuckle.

“Oh don’t think you're off the hook Yunho. What the fuck was that? Since when was breaking my hand apart of the plan?” You hollered, kicking your foot against his seat. This only lead to more giggling. You resiliently stared forward, not looking at to boyfriend. He didn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest. Hongjoong slid across the back seat to wrap an arm over your shoulder that even in your rage you didn’t have the heart to shake off.

“But it’s not like I was lying! You looked way too calm. If any of them had looked at you it would have been obvious something was up.” Yunho defended, gesturing with the hand, not on the steering wheel.

“Come on, darling. You know we have to make it believable. I can’t have my best spy get their cover blown because I’m too gentle with you.” The arm around your shoulder tightened, urging you to look at him. Finally, you turned to him, smiling at you so brightly you’d think you were on a friendly road trip.

“Besides, I thought you liked it when I pulled your hair?” Hongjoong said with a cheeky wink. At that Wooyoung howled with laughter from the front seat. You blushed crimson and promptly reached your foot over to kick his seat as well.

“Oh shut up. You were going overboard and you know it.” You grumbled with much less enthusiasm. Hongjoong smiles softly at your pout before leaning back in his seat, giving you a bit more space. Comfortable silence lasted only a few minutes as you drove on before Hongjoong spoke up again.

“Why did you pull your phone out anyway? That was dumb, even if you are on our side.” He asked, fingers rubbing circles comfortingly against your shoulder. You sighed.

“Because the rest of the boys fucked up.” You replied plainly, but still easing into your boyfriend's touch. Both Yunho and Wooyoung made offended noises from the front seat, but you carried on.

“The way they were positioned was wrong. There were blind spots, several actually. You’re just lucky I was the only person in one. I figured I should let you know in case it became a problem.” You continued.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong muttered. While he heard the sound of your voice, you doubted he was listening, as his hand instead taken to playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Isn’t the whole idea of having someone undercover on the inside, so they can tell us where the blind spots are?” Wooyoung asked from the front seat, still clearly offended at your statement.

“I told Yeosang, it’s not my fault you guys planned to take him in the safe this time instead of keeping him in the lobby like always.”You shot back. But even that was half-hearted. Your body really did ache after being hunched on the hard ground for 10 minutes without moving, and the comforting touch of your boyfriend's hands made you melt into the seat, all the tension and worrying about ways it could go wrong eased off your body in waves.

You all could talk about how it went and what needed to be tweaked next time later, right now you just wanted to rest. Hongjoong pulled you against his chest by your shoulder sensing your quick drop in energy.

Just as you were about to doze off a thought popped into your head.

“Hongjoong?”

You could feel the hum he gave in response against your cheek, telling you to continue.

“Are you sure you should have pretended to shoot me? I mean, best case scenario local police add murder onto our rap list. Worst, they find out you have a man on the inside. Either one is bad.” You murmur into his chest. Your group had never killed before as there had never been any need to, and it wasn’t something that any of you really wanted to do.

“That’s only a problem if they catch us.” He replied. Sounding, as always, perfectly certain of himself.

-

Living like this had its pros and cons, much like anything else. The main con being having to drive long ways away for jobs, just as a way to keep yourself safe. Which sometimes meant pulling over on the side of the road at any ditch or shitty motel for the night before getting back to your homes.

As your vehicles pulled into a run-down motel about a mile off the main highway, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had gone into the lobby parading as drunk college students on a road trip to rent the rooms for the night. Needless to say, it had been a long day, the other boys meandered to their rooms and probably fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows. But not you.

You had been patiently waiting on the hood of the car you arrived in, for the moment Hongjoong got back. And when he did reappear and the others disappeared, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to go lay down as quickly as they did.

As the crunch of their footsteps on gravel faded till they were indoors, you turned your head upwards to the sky. It was late at night and in the middle of nowhere like this, you could see millions more stars than in your home. Hongjoong kept his place, leaning on the car hood next to where you sat, looking up as well but not at the infinite sky like you. No, he was watching your face.

You don’t know exactly how long you sat there, looking up at the sky but you know your neck had begun to ache when Hongjoong finally pulled himself onto the hood of the car next to you. You naturally came to rest your head on his shoulder, still looking up at the stars, but now in your peripheral vision, you could still see Hongjoong studying your expression carefully.

“Something on your mind?” You ask in a quiet voice, still looking up. Hongjoong stirred, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You tear your gaze from the stars to look at him. The moon cast a pearly light on his face that in your eyes made him glow.

“Sometimes I think I ruined you,” though his words were serious the giggle he gave at the end showed he had no real remorse. You still scoffed.

“I was a criminal long before I meet you Kim Hongjoong, don’t go thinking you

drastically changed the course of my life.” You reply in a dry tone, even if he was joking, it was still a point you wanted to drive home. He had no reason to be guilty with how you turned out, you were probably safer with him and the others than where you were before. He laughed at you again.

Hongjoong laughed at everything. And his laugh was one of the best things about him. Looking at him now, it gets harder and harder to imagine what your life would have been like without him.

“Babe, you were a petty thief, I turned you into a serial bank robber. I consider that pretty drastic.” He shot back, reaching up to pretend to fix your hair.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else, and between us? I’m glad it was you.” Your words came out slightly more sentimental than you had anticipated and when Hongjoong fell silent next to you, you promptly blushed and turned back to the stars.

You and Hongjoong very rarely spoke about stuff like this. Even if neither of you would ever admit it, the truth of living life like this is that all it takes is one day, one mistake, for the family you created and the life you live to come crashing down around you. The span of a few minutes could be the difference between running off into the sunset and quite literally never seeing each other again. And after the slight hiccup, you had today that only you had noticed at first, that thought was at the forefront of your mind.

So basically you liked to live in the moment.

It was quiet for a few minutes, him watching you and you watching the sky. There was a very slight breeze in the air, but the summer air was made it more of a gentle cool wind than an uncomfortable chill.

“It’s getting late, you should go to sleep,” Hongjoong muttered. Quieter than his usual quip.

“I slept in the car.” You replied easily. Which was true, and while that nap had been anything but restful with the constant bumps in the road, he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh well, here I was trying to get you in bed but I guess you don’t want to.” He sighed, regaining some of the playfulness from earlier while running a teasing hand up your spine. It gave you shivers, but you had no desire to give in to him so easily.

“Who says we need a bed?” You ask matter of factly. Turning to give him the same wink he had laid on you earlier in the day. Jobs like the one you did today always put you on edge, no matter how many times you did it. Unlike the rest of them, it took you hours to fully relax and admit safety enough to let your guard down. You would never call Hongjoong carefree, but he did have a habit of trying to jump you the moment you were a safe distance away. Hongjoong leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Are you asking me to take you on the hood of this car? Because trust me, darling, I would.” Shivers his your spine once again, but you weren’t quite down bantering yet. You turned your head away from him to look at the beat-up old motel and the deserted parking lot you sat in. Motioning to it all you replied.

“Is this the most romantic place you could find?” You ask, each word oozing with how unimpressed you were by the scenery. At that Hongjoong placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at the millions of shining stars once again. You could feel his next words before they came.

“I don’t know, I think I did a pretty good job.”

It’s true, looking straight up and nowhere else gave the impression that you were sitting on the top of a mountain, the entire world below you and nothing but heaven above. Cheesy, but effective.

Hongjoong accurately assumed your silence meant he had won. Pushing you by your shoulder till your back hit the cool metal, your eyes stayed trained on the sky above. Your legs hung over the front of the car, pushed up only slightly till you lay with most of your body on the hood. Hongjoong’s moonlight face still hung in your peripheral, hanging over you slightly.

You stared straight into the sky as Hongjoong slung his body over yours, trapping your hips to the metal with his own.

“Please tell me you're not going to be super dramatic about this?” You as with your last dreg of defiance. He smirked at you.

“Babe, this is going to be the most dramatic moment of your life.”

And with that, Hongjoong leaned down over you, connecting your lips with a heated kiss. Your arms automatically slung around his neck, pulling him closer. Your breath hitched almost immediately, feeling all strength leave your body as you melted into the kiss. Hongjoong took time to switch between a long slow-paced drag of his lips across yours, to nipping and sucking gently at your bottom lip as he pleased. The air no longer seemed like a necessity, when staying like this forever got more and more appealing.

Running his lips down to your jaw you almost rolled your eyes when you felt Hongjoong suck a rather impressively sized hickey right onto the underside of your jaw. It would perfectly match the fading ones that dotted your collar bones and the base of your neck, though the placement of this one would be much more visible.

Hongjoong’s hand took hold of your waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pushing it to bunch up over your chest, exposing you to the cool night air. He hadn’t removed it completely, but nonetheless he leaned back to admire. The ghost of a smirk wormed its way onto his lips as he ran his soft fingertips along the marks he gave you.

Staring at the ones lower on your stomach, trailing up your body with feather light touches. Your eyes screwed shut when he brushed over the ones on your breast. The bra you had been wearing today was nothing special, if not a little plain, but you could barely stand the heat of his gaze as it traveled up your body along with his hand.

Eventually, he reached the newest addition to the collection of purple splotches on your body. Cupping your cheek with his hand he urged your eyes open.

“I go through all this work to get you out under the stars and here you are with your eyes closed. That’s rude of you.” He stated with an exaggerated frown.

“It’s rude to tease,” you tried to sound as playful as him, but it came out as more of a whine. He giggled at you and carried on.

“I’m not teasing, I’m admiring. Now let me continue or you’ll get nothing.” He replies sternly. The mood suddenly shifting as the sparkle in his eye shifted to a darker hungrier look. You gulped slightly before letting your head fall back against the metal to stare up at the sky again. You felt Hongjoong’s mouth on your body again. His warm lips giving new life to some of the more faded marks on your chest. The cool air suddenly felt incredibly hot as your boyfriend's hands ran up and down your sides, occasionally stopping to squeeze whatever flesh he could grasp. Each time pulled another sound past your lips, although you did your best to muffle them.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” he remarked, barely pulling away, “I want to hear how pretty you sound too.”

It wasn’t spoken like a command, but you took it as one. Letting your mouth hang open in a moan when Hongjoong took one of your breasts in his palm, kneeling it slightly before pulling your bra down just enough to free it. He wasted no time in dragging his tongue over your nipple, then sweeping back down to suck a mark directly on the underside of your boob.

Your legs clenched together as he worked, the small amount of friction it gave in your shorts only served to drive you to more extremes when you rolled your hips against his. You groaned startlingly loud at that, the sensation of his hard dick pressing against your core even through the denim of both your pants pulled wetness from your core quicker than you would ever care to admit.

Hongjoong pulled away with a laugh, sitting up straight to look down at your already keening expression.

“Calm down baby, we have all night. No need to rush.” He chuckled at you. Despite his words, he took almost immediate action, running his hands up your bare thighs till his fingers hook on the waistband of your shorts. He pulled them down, but only just enough. Slipping his hand between your legs to cup your heat, while palming himself over his jeans. You whined again and clamped your legs around his hand, holding it in place. Despite your body’s subconscious efforts, he slid his finger over your cunt through your damp underwear.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been incredibly embarrassing how wet he made you from just touches to your body, but at the moment all you could think about was how desperately you wanted him to continue.

“Your soaking wet already, it feels like cheating with how quickly your body reacts to me.” He mutters, pressing two fingers against your hole, with nothing but a thin scrap of fabric keeping them from pushing inside you.

“Hongjoong, please fuck me. I’m begging you.” You groan, rolling your hips against his hand repeatedly. He broke out in a wide smile.

“I like the sound of you begging. Do it again for me.” He commands, voice laced with honey. You took a shuddering breath, turning your eyes to meet his with a pleading look.

“Please, I need you to fuck me.” You beg with all the desperation you have.

“Oh course baby, all you had to do was ask.” He lilts, tilting his head to the side with a sickly sweet smile.

Hongjoong pulled his hand from your core, which left an unhappy feeling in your stomach. But he used said hand to assist in pulling his dick free of his pants which spurred your legs even further apart. Your hands had been hanging uselessly at your side since this all began but as he leaned over your body once again, staring straight down into your wanton face, your hands flung themselves behind his shoulder to hang off of him.

Hongjoong pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, running it through your folds twice, watching as your face shifted from bliss to desperation each time he almost slipped in. And of course, he laughed. But that was the last bit of torture he gave you before sinking into your cunt.

Your synchronized groans sounded throughout the empty parking lot when he finally filled you to the hilt. And with his own patients starting to run as thin as yours he wasted no time in pulling out and thrusting again.

Your back arched more each time he pushed into you, feeling him stretching your walls and brush against the most sensitive spots inside you made your toes curl. And as he began to build pace his deep pants and groans rang in your ears.

He was doing anything but going fast. Long hard and deep thrusts shook your body in a steady rhythm. Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt and your mouth hung open as he fucked into you.

“Come on baby, you're not that far gone already are you?” His voice carried a teasing tone, but his own breath had gone shaky. You both stared into each other’s faces, watching each other’s expressions shift with bliss at every thrust. You were moaning and whining freely now. Words have failed you.

You felt the muscles on Hongjoong’s shoulder strain beneath your fingers, and with your orgasm fast approaching your nails practically clawed down his back. Hongjoong hissed above you, but the action did nothing but spur him on.

“Your gonna cum baby? Gonna cum already on my cock? How desperate you must be, to let a criminal have his way with you like this.” He growled the words down at you. His words shot to your core, making you clench around him, with a whine you forced words past your lips.

“I don’t care, just want you.” The words were barely a whisper. But the effect was the same. With a ringing cry, you came undone underneath him. You shook and threw your head back, staring directly into the stars above you. Your body moved of its own accord, but that was all beyond you. The only thing you could think about was the look on Hongjoong’s stunning face as he came hovering above you.

You both basked in the feeling of waves of pleasure rolling over your bodies. Continuing to grind against each other subconsciously as you rode it out.

The cool air returned with a nip. Hongjoong had all but collapsed above you. As you came back to reality the cold metal of the car suddenly felt so comfortable you could fall asleep right there. You felt your eyes being to drift shut.

“Oh no baby, I’m taking you to bed for real this time.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling himself up to look down at you again. He gave a small smile at your pout.

“Your pretty cute for a dangerous criminal.”

You gathered up the last of your strength to hit him on the shoulder.

-

and this my friends is why I dont make a habit of writing longer things, they just get away from me.

I meant for this to be a short hot sexy lil thing and it turned into this long ass sappy thing

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Jin Guangyao isn't cruel because he is nice sometimes! No... no... just no. He pretends to be a nice, sweet person to get what he wants, it is exactly why he got away with the killings and plannings for the Yin Hu Fu, YEARS AFTER JIN GUANGSHAN IS OUT OF THE PICTURE. He's the only legitimate Jin left old enough to take over the Sect, who the hell was gonna argue that when all relevant Jins were dead and Nie Mingjue was killed by the happy smiling pretty boy?

First example, he was actively friends with Xue Yang, there is no saying he was coerced into that one since he recommended him as a guest disciple and made creepy little jokes with him.

Jin GuangYao sighed, “I only turned around for a second and you stirred up so much trouble for me. I only had to pay for a bowl of dumplings in the beginning, and now I have to pay for his table, chairs, pots and pans, and even bowls.”

Xue Yang, “You’ll miss the couple of coins?”

Jin GuangYao, “No.”

Xue Yang, “Then why are you sighing?”

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t think you’ll miss the couple of coins either. Why can’t you try being a normal customer once in a while?”

Xue Yang, “Back in Kuizhou I never paid for anything I wanted. Just like this.” As he spoke, he casually plucked off a stick of sugared haws off a vendor’s pole. It might be the first time the vendor saw such a shameless person. As he stared open-mouthed, Xue Yang took a bite, “Besides, you can deal with the trouble of me wrecking a tiny stall, can’t you?”

Jin GuangYao smiled, “You little delinquent. Wreck stalls however you want. I wouldn’t even care if you burned down the entire street. Just one thing—don’t wear the Stars Amidst Snow robes and cover up your face. Don’t let anyone know who did it, or it’d be trouble for me.”

He tossed the money to the vendor

A.K.A: haha you're funny and I don't care who you fuck over but be sly and

Next example:

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources on these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. Among them, not many achieved anything, while the one who walked the furthest was the youngest Xue Yang, recommended by Jin GuangYao alone.

Jin GuangYao was overjoyed. He accepted him as a guest cultivator and gave him high rights and freedom. The corpse training ground was an area of land Jin GuangYao specially requested for Xue Yang for him to research in secrecy, which meant for him to fool around however he wanted to.

He gave a whole torture playground for Xue Yang to use, he specifically asked for this from his own mouth, for Xue Yang to use and he would check in on progress. As for his morals:

Jin GuangYao’s tone was somewhat reproachful, “He Su gongzi is a respected cultivator, after all. How could you refer to him in such a disrespectful way?”

The cultivator laughed coldly, “I’ve already fallen in your hands. What are you keeping up the pretense for?”

Jin GuangYao responded with a kind expression, “You don’t have to look at me like that. I also had no choice. To elect a chief cultivator is an irresistible trend. What was the use of stirring up trouble and seeking arguments everywhere? I’ve already warned you again and again, yet you were determined not to listen to me. Under these circumstances, things are already beyond redemption. From the bottom of my heart, I, too, feel utmost pain and regret.”

He Su, “What was the irresistible trend? What was stirring up trouble? Jin GuangShan wanted to establish the position of chief cultivator only to imitate the QishanWen Sect in being the only one at the top. Do you think all the world is ignorant? You frame me like this only because I spoke the truth!”

Jin GuangYao smiled, saying nothing. He Su continued, “When you really succeed, all of the world of cultivation would see the true face of the LanlingJin Sect. Do you think killing me alone would put you eternally at ease? How wrong you are! We, the TingshanHe Sect, teem with talent. From now on, we’ll unite and never surrender to you Wen-dogs of another skin!”

Hearing this, Jin GuangYao squinted slightly, the corners of his lips curving up. It was the usual kind, gentle expression. Seeing this, He Su felt his heart skip a beat. At the same time, commotion sounded outside the corpse training ground, among it the cries of women and children.

He Su spun around, only to see a group of LanlingJin Sect cultivators drag inside sixty or seventy people all wearing the same uniform. There were men and women, old and young. Every one of them was a cross between shock and fear, while some were already crying. Both tied up, a girl and a boy kneeled on the ground as they wailed at He Su, “Ge!”

He Su was shocked speechless, his face instantly as white as paper, “Jin GuangYao! What are you doing?! It’s enough if you kill me—why drag my entire sect along?!”

Jin GuangYao looked down and fixed his sleeves, still grinning, “Weren’t you yourself the one who reminded me just now? Even if I killed you, I wouldn’t be put eternally at ease. The TingshanHe Sect teems with talent, and from now on, you’d unite and never surrender—I was quite frightened. After much thought, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

Among the group are children. That he did see and stare at gleefully as he lets Xue Yang decide to use all of them for corpse experiments. What does that mean??? Maybe that Jin Guangyao is also not in fact best uncle as he similarly was willing to kill Jin Ling who he "loved" as bait to try running away and is more than willing to use his "friends" for his own rise to power or to run away.

Examples of him enjoying emotionally torturing others as much as Xue Yang as a tactic:

Example 1:

“That’s not the way to go about things, is it? The TingshanHe Sect rebelled and schemed to assassinate Sect Leader Jin with all its forces before it was caught red-handed. How could that be called without a reason?”

The ones overhead cried, “Ge! He’s lying! We didn’t, we didn’t!”

He Su, “Utter nonsense! Open your eyes and fucking look! There are nine-year-old children here! Old men who can’t even walk! How could they rebel against anything?! Why would they assassinate your dad out of nowhere?!”

Jin GuangYao, “Because you made a mistake and committed murder, Young Master He Su, while they refused to accept Koi Tower’s conviction of you, of course.”

He Su finally remembered the accusation for which he was transferred to such a creepy place, “It’s all made up! I never killed a cultivator of the LanlingJin Sect! I’ve never even seen the person who died! I don’t even know if he was really a cultivator from your sect! I… I…”

He stammered for a while before eventually caving in, “I… I don’t even know what happened, I don’t even know!”

Yet, at such a place, nobody would listen to his protests.

Example 2:

Just as he was about to move, Jin GuangYao smiled, “HanGuang-Jun, it’s best if you take five steps back.”

Wei WuXian suddenly felt a small, sharp sting come from his neck. Lan XiChen lowered his voice, “Be careful. Do not move!”

Lan WangJi’s gaze landed on Wei WuXian’s neck. His face paled slightly.

An almost invisible guqin string, light and golden, was tied around Wei WuXian’s neck.

The guqin string was extremely thin. It was covered in special paint as well, making it almost invisible to the eye. Along with how disoriented Wei WuXian was, unable to pay attention to anything else, he didn’t notice it when it wrapped around his throat.

“Lan Zhan, don’t! Don’t back away!”

But Lan WangJi immediately walked five steps back without any hesitation.

Jin GuangYao, “Wonderful. Now, please sheathe Bichen.”

With a clank, Lan WangJi obeyed again. Wei WuXian raged, “Don’t ask for too much!��

Jin GuangYao quipped, “This is already asking for too much? Next, I’m even going to ask HanGuang-Jun to seal away his spiritual powers. What would that be called?”

Wei WuXian seethed, “You…”

Before he could finish, the sharp pain of flesh being lacerated came from his throat. Something dripped down his neck. Lan WangJi’s face was pale. Jin GuangYao said, “How could he not listen to me? Just think about it, Wei gongzi, his life is in my hands.”

Lan WangJi spoke one word at a time, “Do. Not. Touch. Him.”

“Then you know what to do, HanGuang-Jun.”

A moment later, Lan WangJi responded, “Yes.”

Lan XiChen sighed. Lan WangJi raised his hands. With two strong taps, he locked his own spiritual powers.

Jin GuangYao smiled, his voice soft, “This really is…”

Lan WangJi’s eyes were locked on them, “Let him go.”

Example 3:

Wei WuXian wouldn’t have had to be responsible for a life as heavy as Jin ZiXuan’s, and the things that happened later wouldn’t have had to happen.

Yet now, he finally realized even the reason behind culprit’s curse wasn’t to frame him. Even the cause didn’t have anything to do with him!

Such a fact was truly difficult to accept.

As he laughed, Wei WuXian’s eyes reddened. He mocked, whether at himself or otherwise, “I can’t believe it’s because of someone like you… because of such a ridiculous reason!”

But Jin GuangYao seemed like he knew what he thought, “Wei gongzi, you really shouldn’t think like this.”

Wei WuXian, “Oh? You know what I think?”

Jin GuangYao, “Of course. It’s quite easy. You’re definitely thinking about how unfortunate you are. In reality, you’re not. Even if Su She didn’t curse Jin ZiXun, Mr. Wei, you’d receive a siege sooner or later, because of some other reason.” He smiled, “Because that’s what kind of a person you are. At best, you’re the untamed hero; at worst, you offend people wherever you go. Unless all those whom you’ve offended lived their lives safely, as soon as something happened to them or someone did something to them, the first person they suspect would be you and the first person they seek revenge on would also you. And this is something you have no control over.”

Somehow, Wei WuXian smiled, “What should I do? For some reason, I think you make a lot of sense.”

Jin GuangYao, “And even if you didn’t lose control at the Qiongqi Path, could you guarantee you didn’t lose control sometime in the rest of your life? Thus, someone like you is destined to have a short life. You see? Doesn’t it feel a lot better if you think about it this way?”

He takes little time in using others hurt or their protective instincts against them, and is just as gleeful to see others in powerless situations in comparison to him as it still gives him a form of control to worm his way out of everything that has caught up to him.

Jin GuangYao, “Ge, every word of what I say is true.”

His tone was more than earnest. Ever since he captured Lan XiChen, he’d indeed been treating him with respect. At this point, Lan XiChen wasn’t able to turn against him yet. He could only sigh, “Sect Leader Jin, I have already said, when you went your own way to scheme such havoc at Burial Mound, that there was no longer any need to call me ‘Brother.’”

Jin GuangYao, “What happened at Burial Mound was an accident, a mistake. But, I can’t go back anymore.”

Lan XiChen, “What do you mean you cannot go back?”

Lan WangJi frowned slightly, his voice cold, “Xiongzhang, do not engage in excessive conversation with him.”

Wei WuXian reminded him as well, “Sect Leader Lan, do you remember what you said to Sect Leader Jiang? Don’t spend too long talking to him.”

Jin GuangYao, “Ge, listen to me. I don’t deny that I did those things…”

Lan XiChen, “How could you deny them? There are both witnesses and proof!”

Jin GuangYao, “And so I said I don’t deny them! But to have killed my father, my wife, my son, ge—if not because I had no other choice, why would I have done those things? Could it be that I’m really so out of my mind in your eyes?!”

"Your… wife…” As though he couldn’t say it, he immediately changed his phrasing, "Your sister, Qin Su, did you really marry her while knowing what blood relationship you had with her?”

Jin GuangYao stared blankly at him. Suddenly, tears rolled down his eyes. He answered with pain, “… Yes.” Lan XiChen took in a deep breath. His face was almost ashen. Jin GuangYao whispered, "But I really had no choice.”

With a sigh, Lan XiChen continued, “Third, do not try to avoid it and answer me—did you plan the death of Jin ZiXuan on purpose?!”

Hearing his father’s name, Jin Ling, who’d been holding Jiang Cheng, widened his eyes.

Lan WangJi raised his voice somewhat, “Xiongzhang, you believe him?”

Lan XiChen’s expression was complicated, “Of course I do not believe that Jin ZiXuan ran into the attack at Qiongqi Path by accident, but… let him speak first.”

Jin GuangYao knew he wouldn’t be believed if he denied it no matter what. He clenched his teeth, “… I indeed didn’t run into Jin ZiXuan by accident.”

Jin Ling immediately clenched his fists.

Jin GuangYao continued, “But I’ve never thought of planning everything that happened afterward either. You don’t have to think of me as so clever and faultless. Many things can’t be controlled at all. How could I have known that he’d definitely die by Wei WuXian’s hands together with Jin ZiXun? How could I have predicted that Wei WuXian would definitely lose control and the Ghost General would definitely run a riot?”

Wei WuXian’s voice was harsh, “And you said you didn’t run into him by accident? Isn’t that self-contradiction?!”

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t deny that I told him about the attack at Qiongqi Path on purpose, but I only thought that he’d encounter some difficulties if he ran into you when you were being troubled by his cousin since he’d never been on good terms with you. How could I have known that you would simply kill everyone present, Wei gongzi?”

“Why was a sect leader who spent money like water unwilling to do the smallest favor and buy my mother’s freedom? Simple—it was too much trouble. My mother waited for so many years, weaving together so many difficult circumstances when she talked to me, imagining for his sake so many hardships. And the real reason was only a single word: trouble.

“This is what he said, ‘It’s especially women who’ve read some books who think they’re a level higher than other women. They’re the most troublesome, with so many demands and unrealistic thoughts. If I bought her freedom and took her back to Lanling, who knows how much fuss she’d make. It was best that I let her stay where she was just like that. With her conditions, she’d probably be popular for a few more years. She wouldn’t have to worry about her spendings for the rest of her life.’

“‘Son? Oh, forget it.’”

Jin GuangYao’s memory was extraordinary. With such a word-by-word repetition, one could even imagine that drunk expression of Jin GuangShan’s when he said these words, “Ge, look, those three words were all that I was worth to my father, ‘Oh, forget it.’ Hahahaha…”

Pain flashed before Lan XiChen’s face, “Even if your father… you…” He still couldn’t find an appropriate comment and gave up, sighing instead, “What is the use of saying all this now?”

Jin GuangYao shrugged as he smiled, “I can’t help it. To seek pity even after doing all these terrible things—that’s the kind of person I am.”

At the word ‘pity’, he suddenly flipped his wrist. A red guqin string wrapped around Jin Ling’s neck.

Tears still hung at the corners of Jin GuangYao’s eyes as he spoke, voice low, “Don’t move!”

"I had no choice", "I couldn't predict anyone would be killed" "He mocked and forgot my mother and I". He uses all of this as a try to convince a kind Lan Xichen to let him go. However,he contradicts his own defenses as he had said Wei Wuxian was always fated to die for his actions and lack of being to keep things under control. This empathy is faked on his end while he makes excuses all while he never extended the same courtesy to those he killed, innocent or not, and underhandedly still tries to get those sympathetic under his manipulations. When they are not working he resorts again to threatening lives. He uses his mother also as a reason for revenge, however his grab for power alone after Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue are killed was solely based on his own obsession of status at that point. His mother was no longer a goal to accomplish anything and his continued lies dragged in more than one innocent party to get what he wanted.

He never saw Jin Ling, Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, or Wei Wuxian as anything but pawns despite his soft words to them that are really just a mockery within Guanyin Temple at that point. He has placed none of them before himself in terms of what he cares for and never had.

TL:DR: Jin Guangyao's "kindness" was always a mask and Nie Mingjue was right that he was irredeemable, genuinely unkind and cruel as a person.

(Edit: Jin Guangyao stans don't even try, I will block you if you dare to reply to this)