#those moles (?) freckles (?) on his lower chest.....

[repsolhonda]

MANDALIKA, 2024 – Luca Marini smiling in his garage in a session on Friday during the Indonesian Grand Prix 2024.

📸: Gold and Goose via Motorsport Images

[doll3tt33]

‘cause when you know you know ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Summary: As you and Colin snuggled in bed, your attention was drawn to a note peeking out from his pocket. Despite his insistence that it held no significance, his anxious and secretive behavior seemed to speak louder than his words…

Tags: fluff, fem!reader, usage of Y/N (only a couple times), an anxious Colin and an overly curious reader who overthinks a loooot

Not that I think anyone’s gonna be mean, BUT PLEASE DONT BE. I HIGHKEY FEEL INSECURE ABOUT THIS 😭😭 THE PLOT FEELS RLY JUVENILE

"Nineteen... Twenty... Twenty-one! Twenty-one cute lil' freckles on your body, from head to toe," Colin declared triumphantly.

"Are you done yet, ya big doofus?" You rolled your eyes, giving Colin a playful shove. Colin, also known as the "idiot big spoon on your bed," wouldn't stop pestering you or your bare flesh.

"Uh, no? I didn't count for nothing. You know what I'm gonna do next?"

"I shudder to think! But please, do enlighten me," you replied in an airy tone, though curiosity shone through your feigned exasperation.

Seeing every subtle change in your expression was Colin's special talent, one he took pride in. As he gazed at you now, his face broke into that familiar, dorky grin you found so endearing.

His finger traced over the freckle on your shoulder. "I'm gonna kiss each of those lovely freckles on your equally lovely body... twenty-one times. Now c'mere!" he exclaimed, beckoning you closer. "Lemme shower my beautiful girl with some good ol' fashioned affection!"

Before you could protest, Colin swept you into his arms, holding you close against his warm chest. Soft giggles escaped as his lips began to tenderly graze each freckle, starting at your cheek and trailing lower. You squirmed in his grasp, half-heartedly attempting to twist away from his affectionate assault even as another peal of laughter bubbled up.

Undeterred by your token resistance, Colin continued peppering gentle kisses over your skin. His smile pressed against the mole on your neck, then lower to your shoulder and chest.

While Colin had you pinned beneath him, giggling and squirming, you spied a corner of paper protruding from his jeans pocket. Seizing the chance, you snatched it up while his hands were otherwise occupied.

"Ooooh... well well, what do we have here, detective?" you teased, waving the paper tauntingly. "Looks like I've found myself a clue! Hm... I wonder what mysteries it holds."

Colin instantly realized his blunder and made a swipe for the paper, but you held it out of reach. "Could it be a top-secret case file? Or... the numbers to your credit card? Really hope it’s the latter."

His eyes went round as saucers at the sight of the stolen paper in your grasp. In a flash, he snatched it back, hastily stuffing it deep down into his pocket.

"Nothing!- It's nothing, really," he said a little too quickly, his eyes darting about nervously. "Jus’ an old scrap from work is all, absolutely nothing to see here.”

But Colin knew you too well to be dissuaded so easily. The spark of intrigue in your gaze was fixed squarely upon the pocket concealing a supposed "old scrap." He recognized that look—once your curiosity was piqued, nothing could satisfy it but the truth.

"Nah, that definitely looks like something to me," you replied, your eyes still fixed on the hidden paper.

Colin chuckled nervously. "No. Don’t you dare start now. Just do me a favor and turn those pretty lil' eyes of yours away, 'kay?"

He even attempted to gently guide your head in the opposite direction with his hand, but your determination was unyielding. You refused to budge, still staring and now pouting. "Hey, don't push my head around! Just show me, please, Col? Pretty please?"

"Hm... pretty please, huh?" Colin pretended to ponder, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, sorry, still no."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"No."

"With two cherries on top? Three cherries and whipped cream?"

"Y/N. No. A gazillion cherries on top won't cut it. Seriously, there's nothing on that stupid piece of paper!" Colin insisted with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender.

You weren't convinced, noting the telltale signs that said otherwise - his overly casual tone, the tightness at the corners of his smile, the fidgeting fingers now plucking at a loose thread on the blanket. You could smell a load of bullshit right in this very bed. Colin had many strengths, but lying was definitely not one of them.

"Hm."

Your eyes narrowed into slits, harboring great suspicion at your nervous wreck of a boyfriend beside you. You leaned in closer, and he shrank back just as quickly, as if he were afraid you could smell the truth out of him.

"You're acting oddly suspicious," you observed. "Is it me, or do I feel like you're lying big time right now?"

Colin waved his hands as if to ward you off. "Woah woah, easy there now! I'm not lyin’. Can we just drop this now, please?" His voice pitched higher in a tell-tale sign of nerves.

You let out a whine. "But I know you're lying. Just tell me the truth already. I'm dying over here!"

"No, I won't. 'Cause like I said, I'm not lyin'!" Like he would actually tell the truth. You could practically see the sweat glistening on Colin's forehead. This man had a knack for getting incredibly anxious when faced with confrontation. Seeing him like this, a new emotion began to overshadow your initial eagerness to uncover the truth - fear. It crept up from the depths of your stomach, intensifying with each passing moment. A multitude of "what-ifs" swirled in your mind, ideas bouncing off the walls of your hyperactive brain, all trying to decipher what on earth could your boyfriend be hiding on that piece of paper.

As Colin fidgeted nervously, your mind raced through possibilities for what the paper contained. The most plausible - and worrying - scenario was another woman’s number. If that was the case, why didn’t he just come clean and tell you? He had always been open and honest with you about everything. Plus, there had never ever been a reason to doubt his unwavering loyalty... well, until now.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed Colin waving a hand in front of your face. "Earth to Y/N? You still with me?" he asked gently, peering at you with concern.

Lifting your head up to meet his worried gaze, there was a mix of confusion and disbelief evident in your eyes as you prepared to utter the words you never thought you'd say.

"That piece of paper... does it happen to have some lady's phone number written on it?"

"You can be honest, I promise I won't get mad," you assured, mentally bracing yourself to be hit with whatever response awaited.

“Huh?”

Your assumption clearly took Colin by surprise. Instead of the guilt-ridden glimmer you anticipated in his eyes, you were met with a face of sheer astonishment. Frantically shaking his head, he hurried closer to you on the bed, gently taking your hands in his.

"No nonononono- not the case at all! Not even close, I swear to God. It's just I-... um," he protested urgently, meeting your gaze with an intensity aimed at conveying his sincerity. Relief softened your smile, allowing him to continue.

"No lady gave me her phone number. All the paper has on it is... something I wrote. For you." A touch of pink rose in his cheeks as he dropped his eyes shyly. "A silly, overly sentimental thing that is, well, cheesy. And I mean really cheesy."

Your expression twisted to one tinged with guilt as you realized the weight of your relentless probing, falsely assuming Colin's disloyalty. Furrowing your brow, you directed an apologetic gaze in his direction.

"Shit, I'm sorry Col. I didn't mean to jump to conclusions like that. But honestly, you don't have to hide anything from me, no matter how silly you think it is."

"And hey, I'm a sucker for cheese!" you added playfully, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. "So whatever sappy words you wrote, I promise not to tease - much."

You graced him with a fond smile, hoping to ease his nerves. Colin swallowed hard, visibly steeling himself before digging back up the crumpled-up paper from his pocket. His shoulders lost some of their tension as he smoothed it out, lips quirking up at his own words.

"Oh boy... you asked for it. You're gonna be on a ride to cheese-land supreme with this one."

After a brief moment of silence, he took a steady breath, breaking the stillness in the air. He sat up straight, preparing himself.

"Alright, here goes..." He cleared his throat softly before reading.

"Dear Y/N... I know I should be focused on our latest case, but try as I might, I really cannot get a certain beautiful someone out of my head," he began, lips curling up as he skimmed his words.

"So here I sit, scribbling these sappy words on this flimsy piece of paper like a schoolboy, instead of working as I should. Terrible form, I know." At his own joke within, Colin let out a quiet chuckle and glanced up to gauge your reaction. Finding only fondness and encouragement, he relaxed enough to continue baring his heart through the silly note he'd written.

"I know my work can keep me away too long, and that you feel neglected at times. But please believe that you are always in my thoughts."

He risked a playful glance your way. "Even when you always find a way to talk my ear off or sprawl out to take up the whole couch, you still are.”

He continued, his voice growing softer. "But your quirks could never outweigh all my favorite little things about you, because I love you. I truly do.

Just like how I love that your smile and dimples are the first thing I notice when you step into the room.

Or how I love that your eyes light up at the mere mention of chocolate ice cream, and you'd beg me to buy you some even when you're full.

How I love that your brows crinkle when you think too hard and too long about something.

And how I love that you're the first person I think of waking up in the morning, and the last person I think of going to sleep.

You made me realize that when you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

You weren't expecting that, you truly weren't. Colin's heartfelt words truly touched you. As the first happy tears slipped free, you couldn't help but embrace him tightly.

Though startled at first, he quickly melted into your arms, ever your safe harbor. His familiar, comforting touch - a hand stroking your back, lips pressing softly to your forehead - undid you completely.

"Aw shucks, don't cry on me now," he soothed gently. But you could only burrow closer, overcome by gratitude and love for this man. He understood you so perfectly, from your quirks to your heart.

"Those better be tears from happiness and not tears from how god-awful that was," Colin laughed warmly as he wiped the last of your tears.

"No, it wasn't bad at all. For real."

"For-real for-real?"

"Well, okay, it was a tiiiny bit cheesy. But from the heart, which is what matters."

"Annnd if I detected a certain scene or two borrowed from 'When Harry Met Sally', who am I to judge?" You teased.

Colin gave an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright, you caught me copying shamelessly." His eyes were warm as he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But I meant every word, cheesy or not. Now c'mere you." Pulling you close once more, he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. His words, however awfully cheesy (and a bit unoriginal) they may be, had completely warmed your heart nonetheless.

author’s note:

This feels kinda cringe, I honestly have no idea what I was doing with this tbh 😭 I’m on my period so I kinda got into the feels, then I saw that one scene from ‘When Harry met Sally’, and thought it’d be a good idea to write a fic

In all honesty, I just wanted an excuse to write about Colin, and perhaps strengthen my writing skills ((still mostly because of Colin tho

divider credit: @/vg-k

[blackknight-kai]

I don’t talk about her much, because she changes based on the au I use. The art below for my OC is from the wonderful WKZ who is not on the platform anymore for reasons of their choosing - *Friend if you see this know I appreciate you and you are missed*

If you want more of her let me know 😊 I’m gonna write some fics with her.

OC name: Kavara

(I do have a monkey version of her written out 😊 just not added to this post cuz she’s special and I’m still working on her)

Mix of Modern/Ancient Era traits

- [ ] Shes 5’6”/167 cm tall , shorter than the monkeys, her forehead is at mouth height (I hc them kinda tall? Like 5’10” /177cm or so). She has nice curves/ not too skinny not too hearty and a c/d-cup.

- [ ] She has deep burgundy red hair due to fire based abilities (wip)

- [ ] Amber eyes / almost orange in the right light

- [ ] 6 little dark freckles/moles that are in a straight line all the way down her cheek starting from the far side of her left eye, almost like a tear left stain, like me, (lore thing I’m still thinking about)

- [ ] Depending on what I use her for she has short curly/wavy hair or long curls.

- [ ] Likes peach scented body oil. (😏)

- [ ] Used to look mean - but she is gentle inside.

- [ ] Has to touch everything that’s soft if she walks by it, soft blanket? Gotta touch. Soft monkey? Gotta touch. Also likes being wrapped in cozy soft things. (Likes lots of pillows and blankets on her bed - she runs warm though so likes the air to be cool)

- [ ] Seriously she loves petting his fur…would do it all day long.

- [ ] Doesn’t eat sweets often, too rich for her.

- [ ] Likes sweet fruits though like peaches, plums (likes the tart skin on these the best), and crunchy apples.

- [ ] Dances/wiggles in her seat a little if she likes her food a lot

- [ ] No matter what AU she always finds DO/WK (or his variants) handsome instantly- crush may take longer but she always finds him charming and interesting in his own way.

- [ ] Enjoys messing with DO-Wukong/catching him off guard. Shes a little menace too (especially to those she likes). Enjoys annoying people (but not too much- like if making a pop sound with her mouth repeatedly gets under your skin she’s gonna do it - not to the point of pissing you off but she’s gonna get on your nerves).

- [ ] Chews on stuff sometimes to alleviate aggression/help keep focus/lower anxiety.

- [ ] Not a big drinker but will have a drink or two. Doesn’t mind a drunk monkey.

- [ ] Likes to collect pretty rocks and smooth stones that feel good in her hand.

- [ ] Not big on fancy luxury. Or stuffy clothes.

- [ ] Her weapons are similar to Kratos, (dual blades that can be smoldering etc and have chains she can use to throw them and pull them back. She likes to make big explosions 💀

- [ ] She hides them as earrings so they are always with her.

- [ ] Under her outfit she wears chest wraps to keep girlies together and tight to her chest. She wears the equivalent of panties but a loincloth sash covers her ass and front- legs exposed - this way if she loses her outer wear due to her fire she isn’t nakey.

- [ ] Puts her friends first.

- [ ] Curses internally a lot- sometimes out loud.

- [ ] Again, seems tough/uncaring but she is the most accepting person (as long as you aren’t genuinely bad/do bad shit) and will be the mom friend.

- [ ] Enjoys taking care of DO/WK. wants always help him, he’s her best friend. (Eventual lover)

- [ ] Wants him to feel cared for - and that she’d be there for him.

- [ ] in alt universe’s she would fight the fuckers at the begin of the game for him. Or by his side. She would genuinely die to keep him from having to resign himself to dying just to be free.

None of this is fine tuned but it’s the basic of whatever I got. I changed some stuff to suit my needs so…so I’m sorry if it’s a bit confusing but here we go!

This is a version of her specifically meant to know Wukong before BMW events. (Other versions of her like modern au or whatever I need her for don’t follow this but have similar things)

She is an immortal, one birthed of fire, chaos, destruction, (rebirth if you think about how fire culls the land for new life to grow), the embodiment of the roaring fires on the sun basically.

So in her younger days she is not exactly well liked, shes strong and was someone who didn’t like to held down. She didn’t outright disobey or was rebellious but if something wasn’t right or if she felt slighted/felt someone was slighted she would make that shit known. Quick to anger.

Because of this she had pissed off the wrong person, they placed a curse on her - (again not fine tuned) and it basically is like a black tar root that starts from her heart and starts spreading and coiling around her body the more emotion she feels, specifically negative ones like (seen negative) anger, hatred, fear, all those kinds of emotions.

She can heal, but the pain and the curse will spread to such agonizing levels that if she pushes it too far it will take over her body and encapsulate her/put out the fire in her which keeps her immortal. She of course tries to break the curse but there isnt anything that works. It’s like a spore that is attached to her heart that has molded to her and wont go.

Unfortunately this makes her shut down emotionally, she doesnt have a support system so as much as she tries to fight the agony gets worse and worse. Her fire dims, not dead, just dims. Kavara at this point just does her duties, keeps to herself, and represses all emotions whatsoever. She’s free of pain and honestly doesnt have to worry about shit, so it becomes her new norm.

In comes Sun Fucking Wukong.

The charming egotistical chaotic monkey yaoguai that wants to play immortal. She hears of him mostly, but remains indifferent. Until one day they finally meet.

Probably the worst thing that happens to a lot of people actually…..because Sun Wukong is the first to make her laugh. Ever. Not one of those “haha i am victorious” laughs she might have had when fighting back in the day. No, a full on belly aching laugh. Tears down her face and a wide pretty smile, something she honestly wasn’t capable of/thought she had. (She’s beautiful but never thought about it I guess)

This is the first time she realizes that HAPPY or positive emotions dont make the curse spread.

Wukong of course takes this as his sign to KEEP making her laugh (when he isnt being a little shit in heaven and to others).

Over time they do become friends, he learns of her curse, she learns of his goals. Unfortunately for everyone else Wukong influences her to stop being an emotionless doll and she becomes his partner in crime. Best chaotic duo ever.

THERES MORE BUT THIS IS JUST SOME OF HER STORY!!!

I didn’t wanna give the WHOLE lore, if you want more let me know. It’s quite a bit and a mix of angst & happiness.

Same with a version of her that meets Destined One. It’s a different AU and one that is a bit on the angsty side but I will ALWAYS give a happy ending.

[lifeofpriya]

The Marks of Love - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: this fic was inspired by yet another one of my conversations with @pyotrkochetkov 🤭

summary: your obsession with his moles freckles leads to a series of tender moments filled with love and admiration...

"Jack?"

"Yes, love?"

Jack's voice is a warm embrace, the kind that wraps around you like a soft blanket on a rainy afternoon. You lean into it, your eyes tracing the constellation of moles and freckles scattered across his face. You've always had a peculiar fondness for them—those little imperfections that make them so perfectly them.

You reach up, the tips of your fingers grazing the stubble along his jaw, and whisper, "have you ever heard of this saying about how the moles on your body are said to be marks of where your soulmate kissed you the most in your past life?"

Jack chuckles, a sound that makes your heart flutter. "Can't say I have," he replies, tilting his head to the side, exposing the mole under his jaw.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot. It's a silent declaration of love, a promise of more to come. His skin tastes faintly of the mint toothpaste he uses before bed, and you can feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

Jack's hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair as he pulls you closer. "I like that," he murmurs against your lips. "I like that a lot."

You smile, your nose brushing against his as you gaze into his eyes, which sparkle with a hint of mischief. "Good," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "Because I plan on making sure every single one of those moles gets plenty of attention in this life."

"Even the ones on my lower back?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow as he grins.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. "Especially the ones on your lower back," you reply, playfully poking his side. His skin jumps at the touch, and he laughs, pulling you closer so that your foreheads rest against each other.

The room is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting a warm, golden light across the bed you're both sitting on. The curtains are drawn, but the light sneaks in around the edges, painting stripes on the wooden floor. The scent of Jack's cologne lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the takeout dinner you both enjoyed earlier.

You look into Jack's eyes, and it's like staring into an endless sea of possibility. You love the way his freckles seem to dance when he smiles, like tiny stars caught in an eternal twilight. His hair is a messy array of chocolate waves, and you can't resist running your fingers through them, feeling the softness and the gentle pull of gravity as they fall back into place.

"Every mole, every freckle," you promise, your voice a gentle caress. "They're all part of you, and I want to cherish every bit."

Jack's smile widens, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like home. His hand moves from your head to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with the same tenderness you show his moles and freckles. The kiss is slow and sweet, filled with the promise of a future filled with laughter and love.

When you pull away, you notice the way the light plays with the colors in his eyes, making them seem like a kaleidoscope of emotions. You place your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palm. It's a comforting sound, a reminder that you're both alive and in this moment together.

Jack's hand slides down to yours, lacing your fingers together. "You know," he says, his voice a gentle rumble, "you're pretty perfect yourself."

You blush, the color rising to your cheeks like a summer sunset. "Jack, you're the one who's perfect," you reply, your voice filled with genuine admiration.

Jack's smile turns into a grin, showing off the dimple in his cheek. "No, you are," he insists, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. "Every little part of you."

You giggle, feeling the warmth spread through your body. The air between you feels electric, charged with the love and affection you share. You lean back slightly, pulling Jack with you, until you're both lying on the bed. The mattress dips under your combined weight, and the pillows mold around you like clouds.

You trace the outline of a freckle just on the base of Jack's left collarbone with the pad of your thumb. It's like a tiny chocolate chip in a sea of cream, and you can't resist the urge to kiss it. He hums contentedly, his eyes drifting closed. The room is quiet except for the occasional rustle of the curtains in the breeze, the distant sound of a car passing by, and the symphony of your hearts beating in unison.

You run your hand along his torso, feeling the heat emanating from his skin and the faint outline of his abs beneath the thin t-shirt he wears. You're in awe of the way the light plays with the fabric, creating intricate patterns that dance as he breathes. You trace the hem of the shirt with your fingertips, feeling the smoothness of the cotton and the roughness of the hem.

Jack's eyes open slightly, watching you with an affectionate gaze. He reaches over and places his hand over yours, stilling your movements for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze. "What are you thinking?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble that resonates within you.

You look up at him, the warmth in his eyes mirroring the warmth in your heart. "I'm just… I'm just thinking how much I love you," you admit, your voice soft and vulnerable. "And how every little part of you, even the bits you might not think are special, are like a treasure map to me, telling the story of who you are."

Jack's smile broadens, and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one. "And I love you," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "All of you, even the parts you think no one else could possibly love."

You feel a surge of emotion, and your eyes glisten with unshed tears. "I know you do," you murmur, your heart swelling with affection. You lean in to kiss him again, feeling his warmth and love envelop you like a blanket. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he's afraid to let you go.

The sun dips lower in the sky, and the light in the room shifts, painting the walls in a soft, rosy hue. The shadows grow longer, reaching out to caress the floorboards like tentative fingers. The room feels alive with the energy of your shared love, the air thick with unspoken words and silent promises.

Jack rolls over onto his side, propping himself up with one elbow as he gazes down at you. His free hand traces the line of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. "Tell me more about this mole theory," he says, his voice filled with curiosity.

You giggle, feeling a bit self-conscious but also incredibly loved. "Well," you begin, "it's just a romantic notion, really. Some say that the moles on your body are like little love letters from your soulmate in a past life. Each one marks a spot where they kissed you most fervently, leaving a small, indelible sign of their affection."

Jack's eyes light up with curiosity. "And you believe in that?"

You shrug, your smile never wavering. "I don't know if it's true, but it's a sweet idea, isn't it?" You trace the line of a freckle on his neck with your fingertip.

Jack's eyes follow the movement of your hand, a look of wonder etched into his features. "It is," he agrees, his voice barely a murmur. "Very sweet."

You both lie there in the soft embrace of the fading light, the quiet moments between you filled with a comfort that's more profound than any words could express. You can hear the gentle hum of the world outside, the distant chatter of people going about their lives, but in here, in this little cocoon you've created, there's only the two of you.

Jack's hand rests on your waist, his thumb idly drawing circles on the soft fabric of your shirt. You're lost in thought, tracing the pattern of moles and freckles on his chest with the tip of your nose, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It's a moment that seems to stretch on forever, filled with a warmth that has nothing to do with the setting sun and everything to do with the connection you share.

You look up to find Jack studying you, his eyes a soft hazel that seem to hold the secrets of the universe. You smile, feeling your heart flutter at the affection in his gaze. "What?" you ask, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Nothing," he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your forehead. "I just love watching you."

The room is a symphony of quiet, the only sound the soft sigh of the breeze as it whispers through the slightly ajar window. The curtains flutter, and the golden light paints your intertwined forms with a soft, ethereal glow. You shift, your movements languid and filled with contentment as you snuggle closer to Jack, feeling the comforting weight of his arm around you.

Jack's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his breaths deep and even, the perfect lullaby to soothe your racing thoughts. You trace the line of his collarbone with a gentle fingertip, pausing to kiss the freckle there.

"I could spend forever doing this," you murmur, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips.

Jack's eyes sparkle with affection. "Forever sounds about right," he whispers back, his hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss. This one is deeper, more urgent, as if he's trying to convey all the love he feels in a single touch.

You melt into him, your body fitting against his like a puzzle piece finding its match. His arms tighten around you, holding you as if he never wants to let you go.

As the sun sinks lower, the room darkens, and the only light comes from the glow of the moon peeking through the gaps in the curtains. The shadows on the walls seem to dance, telling the silent story of the love blossoming between you.

Jack rolls onto his back, taking you with him so you're both lying side by side, his hand still resting on your waist. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his face, highlighting the constellation of moles and freckles that you find so fascinating.

"You know, I never knew how much I liked having these until you came along," he says, his voice a gentle rumble that resonates through the stillness. "They've always been just… there."

You smile, looking up at him. "They're part of what makes you unique," you reply. "They're like your own little solar system, and I get to explore it every day."

Jack chuckles, his chest vibrating against yours. "A solar system, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," you affirm, your fingertip tracing the path of a particularly noticeable mole. "A universe of wonder, right here."

Jack's cheeks color slightly, but his smile is unmistakable. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips one by one. "And here I thought they were just pesky spots."

You laugh, the sound a soft melody that fills the room. "They're your map to the stars, Jack," you say, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet.

Jack's smile broadens, his eyes shining with happiness. "I like that," he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "I never thought of it that way."

You lean closer, pressing your cheek against his chest, listening to the comforting thump of his heart. "They're like a secret treasure that only I get to find," you say, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

Jack's hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers combing through your hair in a soothing motion. "And what do you plan on doing with this treasure?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear.

You tip your head back to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the moonlit room. "I'm going to keep exploring," you whisper, "until I know every inch of this map by heart."

Jack's smile turns into a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That could take a while," he teases. "I've got a whole galaxy here."

You grin back, feeling your heart swell with love. "I've got all the time in the world," you reply, your voice filled with determination.

Jack's hand moves from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking the line of your jaw. "And I've got all the moles and freckles you could ever want," he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart swells at his sweetness. You love how he's grown to appreciate these little quirks of his appearance, thanks to your affectionate attention. You lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his skin against yours. "I know you do," you murmur, "and I'll never get tired of discovering new ones."

Jack's hand moves down to the nape of your neck, his grip gentle but firm. He pulls you closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "I love you."

You gaze into his eyes, the words echoing through you like a sweet melody. "I love you too," you reply, your voice a soft caress.

Jack leans in, his minty breath tickling your nose. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's tender and filled with promise. It's the kind of kiss that speaks of forever, of a love that's steadfast and true. You melt into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand on the small of your back.

You break the kiss and look up at him, the moonlight casting a soft, silver glow on his features. "You know, you're pretty perfect too," you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.

Jack's eyes search yours, a hint of surprise in them. "How so?"

You lean in closer, your nose grazing the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. "For letting me love every part of you," you whisper, "even the parts you think are just spots."

Jack's smile turns into a gentle chuckle. "They're not just spots to me anymore," he admits, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. "They're like… little love notes that only you understand."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Exactly," you murmur, your breath warm against his neck as you press a soft kiss to the mole just above his collarbone. "Every time I kiss one, it's like you're telling me how much you love me without saying a word."

Jack's eyes close briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "I never knew they could say so much," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You trace the path of his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "They're like a secret language," you say, "one that only we know."

Jack opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. "A love language," he corrects, his voice filled with a warmth that matches the glow of the moon outside.

You nod, feeling a flutter in your stomach. "Yes, a love language," you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jack rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand as he looks at you. "And what does this love language say?"

You blush, feeling the weight of his gaze. "It says… it says that no matter where life takes us, we'll always find our way back to each other," you reply, your voice a little shaky.

Jack's smile turns into a gentle nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "And what about when we're apart?" he asks, his voice a soft rumble.

You think for a moment, the moon casting a serene glow over the room. "When we're apart," you say, "these little constellations are like a map that leads me back to you."

[stvharrngton]

💙, a headcannon

Every once in a while, Steve needs you to take control. He needs to lay back and let his brain just melt. And you are happy to do that (if you want to do a mix of sfw and nsfw imma love you forever)

we love sub!steve in this house! thank you for sending in <3

1k celebration

nsfw under the cut 👇

so i think for the sfw part maybe he’s a little exhausted, a bit burnt out from long shifts at work and old ladies and snot nosed kids hassling him all day so he just comes home and you’re on the couch watching tv and he just flops down next to you with his head in your lap facedown and your hand immediately starts to rub at his back and shoulders and you’re like ‘y’okay stevie? long day?’ really softly and he just goes mhm into your lap so you start to stroke and pet at his hair, raking your fingers through the locks and he just sighs contently. and you go ‘s’ok babe, you want a nice warm bath? hm? that sound nice?’ so you run him a bath and he insists you join him so he nestled between your legs, his back pressed to your chest and you get to press soft kisses along his shoulders and neck, catching all the moles and freckles there 🥺 and then he gets to be the little spoon in bed when you fall asleep 😌

but when he’s feeling a little more pent up, wound a little more tighter that he just wants to submit completely to you. and you can tell when he’s in one of those moods because he’s a little more needy, little more clingy and he’ll be all over you, kissing and nuzzling into your neck and he’s just mumbling like ‘please, baby. need you so bad’ and he’s already so far gone by the time you get him on the bed and undressed and his cock is throbbing against his stomach. his hair is wild from where he’s been tugging at it as you edge him with your tongue, his cheeks rosy and his lips red from where he’s been biting at them, he’s whining and whimpering and it’s so fucking loud. so you make him eat you out to shut him up, you push him back against the bed as you lower yourself over his mouth and poor stevie cums just from him getting you off, two strokes of your hand around his cock as you leant back and he’s painting his stomach with his orgasm. and then you cockwarm him until he’s hard again and then you ride him like there’s no tomorrow until he’s crying 😵‍💫😮‍💨

[larcenywrites]

Hiii! I really like your stories, thank you for what you do for us <3 You recently wrote that you want to write something clean and I just thought, maybe you want to write my request. But just ignore it, please, if you don't want to write it, it's okay!! I was just thinking about how attentive Tony is to his girlfriend and, you know, I'm obsessed with moles for some reason. I know it sounds weird, but I just want to lie in bed with Tony in the morning while we cuddle and he kisses my moles. I'm a little insecure about my body because of them and I just want to see something soft about this thing. Once again, a huge excuse for such a request 💀💀

Aw omg no it’s cute! And don’t feel insecure, I have a fairly big mole right on my cheek (my face, I mean; but I do also have one on my asscheek 🤣)! I have quite a few moles and freckles everywhere so I get it, but now I love them though I think moles and freckles are super cute 🥰 obviously idk where your beauty marks are, nor anyone else’s, and I’m not just gonna use my own for reference (maybe one or two 🤭), so hopefully there’s a little bit here for everyone? Tbh I do focus on Tony a lot as well tbf! I haven’t written in so long I hope it’s okay 😰

Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: none except technically Tony and Reader and naked lol but I don’t explicitly say that | no pronouns used or specified for reader | just cuddles and fluff and kisses 😚

Word count: 920

Tracing over his sun-warmed skin, your fingers followed the rise and dip of his back. The morning light shed over him, illuminating your path between each mark and mole, some flat, some raised, becoming more scarce the lower you went. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he squirmed and arched as your touch drifted down his spine. You settled halfway onto his back, wrapping your hands over his shoulders and affectionately resting your head on the back of his neck.

Your laugh turned into a giggle when he promptly rolled onto his side, throwing you off and backing into you. You only took it as your opportunity to be the big spoon, throwing your arm over his waist and burying a hand in his hair, lining up the dark freckle in the center of your chest to the mole beneath his shoulder blades. Nuzzling into his shoulder, you noticed a group of freckles on his neck and promptly swooped in for a quick kiss.

With a tired hum, he stretched out, tilting his chin to reveal the mole under his jaw that was only visible when he shaved. The back of your finger drifted over his jawline.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know,” you chirped. “You’re pretty.”

With a yawn, he rolled onto his back. You kept your hand on his waist as when he settled on his back and made you move once again. You sat up on your elbow, rubbing over the soft skin of his tummy and thumbing over the dark brown mole near his belly button.

“You’re pretty, too,” he replied with tired eyes that heavily gazed at you from over his chest. The corner of your lips twisted up with an amused huff. You sat up more to straddle his waist. Instantly, his warm hands were on your arms and feeling their way up to your shoulders. Tony’s gaze stayed with yours as he did so. As his thumbs rubbed over your freckled shoulders in an act of comfort, you reached down to peck at the faded freckle on his wrist.

From this angle, his face was hardly freckled or blotched, aside from the redness in his cheeks from lying facing down in the sun, and the tan spot near the corner of his eye that was honestly more like a cherry-on-top. He was naturally perfect, already cleaned up for the cameras.

“What are you thinking about,” he mumbled, poking your side and playfully pinching at your skin, making your stomach tighten from the sudden contact. As his hand settled above your hip, you couldn’t help but use your arms to hide the line of those beauty marks across your belly.

You look down at his chest as you tried to come up with something to say, and at the very least something that wasn’t exactly a lie. “I read somewhere that moles and freckles go away with age,” you quickly recalled, looking back down at him as earnestly as you could. As if he knew where this was going, the hand on your hip was still able to trace over your stomach, as if checking whether or not they were still there. He hummed in thought as he did, still waking up.

“That’s sad,” he mumbled, pausing before looking back up at you with innocence. “I’ll miss the one on your ass,” he said with an exaggerated pout, putting all the energy he’d built up so far to smack your ass.

“Ow,” you pouted back in a drawn-out whine. That innocent look quickly turned into that usual mischievous grin, teeth showing as you fell into his side again. That same hand kept your thigh straddled over him even as you slid off. With you by his side again, he quickly took his chance to steal a kiss. You weren't sure if he realized your insecurity, but he probably wouldn’t understand anyway. He didn’t have very many. A cluster below his ear, the Orion’s Belt on his forearm; a stray below his collarbone, a mole on his shoulder; an array over his upper back. Unnoticeable enough to leave him without a flaw.

He probably didn’t quite get it, why you trace over his skin, but he copied your sentiment anyway. It was your turn to feel his callousing hands drifting down your back and fingertips knowing the paths on your arm. Nose-to-nose and skin-to-skin, you relaxed under his touch.

But maybe the innocence in his unknowingness made it sweeter. He saw the stars on your skin with his natural love for your beauty, and copied you in playing connect-the-dots because he simply associated it with affection. And if he did it long enough, you could probably find his star sign etched into your being.

“I’ll miss that one, too,” Tony softly mumbled, tearing you from your thoughts as lips met the corner of your own. You smiled and opened your eyes, but you still scrunched your nose at the mention of the mole by your mouth.

“You know, all my favorite models have one,” he reassured you in a more suggestive tone.

“Oh, and who’s your favorite model?” You sassed sternly. His reply was another toothy grin that pressed to your lips.

“You,” he finally said pointedly, making you roll your eyes. From this close, you could see another faded brown spot on his cheek. Taking your hand from his chest, he kissed at even the smallest of freckles between your knuckles, but he didn’t need to say anything.

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 11

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Her eyes rove over his bare chest, her hands moving to his shoulders. Her right hand travels down his left arm, feeling the uneven scar tissue and the muscles underneath. Now’s not the time to ask him about what happened, so Satine remains silent. Her hands talk instead, tracing freckles and moles, discovering outlines of dense muscles that hadn’t been there eighteen years ago.

She smiles, dragging a finger to the center of his chest. His breath hitches as she says, “I tried not to think about you after we parted.” She breathes in. “I was mostly successful. Other days I’d fail miserably. On one of those days, I found myself wondering if you’d ever grown hair on your chest.”

Her fingertips dance across the sparse hair that has appeared there over the years.

“I find I quite like it,” Satine adds, and at her words, Ben makes a sound deep in his throat. Satine tightens her legs around his hips, and Ben drops his face to her neck.

She can’t stop the breathy whine that escapes her lips as he nuzzles the sweater out of the way, his teeth grazing her collarbone. She arches into him, and her head falls back.

“Beautiful,” breathes Ben, his lips traveling up her neck. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Satine digs her heels into his lower back. “Ben,” she whispers.

Instead of responding, his lips meet hers again, and Satine’s arms move up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers splaying over the muscles of his back. She takes a moment to just feel the muscle fibers tensing and releasing under her fingers as he moves, and it might be the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced.

“Closer,” she begs.

Ben laughs against her lips. “I don’t think that’s possible, darling.”

But he tries regardless.

Satine decides his hands have been too stagnant, so she grabs his fingers, leaning back so she can make eye contact with him. Covering his hand with hers, she drags it from her hip up to her ribcage. He gets the hint and repeats the motion a few times.

“Speaking of new,” he says, referring to her words from earlier that afternoon, and one of his fingers outlines the curve of her hips. He hesitates after beginning to move the hand up again, but Satine will not stand for this, and she guides his hand to rest over her breast.

He inhales sharply.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

She nods against him. “More than.”

He kisses her again, one hand splayed over her lower back, holding her nearer, nearer, dearer, the other hand at her breast, stroking her through his sweater.

“It looks much better on you,” he says against her lips.

“The sweater?” she replies. “Glad you think so. I wasn’t planning on returning it.”

He laughs, and at that moment, his stomach growls.

Satine pulls back from him, panting. “I’m sorry; you spent all that time preparing food and we’ve probably let it go cold. We should eat.”

Ben leans in to kiss her again. “What do you call what we’ve just been doing?” he says.

---

After supper, which they indeed need to reheat, they migrate to the couch. He’s still shirtless, and she’s still wearing his sweater, and things proceed as they had before.

Eventually, though, Satine’s hands wander too low, and Ben hisses, gripping her wrists to pull her back.

“Slow, Satine,” he says, breathing heavily. He gives her a closed-mouth kiss, trying to defuse the moment.

“We never did half-ass things,” she points out.

“I suggest we pivot away from discussing asses, half or otherwise, this evening,” he says. He looks at her, satiated but not, grinning but wound up. His pupils are wide, and he seems to forget himself. “My apologies,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to stare. I’m just not used to seeing you not clad in business casual attire.”

“If you’d prefer, I can go change,” says Satine, pretending to get up from the couch. “I have a feeling you particularly fancied that burgundy vest?”

As she’d known he would, Ben reaches out to grab her elbow, directing her back to him. “As much as I like that vest - and I do like it - I’d prefer you stay right here.”

His hand sneaks down to rest on the small of her back. Satine grins. “I’ll file that away for future reference. Another weapon in my arsenal.”

“So the only type of fighting you’ll do is to bring me to my knees? Wicked woman.”

“You’ve known that since the moment we met,” she says, looking up at him, half defiant, half daring.

Ben nods. “Yes,” he says. “I have.” His hands move to reach for her own, and he twines their fingers together. “Speaking of fighting, I think Quinlan has a point,” he says quietly. “It’s probably wise for me to teach you to defend yourself. Even if yesterday’s events weren’t an issue, it’d still be wise.”

He stares at their hands.

“Take pity on me,” he adds. “Make me feel less helpless.”

She considers this. “Maybe we’re not so different from Orpheus and Eurydice after all.”

Ben hooks a finger underneath her chin, urging her to look up at him. “Well, I would go to hell and back to find you.”

She holds his gaze, knowing he means his words with every fiber of his being, with every cell that makes up his body. “Alright,” she says. “You can teach me.”

“I figured you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to throw a punch at me. What was it you said when we were reunited? Something along the lines of ‘yours is the only face I have ever wanted to punch’?”

“That’s hardly fair,” says Satine. “That was two weeks ago.” She smirks at his amused expression. “These days I’d much rather be kissing that face than punching it.”

“While I’d much prefer that, too, learning to throw a proper punch is a necessary life skill, pacifist or not.” He brings her knuckles to his lips. “An old Army buddy of mine coaches Georgetown’s club wrestling team. I’ll ask him if we can use their training room sometime when they don’t have practice.”

Satine nods.

Ben must read uncertainty on her face before she registers the emotion herself, because he leans in to kiss her again, gentle, slow, and still closed-mouth. “It’s just a precaution. I very much hope you never have to actually throw fists.”

He pulls back, still holding onto her hands, thumb stroking over hers.

“And if you’ll have me, I’ll be happy to take care of the dirty work for you should it be necessary,” he adds. 

Ben’s eyes glance over to the clock hanging above her fireplace.

It’s after midnight.

Ben sighs. “As much as I want to continue to let you have your way with me, I’ve got a journal article to submit tomorrow, and some grading to catch up on. For some reason, I haven’t been as productive at work as I normally am. Anakin says I’ve become distracted. Can’t imagine why that would be.”

Satine bites her lip to hold in her laughter.

“But before I go,” he says, standing up from the couch and heading over to the grocery bag he’d brought back from the co-op earlier. He reaches inside, revealing a small-ish plastic jar. He grabs his tee shirt with his other hand, and Satine follows him with her eyes as he heads back to the couch, her gaze trained on the way his jeans hang on his hips, the way the muscles of his lower abdomen leave nothing to the imagination.

Ben hands her the jar.

“Pot gummies?” she asks, taking in the label, brow furrowing.

He laughs. “Technically, they are CBD gummies. ‘Pot gummies’ would have a higher concentration of THC, the component of marijuana that gives you the euphoric feeling, and thus are more strictly regulated. You need to have a license to sell those. CBD won’t get you high, which is why I could buy it at the co-op. But it should make you feel more calm - it should help you sleep.”

She just looks at him. “I take it you wouldn’t be recommending this to me if you hadn’t already tried it yourself?”

Ben nods, sitting next to her again, pulling his tee shirt back on over his head. “It helps with my PTSD. Was one of the things that allowed me to get through my graduate coursework, actually.”

Satine finds the dosage instructions, then opens the jar to grab the appropriate number of gummies. She chews two, swallows, and then replaces the lid back on the jar.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He stands again, reaching for her hand. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll lie with you until you fall asleep.”

Without hesitation, she allows him to bring her to her feet and lead her up the stairs.

---

While it takes a bit longer than normal for Satine to succumb to sleep that night, she does end up slipping under. The last thing she remembers is Ben’s leg hooked around her hip, his arms around her torso, his breath hot in her hair.

And then she blinks, and it’s suddenly late morning.

Ben’s side of the bed - Satine doesn’t even hesitate to call it that - is wrinkled, like before, and also like before, it appears that he did not move under the covers with her. Perhaps chivalry isn’t dead after all. Or maybe he’s just the only one keeping it alive.

She checks her phone, finding that it’s already half past nine, and she sees a text from Ben.

I hope you slept well. See you tomorrow.

Satine pulls her knees to her chest, replaying the words in her head, and she smiles to herself as the winter sun trickles through her window.

---

On Monday early afternoon, Satine stands in the doorway to Ben’s office. She echoes the cadence of Ben’s knock, and he looks up from the book he’s reading.

She concentrates on the task at hand - she will not allow herself to be distracted by him in reading glasses - and asks, “Could I bother you to take a look at an email I just got?”

Ben pushes his chair back from his desk. “It’s not a bother,” he says, following her. Together, they step into the hall and then into her office, and Satine sits down in her office chair. Ben leans over her shoulder. “What’s your worry?”

“I think it’s fake.”

He rests his hand on her shoulder as he reads, and Satine watches his expression. She’s memorized the email at this point, so she can practically pinpoint which words correspond with which emotions that cross his face.

Dear Dr. Kryze:

The United Nations Department of Political and Peacebuilding Affairs would like to extend a formal invitation for you to deliver the keynote address at the upcoming Conference on the Prevention of Genocide. Held to honor the victims and survivors of the Rwandan and Bosnian genocides three decades ago, we anticipate that scholars from across the world will convene to share best practices and findings regarding their conflict prevention research.

The conference will take place from September 25-29, 2024 in Paris, France. All travel and accommodation expenses, as well as a generous per diem, will be provided for the keynote speaker, along with a speaking honorarium.

I very much hope to discuss this further with you. Thank you for your consideration and time.

Ben’s grip on her shoulder tightens. “You think this is fake?” he asks.

Satine shrugs. “If it appears to be too good to be true…”

“Satine, that applies to things like winning the lottery.”

“Ben, to me, this is like winning the lottery.”

He looks at her. “I think I understand, at least a little. My PTSD has warped my brain chemistry slightly so I’m wired to always be looking for the other shoe to drop.”

“Exactly.”

Ben leans over to pull her keyboard closer to him, his shoulder brushing hers. “Email address of the sender appears to be an official United Nations email,” he says. “But let’s look her up, just in case.”

He types the name of the email’s author, Annileen Smith, into a Google search.

The first result is Smith’s United Nations employee webpage, and the second result is her LinkedIn. Ben clicks through both links.

“She looks real to me,” he tells her, and at that moment, Satine’s office phone rings.

She blinks. “How does anyone actually know my office number?” asks Satine. “I don’t even know it.”

As Ben chuckles, they both look at the caller ID.

“It’s a New York City area code,” he murmurs. “Matches the location of UN HQ.”

They share a glance, and Satine reaches for the phone. “Satine Kryze.”

“Dr. Kryze! I’m so glad to get a hold of you. My name is Annileen Smith. How are you doing today?”

Satine swallows, searching for words. “I’m well, thank you,” she manages to choke out. Then she presses the conference button on the phone so that Ben can hear as well. “And you?”

“Quite well,” says Annileen. 

Ben moves to stand behind Satine’s chair, his hands reaching for her shoulders, and the fingers of Satine’s left hand rise up to tangle with his.

Annileen continues. “I know your time is valuable, so I won’t keep you. But I wanted to let you know that you’ve been selected by your peers as the top choice to give the keynote address at the Conference on the Prevention of Genocide this fall. I sent you an email a few moments ago with more details, but I wanted to call to personally invite you.”

Satine grips Ben’s hand more firmly. “I’m honored,” she says. “I’d been hoping to attend, of course, but hadn’t been able to secure funding as of yet.”

Ben squeezes her hand, and Satine knows he understands now why it had appeared too good to be true, why she’d questioned reality. Ever since the conference had been announced, Satine had wanted to register. She’d actually been registered when she was employed at State. But the conference is scheduled to take place in Paris - the location of the signing of the original Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide back in 1948 - and when Satine had been forced out of the State Department, she’d no longer had their sponsorship for the trip. And with her current salary - and the rent in Georgetown - she hadn’t even been able to consider funding her own way there. 

She’d had to cancel her registration.

Now, Annileen says cheerily, “Well, registration and travel and accommodations will be covered for the keynote speaker. Do you have any questions I can answer as you consider?”

“Just one - by what date do you need an answer?”

“End of the month would be ideal, but earlier is always appreciated.”

“Noted. I’ll definitely have an answer for you by that time. Thanks very much for thinking of me.”

“Of course! And you have my email, so please reach out with any other questions that arise!”

Satine thanks her, and she ends the call.

Ben spins the chair around as soon as she hangs up. “You’re not seriously thinking of declining?” he says, reading her expression and crouching down so that he’s on her level.

“I have a very strong case of an inferiority complex,” Satine admits. “Why would they choose me? What if I embarrass myself? This is a massive conference, and the President of the UN General Assembly will be there. Representatives from the Security Council will be there. Everybody who is anybody in my field - representatives from the ICJ, the ICC - ”

She begins listing acronyms, including for the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court.

“They’ll all be there. And they’ll be expecting something extraordinary.”

Ben smiles at her. “Satine, that’s why they chose you,” he says quietly. “You are extraordinary.”

He takes her hands, holding them between his own.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

She just looks at him, and apparently that is answer enough.

“So intelligent about everything else,” Ben says, shaking his head. “But, somehow, unable to acknowledge the extent of your own skill.”

Satine bites her lip.

Ben leans forward to press his lips to hers. “Listen to me: You are good enough. Accept the invitation. You deserve it.”

Maybe she’ll regret this later, but his silver tongue has always been her weakness.

She nods.

Ben grins, standing up and pulling her into his arms. He spins her around, like he’d done a week ago in the library, his excitement palpable. She laughs and hugs him tightly, and when he sets her down, she pulls his tie to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s maybe a little more heated than their contract allows, but Ben doesn’t protest. His fingers splay across her back, holding her tight.

“Uh, Ben?”

They break apart. It is, of course, Anakin, waiting at the door.

“I tried knocking,” he says, “but…”

Satine ducks her head into Ben’s neck.

“Anakin, your timing is excruciatingly inopportune, as always,” says Ben.

“I wouldn’t have interrupted, but - ”

“Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced your PowerPoint remote again.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Ben sighs. “Take mine. It’s on my desk.”

Anakin smiles in relief. “Thanks, Ben,” he says, ducking away from the door. His head pops back around the corner. “Congrats, you two,” he adds, and then he’s gone again.

Satine’s fingers tighten around Ben’s tie. “How long until the entire department knows?” she asks against his neck, face red with heat.

His body is shaking with laughter as he answers.

“If I had to hazard a guess, end of day tomorrow. And that’s a conservative estimate.”

---

As it turns out, the news spreads well before that.

On Tuesday morning, Satine hears Vos stop by Ben’s office.

“So,” comes Vos’ voice, his grin clearly evident. “You and Satine.”

Ben’s tone is amused. “Me and Satine.”

Satine hears Vos sit in the chair in front of Ben’s desk; it creaks under his dense muscle mass. “I’m actually surprised. So is Asajj. We thought it would take you both far longer to get your heads on straight.”

“I know I should be insulted, but luckily for you I happen to still very much be in the honeymoon phase, so I won’t acknowledge your comment with a reply.”

“The sex is that good, huh?”

Satine forgets to exhale, genuinely curious what his response will be. Is Ben the type to brag about conquests? She can’t see this being likely, especially considering they’d never actually gotten further than fooling around - this decade, at least. And it wasn’t like they’d really had that many friends all those years ago excepting each other, so she’d never actually known how he spoke about her to his male buddies.

“Quinlan, the walls between offices are not thick, even if your skull apparently is.”

The gentle rebuke calms Satine’s nerves.

“So it’s good then,” says Vos. “And more than likely very good.”

Ben sighs. “Look, Quin, you’re my best mate. But Satine and I haven’t even spoken with each other yet about how much of our relationship she’s okay with me sharing with my friends. I’d rather not cross any boundaries she has before I know she has them.”

“I can respect that,” says Vos. 

“Thank you.”

“You look happy.”

There’s a slight pause before Ben answers, and when he does, the smile is obvious in his voice.

“I am.”

---

Satine is getting lunch with Ventress when her friend brings it up.

“So, you and Kenobi are no longer complicated?” she asks.

Satine dips her pita bread in hummus.

“Oh, it’s still very complicated,” she says. “We’re just no longer hiding it.”

Ventress just laughs.

---

On Friday morning, they’re working in the library, a stack of books on both their work stations.

“I emailed Annileen back,” says Satine suddenly, “to officially accept.”

Ben grins at her, removing his glasses and leaning over to give her a chaste kiss. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she says, ducking her head and suddenly feeling bashful. She steels herself. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about the conference. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think you should be there. You can stay with me in the hotel room they provide, so we’ll only need to cover your flight. Because the thing is - if we’re getting engaged in early September, and the conference is in late September, it will look strange if you’re not there. Plus, it might be a good networking opportunity for us - ”

He’s watching her with an amused expression.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re nervous about asking me to go.”

“It’s a lot of money,” she admits.

“I sold some stock as soon as I found out you were going. I have enough to cover the ticket.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I should cover half of your ticket anyway.”

He hushes her. “Have you ever considered that maybe I want to? Maybe I want to be there to support the woman who is currently my fiancée-to-be and at the time of the conference will be my fiancée? Need has nothing to do with it. I was just waiting for you to ask.”

And as per usual, he has stolen her breath, seemingly with no plans to return it.

“We might want to revise our plan,” he adds. “In retrospect it seems quite unwise for us to have chosen you as the spousal hire. You’re clearly the main attraction, not the arm candy.”

“Does that make you the arm candy?”

“Damn straight. I think I could get used to being a trophy husband.”

She tries to turn her laughter into a cough to mask its volume, to Ben’s amusement.

He gestures to the website she’s currently on. “How’s the studying going?”

“The exam is March 8th. Two weeks from today.”

“You’re nervous.”

Satine runs a hand through her hair. “I’ve never had test anxiety like this before. I’m not sure why it’s so bad all of the sudden.”

Ben turns toward her. “There’s a lot going on in your life at the moment,” he says gently. “Not that there hasn’t been before. But sometimes you have to think of the body as a scorekeeper - it accumulates wear and tear throughout your life, and maybe it’s only just catching up to you now.”

Satine gives him a long look. “Those don’t sound like the words of someone who is emotionally unavailable,” she points out.

“My therapist will be very pleased to hear you say that,” says Ben, and she can tell he’s being humorous but simultaneously also deeply serious. “Hopefully that means I’ve moved beyond the ‘parroting everything my therapist says’ stage and into the ‘actually using my emotional intelligence to improve my life’ stage.”

“I’m still very much working on the former,” admits Satine. “Turns out the therapist I’ve had for five years - ever since I’d been at State - isn’t in network with my new insurance under my fellowship. So now I’ve got to find a new therapist, and determine if I like them enough to share my tragic backstory. Have I mentioned that the American healthcare system is broken?”

He shakes his head. “It is, unfortunately, working exactly as it was designed to.” He bumps his knee into hers reassuringly. “But you still have your Norwegian citizenship. It’s not too late to flee back to Scandinavia, where they have the decency not to treat your health as potential means of profit.”

Satine hums, pretending to consider. “While tempting, I’ve found I have incentive to remain Stateside.”

Ben arches a brow, in turn pretending to be surprised. “Do tell.”

“Do you recall that suitor I told you about? The one who was terribly eager to please?”

Ben chuckles under his breath, scratching his beard.

“As it turns out, he was still single, and interested. And, even better, he’s grown out of the ridiculous haircut he wore when we parted ways.”

Ben laughs into his hand, this time more deeply.

Satine smiles. “It also doesn’t hurt that his best qualities have only amplified with age. He’s still incredibly kind and incredibly caring, albeit a bit incorrigible. I’ve found I’d quite like my nationality to be the same as his.”

Ben reaches for her left hand, and his thumb rubs the bare skin of her ring finger. The movement is not lost on her.

“He’s a lucky man,” Ben murmurs.

Satine glances at the time on her laptop. “He’s also going to be late for his office hours if he stays here much longer,” she points out, and Ben swears.

“I’m lucky I have tenure,” he says, shrugging into his peacoat. “Otherwise all this tardiness might prevent the department from granting it to me.”

Satine waves him off. “They’d be fools if they didn’t grant you tenure over a trifle like that,” she says. “Go. I’ll put the books back.”

Ben pulls his bag over his shoulder and leans forward to brush his lips against hers. 

As he sets off, she listens to his footsteps echo down the iron staircase, and she pushes her own chair back. She begins to pack up, grabbing several of the books from their study station and heading to the shelves, where she begins to put them back according to their call numbers. Once all the books have been returned, she grabs her own coat and bag and heads down the stairs, weaving through shelves and tables, until the sound of her own name catches her by surprise.

“Dr. Kryze!”

Satine looks up to see Ahsoka waving at her. Satine smiles and heads toward her, pulling back a chair to sit at the table she’s claimed.

This floor is less silent than her and Ben’s mezzanine study spot; there are groups of students studying together and helping each other on assignments. So Satine doesn’t have to whisper as she greets Ahsoka. “How are you?” she says. “I know the first year is…a lot.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes in immediate understanding. “It’s not always this bad, is it?”

Satine ponders this. “I think it’s bad in different ways. The first year is difficult because of the intense workload for your classes. The sheer number of hours you’re putting in…it’s mentally and physically exhausting. The courseload gets better after the first year, mostly because at that point, the department has weeded out folks they think don’t deserve to be there.”

“What’s bad about the second year?”

“It’s different for every program, but for yours, it’ll be because you start teaching. I’ve heard that’s how most students receive their funding in this department.”

Ahsoka rubs her temples. “I’m not ready to think about that,” she admits. “I’m just trying to get through this semester.”

Satine nods. “I think most of us felt that way.”

Ahsoka looks up at her. “Can I ask you something?”

Satine drops her bag on the floor, indicating she’s here to stay for a while, that she’s listening. “Of course.”

“What do you wear to a conference? I have some ideas, but I wanted to know for sure before I show up.” And she pulls out her phone, leaning toward Satine. “This is the first option,” she says, showing Satine. “And then option two - ” she says, swiping. “And last: option three.”

“Two,” says Satine firmly. “The other outfits are a bit too casual, but option two is perfect.”

Ahsoka smiles, the relief evident on her face. “Thanks,” she says. “Normally I’d ask Dr. Ben or Dr. Anakin, but I feel kind of weird asking them about clothes.”

“Sure thing. Will you be presenting at the conference?”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “Not this year, but I’m hoping to next year. I’m still a bit early in my studies to have collected any data.”

Satine nods. “Ah, yes, of course. What are you hoping to research?”

Ahsoka’s eyes light up at Satine’s genuine interest. “Well, Dr. Ben obviously studies terrorism against Muslim communities; it’s why I wanted to work with him. I’ll be working with the Rohingya diaspora who have sought asylum in the United States.”

Satine touches Ahsoka’s elbow. “I think that research is very needed. It’s a great topic.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen, a thought clearly occurring to her. “Would you be willing to be a member of my thesis committee?” she says. “I know you might not necessarily be at Georgetown in a year and a half, but even if you aren’t, I’m allowed one external committee member. And given your experience in genocide studies, and that you’re - ”

She gestures to Satine, who understands what she’s saying without her needing to hear the words.

You’re Muslim. Like me.

“You’ve done your homework, haven’t you?” says Satine, amused and impressed. “I’d be glad to be on your committee. Just make sure you run it by Ben, as he is the committee chair, I assume. He’ll be fine with it, but academics have their weird rituals.”

Ahsoka nods. “Yeah, probably should have asked him for permission first.”

Satine laughs. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You know him from years ago, right?” asks Ahsoka, curious, and Satine nods.

Ahsoka considers this.

“I always wondered…” she begins, looking at Satine. “Ben is very obviously not Muslim,” she says. “But his research is about terrorism against Muslims. I asked him why he chose the specific topic, and he said he wanted to - and I quote - ‘help dismantle the dominant narrative, the stereotype that Muslims are always the ones perpetrating the violence.’”

“That sounds exactly like something he would say,” acknowledges Satine.

“And I think he was being truthful,” says Ahsoka. “But I also think…I think maybe he chose that topic because of you, and not at all in a white savior kind of way, if that even makes sense? He's doing the boots-on-the-ground work. He's not concerned with his name getting the credit. Have you ever noticed how most of the recent articles he's credited in...he's not the first or last author, even if he did most of the work?"

Satine muses over this. Now that Ahsoka brings it up, she realizes it's true. First authorship is generally reserved for the individual who did the majority of the research and writing, and last authorship is generally thought to be a place of honor or respect for someone who contributed a great deal but wasn't necessarily first author. Both types of placement are important for young scholars who are looking to apply for tenure. Ben not insisting on these positions, even if the research is in large part undertaken thanks to his efforts, is a deliberate move to highlight other voices on his writing teams.

Satine meets Ahsoka's eyes again.

"I know you’re non-practicing,” Ahsoka adds. “But I think he knew how important your cultural background was to you - how important it is to you. And I just thought…well, maybe you should know about that, if you didn’t already.”

Satine sits back, stunned.

“He’s a really good advisor,” says Ahsoka, “but I get the feeling he’s an even better friend.”

Satine nods numbly. 

“Yes,” she says. “He is.”

[goore-ghoul]

*slides a free space card* ... Tell us more about Tobias

WELL HELLO YES I CAN DO THAT!

mans is so talented and skilled like.....he can act for sure. 4 papas and a cardinal and they've ALL had such different personalities and voices and moves and aaaaaaaa how DOES HE DO IT - GOAT FR

also he has the cutest lil freckles and moles on his lower back (i can provide evidence if necessary) and i'm pretty sure i've seen some on his arms/chest/face too :3 who doesn't love a man with some angel kisses on him? hehe

his song writing ability is out of this world like.........cirice? respite on the spitalfields?? ROOM 611?! POONEY TUNE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ok im taking the piss with the last one but musically it's so fun and lyrically it's hilarious so again, skill. XD i could name every song he's ever written that we've heard but i shan't do that cause everyone already knows how awesome they are.

MUSICAL INSTRUMENT GENIUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the dude can play SO MANY INSTRUMENTS - i especially love his bass playing abilities. bass is my favorite instrument so ya know....bonus points to him. but yes, so musically skilled in song writing and instrumentation.

so how about those vocals..........................................................his voice has changed so much over the years. idk how he does it. i love the subvision range. repugnant era has me scared and horny. ghost? the gentle nasally melodies he lays into my ears.......man.......mr. i DoNt WaNt To Be A vOcAlIsT has become quite the vocalist of rock. :o)

he gets extra points for mentioning the autism spectrum. extra extra points for helping trans kids. extra extra extra points for shitting in a sink.

ok fiiiiiiiine i'll finally lay into physical appearance.

dear reader if you've made it this far and don't like thirst about tobias then i suggest you keep scrolling til you get away from this post.

HAVE YOU SEEN HIM GOOD GOD. he keeps getting finer with age i swear. imma keep it PG but like, he's so fit and tight i just drool.....all the time......dem legs.......hips...........................................those little glimpses of tummy we get? end me every time. *slurp* small package has gigantic contents. no innuendo there by the way. we'll get to that later. i have some favorites about his physical being i shan't say publicly but just know i'm thinkin about them right now. the tattoos make him even hotter uuuuuuuughhhhhhh mans has me in a vice grip. his face, a face that has been kissed by the gods. how can a mortal man be so fuckin delicious i'll never know but he's proof. i said i was gonna keep it PG so that's all you're gettin'.

anywho these are just my current thots feel free to ask again later for different things lmao

[cobragardens]

Things I love about this:

Aziraphale's cloud-pattern vitiligo. Symbolically clever and original, visually lovely.

Crowley's freckles and moles. I've literally never seen a piece of art or media before depicting a character with skin with a pattern like mine as attractive. Or, like, at all. Also I really like the way the shading and highlights on Crowley's skin are done. They're so close to being blended together, but not quite. The skin looks luminous, the arms and hands especially. This is also a glorious depiction of Crowley as a natural redhead, and I feel like @bubblytonks has nailed both the amount and the precise hue of that lovely brick-orange ruddiness many redhead complexions have in them, especially over the scapula and the shoulder and at the right elbow.

The repetition of their contrast motif in their skin--the angel marked with white, the demon marked with dark.

Crowley's feminine gold jewellery is doing things for me on a style level, and also I love that it's a bright orange-gold, not just because it alludes to his eye color but because it just looks really gd good. The snake armband is beautifully drawn (I love that it's venomous), and the detailed scales are done with care and some reference to an actual snake and not just longing.

I love how perfectly Crowley is ambiguously gendered here: his jewellery, hairstyle, brow style, and top are all subtly to obviously feminine, and the top leaves the Adam's apple (which gender police have a thing about apparently) veiled, but Crowley's not wearing makeup or nail polish, and he's got sideburns. His shoulder is smooth and rounded in a way that says female on someone so thin, but there's some muscle development in the arm, and length to the lower arms and wrists, that says male; the hands could plausibly go either way. This Crowley and Aziraphale are clearly inspired by David Tennant's and Michael Sheen's performances in Show!Omens, but they are also just as clearly the artist's own creation, and I love all the choices they've made.

Aziraphale's eyebrow is perfect. I feel like his eyebrows are often ignored in fanart, which is a shame bc both seasons' makeup teams did an excellent job on them. Both the visible eyebrows in this piece are gorgeous. I love that Crowley's is groomed in a feminine style. Eyebrows are my favorite facial feature, so this is a Thing for me.

Aziraphale's hair! Lots of artists make it look feathery and ethereal and cloudlike, but @bubblytonks is the first one that's made it look like a texture I can imagine feeling. I don't mean they make it look real, because it's also stylized in a way that makes my brain very happy (those little filigrees and s-curves at the crown and back of his head? so visually satisfying): it's more like verisimilitude without an attempt at realism. Ditto Aziraphale's chest hair, and my friends, it is very difficult to get me to like chest hair, just so you know where I'm coming from on this.

The curved lines of Aziraphale's body. What I'm experiencing here is that sense of familiarity you as a viewer can get when a figure is well-drawn, so that you are simultaneously aware that it is a drawing but feel that it holds something real. Rrrgh, I am not explaining this well. But like, I've slept with several people shaped like this Aziraphale is shaped, that exact line to the shoulder and upper arm. This piece depicts that line so well that when I view it I can remember what that line feels like under my hand. I don't experience that with most art; most figures do not make me think in any experience other than the visual.

The specificity of the kiss. This isn't just a press of lips; it's not the beginning of this kiss. Crowley is involved in A Kissing Project: he's holding Aziraphale's face with both hands, his eyes are shut tightly like he's concentrating, and he's drawn Aziraphale's lower lip between his own. He is very much doing a specific thing with this kiss that he wants to be doing,

And my very favorite part of this piece, by a country mile, is Aziraphale's smile: the dimple and the little upward curve at the corner of his mouth pointing to it. It's the crown on a beautiful facial expression: joy pleasure and happiness, like he's tasting something wonderful, even though at this particular moment he's the wonderful thing being tasted.

they're in my head ahhhhh

[letterstotheflre]

that’s the thing about illicit affairs

summary: james was never hers to lose.

warnings: CHEATING, age gap (not specified but reader is in her 20s), tiiiny angst?? i don’t think it’s sad lmao, allusions to sex and one miniature sex scene, some food mentions, and a very badly written argument.

word count: 3k (why are they always so long ffs)

a/n: my first james potter fic <3 i love this man so much, sorry for making you the bad guy here. this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks, and since i’ve been feeling kinda sad i finally got around to edit it. also hedric rights!!

They always meet like this.

The room is dark except for a small sea salt lamp she bought on sale from Target. Her clothes are piling up on the floor, discarded carelessly by her lover, and his are not too far from meeting the same fate.

He is kissing her hungrily as he could never get enough of her. His hands travel all over her back while she unbuttons his shirt, their lips never parting. He moves her to her bed, the sheets a pale green that reminds him of—

No. He closes his eyes tightly, pretends the green is actually blue like the lacy bralette that covers her breasts and moves his lips down to her jaw. He sucks and nips and bites, letting her moans echo freely between the four walls that make their little sanctuary.

Her hands quickly undo his belt and stroke him lightly through the fabric of his boxers. He groans against the junction of her neck, the skin softer than anything he’s touched in years.

He pushes her down on the bed, cupping her face while he looks at her properly, noting the tangled hair caused by his fingers. Her lips are puffy and shiny, his kisses being the perpetrator of their current state. He waits for her to say something, to give him a sign that this is okay.

(It’s not okay, and they both know it. It’ll never be okay.)

She nods her head, and he kneels in front of her, pushing her legs wide open before he dives in.

—

She is laying on her bed, the sheets covering her body as she watches him try to fix up his hair in front of the mirror on her makeshift vanity.

“Make sure no one sees you leave,” she says, “and put—”

“Put my hood up, I know,” he finishes the sentence for her. It’s not the first time they do this dance.

“Sirius and Remus are with Harry at home. I told them I was going for a run, so they won’t say anything if I show up all sweaty,” he adds, trying to fill the awkward silence.

She just nods her head, fingers playing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet, pulling it a bit more every time she twists her index finger. He steps forward, then sits on her bed and traces her cheekbone with his knuckles. “You know I care about you, right?” he asks.

Her heart clenches, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest that makes it hard to breathe for a second. She lowers her eyes, refusing to stare at those hazel irises that started everything. “I know, James,” she assures quietly, looking at a picture of her and Harry that’s stuck to the wall just behind him.

James brushes back some stray hairs that are still stuck to her forehead, then presses a small kiss on the slightly sweaty skin. He gives her a tentative smile before heading to the door, and she only looks in his direction when she hears the click of the door.

(He might care, but not enough.)

—

Sundays are always a slightly awkward affair at first.

Both of their families have been friends for years, getting together every Sunday for lunch at the Potter’s. James and Sirius always man the grill with her dad, all of them wearing those corny ‘kiss the chef!’ aprons. Her mother helps Lily make the salads in the kitchen while they gossip with Remus, who steals a few tomatoes when they aren’t looking. Now that it’s summer, she and Harry splash each other in the pool instead of catching up in his room.

It’s always strange seeing James in the light of day, pretending that this is the only version of him she knows: the version of him that is a friend, a father, a husband.

But she knows the other version of him: the one that has her on her knees begging for a taste of him, the one that grips her hair while he pounds into her from behind, the one that lets his tongue explore places of her no one else has. The version of him that kisses her forehead and plays with her fingers while their bodies are tangled together under the sheets. The version of him that kisses her as if she were the only one made for him.

(She isn’t.)

They are sitting around the table eating. Sirius is laughing about something with his arm around Remus’s shoulders, his bark of laughter echoing across the garden. Her mother’s shoulders shake as Lily rolls her eyes in amusement. James and her father have gone back to the grill to bring everyone their second round of burgers, and she can hear her father complaining about something from work.

“Here y’go, kid,” says James as he places the plate in front of her before ruffling her hair. She tenses up for a second before relaxing, muttering a small “thank you” before reaching for the ketchup.

She hates that nickname. It’s so impersonal, keeps a distance between them that truly doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t the only person that can make her vision whiten and the colours of her room hazy while she clutches his shoulders. As if he isn’t the only person who can pull so many different sounds from her vocal cords, sounds he knows no one else has ever heard before because he is the only one who can create them.

She can feel Sirius’s eyes on her as she stretches one arm, so she hesitantly glances at him. He raises an eyebrow, eyes switching back and forth between James and her, and she can see the cogs turning in his mind.

She gulps anxiously, dismissing him with a wave of her hand and goes back to eating.

—

James’s moans are loud as he gathers her hair in a makeshift ponytail. His cock is buried in her throat, and he watches as she gags for a second before relaxing her throat.

She’s taking him so deep that her nose nuzzles his pubic hair, the musky scent of James filling her nose as she breathes deeply through it. She starts moving her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the tip every time she rises.

He is a mess above her, needy whines and wanton moans leaving his mouth. His hips thrust up softly, slowly fucking her mouth, and he relishes in the small choking sounds she makes. His head rolls back as he groans, “That’s it, baby, so good to me.”

She winces at the name and pulls away from him. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but her hands never stop stroking him. She takes him back into her mouth and starts sucking with a newfound fervour, his voice echoing inside her head as she tries to make him forget about her.

(She tries to forget too.)

—

Honey rays filter through her window.

They are both laying on her bed, James on his stomach while she refills the glasses with some cheap wine she got from the store. He looks at the tiny purple splotches on her neck and the red fingerprints on her hips, then smirks proudly. When she turns, she smiles at him softly.

There’s a summer breeze that ruffles her curtains, and he can hear some teenagers laughing as they walk down the street over the music that plays from her speaker.

She places her glass on her nightstand, her nipples brushing his naked back as she leans over him. She lays down on her side, her fingertips softly drawing shapes on his skin. It takes him a moment to realize they are not random shapes but letters.

Her name, written over his scattered freckles and connecting his moles with cursive loops.

He takes her hand and kisses it, slightly chapped lips pressing against her open palm. Then he kisses her lips, still bitterly sweet with grapes, as his tongue moves languidly against hers while he pulls her by the hand on top of him.

It feels like a distant memory. It feels like a dream.

—

The cacophony of different voices singing “Happy Birthday” rings in her ears.

Harry is at the front of the table, an adorable blush dusting his cheeks at the attention. On either side of him are James and Lily, smiles wide as they watch their son blow the candles. Cedric is behind him, hands on his shoulders, and he leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

She sings and claps, whooping with Sirius when Harry blows the last candle. She eats cake and drinks the pretty cocktails Lily ordered. She smiles and laughs, pretends she couldn’t see the way the candles made the golden band on James’s ring finger beam like the sun.

She pretends she doesn’t see the way James holds Lily’s waist before kissing her. She pretends she can’t see them dancing slowly to a song Remus put on the Spotify playlist as a joke.

She pretends she can’t hear his footsteps following her when she goes to the bathroom. She feigns disinterest when he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards a deserted corridor.

But she can’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her, the thrumming in her veins when he pushes one leg between her thighs, nor the pleasure-filled gasps and moans that leave her mouth when he helps her roll her hips along his covered thigh.

It’s thrilling; they’ve never done something like this in public, much less in such proximity to friends and family.

(In such proximity to her.)

Even though she knows it shouldn’t, it gives her a sense of victory. Because he is here with her now: he is kissing her, making her moan, and whispering dirty things in her ear.

A faraway call of his name breaks the spell they’re under. They pull away hastily; she fixes her dress while James makes sure there are no lipstick stains on his face. The footsteps are getting closer, heels hitting the floorboards at the same rhythm as their rapid beating hearts.

It’s Sirius.

James almost breathes a sigh of relief, but she remains tensed up. Sirius looks between them, the same look he had that Sunday all those weeks ago on his face, and she feels bile rising in her throat.

“Lily’s looking for you,” he says, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder towards the reception where everyone’s gathered.

“Right,” says James. “Better go see what she needs. You do not want to see an angry drunk Lily.” He laughs, almost oblivious to the awkward tension between his two friends. He goes back to Lily, leaving her leaning against the wall and Sirius standing in the middle of the hallway.

Sirius looks at her, and even though his mind already knows, he refuses to believe it. “I didn’t know where the bathroom was,” she offers as an explanation. It’s a flimsy excuse, she knows that, but it’s the best she can do under this kind of pressure.

“Right,” he whispers with a short nod, then follows James.

She stays rooted to her spot, lips tingling with the ghost of James touch and a guilty mind.

—

Hours later, she clings to a pillow as she lays on her bed alone. The same pillow James was resting on less than twelve hours ago.

She breathes in deeply, trying to catch any scent of him she can, but there’s only the scent of her fabric softener.

There’s no James. No citrus shampoo or woodsy cologne nor salty air from the beach near his house. Because he never wears any cologne when he comes to her, ensuring that there’s no trace of him once he leaves.

Like he doesn’t even exist.

—

It ends in a parking lot a month later.

She was waiting for Luna to arrive at the mall but ended up asking for a rain check when James texted her, saying they needed to talk.

‘Meet me behind the mall’, she texts him.

She walks to the back of the building and waits for his red car to show up. She already knows where this conversation is going to go, and her heart shatters at the thought of saying goodbye to him.

She raises her head when she hears a honk in front of her, and she gets in while whispering a small “hey”. He doesn’t start the car again, just settles for turning the ignition key off. She looks at the families leaving the mall through the tinted window, refusing to look at him, as her knee bounces up and down anxiously.

The silence is heavy, and she suddenly feels cold in the August heat.

James takes a deep breath, “We can’t keep doing this.”

She can’t help the snarky comment. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday while you had your fingers buried inside me.” He looks at her unimpressed, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s wrong,” he says— as if she doesn’t already know that. “C’mon, baby, don’t make this harder than it has to—”

“I told you not to call me that!” she raises her voice, and the car gets silent again. She hates the tears that gather in her eyes, hates that she cares so much about him and their stupid game, but she couldn’t help it. Not when he whispered so many sweet nothings in her ears and caressed her skin so softly, almost afraid to break him if he was too rough.

(Not that he cared about that when he stretched her wide open and thrust so hard into her that the bed frame banged against the wall.)

“You can’t just show up here and tell me it’s over like you weren’t the one that came to me first,” she jeers, and she can see the tick of his jaw as he clenches it. Good, she thinks, make him angry.

“Don’t just blame me. You didn’t say ‘no’ once.” He grounds out, “In fact, I can recall you were begging me to fuck you against the wall.”

Her cheeks turn into a small fire, a slight feeling of shame overcoming her. “Oh, like you were any better!” she exclaims. “‘Been thinking about you for months.’ ‘You have no idea the things you do to me.’ ‘No one can suck my cock like you.’ ‘I care about you!’” She deepens her voice to mock him.

James opens his mouth to keep the ball rolling, and she wants him to do it because it meant that the fight was still on, that they wouldn’t have to end this. Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m telling you now it’s over. Stop acting like a kid who didn’t get her Christmas present,” he says, knowing exactly what he is doing with those words.

“I’m not a kid,” she snaps, her eyes fighting back angry teats at his dismissal. “Then stop acting like one,” he shrugs.

Her hands turn into fists, nails digging themselves into her palms as she tries to keep her anger at bay. “Do you know how much of myself I gave to you? How many plans with my friends have I cancelled in case you called? How many guys I stopped seeing because they weren’t you?” she rants, her voice increasing in volume as she lets her frustration take over. Then, she pauses. “You’ve ruined me, James.”

Her voice is so pained that it makes his heart clench, and he lowers his head, refusing to look at her. He knows, God, he knows what he’s done, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so lonely with Lily spending so much time at the hospital, and then there she was with her caring and understanding nature. With her adorable laughs and those touches that were so addictive, a mercurial high that gave him the lowest lows whenever he tried to stop.

He keeps his mouth shut; there’s nothing left to say anyway, and it’s better for her to hate him rather than anything else. “You are not going to say anything?” It’s meek, vulnerable, and she wants to slap herself for acting this way. She knew it would never last, that he would always choose her.

He was never hers to lose, so why is she still fighting?

She nods her head in surrender, biting her lip to stop herself from sobbing. The anger now gave way to sadness, “I can’t believe I let you make a fool of me.” Her voice is hoarse, a result of the lump in her throat that prevents her from swallowing comfortably.

She gets out of the car and slams the door shut, then leaves the parking lot, leaving him behind. She keeps walking, fingers gripping the straps of her bag until she reaches an empty street.

The golden sun is ready to dip on the horizon, and she can hear James’s car speeding behind her.

—

She doesn’t let the tears fall until she’s inside her apartment.

The moment she closed the door, she crumbled to her knees, loud sobs falling from her mouth and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It takes her a moment to gather enough strength to walk to her room.

She cries and cries, buries her face in her pillows and starts sobbing even harder because she can smell him. The salty scent and citrus shampoo finally embedded themselves in the fabric, and she can’t believe that after all those days she craved to feel him close to her, he chooses now to leave a trace behind.

She cries for hours until her eyes are puffy and red, and snot comes out of her nose. Her chest heaves with short breaths that don’t really fill her lungs as she clings to that damn pillow before throwing it across the room. She can’t believe it ended like this: with her completely broken for anyone else while James gets to go back to his life and act like nothing ever happened.

Yet she knows that if she had to choose, she would do it all over again because if she had to choose someone to be her ruination, she would choose James Potter a million times.

TAGLIST: @emmaev @gxtitobxby @ildm4ev @capsmischief @arisblackhole @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @tonystarksmutgarden @blowing-mikey @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @glossiable @remusjlupinisdead @amixedwitch @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour — if you want to be added tap here

[disdaidal]

Ooooh how about “don’t you have something you want to tell me too?” For the misc prompts??

Sex was always good between them.

Something they did almost weekly now. But it was never boring and never unsatisfying.

Whether it was Billy on top or under him, Steve loved to watch his face. The expressions on Billy's face when he was in bliss, his mouth opening and closing in heavy pants and gasps, and deep grunts and moans. All pink-cheeked, the tiny freckles standing out on his nose and cheekbones. The long, beachy waves falling heavy and sweaty over his face and the heavy, dark eyelashes framing his baby blues. The perfectly sculpted, dark eyebrows furrowed deep when he was deeply focused on his own pleasure. His toned, muscular body glistening in sweat and his hips stuttering and his thighs shaking - the little whimpers and his lower lip caught between his teeth - when Billy was close to coming. And the sound of him finally coming was like music to Steve's ears, because he knew it was his doing.

Yeah, Steve was obsessed.

Completely lost and hooked and so thoroughly, hundred percent screwed. And not just in bed.

Billy Hargrove was the last person he was supposed to fall in love with. Or even have sex with. On a regular basis. But here he was.

And here they were. Lying next to each other, in Steve's bed, in his apartment. Panting, sweating after sex, trying to catch their breath and heartbeats. Billy reaching for his pack of red Marlboro's and lighting one up, offering one for Steve as well.

Steve didn't usually smoke unless he was drunk or wanted to get high. But he would also never turn down a smoke after good sex.

Billy knew this and he was always delighted to see Steve smoke with him. Never the one to lecture him about bad habits nor the dangers of lung cancer - as a chain smoker himself, Billy if anything only seemed to invite danger and an early grave. Everything he did always seemed to bring him one step closer to that.

Steve used to be like that, too. Thought he was well past and over that phase by now. Thought he had everything together with Nancy, but...

Yeah.

Sometimes life just kicks you in the balls, doesn't it?

When they smoked together, usually after sex, they had a habit of not talking to each other. It's like they wanted to savour the aftermath, the silent comfort between them - reminisce about the good old times or just secretly enjoy each other's company without actually admitting it.

But that moment was always quick to pass, always too soon. Billy took his last hit, inhaling deep with a slight hiss of his tongue and then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He made a move to get up and leave without another word, just like he always did. Every Friday or every Saturday, whenever they were both available to do this.

Only this time, a hand grabbed around his arm before he could do it again.

"Wait."

Billy stopped and turned to look at Steve in confusion. Those big brown eyes, and that brown hair all tousled on his head. Pale skin dotted with moles like stars in the sky, and the dark patch of hair on his chest that Billy loved to grab and run his fingers through. The endlessly long legs and a big dick and a plump ass that Billy couldn't get enough and honestly didn't want to get enough, but living in denial had always seemed like the obvious choice to him.

"What," he finally managed to croak out after a minute or so just staring at the other man splayed next to him, all naked and pretty. He remembered being so bitter and jealous upon knowing that probably half of the Hawkins High's high school girls (possibly the boys too) had had their share of King Steve in the good old days and now? Now Billy was in his bed, having the King completely at his mercy and yet he couldn't even- "I gotta be at home soon, so make it quick. My dad's gonna be pissed."

He could see how Steve's face fell and his grip slipped on his arm just a little bit. The slight bop in his throat when Steve tried to keep his cool and his feelings under wraps and he was so terrible at it that it almost hurt Billy to see that.

He hated to see Steve hurt and yet he couldn't stop hurting him.

"I just..." Steve started and then stopped. Wanting to say something, so desperately that he looked like he could burst at any moment. Billy swallowed, his muscles tensing. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, whatever it was that Steve was trying to tell him. He slightly squeezed the blanket in his fist and waited anyway. "I just wanted to say that I'm... that I..."

Billy raised his eyebrows, rolling his head in 'yes?'. His patience was running thin and the anticipation was gnawing on him.

Steve sighed and finally blurted it out, "I think I'm in love with you, Billy."

Billy blinked a few times, and Steve fell back in his bed. Squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together. Knowing he'd probably fucked up by saying it aloud and readying himself to get punched. It wouldn't be the first time; he knew how hard Billy could punch. And knowing that Billy was bad at expressing his feelings - not the most romantic guy in the world - and actively avoided spilling his feelings out in the open by turning everything into sexual and making stupid, rude jokes all the time.

Steve just couldn't help himself. He was in love with this asshole, he'd known it for a while and he finally said it aloud. And now he was probably going to get turned down, pushed away and called 'bullshit'. Wouldn't be the first time for him either.

Billy didn't know if he felt relief or panic at that moment. He knew that something heaved and filled up in his chest, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Whether it was a good sign or a bad sign, he couldn't tell for sure yet. And he guessed that he had always known. That Steve felt that way for him. Because Steve never turned him down when he had the time. Always seemed to be happy to see him and always treated him well, despite their troubled past. Treated him good in bed, too - a real royal treatment in fact. And he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off Billy either, it wasn't hard to notice that... and it really turned Billy on, knowing Steve was watching him and making him feel good.

He loved to watch and listen to Steve, too. He swore he could make a mixtape from the pretty boy's sex noises alone. Or gather photos of him sleeping and having sex hair and looking blissed out, in his secret photo album that he kept hidden under his bed - the same album Billy had gathered pictures of his happiest memories. Or that fucking smile. Whenever Steve just looked at him and smiled. It made Billy's stomach clench and flutter in the best possible way and he always had to chuckle and turn his head away because it actually made him blush and he couldn't let Steve see that.

Just to see Steve smile at him, every week, every fucking day... Billy swore he would do anything. He would give him anything, the moon from the sky, the whole world. He really wanted to.

Because he was hopelessly in love with Steve Harrington, too, and had been that way since day one.

But Billy Hargrove was also an asshole. In denial. Kept his feelings and emotions wrapped up in a big bow, inside a sealed box tagged with a huge trigger warning.

So he looked away. Swallowed nervously. And slowly detached his hand from Steve's. "Okay," was all he could manage. Enough to give the other man a reply of some kind but not enough to let him know how he really felt. At least he hoped so. Billy wasn't sure he was ready to go there just yet.

He knew that he was going to disappoint Steve. Hurt him again. But he couldn't face him either right now. Billy needed time and space to deal with it.

He got up from bed and started pulling his clothes back on. He was sweaty and didn't care that he had both his and Steve's cum drying up and getting crusty on his skin. He needed to get out of this place before his dad would get mad at him, or before his own feelings catch up to him, overflow and become too much to handle.

But Steve wasn't giving up on him this time. Had to open that pretty mouth of his. "Don't you have something you want to tell me too?" And word it just like that.

Billy was grateful that he had already decided to get up and turn his back on his lover, so Steve couldn't see his face. Because he was grimacing and he wanted to curse so loud. "Like what?" Trying to act nonchalant but was clenching his jaw instead.

"Just tell me how you feel about me?"

Billy snorted. He pulled his shirt on, then closed his pants. "Well... I think your ass is great. Your dick is huge and I can't stop thinking about it. Your hair is better than mine but I didn't say that."

Everything was a fucking joke to him. Or at least he tried to make it look like it was. He was deflecting again and it usually worked for him. Except apparently this time. Because Steve had decided to be a real pain in his ass this time:

"I just don't think it's fair that I just confessed my feelings to you and all you're gonna answer me is 'okay' and then continue with... that. It's just..." Steve sighed and Billy could tell he was slowly losing it. He felt bad for the guy, really. Felt bad because it was his doing and he knew it. "If you don't feel anything for me, that's fine. We can keep on pretending that we're doing this just for sex, or at least I am. But if there's anything... If you feel anything for me, even just a little bit, then tell me. Because I need to know."

And honestly, Billy had nothing to say to that. He'd run out of all the smartass replies for today and he knew that if he walked out that door right now, Steve would never forgive him for that. He would proceed to give him the cold shoulder and look down on him like he was poison. Probably punch him too if Billy pushed him too hard. Just like he did back in high school. The two of them, they'd come a long way from that - something Billy could still hardly grasp and he kept holding onto that thought, especially those times when his dad got mad at him and beat him - and Billy wasn't ready to go back to that. Couldn't bear the thought of going back to that.

Because as hard as it was for him to admit it loud, mostly to himself, Steve was his world. He was everything to him. He wasn't maybe ready to say it yet and he knew that it was going to break Steve's heart if he didn't say it, but he honestly couldn't bear the thought of losing Steve and living without him.

Billy was just so... goddamn stubborn. Thinking that saying lovey-dovey stuff was going to make him look soft and weak, less of a man. That if he allowed it to happen, it might fracture his tough shell more easily. And not many people knew that but Billy was actually really fragile. Soft and sensitive inside but tough and mean on the outside, hard to break through. He'd fought so hard to keep his shield on, not letting anyone pass it.

But Steve... this motherfucker... had somehow gotten through it. And now he suddenly demanded that Billy laid his heart bare and started getting all mushy on him.

Because Steve was. All heart eyes and cuddles and soft kisses and heart-shaped chocolate boxes on a Valentine's Day, and it pissed Billy off so much how much he actually liked it. When Steve wrapped his arms around him and kissed his cheek or neck. Or cradled his face and ran his long fingers through Billy's curls while wearing that dopey smile on his face. Or when Steve rested his head on his chest and sighed happily, running his fingers over Billy's skin like a lovesick puppy.

And fuck, Billy was really in love with him.

He quickly turned around and crawled back on the bed. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up," he growled lowly and then grabbed Steve from the back of his neck and kissed him harshly. It was all tongue and teeth, tears and blood, and he even moaned in Steve's mouth because he was suddenly riddled with all those conflicting emotions and pent up rage and he couldn't even fuck it all away this time.

When he pulled back, Steve was looking back at him with those big pretty brown eyes, blown pupils and swollen lips and Christ, Billy wanted to blow him. But if he didn't go home soon, his father would give him a proper beating this time and the bruises wouldn't heal until next weeked. Billy had prolonged his welcome way too long already. "I'll see you next weekend," he muttered lowly and kissed Steve once more before he got up, grabbed his jacket and headed out of the door.

Steve was completely taken aback by what had just happened and his heart was racing for a few good minutes after that. He knew that he must've pushed a few of Billy's buttons to get him like that and he'd known that it had been a mistake to talk about his feelings to begin with.

Because Billy was like a force of nature and if you pushed him too hard, anything could happen. Steve had known this and still he had to open his stupid mouth and well... Well, he still felt like he was justified. He had every right to ask that because his own heart yearned and he couldn't take it anymore.

He used to be a player himself but after Nancy, everything had changed. He'd realized that he needed something more, something more real and something that he could hold onto. The next person he had decided to latch on was Billy Hargrove and everybody around him had told him it was a mistake and that Steve was out of his mind, but of course he'd listened to his heart and not the sensible people around him and then he'd got himself stuck in this thing with the most impossible person in the world... and fell in love with him, too.

Which honest to God made Steve feel like shit right now. Because he couldn't tell if Billy really hated right now but intended to just keep on pretending it because he needed an easy lay and Steve was just that because he was desperate to get laid, too. Or if Billy actually had some genuine feelings for him but he was just being an ass as usual and his invitation to meet again next weekend was a sign that Steve actually meant something to him after all...

Steve's head was already spinning with all the possibilities and the possible bad outcomes with very few positive outcomes in sight, and Billy Hargrove was a riddle that he simply couldn't solve. Not that Steve was ever good at solving riddles or puzzles anyway... anything that he had think too hard on. Those were Robin's kind of thing.

So the answer to all of his questions came a few minutes later when a written note was suddenly slipped under his door.

Steve frowned and walked up the door and peeked through the peephole to see who it was but nobody was there. He crouched to pick up the note and squinted his eyes to read it.

‘Mi amor’, the note said. A small heart was drawn next to it.

It was Billy's handwriting.

— misc sentence starters —

Happy (early) Valentine's Day! 💕

[iwishtobeastorm]

I absolutely love what you wrote for my Sackler request, you have no idea how comforting it was for me to read. Could I request some silly fluff with Sackler having a sleepover with his girlfriend and they're just being goofy and having the time of their lives?

A/N: Hey there Anya 💗 first of all, I’m so so so happy you liked the Sackler fic and I’m glad it gave you comfort (that’s what I was striking for). Second of all, I’ve read this request of yours and I was immediately excited to write it because I’m all here for some goofy time with Sackler soooo I’m so glad I finally managed to write it 💕 enjoy!

Sweets - Adam Sackler/Reader

Warnings: nudity, established relationship, cursing

Word count: 1500+

Masterlist

"Kid? Where are youuu?" Adam calls from the hallway, grin breaking through your features as you straighten up in the bathtub.

Adam was out with some old friend and you decided to have a bath to let out some steam and relax properly.

"In here!" You respond, sinking underneath the water a bit so the bubbles cover your body now completely, only your head peaking from the sparkly white mass.

You hear the hurried footsteps before he bursts the door open, smirk on his face as his gaze lays on you.

"I knew you'll be in here you little minx," he states, making you scoff.

"That's not a proper way how to greet a lady," you murmur, teasing edge to your voice, which makes Adam chuckle, but then he falls to his knees, approaching the bathtub like that, forcing you to hold back a laugh.

"My lady," he says softly, grabbing your hand and planting kisses to your knuckles, his goatee tickling your skin, which makes you giggle.

"Stop it! It tickles!" You exclaim, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp but he doesn't let you, kissing over your palm and then higher and higher, not minding the water nor the bubbles, until he's close enough to reach your face, his lips meeting yours.

You get an evil little idea and you decide to use the opportunity, grabbing him by the collar of his blue t-shirt and tugging him closer to you, trying to get him in the water, which makes Adam laugh against your lips, since it doesn't take much for him to get out of your grasp. He's a lot stronger than you, always has been and you kinda knew it will be a losing battle but you tried it anyways.

He straightens up, looking down at you with almost victorious smirk on his face and you pout at him like an upset toddler.

"What's that expression of yours, sweets? Hm? Someone didn't get what they wanted?" He raises an eyebrow at you and you hum.

"You're being a meanie," you murmur with pretended innocence in your voice and Adam immediately knows what kind of game you two are playing.

"You want me to join you?" He asks and you nod softly, smile on your face.

"Well then. Who would I be to refuse?" He states and you grin, straightening up to make room for him while he strips, your eyes glued to his body, admiring his broad shoulders peppered with moles and freckles, his strong arms and long legs. Adam was always very handsome to you, his unconventional beauty pulling you in ever since you saw him for the first time. It didn't take much for you to fall in love with his sense of humor and laidback personality.

"It's gonna be a tight fit, hope you're ready for it, peaches," he states and you chuckle.

"Ready as ever," you give him a small smirk that he reciprocates, while he climbs in the tub, sitting down and settling there, the water rising all the way to your collar bones, almost overflowing now.

"We will lose all the water like this," you state, pulling the bubbles closer to cover your chest.

Adam finally settles fully opposite you and he chuckles softly, his eyes meeting yours, his hands resting on your calves.

"Is that a problem?" He raises an eyebrow at you, running his hands a bit higher, sending shivers down your spine.

"Depends," you offer, biting on your lower lip, your eyes sparkling with something devilish.

"What's up with all those bubbles? I can't fucking see you at all," he states, trying to drown them, which makes you laugh.

"That's the purpose," you say, smirking.

"Why would you do something so horrendous to me?" He puts on a good act of pretending your precautions torture his soul, making you giggle.

"To not make it so easy for you," you murmur and he smirks.

"Such a vixen you are, peaches," he states and you scoff, raising your foot and resting it on his shoulder.

He immediately reaches for it, grabbing it really gently and planting a kiss to your ankle, your eyes fixed on him.

"Did you miss me when I was away?" He asks as if it's been weeks since he left your flat, making you giggle.

"Terribly," you murmur, biting on your lower lip.

"I'm glad to hear that," he states, his face turning to you now, his eyes meeting yours, full of mischief.

"I was thinking we could maybe order pizza and watch a movie," you say softly and he smiles.

"Anything else?" He asks and you smirk at the implication.

"We will see," you state, wanting to retrieve your foot but Adam tightens his grasp around your ankle, making you raise an eyebrow at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

You give him a glance but leave his question unanswered, pretending you're too busy washing your shoulder, which Adam doesn't let slip.

He moves his giant hand, creating a solid wave and splashing the water on you, making you gasp as it washes over you, wetting your so far dry hair.

"You-," you meet him with your narrowed eyes, the smirk on his face spurring you on further as you splash him back.

Adam starts laughing, trying to dodge your attempts while also collecting the bubbles in his hands just to lean in and plant it on your face.

You gasp, closing your eyes and whipping it off carefully as you successfully hold back your laughter.

"You don't seem so cheeky now, peaches," he states, resting his hands on your knees, gazing at you with victorious smirk on his lips.

"I'm gonna drown you, Sackler," you state, finally opening your eyes and launching yourself at him. The water rises, slipping over the edge and flooding your floor as you straddle Adam the best you can in the tiny space, securing your hands on his shoulders and trying to push him down while he laughs so hard he almost chokes. He's not even struggling against you and you still don't manage to move him more than few inches, before he collects your hands in his, gripping your wrists lightly, stopping your attempt. Your eyes meet and you both start laughing.

You lean forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder while you try to calm your snickering, biting on your lower lip when you realize your naked frame is now flush with Adam's.

His thoughts seem to match yours because he lets go of your wrists and moves his hands to your lower back, squeezing on your flesh teasingly.

"I missed you," he murmurs and you can't help but smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"I missed you too. Even though it has only been about three hours," you state and he chuckles, making your body jolt on top of his.

You both stay quiet for a while, just enjoying the closeness and warmth of each other, fingers tracing the smoothness of your skin. That is until Adam breaks the comfortable silence in the typical Adam fashion.

"What if we dried up and I took you to the bedroom and showed you just how much I missed you?" He murmurs into your ear, making your body tingle at his offer as your head is flooded with images of just the right way he could show you. But you decide to take this a different way.

You straighten up, preparing yourself for what you're about to do as you face him with a smirk.

"You gotta catch me first."

"What?"

Before Adam can really get a grip on you, you jump out of the bathtub, struggling to not slip on the tiles as you grasp your towel and run out of the bathroom giggling.

It doesn't take long for Adam to climb out of the tub too and catch up on you and so soon he's right behind you, your squealing and his laughter and cursing filling the space, spurring you both on even more as he chases you through your living space, trying to snatch your towel.

He succeeds to get you eventually, taking you down with him on the couch, both of you struggling to catch your breaths between the little giggles and laughs, trying to ignore how soaked you both actually are, your bodies pressed together.

"Got ya," Adam murmurs and you giggle, nuzzling yourself into his bare chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, making him chuckle.

"Oh, you know too well. And you promised me a reward," he states, making you smirk.

"Did I?" You ask and he hums as an answer, kissing the top of your head, while pulling you closer, smile forming on your lips.

And here it comes, the light warmth of the affection you feel for him, making your heart beat a little bit faster and your chest tingle like crazy.

"I love you, Adam."

"I love you too, sweets."

——————————————

Taglist:

Thank you so much for your support!

@zooeyglassbathroom @lmarielondon @kacctus @Lovelyleti2 @bunnyxdriver @ro-sary @hnnybee @rosi3ba3z @lovelylostminds @lokigirlszendaya @gabr-marie @hypnoash @xoxabs88xox @janebby @black-rose-29 @sirwaddlefuck @mssbridgerton @truly-madly-nerdy

[bubblywriter0]

I tend to have marks in unusual places. Lol Like I have a freckle on each breast near the nipple and a mole below my belly button just above my underwear line. 😅

ouuu, those sound rlly cool nonnie.

I think Light would definitely nip at the one on your lower tummy to get a reaction out of you. He would also admire the way it looks, maybe if you don't wear cropped clothes just when you lift your arms to stretch or even when you change.

You've definitely caught him staring a second too long when you were bathing and you point it out but he just smirks, shrugging it off and asking you straight up if you can really blame him for staring... somehow you always end up the one blushing in that situation.

as for the ones on your breast, he really likes those because they're close to your heart. He’ll lay his head down on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. Sometimes if he’s feeling particularly needy he’ll slip a hand under your shirt and trace over your freckles. 

ask game

[cockasinthebird]

So so so long ago, I told the dearest @opaldraws that I would write her a fic for her Instagram Steve au, which is one of my favourite aus because he so would have a huge following and post gorgeous lavish pics of himself with all that his parents’ money can buy, and I did start writing it! Only it took me, say, half a year or more to finish it??

So here you go! To Opal and every other reader, I hope you enjoy!

-

His oversized shirt a dusty rosa, fuzzy and just a bit too long in the sleeves, the neck of it slipping down to expose moles dotting one shoulder. Skinny jeans in a light denim hug his legs like they were sewn for him specifically, it’s a wonder to behold. 

Steve is warm and cozy inside, lying down on a daybed, surrounded by pillows, posing in front of large windows peering out onto the frozen forest, barren and covered in snow. Hawkins is brutally cold during the winters; so unforgiving that the photo shoots they do outside are thankfully scarce, even though Steve would work himself sick with a cold.

If it wasn’t for Billy and his stern insistence, Steve would have gotten frostbite seven times already this winter daring to wear just too little for the sake of fashion and aesthetic. Anything for his 800k followers.

But all his adoring boyfriend can really do most of the time is stand behind the camera and appreciate all of Steve’s gorgeous self with an all too satisfied sigh, as Steve glances over his shoulder at the camera, lashes done up with just a gentle hint of mascara, hearts scattered like freckles across his nose and cheeks. 

Valentines is two weeks away by now, and Steve wants to show off and inspire some date looks, soft and delicate and beautiful. He never does anything with his hair, really, everyone already so jealous of the phenomenal floof of it that he wouldn’t ever dream of changing it now - the pastel aesthetic and his hair is practically his entire brand!

He poses on his stomach with his legs bent, feet kicking in the air, sleeves pulled over his hands as he smiles coyly.

Then he’s on his side, chest turned towards the camera, one leg bent with an arm draped over it, face turned away to give the perfect profile. 

And then he’s on his back, head hanging over the foot end of the daybed, hair just grazing the floor as he looks directly into the camera, eyes big and brown.

Just like Bambi, is the oft used comparison by Billy, and even if this is slightly boring, he can’t help but smile at how utterly beautiful his boyfriend is.

He stays kneeling there, even as he lowers the phone to meet with Steve’s gaze directly, and all the same, Steve stays hanging there, smiling at the way Billy stares with adoration.

“What?” he huffs incredulously.

Billy doesn’t find words to respond right away, he’s always more adept with action instead, and moves in to kiss those perfect lips, so soft and pink, both of them smiling into the embrace, Billy’s hands smoothing across Steve’s cheeks, careful as to not ruin the makeup. 

“I just… love you,” Billy hums with closed eyes, not giving Steve time to miss him.

And Steve laughs again - a sound so blithe and full of joy it’s invigorating and humbling. He reaches up to run his fingers down Billy’s golden curls, raking painted nails across his scalp and tugs there gently till he receives a delighted groan.

At the parting of lips, Steve dives in with his tongue, meeting Billy’s in a lackadaisical sense that urges forth affable moans from both, heat surging up and down Steve’s splayed out shape with every salacious little noise.

“Mmmh, ah… are you- are you done?” Billy whispers, travels away from lips to kiss along Steve’s freshly shaved jawline.

There’s no immediate response as Steve stays still, enjoying the praising kisses like gentle butterflies. He eventually grabs Billy by the sides of his face to guide him away, letting their eyes meet, staying there for seconds too long, admiring the ocean view; crystal clear waters brimming with love.

“Just getting started,” he chuckles once more, but the intent of it this time far more salacious, and Billy’s quick to catch on to that.

Steve rolls around in a rush and gets up on all fours, back arched beautifully, the large sweater hanging loose off of him. He bats his lashes at Billy, who can’t help the insanely cheesy grin spreading from ear to ear, before reaching down to yank at the belt loops of Billy’s jeans, beckoning him to stand up.

And Billy would never dream of not giving his princess what he wants, getting up on his feet only to bring his half hard cock straight into Steve’s eyesight.

A pleased hum roams around Steve’s chest as he slowly undoes Billy’s belt, gazing up with a sly little smirk as he pops free the button and lets the zipper run loose. When fingers curl around the denim to pull down his pants, Billy himself grabs the hem of his shirt and throws it over his head and away, never-minding where it might land since literally nothing else matters right now other than the way Steve’s licking his lips.

“Look so good for me, sweetheart,” Billy coos and gently pushes away the few locks that obscures Steve’s pretty face. “Gorgeous.”

He knows that that’s all Steve wants to hear - that he’s pretty and beautiful and gorgeous and attractive and desired, and Billy knows that flattery will get him everywhere, but even if he sought no boon, he’d still spend every single day of his life praising his boyfriend endlessly, and he plans on doing just that till there’s no more breath in his lungs.

But right now it proves most helpful in urging Steve on, leading him to run his open mouth along the thick outline of Billy’s trapped cock, tongue out to wet the fabric of his black trunks, up to the tip where he nibbles with lips around the head, lapping at where pre cum stains.

The euphoric sensation can be heard in Billy’s stuttering breath, seen in the manner his abs twitch with restraint, felt by the hand tugging in dark locks of hair.

Steve teases the elastic band of Billy’s underwear as he moves further up, dipping his fingers in and running them around the waist, lips just inches above to kiss the warm and taut skin. At an all too torturous pace he pulls down the fabric just enough to expose Billy’s flushed and steely cock, Steve’s lustful gaze following a throbbing vein from the shiny head to the waxed base.

He leans in to press his nose against the fresh skin, inhaling the musky scent deeply, planting wet kisses on every inch within reach, and finally wraps his fingers around Billy’s all too eager erection, the blushing bride nail-polish pairing well with the red of his hard cock.

“Stevie…” Billy breathes his name reverently, filled with lust and devotion, hands petting soft hair.

And Steve gazes up through his lashes at the amorous whisper of his name, taking in how intently Billy watches his every movement. Eyes locked together like this, Steve slips out his tongue to wet his lips till they’re shiny and slick with spit, then presses it flat against the side of Billy’s girthy cock, licking the entire length of it, all the while admiring how his boyfriend gasps and moans at the sight of a most salacious display.

“Fuck, baby,” his voice airy with anticipation.

The hand around him squeezes gently and he can’t help the inevitable thrust as his body seeks more friction. Just so, Steve can’t help the self-satisfied and amused little hum either, mouth vibrating against the veiny shaft, which only worsens the situation for Billy even more as he practically whines,

“Shit, pretty boy, please.”

“Well…” Steve muses and runs the tip of his tongue over Billy’s leaking slit, slow and agonizing, treasuring the salty taste of him. “You did say please.”

He slathers up his lips with spit before closing them around the blunt head, pressing it up against his palate as he sinks all the way down to the base, sloppy in the way he massages every inch of hard flesh with his tongue, eyes fluttering closed as Billy reaches the back of his throat.

Steve revels in every single sound Billy let’s out, the drawn out notes of pleasure.

“God, ahh…”

With hollow cheeks he moves back to the head, tongue swirling around like he’s enjoying a lollipop, fingers back around the now shiny shaft to stroke all of his length that isn’t inside Steve’s mouth. Fast then slow, the pressure perfected in a way that proves just how often he’s done this. He drinks up every spurt of pre, twisting and turning his head in tact with his hand, allowing the occasional thrusts Billy can’t hold back.

Until fingers pull at his hair; hard and earnest enough to make Steve stop and move off, looking up at Billy with red and shiny lips, well used and oh so pretty, oh so enticing. He lets himself be guided up on his knees, meeting Billy where he bends over to kiss him, hungrily tasting how exquisite his own pre and Steve’s spit mixes sweetly together, thumb smoothing over his cheeks and down to drag at Steve’s chin, opening up his mouth to let Billy lick into his heat, suck on his tongue and lightly nibble at his swollen lip.

“Fuck, sweetcheeks,” Billy breathes out and presses their foreheads together, “I wanna cum in you so bad.”

A delighted hum bubbles forth from Steve’s chest and out through the warmest smile any one human can manage, and oh how pleasant it sounds when he says, “Go get the lube, then.”

Billy kisses his forehead once, twice, thrice before awkwardly waddling towards the doorway, struggling to step out of his jeans, then whipping around so fast his mullet snaps in the air.

“Don’t… get undressed without me…” he says most ardently with a raised finger for emphasis.

And before Steve even gets to answer, Billy’s pantsless; hurrying through the hallway, heading for the stairs and leaving behind a trail of his boxers and socks. It’s nice to know how comfortable he is here in Steve’s house, no parents around, no siblings or kids. Just the two of them in solitude together.

He can be heard upstairs, running with heavy feet from the stairs and into Steve’s bedroom, to the bedside table where he finds the bottle immediately, then runs back the same way he came from, till he’s standing once more in the doorway to the conservatory, in such record time he should maybe consider joining the track team come summer.

Slightly affected by running, he breathes out heavily, “Now… do continue…”

Steve’s smile goes wide, feels it burn in his cheeks as he leans down to yank off his socks, balls them up together and throws them at where Billy stands and receives a laugh in return of that.

“You’re impossible,” he says lowly and with a slight roll of the eyes, but Steve’s quick to bring a finger up to his lips and make a shushing sound.

Next the zipper runs free and Steve sits back down on the daybed to pull the skinny jeans off in a rather awkward manner, almost as if he’s vaguely refusing to give Billy exactly what he wants, but it seems inevitable when Steve then gathers his legs closed, the oversized knit sweater pooling slightly around where he’s seated, giving the illusion that he’s wearing nothing else, a shoulder still peeking out. 

Billy’s gaze travels up Steve’s bare legs to where moles vanish beneath the rosa fabric, and when their eyes meet, heat clashes together between them with unspoken intentions.

Steve only breaks eye contact to look down at where Billy now starts slowly stroking himself, and he bites his lip at the sight of it, veiny and wet, electric lust coursing through him and down. Down to where he’s been oh so needy and hard for far too long now. And as he leans back, supporting himself with one hand on the daybed, he reaches for the hemline of his sweater, keeps his lip caught between teeth, eyes heavy and sensual as he watches Billy licking his lips in anticipation.

So simple in truth, when Steve lifts up his shirt just enough to give Billy a clear view of his lengthy dick, the outline of it perfect in white briefs, a wet spot forming at the head. Even from here Steve can hear the way Billy’s breath shudders, can hear how he pants and exhales.

“God, Bambi, what’d I ever do to deserve you?”

That gentle praise is all Steve needs, to be told he’s something to be deserved, something holy maybe, cherished and desired to a point where people can’t function. It’s like magic, and it works all those wonders, too, as proven by how Steve spreads his legs and lifts the shirt even higher, up and up till he pulls it over his head, ruffling his hair, but that doesn’t matter right now.

All that matters is Steve giving Billy what he wants, and Billy giving Steve what he needs.

Billy approaches him slowly, suddenly not finding urgency of importance, to then kneel before Steve like one would at a shrine. Kissing firmly with devotion he travels up the inside of pale thighs, giving attention to every mole in his path till he’s met with the leg of white trunks.

Much to Steve’s irritation, Billy skips right past the entire area covered still in cloth, and continues from where the elastic waistband hugs tightly, kissing his way across Steve’s abs, his pecs, collarbone, neck, chin, and instinctively Steve lets his mouth slip open as Billy’s tongue glides across his lower lip before dipping into a sweet and ardent kiss.

In the same moment of such pure infatuation as is found in between their lips, Billy’s fingers hook themselves on the border of Steve’s trunks, whom in turn lifts up his ass to allow for the elastic band to smoothly slip past and down his thighs, his wettened dick hitting his stomach with a lucid slap.

Billy breaks away for them both to gasp for air, to look down at where Steve is drenched in pre.

“So wet for me, princess,” he drawls alluringly, bringing one hand to wrap his fingers gently around Steve’s hardened flesh.

“Mmhm, fuck, Billy…” Steve coos in tact with the slow stroking of his cock, fighting the urge to thrust into the temperate fist, each jerk sending sparks up his spine, causing his thighs to shake.

And Billy kisses the euphoric furrow between Steve’s brows, his flushed cheeks, the moles there, his jaw, down the slope of his neck to bury his nose in the crook and inhales the lingering scent from his honey body wash.

Steve’s head falls back with whines and whimpers at the near lackadaisical stroking, far too little friction, agonizing, lovely. He tilts his head aside and brings a hand up to guide Billy till their lips meet, sloppy and loose kisses as Steve whispers most pathetically,

“Please, don’t tease me like this, Billy, I need you…”

“Then let me take care of you,” says Billy as he leans away to meet with Steve’s gaze, who nods with a sigh.

It’s a bit of a mess really, getting comfortable on the daybed that’s barely long enough for one adult to lay there, then with a billion pillows as well that spill onto the floor as Steve shoves them away to lay down flat against the cushioned seating. There’s limbs everywhere and a near kick to Billy’s face as they settle with him kneeling between Steve’s legs, but it’s all with a good laugh and wide smiles as nothing can truly deter their drive to be brought together like this.

“So gorgeous like this, sweet stuff, all for me,” Billy drawls, voice thick with how possessive he truly is. 

Steve’s thighs fall further apart at that; how easy he is when subjected to Billy’s heated gaze that promises him everything, that lustful tongue that swipes across his lips, the hand smoothly slipping down the inside of his thigh, palm heavy and burning, inching closer and closer to where Steve is suddenly so starved.

The lube that gets drizzled onto Billy’s fingers is cold when pressed against Steve’s entrance, sending a wave of goosebumps up his thighs, eliciting a little shocked inhale from above.

“Cold?” Billy asks with a well humoured huff as he looks up.

“Cold,” Steve says like it’s an important statement, yet he can’t help but to smile at the way Billy chuckles lightly.

And when Billy kisses Steve’s inner thigh all apologetic, he can only hum pleasantly, and when the tip of a digit goes in, moan. He drops his head back and onto a pillow as Billy continues to move his finger deeper and deeper, down to the knuckle just to pull out again without pause, setting a gentle and slow pace of thrusting his middle finger in and out of Steve’s lubed up, clenching hole.

“Mmh, ahh,” Steve breathes out loud as he melts like butter, mixing with the way Billy kisses soothingly up and down his thigh.

It doesn’t take long before Billy’s confident that Steve can take another digit, and is proven right with the, “Yes, God,” that spills from parted lips with a satisfied sigh. Billy loves watching how easily his fingers slide in and out, loves listening to the moans that grow louder when he curls the two fingers inside, loves feeling how Steve’s body tightens around him whenever he finds that bundle of nerves and presses against it. How Steve’s entire body writhes in the pleasure of it, moving to seek more, as if he’s in charge here.

“Please,” he pleads.

“That feel good?” Billy asks with a smug grin pressed against soft skin, looking up in hopes of catching how Steve’s face crumbles as he begs.

The answer is a short, airy, “Yes,” as if longer words would steal from his moaning and keening.

He doesn’t get a third finger before Billy’s already lubing his girthy cock up, because he knows how Steve wants it; how he loves the slight burn as his body stretches around his boyfriend’s width. And in true fashion of that, Steve gasps almost ecstatically as Billy lines up the tip of his fat prick with Steve’s clenching, tight hole.

“God, please, yes Billy-” he rambles out until Billy starts pushing in and his words are abruptly discontinued to instead allow a loud and euphoric moan freedom.

Billy inches closer and closer as he stays on his knees, the daybed just the perfect height for such a salacious affair, like it was bought subconsciously for a good and thorough fucking. And lucky for them how alone and quiet it is out here, for surely everyone in Hawkins would hear how vocal Steve is when he gets pounded in bed, how he can’t shut up even now as Billy’s just about bottoming out, groaning at how Steve clenches hungrily around the base of his cock.

How beautifully Steve’s back arches as his body trembles, a hand up to grasp at Billy’s shoulder, his face buried in brown hair and soft pillows, from where he pants breathlessly as he adjusts to the welcome intrusion.

It’s all too tempting to just bend down and kiss up along Steve’s pale stomach, lick a heavy tongue across perky nipples that can be felt in the way his body twitches and his breath stutters, nibble gently at his jaw once more, before whispering out,

“You fit me so well, Bambi, like your body was made for me to love.”

At that, Steve turns his head to catch the awe and adoration in those crystal clear eyes, but as Billy pulls out just to thrust back in, his eyes screw shut with exhilaration once more, a loud, “Fuck,” escaping.

Billy grunts as he speeds up to feed the urgent need they both give voice to. But it’s not enough. Not enough until Billy climbs onto the plushy bench, pushing Steve up higher till they’re both fully up on the daybed with those long legs tied around tan hips. 

With an iron grip on the frame above Steve’s head, Billy uses the leverage to slam into his boyfriend’s craving hole, skin growing sweaty as it slaps together between them, his other hand down by a hip to guide their bodies together.

Between curses Billy can’t help to let out sweet honey, too, “God you’re so good to me, baby, sounding like an angel choir when I fuck you like this.”

Steve’s hands both immediately land on either side of Billy’s head and pull him into a kiss brimming with love and desire. “I love you,” he speaks softly, like it’s his most cherished truth, “I love you Billy.”

And Billy can’t help the chuckle that brushes against Steve’s lips between kisses, as hearing this still shocks him, even after years of dating and having sex. It’s astonishing that someone this beautiful and magnificent can’t love a beast like himself.

He curls around Steve; wrapping both his arms around his back as he draws them both nearer, balanced together on the far too small daybed that creaks beneath their shared weight.

“Love how strong you are,” Steve whispers as he kisses Billy’s temple, his hand brushing through golden locks. It’s almost impressive how sturdy his words seem when he’s an otherwise whining mess of ecstasy and blithe curses. “Love how good you feel inside of me, ah-”

Billy keeps his nose pressed against Steve’s neck, breathing in how appetising sweat and body-wash mixes. Every single word pushes him closer to the edge, makes his hips buck and dick pulsate.

“I’m close,” he murmurs between kisses.

“M-me too, oh fuck, please, harder,” it spills from delicious lips and into Billy’s ear.

And who is he not to oblige such obscene pleas. With his knees firmly planted on the cushions, and at a pace that will leave him sore tomorrow, Billy gives his most beloved all that he can, the blunt head of his cock near bullying that golden bundle of nerves buried deep inside of Steve, who in turn can only cry blissfully.

It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming loud and ruthlessly, covering them both in hot white, his entire body tensing up to a point where he’s ardently milking Billy’s cock for all it’s worth, as he cums shortly after with groans and thrusts that slaps so hard it leaves Steve’s cheeks red with abuse.

It’s a short moment filled with warm explosions like fireworks as he pumps his remaining energy deep inside of his boyfriend’s ass, hugging him dearly till there’s no other sound that their laboured breaths.

Moments pass before Steve’s the first one to speak,

“I’m gonna be so sore in an hour after this.”

“Promise I’ll kiss it better,” Billy chuckles out and kisses Steve’s shoulder.

“You better,” comes the response and they both laugh joyfully at that, because yes, Billy is absolutely going to make Steve feel all better again soon.

[sunmoonandeddie]

as long as i’m living

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 4,097

summary: Battles are always hard, especially the aftermath and what’s left behind.

warnings: Parent death.  Cussing.  Violence.  Angst.  Hurt to comfort.

a/n:  Lmao I don’t always get the motivation to write, but when I do...  Please let me know what you guys think.

There’s a certain feeling that lingers in the air in the ending moments of the battle.  When the dust has started to settle and you’re not quite sure whether or not that was the last of your enemy or if you need to prepare for another wave.  The wariness clung to your skin like sweat as you look around, heart still racing a million miles an hour.

The scent of blood hadn’t yet been overtaken by the scent of death, but it wouldn’t be long before it did.  It’s tangy and metallic and you could just choke on it.

This particular battle was at a Hydra base, and the reptilians that you’d been fighting for hours covered the ground.

As you looked around and your eyes met a pair of lifeless orbs, you’re reminded that even though they were horrible, despicable people, they were still people.

They were human.

Their blood ran just as red as yours, their fingerprints a pattern just as unique as yours.  There would never be someone just like them.  There would never be someone with the same marks on their skin, their moles and freckles and stretchmarks.  They wouldn’t have the same experiences or memories, and the ones that the people on the ground had were gone forever.

But you scoffed as your eyes made out the Hydra symbol on an agent’s shirt.

Hydra’s members might’ve had the bodies of humans, but every single one of them had a monster’s mind.

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe there was anything human about choosing a life of killing people in the name of hatred, of taking down mankind.

But the worst part of the aftermath of a battle was when you had to comb through after to find survivors.  You had to take those that had survived in for questioning and then they were usually thrown into a prison cell for the rest of their lives.

“Honey?”

A good amount of the tension that resided in your chest and leaked out into your shoulders released as you heard the sound of your lover’s voice.

“Bucky,” you breathed out in relief as he came down the hall.

But there was protocol that had to be followed.

He stopped six feet away, taking a breath.  “How many dates did it take before I kissed you?” He asked.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.  “Four.  And I kissed you first because you were too nervous.”

Security questions.  Things only you and your teammates would know.  The lot of you had been through enough cases of stolen identities and imposters attempting to infiltrate the team for you to go without them.

The hunk of a man that you called yours rushed forward and cupped your face like you were made of fine china before kissing you soundly.

Every logical thought left your head as you melted against him.  Butter.  That’s what you were anytime he touched you.  Fucking melted butter.

You had never thought that you’d meet someone that could make you feel so at home until you’d met him four years before.  It had taken you a little while to let him in, and most people were surprised when they found out that he was the one that was breaking down your walls and not the other way around.

“You okay?” He asked, even as he was already pulling back to check you over.  He lifted your arms to check for any injuries before doing the same to each leg while letting you lean on him.  A sly smile spread over his face as he then began to pat down your tummy and your back, ending with playfully squeezing your ass.

You knew part of it was actually to look for injuries, but the bigger point of it was him trying to unfurrow your brow and relax, to get you to laugh.

And it worked every time.

But a whimper cut through the air and you froze.  “What was that?” You asked as your head whipped towards the direction it had come from.

“I’m not sure,” Bucky said, his hand going to the gun that rested in his holster.  “Wait he—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you were rushing towards the sound.

You had a gut feeling that it wasn’t an enemy.  That hadn’t been the sound of a cold-hearted Hydra agent.

“M-Mommy?”

Heart hammering, you stopped in the doorway of what looked like a mini laboratory, stopping in your tracks as you saw the scene laid out before you.

You jerked awake as you heard the sirens going off, the alarms.  You’d been through enough safety drills to know that they meant trouble.

Your mother reached for you, her loving hands picking you up and wrapping you in a warm blanket.  “There we go…  There’s my baby girl.  All nice and warm,” she cooed.

Why was she in her work suit?  You didn’t understand…  She wasn’t supposed to work until morning, right?

The only light in the room was coming from the window, moonlight streaming in and landing on your bed, where your pile of stuffed animals rested.

“Mama?” You yawned, eyes still fuzzy from sleep.  “Mama, what’s going on?”

“We’re gonna play a game, okay?” She whispered, bringing her finger to her lips in a shushing motion.  There was a look in her eyes that you couldn’t name.  It was a foreign wobble in her lower lips, a glassiness in her eyes.

The fabric of her black suit was rough as you clung to her.  “What kind of game, mama?  I’m tired…  Why can’t I go back to bed?”

She grabbed your favorite stuffed animal from the bed, a stuffed elephant named Pinky, and placed her in your arms.  “Because we gotta, okay?” She said, a tear trickling down her cheek.

For some reason, the tone of her voice got you to stop complaining, and you nodded.  In your short life, you’d never seen her so… panicked.

Your mother plastered on a smile as she carried you to the miniscule kitchen of your apartment, over to the lazy Susan in the corner.  “We’re gonna play a game of hide and seek, okay?  And we gotta win, yeah?  You like winning.”

That was true.  You’d had a bit of a competitive streak.

After you confirmed what she said with a nod, she hugged you tight, tighter than you’d ever been hugged before.  “Mama loves you so much,” she said, tears openly rolling down her cheeks as she pressed kisses all over your face.  “You know how much mama loves you?  More than anything.  More than the moon and all the stars in the sky.”

Her sadness was starting to spill into you as you looked at her, your chubby hands holding onto her cheeks.  “M-Mama?  Mama, what’s happening?”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby girl.  Mama loves you.  And I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna be here for you, okay?” She said, sniffling as she wiped at your eyes.  “No more tears, okay?  No crying in hide and seek, yeah?  We gotta win and we can’t win if we’re crying.”

“I love you, mama,” you said, feeling the overwhelming urge to tell her over and over.  “I love you.”

“I know, baby girl,” she said with a weak laugh as she kissed your cheeks.  She opened up the door of the corner cabinet, pushing everything inside back to make enough room for a four year old.  Your mother wrapped you and Pinky up in the blanket a little tighter, a weak smile on her lips.  “You’re gonna hide in here, okay?  And you’re gonna go all the way to the back, yeah?”  She set you in the cabinet, holding your face in her hands.  “And listen.  Look at me.  Look at me.  You have to be completely silent.  No noise at all, okay?  We gotta win hide and seek.”

Your brows furrowed as you started to get out of the cabinet.  “B-But I wanna hide with you, mama.  Where are you hiding?  Who are we playing with?”

She shook her head as she urged you back into the cabinet.  “Shh…  Shh…”  She glanced back towards the front door before looking back at you.  There were footsteps running by outside, but so far no one had attempted to come in.  

“Mama?” You whispered, your eyes round with fear as you glanced towards the door.  “W-Who are we playing with?”

The shaky breath she took alarmed you.  “It’s a surprise, okay?” She said as she got you to sit back down in the cabinet. “But listen.  Mama needs you to cover your ears, yeah?  And no coming out or peeking until the sirens stop or I come and get you, okay?”

A nod.  “O-Okay, mama…”

She pressed her lips to your forehead, and you could feel her tears on your scalp.  “I love you so much, baby girl.  So much.”  Your mother closed the cabinet door after urging you to scoot towards the back, Pinky clutched to your chest.

The cabinet was pitch black except for the little sliver of light that came from the crack at the bottom of the door.

Heart pounding, you covered your ears just like she said, squeezing your eyes shut for good measure.

You could hear the blood pounding in your ears.  Despite your mother reassuring you that everything was going to be okay, you couldn’t stop crying.

There were random bangs here and there, and then you heard the banging on the front door of your apartment.  There was another bang, and then a loud thud, like a door being slammed against the wall.

You couldn’t quite hear what else was happening as you sat inside the cabinet.  Pinky’s soft fur and the warmth of the blanket was the only comfort you had.

There was a commotion outside, but your mother’s words rang in your ears.  No peeking or uncovering your ears or getting out of the cabinet until the sirens stopped or she came and got you.

But this was bad.  Really bad.  You could feel it in your gut.

Your mother had always told you to trust your gut, but you could tell this wasn’t the time.

But maybe just a peek wouldn’t hurt…  You just wanted to know what was going on.

Palms sweaty, you opened the door just a crack to peek out into the kitchen.  Your blood ran cold as you saw your mother pointing a gun at a man that was standing in the doorway.

“Get the fuck out,” she snarled.  You’d always known she was a powerful woman, a lioness, but you’d never gotten to see it in person.

The man sneered, the look of the devil in his eyes as he shifted his gun in his grip.  “You’re not the one in charge here, are you?  Not exactly one to be giving orders.”  He turned his head slightly as someone spoke into his earpiece.  The look that settled over his face was horrifying.  “It’s not personal,” he said as his finger twitched on the trigger.  A loud bang echoed throughout the room, your hand slapping over your mouth as you fought the scream that bubbled up in your throat.

Blood splattered across the pristine white cabinets of your kitchen as your mother fell.  Her knees made a thud as she cried out, falling onto her side.  There was an indent on one of the cabinets where the bullet had hit after it exited her lower back.

“Like I said,” the man said with a snort.  “It’s not personal.”  He left with his boots thudding against the tiled floor, leaving the door open.

Your entire body was trembling as you pushed the cabinet door open, your heart racing.  “M-Mama?” You said as you slowly left the cabinet.  “Mama?”

She had curled up on the ground, pressing her hands to the entry wound on her tummy.  “B-Baby girl…  Y-You need to g-get back in the cabinet, okay?”

Shaking your head, you crawled towards her, not caring that your purple pajama pants were getting soaked.  Your lower lip wobbled as you went to her side.  “Mama?  Y-You’re hurt.”  You needed to get help.  You had to.

You had started to get to your feet, your legs wobbling, when she grabbed your hand.  “Baby girl.  Baby.  C-Come here,” she said.  She knew there was no way she’d be able to convince you to get back in the cabinet now.  Her slender fingers, which you had always thought were so pretty and elegant, reached up to cup your face.  “It’s gonna b-be okay.  I promise.  B-But I need you to stay right here with me.”  Your mother shifted, wincing in pain.  “My baby.  I love you so, so m-much.  And I’m always g-gonna be with you.  I promise.”

“Y-You pinky promise?” You whimpered, holding up your pinky for her.

A weak smile brightened her face for just a second as she nodded, wrapping her larger pinky around yours.  “I p-pinky promise.  Now can you come over h-here?  Get real close.”

Sniffling, you moved closer to her and let her guide your head to rest over her heart.  “I love you, m-mama…  You’re gonna b-be okay, right?”

“Yes, baby.  I’m g-gonna be okay,” she said, her voice cracking.  “I love you more than the moon and all the stars in the sky.”  Her arm wrapped around you, keeping you close as she started to softly sing the lullaby she sang to you every night.  “I’ll love you forever.  I’ll like you for always.  As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…”  It was from your favorite night time book, Love You Forever.  There wasn’t a single night that you could remember where she didn’t read it to you before bed.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as she sang the lullaby over and over, her free hand smoothing over your hair.  Her heartbeat was getting weaker.  You could feel it.

She was fading.

“I’ll love you forever.  I’ll like you for always.  As long as I’m living…”

Silence.

Her hand had stopped moving.  Her arm around you went limp.

“M-Mama?”  Lower lip wobbling, you sat up a little, turning to look at her face.  Your hands moved to her face.  “Mama?  M-Mama, you gotta wake up,” you said as you shook her a little.  The panic was starting to set in when she still didn’t move, even though her eyes were open.  Everyone had always told you that you’d had her eyes, but now they were strange and unnatural, unfocused.

“Mama!” You cried, literally begging at this point as you shook her even harder.  “M-Mama, you gotta wake up!  Wake up!”  You slumped against her as you realized she wasn’t going to wake up, sobbing into her chest.  “Mama…  Mama, please…  Don’t go…”

It was several hours before anyone found you.  At least four.

There were footsteps coming down the hall, but you hardly noticed.  You were curled up against her body, holding onto her hand even though her fingers had gone cold.

“Shit.”

Your head slowly turned to see several agents in the doorway.

“Hey, kid,” the one in front said after a rather pregnant pause.

Hiccups shook your chest as you looked at him.  “M-Mama’s gone.  And n-no one came to h-help.”

The man sighed, rubbing his temples.  “Come on.  Let’s get you out of there,” he said, walking over and picking you up. “NO!  NO!” You screamed, kicking out at him.  It was the most energy you’d had in hours.  “PUT ME DOWN!  I WANNA STAY WITH MAMA!  I WANNA STAY!”

“You said it yourself, kid,” he said as he carried you out of there.  “Your mom’s gone.”

There was a little girl sitting on the ground, her hair in pigtail braids.  “Mommy?” She repeated, her little voice wavering as she shook the woman that was lying on the ground.  “Mommy, wake up.  You gotta wake up.”

It was like a mirror had been forced in front of your face, and then someone had smashed your head into it.

It was jarring, being reminded that Hydra agents, just like any other humans, had children.  And when they died for their cause, those children were left behind as orphans.

“Honey…,” Bucky whispered behind you, but he stopped once he realized what was happening.

He knew your past.  Of course he did.  And he visited your mother’s grave with you every chance the two of you got.

You did always get to see her name on the Wall of Valor anytime you went to any SHIELD facility.  You could never bring yourself to pass it without kissing your fingers and pressing it to her name.

It was hard sometimes.  You didn’t really get to know her as a person or an agent.  You knew her as your mother, of course, but you wanted to truly know her.  You wanted to know who her first love was, her favorite brand of jeans, what her favorite movie genre was.

And this little girl would be just like you if you didn’t do something about it.  She’d end up in the foster system, being passed around until either someone adopted her or she aged out, like you had.

You couldn’t let that happen.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said softly as you moved closer to the little girl.  “What’s your name?”

She jerked in surprise, backing away towards her mother as she looked up at you and Bucky with wide brown eyes.  “W-Who are you?”

A fierce urge of protection came over you as you gave her your name, crouching down and watching her closely.  “Can you tell me your name?”

You were doing your best to fight the grief that was welling up in your chest.  It wasn’t often that you allowed yourself to think about the night that you’d lost your mother, but now you were reliving it.  Colors and sounds and scents were flying through your mind at an alarming pace as you tried to focus on the little girl in front of you.

“V-Valerie,” she said after a second.  She sniffed as she looked back at the body behind her.  “C-Can you h-help my mommy?  She’s not waking up.”

Taking a shaky breath, you moved towards her.  Your shaking fingers pressed against her pulse point in her neck, and just as you suspected, there was nothing.  She was almost cold to the touch already.

Valerie was younger than you had been, but only by a few months.  Her round cheeks were stained with tears as she watched you examine her mother.

“Val, can you look at me?” You asked gently as you took her hands in yours.  Your throat felt tight as you tried to find the words to explain.  It hadn’t exactly been done gently for you.

She nodded, her soft eyes hopeful.  “C-Can you help mommy?”

A deep breath.  Count to five.

“You know…  When I was your age…  When I was your age, my mommy had to go away,” you said quietly, squeezing her hands.  “She got hurt.  And…  And she had to go somewhere better.  Somewhere she wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

“But…  But I want her here,” Valerie whimpered, a fresh wave of tears coming over her.  “Why can’t she be not hurt here?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” you admitted as you smoothed her flyaways back away from her face.  God, your own tears were threatening to overwhelm you.  “But my mommy is always with me, just like yours will be with you,” you said.  You pointed to her heart.  “Right here.”

You’d have to explain in more detail later on down the road, or maybe she’d just come to understand as she got older.  In all honesty, you just really hoped that she would grow to understand.

Her brows furrowed as she looked down at your joined hands.  “But…  But mommy feels better now?  S-She’s not hurt?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded.  “Exactly.  Her body is here, but her heart and her soul is not, yeah?  And she’s looking down on you right now.”  You looked around, trying to find any sign of another parent.  “Do you have a dad?”

She shook her head, her thumb going to her mouth.

Bucky’s heart hurt for you and the little girl as you searched the suite, eventually finding birth certificates and everything you’d need.

“Bucky, can you take these?” You asked, knowing that you two needed to get back to the quinjet.  There was no doubt that your teammates were shouting into Bucky’s comm, since you’d turned yours off.  After the documents were safe in his arms, you turned to Valerie.  “Sweetheart, can I pick you up?  We need to get out of here, okay?”  It took a second for her to agree, but you easily lifted her into your arms and rested her on your hip.  “Do you have a favorite blankie?  A favorite stuffed animal?”  Once her stuffed animal was in her arms and her head was covered with the blanket, her vision obscured from seeing the carnage of the battle, you nodded to Bucky, and the three of you quickly found your way to the quinjet.

“Not a word,” Bucky warned the others as the three of you climbed on.

The others were watching in confusion as you took Valerie to one of the seats farthest away from everyone.  “Okay, sweetheart,” you said as you gently uncovered her head.  “It’s gonna be a few hours until we’re home.  You wanna get some sleep?”

She nodded, still sucking her thumb.  “W-Will you stay with me?” She asked, clinging to you.

“Yes.  I will,” you said reassuringly.  “Can I change out of these clothes first?  They’re a little uncomfy, huh, baby?”

Bucky moved over to her, quietly introducing himself as your boyfriend as you changed into civilian clothing in the bathroom.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha asked the second you emerged.  “Taking a kid?”

“We killed her mother,” you said, watching Bucky and Valerie over her shoulder.  It definitely seemed like they were getting along…

“Her mother was a Hydra agent.”

Your brows furrowed as you met her eyes again.  “And?”  Out of all people, Natasha should’ve understood why you brought the little girl along.  “She’s a child.  One that deserves a future.”  A grin spread over your lips as you moved back to the two, relaxing as you saw the faint smile on Valerie’s lips.

“I may have promised Val that we could get ice cream tomorrow,” Bucky said, giving you puppy eyes as he looked up from where he was kneeling in front of the little girl.

“Yeah?  I think we can do ice cream,” you said with a slow smile as you sat down.

The little girl immediately crawled into your lap and curled up against your chest, closing her eyes.  She was dozing on and off the two hour plane ride home, and you immediately took her to bed once you got back.

Bucky and you tucked her into your shared bed, knowing you’d have to go and get her a bed and everything the next day.  But you didn’t mind giving up your bed for her.

“I’ll love you forever.  I’ll like you for always,” you sang sweetly to her as you unbraided her hair, smoothing it away from her face.  “As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…”

“She’s so tiny,” Bucky whispered, looking at the little girl with a soft reverence.  “She reminds me of Becca when she was small…”  He couldn’t help but smile as he rested his chin on the edge of the bed.  “We need to get her a bed and things…”

“Tomorrow…,” you said quietly, shushing him gently.

Maybe the universe had intended for you to find her.  Maybe Valerie was meant to be your daughter, because the second you had seen her, you’d known that you’d do anything to protect her.

Just like your mother had done for you.

She was still teaching you things even now.

There was a certain feeling lingering in the air.  It was the exact opposite of what you always felt at the end of a battle.

The smell of baby shampoo.  The sound of her soft snores.  Bucky’s head resting against your shoulder.

The both of you needed to shower, but you didn’t care.  It could wait just a little bit longer.

Your eyes felt hot as you caressed the little girl’s cheek, swallowing around the lump in her throat.  “I’ll love you forever.  I’ll like you for always.  As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

[bastillia]

Innocuous (NSFW)

Read on Ao3

Summary: You’re a medical officer aboard the Steadfast, and you’ve found yourself caring for a gravely injured Kylo Ren. He seems to require some unconventional treatment.

Rating: Extremely Explicit

Words: 7.5k

Content warnings: Somewhat graphic depictions of injury, wound/bloodplay, burnplay, oral bloodplay, oral sex (f recieving), orgasm denial/delay, choking, inappropriate use of the Force (and of a medical device oops), rough sex, extremely minimal aftercare, Kylo Ren is a nasty fucking boy, LISTEN this gets a lil dark ok, so just please consider before clicking ok tysm

A/N: I scrapped and restarted this whole thing at least twice, but we finally got there my friends. Is this over the top? Maybe. Do I have a single regret? No. Please heed the content warnings, you may have a bad day if you don’t. This is pure unadulterated filth. Enjoy!

Strips of fluorescent light ribbed the vacant hall, white beams streaking reflections across the glossy black floor like a frozen lane of hyperspace as the urgent click of your boots perturbed the calm. The corridors of the Steadfast were all but barren this time of cycle, only disturbed by the occasional patrol of noc shift troopers trudging mechanically in unison. Devoid of the usual bustle of footsteps and orders, the static hum from the ship’s walls washed the air with a bassy din of ambient noise that might be calming, were your heartbeat not adding an anxious percussion to the silence.

You really had no reason to be awake, you should have taken your sleeping aid hours ago, but the endless scroll of patient files on your datapad had kept you up just long enough to see the alarm flash. Hardly a momentary blip, but the peculiarity of it was what propelled you from your quarters and heated your step with urgency now. Medical Bay: Intake - Officer’s Ward, it had flashed, and then disappeared just as quickly.

Tapping the access pad that led to the sequestered corridor, you waited for the door to slide open and slipped through. Needles crawled up your spine as your gaze shifted around the familiar yet eerily still hallway, which was making you nervous now for absolutely no reason. Each private room should be empty, you knew you hadn’t checked any officers in for overnight care, and you could recite your inpatient registry as if it were etched into the backs of your eyelids. Droids didn’t typically throw faulty alarms -- maybe your eyes had simply deceived you after a long and fucking exhausting day of post-mission damage control in the med bay. Echoes of that exhaustion now placed a terror within each shadowed room that you passed, something that your brain was convinced would surely jump out at you.

You stopped dead as you reached the final door, half-hoping this one was your imagination. He was still. Too still. Limbs sprawling over the edges of the cot, with haphazard bandages crossing his bare torso aimlessly. They were visibly soaked through with blood, contrasting the blanched sheen of sweat-drenched skin, a black mop of hair askew over the pillow.

A violent spike of dread lanced down your spine. You darted into the room, your medical instincts hot-starting and roaring in your eardrums as you alighted upon him with gentle precision. Two fingers flashed to the pulse point at his neck, depressing the slick, hot skin there as your frantic eyes fell to the broad rise of his chest. Pulse. Breathing. Both too shallow and fast, but present, thank the stars.

You released the held breath that was starting to burn your lungs. The alarm. What had sent it? You glanced around. Monitor wires lay scattered over the floor around the metal feet of the bed, not a single one connected. A fizzling noise behind you nearly snapped your neck as you whipped around. A nurse droid lay lifeless, crumpled and sparking against the far wall.

Oh.

You turned slowly back to the unconscious Supreme Leader, fear trickling coldly down your veins in a moment of consideration. He’d wanted to be alone.

Your mind suddenly supplied you with an image of yourself in place of the droid, bones crunched like scrap metal against the wall, eyes glazed, life flickering and dying in the fried wires of your veins. How easy it would be -- effortless, even -- For him to crush the life out of you with little more than a flick of his wrist. How… maybe that knowledge made you tingle, just a little.

You derailed that train of thought with a sharp shake of your head as your eyes flicked across his battered torso and up the column of his neck, settling on the tranquility of his face. Bruised and bloody as it was, he looked… peaceful. Freckles and moles dusting his skin like starry kisses to soothe the ache of battle. His features, always chiseled from the sternest isoform of marble, now softened in sleep. Suspended in a paradoxical state of youthful serenity even as his body worked in overdrive just to tether him to life. He was… just a man. And he was absolutely beautiful.

Maybe you stared at him, just a little longer than you should, before committing to your courage and snatching an antiseptic cloth. If one of you was going to die, at least you were the more replaceable option. And this was what you’d signed up for, wasn’t it? To serve the First Order, even perhaps at the expense of your life. For… the greater good, or something. Yeah. Higher purpose and all that. You were a good medic, and good medics were selfless. It definitely wasn’t because you, perhaps, didn’t mind entertaining the thought of those large hands around your neck, squeezing...

Fucking focus.

Expertly, delicately, you began to peel back the blood-soaked evidence of his attempt to self-bandage, baring the flesh of his torso. Stars, he was magnificent. Glistening skin lay taut over lean muscle, a finely-tuned war machine sculpted by years of hard training, evident even in the depths of sleep. The subtle ripple of his muscles expanding and contracting with each breath spread that insistent tingle through your lower belly as you meticulously swiped the blood and sweat from his body.

Your hands danced to the pace of your heartbeat. Quick and steady, as you tossed the cloth and fitted a needle onto a syringe tip. A light pinch of his skin here, so that he wouldn't feel the prick of the shot there. Pure habit, not that a small needle stick would hold a candle to his injuries in terms of pain. But you didn’t really want him waking up just yet. You pushed the plunger down to administer a microdose of bacta. Just enough to hotwire the healing process, without dulling sensation.

You'd mused privately to yourself on more than one occasion, that you thought he liked to feel the pain. Whether it was a show of control, or an exercise in self-punishment, you couldn’t say. But you'd learned early on, working here, never to bring a pain suppressant around the former Commander.

Maybe no one else had ever picked up on that, because it seemed you were the only person he ever allowed near him with a bandage. You didn't mind. Nor did you mind the way his eyes always followed you quietly as you worked, as you'd gently cleanse his wounds from the battles and conquests that he fearlessly led as the new Supreme Leader of the First Order. You certainly liked him better than the last one. You thought maybe Ren even liked the way your fingers would subtly worship his figure with every quiet and efficient pass of gauze. Maybe he knew where those fingers ended up later. Sick bastard. A smirk tugged the corner of your lip.

His arm was hanging over the edge of the cot, a cautery pen still held loosely in his bloodied fingers. You sighed, removing the device, and picked his arm up to lay it neatly by his side. The weight of it caught your breath in your chest, the solid and heavy cord of muscle dwarfing your hands.

You quickly shook away the distraction, seating yourself on the bedside stool and turning to your most immediate concern: The deep, ripped laceration that bled from his lower abdomen. Vibroblade, you’d wager. It was oozing around the half-cauterized flesh, ugly and red from where he'd clearly begun to try and solder himself shut. You gently placed the cauterizer on the bedside stand. A crude tactic, and not one you would settle for, you decided as you retrieved a sterile suture pouch instead. Preparing another antiseptic cloth and gauze for the blood, you hovered back over the wound.

A realization started to echo along the tunnel of your focus, and the walls crashed away with a thump of your heart as you stared at Ren's flank beneath you, where his breathing had notably deepened and steadied. Your hands froze as your eyes shifted up the planes of his torso, cold spines gouging your chest as you reached his face. His eyes were open, fixed calmly upon your own stare, a flush restored to his full, pouted lips. Ice shattered in your veins.

"S-supreme Leader, I-” You dropped your materials onto the mattress, “You- you want to b-be alone, I'll j-just-" you were stammering, pushing your seat back, brain vibrating with panic. This was it. You escaped now, or you were joining the droid.

You made it about halfway to standing when a hand cinched on your wrist, arresting your movement. Your breath halted as you snapped back around, your heartbeat slamming in your throat.

Something boiled up behind his irises then, trapped so fiercely under the tempered surface of his eyes that his jaw locked tight and his chin quivered slightly with the strain of it. Your brain began to scramble. The look held an unmistakable need, a plea that said, so deafening in its silence, Stay.

You carefully held his gaze as you began to sink back down onto the small seat beside the bed. Your hand was trembling under his grip, every drop of air evaporating in your lungs as his pleading eyes burned through you. You slowly let yourself sit until your weight rested fully on the stool again.

Ren’s body slackened, releasing the air back into the room, and his head dropped back onto the thin pillow in a flutter of raven locks. His eyes drifted shut as a breath rolled through his nose and deep into his chest.

His grip had eased around your wrist, enough for your brain to now register the pleasant warmth of his enormous hand as it softly enveloped the lower part of your forearm. The sensation dumbfounded you for a moment as you stared between your arm and your Supreme Leader's face. The muscles in his brow twitched over his closed eyes as several more controlled breaths seemed to forcibly banish something from his body.

You came back to yourself as a trickle of dark blood drew your gaze back down to his abdomen, where it painted a river over bruised flesh before falling down his side to soak crimson sunbursts into the white sheet. You cautiously twisted your wrist free, and he let his hand drop softly back to the sheet without resistance. Hesitantly, you ran a hand across his skin, next to the gaping wound, inspecting the separated flesh. Firm muscles bunched under your touch, tugging at the ragged edges and inspiring another pulse of fresh red. You studied his face as his lashes lifted open again to meet your eyes. It took you a moment to find your breath.

"I... need to close this," you breathed, tracing a featherlight and completely instinctive touch of reassurance over his intact skin near the wound. He chewed the inside of his lip.

"Do it."

Your belly fluttered at the low command, his eyes never wavering from your gaze. You swallowed. Standing slowly to bend over his abdomen, you studied the open section of the wound. The edges were relatively clean, and it didn't look like the blade had made it deep enough to hit anything vital. The bleeding was nasty though, despite your meticulous cleaning job. His skin here would naturally be taut over firm abdominal muscles, a high tension area, you noted. You’d need to place dermal sutures if you wanted them to hold. Your brow knitted in preemptive sympathy.

“This is going to hurt.” You muttered.

Well, perhaps that was obvious. But stitching up conscious patients was not exactly your area of expertise, so maybe in a way, you were preparing yourself more than him. You were surprised at how well you managed to withhold the tremor from your hands as you quickly cleaned the wound again. It steeled your resolve slightly.

You tossed the soaked gauze, and plucked a curved needle and sinewy thread from the sterile bag. You readied your hand over the cleansed wound and flashed your gaze up to Kylo Ren’s eyes, waiting for... well, you didn’t know. Any kind of final approval or declination, maybe. He said nothing, but his eyes burned you steadily as his jaw locked in place, making the tightness in your chest flutter and twist. Swallowing, you turned back to the half-closed gash. You quickly threaded the first set-back stitch with nimble precision, and tugged the edges closed.

Ren’s muscles locked up with a full-body grunt, and a broad hand shot up from where it lay on the bed to grip the inside curve of your thigh. A jolt leapt through your body, setting your heart at a wild pace. Surely that was just a reflex. Surely he would let go. Blinking, you tried to find the voice in your chest.

"You… you have to r-relax." It came out more breathless than you intended as you fumbled only slightly with tying and cutting the thread. You paused to steady yourself, ignoring how warm your skin felt under his hand. A deep breath rolled through the Supreme Leader, and to your utmost shock, his core slackened obediently.

His hand did not leave your thigh. You took a breath and forced yourself to continue, fingers curling to pierce and thread the next suture through the tender, deep layer of skin. A lower, longer vibration left Ren’s nose as his large fingers gripped tighter into the soft pillow of your flesh. Your breath came shallow as your brain ignited, trying not to file that noise away under the category of pleasure. No. Stop that. You refused to indulge the thought, or the warmth that it shot through your lower body, as you refocused on your work.

You fixed your eyes firmly on your target, not letting yourself meet his gaze again. The next few sutures were accompanied by sounds from Ren that you diligently ignored. If you acknowledged what they sounded like, your focus would be obliterated. It already half was. But the growing hum at the apex of your thighs could not be indulged, could not break your concentration, even if it was just above where his hand… Oh.

Oh.

His thumb traced the slowest line along the crease of your groin.

It was impossible not to notice the stiffness that was beginning to tent his pants, close to where your face hovered over his lower abdomen. A shiver caressed your spine at the sight, as all of the heat in your body began to gravitate to the heartbeat in your cunt. You swallowed thickly. Stars help you, the sight of him. Supreme Leader Kylo fucking Ren, laying underneath you, his cock getting hard as you caused him excruciating pain. And you… you fucking... liked it.

His hand shifted then, sliding upwards to press a single, precise stroke along the concealed line of your heat. “Oh-” The soft moan came unwillingly from the bottom of your chest, and you braced one hand out on the mattress as your knees turned to liquid. Your body responded so automatically that it made your head spin, your thighs shifting wider, inviting his touch. You could have passed out when he curled his hand to pet another slow stripe over your clothed slit. 

Panting now, you lifted a pleading stare to meet his eyes. They were hooded black vats of desire, and your heart dropped right through your cervix as they drank you in. Your face tingled hot. Your brain wobbled along the line between finishing your task, and the primal need that was erupting through your belly. Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

“Supreme Le-”

"Off." He interrupted lowly, pinching at the fabric of your pants. You weren't sure why you obeyed so fucking immediately, but before you could think, your thumbs were hooking into your waistband, and then you were stepping out of your boots, trousers, and underwear, kicking them carelessly across the floor. The tails of your white coat tickled your exposed skin as you positioned yourself back over his wound, wet cunt bared and leaking down your thighs. Cheeks burning with a heat that reached all the way down to your chest, you pointedly avoided his eyes. You tried to steady your hands, and you swore you could feel his gaze stoking a wildfire at your core. You swallowed, staring detachedly at your fingers.

No, the medic instinct in you wouldn’t allow you to leave your work half finished. If you had the wherewithal to think about it, you might have concluded that he knew this, but that didn’t mean he would hold back in making it as difficult as possible for you now that you were, well, in this state. Taking a breath, you threaded another stitch. This time he shamelessly groaned, and his fingers slipped easily through the silky heat of your slit. You gasped, almost doubling over again as you tied off the suture.

You finally looked at him. His nostrils were flared and his throat bobbed, as he watched his own long fingers collect the wetness that leaked from your core. Pleasure and shame waged war across your skin, and your knees went weak as he met your eyes again.

“Keep going,” he stated calmly, gesturing with only his eyes towards the wound that was now nearly shut.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eliciting a hiss of breath from the Supreme Leader as his fingers passed in a slow arc around the top of your stiff clit.

How you managed it, you had no idea, but in very little time you were looping the last thread over itself, tightening it, and cutting. You blinked, looking back along the neat line of sutures as Ren continued idly stroking at your slit, sending shocks down to your toes.

“D-done.” You stammered as you shuffled your supplies together and started to step back.

With a flash of rippling muscle, Ren sat up and captured the back of your neck, pulling you in just inches from the strong curve of his nose. Your materials clattered to the floor as your legs nearly buckled from the sudden weight of his proximity, his gaze pitching you in an inky black tide of lust.

“Gentle little thing,” he pondered, running a thumb under your jaw. Your lungs simply didn’t function any more, you decided, as heat chased the air from the bottom of your bronchioles and out into the space between you. “I’ve wondered about you.”

Your voice hiccuped dumbly in your chest. “Ab-bout me, S-supreme Lead- oh.” Your question hung unfinished from your slack jaw as the pad of his finger shifted wetly across your clit, shooting a liquid flame up your spine that burst in your brain.

“Mm,” he supplied in acknowledgement, his lust-blackened gaze all but swallowing you whole. “Such a pretty thing...” Heat flowered in your cheeks again. “So unassuming.” He slid two fingers down your slick folds towards your entrance, and the delicate stem of a whimper crawled from your throat.

“You want to let go.” He stated in a deep, near-whisper. “Don’t lie to yourself, officer, I can feel your need for it.” You shuddered. Absolutely you wanted to let go. You wanted to do a lot of things, but mostly anything that would elicit those sounds that he was making before, while you punctured his dermis with a curved fucking needle.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Your voice seemed far away in your own ears.

The hand around the back of your neck curled slowly until it tightened into the hair follicles at your nape, and the pinpricks sent a thrilling voltage through your nerves that made you gasp.

"Just as I thought," he hummed, the smallest hint at a smirk twitching on the corner of his mouth. “Your desires are far from innocuous.” The lust that thickened his voice had you clenching.

He held your hair tightly, the pain scraping down your spine and feeding heat into the coiling, writhing need that hummed above your thighs. He began to lean back and pull you with him, until you had to shuffle your knee onto the mattress to keep from falling. His hand abandoned the wet heat between your legs, and a solid arm slid impatiently around your waist instead, pulling your hips firmly over him until you straddled his lap on the generous cot.

The feeling of his clothed, straining cock nestling against your folds chased a whine over your lips, and Ren caught it in its tracks, drinking down the sound as his plush lips claimed your open mouth. Fire exploded through your body and your hands flew to his chest, sliding up over hot, bruised skin until your nails were dragging up his neck and into the inky softness of his hair. A deep growl quaked in his chest and his tongue slid greedily across the roof of your mouth, coaxing your jaw wider for him.

You felt his hands slide to grasp the lapels of your coat and yank them over your shoulders. With a thrill of excitement, you threw your arms back to allow him to shuck the garment roughly from your body. Your shirt followed over your head, forcing you to surface from the depths of the kiss with a vulgar wet sound. The second you were free, his massive hand trapped your wrists behind your back, and you gasped at the sudden feeling of immobility. Kylo Ren pinned you under his dark gaze, pulling your arms to arch your back and press your tits up towards him, his eyes devouring the bareness of you that he displayed for himself.

Then he lunged. His hot mouth latched into your neck and worked down to your chest, his strong grip arching you further until his lips pursed around your pebbled nipple. Your jaw fell open in a gasp as he slid his tongue across the bud and drew it between his teeth, pinching just hard enough to leave it aching, and mirrored the action on your other breast. He hummed as he moved back up to lick wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, sliding along your skin until you felt hot breath flood the sensitive hollow of your ear.

“I wonder how you taste, pretty thing.”

The sound that left you was fucking obscene, his words dissolving every bone in your body. You instinctually ground down on his swollen cock, seeking pressure lest your cunt actually rupture with need.

He began to lay back, his hands releasing your wrists, and your strained muscles flooded with relief. Clutching your thighs, he pulled your hips insistently to follow his face back to the head of the cot. A nervous tremor wracked you as he guided your thighs over his shoulders, the realization crashing over you all at once. You were about to sit on the face of the most dangerous man in the fucking galaxy. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose to your mons, inhaling deeply and releasing a growling moan that vibrated right up your body.

A deep magenta bruise flowered his temple and cheekbone, decorating the seam where the flesh of your thigh now ended and his face began. Your core clenched in anxious anticipation, and he turned his face to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your thigh. Remnants of fear were still paralyzing your chest, but the bolt of pain that flashed up your body pierced through it and into your brain for a moment of blissful clarity. You moaned as you suddenly registered just how much pulsing heat was settling inside your walls, aching now to be soothed by his tongue. He ran his hands down your sides and gripped your hips, and he leveled a dark look up at you that liquefied your bones.

"Please…" you began to whisper.

In a flash, he took your hands and pinned them to the small of your back, then thrust his warm, flat tongue against your cunt with a low groan. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he licked a wide stroke up the length of your slit, parting your folds and dragging the flat of his tongue across your swollen nub. Tingling pleasure erupted through your lower body, the feeling of him warm and divine and utterly unbelievable. He moved slowly, almost lazily, lost in the taste and scent of you as he began to work that beautiful mouth over every inch of your cunt.

You shifted your hips in desperation, trying to ride his face and gain more friction on the ache that was coiling in your clit, but he locked your arms up roughly, immobilizing you with one of his huge hands around both of your wrists. You whined and he resumed his torturous pace, lapping at you indulgently, rolling his nose across your clit, building a hot pressure in your core that cried painfully for release.

When his lips finally pursed around your bud, his tongue sliding across it in a way that shot light behind your retinas, it was enough to send you reeling. “Oh, fuck-” you groaned as you felt your orgasm start to pull up tight and hot, your body desperately grasping at its relief.  But then it was plateauing, ebbing, as he slowed and slid his silky tongue away from that epicenter of pleasure.

“No, pl-please, please--” you wailed as you felt your impending orgasm slip away down your spine.

Ignoring you, Ren closed his eyes and swallowed with a grunt, sucking down the arousal that had gushed from your entrance, and you felt it travel through his whole body as he went rigid. He shuddered in consummate pleasure then, and your brain suddenly shifted from grieving your denied orgasm to wondering where his other hand might be. You imagined it wrapped around his own cock, and the thought tightened heat around your spine.

You craned a glance over your shoulder, but the sight that met you paralyzed your brain. His cock was free of his trousers, beautifully hard and leaking a bead of precum onto his stomach, untouched. His fingers were instead plunged into the neat line of sutures that studded his low abdomen, fresh crimson welling around his pressure-whitened fingertips as his body trembled. A protest shot instinctively through your chest. 

“Don’t-”

Two huge hands hooked over your thighs, smearing you with red, and yanked your ass back onto the warm, broad expanse of his chest, cutting off your objection with a breathy yelp. You had little time to bemoan the absence of his mouth at your center before your world was spinning, as Ren flipped you underneath him in a shockingly strong, fluid motion that inverted your senses.

You flailed an arm behind you for balance, but before you could get your bearings, he was hauling you effortlessly down the thin mattress by your hips. A squeak escaped you as your shoulders met linen, and then you were wailing as he devoured you again, his eager tongue sliding hot and heavily down your folds. 

He groaned and slipped two blood-drenched fingers into you, pumping and scissoring them slowly as he massaged your clit with his mouth. Shock and pleasure quaked in equal magnitude through your body, every instinct clashing in a spectacular array as your brain fought against itself. You wanted to be horrified, sickened even, but every nerve ending was screaming in nothing but wretched liberation.

In a wash of euphoria, you submitted to it, let your fingers find and lock into his sweat-dampened hair, let yourself sigh and clench around his warm, wet digits as they stroked against something devastating inside of you. He built you up like this again, higher, tighter, but before you could reach the apex of that perfect ache, just when you were whimpering with the promise of shattering into bliss, something began to coil around your spine. An invisible force -- the Force -- squeezing dark numbness down every nerve below your lumbar spine.

No, no, fuck. Tears rushed to your eyes and you choked out a sob, as you trembled in excruciating bereavement. Your wrists were wrenched to your side and tacked to the bed with that same invisible power while Ren continued to indulge himself in your numb cunt, sucking and lapping steadily at your wet heat. Your insides blazed with need and neglect as you watched him slide his fingers out of you and into his mouth, humming in satisfaction as he savored the mixture of his blood and your slick. That was it. You couldn’t keep quiet.

“Kylo, please-”

His eyes locked onto yours, lips still pursed around his fingers. You did not mean to call him that. You quailed suddenly, in your state of helplessness, at the sight of the large man as he began to crawl over you. He kicked off his trousers, looming until you were caged underneath his powerful body and staring helplessly up into the wicked excitement that roiled in his irises.

“Poor, poor thing,” He taunted as an electric current of sensation shot back down your legs, causing you to yelp. His hips rocked to part your slit with the velvety weight of his cock, his swollen and weeping head dragging moisture across your clit as it tingled with renewed feeling.

“So desperate to cum that you’d forget all respect for me.” The words dripped from his lips to pour over your neck as he nipped above your clavicle, seeping into your blood and heating it tenfold. He felt heavy and inviting and perfect, and you clutched your nails sharply into his sides as a crippling wave of need crashed down your spine. He hissed in a breath, letting it out in a nearly inaudible “Fuck.”

A tear spilled down your cheekbone. He was right, you were absolutely fucking desperate, coiled painfully tight after being ripped back from the edge twice. This was his particular brand of mutual torture, denying your release and losing himself in his pain. You needed to do something, anything, to fracture that infuriating, adamantine control. Anything to break the endless cycle of torment.

Your eyes were drawn down to a river of crimson that streaked into the valley of his hip, welling from the fresh spring of your sutures. A writhing, dark desire slithered up your brain stem, burning with some foreign audacity, and it moved your hand almost on its own. Fuck it, you could play this game, too. 

“Please, Supreme Leader,” You corrected yourself, letting your voice thicken through your tears to a noxious sweetness. “I’ll do anything.” 

Your palm slid to his low abdomen, collecting the warm blood with your thumb and sliding it back up towards the neatly closed wound. You slowly ran your slick digit along the raw edge, your breath catching in your chest as you flicked your gaze back to his eyes, just inches in front of yours. His lips hung open slightly, in disbelief, in want, it was impossible to say. But his pupils were blown wide and hungry as he stilled, the smallest twitch of his eye daring you, pleading you, to continue.

“Anything…” you emphasized in a whisper, holding his stare through your damp lashes as you pressed your thumb into the bruised, inflamed skin, crushing your finger straight into the raw nerves. You dug down, down, watching his lips slowly pull into a wild snarl of pain, his thick cock twitching against your folds as a ragged groan tore through his teeth. You were panting now, watching his eyes as they filled with liquid black fire, unblinking, burning through you.

Heart pounding, you pressed further, building a pinpoint of pressure over the closed wound until you felt the fine strand of a suture give way under the pad of your thumb, popping open with a soft shift of flesh. A choked roar ripped itself from Ren’s chest as his hand came down on your throat. His eyes were glazed with a terrifying need, inches from yours, strands of hair beginning to mat on his face as sweat decorated his skin.

His hips began to sink heavily. The head of his cock pushed past your folds, pressing insistently at the tight heat of your entrance. You whimpered, pulse racing under his grip, and braced your hand involuntarily against his abdomen as your walls began to stretch, the wet sting reverberating up your spine. Your eyes shot to his, pleading, but found them fiendish.

"You’re going to take all of me, pretty thing." His voice was barely above a ragged whisper, caged behind rusted bars of restraint that were slowly splintering across his eyes as he broke you open. “And you’re going to cum around my fucking cock when I tell you to.”

It was all you could do to simply whimper and nod, his words paired with the intense stretch effectively wiping your brain blank now. And the stretch kept coming, endlessly, filling you completely, until you thought you might crack in half. When he finally sheathed himself, his body flattened down heavily on top of you, pinning your hips wide open. You couldn’t move your hand, his sheer mass was crushing your thumb inside the wet, raised flesh of the wound as you felt it leak warmly around the base. A sound caught in Ren’s throat, and a shudder wracked his whole body.

He laid there for only a moment, crushing the air from your lungs, bathing in the pain, before he lifted his torso and began to thrust. Still slowly, still so controlled, breath rolling hot and rabid down your neck. You pulled your thumb from beneath his skin with a sickening squelch. Trembling, a morbid urge had you bringing the hand up to your mouth.

You moved to flick your tongue out over the warm, coppery liquid that was now coating your thumb and beginning to run down your forearm. In an instant, Ren snatched your wrist and pinned it beside your head. Something utterly feral played across his eyes that made your stomach squirm.

He panted through his teeth, eyes drifting across your face to the hand that he had pinned down. “You want a taste, whore?” His tone was somewhere between incredulous and eager, only fueling your desire to pry further at the seams of his restraint. You bit your bottom lip, lifting a pleading look into his eyes, and nodded with a whimper.

“Yes, please, ple-- Ah!” He slammed his cock into your cervix, making you cry out.

He snatched your wrist up with a grunt and enveloped your thumb with the heat of his mouth, swirling his strong, silky tongue around your knuckle to collect the liquid. Your head spun as he drew his lips up and off of your digit, slamming your wrist back down to the mattress and crushing his mouth to yours. His tongue pushed ravenously past the guard of your teeth, and your palette lit up with the sharp mix of metallic blood and the remnants of your cunt on his lips.

It was deafening, the rush that cascaded between your ears and crashed down your body at the visceral taste, the sensation of his hot tongue swiping across yours, passing the grotesque mixture back and forth. You moaned into his mouth and he shuddered, gripping your jaw muscles to force your mouth open as he drew away, resuming the rhythm of his thrusts. He spat a thick emulsion of blood and saliva into your open mouth before releasing your face, shoving your jaw closed with the heel of his palm. From this angle he could see your neck ripple as you swallowed, and the sight had him deepening his thrusts with a low groan.

Yes, yes, finally. His cock stroked fire along your walls, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll into your skull. Drunk from deprivation, you wanted more. You blindly reached down the contour of his obliques and drove your thumb back into his wound, finding the slight firmness of another suture and digging into his flesh until you felt a sinewy pop. Kylo Ren roared, his hips stuttering as his body locked up in a rippling wave of tension. Eyes wild, he gripped your throat again, yanking you roughly as your eyes flew open and met his.

“Fucking filthy slut.”

He slammed into you at a merciless pace, hurtling you past any possibility of orgasm and straight into overstimulation as your body burned around him. Your vision swam, your ears beginning to ring as he pounded you relentlessly. Blood struggled to reach your brain under his grip, building a pressure in your skull that made your face vibrate.

He slowed his pace suddenly, and heat sparked to the tips of your nerves again, alighting on every inch of your quivering skin and fuck, you were close. Oh, fuckfuckfuc--

“Cum. Cum for me. Fuck!”

Ren wildly snatched the cautery pen from where you left it on the bed stand, lit it, and plunged the glowing tines straight into the flesh of your thigh. White hot pain fractured your vision, locked every muscle down tight with a scream you couldn’t hear as your orgasm eviscerated you.

Breath stuttered back into your lungs in hazy, broken sobs. Euphoric pain was weeping from your nerves, flowing across your skin to rival the tears that now ran free and hot down your face while razorblades of pleasure still flayed your veins open. The ringing in your ears finally began to give way to low grunts breaking over the fragmented tide of your sobs.

“Good girl, g-ood, fuck-- shh... pretty fucking thing.” Ren’s deep murmurs faded into your eardrums, the words slurring and thickening through his teeth as he pried the tool from your sizzling flesh. He set it aside, pace unrelenting, and dragged a hand over your cheek. Sticky blood mixed with your tears as his fingers fastened into the flesh of your face. He watched your eyes come back into focus, his own glazed in primal rapture.

He propelled a few more slamming thrusts into the depths of you as the death throes of your orgasm withered on your skin. And then you were empty, gasping, and he was flipping you over so easily you didn’t know which way was up any more. Your breath was muffled by a pillow, and you turned your face just in time for a massive, dirty hand to come down on your cheekbone.

He crushed your face into the fabric, wrestling your hips upwards with his other forearm until your knees reluctantly shifted up to support them. You whimpered at the pressure on your skull and the throbbing pain that radiated from your thigh, but the sound deepened in your chest when you felt the blunt head of his cock graze along your swollen lips. Stars, you needed him to fill you in any way, your emptiness now entwining with your pain to send a cry of grief through your shuddering bones that could only be soothed by that voice, those hands, that perfectly thick cock in any part of you. Overcome, you moaned for it.

“Fuck,” he rasped, dragging his tip back and forth over your clit, adding skittering jolts to the ache that might as well be burning away your peritoneum like paper, causing your organs to pour out over the floor in gruesome mercy. He slid his hand back along the curve of your spine, releasing your face, and you gasped in the acrid taste of copper. His palms smothered your ass, fingers splaying wide and squeezing, pulling your cheeks up and apart for his view. It was filthy, the eroticism of it, but shame was a faraway song in the tempest of your need, barely heard as you clutched the sheets and arched in presentation for him. You heard a hissing intake of breath, which he let out in a slew of unintelligible filth as the fat head of his cock slowly split you again.

Even after just moments of vacancy you had to readjust to the size of him, but the stretch was utterly demulcent this time as he gradually sheathed himself in your aching walls until his head was grinding down against your cervix. Your eyes flew wide with a gasp as you clawed the sheet, streaking it redder, willing your body to relax around the merciless presence of his cock. He pumped his hips once, slowly, powerfully, and your eyes rolled back again as your muscles turned to warm jelly.

“Kylo…” You barely heard yourself moan out, and you had no idea whether he heard you either, as a loud groan suddenly kicked up his pace and the decibels of his rambling.

“Ffffuuck, feel sofuckinggood, so tight…. fucking perfect little cunt…”

You could die, you could actually fucking die from how it felt to lose yourself in this, how possessed you were by the repulsive freedom of it, of him, spitting filthy nothings into the thick air while you entwined yourselves in the dirty rut of shameless pleasure and pain.

You felt hot liquid trickle into the seam between your flesh and Ren’s with the next few smacks of his hips against your ass. His pace faltered, and he fell over you like a snarling carnivore, palms slamming down on the backs of your hands and pinning them beside your head. His breath tickled hot in your ear, and you shuddered, clenching around him.

“I’m going to make you cum again.” He snarled, before yanking you back sharply by your hair until you were nearly upright on your knees, your shoulder blades meeting the warmth of his chest. You caught a flash of blood-coated fingers as they reached around you and began to rub hot, wet circles over your clit.

“Like the filthy fucking whore you are. That I- fuck- knew you were.”

Your muscles gave out as he spoke, your body supported only by his overbearing strength, as euphoria wrapped your nerve endings in white flame. You were keening, though you could hardly hear yourself, as the pressure on your clit started to pull a second orgasm outward from your bones.

His hips pounded ruthlessly against your ass as he brutally fucked you, the force of it knocking air from your lungs with every impact. A glow began to erupt from your spine with the next few passes of his fingers over your clit, and then you were cumming, hard, sailing into an abyss of ecstasy that swallowed your sight. When you resurfaced he was roaring, his arm a vice around your ribs, his cock slamming deep and slow inside of your quaking walls and pulsing with his release. 

Ren collapsed on top of you, flattening you into the mattress. Dizziness swam through your blood, intensified by his weight crushing your lungs. He felt warm, sated, absolutely sublime as your spent hole fluttered around his cock, the sensation of his damp breaths on your shoulder easily overriding your need for oxygen. You were perfectly content to lay like this until you blacked out, if that’s what it would take to keep him there.

But then he was rolling off of you, a soft groan rumbling through his body as the cold air of the room kissed the sweat on your spine. It sobered you like an ice bath and you shifted away from him, suddenly feeling the weight of a needed distance between yourself and the Supreme Leader. You dropped your legs to the floor to stand, and pain ricocheted up your body from your thigh. You winced as your leg buckled in a blatant refusal to support your weight, catching yourself on the edge of the bed frame.

You instead sank back onto the small stool, and felt it become slick with cum as you grabbed wads of gauze from a drawer in the bed stand. Blood was gushing from his abdomen again, joining the sheen of bright red that mottled most of his skin as well as the sheets, and you began to work mechanically to staunch the flow once more. Kylo shifted onto his back and let you do it, his eyes falling shut as panting breaths oscillated through his chest. You were filthy, you registered, as you looked down at the red-brown crust of half dried blood that was smeared on your hands and all the way up your forearms.

You gently dabbed at his skin, slowly cleansing the mess and wrangling the bleeding back under your practiced control. The edges of your skin practically cried out in neglect, the dull pain that thrummed through your body begging to be soothed by even the smallest of tender touches that you didn’t dare ask for. The pain seemed to catch up to him as well now. He breathed through it, but you saw it lock up in his exhales, in the tense pull of his brow over his dark lashes. You let the pass of his skin under your palms soothe you both until his bare skin glowed clean and the bleeding was no more than a steady trickle.

Staring at his comparatively clean body under your blood-crusted hands, you suddenly felt disgustingly exposed in your nakedness. You stooped quickly to grab the leg of your pants where they lay on the floor, but Ren’s hand gripped your arm roughly, yanking your elbow back onto the stained mattress.

"Oh, pretty thing.” He growled. “We're not finished, yet."