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obsessedwhyyes · 23 days ago

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The Learned Observer

Fic Request: Voyeurism

Summary: On a sleepless night, Gale notices the distinct sound of hushed voices outside his tent. It couldn't be you and Astarion… could it? When he decides to take a peek - to satisfy his scholarly curiosity, of course - he gets more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2623 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader, implied Astarion x Gale x Fem!Reader Content: Gale's POV (first person), voyeurism, dry humping, handjob, public sex, male masturbation, a little bit of jealousy.

A/N: Gale, in my humble opinion, would not use the word, “cock.” I cannot express how hard it was to not use the word, "cock" in a smut fic. I frigging love that word. Anyways, writing entirely in Gale’s voice was honestly the most fun mini challenge I’ve set myself so far, and I would gladly do first person BG3 companion POVs again. Thank you, dear anon, for the request!

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other.

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face.

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious.

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire.

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really.

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response.

He knew.

Astarion knew.

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader #f!tav #bloodweave #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #gale fanfic #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

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nahoney22 · 1 year ago

Note

On my knees BEGGING you to please do a first kiss on the cheek/lips with all of clone force 99 with a female reader? I looove your work!! Thank you in advance and no worries if you don’t fancy doing this! I know a lot of people have already done this 😊

First Kisses

All Bad Batch Boys X F!Reader

warnings: first kiss on both cheek and lips. Some spontaneous kisses. Mutual pining and fluff. Female reader.

authors note: genuinely surprised I’ve not done this one yet! Enjoy anon. And thanks for the kind words.

Echo

On the cheek:

"Where is it?" you sighed in annoyance, rummaging through your belongings, turning the Marauder upside down and looking through every crook and nanny.

Cid had sent you back to the ship to retrieve a small trinket, literally the size of a pebble and one you all retrieved on a mission and the blame naturally fell on you for your occasional indulgence in things that didn't belong to you.

"Need some help?" Echo's voice broke through the frustration as he approached from behind. Glancing back, still on the floor, you offered a sheepish smile.

"Would you mind?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I did," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming. Could he be any more handsome?

Offering a silent expression of gratitude, you turned away to conceal the blush creeping onto your cheeks and resumed your search. It isn’t long until you heard a murmur of exclamation and Echo returning to you.

Rising to your feet, dusting off your knees from the floor's embrace of dirt, you brushed your hands against your thighs as Echo approached. "Please tell me you found it.”

To your delight, Echo revealed the small trinket nestled between his fingers.

"Found it," he smirked. His smile had a peculiar effect on you, making your knees momentarily weak.

"Echo," you sighed in relief, grateful that the mission hadn't been in vain, "I can’t thank you enough. Good to know this mission wasn’t for nothing.”

Accepting the trinket from him, you suddenly realized the proximity between you and Echo. "What would you do without me?" he quipped, his words laced with humor and yet tinged with sincerity.

Unable to resist the surge of emotions within you, you offered him a heartfelt smile, getting lost in the depths of his eyes. Without thinking, your hand found its way to his shoulder, and you leaned up to place a tender, lingering kiss on his cheek—a gesture that held a quiet intensity. "Thanks again," you murmured softly, observing his widened eyes for a fleeting reaction before turning away and making your way back to the parlor.

"Uh, y-you're welcome," Echo stammered, his response a mixture of surprise and confusion.

On the lips:

There was an undeniable tension between you and Echo after that brief kiss on his cheek. He initially thought it was a friendly gesture, but as he laid in his bunk and thought of the memory, he believed that the intensity in your eyes told a different story.

Days later, Echo mustered the courage to approach you when you were alone. Standing behind you, he hesitated, unsure of how to start the conversation.

Sensing his presence, you turned to face him. "Hey, are you okay?"

He paused for a moment, reminding himself that he had the nerve to ask why you had kissed him. Slowly, he spoke up. "I don't know... it just felt right," you shrugged casually, rocking back and forth on balls of your feet. "I would do it again."

A warm chuckle escaped Echo's lips, his eyes shining. "Ever thought about kissing me somewhere else?" His question was bold, and your wide eyes and growing smile hinted at a shared desire for perhaps a proper kiss.

You tilted your head, taking a small step closer. "Possibly. And you?" you asked, your voice filled with playful curiosity.

"More often than not," he replied, his voice lowering as his hand reached to cup your cheek. Simultaneously, you leaned in, your lips meeting in a soft and passionate first kiss. It surpassed all expectations so you just knew there was something special between the two of you.

Hunter

On the cheek:

Hunter had always been your hero, coming to your rescue time and time again and today was no exception.

As the ground shook and buildings crumbled around you, Hunter swiftly grabbed hold of you, shielding you from harm. He held you so tightly that it felt like your ribs might crack, but you were grateful to be safe in his embrace rather than under a lot of debris.

After the terrifying ordeal had passed and the dust began to settle, both of you let out relieved sighs. "That was too close," he commented, surveying the area, but he hadn't released his hold on you just yet.

"Way too close," you agreed, suddenly aware of how intimately close he was and how many times he had saved you from danger. In that moment, you couldn't resist showing your gratitude. Gently, you lifted his helmet, revealing the exposed skin of his cheek. With tenderness, you leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his tattooed cheek. You were certain you heard him inhale sharply at the contact, but you quickly replaced his helmet before you could confirm his reaction. "Thanks for saving me. Again."

You gently pulled away from his grasp, setting off to resume the mission. You couldn't quite read his expression, but it seemed to be one of shock.

On the lips:

Barely a minute, perhaps even less than thirty seconds, passed before your lips met in a kiss. You heard a thud behind you, and as you turned, you saw Hunter dropping his helmet to the ground, making a beeline straight for you.

Without hesitation, he encircled his arms around your waist, pulling you back to him, and your lips found each other in a fervent union. It was a kiss filled with urgency, desire, and a longing that had been brewing for far too long.

"I couldn't go another day without kissing you," he rasped against your lips, his fingers digging into your waist as you melted into his embrace.

“What took you so long?” You grin agaisnt his smile.

Wrecker

On the cheek:

"Uh, Wrecker! I need some help!" It had been a few days since the Aggrocrabs wreaked havoc on the ship during our time on that tropical island. With Tech nursing a femur injury, he had entrusted you with the task of inspecting the external damage on top of the Marauder. However, as you climbed up, jotting down notes on any visible issues, your heart sank when you heard a clang. You turned to see that the ladder you had used to ascend was nowhere in sight.

In the distance, you spotted Wrecker lounging around, taking a much-needed break. There was a twinge of guilt for interrupting him, but you had to find a way down somehow.

At the sound of your plea for help, Wrecker quickly made his way over, chuckling as he observed your predicament. "Need help getting down, pretty girl?"

You suppressed the smile that threatened to spread across your face, trying not to melt at his charming flirtations. But deep down, you couldn't deny that you enjoyed it.

"Please. I think the ladder fell over there," you nodded, pointing in the direction where you last saw it. However, Wrecker made no move to retrieve it. Instead, he suggested that you should jump, assuring that he would catch you. Wide-eyed, you shook my head in disbelief. "No way! What if you drop me?"

"Would I ever? Seriously?" He let out a hearty laugh, assuming a position as if he was ready to catch your falling body. And despite the protests, he refused to back down.

So, fueled by determination, you braced myself for an uncomfortable landing and reluctantly took the leap of faith. Just as he promised, he caught you in his arms.

"See? I told ya that you'd be fine," he smirked, holding you in a bridal-style embrace. Though relieved that he caught you, you couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of emotions at the closeness between you both.

Without thinking, you leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on the scarred skin of his cheek. His eyes widened, and he began to stammer, unable to form coherent words. "Thanks for catching me," you whisper happily, hopping down from his arms, leaving a speechless Wrecker in your wake.

On the lips:

"Hey, would you like to go for a walk with me?" With confidence in your stride, a gentle smile on your face, and a glimmer of anticipation in your eyes, you approached Wrecker who was sat on his bunk.

"Yeah, sure," he grinned, rising from to his towering stance without hesitation.

Together, you embarked on quite a leisurely stroll through a quaint village, on Pabu, engaging in light conversation. It was evident that both of you wanted to address the unspoken tension between you, this kiss to be more forward, but a sudden wave of nervousness washed over you. You had harbored feelings for Wrecker for quite some time, and you desperately hoped that you had correctly interpreted the connection between you both. After all, he wasn’t exactly shy about hiding his feelings either.

Sensing your distraction, Wrecker tenderly took your hand in his, bringing you to a gentle stop. You turned to look up at him, and he tilted his head, his gaze filled with shyness. Despite his nerves, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the other day when you kissed me," he murmured softly, his eyes fixed on you.

You couldn't help but giggle, feeling a tinge of bashfulness at the reminder. "It was just a kiss on the cheek," you replied softly, your heart fluttering as his hand cupped your cheek.

"Yeah, I know, but..." He stumbled over his words, his nervousness palpable. Unable to resist after staring far too long at his plump lips, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, silencing his unfinished sentence. You were fairly certain he was going to ask you for a proper kiss, anyway.

He gasped softly at the unexpected sensation, but before you could pull away, he drew you closer, lifting you up and cradling you in his arms. With a hunger that mirrored your own, he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of your lips just a little longer.

Tech

On the cheek:

"Tech, what's your type?" The question escaped your lips, fueled by the unspoken feelings you had harbored for him for what felt like an eternity. In the solitude of the cockpit, with only the two of you, you decided to take a chance and see if there was any possibility of him reciprocating your emotions.

"In what sense?" he inquired, engrossed in his data pad, as you swung gently back and forth in the seat beside him.

"In terms of dating," you replied slowly, your voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. You observed a brief widening of his eyes, although he didn't meet your gaze. "Personality, looks..."

Tech adjusted his goggles and tapped his leg nervously. "Those things are subjective. I believe it's essential to get to know someone before making any judgments. While I can appreciate physical appearance, a person's personality carries great weight for me." He responded honestly, stealing a sidelong glance at you to assess your reaction. "Why do you ask?"

You casually shrugged, not fully addressing the question you truly wanted to ask, yet also refraining from pressuring him. "Just curious."

As he observed your growing silence, his heart rate quickened, and he mustered the courage to continue. "If I were to pursue a romantic relationship, someone with a personality… like yours would be cherished the most."

A warm smile graced your lips as you looked down at your lap, feeling a mixture of joy and gratitude in response to Tech's sweet confession. "Thank you, Tech," you whispered softly, tilting your head towards him. To your surprise, you found him already gazing back at you, his own smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Just as Tech was about to reveal his thoughts on looks - in particular- your looks, the cockpit door swung open, and Hunter barged in, seeking your assistance with an urgent matter. Instantly, both you and Tech fell silent, nodding in response to Hunter's request. "Sure, I'll be right there," you quickly assured, rising from your seat and swiftly leaving the cockpit before Tech could utter another word.

Tech let out a sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration at the untimely interruption. Unbeknownst to him, he remained unaware of the soft footsteps that stealthily approached him until he felt a gentle pressure against his cheek.

His eyes widened in awe as you pulled away, leaving him in a state of wonderment. A soft yet flirtatious smile graced your lips, and the realisation sank in— you had just kissed him on the cheek, a gesture he had never received until that very moment and left him rather speechless.

On the lips:

You couldn't help but notice Tech's lingering gaze on you, his eyes darting away whenever you caught him in the act. There was a certain flustered energy about him, especially after the kiss on the cheek that had caught him off guard. But you knew, you could sense the hidden glances and the unspoken attraction.

With a surge of boldness, you made your way towards him, clearing your throat to grab his attention. He looked up, almost too quickly, his hands betraying his nervousness as they fumbled behind his back. "Need anything?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Not in particular," you smiled, leaning against the power console. "Just wanted to see how my favorite trooper is doing." The teasing in your voice was unmistakable, and you couldn't help but notice the telltale blush that spread across his cheeks. Yes, he definitely had it bad for you.

"Ah, I see. Well... I was going to pull you aside for a chat anyway," he spoke, and your heart skipped a beat as he hit the button to shut the cockpit door, hoping that this time there would be no interruptions.

"Oh yeah?" you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What about?"

He took a step closer, breaking the invisible barrier between you both, and his breath brushed against your face, sending shivers down your spine. "I wanted to tell you what I find attractive in terms of looks, in response to your earlier question about dating."

You knew where this was heading, but you wanted to hear him say it. So, you played along, feigning ignorance. "I'm very interested to know," you hummed, tilting your head to the side, acutely aware of his fingers flexing, longing to touch you.

"If I were to date someone, I would want them to have your features. Your eyes, your smile... ideally, someone who looks like you," he confessed, puffing his chest out in an attempt to appear more confident. “Precisely you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. "And what if I told you that I'm looking for the same... someone who looks like you?"

He took another step closer, his hand finding its place on your waist. "Then it would please me greatly," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, locking eyes as if daring each other to make the next move. And to your pleasant surprise, it was Tech who took the plunge.

"Kiss me again," his voice was husky, his lips moist as he licked them in anticipation. "Please."

"I'll give you a real one this time," you whispered, closing the remaining distance between you. His lips eagerly met yours and you both experienced the joy of a genuine first kiss, sealing your shared feelings.

Crosshair

On the cheek:

You find yourself chewing his ear off, rambling about everything and nothing in particular. Crosshair remains hunched over, a toothpick clenched between his teeth, showing minimal interest in your words. Finally, you come to a halt, exhaling deeply and leaning against the wall next to him. You shoot him a glance, feeling a pang of guilt. "Sorry. I guess I was rambling, huh?"

You have a soft spot for Crosshair, despite his intimidating demeanor. Once you get past his brooding exterior, you've discovered a sweeter side to him, hidden beneath the surface. So, the realisation that you may have just annoyed him for the past twenty minutes starts to gnaw at your mind.

"Just a tad," he responds, his voice carrying a hint of dryness.

You mutter a quiet "sorry" and fidget with your fingers, feeling a mix of regret and nervousness. Your tapping catches Crosshair's attention, and he swiftly places his hand over yours, halting your restless movements. His touch is firm yet gentle, and it immediately calms your racing heart.

"I like hearing you talk. So shut up apologising," he says, rolling his eyes. Despite his stern tone, there's a hint of tenderness in his words and the way he touches you.

The brief contact leaves you longing for more, but he pulls away just as quickly, returning to his previous stance. You both sit in silence for a few minutes until a wave of exhaustion washes over you, prompting a yawn and a stretch. "I think I'm going to get some sleep."

He simply nods, still gazing absentmindedly at the ground, his hands clasped together. "I, uh... thanks for listening to me, by the way. Not a lot of people do."

He grunts in response, his way of saying "you're welcome."

Seizing a moment of courage, you lean towards him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek as a gentle gesture of gratitude.

"Good night," you whisper, pulling away and watching as he looks up from the ground, trying to process what just happened, while you walk away. There was a small smile on his lips after you left.

On the lips:

The sound of Crosshair's voice startles you, causing you to turn your gaze towards him as he leans against one of the archways. His intense gaze is fixed on you, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"Talk to me," he says, his words dripping with silkiness. You feel a mixture of confusion and flustered nerves at his command and sudden presence.

"About what?" you ask, your voice gentle as you tilt your head to the side. But your words falter as he approaches, his tall figure casting a captivating aura.

"Anything. Anything you want to," he replies, his voice low and calm. Suddenly, all your thoughts and words seem to vanish, leaving you speechless. He stands before you, his eyes hooded, staring down at you with an irresistible intensity. "Can't think of anything? How about you tell me why you kissed me on the cheek?" he continues, his voice laced with intrigue.

Your eyes widen, surprised that he would bring up the kiss so soon. You find yourself shrugging and stumbling over your words, unable to form a coherent response. "Funny. I spent a long time wanting to shut you up with a kiss," he starts, and his words make your legs turn to jelly. "And now you won't even say anything."

You lick your lips nervously, your fingers fidgeting in your hands. "So, you want me to talk so you can... kiss me?" you manage to stammer out.

"Yes," he confirms.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I just... I just wanted to kiss—" Before you can finish your sentence, his lips are on yours, fulfilling your unspoken desire. One hand rests on your waist, while the other tugs at your top, drawing you closer. You moan into the kiss, your eyes fluttering closed as his dominant lips dance with yours.

He eventually pulls away, his forehead resting against yours. "I've wanted to do that for a while, sweetheart," he confesses, his voice filled with longing.

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions @s1st3r @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness

#hiatus #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #queued post #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch headcanons #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #Hunter x reader

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ask-the-rag-dolly · 6 months ago

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ok the askbox is open. im taking this opportunity to say ohhhhh im going crazy over the narrative constructed here. specifically with how audience (anon) interaction is intertwined with the main conflict.

because its like.. we are inherently a BAD THING. yes, some of us are actually malicious, but even if we do have kind intentions, and only want the best for ragatha.. just being there is a negative impact that outweighs any positives. we are a parasite, after all. and technically, the only positive action we could do is to simply.. stop engaging. leave the askblog alone. leave ragatha alone. except we could never do that, because we're too curious now, too attached- we want to see how the story continues, how it ends. we cant leave well enough alone, we just have to know. we need to know. so the cycle will continue nonetheless due to our nature. and we have to watch as our main character, the person we're rooting for, gets worse and worse. knowing that its our fault, because we're choosing to engage. we're choosing this path of pain. because we're curious, and that curiosity would kill us if we didn't feed it.

and of course its on a tadc tumblr ask blog of all things lol. no hate btw. im here enjoying it after all! though honestly i say that like this had any opportunity of existing outside of the askblog genre... or even the tumblr landscape itself- i feel like the anon feature itself is also a big part of this sort of narrative, as it allows those actively malicious anons to be even nastier. because it distances us from our actions. like.. we're given a mask, something that obscures our true identities (both to the other askers.. and to ragatha to an extent, as most all look the same to her. who knows, maybe that one supportive anon trying to cheer her up is the same one also encouraging her downfall! she cant tell!)- a thing that wipes our hands free of any consequences. a chance to become faceless and untraceable- so of course some people will indulge. be as horrible as possible. because, hey, its not like you'll be getting any consequences for it! no way to trace it back to you! no way to be held accountable! you can just sit back and watch the fire you made grow higher. more bright. thats the main goal, after all- to make a spectacle! to move the story along and make it exciting! thats the only thing that matters to you. that its entertaining. not the people you'll be harming in the process.

anyways sorry for the fucking. essay. in your askbox. i like talking and also i fucking love dissecting meta-aligned narratives like this. gggrrggrgrgrrrr chewing on this blog like a chewtoy. i hope everyone gets worse and this whole blog blows up!!!!!!!

i can't stop giggling at ' its on a tadc tumblr ask blog of all things ' . this was really originally supposed to just be a silly blog with little story but here we are . you really won't get this anywhere else

i get pretty happy when someone dissects this silly thing so no need to apologize !! i'm my own harshest critic when it comes to this blog so it's often difficult for me to grasp what meaning people get out of this lol truly thank you guys for wanting to see my insane , Unhinged ideas come through

and i love the dissection on the mean anons - a lot of this thing hinges on actions having consequences after all ! every little thing will have an impact on ragatha's mental state . i'll say i think the anons have potential to not be as harmful - as there was a point in the blog's time where they acted more like inner therapists to ragatha than reality-bending beings of chaos ( good times ) . it just really depends on being patient with an actually mentally ill person like ragatha - it does fascinate me how people's frustration with her echoes real life mental health situations .

but yeah thanks !!! i'll be kissing this essay and pinning it on the refrigerator that i call my brain (:

#[ ooc ]

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minhosbitterriver · 3 months ago

Text

─── ⋆⋅☆ STEADY LOVE ( xdinary heroes )

❛ A collection of heartfelt stories where love finds its strength in gentle understanding, as partners navigate the world together with unwavering support and care for each other's unique needs.

𝐱𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 29 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was so self-indulgent to write, so a very big thank you to my lovely 🍀 Anon for this request! Reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has AuDHD in each member's piece, mentions of bees as a special interest, descriptions of being burned out and struggling with change, some very slight ableism mentioned (not from any of the members), descriptions of overstimulation, mentions of stimming, terrible flirting, overall this is very much hurt + comfort, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

구건일 ── GOO GUNIL.

The day felt like it had conspired against Gunil, stretching itself out into an agonizing eternity, as if determined to sap every last bit of energy from him. Each second dragged on, the clock's hands moving at a snail's pace, mirroring the heaviness in his limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an endless rehearsal, an exhausted sigh escaped his lips, the sound barely noticeable amidst the hum of tired voices from his bandmates. With a practiced, almost mechanical motion, Gunil returned his well-worn drumsticks to their designated holder, a small nook on the wall that had become as familiar to him as his own reflection. The drumsticks settled into place with a soft click, the only sound in the practice room that had served as their second home.

As his bandmates began to shuffle out, their movements sluggish, weighed down by the day’s efforts, Gunil barely registered the chorus of goodbyes. Jungsu’s voice cut through the haze, a final “see you tomorrow” accompanied by a wave before disappearing into the hallway. Gunil mustered a lazy half-smile, lifting his hand in a farewell that felt more like a reflex than a conscious action. The room, once alive with the pulse of their music, now felt eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the fatigue settling deep into his bones. He reached for his backpack, its weight pulling down on his tired shoulders, just as the sharp ring of his phone shattered the stillness.

The sudden sound jolted him, but when he saw your name on the screen, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the exhaustion, even if just a little. “I’m done rehearsing, love, I’ll be—” Gunil’s greeting was cut short by the unmistakable sound of your excited squeal. He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart swelling with affection at the image of you practically vibrating with energy on the other end of the line.

“Goo, you have to come home as soon as you can!” Your voice was bright, almost bursting with excitement, and Gunil could easily imagine you doing your little wiggles of joy, the ones that always made his heart melt.

“Yes, baby,” he replied, his tone gentle, hiding the weariness in his bones so as not to dampen your spirits. “I’ll be home in no time. What’s got you so excited?”

As he turned off the lights in the now-quiet practice room, the faint clicking of your keyboard reached his ears. He pictured you perched at your desk, your laptop open before you, eyes wide with curiosity. The image made him smile.

“I found this new video, and Goo, it is so cool! It's a swarm of Japanese honeybees defending their nest by slapping ants with their wings, but this one is honestly so fascinating because apparently, this colony got infected by the Varroa Destructor Mite — but they were still so aggressive against the ants and they won! Isn't that so cool? Oh, Goo, please hurry, you have to watch it!”

Your words tumbled out in a rush, barely pausing for breath, your excitement making the details spill over each other in a joyous cascade. Gunil found himself chuckling softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to your passionate rambling. There was something so endearing about the way you got lost in your own world, especially when it came to bees. He could listen to you talk for hours, your voice animated and full of life, a stark contrast to the weariness that had settled over him.

He thought back to the early days of your relationship, when you had nervously explained your autism to him, worried that it might be too much, too different. But to Gunil, it was simply another beautiful facet of who you were, something that made him love you even more deeply. “That does sound very interesting, my love,” he said, trying to match your energy despite the exhaustion tugging at him. “I really can’t wait to watch it!”

The promise of coming home to you, to your bright, infectious enthusiasm, gave him the strength to push through the final stretch of his journey. “I’ll be home in about ten minutes, so hang tight,” he added, a smile in his voice as he ended the call. As he neared the apartment you shared, the sight of a family-owned flower shop caught his eye.

Even through the fatigue, his gaze lingered on the blooms in the window, your favorite flowers standing out like a beacon. The thought of surprising you with them, especially when you were already so happy, sent a thrill through him. Without hesitation, he ducked into the shop, the sweet scent of fresh flowers wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He selected a bouquet with care, imagining the way your eyes would light up when he walked through the door with them in hand.

The weight of the day began to lift as he paid for the flowers, the simple act of thinking about you bringing a renewed sense of energy. The thrill of coming home to you, your voice still echoing in his mind, made each step lighter. As he walked out of the shop, the bouquet cradled carefully in his arms, he felt the anticipation build, knowing that soon, he would be by your side, sharing in the simple, beautiful joy of being together.

김정수 ── KIM JUNGSU.

The corners of Jungsu’s lips tightened into a worried frown as he gently rapped on the door of your shared bedroom. Not waiting for an invitation, he nudged the door open just enough to peer inside. The sight that greeted him was one of persistent discomfort. There you were, lying on your side of the bed, your expression etched with visible distress. Your laptop, casting a soft glow in the dim room, played the familiar episodes of your favorite show—one you had practically memorized through countless viewings meant to soothe your troubled emotions.

Jungsu let out a soft sigh, his concern growing with each passing moment. He stepped into the room, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps as he moved towards your side of the bed. Perching himself on the edge, he settled into the space beside you, his presence both reassuring and tender. You kept your gaze fixed on the screen, as though it were the only refuge from the turmoil roiling within.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unshared burdens. After a few moments, you finally turned your head to meet his gaze, a weary sigh escaping your lips. Jungsu’s heart ached at the sight of your frustration and weariness. “I ordered takeout,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to shatter the fragile calm. “It’s your favorite.”

He noticed the fleeting flicker of interest in your eyes, a brief spark that was quickly extinguished as you turned back to the screen with a frown. “I don’t want to eat right now,” you murmured, your tone resolute and final, leaving no room for negotiation. The firmness of your refusal stung, and Jungsu could only nod in resignation. He sighed once more, his shoulders slumping slightly as he retreated from the room, leaving you to your solitude.

For nearly a week now, this had been your reality—an ongoing struggle that Jungsu could only partially grasp. Despite the year you had been together, he had never seen you like this before. He understood that adapting to sudden changes was particularly challenging for you, especially when they disrupted the routines that provided a semblance of stability. The day you had called him from work, sobbing uncontrollably while locked in the bathroom, was seared into his memory. You had told him about your old manager’s abrupt departure and the arrival of a new, unfamiliar face. The sudden shift was more than you could handle, especially when your new manager refused to accommodate the adjustments necessary to make your work environment bearable.

As the days went on, the pressure became insurmountable. Each day, you returned home to face the aftermath of panic attacks you had kept at bay and to collapse into bed, seeking solace in the comfort of a show that could no longer ease the heaviness you carried. The joy and relief it once brought you were now overshadowed by a pervasive numbness, a stark reminder of the emotional toll that had become all too familiar.

Jungsu’s heart ached with the weight of your struggle, and though he sympathized deeply with your plight, it did little to quell his worry. He remained steadfast in his resolve to support you through this storm, even as he grappled with the helplessness of seeing you so diminished. Each day, he hoped for a glimmer of recovery, a sign that the storm within you might begin to abate. But for now, he could only offer his silent presence and unwavering support, waiting for the day when you would once again find your way back to the light.

Jungsu was grappling with uncertainty about how to pull you from the depths of your distress, but a sudden spark of inspiration ignited within him as his gaze fell upon the television in the living room. Resolute to offer you a sliver of comfort, he began a frenzied quest to transform your shared space into a sanctuary of solace. For the next half hour, he darted around the apartment, arms laden with an assortment of blankets, comforters, and pillows—each one a small testament to his unwavering determination.

With every trip in and out of the bedroom, his expression was a mixture of earnest concentration and quiet determination. You watched with a blend of curiosity and amusement as he repeatedly entered the room, his movements a flurry of purposeful activity. At one point, he even attempted to gather your collection of stuffed animals, struggling under the weight of their collective softness as he staggered out, his focus unbroken by your gaze.

The sounds of his labor—the shuffling of furniture, the occasional grunt of exertion—filled the space, drawing your attention away from the show you had paused. You listened intently, your curiosity piqued by the rhythmic clamor of activity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bustling, Jungsu reappeared in the doorway of your bedroom, his face illuminated with a blend of triumph and excitement. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the soft light of the nightstand lamp as he panted, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Baby,” he called out, his voice breathless but laced with an infectious enthusiasm. His hands rested on his hips, a gesture of pride and anticipation. “Can you please come out? I made something for you, and I think you’re really going to like it!”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling within you, the sight of Jungsu’s eager, childlike gleam in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings. Intrigued and touched by his effort, you pushed yourself up from the bed, the pull of his unwavering support more compelling than the urge to remain cocooned in your sanctuary. He extended a hand towards you, which you accepted with a grateful smile, allowing him to guide you toward the living room.

The transformation that greeted your eyes as you entered the living room took your breath away. The coffee table, once a fixture in the center of the room, had been pushed to the far wall. In its place stood a grand fortress, a whimsical creation of mismatched blankets and comforters meticulously draped and layered into a cozy haven. Strings of Christmas lights peeked through the folds, their gentle glow casting a warm, ethereal light that danced across the room. The television, positioned just in front of the fortress’s entrance, was primed to play your favorite show, a comforting familiarity in its soft glow.

As you inhaled deeply, the fragrant aroma of your favorite meal wafted towards you, a final touch to the heartwarming scene. Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude, tears threatened to spill as you turned to embrace Jungsu. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your body shaking slightly with the emotion you struggled to contain.

Jungsu chuckled softly, his arms enveloping you in a hug that was both firm and reassuring—just the way you liked it. “Is this okay?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper as you pulled back to look at him. The tears in your eyes glistened with a profound appreciation as you nodded vigorously, your voice wavering with emotion. “This is perfect, Jun,” you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly. “It looks exactly like how my grandmother used to do it when I was upset as a child.”

Jungsu’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident in the warmth that radiated from him. As you turned and practically bounded towards the fortress, a trail of contented giggles followed in your wake, each sound a balm to his worried heart. The sight of your joy, so vividly reflected in your laughter, made his heart flutter with a tender affection that seemed to encompass the entire room.

곽지석 ── KWAK JISEOK.

The outdoor market was a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds, alive with the energy of families and couples weaving through stalls brimming with fresh produce and handcrafted jewelry. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, flowers, and street food, a cacophony of sensory delights that usually set your heart racing with excitement. But today, the thrumming pulse of the market felt more like a storm brewing on the horizon.

You had been standing in front of a stall, fingers lightly tracing the delicate patterns of handmade trinkets when a sudden influx of noisy tourists swarmed around you. The once-open space now felt suffocating as their loud voices clashed against one another, creating a wall of sound that made it impossible to think clearly. The proximity of strangers pressed too close, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your heart into a frantic rhythm. You glanced around, searching desperately for Jiseok, who had been right beside you only moments ago, but the crowd swallowed him up, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable.

As your anxiety began to claw its way to the surface, your body responded in familiar, desperate ways. Your fingers found their way to your hair, twisting and pulling at the strands as if they might tether you to something solid. Your leg bounced uncontrollably, tapping out an erratic rhythm on the cobblestones beneath you. The sharp sting of your nails digging into your palms became the only thing anchoring you, yet it also edged you closer to a breaking point that felt terrifyingly near.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, Jiseok emerged from the crowd, his eyes immediately locking onto you with a mix of relief and concern. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it in the way your body had tensed, in the rapid, shallow breaths you struggled to control. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly taking your hands in his, halting the destructive cycle of pulling at your hair and digging into your skin. He interlaced your fingers with his, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit," Jiseok's voice broke through the chaos, a soothing melody that cut through the overwhelming noise around you. He didn’t wait for a response; instead, he drew you close, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your head against his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear was a familiar comfort, a lifeline in the middle of the storm.

Guiding you through the press of bodies, Jiseok kept you close, his arms a protective barrier against the world that had become too much to bear. His grip tightened slightly, applying the firm pressure that always seemed to calm your racing thoughts. "Look, we can go there for a little bit," he murmured, nodding towards a small park that sat like a hidden gem amidst the market’s frenzy. The greenery promised a respite, a quiet place to breathe again.

But it wasn’t the park that brought you solace—it was Jiseok himself. The vibration of his voice against your back as he spoke, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his embrace all worked together to gently pull you out of the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to drag you under. As he continued to speak, his words becoming a soft, mindless ramble meant only to distract, you could feel the storm inside you begin to subside. Your heartbeat, once wild and erratic, slowly began to sync with his, finding a steadier, calmer pace.

As Jiseok gently guided you through the bustling market, his hand remained a steady presence on your shoulder. Every so often, he would give a gentle squeeze, three soft pulses of reassurance—a silent code you both had established for moments like these, where words seemed to dissolve into the fog of your anxiety. It was his quiet way of asking, "Are you okay?" The simple gesture, familiar and comforting, anchored you amidst the swirling chaos.

In response, you reached up to grasp his forearm, fingers curling around his warmth as you squeezed twice, signaling back, "I'm better." The exchange was small, but it spoke volumes—a tender conversation held in silence, where no words were necessary, just the understanding between two souls who had learned to navigate these storms together.

The noise of the market gradually faded into the background as Jiseok led you to the park. Here, the world softened, with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of others who had also sought sanctuary from the market's overwhelming energy. The park felt like a refuge, a place where the intensity of the outside world couldn't quite reach you. Jiseok spotted a secluded bench beneath the shade of a large, ancient tree, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The dappled sunlight danced through the leaves, casting a soothing pattern on the ground, and the bench offered a quiet place to rest, away from prying eyes and the relentless pace of the market.

Once seated, Jiseok remained close, his presence a calming force beside you. Your breath, which had been shallow and quick, began to slow as you settled into the quiet of the park. Jiseok's fingers found their way to your hair, gently playing with the strands in a tender contrast to the earlier harsh tugging you had subjected them to. The soft rhythm of his touch was a balm, easing the lingering tension in your body. His other hand rested on your thigh, grounding you with its comforting weight.

He spoke in a low, soothing tone, his words a gentle caress to your frayed nerves. "We can leave whenever you're ready," he suggested, his gaze drifting out to the serene view of the park, "Maybe we can grab some food and cuddle at the dorm. I'm sure the members won’t mind. I’ll kick Seungmin out of our room if I have to; he’ll just have to suck it up."

As the tension within you began to melt away, you found yourself repeating the last few words of his sentence—a familiar and comforting habit, a happy stim that signaled your return to a place of calm. "...have to suck it up," you echoed, your voice lighter now, carrying the trace of a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Jiseok chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort. He squeezed your hand gently, checking to ensure your nails were no longer digging into your palm. "That's my favorite sound," he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he grinned at you, his love evident in the gentle curve of his smile.

This shared moment of lightness, of humor, further dispelled the remnants of your anxiety. In his presence, you were reminded that you didn’t have to face these moments alone—that even in your most vulnerable states, Jiseok was there, offering his unwavering support and love. The park, with its serene beauty and the quiet strength of your bond, became a haven where you could breathe again, surrounded by the safety of his embrace.

오승민 ── OH SEUNGMIN.

JYP Entertainment hosted an exclusive and lavish party at a luxury hotel, where the atmosphere blended the grandeur of celebration with the intimacy of a private gathering. Unlike the typical public events, this one was strictly by invitation, creating a sanctuary for idols to bring their partners, friends, and families without the constant pressure of cameras. The setting was resplendent, with elegant decor that reflected the significance of the occasion.

The entertainment options catered to a variety of tastes. In one corner, a live band played soft jazz, filling the room with soothing melodies. Nearby, a DJ spun upbeat tracks, enticing those who wanted to dance. For the more playful guests, a karaoke setup allowed for uninhibited fun, and a photobooth adorned with glittering lights stood ready to capture the night’s memories. A gourmet buffet stretched along one side of the room, offering an array of international cuisines, the rich aromas mingling with the laughter and chatter that filled the air.

Despite the festive atmosphere, the constant flashing of lights and the relentless pulse of the music began to overwhelm you. This was your first time attending an event of this magnitude, and though you had agreed to come because of the way Seungmin’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of sharing this moment with you, the environment soon proved too much. Even as you admired him, his figure so striking in the finely tailored suit that accentuated his lean, muscular build, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand room was closing in on you. Your hands trembled despite your best efforts to maintain composure, and a cold sweat began to form along your hairline.

You stole a glance at Seungmin, who stood a short distance away, his face illuminated with genuine joy as he engaged in animated conversation with his bandmates and senior idols from the company. They were discussing the future direction of their music, reminiscing about their journey since debuting, and Seungmin’s laughter rang out, a clear sign that he was fully immersed in the moment. For a brief second, you hoped that his distraction would allow you to slip away unnoticed, just for a moment, to calm the rising tide of anxiety within you.

The party, though well-intentioned, was far beyond your comfort zone, and the sensory overload was beginning to take its toll. You needed to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on you. But as you discreetly made your way to the bathroom, seeking refuge from the overwhelming stimuli, Seungmin caught sight of your retreating figure.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had anticipated the possibility of you feeling overwhelmed in such a busy atmosphere. Understanding how easily you could be overstimulated, he had made sure to pack your well-loved noise-canceling headphones in the expensive messenger bag his stylist had provided. As soon as he saw you slipping away, his concern for you took precedence over the conversation, and he politely excused himself, following you to the bathroom.

Upon entering the lavish bathroom, Seungmin offered a polite bow and murmured apologies to the few occupants before your shallow breathing caught his attention. He quickly moved to stand outside the stall where you had taken refuge.

"Love? It's me," he called softly, his voice gentle and soothing, careful not to startle you in your vulnerable state. Inside the stall, your hands clenched in a futile attempt to stop their violent trembling as you struggled to steady your breathing.

Seungmin reached over the door, his hand holding the familiar headphones — a lifeline in the storm of your frenzied thoughts. "I thought you might need this," he murmured.

You reached up and snatched the headphones, the urgency in your movements reflecting the desperation you felt. As you placed them over your ears, the chaotic world outside was mercifully muted. The overwhelming cacophony faded, replaced by the comforting silence you had so desperately needed. Finally, you could breathe again, the noise-canceling barrier providing a sanctuary where you could begin to reclaim your peace.

You were immensely grateful for Seungmin’s patience, relishing the brief respite as you took a few moments to catch your breath. The bustling noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, creating a cocoon of calm around you. Just as you began to steady yourself, your phone vibrated in your hand — a text from Seungmin, despite him standing right outside the bathroom stall. His name illuminated the screen, and a calming wave of relief washed over you, your erratic heartbeat finding a more measured rhythm.

Seungmin understood that in moments like these, communication through text would be the most comforting method. The message on your screen read, Feeling any better?

Your fingers, still slightly trembling, moved to reply. A lot better, thanks to you. Everything just became a little too much for me.

The reply came almost instantaneously, and you noticed how the tight, claustrophobic feeling had dissipated. I’m glad I thought of bringing the headphones. Why didn’t you tell me though? The words on the screen seemed to convey a trace of concern, as though you could almost see the frown forming on his lips as he awaited your response.

A pang of guilt pierced your heart. You knew Seungmin would have dropped everything to help you if only you had spoken up. But you didn’t want him to worry or to spoil such a significant night. I didn’t want to ruin such a big night. I thought I would be able to handle it...until I couldn’t anymore. You sent the message with a sigh, already anticipating the comforting words that would follow.

Baby, these parties mean nothing compared to your well-being. You didn’t ruin anything, I promise. A warm smile tugged at your lips as you read his soothing words.

Moments later, another text from him appeared. Do you want to stay here for a bit, or would you like me to take you somewhere quieter?

Relief flooded over you as you replied, Can we stay here for now? I don’t want to go back out yet.

Of course. Do you want to let me in? The offer was genuine and well-intentioned, but it made you feel uneasy.

You texted back, No. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can handle being touched or having anyone at close proximity right now...sorry.

Hey, I get it. I’ll just stay here until you’re ready to come out.

Seungmin settled in by the door of your stall, his presence a reassuring anchor in your storm of anxiety. Leaning against the door, he continued to text you intermittently, checking in without overwhelming you. Despite the guilt that gnawed at you for keeping him away from the main event, you found solace in the sight of his polished shoes peeking out from beneath the stall door. His calm and patient demeanor provided a sense of security, a reminder that he was there for you while respecting your need for space.

To lift your spirits, Seungmin sent small jokes and snippets of gossip from the party, aiming to lighten the mood without pushing you too far. His thoughtful gestures made the wait more bearable. When you finally felt ready to emerge, you texted him, signaling that you were prepared to leave the bathroom. Seungmin maintained a respectful distance as he guided you out, his focus on ensuring your comfort. He stood by your side, a steady presence as you stood by the bathroom sinks, allowing you to regain your composure.

As you began to feel more at ease, your heart soared when Seungmin gently pulled you closer, swaying with you to the rhythm of a slow song that was apparently playing at the main party. The music and his embrace melded together in a soothing harmony, offering a sense of peace and connection that made the night’s earlier chaos feel like a distant memory.

한형준 ── HAN HYEONGJUN.

You and Hyeongjun had been together long enough to know that your bond was more than just a fleeting connection—it was a deeply rooted love, a steadfast commitment that had withstood the test of time. The idea of moving in together had always felt like the natural progression of your relationship, a step that would solidify the foundation you had built together. The thought of creating a home, a sanctuary where your love could continue to blossom, was a dream you both held close to your hearts.

After months of searching, of walking through countless doorways in hopes of finding the one that felt right, you finally discovered a small, charming apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It was perfect in its simplicity, a place that felt like it could become your own little haven away from the world. The moment you stepped inside, hand in hand with Hyeongjun, you could almost see the future unfolding before your eyes—a future filled with love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

However, as thrilling as this new chapter was, the journey to get there was anything but easy. The excitement that buzzed in your chest was often tempered by the looming dread of packing up your lives and making the transition into this new space. Despite the weeks you had spent mentally preparing, gathering boxes, and organizing your belongings, the reality of the task ahead felt overwhelming once the packing began in earnest. The room that had once been your sanctuary, a place of comfort and familiarity, now looked as though it had been ravaged by a chaotic whirlwind. The bed, once a cozy nest of warmth, was buried beneath a patchwork of clothes—some folded neatly, others discarded haphazardly in the frenzy of sorting. Your once-tidy shelves had succumbed to disorder, with books that had been carefully arranged now lying in disarray, their pages splayed open as if they, too, were crying out for the order that had been lost.

Boxes were strewn across the floor, some half-packed, others overflowing with belongings that seemed to resist categorization. Trinkets and mementos from your relationship and childhood, tokens of memories that had shaped you, were scattered across every available surface. The room had become a chaotic testament to your inability to start a task and see it through to completion, the once-organized process now devolved into a mess that mirrored the storm of emotions brewing within you.

As you stood in the center of the chaos, trying to take it all in, the room seemed to close in on you. The sheer magnitude of the task at hand made your head spin, and the weight of the change—of leaving behind the familiar to step into the unknown—pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, smothering you with a growing sense of panic. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest tightening as the reality of what lay ahead threatened to overwhelm you entirely. You felt frozen, trapped between the urge to curl up on the floor and the fear of succumbing to the full-blown panic attack that you could feel building inside you.

In that moment, the dream of a shared home, of a future filled with love and laughter, felt impossibly distant, overshadowed by the immediate reality of the overwhelming chaos that surrounded you.

Hyeongjun had been meticulously packing utensils in the kitchen, each clang and clatter a small, careful note in the symphony of your impending move. The rhythm was comforting in its predictability, a soundscape of progress amidst the chaos. But it was the sudden, uneven hitch in your breathing that cut through his focus like a knife. The familiar, faint tremor in your breath sent his instincts into overdrive. He abandoned the half-filled box without a second thought, his concern drawing him swiftly to the doorway where he paused, eyes immediately searching for you. The room’s disarray only served to heighten his worry, but it was the look on your face—pale, strained, eyes wide with the first signs of panic—that sent him rushing to your side.

His presence was immediate, solid, a tether in the storm of your thoughts. His hands hovered just above your trembling frame, a question in the tension of his fingers, as if even the act of touching needed your permission in this fragile moment. His voice, calm and steady despite the urgency he felt, broke the silence, "Touch or no touch?" It was the question he always asked, a gentle reminder that he was there, ready to offer exactly what you needed.

Your throat tightened, the pressure of unspoken fears constricting your ability to breathe freely. It took a moment, but you managed to force the words past the lump of anxiety, your voice barely above a whisper yet laced with raw desperation. "Touch, please. Hard." The plea was met with immediate action. Hyeongjun closed the distance between you in an instant, his arms wrapping around you with a firm, reassuring pressure that felt like a lifeline. He pulled you close, your face pressed into the warm, solid comfort of his chest, as if he could shield you from the overwhelming chaos that threatened to consume you.

His embrace was everything you needed—strong, grounding, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety. His hands moved over your back, each squeeze purposeful, designed to remind you that you weren’t alone in this moment. The weight of his arms anchored you, offering a physical connection that countered the spinning in your mind. As you struggled to sync your breathing with his, he guided you gently, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, coaxing your frantic gasps to slow. The familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, like home—began to permeate your senses, grounding you further with each breath.

Hyeongjun understood you in a way no one else did. He knew how deeply change unsettled you, how even the most exciting transitions could unearth old anxieties that clung like shadows. This move, this beautiful step into a shared future, was something you had both yearned for, yet the enormity of it was daunting, and he recognized that.

Still holding you close, he gently guided you to the edge of the bed, never loosening his protective grip. His voice, soft and steady, filled the space between your breaths. He began to speak, his words a soothing balm, painting a picture of the memories he hoped to create with you in your new home.

He spoke softly of lazy Saturday mornings, where the two of you would linger in bed, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the world outside moved on without you. He painted a picture of sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden hues across the room as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of your shared space. He imagined those moments when you would shuffle into the kitchen, still half-asleep, to find him waiting with a mug in hand and a soft smile on his lips. The day would stretch out before you, unhurried and serene, a canvas for whatever simple joys you decided to indulge in.

He envisioned quiet evenings in the living room, where the two of you would sit side by side, your legs tangled together as you watched movies, your laughter or quiet conversations filling the room. Or perhaps, he mused, there would be nights where no words were needed—where you’d simply sway to the rhythm of music only the two of you could hear, dancing slowly in the dim light of your cozy space. Those were the moments he looked forward to, where nothing else mattered but the gentle pulse of your love, a steady, comforting presence that would fill the apartment with a sense of belonging.

He spoke of the laughter that would echo through the kitchen as you experimented with new recipes, each attempt a delightful adventure, whether it ended in culinary success or a flour-covered mess. The thought of you animatedly talking about bees, your special interest, brought a tender smile to his face. He was excited to hear you ramble on about your latest findings, to listen to your voice light up with passion as you shared the intricacies of something you loved so dearly. For him, the simple joy of coming home to you after a long day, of seeing your face light up when you saw him, was a treasure beyond words. It was in these everyday moments, he believed, that the true beauty of life together would unfold.

Each word he spoke was a delicate thread, weaving a tapestry of the life you would build together—a life rich in love, comfort, and endless moments of shared happiness. As he continued to paint this picture with his words, you felt the tightness in your chest begin to ease, the panic that had gripped you slowly loosening its hold. The overwhelming mess that surrounded you, while still daunting, no longer felt like an insurmountable mountain.

When he offered to help you pack your bedroom, it wasn’t just the task at hand he was addressing—it was the unspoken promise that you wouldn’t have to face any of it alone. With Hyeongjun by your side, you knew that no matter how overwhelming the process might seem, you would get through it together. The future you were moving toward, though filled with uncertainties, was also brimming with the promise of love, and that was more than enough to keep you going.

이주연 ── LEE JOOYEON.

Since childhood, Saturdays had been your sacred ritual, a cherished time when you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of your favorite internet cafe. Nestled on a tranquil street near your home, this digital sanctuary had become your second haven. The space was a dimly lit enclave, bathed in warm amber hues that softly illuminated rows of screens and keyboards. The gentle hum of cooling fans and the rhythmic clatter of keys created a soothing symphony of focused activity. The walls were adorned with neon posters of popular games and vibrant advertisements for energy drinks, their colors shimmering and pulsing with the memories of countless gaming sessions. Each desk bore the marks of countless hours spent in virtual worlds, with personal touches and signs of frequent use that told stories of dedicated gamers. The chairs, worn and comfortable, had molded to fit their occupants perfectly.

The employees, who had long grown accustomed to your weekly visits, had come to appreciate your presence. They reserved a specific PC for you, tucked away in a semi-secluded corner you had claimed as your own years ago. This desk, bathed in the soft, reassuring glow of your screen, was where you felt most at ease, completely immersed in the digital adventures you embarked upon. The ritual of arriving, settling in, and losing yourself in your chosen game was a comforting certainty, a bubble of predictability in a world that often felt overwhelming.

However, recently, this cherished routine had been disrupted by a new and vibrant presence. Jooyeon, as you would eventually learn, was the boy whose frequent visits began to unsettle the calm monotony of your Saturdays. His arrival was like a burst of vivid color and exuberant energy crashing into your serene haven. The air would come alive with his boisterous laughter and animated conversations with friends, his presence a dynamic contrast to the quiet you had grown accustomed to.

Despite this disruption, you found yourself surprisingly receptive to the change. Jooyeon, with his strikingly handsome features, was impossible to overlook. His mischievous grin, ever-present and wide, seemed to illuminate the room as if he were the very essence of playful charm. Dressed in soft, well-worn hoodies paired with relaxed jeans, and with his shoulder-length hair cascading like a dark, flowing waterfall, he exuded an effortlessly cool demeanor. His interactions with friends and his choice of games created a vivid contrast against the backdrop of your reserved routine, adding an unexpected layer of excitement to your once predictable Saturdays.

There were moments when, despite your best efforts to stay focused on your own game, you would catch fleeting glimpses of him from the corner of your eye. You tried to remain unobtrusive, but Jooyeon's unabashed enjoyment of the popular games he was engrossed in was impossible to ignore. The occasional flicker of movement or the burst of his distinctive laughter would effortlessly draw your gaze, breaking through the veil of your concentration.

On one particular Saturday, Jooyeon’s frustration had reached its zenith. After what felt like the hundredth defeat in his solo game, he dramatically slumped back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of surrender. His eyes, alight with a mixture of defiance and amusement, wandered towards your screen, where you were deeply immersed in a particularly demanding quest. As you navigated through the game with meticulous keystrokes, Jooyeon’s gaze lingered on you, an unspoken challenge mingling with curiosity that sent a flutter through your heart.

Despite the distraction of his intense scrutiny, you managed to achieve a hard-fought victory, leveling up with a triumphant flourish on your screen. The soft hum of intrigue that escaped Jooyeon’s lips prompted you to finally look up, your heart racing as you became acutely aware of the flush warming your cheeks. Jooyeon’s grin remained undiminished, his eyes sparkling with an affectionate, teasing light. After a moment of shy silence, his laughter bubbled forth, a soft, infectious sound that seemed to fill the space between you. His amusement wrapped around you like a playful embrace, acknowledging the unspoken connection that had quietly woven itself into the fabric of your Saturday rituals.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, meant only for you to hear. “I heard that game is pretty good. Do you mind if I join?” The simple invitation opened the door to a new, intimate connection. From that moment on, Saturdays transformed into a shared adventure, where you and Jooyeon would indulge in games together, swapping playful jabs and cracking jokes. The hours spent with him became the highlight of your week, and the growing affection you felt for him added a layer of significance to each interaction. You found yourself seeking ways to show him how much he meant to you.

Noticing his habit of picking at his skin whenever he was stressed or anxious, you returned the following week with a thoughtful gift: a textured, silicone stress ball from your own collection, designed to help him redirect his nervous energy without damaging his skin. On another occasion, as you patiently waited for him to clear a level in a game you were both playing, you couldn’t help but be charmed by the expression of concentration on his face. Without fully thinking through your words, you blurted out, “You have this cute habit of pouting when you’re really focused. It’s kind of distracting, but in a way that makes me want to keep watching.” The sudden boldness of your words left you both blushing, but Jooyeon’s shy attempt to hide his wide smile made the moment feel worth the slight embarrassment.

When Jooyeon revealed that he was an idol, the bassist for the rock band Xdinary Heroes, you found yourself spending the entire week immersed in his music and learning everything you could about him. By the time Saturday rolled around again, you were eager to confess your newfound knowledge. As he settled into his usual seat beside you, you said with a grin, “I was thinking about you so much that I ended up reading every article, watching every video, and listening to every song from your band. I have so many questions about you guys!” The sight of Jooyeon’s typically casual demeanor giving way to shyness, while his grin widened, was heartwarming. He eagerly entertained each of your questions, his enthusiasm is infectious as ever.

Finally, on one late evening, as the employees of the internet cafe gently nudged you both towards the exit, you lingered outside, a smile playing on your lips. Turning to Jooyeon, you said softly, “I really like spending time with you. You make my brain feel all fizzy, like I’ve had too much caffeine, but in a really good way.”

To your surprise, he chuckled lightly and replied, “Okay, so, I don’t usually say stuff like this, but...whenever I’m with you, it’s like my brain gets all tangled up in butterflies and excitement. I really like spending time with you, too.”

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! @joosbasschick (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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nilboxes · 4 months ago

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Every time I see fanart of aventurine after showering, after a bath with ratio or just with his hair wet, I wonder if his hairstyle would revert to straight bangs (e.g. his hairstyle before he joined the IPC) or if he would wear his default side-swept bangs. Artists usually draw his hair styled after a shower, but I personally think that he would also look really good with his bangs down. It gives him like totally different vibes (I want to believe he looks more serious or contemplative, it's a gap moe thing for me)

Like, imagine aventurine pinning ratio to the bed and his hair is disheveled and partially covers his eyes and makes him look like he wants to devour him and- ok I'll stop here, I'm getting off on a tangent

Anyways I wanted to see your opinion on this, just out of curiosity. I also wanted to say that your fics are amazing and they always cheer me up in a bad day! <3

Aventurine seems to have really thick but straight hair that sort of waves a little, I do think it's pretty similar to my hair and all I can say is that it's a huge pain to handle. Aventurine 100% styles it with some pomade to get it to look like that and would frequent hairdressers to get it to stay that way.

After a shower, it'd definitely revert to the bangs and stuff he had when it's not styled! So it'd definitely have those vibes, I'd like to think he looks more laid back, more vulnerable and not so well-put together and grand as he liked to portray, a different texture to his handsomeness you know? Definitely a little more somber, a little more worn~

When he's like this, I think Ratio is even more indulgent of him when he's like this, just seeing the man underneath it all that grandeur and bravado that he can come to bring some TLC to! But of course, when Aven is down for it 👀 he'd really look like a wilder, more unfettered version of his well-put together self. AHHH just thinking about it. I want more casual, hair-down Aventurine...

Thank you for the ask, anon! Lots of things to ponder on. And I'm glad you like the fics and they make you happy, that's ultimately what they are for and I'm glad they can serve in that regard! ♥♥♥

#asks #voidmancer headcanons #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventio #aventurine x dr ratio

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lxvebun · 2 years ago

Text

gentle hearts

request: would like to request megumi/yuji dating a reader that is very emotionally sensitive :) if you don’t feel like writing it that’s perfectly okay! I love your work <3

buns notes: hi angel!!thank you for requesting and for being so patient! I hope you like this as well and I hope you have a good day!

content: Sukuna/Yuuji/Megumi x gender neutral reader. Fluff + comfort. Kissing. Crying. Mentions of violence in Sukuna's part.(not towards reader) blood (sukuna). English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Navigation

dc/dark blogs, k!nk and ed blogs do not interact or forever have bad wifi connection<3

Sukuna

This was disgustingly self indulgent forgive me anon

♡-He really admires your sensitivity. He barely has any :)

♡-It piqued his curiosity that you feel everything so deeply. From love and happiness to grief and sorrow you carry these emotions on your sleeve, even if you don't necessarily want to.

♡-Although it makes him curious, it doesn’t mean he’ll purposefully make you emotional. He hates seeing you cry. He's done terrible things, made scenes that put everyone else whose eyes laid upon it guts twist, without as much as blinking. He doesn't feel anything when his hands are dripping in blood but God seeing you cry feels like his veins are starting to pump poison through his body and his non-existent heart is being ripped out of his chest.

♡-And he had to learn the hard way that storming over to you and harshly demanding what happened. Who made you cry? Give him names. Is not exactly the best way to soothe you.

♡-So when he sees you flinch and more tears start to spill out, his attitude immediately changes. He's the king of curses he knows that he can be terrifying and to some even uttering his name shoots fear into their heart, but you look at him with such a soft love-filled look, so much light and admiration, when he's with you he kinda forgets that he is so scary

♡-Don’t worry tho! every day he’s learning more and more about how to take care of you. So rest assured he’ll be there to wipe the tears away. And give you a big smooch for good measure.

Yuuji

♡-Yuuji is honestly just like you. He feels everything strongly and deeply. At first it didn’t bother him, it was actually one of the traits he liked about himself. When he loved someone, he told them, which would lead to stronger bonds and when he needed to cry, he cried which after a good session would make him feel a lot lighter than he felt before.

♡-Now though, with everything going on in his life, and he quite literally carries the safety of the world on his shoulders, he hates the fact he feels everything so deeply. it's a constant state of happy and depressing emotions because he did meet Fushiguro, and Gojo, and Nobara, and he is sure his grandpa is proud of him, but he's already feeling the dread and fear of leaving this world, his friends behind. He's already afraid of what comes next and with every finger he consumes it just gets stronger. until you, ray of sunshine entered his life as well

♡-It’s nice to meet someone who was also emotionally sensitive, which lead to many late night conversations under the stars or on the floor of his bedroom, which eventually lead to your first kiss<3

♡-Whenever the emotions get to heavy to carry, just being around you overflows him with enough love to drown all these negative feelings out. Truly your presence alone is enough to soothe him and vice versa

♡-Yuuji is only one call away. If you need him he will be there as fast as he can

♡-It’s difficult being a sensitive person in such a cruel world, but as long as you and yuuji have eachother, you know you can survive it.

Megumi

♡-He's quite soft-spoken which is great! His voice is calming and when he's letting those sickeningly sweet words of love and adoration for you fall from his lips, you're basically melting into a little puddle. But, when he's just talking normally, his voice doesn't carry a lot of emotion and neither does his expression. So it is pretty easy, especially for you, to start assuming he's annoyed or bored which with your heightened sensitivity isn’t great and it shoots you into a heavy spiral of overthinking that maybe you have upset him in some way which eventually leads you to distance yourself

♡-STOP IT

♡-He recharges on YOU. One hour spent with Gojo or Yuuji drains him of his brain cells and energy and the only cure is you. So when you start avoiding him, distancing yourself from him, And he's not receiving his daily kisses and cuddles that he very much needs, the expressions and emotion in his voice become even more sour.

♡-He won’t let it go for long though, megumi is nothing short of persistent. He will give you puppy eyes. Please let him in

♡-And after you do open up to him, expect to be showered in precious little kisses all over your face along with soft whispers thanking you for letting him in and trusting him with this.

♡- Even if he does sound annoyed or he’s feeling a little irritated, you will never be the cause of it.

♡-As much as he tries he can’t really help his expressions and voicetone, BUT he’ll become a lot more physically affectionate to let you know, everything is okay. Even if he is actually annoyed or mad it's not directed towards you. Its towards Gojo ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

Thank you for reading bunnies!<3

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #sukuna x gender neutral reader #megumi x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji x reader #sukuna x reader #yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #yuuji fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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slaaverin · 3 months ago

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I might be naive but how on earth can tarot predict someone’s sexuality?

Because there is no way on Gods green earth that Jimin and Jungkook are not in some way queer, they have both literally pointed to this time over. The way they are with each other, no way there isn’t something there I’m sorry, but no.

Previous anon seems to be clutching at straws

Your view is so balanced and real.

Also love your videos !!

Hey anon,

Thank you so much for your ask!

There are many layers to this question and I have several thoughts.

Usually with tarot cards, you ask a question and draw one (or several) cards that brings you the answer. Then it is up to the reader to interpret those cards based on their knowledge or intuition.

That's usually what would happen when you do tarot for yourself, or someone you know.

When you do it for someone you know, usually you have the person's consent to read their energy, they are a willing participant.

Usually you wouldn't draw cards for people you don't know, without their consent. I mean you can, if someone asks about their relationship with someone, you would also read the other person from that relationship, even if they are not aware.

You can get - some energy - I guess from any situation. I'll come back to that.

This is my point of view only, but even asking "what is their sexuality" already proves the reader is absolutely shady.

Because there are ethics you need to have as a spiritualist, as a reader, and this is plain invasion of privacy.

A spiritualist would never invade someone's personal energy without any consent, or at least would try to the maximum to have the consent of the person involved.

When you cannot have the consent, the energy you would read is the energy only the person's soul, higher self, would allow you to see.

So there are two things. First asking such personal question is a sign the reader as no ethic as a spiritualist, so prying into personal stuff like this (Even if this is BTS and all, they are celebrities), is a lack of savoir de vivre.

They will mostly get karma for doing such things.

Secondly, since the members of BTS did not consent, the energy people will read will be only what their soul want to show. So it can be veiled, even false if they don't want to reveal it.

Their soul would see the question being asked -> is it a selfish invading personal self-serving question? Or does it have a higher purpose? I guess if it passes "the vibe check" the reader will be able to answer their question.

If the question is not good the answer could practically be anything, even completely wrong, simply because the members don't want people to meddle into their personal stuff! It's as simple as that.

That's why I was saying to watch or read readings only from people you trust, what I mean is that you trust their character, their ethics as readers, their values&morals.

If a reader say that him and him are in a relationship, this is the wrong reader! If they imply anyone's sexuality, this is the wrong reader!

Would you like people reading cards about you and revealing things about your personal life to the world? No! This is the same for the members of BTS.

They may be not conscious of it, but their soul/higher self is aware of everything, and they simply won't give personal information so easily.

Ahhh that would be too simple otherwise, everyone would indulge into the most lowest of themselves with toxic curiosity, learn everything and go home.

This is not how it works.

With the work they are doing these boys have all sorts of protection.

They are doing a huge thing on earth, and there are simply so many etherical influences around them. Their higher self is extremely powerful and would absolutely know that karen who's been doing tarot for 5 minutes asked a terrible question and their energy would simply tell this person to go fuck themselves. So any card would come out but it will be as ridiculous as the question they asked.

They might reveal some personal things to a reader *who's not a jerk* but they would know this person WOULD NOT REVEAL ANYTHING. Otherwise they would not share.

That's why all these readings are bullshit.

I hope I am somewhat clear in my explanation?

I hope it might get people to think on the people they listen to or go to for readings about BTS.

Ohh and thank you so much for loving my videos 🥰💜

Take care 🫂

#jikook #kookmin #tarot readings #ask

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blacktofade · 2 months ago

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This is random, but is your ao3 profile picture the Koran actor Han Gi Chan? Is it from Where Your Eyes Linger? Another show? A different person entirely? Thank you for indulging my curiosity!

LMFAO im sorry to be the bearer of bad news, anon, but my ao3 icon is just Stiles from Teen Wolf after he got beaten up by that old man

#lovely anon #answer #we're heading home from canada today so I'll be back to regular deranged posting soon

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dirtbra1n · 7 months ago

Note

AA4 SPOILERS/////

that quote you called krisnix is soooo fascinating to me bc, they really had dinner together most days, like that’s a level of commitment we didn’t even see from most of the ppl who phoenix considered important and that whole time on kristoph’s end it was to keep an eye on Phoenix and on phoenix’s end it curiosity bc kristoph voted against him losing his badge and also it was to find out the reason why he lost his badge and kristoph was just this name that kept popping up, and for Phoenix and kristoph it was so many red flags bc kristoph knew phoenix wasn’t the type to let something rest and Phoenix knew there was more to kristoph then at first glance but somewhere along the way it become genuine, but at the same time kristoph still kills shadi after a single convo with phoenix and phoenix still pressed record before even asking kristoph to be his lawyer, it’s Phoenix recording every single one of those convos with kristoph but still (probably) having him meet truck, but it’s kristoph keeping himself at arms length from Phoenix but Phoenix taking it bc he’s never been the type to give up on a person, whether it’s to their doom or his and for better or worse he wouldn’t want anyone else to really see him the way he currently is besides kristoph, now what the hell could that possibly mean?

(that quote I called krisnix)

anon you will never know the extent of the joy I felt seeing this initially and the extent of it I still feel now. but I’d like you to. Thank You For Biting. and for waiting a little over a month Sorry about that. I'm gonna ask you to forgive me if this doesn't make any sense or hold up to scrutiny. the demons have got hold of me and I'm making do

because I get to talk more about krisnix. Ha ha. pulled out all my silly little suppositions to review again I think I was waiting for an opportunity like this. like my hubris is getting me. I recklessly called that quote krisnix and now a little over a month later I'm completely sick about it.

I'm going to reiterate that I'm very sorry if this reads like shit, and I'll apologize just this once that this post got as long as it did. go fish

you ever think about how kristoph's a dog guy. guy who has a dog, guy who brought a photo of his dog into solitary confinement with him. also a caged blue bird which alive or not happened to contribute significantly to the krisnix breakdown of dec. 2023 There are really some very bright minds in krisnix pit. me and you included anon. that's a tangent. I'm sick. I'm drafting this in a terribly disorganized fashion. I'm reading transcripts. I'm getting dizzy.

this fucking room haunts me

vongole, though

a man's best friend, who's known to bite if handled roughly. her name means clams.

I've been doing some web surfing. I can't move in one straight line to save my life so I've been doing some web surfing. kristoph doesn't say what kind of retriever vongole is, which is fine. retrievers are dogs bred to retrieve game, tasked not to break skin, to be gentle, to keep soft mouths. vongole is a retriever who bites (literal) when bitten (metaphorical); a clam that clasps shut.

kristoph's a dog guy and sometimes he's the metaphorical dog. not One straight line to save my life. it's funny that seven years have passed without phoenix meeting vongole. held at arms length but indisputably held. a man's closest friend. besides his dog.

a lot of the time phoenix is the metaphorical dog. putting all tangents aside A lot of the time. phoenix is that metaphorical dog. what is seven years of companionship, eating dinner after dinner together, and being seen at your worst... worth? indulge me: this guy, you pieced together pretty quick, was behind the forged evidence that lost you your badge. this guy, as you saw happen in real time, was the one person on that committee to vote against that "strictest punishment".

this guy, as an indisputable fact, is a big fucking weirdo. you'll need to snare him eventually, for the forged evidence, but--you're kind of in the habit of liking weirdos. is the thing. he sunk your career, he lost you your badge. he's kind of an asshole, also.

he has bought you and trucy dinner more times than you could ever hope to count. there's a curve in your sofa from all the times he's sat in the same spot, wrinkling his nose at greasy takeout boxes and your grape juice breath. he talks to trucy in a voice slightly less haughty--warm, if a gun was held to your head about it--than the one he plays up with you, and she completely eats it up; thinks he's real fun to tease. his eyebrows wrinkle, an almost nothing frown, when she puts on a show with a trick that he can't immediately come to some conclusion about. he'll put on obnoxious rubber gloves to wash your dishes, to protect his manicured nails, as he goes down a dozen rabbit holes trying to reason out what he's missing. you've seen him doing casework. he's seen you delirious and half out of your mind. his mouth, in your experience, is soft.

you're kind of in the habit of liking assholes, too.

neither of these guys can be vulnerable for shit. over the course of seven years, they've seen each other as close to vulnerable as they can get, which isn't very, because this span of time especially--phoenix stubbornly keeping a little girl's head above the water, kristoph, for reasons we will never, ever understand, constantly looking over his shoulder--really doesn't see either of them in a place to get through any skin-flaying conversations about what they want with or from one another.

kristoph really does want control, though. he wants to be in control of things, have a handle on things. and he probably figured out something like immediately that phoenix wright really isn't the sort of guy you go to for that kind of thing. and yet! sunk cost fallacy's a bitch, kristoph! what good does a beautiful bluebird do you if you don't keep it with you on display heavy-handed. I know. don't I know it.

gonna rein myself in a little. because I'm off the deep end and you're posing really interesting ideas. kristoph couldn't rest for seven years because "shadi smith" was unaccounted for, out there somewhere. kristoph couldn't rest for seven years because he was scared for his life. "shadi smith" played a game of poker against the best and got whacked. and then murdered! tough luck!

really it's my curse. that so much of krisnix is personalized person to person, because of real aa5 shaped smoke and mirrors. because it gives me the space, the soapbox, the platform, microphone, and spotlight, to ask, In that trial, of the murder of Shadi Smith, where Kristoph Gavin was supposed to defend Phoenix Wright, what verdict was he looking to see through?

because I'm sick, you see. kristoph had just, finally, gotten rid of the man he spent so long being scared of, just clawed his way to the path out of the woods, and all he had to do was--

Have you ever stood at a crossroad. the decision laid out in front of you's not actually that tough, if you can believe it. even space for you to completely rationalize any attachments away: you get phoenix wright off (haha), you keep your reputation as the best defense in the west (opinions on the name notwithstanding), and you could, as a possibility to consider on occasion, maybe even learn how to have a slightly more-vulnerable-than-usual conversation.

or you could lose.

pretty simple choice to make, right?

and then phoenix goes and fucks it up, of course. dogs get restless with nothing to do. they want to be of use to you, kristoph, did you ever think to fucking ask phoenix for help? you come when called, you let yourself be persuaded, generously, to help keep food on the table. to keep a warm body company, one way or the other. to be some fucked up psychosexual approximation of a friend. but phoenix comes running when called, too, and you haven't once given him the chance.

big fucking stink you're in, kristoph! You didn't just brain a guy with a juice bottle for no reason. Tell me why you did it.

the big question you won't answer. five black psyche locks pulsing with a despair you don't have the tools to register. you said it already: I killed a man named "Smith" with a bottle because I am an evil human being.

what does phoenix hope to get out of this. motive for a murder, then what?

you really get me anon. phoenix never the kind of guy to give up on somebody he loves, up against someone who's finished with even arms length, stubborn as all get-out, and, even to himself, completely unsalvageable. irredeemable. an evil human being who killed a man named "smith" with a bottle.

it's not that phoenix would help kristoph hide a body. he pretty evidently did not do that. and it's not that phoenix would just forgive kristoph for trying to poison a twelve year old girl either. but there were seven full years between the disappearance of zak gramarye and the murder of "shadi smith", and vera misham hadn't been poisoned yet, and phoenix wright is an awfully loyal, terribly stubborn man himself.

I don't really know what the hell the lot of this means to tell you the truth. but I think now as much as ever that phoenix should chase kristoph's chance at life to the death, and I think that regardless of the stopping point on the line of time kristoph's last words to phoenix should be ...Later, then.

#ace attorney #krisnix #aa4 spoilers #<- figured i should tag that also #make you wait this long for a response just to type out so much to say. a lot of things! that might be inordinately difficult to parse #I'm Really Sorry .#please feel free to interrogate any of this. all of it even #make me defend my thesis. we might even get something that makes some sense out of it #askbox #watch i'm going to read this under daylight and i'm going to get an ulcer. Always remember you can say whatever the hell you want. whenever #okay enough. go in peace

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nahoney22 · 3 months ago

Note

Hi. I was wondering if you would write for Krennic? I liked how you portrayed him in your thrawn fic. If yes, please can I have the NSFW dominant prompt number 29 with a fem reader?

Perhaps he and reader had been eyeing each other up for a while and they can’t resist anymore? Thank you in advance. 😊😊

A Deal with the Director***🌊

🫧 Pairings: Director Krennic X ImperialFemale!Reader

word count: 8.7k

prompts:

• “Suck on my fingers, get them nice and wet for me."

Plot: When you find yourself locking eyes with Director Krennic more than once, you thought nothing of it. But when you find yourself rather close and personal… it’s a different story.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit Sexual Content & Language, Soft!DomKrennic and Light!SubReader relationship, Female Imperial, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Finger Sucking, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Desk Sex, Uniform Kink, Dirty Talk, Strangers to Lovers, Forbidden Relationship, Sex With Your Boss, Authority Kink, Spanking, Implied Creampie , Reader gets Anxious, Prompt Request. Brea, Rein, Ronhar, Ralson are just random made up characters btw and don’t exist in the Star Wars universe.

A/N: Thanks for being my first Krennic request, anon! I had so much fun doing this so no wonder why it’s 8k plus words long. I’m going to be posting this in ao3 too so if you don��t want to red it all at once I’ve split it up into parts over there. 🩵

link: AO3 Krennic

You leaned against the console, adjusting the stiff collar of your uniform while your colleague and friend, Lieutenant Brea, leaned in closer, her voice low but animated as she indulges you with the latest gossip during an otherwise quiet shift on the bridge.

"I’m telling you, Krennic’s been a complete nightmare lately,” she whispered, her eyes flicking nervously toward the corridor leading to the command deck. “I was on maintenance duty last week when he stormed in. He’s usually uptight, but this time? He was snapping at people for breathing too loudly.”

You smirked, suppressing a laugh. “Sounds about right. I bet it’s because someone replaced his caf with decaf.”

Brea snorted, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “Or maybe he finally realised that cape of his isn’t as impressive as he thinks.”

You chuckled too but didn’t want to ruin the moment and say you actually quite like his cape…

The two of you shared a cheeky grin, but your amusement quickly turned to curiosity as you remembered something you’d overheard in the officer’s mess hall the day before. Leaning closer to Brea, you lowered your voice even more. “Actually, I heard from Lieutenant Ronhar that it’s got something to do with Tarkin.”

Brea’s eyes widened. “Tarkin? That explains it. I mean, who wouldn’t be in a foul mood dealing with him? Those two have hated each other for ages.”

“Apparently, the Governor’s been in direct contact with him, undermining Krennic’s authority on the Death Star project. You know how much Krennic hates being questioned…especially by someone like Tarkin.” You reply with a nod.

Brea shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s a wonder they haven’t killed each other yet. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if Krennic’s bad mood is because Tarkin’s finally found a way to outmaneuver him.”

You were just about to add your own two credits when the sharp hiss of the command deck doors sliding open sent a chill down your spine. Brea stiffened beside you, her expression going from relaxed to rigid in an instant. You didn’t need to look to know who had just entered. There was only one person whose mere presence could kill the atmosphere in the room that quickly.

Director Orson Krennic. Just the topic of conversation.

Both of you snapped your attention back to your consoles, fingers suddenly busy typing away at meaningless data as you fought to appear as though you were diligently focused. You could sense him before you saw him, the air around him practically crackling.

His clipped footsteps echoed ominously as he stalked across the deck, barking orders at officers in his path. “Lieutenant Rein, is there a reason these reports are incomplete? You’re telling me the entirety of this ship’s command structure is incapable of following basic protocol?”

Rein, visibly flustered, stammered out a response. “Sir, the system updates delayed the transfer—”

“Spare me your excuses,” Krennic snapped, his voice cold enough to frost over. “I expect results, not delays. If you can’t manage something as simple as a report, I’ll find someone who can.”

You couldn’t help yourself as curiosity got the better of you. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you saw him standing tall, his white uniform a stark contrast against the gray walls. His blue eyes, blazing with intensity, locked onto Rein, who looked ready to melt into the floor. Which is a shame seeing as you always quite liked Rein. Despite his arrogance.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Krennic’s gaze shifted— and met yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes, sharp and calculating, held yours with an intensity that made your knees shake. For a brief moment, everything seemed to stand still. It felt like he was seeing right through you, peeling back layers with that piercing stare.

And quickly realising you had been staring, you quickly turned back to your console, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Brea shot you a confused look. “What’s wrong?”

You leaned in, voice hushed and panicked. “I made eye contact.”

Brea’s eyes widened, “You what? Are you mad? He’s been chewing out anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way!”

“Believe me, it wasn’t intentional,” you hissed back, your heart still racing. “It just… happened.”

“Forget it,” Brea whispered urgently. “Just keep your head down. Maybe he didn’t notice.”

But you weren’t so sure. He definitely noticed. Even as you pretended to be absorbed in your work, you could still feel the weight of his gaze, as if it lingered for a fraction longer on the back of your head more than necessary before moving on. There was something unsettling, and strangely magnetic, about the way he’d looked at you. You shuddered, not trying to think about it.

The rest of your shift passed in tense silence. Even after Krennic finally left the deck, the atmosphere remained charged. Nobody even dared speak and you were certain that Rein was crying in a corner somewhere. Brea shot you a nervous look, but all you could do was shake your head, still trying to shake off the odd feeling that had settled in your chest.

One thing was certain; working aboard an Imperial vessel was dangerous enough without catching the attention of someone like Director Krennic.

The hum of activity aboard the ship fell silent as Commander Ralson began his inspection. You stood at attention in a perfectly straight line alongside your fellow officers, boots polished, uniforms crisp. These routine checks were a necessary nuisance, and normally, you’d breeze through them without a second thought. But today, an uneasy feeling gnawed at you. A cold knot of tension curled in your stomach.

You told yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was just nerves from being up late working through endless reports. But your palms were sweating, something that never happened, and you couldn’t shake the sense that something more was coming.

Or someone else.

The Commander walked down the line, sharp eyes inspecting every detail, pausing now and then to critique the smallest flaw. As he drew closer, you steadied your breathing. You could handle Ralson—he was stern, but predictable. But before he could reach your spot, the doors hissed open with an unmistakable whoosh.

There he is again; Director Krennic.

You felt Brea stiffen beside you, a silent ripple of unease passing through the line. The director’s appearance was enough to make even the most seasoned officers tense up. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Ralson’s routine. So why had he decided to show up?

“Director,” Ralson greeted, snapping to attention as Krennic approached. “I was just—”

“Carry on, Commander. I’m merely observing.” Krennic’s tone was cool, but there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice that left little room for discussion. He moved with calculated grace, his white cape swishing slightly as he surveyed the room with a sharp, almost predatory gaze. “I want to ensure everything is… perfect.”

A shiver ran down your spine as he said the word, the emphasis sending a subtle chill through the air. Krennic began to pace slowly down the line, inspecting each officer with an unnerving precision. Unlike Ralson, who was concerned with the standard details, Krennic’s gaze seemed to dig deeper; as if searching for weaknesses beneath the surface.

You focused straight ahead, trying to keep your expression neutral, even as you felt the weight of his presence drawing closer. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you cursed yourself silently. You never reacted like this to any other officer, no matter their rank. But there was something about Krennic—something that got under your skin in a way that was impossible to define.

When he finally reached your position, he slowed down, pausing right in front of you. He hadn’t stopped for anyone else. Not a single other officer had warranted more than a passing glance, but now, he was standing inches away, studying you.

Did he remember you from yesterday? There were over 1,000 officers on this vessel and you never stood out, or so you think.

The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through you. You had caught his eye in that brief, charged moment, and now you couldn’t help but wonder if it had left an impression—an impression you weren’t sure you wanted to make.

You could feel the heat of his gaze as it traced the lines of your uniform, then slowly traveled up to meet your eyes. Every instinct told you to keep staring straight ahead, to maintain discipline. But the longer he lingered, the harder it became to decide. Would it be disrespectful not to acknowledge him? Or was it more dangerous to meet his gaze and invite his scrutiny?

In the end, you opted for caution, keeping your focus rigidly forward. But Krennic wasn’t having it. He shifted ever so slightly, ensuring his line of sight intersected yours, forcing you into the dilemma you’d been dreading.

His eyes locked onto yours, and time seemed to stretch impossibly long. There was something unreadable in his expression, a mix of curiosity and calculation that sent a prickle of discomfort through your skin. It felt like he was analysing every thought behind your eyes. The air between you tightened with tension, your heart thudding loudly in your ears.

Finally, Krennic made a small, almost dismissive sound in his throat, something between a scoff and a clearing of his voice. The spell broke, and he moved on, continuing down the line without another word.

You exhaled shakily, realising only now that you’d been holding your breath. Brea, who had been standing to your right, leaned slightly in, her voice barely a whisper. “Relax. He’s just testing you. If he was going to tear you apart, he’d have done it already.”

Her attempt to calm you fell flat. You nodded minutely, but the knot of tension in your chest didn’t loosen. Instead, it twisted tighter, leaving you on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Krennic’s unpredictability was what unnerved you the most—you could never tell if his silence was a sign of approval or if he was simply waiting for the right moment to strike.

And the worst part? You still had no idea what he was thinking, what his intentions might be, or whether this was just the beginning of a game you were being drawn into.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.

But you didn’t plan to think of him from then. Every single night.

The next few days blurred into a familiar routine. The ship hummed with the usual activity, the daily grind of assignments, reports, and inspections keeping you busy. Everything had returned to normal. Seemingly.

You hadn’t seen Director Krennic since that unsettling inspection, and life aboard the ship had resumed its regular pattern. But despite the return to routine, your mind remained troubled.

You’d hoped the lingering tension would vanish once Krennic was out of sight, out of mind. But it seemed he had carved out a space in your thoughts, one that you couldn’t quite push away. And Brea didn’t help either.

“Did you hear what I found out?” She asked, leaning over the console, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Apparently, Tarkin’s been stepping up his little power plays. He’s convinced the Emperor that Krennic’s lost control of the project. If Krennic’s mood couldn’t get any worse!”

You forced a half-hearted smile, normally ready to match her gossip with snarky quips or some dramatic theory. But today, you were quieter than usual, the usual banter falling flat. You could tell Brea noticed the change in your mood, but she narrowed it to exhaustion or a tough assignment. Which was not far from the truth.

You were tired but mainly because your mind was still rattled by Krennic’s staring. The sight of his eyes had stuck with you, replaying in your mind whenever you were alone.

You hadn’t told Brea about it and probably won’t, but you’d spent more than a few nights lying awake, wondering why he had singled you out. Why couldn’t you let it go? Worse yet, you caught yourself subtly scanning the corridors, half-hoping, half-dreading to see that white cape in the distance.

You were searching for him, and you hated yourself for it.

But as days passed and there was no sign of Krennic, you started to relax. You told yourself he had probably left on one of his shuttles, returning to oversee some other corner of his vast operation. It was for the best, you decided. Life was easier without the gnawing uncertainty his presence brought.

You were in the mess hall with Brea one afternoon, chatting over lunch, when a shadow fell over your table. Looking up, you saw Commander Ralson standing there, his expression stern.

“Commander,” you greeted, straightening slightly.

“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice formal, though you caught a hint of discomfort in his eyes. “Director Krennic requires your presence in his office. Immediately.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your heart lurched as a cold wave of anxiety surged through you. Brea shot you a wide-eyed look, biting her lip to keep from blurting out a comment, though you could practically see the questions swirling in her head.

“Understood,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the panic starting to bubble beneath the surface.

As you followed the Commander down the corridors, your mind raced, conjuring every worst-case scenario you could imagine. What could he want? Had you done something wrong? Was this some elaborate punishment for whatever offense you might’ve unknowingly committed? Maker, you knew you should’ve never looked at him.

You were ushered into Krennic’s private office, and the door slid shut behind you with a soft hiss. The room was sleek and cold, polished surfaces and sharp lines dominating the decor. It was almost clinical in its precision, every detail meticulously curated. But your focus was immediately drawn to the man seated behind the massive desk.

Krennic didn’t look up as you entered, his attention fixed on the datapad in front of him. His fingers tapped steadily on the device, the soft clicks echoing in the quiet room. For a long, agonising moment, you simply stood there, nerves prickling under your skin as you waited for him to acknowledge you.

You didn’t want to say it either but it was kinda rude he didn’t.

Finally, without lifting his gaze, he spoke. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Lieutenant.”

His voice was smooth, almost indifferent, but you could hear the faintest edge to it. You swallowed hard, your palms clammy as you tried to find your voice. “Yes, sir.”

Krennic paused his work, leaning back in his chair as he finally looked up at you, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with that same unnerving intensity from before. “The officer responsible for assisting me with project reports - what was it, Rein? - has… departed. Apparently, my expectations were too much for him.” There was a faint smirk on his lips, a mix of satisfaction and disdain.

He watched your reaction closely, as if weighing how you’d respond. You could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to stay composed.

“And that replacement is… me?” you asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Precisely.” He clipped. “I require someone competent, someone who doesn’t wilt under pressure. I’m told you fit that description.”

You forced yourself to nod, though your thoughts were spiraling. Reports? That couldn’t be all there was to this. Why you, specifically? You had to bite back the urge to question him further, to ask what he really wanted. But you knew better than to push.

“Understood, Director,” you managed, your voice steady, if a bit hollow.

He stared at you a moment longer, as if gauging something deeper. The silence stretched just long enough before he leaned forward slightly, returning his attention to his datapad. “Good. You’ll start tomorrow at 0700 sharp. Don’t be late.”

You could only nod in response, the knot in your chest tightening as he dismissed you with a casual wave of his hand. You turned on your heel and exited the office, the door sliding shut behind you with a finality that sent a shudder down your spine.

As you walked back to the mess hall, Brea was the first person you saw, her eyes wide with curiosity as she rushed up to you. “Well? What did he want?”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process what had just happened. “He wants me to help him with project reports,” you said flatly, your mind still racing.

Brea’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding. He’s putting you in charge of that? Sounds like a nightmare.” She paused, her voice dropping lower. “But I bet there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

You didn’t answer.

As Brea continued talking, her words blurred into background noise, your thoughts returning to that cold office, to the unreadable expression on Krennic’s face.

Tomorrow will be interesting, to say the least.

You barely slept that night, your mind spinning with scenarios, each worse than the last. What if you made a mistake? What if Krennic was testing you? By the time your alarm chimed, you were already awake, staring at the ceiling, your nerves frayed.

By the time you reached Krennic’s office at 0700 sharp, you felt hollow, running on jittery adrenaline and determination.

But when you arrived, the office was empty.

The pristine room was eerily quiet, save for the steady hum of the ship’s systems. You looked around, unsure whether to sit down or wait outside. After a moment’s hesitation, you decided you couldn’t just stand there doing nothing.

You’d seen the collection of data devices stacked neatly on the side of his desk, ready for the day’s work. You assumed they were intended for you, so you entered and gathered them.

The pile of devices was heavier than you expected, and you couldn’t help but wonder why all the data couldn’t be put onto one device. You gathered everything into your arms, careful not to disturb anything else, but the stack was awkward to manage. As you straightened, one of the smaller devices slipped slightly, almost falling, and you quickly adjusted it. Unbeknownst to you, nestled at the bottom of the pile was one of Krennic’s personal files.

A file that was not meant for you.

You set up your workstation at the small desk across the room, your focus shifting to the reports you were supposed to compile. Time crawled by as you went through the data, trying to maintain sharp attention despite your fatigue. You were lost in the numbers and projections when the door slid open and the familiar click of boots on the polished floor echoed behind you.

Director Krennic entered, his expression cool and unreadable as ever. A rush of relief washed over you as didn��t seem displeased to find you working already. You offered a polite nod of acknowledgment. “Good morning, Director.”

He barely spared you a glance, already focused on his own work. “Lieutenant,” he greeted curtly before settling into his seat. You were about to turn back to your task, thinking that perhaps things might be going smoothly for once, when his voice cut through the silence again.

“Where is it?” Krennic’s tone was sharp, irritation lacing his words.

Your fingers paused mid-typing. You looked up, confused. “Sir?”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned his desk, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished surface. “There was a file here—one I specifically left out for my use. It’s missing.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, anxiety flaring. You turned to face him fully, a sinking feeling creeping into your stomach. “I… I’m not sure, Director. I didn’t touch anything except the data devices you left for me.”

Krennic’s gaze fixed on you. “Then where is it, Lieutenant?” he asked icily, “I find it hard to believe a file would simply disappear.”

Panic set in as you racked your brain, desperate to figure out what could have happened. Your eyes drifted down to your pile of devices—and there, half-hidden beneath the stack, was a slim, black datapad. Your heart dropped. You gasped, recognising the insignia marking it as one of Krennic’s personal files.

You swallowed hard and immediately grabbed the file, stepping forward with shaky hands. “I’m so sorry, sir. I must have picked it up by accident when I was gathering my work.”

His eyes darkened as you held out the datapad, his expression unreadable. “I see,” he said slowly, his voice devoid of emotion. He took the file from you, his fingers brushing yours just briefly, but it was his gaze that made you shiver.

For a tense moment, he studied you with unnerving intensity. Then, with a deliberate pause, he asked, “Did you read it?”

Your heart hammered in your chest, the question hanging in the air like a death sentence. “No, Director. I swear I didn’t,” you replied, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Krennic leaned back in his chair, tapping the datapad lightly against his palm, considering. “Good. Because if you had,” he said, his tone low, “I wouldn’t be nearly as lenient.”

You nodded stiffly, unsure what to say. “Understood, Director. It won’t happen again.”

There was another long pause as he continued to watch you, and you found yourself standing taller, somehow more confident as you held his gaze. Finally, he gave a small, almost dismissive nod, as though deciding you were no longer worth his immediate attention. “See that it doesn’t.”

With that, he returned to his work as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, feeling both relieved and shaken. You quickly returned to your desk, your thoughts racing. The encounter left a bitter taste in your mouth—a reminder of just how precarious your position was.

You tried to focus on your work, eyes fixed on the screen, or in your case many screens, in front of you, but it was impossible to ignore him. Across the room, Krennic sat behind his desk, absorbed in whatever task demanded his attention. His brow furrowed in concentration as he read, fingers idly twirling a sleek, black pen with a dexterity that seemed almost effortless.

Your gaze drifted over to him before you could stop yourself, drawn in by the sharp angles of his face, the crisp lines of his perfectly tailored uniform. His appearance was always immaculate, a reflection of the discipline and precision he demanded from everyone around him. But it was his eyes that kept you lingering, those striking electric-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through anyone in their path. They were colder than ice, yet held a certain allure, a dangerous charm that you found yourself being drawn too.

The realisation hit you like a blast of cold air: you found him attractive.

Ridiculously attractive.

It was a thought that sent a jolt of panic through your chest. Why him, of all people? He was your Boss. But there was just something about him; something about the way he commanded a room, the aura of authority he carried effortlessly. It was infuriating and fascinating all at once.

As if on cue, Krennic suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto yours. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, your face heating up as you pretended to be engrossed in the report. You held your breath, sincerely hoping he hadn’t caught you staring.

You risked a quick glance back, only to find his eyes still on you. But just as quickly as he’d looked, his attention returned to his work, and you exhaled, trying to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence.

But it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Over the next few days, the strange game between you and Krennic continued. While you tried to focus on your assignments, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to him. It became a challenge—one that started to excite you. It was a dangerous game but Krennic seemed to be playing along.

When you stretched your arms, subtly arching your back, you could feel his eyes on you. If you stifled a yawn or let your teeth catch your lower lip in thought, his gaze would flicker to you, lingering just a moment too long on your lips. And you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you every time it happened.

There were moments when you swore he was watching you more intently than before, as if trying to unravel the thoughts running through your head. Yet he never commented on it. No reprimands, no acknowledgments—just that watchful stare.

You found yourself pushing the boundaries, testing the waters in subtle ways. Adjusting your posture, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, even letting out a soft, exaggerated sigh when you pretended to be frustrated with a report. Each time, his eyes would lift from whatever he was doing, and you could feel the weight of his gaze settle on you, lingering before he returned to his work as if nothing had happened.

It was maddening.

And intoxicating.

You knew it was risky to toy with someone like Krennic, but you couldn’t help yourself. The thrill of catching his attention, of knowing that beneath his stoic exterior, something in him was attuned to your every movement. You did wonder what was going through his mind. Was this just another power play for him, a way to keep you on edge? Or was there something more beneath the surface? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny the thrill of having his attention, even if it came with a twinge of fear.

You had just returned from your break, a little more relaxed after stepping away from the unrelenting tension that hung between you and Krennic for the past few days. But as you walked into the office, your tranquility was shattered—literally.

The crash of something smashing against the wall made you yelp, your heart lurching in your chest. You froze, wide-eyed, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Shards of shattered glass glistened on the floor beside you, the remnants of what was once a data device. Your gaze snapped to Krennic.

He was standing behind his desk, hair slightly disheveled, his usually impeccable composure nowhere to be seen. His hands were splayed flat against the polished surface of the desk, knuckles white, as he leaned forward with his shoulders heaving. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, and the seething energy radiating from him was almost terrifying.

Your voice came out small and unsure, breaking the heavy silence. “S-Sir? Is everything okay?”

For a long, agonising moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze was locked somewhere distant, his usually sharp eyes now clouded with barely contained fury. You had never seen him like this.

But then you recall Brea’s gossip from earlier in the week; something about how Krennic was due for a transmission from Tarkin today. Given the state he was in, it was clear that conversation hadn’t gone too well.

Carefully, you moved toward his personal caf machine in the corner. The idea of making him a cup of caf wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was the only thing you could think of. Anything to diffuse the tension. You filled the cup, your fingers trembling slightly as you brought it over to his desk.

“I brought you some caf,” you said quietly, setting it down in front of him. “It looks like you might need it.”

For a long moment, Krennic didn’t react, his eyes still fixed on some invisible point far beyond the room. But then, almost as if he was waking from a trance, he blinked and his gaze slowly drifted to you. The storm in his eyes had softened, but there was something else there now—something vulnerable, almost unsure. His voice was low, barely above a murmur. “Did I hurt you?”

The sound of him saying your name, your real name, not “Lieutenant”, caught you off guard. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you shook your head. “No, sir,” you assured him, a soft sincerity in your tone.

Krennic exhaled a long breath, the tension visibly draining from him. He stood up straighter, his composure slowly knitting itself back together as he reached for the caf. It was only when he took a step closer to you that he seemed to notice how near you were standing. His eyes swept over your face, searching for something—perhaps fear or unease—but you held your ground, offering a small, genuine smile instead.

He took the caf you offered, raising the cup to his lips. As he took a slow sip, his eyes never left yours. “Nothing stronger?” he asked, an edge of dark humor with the question.

Your smile widened, and you shook your head lightly. “Not in this office, sir.”

There was a flicker of amusement, perhaps, or maybe even appreciation in his gaze. It was the first time you’d seen him like this, letting his guard slip, if only slightly. The man who usually carried himself with unshakeable control was showing you a crack in that armor.

Krennic sighed again, softer this time, and took another sip of the caf. The tension in the room had dissipated, and for a moment, it was just the two of you standing there, the usual unspoken games between you paused.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone quieter, almost reluctant, as though gratitude wasn’t something he often expressed. “For the caf… and for not running.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that you didn’t expect. “Anytime, sir.”

Krennic was just about to turn back to his desk when you moved without thinking. You stepped closer, your hand reaching out almost on instinct, fingers brushing through his hair, “here,” you whisper as you begin smoothing it into place. The strands of his hair were softer than you expected, slipping under your fingers with surprising ease. You straightened his collar next, tugging lightly to even out the fabric until it was perfectly aligned, followed by the collar of his cape.

But then the realisation hit you—what are you doing? Your breath caught in your throat as you registered the closeness between you, the warmth radiating off his body now that you were standing mere inches away. Krennic stiffened, only just realising what you had done as his eyes flicked down to your hands, then back to your flushed face.

Your mouth opened, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but the words came out in a flustered rush. “I—Sir, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could turn away and retreat, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with surprising gentleness. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with command. You froze as he pulled you closer, the gap between your bodies vanishing. His breath was warm against your cheek, carrying the faint, comforting scent of the caf you had just brewed. Your pulse raced as his eyes scan over your face, studying you with an intensity that made you feel like one of the blueprints on his desk—scrutinised, analysed, evaluated.

“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was confessing something he’d kept locked away. His grip on your wrist loosened, but his touch lingered, sliding down to rest against your waist. The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric of your uniform, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since that day on the deck,” he continued, his tone dark and laced with something almost feral. “You caught my eye the moment you looked at me… and you haven’t left my mind since.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve ending buzzing with the tension that crackled between you. The way his eyes pinned you in place, the way his hand subtly flexed against your waist. It was too much, and yet not enough. You found your voice, shaky but eager to engage. “I thought it was just me,” you admitted, breath hitching as he leaned in even closer, so close that your noses nearly brushed.

The smirk that curled his lips was intoxicating, laced with satisfaction at your confession. “You’ve been teasing me,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill shooting straight through you. “Stretching… biting that lip of yours… do you think I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping that you would,” you rasp as your eyes flicker to his lips. Your mouth went dry as you struggled to respond with anything, but before you could form anything, he surged forward and captured your lips with a dominant, demanding kiss.

The force of it stole your breath, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for hesitation. You gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth as his hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You barely had time to respond before his hands were on you, strong and decisive, lifting you with ease. You let out a soft gasp as he set you down atop his desk, flimsi scattering beneath you as he stepped between your legs, slotting himself there with deliberate intent.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform as you kissed him back, just as fervent and needy as he was. “Director,” you whimper breathlessly.

The pressure of his lips against yours was intoxicating, a heady mix of desperation and desire that left you dizzy. One of his hands slid up your thigh, curling possessively around your hip as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at your lips until you parted them with a soft moan; tongue wrapping around yours expertly.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were blazing, “You’re driving me mad,” he rasped, his voice hoarse as he trailed his thumb across your lower lip, eyes fixated on the way it trembled under his touch. “Every time I see you, it takes everything in me not to do exactly this.”

You could barely think, let alone form a reply. All you knew was that this was the breaking point—days, maybe weeks, of unspoken tension had led to this moment, and now there was no turning back. The thrill of it, the danger, was overwhelming. “Then don’t hold back,” you whispered, daring him with a gaze that matched his intensity.

A wicked grin spread across his lips, and before you could draw another breath, he was kissing you again—deeper, harder. His hand began to get tangled in your hair that had become loose from its tight bun as the other gripped your waist, pulling you even closer as you clung to him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

As Krennic stepped back, his eyes were heavy with lust and with intent. His gaze never wavered from yours as he slowly slid off his gloves, each movement deliberate, calculated. You shivered from the way he looked at you. It was like he was savouring every second, every inch of you.

He reached for your uniform, fingers grazing your shoulders as he began to undress you. The fabric slipped away from your skin with an excruciating slowness, leaving your chest exposed, clad only in your bra. His eyes darkened with admiration as his hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak that was protruding under the fabric, coaxing a soft gasp from your lips.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, as though in awe of what he was revealing. His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the edge of lace before his other hand slid down to your waistband.

“Raise your hips, darling.” You do as he asks, completely in awe as he tugged your pants down, letting them pool at your ankles before carefully lifting them away. Now, you were left vulnerable before him, the cool material of the desk beneath you a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

He discarded his gloves completely, tossing them aside without a care, and held his fingers to your lips. “Suck on my fingers. Get them nice and wet for me.”

The desire in his eyes made your pulse quicken, and without hesitation, you parted your lips, taking his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around them, sucking gently as you let out a soft moan, your eyes fluttering shut in the process.

The taste of leather from his gloves was faint, but the sensation of his fingers in your mouth was overwhelmingly intimate. His gaze never left you, watching intently, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. The praise sent a flush of warmth through your body, and your moans deepened as you swirl your tongue over his fingertips.

He chuckled softly, a lustful, satisfied sound, before pulling his fingers free from your lips with a soft pop. He wasted no time as his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding over the damp fabric of your underwear. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He sighs in approval before he hooked them aside. The moment his fingers made contact with your slick heat, a gasp escaped your lips, your body instinctively trembling.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice low and husky as he teased you with feather-light touches. “So ready… and all for me.”

He watched you intently, eyes half-lidded with desire as he explored you, fingers gliding with a smoothness that made you whimper. The way he looked at you—like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on—had your heart racing. You couldn’t hold back the small whimpers and gasps as his fingers pressed deeper, slipping inside your pussy, you moan out every ounce of need that had been building up between you for days.

Krennic leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I want it so much… please,” you breathed out, hardly recognising your own voice as you begged him.

The smirk on his lips grew darker, and without another word, he curled his finger deeper inside you, his fingers finding that spot within you that made your back arch and your breath hitch. The rhythm he set was both maddeningly slow and utterly precise, like he was savoring every little reaction you gave him, drawing out your pleasure until it was almost unbearable. “So receptive, aren’t you?”

“D-Director, don’t stop.. oh fuck.. please don’t stop.” You lay your back flat on the desk, legs spreading wider as your hands move over your breasts, pulling them out the cup of your bra and begin to pinch at your hardened nipples, desperate for that extra edge.

You hear him let out something similar to a whimper as he watches you, his other hand that had been resting on your thigh moving to brush over your clit, his fingers making fast work. “There you go, there you go my beautiful girl. Give in to me.”

Each touch, each movement was deliberate, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as he pushed you closer to the edge. But it was the look in his eyes-predatory and possessive- that had you crashing down with your high. You back arches from the table, panting his name as your legs tremble desperately with your release.

He doesn’t let up, chuckling as he pinches your sensitive clit as you cry out, unphased if anyone were to hear you. “F-Fuck! Please,” you cry, unsure what you are really trying to ask for.

Eventually, he lets go and takes your arms, sitting you up. You're dizzy, disoriented as he takes your chin between his fingers, making sure your gaze is on him. “You did so, so well.” He praises, moving his fingers to his lips and licking them, followed by him putting his fingers back into your mouth, tasting your aftermath.

You suck on his fingers like a woman starved and then lean into him, kissing him. He smiles against your lips, swallowing his small moans as you quietly beg him for more.

He began to undress, unfastening his uniform with practiced ease, but you suddenly reached out and took hold of his hands.

“Wait,” you said, your voice trembling with both anticipation and a daring excitement. “Can I have you… like this?” You gestured to his still-partially-clad form, your eyes roving over the impeccably sharp lines of his uniform. The thought of being taken by him while he remained in his authoritative attire stirred a deep, thrilling excitement in you.

Krennic raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Are you commanding the Director now?” His voice was a mix of amusement and curiosity, but there was no mistaking the gleam of intrigue in his eyes.

You flushed slightly, feeling a shiver of self-consciousness. “I didn’t mean to—” you began, but he interrupted you with a chuckle, clearly delighted by your boldness.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, his tone dropping to a low, seductive murmur, “then who am I to refuse?”

With a fluid motion, he released himself from his pants, the sight of his arousal makes you gasp. He stroked himself slowly, the motion smooth and controlled. Your gaze followed the movement of his hand, mesmerised by the way he seemed to effortlessly control his own pleasure.

“Sir,” you whispered, “you’re so…” you don’t even have the words, your mouth salivating as you watch him.

Krennic’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “You like that, don’t you? The authority, the control?”

You nodded, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Yes, Director. I want you… now.”

He grinned, the expression a mix of pride and desire, and moved closer, positioning you carefully atop the desk. He guided you into a position that had you spread out in a way that made you feel utterly at his mercy. The cool surface of the desk was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body as he hovered above you, his uniform still immaculate.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart with deliberate slowness. You shudder under his touch, a small whine parting your lips as the tip of his cock settles upon your clit, his hips gently rocking back and forth to tease you. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, “Is it fear… or something else, darling?”

You bite your lip, your breath catching as his voice sends shivers down your spine, watching his gorgeous swollen head starts to move between your folds this time. “You know exactly what it is, Director.”

“Such a clever girl. Always so eager to please.” His tone is teasing, but beneath it lies an edge of hunger, barely restrained. His hands trail down your body, brushing over your exposed skin, almost like he’s admiring a fine piece of art. He grabs his cock again and this time he pushes past the teasing and slips wonderfully inside you, filling you. There’s a wince on your tongue, eyes screwing shut as he stretches you. It had been a while.

“Mmmm,” he rumbles, his head tilting back as he settles inside you, allowing himself and you to adjust to his girth, “such a warm cunt.”

You whimper at his filthy words, watching between your legs as you prop yourself up on your elbows as he begins to move in and out of you, his cock glimmering with your arousal before he pushes back into you.

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I think you like being at my mercy,” he says softly, his voice laced with both challenge and curiosity. “You crave it, don’t you? That sense of submission… knowing that I’m in control.”

You swallow hard, feeling the truth of his words sink in just as his cock does. “Yes, Director,” you reply, your voice a whisper as your fingers grip the desk. “I trust you.”

For a brief moment, something flickers in his eyes—something more vulnerable, almost appreciative—but it’s quickly replaced by that signature smirk. “Good. Because I intend to take everything you’re willing to give.”

With that, Krennic presses you closer to him, his cock reaching that spot inside you with a heated jolt. “M-More, please.” You beg as he holds your thighs further apart as he starts to thrust with even strides, the pleasure like no other as you submit to him completely.

His groans are low and rough, his eyes fixed on watching his cock slip in and out of you with ease. He raises one of your legs, hooking it around his back as his hands begin to travel up your body.

Breath hitching, his fingers brush over your collarbone, tracing a line from your neck down to your chest where he then pinches and tugs gently at your nipples. “You look perfect like this,” he murmurs. “A picture of submission and beauty, being devoured by me.” His thrusts become rough, the flimsi on his desk scattering below you as you lay fully back, your body thrusting up and down the desk with every powerful grind.

He leans over the top of you, capturing your lips in a kiss, claiming every ounce of your attention. You respond in kind, hands curling into the fabric of his uniform as you pull him closer, both of your legs now wrapping around his body, tangled in his cape.

“Director,” you whisper against his lips, the title now carrying a deeper, more intimate weight.

“Say that again,” he commands, his voice husky as he brushes his lips along your jaw, his fingers tightening their grip on you.

“Director,” you moan softly, your voice laced with submission and desire. The word is like a key, unlocking something primal in him as his gaze darkens with raw intensity. “F-Fuck, you’re so good pleasing me. Your cock is so thick.”

“That’s a good girl.” His voice is a velvet growl, full of dark promise, and his hands slide back to your waist, lifting you and flipping you so your face was now pressed down against his desk, legs dangling over the edge as he takes you from behind effortlessly. “Now, let’s see just how well you can follow orders.”

You moan desperately as he spanks your arse, swearing out loud in pleasure as his cock drills harsher into you than before, his hand tangled in your hair as he grips firmly onto it as he takes you.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, in a desperate moan, pulling out and slapping his arse with his cock before fucking straight back into you. “Since the moment I saw you watching me—.” he growls with a roll of his hips, “thinking you were being so subtle, so discreet. But I noticed.”

You can’t help but smirk, remembering every stolen glance, every time you tried to hide how much you were drawn to him. “I couldn’t help it,” you admit, voice breathless as you move yourself back up onto his cock. “You’re impossible to ignore.”

You don’t see it but his eyes flash with satisfaction, your walls tightening perfectly around his cock with every praise sent both ways. After a minute of brutal fucking, he flips you so you’re on your back again, stealing a kiss from your lips as he seethes back inside you.

Your back contorts, rising off the desk in an effort to press your hips further down, to take him deeper even when you see Krennic almost bottoming out—his cock pressed almost painfully against your cervix. “Stars, you’re so beautiful.” He moans in a higher octave, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your hands wrap around his back, clawing at his cape.

Your head spins with the thought that he was going to cum and coat your inside with his powerful, seed. Your body has submitted fully to him and is desperate to take more and more of him, to take all of him.

He leans back suddenly, one hand grabbing at your waist and the other moving to brush over your clit. “You’re close aren’t you, hm? You’re going to cum with me-!”

You see how affected he is—the sweat that bundled trickled down the side of his temple, his blue eyes half-lidded and so full of desire, his brows furrowed with pleasure. He’s going to cum soon and you can read it all over his face. “Such a divine pussy, you’re so beautiful.” He gasps and you’re in complete awe as you watch him come undone as you soon meet your high as stars start to blur in your eyes. “Fuck, cum with me, I’m fucking-!”

The next moments blur into a series of touches, kisses, and desperate whispered words as the tension that’s been building between you for days finally finds release. Your body trembles with the shake of your orgasm, his fingers working perfectly against your clit as he pumps inside of you.

And Krennic doesn’t hold back, and neither do you.

By the time he finally pulls away, breath ragged and chest heaving, the desk is askew, flimsi scattered, but neither of you care. His uniform remains perfectly in place, while you lay back, utterly spent and thoroughly satisfied. His fingers trail down your arm, the touch almost tender now, as he studies you with a look that’s oddly affectionate.

“You did well, darling,” he murmurs, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve more than earned my attention.”

Krennic adjusted his uniform a touch and then took a seat on the chair behind his desk, closing his eyes with a content expression.

Meanwhile you stood nearby, suddenly feeling shy and unsure, the intensity of what just happened leaving you at a slight loss. The confidence you’d felt just moments ago just vanished. After all, this was Director Krennic. Your superior. How were you supposed to act now?

Sensing your hesitation, Krennic leaned back in his chair, his eyes taking in your expression. With a softness that was different to his usual sharp demeanor, he reached out and took your hand. “Come here,” he said, the command wrapped in a velvet tone. There was a tenderness in the way he guided you closer, a hand resting on your hip as he coaxed you to sit on his lap.

Blushing, you settled against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the firmness of his embrace. He reached for the collar of his cape and gently wrapped it around your shoulders.

You couldn’t help but ask the question that had been lingering on your mind, your voice softer than usual. “Why… why did this happen?” Your fingers toyed with the edge of his cape, nervous yet curious.

Krennic paused for just a moment, his fingers brushing against your back in soothing, repetitive motions. “Because I’m drawn to you,” he admitted, his voice lower, more honest. “This isn’t just a fleeting indulgence. You’ve captured my attention in ways I didn’t anticipate. And no,” he added, his tone firm but reassuring, “this won’t be a one-time thing. But it must remain between us. Do you understand?”

You nodded, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as his hand continued its calming path up and down your back. There was something comforting about the way he held you now. Dominant yet caring.

“Director…” you began after a few minutes of gentle humming and touches, unsure of how to continue. You wanted to ask if you should get dressed, if you should return to your duties.

He responded with a soft, knowing smile, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “When we’re alone, you may call me Orson,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

You smiled shyly against his lips, whispering, “Orson,” testing the name on your tongue. It felt strange but intimate.

He chuckles, liking the way you said his name. “That’s better,” he whispered, trailing his fingers along your jawline. “Now, let’s take our time, shall we?”

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