#But I did not expect them to make another one

[sceletaflores]

JACKRABBIT!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 3.4k

｡𖦹°‧➵ ANON SAYS: Hi Nat! I love your work. I would like to request a Joel Miller fic where he finds a sex toy on a raid and teaches user how to use it. I hope this isn’t weird lol. It’s fine if you don’t want to write it!

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, set post outbreak, swearing, drinking, smoking, established relationship…but it’s not like a RELATIONSHIP, unspecified age gap, jackson!joel mmmhhh, sex toys, masturbation, joi but for the girls, pussy pronouns, dirty talk cause he’s old and gross, reader is inexperienced but not juvenile, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: anon…i need to just kiss you right on your brain. this is a revolutionary idea…it’s not weird at all! i just about died when i saw it in my inbox, like i had to sit down for a while. you really did something with this one. this is also so not related but this is one of the tiniest titles i’ve had on a fic in a while, it looks so wrong to me LMAO i need long titles to survive but this one was just too cute so i made an exception. hope y’all love it!

dividers by @saradika-graphics! joel icon by angel @iamasaddie!

joel has something he wants to show you...

You’re not sure what you were expecting when Joel told you he had something to show you.

You thought about it a little on the short walk to his house, breath puffing out like little clouds in the cold air as snow crunched under your boots.

Maybe a book he’d thought you’d like to add to the overflowing shelf in your room, all stuffed with the other books he’d quietly left on your kitchen table like they weren’t really gifts. Dog eared, dusty, the pages yellowed by time.

Maybe an old shirt that wasn’t too torn or eaten up by moths. Clothes aren’t hard to come by in Jackson, but you figure it’s the thought that counts.

Hell, maybe even another knife for your collection—Joel likes giving you those.

You definitely weren’t expecting this.

A heavy looking, curved wand with a fat head and a thick cord wrapped around the handle. He tossed it on his bed next to you like it’s nothing, like a can of peaches or some new ammo he wants to show off.

You blink down at the thing, confused. You look up, staring at Joel where he’s standing a little ways away with your brows pinched together. “What’s all this?”

Joel cocks his head, his lips tugged up in a smug grin. “Old folks would call that a vibrator.”

 “That’s not what I mean, dumbass.” You roll your eyes, scoffing. “I mean what is it doing here?”

“Well,” Joel starts, overly serious. “You see, some ladies, they’d usually buy one of these and shove them down–”

"I'm not a clueless fucking virgin, Joel." You cut him off with a sniff, crossing your arms in front of your chest defensively. "I know what a vibrator does. I just never got a chance to use one, what with the world ending when I was a teenager and all, you know?"

Joel knows for a fact that you're no virgin, he took care of that little issue a long while ago. 

There’s a lot of firsts that Joel’s helped you tick off over the last couple years, ever since he found you at that ghost town back in Pittsburgh. Your first real shot of something clear and mean. Your first cigarette. Your first fuck.

You wouldn’t call what you and Joel have now a real “relationship” by any definition of the word. Not to Ellie. Not to Jesse. Not to yourself. You’re sure Joel would have a flat out aneurysm if you ever called him your boyfriend.

It’s simple. You go to him when you want. He comes to you when he needs. You let him touch you like he means it, sometimes you even stay the night when he’s feeling charitable enough. 

“Found it in an old stash house out past the dam.” Joel shrugs, making his way over to the blue armchair in the corner of his room. He sits with a quiet grunt, sinking into the plaid cushions. “It was still in the box, brand new. Thought you might want it.”

Your eyes drop back down to the toy, the white contrasting with the deep green of Joel’s sheets. You pick it up to feel the weight of it in your hand, fingers trailing along the smooth silicone. It’s soft, softer than you thought it’d be—lighter too.

You think back to the group of girls that whispered during your Algebra 1 class, giggling about some grown up shop they found in a bigger city. The dirty haul they came back into town with sparking lots of colorful conversation that you definitely weren’t supposed to hear, despite how loud they were about it.

Joel clears his throat, tearing you from your thoughts. “Go on then,” he says, jerking his chin impatiently. “You wanna try it, don’t you?”

You swallow, mouth going a little dry as you thumb over the switch.

You do want to try it. You’ve always wanted something like this. Something constant and strong—something that doesn’t tire out, doesn’t get distracted, doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and sobbing and wrung out.

You’ve got one of those things now, sitting in a chair about five feet away from you.

The one in your hand might be just as fun, you wouldn’t know.

There’s only one way to find out.

You look up at him again. Joel’s watching you with that lazy hunger he always has. His jaw working like he’s already rolling the taste of you around in his mouth. His eyes are dark, you can tell even from where you’re at. 

Fuck it.

“Alright.” You shuffle backwards up the bed until you’re high enough to lean against his pillows. You drop the toy long enough to tug your thin sleep pants down your legs.

There’s a fleeting part of you that wants to drag this out, to tease. The other part of you, the one that thinks with the steady arousal pulsing to life between your legs, wants to get on with it.

So you bite your lip and plug it in, the ancient powerstrip he dragged in from the garage by his bed sparking faintly as the wand hums to life in your hand—deep and low and almost intimidating in how powerful it sounds.

“Jesus,” you whisper, trying it against your wrist. The vibration is intense, direct, not like anything else you’ve ever felt. It’s so much. You look over at him, suddenly timid. “What do I even do with it? There wasn’t a user guide in that box or something?”

“It’s straightforward enough.” Joel leans back deeper in his chair, like he’s settling in for a show. “Figure it out, baby. You’re smart.”

You arch your brow. “You just gonna sit there?”

Joel shrugs, smirking. “Sugar, this is the best seat in the house.”

It’s a terrible line, terrible. You want to roll your eyes, to make fun of him. That’s only stalling, and neither of you want that.

“Start slow,” Joel mutters, voice thickening just a little.

You chew the inside of your cheek and press the toy to your thigh first, just to get a feel of the vibration. It’s intense, buzzing right down to the bone. You leave it there for a beat, sliding it up and down your skin until goosebumps pebble up in its wake. Your stomach clenches with need, with interest. 

You hook your index finger into the thin cotton of your panties, pulling them to the side enough to bare your pussy to the warm air of Joel’s bedroom. You can hear the quick inhale from the other side of the room, the creak of wooden armrests under a tight grip. You don’t fight the smug smile that pulls at your lips.

The smug feeling is short lived, laughably so. The second you press the toy to your clit—just a whisper of vibration, even on the lowest setting—your hips twitch, breath catching. “Shit.”

Joel’s mouth tugs into a crooked grin. “Too much?”

You shake your head, breathless all of a sudden. “No, I–I got it.”

“Try small circles,” Joel says, voice gone low and smoky. “Little higher than that.”

You do, dragging the head of the toy up to rock it over your clit slow and gentle like he told you to. It mostly just feels…fine. Not quite right. Not like Joel. Not like his mouth. Not like the calloused pads of his thumbs when he spreads you open.

You’re not shy by any means, not with him. Not anymore. He’s already had you in more ways than you can count—stuffed together in a sleeping bag as you got felt up by practied fingers, bent over the kitchen table, riding his thigh in the bath, panting against his neck while he fucked you into the floorboards.

This feels different somehow. Embarrassing, almost. Your own hands trembling as you try to keep the vibrator steady, the hum too much and not enough all at once.

You press it closer. Try to angle your hips, shift just right. It slips away too easily, or the angle’s all wrong, or maybe it’s just you—too tense, too eager to please.

Joel watches you flinch, watches your thighs clench and strain as you huff. The warmth swirling through your gut is there, but it's a different kind of heat. It’s all edge, no release. The tension inside of you winds and winds but doesn’t break.

You sigh in frustration, dropping your head back. “Fuck.”

“Don’t make a fuss now.” Joel scolds. “You need to ease off. You’re workin’ it all wrong, can’t just mash it on there like that.”

“Don’t say it like that.” You cut your eyes to him, glaring. “I’m not “mashing” anything, this stupid thing just doesn’t work.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re chasin’ it too hard,” he says, softer this time. “Relax, baby.”

“I am relaxed,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“I can see you, kid.” Joel snorts, amused. “Bullshit you’re relaxed. It ain’t even seen you this tense around goddamn gunfire”

You groan miserably and pull the toy away, your arm falling limp so it can buzz uselessly against Joel’s comforter. “This is stupid.”

Joel sucks his teeth, shaking his head like you’re a bratty child who can’t understand the simple thing he’s asking of you. He rises from the chair slowly, crosses the room in a few strides. “I have to do everything around here myself, huh.”

You scoff, but your pussy clenches weakly the closer he gets. “I can always leave if it’s such a big grievance.” 

He sits next to you with a huff, all that muscle and broadness scooting closer. The mattress dips under his weight enough that it has you sliding closer to him. “Shut the hell up and come here, smartass.” 

Big hands settle on either side of your hips before you can move, dragging you back until you're snug between his thick thighs. His chest is warm and alive under your back, the same as his hands when he slings your legs over his.

Joel takes the wand from your hand. You let him. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs, peering down between your legs. “So fuckin’ wet and you can’t even get her off. This what you wanted, baby? Me to do all the work for you?”

“You like doing all the work,” you snap, still a little touchy. 

Joel just smirks, dragging the toy down your thigh. You suck in a short breath, hands clutching the rough denim of his jeans. 

He slides the toy lower, dragging the head between your folds like he’s getting acquainted with the shape of you all over again. He starts slow. Teasing. Circling your clit but not pressing down, just letting the buzz brush softly. You jolt, hips twitching.

“No ma’am. Quit your wrigglin’,” he says, his other hand squeezes your thigh in a clear warning. “You asked for this. You’ll take it.”

Every inch of you wants to fight him, just to be a real asshole. You’ve had enough of that for one night, now you just want to come. You force yourself to relax, slowly letting the tension leave your muscles one by one.

Joel notices, humming encouragingly. You can feel the rumble of it against your spine. “Atta girl.” 

He tosses an arm around your waist, pulling you closer while his other hand brings the wand back to your clit, not gentle now—confident, giving you the pressure you wanted. The kind that makes your pussy jolt and your chest go tight. The sound you make is pathetic, breathy and broken.

“Oh,” you whisper. The heat you couldn’t quite coax to life earlier flares now, quick and electric and embarrassingly easy under Joel’s experienced touch.

“There she is,” Joel breathes, breath fanning over your temple. “Feels better already, doesn’t it?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand slides up your shirt, palm spreading warm over your belly, keeping you grounded while the toy works its way through your nerves like a live wire.

“Joel,” you gasp, rolling your hips up, chasing it anyway, fighting his grip.

“Thought you said it didn’t work,” he mutters with a grin, mouthing at your jaw. “Sure feels like it’s workin’ now, pumpkin.”

Your body shakes, your thighs trembling. You whimper something incoherent and he shushes you, not to be sweet, but because he wants to hear you fall apart properly.

“You keep it right there,” he orders, dragging the toy a fraction higher until it hits just right. You cry out, jerking forward, but he wraps his arm tighter around your belly and holds you there, strong and steady.

“Joel—fuck—it’s too—”

“It ain’t too much,” he growls. “It’s perfect. Just stay still, just like that.”

You feel it coming fast, harder than you expected—a coil of pleasure that sneaks up and grabs you by the throat, all breath and sound and stuttering pleasure. You buck against his hold and he laughs, low and pleased.

Joel leans in close, his nose brushing over the sweaty skin of your throat. “You gonna thank me for bringing you such a nice present, darlin’? That was mighty kind of me, wasn’t it?”

Your slick lips part on a soft moan, your hips twitching up off the mattress uncontrollably. Your nails dig into his thighs, your chest heaving. “Than–fuck! Jesus.”

He coos, a soft noise that’s more mocking than reassuring. He presses a kiss to your jaw. “Words are hard ain’t they baby? You’re so easy you let a little vibrator rubbin’ on this pussy get you dumb?”

You sob, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder. You turn your face, bury it in the crook of his neck to muffle a whine. “Joel—”

“Come on, baby.” Joel circles the wand over your clit faster, your slick making the glide of silicone that much better. “It ain’t that hard, just two little words.”

You can’t form them. Can’t think. Can’t breathe, barely—your hips twitch again, every nerve ending centered on the hum between your legs. You’re trying so hard to stay still like he told you to, but your body’s betraying you, chasing after the pressure like it’s oxygen.

“I c–can’t,” you gasp, half-sobbing into his neck. “Joel, I can’t, it’s too—too much, I need—”

“What you need is to thank me,” he growls, not relenting. “You come without it, you come on my cock, on my fingers, on my fuckin’ thigh—but you get one little toy, and suddenly you forget your big girl manners?”

Your whole body jerks when he tilts the wand just slightly. It presses right where you need it, a cruel, perfect angle. You’re soaked, squirming, and you can’t breathe right—your breath just punches out of you in useless little gasps.

“Thank you,” you finally whimper, and it’s so quiet, so desperate that it makes Joel groan.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he rasps, his lips dragging hot over your cheek. He sounds so proud, so adoring. It should be funny, out of place when he’s torturing you with a vibrator he trekked through snow with just to give it to you—but it only has the coil inside you snapping.

That’s all it takes.

You cry out when it hits you—sharp and overwhelming like a sucker punch. Your back arches off the mattress, thighs closing around his wrist, soaked pussy pulsing hard against the toy. Joel keeps it there, keeps it steady while you ride it out, groaning low as he watches you fall apart.

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice all grit and gravel and satisfaction. “There she is. You just needed a little help.”

The toy keeps buzzing—he doesn’t let up, not yet. He holds it steady while you jerk and moan, overstimulated and dripping, every muscle trembling. You whimper, weakly trying to push his hand away.

“Shhh,” Joel soothes, lips brushing your temple. “Just ridin’ it out, baby. I got you.”

You breathe through it, clinging to him, and finally—finally—he lifts the toy away, flicking it off with a quiet click.

You’re wrecked.

Panting. Slick between the thighs. Legs still twitching where they’re splayed over his lap.

Joel drops the toy somewhere off to the side and smooths a hand over your stomach, holding you there like you might float away if he lets go. “Well,” he says, smug as ever. “Think it works just fine.”

You let out a hoarse little laugh, still catching your breath. “Fucking asshole,” you whisper, voice shot.

Joel leans in and presses a kiss over your temple. His hands smooth up and down the insides of your thighs, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing over your pussy. You flinch. Sensitive. His lips curl against your skin.

Two can play at this game. 

You tilt your head, eyes barely open as you mutter, “I think we’ll use it on you next.”

Joel stills. His brows lift, his mouth pulls into a slow, skeptical smirk. “The hell we will.”

You grin, even though your body still feels like it’s made of jelly. “What, too chicken?”

“No,” he huffs. “I just don’t trust you not to get your little petty revenge.”

“Oh, I’d be so gentle with you,” you say innocently, voice low and teasing. “Promise.”

Joel snorts. “You couldn’t even work the damn thing.”

“I learned a lot in the last ten minutes.”

Joel pinches your hip with a tsk. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

You look over your shoulder at him, catching the sharpness in his eyes.

You smile sweetly. “Who says I can’t?”

Joel just laughs, shaking his head. Your smile doesn’t fade as you tuck your face back into his throat, breathing him in. 

You’ll give him five minutes.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: the fics i've posted recently being some requests? i'm showing growth y'all. i'm being so tumblr.com it's crazy. see? i do the stuff you guys want, i care about you guys...talking to YOU rude ass anon that came in my inbox a few days ago. yes i DO answer these. also me posting this many fics in basically one month is crazy work i have no idea what’s gotten into me. i got bit by the writing bug, or maybe it really is easier to just not write over ten thousand words all the damn time for literally no reason…i guess we’ll never know.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[formulafanfics13]

heyyyy, i loved the story you wrote for oscar about the piercings i can't stop thinking about it, and now listen, what would happened in another driver walked into him going conpletly crazy with them?and we're talking about a full make-out session with those rings ya'know?what do you think about it?

the nipplebar massacre - OP81 

Masterlist || Part 1

SUMMARY Lando accidentally walks in on Oscar going feral on your tits in the McLaren motorhome, triggering a meltdown that spirals across the driver group chat. Oscar remains smug. You remain wrecked.

WARNINGS Explicit sexual content, breast play, nipple sucking, oral fixation, exhibitionism, public semi-nudity, group chat chaos, suggestive dialogue, mild humiliation (Lando), comedic sexual embarrassment.

Lando didn’t mean to walk in. He really didn’t. He knocked. He waited. He even texted first.

But when Oscar didn’t answer and media debrief was in twenty minutes, he figured it was fine. Just a quick pop-in. A “get your ass moving.”

He didn’t expect to walk into a crime scene. Not a murder. Not a fight. Worse.

Oscar Piastri. Fully clothed. Standing between your thighs while you sat half-naked on the McLaren motorhome couch.

Not making out. Not dry humping. Making out with your tits.

Mouth locked around your nipple like it was oxygen. Tongue fucking the piercing. Moaning into your chest like it had personally wronged him.

One hand groping your other breast like it owed him money. The other braced on the back of the couch, knuckles white, hips grinding forward like his dick was about to launch into orbit.

And you? Head tipped back. Eyes rolled. One leg around his waist. Fingers in his hair.

Lando made a sound. It wasn’t a word. Just a high-pitched dying noise.

Oscar didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

Just lifted his head slightly, lips slick, chin shiny, eyes glassy, and said, completely casual “Oh. Hey mate.”

Lando blinked. Then screamed. “ARE YOU HAVING SEX WITH HER TITS?”

You laughed. Breathless. Still pinned under Oscar’s body. “Technically, no.”

Oscar sucked your nipple back into his mouth like it was a punishment.

Lando dropped his water bottle. “YOU’RE FRENCH KISSING HER NIPPLE BARS,” he cried. “YOU’RE MOANING.”

Oscar popped off with a wet noise. “They taste good.”

Lando looked seconds from death. “I came in here to ask if you were ready for media.”

“I’m not,” Oscar said calmly. “I’m busy.”

“You’re sucking on metal like it’s a sex toy.”

Oscar bit down lightly on your nipple and you whimpered. Lando’s brain broke. “I’M GONNA GO,” he announced. “I’M GONNA GO AND NEVER COME BACK.”

“Tell Zak I’ll be ten minutes,” Oscar said. “Twenty max.”

Lando ran. He didn’t walk. He didn’t jog. He sprinted.

And for the rest of the season, he never looked Oscar in the eye again.

Every time he saw you wear a low-cut top, he physically recoiled. Every time Oscar adjusted his grip on your waist, he flinched.

The entire grid found out within hours.

Drivers group Chat: 

Pierre: I heard Oscar came from just tit stuff. George: He WHAT. Yuki: Legend. Max: Did she squirt from a nipple? Lando: I’M RIGHT HERE. Charles: That explains the marks. Lewis: I’m scared. Carlos: I have questions.

And Oscar? Oscar was smug for weeks. Didn’t even deny it. Just sat in press conferences with that soft little smile, hands folded, thinking about your tits.

You asked him once if he felt bad for breaking Lando.

He licked a stripe up your nipple and said, “No.”

You didn’t ask again.

[quietstormxr]

No Feelings

Garrick Tavis x f!Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Garrick is tasked with getting closer to her. He didn't expect everything else that came with it.

A/N: Violence, Swearing, Angst, no real spoilers in this one!

Word Count: 10.6k

Happy @empyreanevents Garrick Week!

“Are you always this charming? Or did someone put you up to this?” Her eyes bore back at him, both question and accusation. 

Garrick is unfazed, its not the first time a woman has questioned his interest, it just proves that she isn’t just a capable fighter, but also perceptive. 

“No one put me up to it, I’ve watched you fight and seen you converse with Emetterio, just thought you could show me some of those skills.” The lie rolls off his tongue, both truth and challenge. There’s a slight bite on his tongue at the sharpness of it, but he shakes it off. It isn’t the first time he’s started here and he’s certain it won’t be the last if Xaden has any say. 

If he wasn’t someone who enjoyed casual hookups, he would question why he was the one always assigned to leave broken hearts in his wake, but between Basgiath and his parents death, settling down isn’t in his personal vocabulary any longer. 

She stares back at him a moment longer before he’s caught off guard when her melodic laugh shoots straight through him. 

“You’re telling me, Mr. Can’t Keep It In His Pants, is just trying to be nice?” The incredulity on her face makes her eyes sparkle, something he hadn’t ever noticed before. She cocks an eyebrow, obvious challenge to the tale he’s spinning.

“I mean I wouldn’t be oppos-“ His words die on his tongue as a dagger he didn’t even see her grab slices through the air next to his neck, the bite of the blade grazing his skin and landing with a decisive thunk behind him. 

Garrick just stares – blinking. Of course he had been told no before, some women just didn’t bed hop, though those were few and far between since entering the rider’s quadrant. But this, this was new, and he didn’t know if he was mad or exhilarated by the sight. 

“Did you just throw a dagger at me?” The words are incredulous, almost as if that had never happened. But of course, plenty of daggers had been thrown his way, just not for this reason before. 

“If you want to flirt or get in my pants, you can move on Tavis. I’m not here for your good time.” Her voice is dismissive, turning back to the supply paperwork she had been working on keeping inventory of the weapons. 

The feistiness of the challenge heats his blood in a way no other woman has in the last two years. What’s the harm if there’s a little satisfaction along with accomplishing his mission? As long as he can get the numbers that are close enough to touch each week, anything that comes after would just be a bonus. 

“Well I’ve never backed away from a dare before, why start now?” His eyes light up as the annoyance sparks on her face. “Look, I’m trying to get another weapons proficiency and you’re apparently the only one who has it.”

It isn’t a total lie, but it’s definitely not the truth. Garrick is more than proficient with every single weapon available at Basgiath, but its no secret that she's the master when it comes to lances. A weapon not common in the school, not common in battle, but when wielded can extend the reach needed. 

Her quirked eyebrow is the only indication she gives that this is even a consideration. 

“I promise no flirting or trying to get in your pants. Just a student and a master.” He says while pointing between her and himself. 

A loud sigh of exasperation leaves her, and he can’t help the quirk to his lips as an adorable look of inconvenience passes across her face.

“Fine.” She says with exaggerated slowness. “But if you start getting any ideas, this is off.” She says gesturing between the two of them. 

As he walks back to the dorms, satisfaction settles in his chest, maybe this entire endeavor will be easier than he thought. 

___________

“Why the fuck does he always get to be the one to do this?” Bodhi whines as he looks between the other two boys.

“Because you don’t know how to operate when I tell you no feelings involved.” Xaden snaps back, irritated to have to explain this to Bodhi once again. 

Garrick sits on the chair, looking entirely too smug for his own good. “Last time we told you to do something like this, you ended up confessing in the first week.” Garrick’s snark is smart, though he isn’t about to pass the chance up to entertain the newly appointed logs master for Emmetterio. 

“But I was only eleven! And she’s way out of Garrick’s league.” Bodhi continues in protest. 

Garrick’s nose wrinkles, a look of aggravation stealing across his face. “She’s not out of my league. She’s beautiful and you’re just jealous.”

They all know this conversation is ridiculous. Are more than aware they shouldn’t be speaking about any woman this way, but this isn’t just for sport, it’s for survival. 

“She’s more than out of your league considering the display that she made in the dining hall two months ago.” Bodhi points his finger to both accusatorily. 

It doesn’t take much to drum up the memory of her walking up to Railan and slamming his face into his mashed potatoes, completely unprovoked. Or that he ended up in the infirmary with a broken wrist after she challenged him to a spar. Only for everyone to learn later that he had cheated on her with a scribe. 

“That’s different. I’m not going to cheat on her, just make her think I’m interested, get to know her and break up eventually – nothing more, nothing less. I just need her to trust me, if I get to bed her while at it, so be it.” The confidence radiating off Garrick coming in thick waves, assured that this whole plan will be easy. His earlier achievement with her solidifying his bravado.

“Quit the fucking bickering.“ Xaden commands, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You flirt with her, train with her, get her to bring you to the faculty offices and check the logs. We only need the information every two weeks. No one needs to be in a relationship, garner feelings, learn about childhoods or share secrets. This is just meant to be a simple transaction.”

Bodhi and Garrick look at Xaden and exchange their own glances, his entire description clearly hitting on something he’s done before. 

“She’s not fucking Catriona, Xaden. I’ve spoken to her before, and she doesn’t deserve to be used like that.”

“Maybe not, but we didn’t deserve our fate either, yet here we are.” With the words out of Xaden’s mouth, they all go silent. There isn’t any arguing with that, no way to brook a rebuttal when no one bothered to do it for any of them at the respective ages of sixteen and seventeen. 

“I already spoke with her today. She’s going to train me with lances and I’m going to get the weapons proficiency. If we train enough, there’s no way not to break her down at some point.” The plan seems simple enough, train and get the information they need. Besides, Garrick has enough women banging on his door, having to settle for a friendly relationship won’t be an issue. 

___________

“You’re late Tavis.” She calls as the lance sails through the air landing square in the mat at his feet. The version of the weapon a crude one compared to the intricate piece standing tall next to the woman who is currently glaring at him. 

“Didn’t know that it was imperative to be here at the exact moment asked.” It’s a ridiculous comment, he knows well enough that if someone says a specific time, it’s always abided by. However, he couldn’t help the run to the forge that kept him longer than he was hoping. 

“You are a soldier, aren’t you? If nothing else, you should know by now punctuality is not a request, it’s a demand.” Garrick’s blood continues to heat, the forceful nature of her words and her air of confidence lighting a fire he isn’t here to stroke. 

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to punish me with some grueling drills I suppose.”

She doesn’t even wait, words that were meant to be playful striking a chord he didn’t know there was to stroke, before slicing forward with the triple blade at the end. Garrick staggers back, caught off guard by the ferocity of her reply to his teasing words. 

“I told you before, I’m not here to flirt. If you want to work, then fine, otherwise, don’t waste my time.” Her words cut as sharp as the blade she wields. Garrick nods in acknowledgment, the challenge to focus singing the song of battle in his blood. 

“Grab the lance and take your fighting stance. Let’s see exactly what you have down already.” 

As she retakes her stance, the fight in her eyes burning, Garrick can’t help but think how impossibly attractive she is. Battle lines sharp, eyes even keener, yet posture relaxed, as if she’s been fighting for her life far longer than she leads on. He can’t help the way his eyebrow quirks, its possible they have more in common than he thinks.

___________

Days turn into weeks, and Wednesday evenings begin to be his favorites. The routine one he dares to hope for, a lesson with a woman not afraid to claim her readiness for war. A weapon in both her sharp edges and even sharper tongue. Though he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was the cooling off after weapons practice that was truly his favorite. 

Her eyes that once only studied him in suspicion begin to soften, a recognition and appreciation of their time spent together. Perhaps it was because he was an eager student, always latching on to each lesson and trying to perfect the technique before their next session. Or perhaps it was the way in which she began to reveal the softness that still resonated under the sharp exterior. 

Another Wednesday, another day when he pulled his strength, reining it in so she always had a slight upper hand. 

“When are you going to use your full strength?” She asks breathlessly.

Garrick can’t hide his surprise, brows shooting up as he turns back to face her again. She gives him a look back that screams please, you don’t think I noticed, come now. For once in his life, Garrick feels sheepish. Most girls he’d been with never thought much about his power or his body as a weapon, well everyone except Imogen, but they’d known each other since childhood. 

For a moment he’s speechless, how can he explain that he’d been going easy without explaining why he was there in the first place. But even then, was that why he continued showing up every Wednesday?

He blinks, clearing away the surprise before falling back to his usual teasing. “Didn’t think you were ready to handle all of me?”

He watches as her brow rises in surprise and sarcasm. She’s less than impressed with his retort, he can read that plainly on her face. Though he doesn’t even have the chance to reply when she rolls to the side and swipes the lance under his feet, blades slicing through the leather of the mat. 

She doesn’t stop there either, letting the weapons arc and come full circle, blunt edge heading straight for his head. Arms raise in instinct to block, reverberations shooting through his arms as the weapons clash. Though it’s the crack that suddenly begins that has him looking up. Without warning, the wooden shaft splinters and fractures in too many directions. 

“Shit!” She calls as he stumbles back trying to clear his vision from the shards. Falling on his backside, the impact rocking the cuts now marring his arms. 

“Fuck.” Garrick groans out as he tries to still his eyes, a shard clearly roving uninvited in his eye. Eyes still closed, he can feel a tentative hand land on his shoulder, making his head turn.

“Hey, it’s just me.” She calls out in a soothing voice he’d never heard from her before. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

“There’s a shard stuck in there somewhere. Having a hard time opening it.” He responds in the direction of her hand that still rests on his shoulder.

“Okay. Can you lay down and I’m going to get some water to try and wash it out.” Her hand leaves him; a sudden coldness meets the skin where it was resting. 

In seconds, he hears the familiar click of boots and the squeal of leather as she kneels next to him, the unmistakable slosh of water greeting his ears. 

“Is it both eyes or just one in particular?”

Garrick moves both, and the right sings in pain. “Seems to just be the right side.”

“Try to open your eye just a little so the water can wash through. It’s cold so it may sting a little, and I’m sorry for that.” She says as one arm rests on his face, cradling it towards her and the sounds of water.

A sudden gasp leaves him as the icy water begins to meander down his face and over his eye. A finger begins idly stroking his cheek, a move he’s unsure if she even realizes she’s doing. Minutes later, the feeling of water sluicing over his face fades and he feels her palm drag down the side of his face. 

“Can you try moving your eyes again and see if that did the trick?” Her voice is tentative, apologetic in a way he’d never heard from anyone. 

Through closed lids he tentatively moves them left and right, there’s still discomfort in one, but the worst of the pain has dissipated. 

“I think you got it out.” Garrick replies as he begins to flutter his eyes open, readjusting to the brightness of the sparring gym. 

Vision focusing, his eyes find her face, concern painting her features from above and he thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes flare in shock at his own thoughts, a mental reprimand – no feelings he reminds himself. 

“Does it still hurt?” Her voice doesn’t raise, the concern still peaked through every word. “We should probably get you to the healers, just in case.”

Her hand moves down his arm, a gentle coaxing touch, before she grabs his hand and begins to pull him forward. Garrick opens his eyes in a squint while watching her actions carefully. As soon as he’s standing, he pulls his hand away feeling scorched by the heat of her hand. 

“Sorry.” She says as though she takes the blame for the entire incident. “Do you want me to help you to the healers? I understand if not.”

He can’t believe the way she has seemed to curl into herself, her usual commanding presence turning unsure. A pang surges through his chest, and he rubs at it without understanding why. 

“You know that wasn’t your fault, right?” His words are quiet, holding the hope to soothe the discomfort that seems to run through her.

“Well, either way, I am sorry.” She repeats as she begins to pick up the shards that litter the space around him.

Garrick is unsure how to move forward. He tries to wrack his brain for moments like this, but soon realizes that no one has apologized to him, especially not in Basgiath. Why apologize to the son of a traitor? A traitor himself. Why apologize to someone who moves from bed to bed, never staying long enough to matter?

Gods. Has he really just forgotten how to be human?

Instead of acknowledgment, he just moves. Walks towards the doors of the sparring room only turning for a second to look back as the doors close behind him. 

______________

“What did you do to her?” Bodhi’s voice greets Garrick as he continues towards the battle brief room.

“What the hell are you on about? Who her?” Bodhi gives him an unimpressed look in return as they both enter into the room. 

Without trying, his eyes roam the room, looking for a woman who showed him more compassion than the average person here. Garrick can’t help the way his shoulders tense when his eyes finally land on her. Instead of her usual proud stance, her shoulders curl in slightly, and he doesn’t miss the white bandages that wrap tightly across her knuckles. Eyes narrowing as they finally clock the blood that has begun to seep through the white cloth. 

“You know damned well who I’m referring to.” Bodhi’s head cocks to the side as he follows Garrick’s line of sight. “Heard through the grapevine that her squadmate found her in the gym beating the punching bag like she has a vendetta against it.”

Garrick turns looking at Bodhi, expecting to see the laughter in his eyes and the lie, but it’s not there. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well since you were the last one, she spoke to and she told her squadmate that she just lost track of time while training, I’m just assuming.”

Garrick’s eyes swing towards her again, not believing that she would punish herself for something that wasn’t her fault. But, he understood the compulsion better than most. What was there if you didn’t punish yourself for the one’s you couldn’t protect? Gods, he, Xaden, and Bodhi were walking advertisements for doing just that. 

For the second time since he was tasked with this, he felt his chest tighten, the thought of inflicting more pain on you tearing at his insides. 

“Regretting your assignment yet?” Bodhi prods as he studies Garrick’s face. 

Garrick just scoffs in response, but they both know he agrees without even speaking. He needs to move this along and get in and out of it as fast as possible. The last thing he wants is to inflict more pain than necessary. 

He tries to concentrate through battle brief, but he can’t get her bloodied knuckles out of his mind. His fist closes around the pen that he has poised on parchment, the creaking of the force on it dragging looks from Xaden and Bodhi. 

Taking a deep breath, Garrick adjusts himself, letting his eyes slide shut to get away from the incessant want to look her way. Bodhi’s snicker makes his eyes open and he glares back at him while he feels Xaden lean closer.

“Should I have Bodhi take over?” The question is quiet, but it causes Garrick’s heart to race erratically. 

“No.” He says, almost too quickly to be casual.

Xaden doesn’t ask anything else, just sits back in his chair. 

As soon as Devera closes her lecture, Garrick is on his feet, striding to the nearest column. He watches as cadets file out, unaware that he still stands there. When the familiar fall of hair passes, his hand shoots out and wraps snugly around her wrist, halting her movements. 

She whirls, dagger raised in defense, blood beginning to drip from her hand at the pull of the action on her wounds. Garrick isn’t surprised, he doesn’t try to defend himself, he knows that she’s used to being hunted. It’s showcased in the way she trains, how she constantly battles to be better, to perfect every movement. 

He watches as her eyes widen in shock, moving quickly to apology and remorse, to finally settle on irritation. “Is there a reason you go grabbing people like that?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He rushes out, knowing that if he doesn’t push through it, he’ll never give her what he should have yesterday. “I shouldn’t have left like that after you helped. It wasn’t your fault, and I never thought it was.”

Garrick is mesmerized as he watches her ire soften, the ridge of tension in her shoulders easing as he continues to talk. 

“And I wanted to see if you’d like to hang out after dinner.” Her eyes are now narrowing again, but this time trying to read exactly what he’s trying to say. “No weapons. No flirtations. Just talking to smooth over everything and get to know each other outside of the shattering of weapons.”

She continues to study him, clearly trying to parse out if he is lying or not. Garrick doesn’t move, his facial expressions don’t change, every single thing is as neutral as it possibly can be. After moments, she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She huffs out before pointing her finger at him. “But no funny business, or I walk.”

With that comment she turns and heads back towards her squad, her closest friend wrapping her arm around her and pulling her away. Garrick watches as she walks away, appreciation lighting up his features as she moves farther from view.

“How hard are you going to try to flirt with her now?” Xaden asks as he follows Garrick’s line of sight to the two girls heading to their other classes.

“Not at all.” Garrick turns his head to Xaden and quirks an eyebrow at his best friend. 

“You mean to tell me that she truly got you to keep it in your pants?”

The words are all accusation, and Garrick wants to deny it, but he can’t, his own reputation warranted. 

“She asked me not to, so I won’t. I just need to get back on equal footing after yesterday and this is the best way to get into her good graces again. Besides, if we start hanging out, maybe she’ll finally drag me to see those logs.”

Xaden shakes his head in agreement as they both begin walking to their next class.

___________

“You’re lying.” She says, though the amusement dancing in her eyes and the smirk on her lips belies her words. 

“No, I’m not.” Garrick chuckles as he leans his head back on his forearm. Gone is the hard and stoic soldier, the constant tease, and he’s peeled back the veneers and let her see him. The real him.

“You mean to tell me that you ate an entire chocolate cake yourself, in less than an hour, just because you didn’t want to share with Xaden?” She repeats, still incredulous.

“You, my dear, haven’t seen Xaden with chocolate cake.” The minute the words leave his mouth, her head tilts back, a harmonizing melody of laughter slipping from her lips. 

The smile of amusement plastered on his face falls, though it gives way to something softer, a look of complete adoration. A look he’s never given any other woman. The sound reverberates through his bones, lighting up the hollows of his chest that have been vacant since losing his mother. 

As her laughter begins to fade, she looks back at him, a question in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words roll off his tongue, the truth lined in every word. The smile that tugs at his lips is impossible to hide as he watches her face flush, pink dusting her full cheeks. 

She falls onto the grass next to him, hands trying to hide the flush still rising on her face. “Are you sure you aren’t flirting?” Question coming out muffled from the fingers covering her mouth. 

“I promise.” His own laugh answers as he goes to move one of her hands. “You asked me not to and I’ll always respect your wishes.”

She finally brings her hands away from her face and faces him again. 

“Thank you.” She whispers as a soft smile curves her lips, both of them falling in a contended conversation. 

____________

“I feel like I’m going fucking insane. The numbers were correct a week ago and now we’re short another thirty.” She grumbles as she sits at her desk, Garrick making himself at home on the floor of her room. 

A month of trading stories, sparring, and general friendliness has turned into nights together. 

“Bring it down here and let me take a look.” Garrick says, his voice coated in a lazy nonchalance.

She looks between him and the sheet between her fingers, a dip creasing between her brows. “I’m not supposed to show this to anyone other than Emetterio.” She comments worrying her bottom lip.

“I won’t say anything to anyone.” Garrick hopes his tone is comforting, because the lie is beginning to make his own throat constrict.

“Fine.” She concedes before adding. “But if you do, you have to promise to never eat chocolate cake again.”

Garrick gasps at her, his hand covering his heart. “How dare you threaten my favorite dessert!” The mock exasperation paints his voice and expression, but her own is serious.

“Fine.” He grumbles finally. 

She sits on the floor next to him, scooting to meet his own shoulders. The touch sends a shiver skating through his body; he looks over to find her poised over the paper trying desperately to reconcile the numbers correctly. 

For an hour they pour over the numbers. His eyes roam the entire report, soaking in every bit of information he can. 

“Are you sure they didn’t miscalculate the raw material available or utilize too much? That could explain the lack of weaponry, correct?” He tries to explain away the missing daggers, full well knowing they are sitting in a bag in Xaden’s armoire. 

“That may be true, it seems like the smiths are getting a little heavy handed in their weapons skills. This has been happening since I was assigned to help Emetterio. It’s the whole reason that I was given the assignment.” She ponders, giving him more information that he’d ever thought he’d get from her. 

They sit there looking over the numbers more, but neither comes up with any other explanations, both eventually returning back to their own assignments. The guilt that wasn’t there before begins to gnaw at Garrick’s thoughts, he knows the true answer, is aware why the logs will never be correct, but his lips remained sealed. 

Her yawn cuts through the companionable silence that had descended on them, the only other sound the scribble of pens as they both continued to work.

“I think I’m going to head to bed.” She says as another yawn slips past. 

Garrick rises, gathering his things into his own pack. As he rises to his full height, he sees that she’s stepped closer and his eyes get caught on her lips. The sudden urge to capture her soft pink mouth with his own. 

He turns, the thought still lingering. As she opens the door, Garrick turns back, in his mind intending only to say good night, but without thinking he leans down and softly touches her lips with his own. It isn’t anything like the usually stormy kisses, ones exchanged in passion and desperation, just looking for release. 

This is sweet, caring, and the opposite of every single thing he should be doing. Garrick pulls back, apology sitting on his tongue. But, before he can speak, her hand threads through his hair and yanks him back towards her. Their lips meet again, it still isn’t hot, still a little tentative, but there’s no denying the fire that has begun to spread in every vein. 

When they part again, her face is flushed, a beautiful blush rising to her cheeks and a sweet smirk crosses his lips. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks tentatively, as if dreading the response.

“Of course, if you want to.” Garrick replies, before bending down and stealing one more kiss. 

The only response she gives is a shy smile as she slowly closes the door to her room. A smile tears at his face, dimple on full display as he revels in this turn of events. Boots clicking through the stairwell as he returns to the third-year floor.

Though the minute he opens his own door, it drops as Xaden sits in his chair, clearly waiting on a report. 

“Getting in too deep there, Tavis?” His smirk is dirty, a knowing look that Garrick hates. 

Garrick refuses to answer, to play Xaden’s game. He tasked him with finding out information, and he will, but he wants to keep her too. There must be a way to keep both.

“They’re aware of the discrepancy between the ore their producing and the weapons that are fired. Though it seems like the smiths are being blamed for being heavy-handed.” Garrick report, monotoned. He refuses to give anything else but the facts he learned, Xaden doesn’t need to know he kissed her.

Xaden doesn’t need to know that the minute she pulled him forward that Garrick knew he was in trouble. Knew that he was treading a wire he never wanted to be put on.��

“Probably should hold off on pilfering anything for a week or so, let the numbers wash out correctly.” Xaden nods as Garrick continues, they have to be practical in order to operate under the noses of the Basgiath cadre. 

“Agreed.” Xaden says rising from the chair. “Keep it up, seems like your little project is starting to trust you.”

“Don’t call her that.” Garrick snaps as Xaden walks into the hall. 

Xaden’s brow quirks at the response. “It wouldn’t be good to get involved, you know. Things like this always end badly.”

“Says the king of no feelings.” Garrick grumbles as he turns and closes the door in his best friend’s face.

He’s aware this isn’t ideal, that he’s going to have even more secrets to hide, but gods, he doesn’t want to give you up. Not just yet.

 ______________________

“Hey there.” Garrick greets as he opens her door. 

Her smile in response lights up every tired part of his heart. Stepping in, he takes in the simplicity, not just in the décor of the space, but also the ease that she exudes. His body begins to sag in exhaustion.

How long has it been since he’s had a good night’s sleep?

She rises from her chair, hair loose and swaying, light training clothes hugging each curve of her body as she strides quickly towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him down to her level. 

“Hi.” She breathes after she kisses him quickly. 

She takes his hand and brings Garrick further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

“Glad to be back from being pulled to the midlands?” She asks as Garrick sinks down on her bed, slotting herself between his parted legs. 

The lie hits him in the chest and he drags her forward, burying his guilt into her stomach. His own stomach turns sour, churning at his own lies. Calloused hands splay across her back, anchoring himself to her, desperate to chase away the lies and demons clinging to his skin.

“Glad to be with you.” He breathes as he hugs her tighter, the tension from the drop finally releasing from his shoulders.

“That bad?” Her words are soft, her voice the only real thing in his life. 

“At this point, I think anything that involves days away from you may just be the worst.” Garrick grumbles as his thumbs trace circles into her lower back. 

The sweet sound of laughter greets his ears, and he pulls himself back, every ounce of hardness melting at the musical reverberation. His eyes light up at the sound, warmth pouring back in after days without her. Garrick can’t help himself, can’t stop the need to erase any distance between him. 

He pulls her down, a shriek of giggles following as she lands on top of him in the bed. In a flash he as her back to the bed and leans over her, head resting on his palms.

“Never stop laughing.” He whispers as he pushes hair from her cheeks, pink with the remnants of happiness. 

“Are you getting sentimental, Section Leader?” The question is meant to be teasing, but the smile on her face makes it all too real. 

“I don’t know about sentimentality, but I’m not sure if the sun would be quite as bright without that beautiful sound.” 

Their eyes meet and Garrick can barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Her eyes are a beautiful mélange of adoration and love, emotions that he’s never thought would be directed at him. Her hand rises and she cups his cheek, the tenderness causing him to melt into her touch. 

“Let’s get some sleep. You’ve been out a while and need it.” She says as she continues to map his face with her hand. He leans into her, head resting on her chest as her hand moves through his hair. 

Garrick’s arms tighten around her as the precarious situation with the woman underneath his cheek begins to plague his mind. 

“Please stay.” The words are barely a whisper, but no less a plea. Want wrapped up in utter desperation. He isn’t even sure she heard him, her heartbeat steady and hand tangled in his curls.

“Always.” It’s returned on barely a whisper as he hears her breathing even out. At that, his arms wrap around her, impossibly closer, clawing desperately to hold onto something he feels like he’s already lost. 

________________

“How’s your new toy, Tavis?” Imogen questions as she appears in the training gym, the smirk on her face indicating there’s more to the question than just face value.

“What are you on about Imogen?” His words are curt, being up since dawn on leadership meetings cutting his patience thin. 

“Didn’t know if you’ve seen her today. She seemed to be on a warpath of sorts when she stormed through the dining hall earlier.” Garrick’s eyes narrow, suspicion growing uncomfortably. 

He studies Imogen’s face, the too-satisfied smirk, the eagerness to engage in whatever this question entails causing his hackles to rise. Without waiting on Imogen’s convoluted skirting of the topic, he storms out of the training gym, sure-footed steps taking him to the familiar door that he’s spent so many hours behind. 

Before reaching the handle, his hand is moving, lesser magic working to click the lock, but as Chradh’s magic flows, nothing happens. The door, the very same door he opened yesterday, stays stubbornly closed. He swallows hard, heart tightening as if a fist has been wrapped around the organ, uncertainty weaving through every breath he takes. 

Garrick knocks, three times, a fourth, and still nothing. The door remains stubbornly closed, not a hint of movement on the other side. 

“Don’t think you’ll find her in there. And even if you did, I doubt she’d let you in.” Imogen’s words are filled with satisfaction, the kind that means his own world is breaking. 

“What the fuck happened?” Garrick snarls, worry and fury melding equally wrapping a fist around his throat.

A snarled chuckle is returned, Imogen straightening in the doorway across. “I believe Xaden may be the one who should be answering your question.” Her only words before opening her own door and disappearing through the threshold. 

Garrick doesn’t stop, taking the staircase, two at a time, pace frantic. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t wait for Xaden’s command to enter, no that is for civilized conversations, and this one is decidedly not.

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” Garrick’s furious gaze takes in the room. Xaden sat in his chair at his desk, Liam hovering behind, and Bodhi comfortable on the bed. 

Liam and Bodhi turn when the door slams open, eyes widened in shock, but Xaden doesn’t even turn his head. 

“I did what you were supposed to do two months ago.” Xaden’s tone is flat, a finality to the words that has the panic in Garrick’s throat tightening. “Or let her overhear it at least.”

Garrick’s entire world stops. The words clanging in his brain but making absolutely no sense.

“Overhear, what?” The whispered snarl drips venom, fury rising faster than the ocean tide. 

“Bodhi, Liam, go.” Xaden orders to the two other men, but Garrick doesn’t trust himself.

“No, you stay.”

Xaden lifts a challenging brow, but it’s the only emotion revealed before he turns back to his desk. 

“I let her overhear Bodhi and I discussing the shortages that were on the logs. Let her realize that the secret she told you to keep wasn’t a secret at all.” The explanation is blasé, every word rolling off Xaden’s tongue as if he’s only discussing the weather. 

Red. Everything is fucking red. 

Garrick’s temper flares and he turns and pounds his fist into the door, splintering the wood in several spots. Breathing ragged, he turns back to the men in the room, eyes narrowed in a deathly glare.

“When the fuck will it be time for you to keep the fuck out of everything in our lives? You can’t dictate the people we choose to be with. Fuck, Xaden! Just because you want to be fucking miserable and pine over the General’s fucking daughter, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to!” 

Xaden shoots out of his chair, both men facing off, fury radiating in a wave of heat the temperature of dragon fire. 

“I’ll keep out of everything when the scars rest on your back, Garrick.” The words are low, in tone and threat. 

Garrick’s nostrils flare and eyes widen. This, this is what it always boils down to. The threat that will forever hang over their heads. 

“How about you two settle this like normal, in the sparring gym?” Liam suggests as he slowly approaches the two men.

“No. I’m tired of this. Of this looming threat every time we don’t fall in fucking line.” Garrick presses, rising to his full height, making use of the inches he has on his best friend. “I’m your best friend. I’ve always listened, followed orders, gotten you out of scrapes, helped move along plans, but when is it fucking enough, Xaden? When will our debt to you be paid?”

“Do we all have to be miserable and alone, hopping from bed to bed for the rest of our lives because something worth dying for is dangerous to you? You sit here and dictate Liam to follow around Sorrengail. You say its for protection, but hell, we all know you’re in love with her.” Xaden’s shock registers for only seconds, the emotion gone in a blink.

“Even if Liam’s interested in someone, how can he compete with the schedule you gifted him? She has an entire fucking squad and every single one of your circle constantly protecting her, at what cost? Living, Xaden, at the cost of living!” Words begin tumbling out, the grief of something Garrick may have lost pushing him past restraint. 

“And you do what? Take away the one thing I had that didn’t feel like a burden, that brought back a little bit of peace. Why? Because for once, I was happy? For once I didn’t have to rely on flirtation and sarcasm to feel something. Godsdamnit, Xaden – just why?” The fight has drained. 

Fury giving way to resignation and sadness. Garrick turns, not giving any of them to speak, and walks out the door. His steps don’t falter, each one beginning to fill his boots with lead. The threat of what he expects to find burying itself in worry. 

But as he searches every single nook and cranny of Basgiath, he comes up empty. It’s as though she has disappeared. At the dining hall in the evening, he searches again, his heart in his throat as he waits to face the punishment for the way he used her. Frantic responses roll about in his head, any way that he can possibly rectify the situation. 

_______________

Words and ideas are wasted as days pass and there is still no sign of her. Her door still inaccessible, her form missing every battle brief, the sparring gym bereft with no logs being taken regarding weaponry. The walls scream as they seem to shrink with each day that passes.

Garrick watches her squad, noting the way they even search for the familiar face. A gnawing unease begins to eat at his very being. It isn’t just their relationship, but what if someone else heard Xaden, heard that she had broken protocol.

Worst cases begin to swirl in Garrick’s mind, closing his eyes, all he can see is her bloody and broken, chained because of his choices. 

‘Is Cois in the Vale?’ Garrick questions Chradh as the third day of nothing comes to a close.

‘Your human squabbles are not my responsibility.’ The grumpy brown replies, though there’s no real bite.

‘Please Chradh. I need to find her.’ The words are an appeal to the brown’s loyalty. 

‘Cois is in the Vale. But she will not share any details, unless you want her to continue trying to snap my neck.’ The response does nothing to soothe the worry in Garrick’s mind. 

Garrick breaks out into the courtyard, steps desperate to find something to settle his mind. Before he makes his tenth stride, pacing across each stone, light footsteps skirting rocks along the cobbled path. His eyes rise and his heart stops. 

She stands there, bloody from head to toe, hair mussed with dirt and grime, leathers torn and barely clinging to her form. Her steps continue, slow and overly measured, trying to push past pain. One of her eyes so bruised, it is sealed shut, cuts marring her beautiful face. 

When awareness finally hits again, Garrick is moving, strides eating up the distance in seconds, but a panicked voice makes him stop. 

“No.” The word leaves her lips, but pain and fear are etched across her face. She tries to straighten, stand up to her full height, but Garrick doesn’t miss the small hiss of pain. 

Garrick’s hand rises, his palms itching to hold her, to touch her and make sure she’s truly standing in front of him. 

“I said no.” The words are more forceful this time, malice sliding into her voice. 

“I asked you to keep what I told you to yourself. Didn’t think I needed to explain that I would be punished if anyone else found out about it. I trusted you, thought giving you my trust meant something in return.” She shakes her head, as if disappointed by herself. “I didn’t know that I was just a fucking project for you to pretend with. Just a little plaything for whatever you and Riorson have going on.”

Her eyes land on a point behind her, but Garrick can barely breathe, let alone focus on anything else.

“So, I hope you enjoy what your little game cost. Maybe next time you and your best friend will consider the people that will have to face the consequences of your actions. But I should commend you, Tavis, I truly thought you cared about me. Thought all the rumors of the quadrant were really a lie.”

An indignant huff leaves her lips, the split on them opening back up. “More fool me, I guess, just another pawn in whatever game you enjoy playing. So bravo, I hope you enjoyed every minute of it.”

Her eyes move, a form coming and stepping up next to her.

“Let’s get you to the healers.” Her squadmate says while glaring at Garrick. 

Everything comes crashing down. Her words settling into every broken crevice. Garrick swallows, trying desperately to give voice to anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. Every apology, every damn wish to make it better, to take her place, burning like bile as it sits, not making it past his lips. 

Instead, he watches as she limps away, watches as she drags his heart along with her. Wild energy coils inside him, the force making his entire body vibrate. Before he can blink, he’s entered the training room, walked up to the nearest punching bag, and the next sound that greets his ears is skin hitting leather as he blasts each bag past its point. His mind races as the skin on his knuckles begins to burn, fingers fracturing the only feeling that can get past the barriers of his anger, his misery. 

Garrick doesn’t know how long he stays there, how long he lets his blood pool on the floor, skin torn from his knuckles. It isn’t until exhaustion begins to settle, reality clawing its way back in, but the pain from his split skin is nothing. Nothing compared to the pieces his own heart has fallen into. 

“You should get those bloodied knuckles mended. Doesn’t look good for a Section Leader to let anger get the best of him.” Xaden’s words float to him, Garrick turning to see him settled on the wall closest to the door. 

Garrick scoffs, ire still burning between them. He walks towards the door, intent on ignoring Xaden like they have been for the last few days. But before he crosses the threshold, he turns, eyes hard.

“I pray to Amari that you never have to see the woman you love beaten and bloodied for your actions. For all the things you never told her. Eye swollen shut because you’re just another traitor. Beautiful face full of cuts and bruises, that even when mended will leave a mark on your soul.” He pauses, letting his words settle between them. “Because no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, no one and nothing will be able to take that mark away. The mark that your love left on her, and not one of gentle compassion and devotion, one that mars you both.” 

Garrick walks away then, lets their choices settle between them. The true cost of rebellion, the cost of war.

________________

Garrick tries desperately to seek her out. To plead his case and tell her that she was never a project, that his need for her was never something he faked. It was the only real thing he had for himself.

Every time, she is surrounded by squadmates, by loyal friends that help pick up her pieces when they learned of his betrayal. He knows that he isn’t worthy, he never may be, but it doesn’t change the way that his entire being cries out for the chance to be with her again. To feel her nimble fingers tangle in his curls, her melodic laugh reverberate through his chest. All the quiet ways in which she showed him love. 

The older years gather in the sparring gym, challenges resumed on a higher level, skills expertise being analyzed by the professors. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. 

Garrick’s hands fist when her opponent is called. 

Oswyn. Fucking Del Oswyn. The man that had been trailing her for months after she slammed her ex’s head into the table. The smile that lights up Oswyn’s face is the very definition of sinister, the gleam in his eye pleased amusement. 

Garrick watches as she walks to the mat, posture rigid, but held with power and purpose. She wasn’t quite as aware of Oswyn’s attempts, especially since Garrick gave him a black eye when he found him watching her through the door of the sparring gym one night. After that Oswyn backed off, clearly not willing to mess with the threats Garrick had levelled.

But now, now he wasn’t there, wasn’t a barrier to all the other men that would seek to use or hurt her. It didn’t matter; he would do anything to make sure that Oswyn played by the rules. There was no doubt in Garrick’s mind that she could take down Oswyn, but he was also aware that Oswyn wasn’t beyond playing dirty. 

They circled each other, the familiar dance of sparring, opponents sizing up each other, looking for weakness, any way to gain the advantage. He only caught it because of the scrutiny, the slight hitch in Oswyn’s stance, the indicator that something was hidden, a weapon he didn’t normally keep there. 

She lunged, fist aimed squarely for his jaw, but a quick step to the left and he was out of reach. She countered, body swerving quickly to follow his retreat. Oswyn’s boot came up, the glint of metal streaking and before anyone could react, it swiped through her ribs. 

Garrick could only watch as the pain stole across her face, hand gripping her side, blood seeping through her fingers. She didn’t fall. With her left hand, she grabbed the curved dagger at her side, a weapon clearly made solely for its wielder. The blade cut across his boot, hidden dagger falling to the ground. 

A scream tore through her lips as she sliced the blade across his knee, bringing him to the mat. Oswyn tried to swipe for her feet, but a dagger was flung, holding the sleeve of his arm to the floor. 

“He yields.” Emetterio announces. 

She turns; familiar eyes meeting Garrick’s with triumph. Before she can spin away, her face crumples and everyone around them erupts. Garrick looks down at Oswyn and a malicious look runs across his face, before she falls to her knees. 

Garrick’s eyes widen as he sees the handle of the blade slotted through her back. Panic ceases his lungs, before his feet move. Anger turning him into a weapon, meant only for destruction, to inflict maximum pain on the ones that seek to hurt her.

Her squadmates rush to her, two lifting gently and quickly rushing out towards the healers. As soon as the doors swing shut, Garrick’s fist wraps around Oswyn’s throat, his other hand twisting and pulling the air from his lungs. Distant orders sound in his ears, but his focus is on the bastard in front of him. The one who may have just cost the life of the girl he would willingly trade his own for. Garrick’s face closes in on the fear filled eyes in front of him, a glare as sharp as the daggers strapped to his ribs.

“If you dare to lay another fucking hand on her, your life is forfeit. Challenge or not. You. Will. Die.” The last words are punctuated, a wrath of righteous fury running through his veins. 

As the last word leaves his lips, he closes his wielding fist and releases his grip on Oswyn’s throat. He steps back two steps, the picture of control, though the hazel in his eyes has hardened to a molten gold. Walking away from the mat, he slams the doors open and walks out, steps firm and steady, but his heart beats wildly in his chest. 

Approaching the bridge to the healer’s quadrant, he sees the shadows move, whisps beginning to drag over his feet. His steps halt, head turning slightly, finding Xaden standing a few feet behind. 

“You need to go back to your post.” Xaden’s words are command and directive wrapped into one.

“No.” Garrick replies, finality sweeping through the word as he continues to look over his shoulder. “I’ve let you decree enough of my life. I’ll always be there to stand by your side and help in every way I can, but I will no longer let it be at her expense.”

With that, Garrick moves, steps continuing to carry him forward to the healer’s quadrant. Opening the doors, he’s met with chaos, light blue robes fluttering in every direction. He scans the hall, looking for any sign of black and continually comes up short.

The next time a healer passes in front of him, his hand shoots out, blocking her from escaping. “I’m looking for a rider that was brought in with a knife in her back. Where is she?”

He doesn’t even register the words he says, the actuality slicing through his own heart.

“I believe she’s in with Nolon. They aren’t allowing anyone in, you can wait outside with the other two that brought her in, if you stay out of the way.” The healer recites before flitting away to another duty.  

Garrick’s boots clip against the stone floor, footsteps heavy, echoing the dread that has clawed up his throat since he watched her face crumple. Wrath and fury turning to panic and dread. 

The familiar forms of her squadmates come into view, both turning to observe the newcomer. 

“If you’re here to drive the knife in further, you can turn around right now Section Leader.” The honorific slips from the man’s lips like a slur, Calvin or Caylin, he can’t remember. 

“I’m here to make sure she’s alright, Cadet.” Garrick isn’t afraid of him, but he won’t spit in the face of the way her squad cares for her either. “She can tell me to leave once she’s healed and awake.”

_________________

Minutes turn into hours, the agony of waiting pulsing under Garrick’s skin. He’s unsure when he started, but the dagger continues to twirl end over end as he waits outside the door. The hall is too quiet, no sound reverberating from outside the door, healers walking in and out, somber expressions plastered to their faces, bloodied sheets wrapped in their hands. 

As he focuses on another set of red stained sheets, his throat works, trying to swallow down the chance that he may never see her open her eyes ever again. But just as he begins walking the line of worst case scenarios, Nolon walks out. Every inch of the older man is sunken, tired from the toll of mending, shoulders hunched, exhaustion pulling at every feature. 

“She’s – stable.” The words are soft, meant to be reassuring, but the pause between says there’s more he isn’t saying. 

“She’s going to be unconsicious for some time.” He continues, his eyes turned down. “She lost a significant amount of blood and the blade knicked her kidney.”

Nolon looks up then, face somber, straight to her two squadmates. “If you wouldn’t have gotten her here when you did, I’m not sure she’d still be alive.”

Those words cause Garrick’s lungs to cease. The truth that he almost lost her a second time collapsing his carefully crafted control. He wants to rush to her, to beg her to wake up, to hit him, scream at him, hate him – anything. 

“You’re welcome to see her, but I’d suggest you all get some sleep. She’ll most likely be out for a day or so, if not longer.” Nolon’s words are supposed to be a comfort, to soothe the worry, but it does nothing to tamp the frantic nerves that still course through Garrick’s body. 

Nolon turns and walks towards another wing of the infirmary, but Garrick’s eyes stay on the door of her room. He can feel her squadmates look to him, they want to push him away, to make him leave, but he won’t, not until he can see the sunlight hit the familiar orbs that have been haunting him both waking and sleeping. 

“I’m assuming you aren’t going to leave her to rest, are you?” The words are inquisitive, the sharp edge that was there before dying slightly. 

“No. I’m not leaving until she’s awake.” The words are out of Garrick’s mouth as he steps forward, his hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob. “You both can rest, I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, hesitation finally wiped away as he pushes the door wide. Eyes settling on the form on the bed, all the blood rushes from his face. There, laid in the middle, is his girl that looks smaller than she ever has before. All color has leeched from her face, the normal warmth of her skin tone faded to a sickly hue. Her eyes are sunken in, deep purple bruises underneath her dark lashes. 

Garrick’s jaw tightens, his jaw feathering with held tension, every inch of his body locked. He wants to say it’s because of his control, because he can never let things slip, but it’s truly because the guilt is surging faster and harder than before. The woman he loves hurt because he wasn’t by her side.

He hesitated, didn’t move when he should have, didn’t predict the threat, even when it was right in front of him. The only thing moving him forward is the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the one thing holding him in the room and not running to kill Oswyn. Fuck the useless threats. 

His chest begins to match hers, her steady breathing dragging his feet closer and closer, until he’s next to her bed, his larger fingers curling around her own. It’s that contact that brings the control crashing down. 

Tears that he hadn’t shed since he watched his parents burn falling down his face in sheets. The truth behind every missed moment with her crashing all at once, the possibility that he would never be able to hear her beautiful laugh or watch her smile. Loss, grief, and heartbreak tumbled into hot tears that he wouldn’t dare show to anyone else. 

“Please, come back. Please.” Garrick can only plead as his forehead comes to rest on your intertwined hands. 

“Make me cross a gauntlet, fight ten opponents at once, bleed every ounce of blood I possibly can – just please come back to me.”

In the quiet of the room, tears still falling, words whispered in fierce desperation, Garrick’s heart cracks open. The organ that he had chained crumbling underneath the reality that she was never leaving the space. 

So, he sat there, day after day, until on the morning of the third day, her breathing picked up. Eyelids beginning to flutter, he rises from the chair, the ache of being in one spot too long stretching through his entire body.

As her eyes flutter open, the fear that never settled finally dulls at the edge, the recognizable color letting him finally take a full breath. 

Eyes squinting at the bright lights, he moves closer, hand ghosting over hers as to not frighten. 

“Welcome back to us.” His words are soft, the relief flooding through each word. 

Her head turns slowly as her mind begins to work again, she blinks fast and then realization must dawn, because he can see the walls rising in her eyes. 

“Wh – Why are you here?” The words are a rasp as she begins to cough lightly.

He turns and finds a glass of water, handing it to her while helping her sit up. As she sips the drink, she doesn’t move her eyes from his, clearly not wanting him here.

“I’ve been here since your fight. You should know that I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” Garrick’s words come out, his own eyes widening as realization dawns.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Unless it comes directly from you, right?”

Garrick can’t help the flinch. She hasn’t even been awake for ten minutes and already his own actions are biting back at him. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” His words just seem hollow, even to his own ears.

“For some reason I think that’s exactly what you expected to do.” Her snark isn’t unexpected, it’s warranted even. 

Garrick clears his throat trying to gather his own thoughts, he can admit to himself, this isn’t exactly going the way he wanted it to.

“Let me ex-“ Before he can even finish, her hand shoots out, stopping his thoughts.

“I don’t want your explanation. You broke my trust. You used me to get something and accomplished your task. How about we just leave it at that?”  As she turns away from him, Garrick wants to turn her back to him, to force her to listen. But he knows that she won’t give in or hear him if she doesn’t want to. 

Still, he refuses to leave without showing her that he truly does still need her. Damning the consequences, he leans down, breath ghosting over her temple and kisses her there. Not with heat, or passion, just with the gentle care that he’s determined to give her. To make her understand that it was truly real.

___________________

“Garrick, get up. Someone’s going to see you.” She says in a forceful whisper, eyes flitting to the left and right.

“No. I’m going to kneel here and beg until you let me at least explain myself.” The reply slips easily from his lips, he’s not above groveling and begging, not at this point. Over a week has passed since she returned from the infirmary and he can't stand it. He refuses not to be able to protect her any longer, for her not to know how important she is, how loved.

“You can’t let just anyone find one of the most feared riders in the quadrant on their knees.” She huffs as she steps forward and grabs the arm of his flight jacket, wrenching him to his feet.

“I don’t give a fuck who sees me. All I care about is you.” He says as she pulls him into her room and closes the door behind him. 

Not giving her a second to think, he’s on his knees again, this time his arms are around her waist bringing her to him. 

Gods. He’s missed her smell. Missed the way her body molded in his arms. Missed the way her hand fists in his hair as if its muscle memory, the place where it has always belonged.

“Please let me explain.” His words are muffled as he tries to bury himself in her stomach. Desperation mingling with a small slice of hope.

“What is there to explain? Xaden knew I was there, he knew I would hear everything he said. Your faithful leader showed your hand, what else is there?” Her words are clipped, forceful and too damn true.

“What you heard is true. Even if I want to take back every single ounce of them, you’re right.” Garrick gets out as he looks up at the woman he so desperately needs. “But there’s one thing that Xaden never accounts for. Fuck, something that I didn’t either – until you.”

“The reason for getting close may have been bullshit, but the minute you began to pull me into your orbit, it became the opposite – the excuse. The excuse for all the others to stay away, to let me get close to you. And as the days went by, I fell, I never intended to – but I did.”

“And I could have fucking killed Xaden when I found out, when I realized that he blew up every single thing I had because it wasn’t part of his plan.” Garrick rises, his hand coming up to cup the soft skin of her cheek. 

“You were never part of the idea, but gods, now you are my only plan. The only thing that makes sense in this death sentence. The one thing that keeps me wanting to come back home from war, to not be lost to dragon fire and battle.”

Her eyes searched back and forth as she looked up at him. Garrick didn’t know what she was looking for, but he hoped that she found it, hoped she believed how much he needed her. 

“Are you ready to scale the insurmountable mountain of proving that you’re really here because you want to be and not because of some directive?” She challenges, fire lighting up her eyes.

“I will scale anything you put in my way. I refuse to let a stupid fucking directive derail the one thing in my life that’s been only mine. And gods I hope you are still fucking mine.” 

Control is lost as Garrick surges forward, arms lifting her from the floor, wrapping around her waist and tugging her to him. His face gets lost in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent settling him in a way he hasn’t experienced in months. 

"And I'll keep my word, I promise no chocolate cake until you trust me again." Garrick can feel the way her lips quirk in his hair, the one indication that maybe, just maybe, she'll forgive him - eventually.

In that moment, he knows that he’ll protect Tyrrendor, his Duke, the continent, but never at the cost of her. 

.

.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor@nevermoresworld@nastylicious@iambored24601@mysticalfuncollectorus@sadpieceofbread@alwayshave-faith@bestillmystuckyheart@luvly-writer@yuelhua@mitziix

[gothmamas]

rural medicine

i wanna make this into a series hopefully so here's a short little introductory chapter to see if anyone likes :) made this all in one go lowkey so if its bad pls don't bully me thx

synopsis: what if robby was a sexy rural doctor basically lawl

a/n: hope i did robby justice

Environmental science is horrifically depressing. The whole world melts at a speed that is too rapid to ignore, but too slow for anyone important to care about. Every new chart or grid or essay you skim over never fails to drop a pound of heavyweight dread onto your heart. That’s how you felt for most- if not all of your freshman year. Constant. Without reprieve. Your morning coffee was often soured with images of polar bears slipping on slushy, grey ice popping into your mind. Nights out with friends are ruined when you remember just how many emissions your car puts out into the air- even when you’re carpooling. New research findings plague your every waking thought. Though mother earth never seems to catch a break, it’s clear that you so desperately need one. 

So you take a gap year. You look for a promise of peace, and you think you've found it in a fire lookout job listing. You’re not sure of it at first, but find a little reassurance in knowing that the location isn’t too far from its neighboring town. Besides, isn’t the whole point of this all to step outside of your comfort zone? Maybe your endless worries could be soothed by being closer to the very thing you’re so desperate to save. To feel like you’re making a difference for once.

So, you pack up your life and disappear up north.You don’t tell anyone, either. You want something fresh. Something you can make yours and only yours. Your parents had always nagged you about your career path, and you hardly doubt your friends would notice you leaving. You’d always felt like a thorn in everyone’s side. Sure, they kept you around, but you can tell that they can’t wait to pluck you out and toss you away before it’s too late. Besides, if you get one more call from your mother or have to hear another voicemail with a major course change suggestion, you feel like you’ll end up on the five o'clock news. 

It feels freeing, anyway. No calls to expect, no anxiety inducing essays to write, and certainly no after class job to slave away at. Just the wind in your face and the faint rustle of your belongings in the bed of your truck. 

The drive into an entirely new state had been a long one. Finding your way into town proved a little bit more difficult than anticipated, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. The area around it is dense with trees, covering miles and miles of land with fresh greenery sprouted from heavy spring showers. 

When you finally roll into town, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You’re not sure why, but you’d half expected to find the place bare and empty like in all of the movies and tv shows you’d seen. This might be the case for the outskirts, but as you cruise in deeper, it’s quite lively, and pleasantly so. 

The town square is set up for what looks like a late morning farmer’s market. Stalls are lined up in crooked rows, displaying various fruits, vegetables, a few pieces of clothing and what appears to be handmade art pieces. Wooden? You can’t tell from your seat in the cab. The children running around and giggling pause to stare when you put your truck into park, but look away again when another kid pulls them back into whatever game they’re playing. 

You’re tempted to join and poke around the stalls for a bit, but as if on cue, your stomach reminds you that it’s painfully empty. You’ll have to have a look when you get more time.

The diner you find isn’t picturesque by any means, but that appears to be the case for most things around here. It’s not as lively as the town square, but there’s a few people. A couple in a booth, an old man in the back, and another man perched on a stool in the front. He’s tall, almost intimidatingly so, with dark hair and a grey speckled beard. He’s having a polite conversation with a waitress behind the counter, and his low, gravelly voice can be heard above the soft country music playing from a rundown jukebox attached to the wall. 

“Oh, you know I can’t tell you that, Myrna.” He sounds amused as he cradles a cup of coffee, long fingers and a large palm splayed over the white porcelain. 

“Here we go, with the HIPPA bullshit again. I just wanna know if it was him. You know who I’m talking about.” The woman, presumably Myrna, retorts. He takes a long sip of his coffee, but you catch a sly smile behind the rim. He shrugs slowly, deliberately. Myrna seems to get the message. 

“How bad? She give him what he deserves?” Another shrug.

“Needed a lot of bleach to clean up the parking lot.” His answer seems to satisfy her enough for her to realize you’re sitting right there, and you politely give her your order afterwards. The man sitting next to you produces a small book from the breast pocket of his flannel when Myrna disappears into the kitchen, and though you can’t make out the small print from where you’re sitting, you assume it’s some kind of field guide. Either that or a pocket bible. 

You feel drawn to him, maybe even compelled to have a conversation with him, (because let’s be real, who wouldn’t, he’s pretty damn handsome,) until he catches your gaze out of the corner of his eyes. Shit. Abort. Your eyes immediately dart back with a little shame, and thankfully, Myrna returns with your eggs and waffles.

“Never seen you before.” She’s blunt, you’ll give her that. You think that maybe the tall stranger next to you is wondering the same thing, because you can practically feel a pair of eyes boring into the side of your head. But you’re too nervous to look and confirm. 

“Ah, you’re right. Just here for the summer.” You shrug, shoving a piece of egg in your mouth.

“Oh, really? What for?” She seems genuinely interested, and it eases your nervousness.

“Firewatch lookout.” There’s an almost intrigued grunt from beside you, but it’s followed by the clinking of coins and the muffled scuffing of a stool being pushed in. Sounds like he’s leaving. A wave of disappointment washes over you as he waves and shrugs on a carhartt jacket. Your eyebrows furrow at this. It’s like, almost eighty degrees out. On top of a flannel. As if she’d read your mind, Myrna just shrugs and mutters something about him being weird. 

She talks your ears off the rest of the time you’re there after he leaves. You learn that the man’s name is Michael Robinavitch, but he also goes by Robby sometimes. You also learn that he’s a doctor. When you asked her what kind, exactly, she just shrugs and says he works in the emergency room and that’s all she really knows. The rest of the meal is filled with small town gossip she seems extremely excited to share with somebody new for once.  

You tip her for the good company and conversation before you leave. A warm summer breeze brushes against your face as the door jingles shut behind you, and you briefly check your watch to make sure you’ll still be on track for your hike up. It’s not that far, anyway. You think. You’ll be fine.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when something heavy suddenly nudges your thigh, and when you look down, you see an absolute beast of a dog. The pup is huge, with a dark chocolate coat that glows a beautiful light brown in the sunlight. Her tail is wagging a million miles an hour, and she looks like she’s about to leap onto you and knock you out on the ground.

“Oh, hey there,” You croon, crouching down a little bit to give her some pets and pats along her back. 

You don’t realize Robby is standing nearby until an amused chuckle fills the air next to you. When you whip your head over to look at him he’s smiling, holding a little bag of dog treats in his hand. 

“She yours?” 

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “Doesn’t belong to anyone right now. Loves people, though. Started calling her Winn Dixie after a while.” He adds, beckoning the pup with a click of his tongue to toss her a treat- which she catches in the air beautifully. “I’ve tried to set her up with people, but no one’s too keen on taking her in.”

“Why not you?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and he’s quiet before he tosses another treat her way. 

“Long work hours. She’s too big for my trailer, anyway.” Right. Emergency room doctor and all. “She seems to like you, though. Heard you’re headed to the fire tower.” He smiles, almost mischievously. Aw, shit. Is he trying to set you up too? Cold and calculated, this guy. “Maaybe she’d enjoy the hike up with you?" There it is. 

“How do you figure that?” You reply, not too convinced that this dog will just calmly follow you up random terrain- especially with that amount of energy. You don’t want to even imagine what it would be like to hunt her down and wrangle her leash back on. But she doesn’t even seem to have one at the moment.

 “Took her up there with me once. She likes it.” He assures, nodding his head down toward Winn Dixie. She looks absolutely ecstatic at the proposition, like she can understand every word he’s saying. Or maybe she knows this game, too. Either way, the shining of hope in her big eyes is killing every little ounce of spirit you have to resist immediately taking her in. You kind of want to ask what the trouble with her finding a home is, but you think it might have something to do with her high energy and huge size. If she were human, she’d make a pretty good quarterback. 

“...aren’t you worried about, like, bad intentions?” You ask, eyebrows raising slightly when he holds out the treat bag to you.

“Mm, I think she knows how to pick ‘em.” He shakes his head slightly as you take the bag of treats from him. “She practically knocked you over just a minute ago. I think she can hold her own.” He’s right again.

Silence falls over the two of you while you gently feed Winn Dixie a treat, a smile spreading onto your face when she happily gobbles it up- and licks your hand to top it all off. Man, she is really laying it on thick.

With a heavy sigh, you relent. 

“...I’ll see how she likes it.” Robby’s face lights up at this, for some reason, and it almost makes you want to impress him- do something spectacular to see it again. “But I’m takin’ her right back here if she starts actin’ up.” He laughs at this, the sound low and gravelly as he begins to fish through his pocket. You squint a little to see that he’s pulling out his wallet, producing two twenty dollar bills. 

“Here. Can’t spring a kid on you without any financial support.” 

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can-” He shakes his head, practically pressing the bills into your palm.

“Can’t have you getting her the shitty dog food, now. It’s for my peace of mind.” You sigh a little and tuck the bills into your pocket, and he straightens up with a gentle clap on your shoulder. “I’d give you my number to check in, but there’s no cell reception up there. Find me when you come back in town.” With that, he’s walking off before you can even ask how the hell you’re going to find him in a few weeks. Maybe he has a rigid schedule. You hope so, at least.

“...alright, Winnie. Let’s get you something for the road."

[minhoetaur]

nsfw. bouncer!minotaur x fem!reader (two) – monsterfucking, smut, oral sex, very quick blowjob, MESSY pussy eating (emphasis on messy), squirting, size difference, bodily fluids (mentioned heavily), he still has a country accent, some possessiveness, horn stimulation (Is that a thing? guess it is here!) – dedicated to one of my beautiful besties @clubsoft

<– previous part | next part –>

he’s been thinking about you, and it's not even on purpose. your dress, your tongue, the way you drank him down like he was fucking water.

even his roommates noticed that something–someone–was taking up all the space in his mind. just as big but a few years younger fellow asterions pressing when they caught him staring out into space and drooling into his food.

the bouncer didn’t tell them anything about you. not yet, at least. he’ll do it, eventually, but for now, you’re his.

his to rub. his to squeeze. his to lap his slobber-soaked tongue against for so long that he’ll taste you for weeks.

he’s got you halfway propped up on his shoulders as he sits slumped against the couch. growling and stuffing his face deeper every time you try to pull away and inhale a lungful of air. mumbling something about how there’s no sense ‘n runnin’, darlin’. told you i was gonna eat ‘til i was full, didn’t i?

the bull proves the declaration with such vigor. chuffing and panting against your hole with messy sucks of your clit and beyond. he’s close to inhaling you at certain moments. tongue flicking so fast, so messily that the slick your slit is drooling out gathers in amounts you didn’t know to be possible. all of it leaking to douse past his chin down and drip down his neck. not that he minds.

what he really can’t get enough of is how soft you are… just a sweet thing of honey-flavored puddy who’s gripping at his horns and tugging his hair with a grip he’s sure you think is doing something.

“oh my… god, you’re fucking crazy,” you breathe out and he smirks around your clit. it makes sense to him that you think that, him being your first bull. he thinks he would’ve figured it out even if you hadn’t told when he asked, ‘cause you’re trembling like a leaf in his grip. “how’re you… shit–how’re you doing that? that thing–yeah, yeah. that…”

instead of answering you, he does it again. and then again just ‘cause he can, letting out a groaning cheer of victory when a gush floods from you and onto his face for the fourth time tonight. he gulps down what he can catch in his mouth, letting the rest stain his shirt. your groans tail out into pleasing-sobs, hands clutching him at the base of his horns just as your body starts another round of involuntary twitches.

“okay, okay,” you whine, just barely managing to unlatch yourself from his mouth. ropes of spit and slick appear when you pull away, his hands helping you slide down the steep journey to his lap. collapsing with heaving breaths, you slump against the bull’s broad build. he waits for you to catch onto the fact that you’re sitting right atop the denim-clad bulge of his cock, swallowing the grunt he wants to let out. when you finally do, you tilt your head and look up at him. sleepy but eyes brightening at the size of him.

he just shrugs the wide of his shoulders, face still wet with your juices.

“what’d you expect? got a gorgeous thing like you grabbin’ at my horns like you wanna tear ‘em off. you know they’re ‘bout just as sensitive as the cock you were suckin’ on the other night, right?”

hm. he’s thinking tell you that fact what a mistake, especially with the way you’re stare lights up the same way it did the first time you tasted his cum.

a few seconds of electrified quiet pass between the two of you, and he doesn’t stop you when your hand reaches for the button of his jeans. it pops open with no more than a tampering of your fingers, his cock literally bursting past the zipper you lower with a heavy plap onto the low of his stomach.

your next move surprises him… and he revels in the feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen next. you grin at the way he gazes down at you, the bouncer scooping you up and releasing a long exhale at the ghosting touch you reach and touch one of his horns with. his body accidentally shudders when you match the caress with a similar hand at his leaking tip.

“...what happens if i touch them at the same time?”

huffing warmily, the bull grips your hips. squeezing at the soft he can’t get enough of.

“why don’t you try, ‘n see what happens…”

biting back a smirk, you place one palm at the protruding keratin, and the other at the base of his cock. three strokes of each and he’s letting out something similar to a choking roar. face scrunching as a thick rope of cum spurts from his tip. before he can blink, you’re back on your knees. tongue dipping into the slit that squirts out what looks to have become your favorite sap.

“just can’t get enough, can you?”

your head shakes without letting him leave your mouth. cheeks blown wide once more as they refill with his seed.

“fuckin’ cute when you’re all greedy like this,” he puffs, curses spilling out under the rough of his breath. “drink all you want, yeah? ‘til that belly’s nice ‘n full.”

you were so generous with him, letting him lick you stupid, and it’s only right that he does the same.

the awe from before returns as he watches you, completely mesmerized. his stomach flipping at the fact that he’s only been with you twice yet already knows he’s not planning to let you go anytime soon.

BOUNCER!MINOTAUR TAG <3 | a/n: emergency –> i desire him terribly. even worse emergency –> he is not real. let us mourn this fact in the tags :(

[suiana]

#minetolose

(yan! fwb stalks you and can't believe you talk to other guys?! gets super jealous and lowkey wants to keep you all for himself?!) (tw: erm kinda crazy man, possessiveness, i hate him) (2200 words max) (wc: 2.1k)

Aidan isn't a romantic guy. Not really.

He's never grown up like that, how can you expect him to be romantic when his parents were too busy fighting? It's just not his style. Imagine being vulnerable with someone? No thanks.

Which is why he doesn't do relationships either. They’re too sappy and too much effort. And for what? A half-assed 2-year relationship that ends with his partner cheating because 'he didn't give them enough attention' or some other excuse?

He's seen it more times than he can count and he's not going to be a victim.

So when he first met you at a work party, he thought it would end up like all of his other flings, used once and trashed later. Or maybe a few extra times if he liked the way they looked under him.

What? He's still a man with needs, okay? 

But there was just something about you that made him want to stay. Weird, huh? Mister Aidan Gunther here always thought he had his feelings separated from his dick but apparently, he was wrong.

He had never outright suggested being friends with benefits that act like a couple but he supposes that's what you two are.

Everything all happened so naturally that Aidan never really had any time to reject it. It was supposed to be just one night. Then came the coffee date, then two, then suddenly he was sleeping over at your place more often than his own. 

Your scent on his shirt, his scent on your bed.

It felt right.

Maybe that's why he never told you to fuck off and never find him again. Because somewhere in that cold heart of his yearned for this domesticity.

This closeness that only you had been able to provide.

Also, the sex? Incredible. It’s almost like you were made for him. So how can you blame him for wanting to keep you a little bit closer?

"What the fuck is this?"

Aidan doesn't even let you get a word out before he traps you in your apartment, kicking the door shut. So aggressive, but it’s not out of character. He did insist on having your schedule a few weeks back, and that time when he asked you to block an ex for good. Just a normal ‘friends with benefits’ thing, right?

Like any ‘friend’ would do, your green eyed freak decided it would be appropriate to stalk you- sorry, I mean watch you through the office security cams at work. 

'It's not stalking if I'm trying to keep you safe,' he claims. 'I just want to make sure you’re alright.'

Sure buddy, tell that to the feds. Anyway, your fuck buddy decided to 'watch' you through the security cams to 'keep you safe’ and guess what?

"I saw you talking to another guy."

That's right folks! He saw you talking to a coworker! Shocking, yeah? Bet you didn't expect that. 

You could only blink in confusion, racking your brain for any memory of talking to a guy before it finally clicks in that beautiful head of yours. Gosh, he loves the way you look when you're focused. Eyebrows furrowed and that small downturn of your lips. Man, he just wants to kiss you until that furrow turns into one of pleasure… Ugh, focus Aidan!

"You mean Joe?"

"Joe? That's what he’s called? Stupid name."

Huh? You were utterly flabbergasted, annoyed, all of the above. You've never seen him this worked up before. Not since you accidentally stepped on his good shirt and he screamed about how he hasn't done laundry in two weeks. 

"What's wrong with you? He's just my coworker dude."

You merely narrow your eyes at him before lamenting your cozy weekend. So much for looking forward to relaxing. You might’ve liked him enough to be friends with benefits but this? Living in your home rent-free and acting like a helicopter boyfriend? You’re on the verge of just telling him to get out. 

Also, the fact that you two work in different departments but now you’re seeing him everywhere in the office and at home? He’s like a parasite who’s attached himself to you permanently. Who cares if he’s a sex god? You don’t like him enough to see him 24/7!

But it doesn't look like Angry Aidan is letting up anytime soon.

"Just a coworker? You're telling me this loser is just a coworker?!"

He's losing it right now. Over what? Over the fact that you were talking to your male coworker! 

"Yeah, why are you so mad that I have a good relationship with my coworker?"

Wrong answer.

Aidan grabs both of your arms, eyes a dark green as his jaw clenches. Fuck, Aidan stay calm. You wouldn’t want to scare them off, would you?

"Because I saw the way he fucking touched you. His hand on your shoulder like he owned you, like he could own you."

His voice turns bitter and Aidan lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Fuck, just thinking about it gets me mad. Are you mad? I'm pissed as hell."

He feels his veins twitch at the memory of how Joe laughed way too happily with you. How could you not see that Joe obviously liked you? He’s doing all the stuff that Aidan does with you!

"How dare he touch you, you're-"

Mine.

Aidan's breath hitches and he momentarily stops whatever the hell he's doing. No, no, no. He couldn’t possibly be...

In love with you, could he?

Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, irritation rising at every second he had you pinned against the wall. Actually, this reminds you of that one time he freaked out because you didn’t answer his texts for three days straight. 

He was sobbing on your doorstep in the middle of the night, throwing accusations around like confetti. You pitied him, that’s all. How could you ask him to leave? It’s not like he was completely crazy yet. 

That was a mistake. 

Because him staying that night turned into a week, into a week, into him never leaving and you’re sick of it. Leaving dirty laundry on the floor, lounging on your couch, acting like an overly possessive boyfriend that you definitely didn’t sign up for. And what? Now that pity might get you killed?

All that recollection and he still has you pinned against the wall. Did he seriously forget that he was throwing another one of his tantrums and go off into some anime daydream?

"Hello? Earth to Aidan? Are you there or should I slap you?"

Silence.

"Dude, are you seriously asking for a slap?"

But Aidan still wasn't coming back. 

Not after your threat to slap him, not after you displayed annoyance. 

Nothing.

"Aidan, I will slap you."

You slap him. Hard.

He doesn't come back.

Why? Because everything clicks in his head.

So that ugly feeling that spread through his stomach before settling deep in his chest wasn't heartburn but jealousy? The way it twisted and threatened to gut him inside out wasn't anger at the stuffy room, but disgust at the fact that someone else touched you? 

It’s you.

It’s always been you. 

Aidan freezes in place, mouth parting slightly as he stares right at you like he’s seeing something for the first time. Or maybe something he’s failed to see. 

“Can’t you just like, not talk to him anymore?”

You blink at him. 

"Bro are you serious right now?"

His grip tightens around your arms, almost painfully so. You wince, he doesn't notice.

"Fuck- Uh, yeah just…"

Staring into those green depths of his, something feels off. His pupils are blown wide, more black than green. But honestly you don’t even care anymore. You shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he leans closer.

“You shouldn’t have let him touch you like that. It’s fucking… Wrong.” 

Wrong? You raise an eyebrow at his words, confused. Aidan lets out an annoyed groan, the tips of his ears burning red. 

"Why does it matter so much?"

Under your gaze, he feels something in him snap. The flush spreads, bleeding into his cheeks as he fights back the urge to just kiss you senseless. 

"Because I fucking care about you, alright? Way more than I should and it’s driving me insane."

For a second, neither of you speak. The air feels too still, too sharp. And suddenly, it all clicks in your head like the final piece of a puzzle.

Is Aidan in love with you?

"But Aidan, you said-"

"I know what I fucking said. I was wrong, I don't want to be just friends."

A trembling hand comes up to cup your cheek, calloused thumb rubbing your skin. Desperate. Like he’s holding onto something precious. Something so valuable that he will not lose.

"Aidan," You try to stay calm. "I don't like you like that."

"You don't mean that."

Yeah no. Your ‘calm’ is slipping.

“Aidan, listen. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I told you that when we decided to start sleeping together."

What happened to no strings attached? You both agreed! Your cheeks flush in irritation, fists curling. You should’ve stopped this before it started. Should’ve told him to leave the second his gaze lingered a second too long or when his gaze softened when it wasn’t supposed to.

"Sweetheart.” You flinch at his reverent tone. “Don't you see? We're meant to be."

His words slap you in the face. It’s like Aidan’s already decided how this all ends, like he’s already decided you’ll be a character in his fairytale without asking if you wanted to be in.

"Aidan we don't have any romance."

"We have plenty of romance."

And just like that, he stops hearing you.

His mouth attacks your neck, leaving dark bruises in its wake while his hands wander beneath your shirt like they have a hundred times before this. 

But this is different. His touch, presence, everything feels wrong. You shove at his chest, not wanting anymore to do with him. 

“Get off me-”

"We fuck at night, then kiss in the morning. I take you out, pay for what you want and watch your shows. We do everything couples do."

He lets out a low chuckle, hair falling messily over those green eyes. What is that look? Obsession? Insanity? You don't even want to know. All you can think about is how his once-pleasant kisses now feel like hot iron on your skin. 

"I know it's a lot to take in all at once, but trust me, sweetheart, it’ll be worth it."

You try pushing him away, desperate to escape from his clutches. But Aidan is nothing if not persistent, caging you in like it’s his job.

"I can’t go back to life before meeting you, sweetheart.” He whispers, and just for a second you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. But then his tone hardens. Icy, final. “And I won’t. Because you’re mine, damnit. Mine, mine, mine.”

Suddenly, his hand is in the back pocket of your jeans, taking your phone away.

"Give that back! I didn’t give you permission!"

But he’s not listening, of course not. You watch as his thumb scrolls leisurely, deleting contacts one by one. Friends, family, everyone. Until all that’s left is him. 

"You don’t need them, no one else gets you like I do, love you like I do."

Your chest burns.

"Touch my phone again and I swear to god, Aidan, I’m calling the cops!"

That earns a reaction. His jaw tenses and you think he might start screaming. But he doesn’t. He just… Smiles. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. 

Aidan slips the phone back into your pocket with mock affection, like he’s giving you a gift. 

"Don't worry, things will be amazing. Just us. no one else."

Is he serious right now? Ah…

You know what?

“Aidan.” 

No, you will not stand for this. This is your apartment! Your safe space! Who the hell does he think he is, claiming this is his apartment too? He doesn’t even pay rent! 

“Get out of my apartment.”

You try to push him away once more but he doesn’t relent. Rolling your eyes, you simply reach out for your phone into your back pocket. No hesitation, no trembling, just a clear message.

You’re serious.

Green eyes follow your hands as you call emergency services, your phone screen flashing bright and loud. Loud enough to show him that you mean business. His eyes snap to yours, a low growl escaping his lips.

“You’re actually going to do this?” Despite his growl, there’s a small flash of uncertainty in his voice and you use that gap to escape.

“Yeah, and I’m not joking.”

He misses you by just a hair’s breadth, the door slamming shut on his face as you quickly run out. You think you hear him curse under his breath but you don’t look back. Not this time, not ever again.

“Finally.”

The fresh air outside hits like a wave. The silence, the space, the absence of him. For once, your heart isn’t clawing at your ribs and you feel light. 

Freedom.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the necklace

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'the cutting edge'

rated m | 983 words | cw: implied/referenced drug use, implied sexual content | tags: rock star eddie, famous corroded coffin, figure skater steve, flirting

also on ao3

⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️⛸️

Figure skating competitions aren’t exactly their thing. They’re about as out of place as Wayne was when he went to Coachella to watch Corroded Coffin headline the big stage.

But world champion and two time gold medalist Steve Harrington is using their song for his little routine, so obviously they need to be there to support him. That’s what Chrissy said, at least.

“It’ll look good for you to be there,” she’d said when Eddie tried to argue that they would be wasting time and money. “And anything we can do to make you look good is important.”

And he couldn’t argue that because, well. He fucked up.

Got caught doing lines off the back of a toilet at a club with two women sucking him off. Rockstar stuff. Something he really never did and of course one of the few times, he got caught. There were pictures.

Chrissy has been in recovery mode for the entire band ever since.

They’ve been doing anti-drug campaigns for schools as if that’s even an effective way to keep the youths from getting high on whatever they can find. Eddie made an official statement on camera about practicing safe sex and apologizing for taking advantage of the women who most definitely were there willingly. The band issued a statement that Eddie was on a short leash and if another incident occurred, he’d be on his way to rehab.

Which is dumb because he doesn’t have a drug problem, or a sex addiction, or anything the tabloids say. The guys know that. Chrissy knows it. But they have to do whatever will keep them in a positive light so they can book arenas on their next tour.

Apparently, going to this skating competition will help.

It’s not boring, surprisingly. It’s just not how Eddie wants to spend his Friday.

He watched a few of Steve’s routines in preparation.

The guy is hot. Like, really hot. Somehow very muscular and light on his feet at the same time. Eddie can see why he’s so popular.

What shocks him most is that Steve usually dances to pop songs and 80s ballads for his competition routines and suddenly he decides to bring out one of their slower, but still dark songs. It doesn’t make sense.

Until it does.

When Steve takes the ice, the crowd stands, cheers so loud it makes Eddie’s chest vibrate. He doesn’t expect it, and it’s clear Gareth, Frankie, and Jeff don’t either. He’s in all black, only one small piece of color standing out.

A red guitar pick necklace.

Eddie’s head turns to Chrissy, who is conveniently ignoring him.

He turns back to watch as the music starts. He wrote this song with Jeff, fucking around in the back of his van when they were still just trying to book whatever bar would have them. It evolved into something else when they actually got to record it in a real studio, something more haunting and liminal when compared to the rest of their track list.

Steve glides across the ice, jumps and falls perfectly in sync to the crescendo of the guitar and drum solo. Eddie’s fascinated, can’t look away from the masterpiece happening in front of him. He almost can’t believe he gets to see someone make such beautiful art from their song.

When Steve stops, Eddie stands and yells, clapping louder than everyone around him.

“I need to see him,” he says to Chrissy when the announcers have given the scoring that places him in first. “Can you get me down there?”

She smirks and nods, like she’s planned this exact reaction. She couldn’t have.

Could she?

***

The medal ceremony is long, but watching Steve take gold is a memory Eddie will have forever.

Chrissy does manage to bring them all down to congratulate him after he does media. He looks worn out by the time he gets to them, still in his outfit and skates.

Still wearing Eddie’s necklace.

“How did you get that?” Eddie asks instead of saying hello or congratulations.

Steve smirks. “Pulled some strings.”

He starts to take it off, but Eddie stops him. The room goes silent.

“Looks pretty good next to that gold medal. You should keep it,” Eddie doesn’t know what he’s saying. That’s his lucky necklace. He hasn’t gone onstage without it in years. “Maybe it’ll bring you more gold.”

“Ah, well. I’m retiring. These knees aren’t gonna hold out much longer,” Steve half-jokes. “Plus, it’s time to let others shine.”

“But you’re so talented!”

“I’ll coach for a bit. Pass it on. That’s the beauty of the sport,” Steve explains.

He’s so pretty. Eddie wants to stare at him all night.

“Jesus, he’s embarrassing,” Gareth says behind him.

“What?” Eddie turns, glaring at him.

“You said it out loud, dumbass.”

Eddie turns bright red. “Oh.”

Steve steps closer, a solid two inches taller than him in his skates. He smiles down at Eddie.

“Let me get changed and have my coach find us a spot for dinner. Wouldn’t want you to have to stop staring.”

Eddie’s never been charmed like this before. He feels faint.

“Yeah! Okay. The guys can just head back to the hotel or whatever,” Eddie tries to sound nonchalant, fails.

“Oh my god,” Frankie groans. “Please don’t do something stupid.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Steve promises, never taking his eyes off Eddie. “Wouldn’t want him to get distracted before I can get my mouth on him.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and Chrissy claps her hands once.

“Alright! Have fun! Be safe! Save it for a hotel room!”

She ushers the guys away quickly and Eddie’s grateful for it. They shouldn’t see him blundering this.

Steve leans in and kisses his cheek. “You’re gonna be fun. See you in ten.”

Eddie’s left standing there with pink cheeks and a determination to be fucked within an inch of his life later.

[chaeuvy]

H-H-Hey..Erm Anyways i wanted to request Rin itoshi x reader smut where we were being a brat and he punishes reader and his size is too big for us to handle(oh and a little light pain kink)Ok Thats All take ur time 🤑🫶🏻

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄! ⎯ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

summary: You acted like a brat around Sae, and Rin doesn’t let it slide. He makes you pay for it in the bedroom—One leg thrown over his shoulder, hand pressing down on your tummy where he’s buried deep, he reminds you who you belong to—with punishing thrusts, and a creampie that leaves no room for doubt.

warnings: nsfw, dom!rin, rough sex, brat taming, punishment, Size kink, Light pain kink (pain from stretch), tummy bulge, Deep penetration, overstimulation, creampie, dirty talk, possessive behavior, soft pet names.

wc: 1.3k words.

hakaniszk: i Hope I wrote it like you imagined it — Im Sorry it took so long !

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Dripping attention all over Sae earlier—laughing at his dry jokes, touching his arm a little too long, batting your lashes just enough to make Rin Itoshi twitch from across the room. You wanted a reaction. You got one.

Now you were on your knees in Rin’s room, your cheek pressed to his thigh, wrists pinned behind your back by his firm grip. He stared down at you like you were a puzzle he was going to break just to see how you’d fall apart.

“Thought you were cute, didn’t you?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. His fingers were in your mouth before you could speak—two of them, long and slow, pressing your tongue down, smearing your own spit across your lips. “Flirting with my brother like a desperate little brat.”

You gave a muffled noise, already lightheaded from the way his fingers filled your mouth—so much bigger than you’d expect, rough from training, thumb dragging across your bottom lip like he owned you.

“Open wider,” he ordered.

You obeyed. And then he was pulling his fingers out, only to replace them with the tip of his cock—thick, heavy, way too big. Your lips stretched, your jaw aching already as he slid in a little more.

“Too much?” he mocked, brushing your cheek with his knuckles, voice still deceptively sweet. “What happened to that attitude from earlier, huh?”

You whimpered, trying to take more, trying not to gag as he hit the back of your throat.

“Aw, poor thing,” he cooed, thrusting shallowly. “Mouth can’t handle me either? You act like a brat but fall apart the second I touch you.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You loved it. The sting. The stretch. The way he used you like you were something he owned—because he did.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel this full.

Your leg was slung high over Rin’s shoulder, your hips tilted just right so he could drive into you again and again, harder each time, deeper—too deep. He loomed over you, hair damp with sweat, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on the obscene way your stomach arched beneath him.

And his hand—his fucking hand—was pressed right on your lower belly, thumb rubbing lazy, taunting circles where the outline of him bulged against your skin.

“Feel that, baby?” he growled, voice ragged and low, his thrusts sharp and punishing. “That’s me. All the way in your guts.”

You whimpered, your hands scrambling for something—his arm, the sheets, anything to ground you while he ruined you from the inside out.

“Too deep, Rin—” you choked, voice cracking as another thrust made your body jolt, the stretch burning so good it bordered on pain.

“You can take it,” he snapped, but his voice softened right at the edges. “You will take it. You don’t get to act like a brat and not take your punishment, sweetheart.”

His pace never faltered. Every stroke hit deep, right where it hurt—where it ached—dragging along your walls with devastating precision. He kept his hand pressed firm to your tummy, pushing down just a little harder, like he wanted to feel every inch of himself buried inside you.

“You’re so fucking small,” he hissed, hips stuttering from how tight you were. “Squeezing me like you’re trying to keep me in—”

“Too big—” you gasped, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, your voice wrecked. “Rin, I c-can’t—!”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, bending lower, his chest brushing yours, one hand still on your stomach, the other gripping your thigh to keep it pinned open. “You love how it hurts. You love how I stretch this tiny pussy out, don’t you?”

You were already close—your body twitching, every muscle pulled tight, that unbearable pressure curling deep in your core. Every thrust pushed you closer, every grind of his hips sent sparks up your spine.

“Fucking look at yourself,” he snarled, pulling back just enough to glance down between your bodies. “You’re taking me all the way—so deep I can see it in your stomach. You’re made for this.”

“Rin—please—I’m—!” you gasped, voice breaking as your climax snapped through you like a live wire.

Your back arched, mouth falling open in a silent cry, your whole body shaking violently beneath him. The orgasm hit so hard it was almost unbearable—so intense it blurred into pain, then into desperate pleasure again.

“That’s it, baby,” Rin groaned, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper—messier. “Cum for me. Fuck, you’re milking my cock—”

And then he was right there with you.

With one final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, pressing down on your tummy even harder as his hips stilled and he let out a broken moan.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Take it. Take all of it.”

You felt the heat of it spill inside you, thick and warm—Rin pulsing deep within you, twitching as he came hard, stuffing you full. Your body was still fluttering around him, raw and overstimulated, your leg trembling where it was still hooked on his shoulder.

He stayed like that—buried in you, panting against your cheek, his hand splayed possessively over the bulge in your belly, where he could still feel himself inside.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, voice soft now, lips brushing your jaw. “No one else gets to touch you like this. Not Sae. Not anyone. Just me.”

You could barely breathe, tears drying on your cheeks, your heart racing like it was trying to leap out of your chest. But you nodded, dazed and full and so far gone in him you didn’t know where you ended and Rin began.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, still panting.

“…God, I love ruining you.”

← BLLK ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading.. it’s kinda short but I hope I did well !

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

[callsign-rogueone]

bodyguards dain and xaden...

princess! reader (you can decide if you want to be a tauri or not. I didn't mention the three brothers at all, or anything about the king.) [request] 1.9k words 🏷: no spoilers or warnings. this is my dollhouse, and today, we’re ignoring the constraints of canon. imagine if you will that violet is a happy little scribe who will not ever meet xaden, and also the venin and wyvern just don’t exist. and also the whole xaden and cat engagement thing never happened either, because that’s the only way I could make this work the way I wanted 🥲

bodyguards dain and xaden…

who don’t really want to be here — and even find it a little insulting to be asked to babysit Navarre’s only princess.

“Babysitting,” Xaden says flatly. 

“Being the personal guard of the princess,” General Sorrengail corrects, as if that’s not the same thing. “His Majesty asked for two of my top graduates, and that’s the pair of you.”

Dain is a little more polite with his distaste. “Why us? The palace guard is always infantry. And taking us from the front with Poromiel…”

“Poromiel won’t be a concern much longer. And I did not make this decision thoughtlessly.”

Xaden changes tactics. “Is there a timeline on this?” 

“Two months. The King is expecting the pair of you tomorrow.”

Great.

who follow the king’s orders to the letter regardless, standing five feet behind you at all times and arguing quietly.

You whirl around on them, and they stop dead in their tracks. “For the love of Amari, could you two please just stop your bickering already? I get that you despise each other, I get that you don’t want to be here, that you feel it beneath you. I don’t want you to be here either. But if we must endure this, could we at least do it in silence?

who oblige, and give you a little more space after that, but still continue their duty. you still have two tall, muscled shadows following you everywhere as you go about your days. 

who see how kindly you speak to the palace staff, how you help them with their responsibilities. 

who raise eyebrows at each other when you come out of your room in plain clothes and tell them: “I’m going out. Come with me or don’t — but lose the uniforms if you do.”

You lead them to a more run-down part of town, and they’re sure you’re up to something terrible — on high alert in case you try to bolt, or if someone comes after you.

They certainly aren’t expecting you to stop at a soup kitchen, and be welcomed so warmly by the entire staff, greeted by name and given hugs instead of bows or handshakes. 

“And I brought help,” you add deviously, smiling back at the pair of them. 

“Friends from school?” 

“Something like that,” Xaden answers, giving you a terse nod of approval. Maybe you aren’t as prissy and frivolous as they thought. 

And these people have no idea who you really are. The regular patrons love you, of course, and you seem to know them well, asking after their families and their pets, cooing at the small children and slipping them extra desserts. But it isn’t a spectacle that you’re here, and in the plain clothes you’d found somehow, you look like any other girl from the city. 

You’re not here because you want to boost your image, but because you truly want to help. 

who are immediately concerned when you have another one of your dizzy spells.

“I’m okay,” you reassure them as you fumble your way into an armchair. “I just stood up too quickly. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Can I check your pulse?” Xaden asks softly.

You’ve never heard him sound… gentle before.

You nod, eyes still closed, and squeak in surprise as you feel two cold fingers press into the side of your neck — you were expecting him to take your wrist.

He shushes you softly, focusing on the feeling beneath his fingertips. “Your heartbeat is uneven.”

Well, him touching you like this definitely isn’t helping. Nor him kneeling in front of you, speaking to you in that soft but deep voice.

“I’ll be fine,” you manage. “It should go back to normal in a minute. It always does.”

“Always?” Dain echoes. “How often does this happen?”

“Once or twice a day, if I’m not careful,” you answer, burning with shame.

“Have you seen the Royal healers about it?”

You shake your head no. “Not in years. They’re content to pretend that nothing’s wrong. A frail princess would be seen as an embarrassment to the kingdom.”

“You are far from frail,” Dain corrects. “But this could be a serious problem. You need to get it looked at by a professional.”

“I’ll add that to the list of things to do next time I sneak out,” you reply, still catching your breath. 

who finally find out about your engagement to the heir to Poromiel’s throne, a man twice your age.

Dain is about to reply when there’s a hesitant knock on the doorframe that has all three of you looking up.

“The Viscount is here, milady.”

Xaden’s fingers are still pressed against your neck, and he feels your pulse jump at the words, watches you clasp your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

It’s Dain who puts it together first — why the leadership had been dismissive of their concerns about being needed on the front, why you’d been assigned extra protection all of a sudden… “You’re a peace offering.”

“I’m a person,” you correct sharply, turning your gaze to the window. “But yes. I am to be his bride — to take a place in line for the throne of a country that I have never visited, beside a man more than twice my age, who I have met exactly three times, if you include today, and bear him a litter of sons, in an attempt at creating peace for our continent.”

They’re both silent for a moment, letting you continue. 

“They brought you here to supervise me because I’ve tried to run before, unsuccessfully. I didn’t make it much farther than we went into town. But when the pair of you were assigned to me, I realized that we all have roles to play in this terrible act, and should I not play mine, thousands more young people from both sides of this continent, including yourselves, will be sent to war.”

Xaden produces a handkerchief from his pocket, a nearly folded square of soft fabric — black, of course. You accept it with a quiet thank you, blotting at your eyes carefully so as not to smudge your makeup and earn you a lecture from your ladies’ maid.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. And I know its a silly problem to have — I’d be safe and cared for, but…”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Dain finishes for you.

“We’ll come with you,” Xaden says quietly. “To see the Viscount.”

Your head tilts in confusion.

“We’re supposed to protect you from anything and anyone that could harm you,” Dain reminds.

Oh.

“How do I look?” you ask weakly.

“Beautiful,” Xaden praises, tilting your chin up with a gentle movement of his knuckle.

“Like a princess,” Dain adds.

You laugh softly. “I should hope so.”

“Alright. Up you get.”

who stand much closer than ten feet this time.

They’re right behind your chair on either side of you, Xaden on your left and Dain on your right, both watching Tecarus with cold interest, like they’re waiting for him to fuck this up. 

Their heads turn immediately when the door opens, eyes raking over the young man who walks in, assessing the level of threat he presents. “My apologies, your highness,” he adds with a too-charming grin. “I lost track of the time.”

Your lips part to speak, but the Viscount beats you to it. “May I introduce my nephew, Drake Cordella — your fiancé, rather.”

Oh.

Oh. 

Everyone can see the blood drain from your face, the way your head is spinning with the realization that it isn’t the viscount you’ll be chained to, but his nephew.

His nephew, who is an army captain, who has undoubtedly killed dozens of Navarrian soldiers — soldiers like the ones standing behind you, who have become the closest thing you have to friends. 

He gives you a softer smile, a more genuine one — apologetic, almost. “Might we take a walk of the grounds, and get to know each other better?”

“Of course,” you answer, but the two men behind you both know that the response is automatic, distant, unenthusiastic.

You stand too quickly again, wanting to get this over with. Cold shadows wrap around your knees and press against your back, keeping you upright as you find your balance, taking a measured step toward the door — and Dain and Xaden follow.

Drake frowns. “I didn't realize we’d have company.”

“Where she goes, we go,” Xaden says bluntly, not caring that he’s addressing the man third in line to the Poromish throne. “Surely you understand.”

You spare him a grateful glance as soon as Drake’s head is turned. 

To their credit, they give you a little more than five feet as you take your stroll around the gardens. You can’t keep looking back at them, but the sound of the gravel crunching under their boots is a comfort that they’re still with you. 

Drake has the decency or the intelligence not to bring up his line of work, focusing on you instead — asking about your studies and passion projects, listening attentively and offering the occasional charming comment that has both of the men behind you rolling their eyes.

It’s almost upsetting how not-upsetting the whole interaction is. He’s not sleazy or overly forward, doesn’t make any move to touch you or expect any affection, is perfectly polite… he’s even handsome, and not too much older than you.

You can’t find a good reason to hate him.

You’ll just have to make one up.

who go above and beyond their job description.

The moment you’re back in your apartments, you immediately start removing the ornaments you’ve been forced to wear— the earrings and bangles and heeled shoes. The incredibly impractical heeled shoes that you’d had to walk the gravel paths of the garden in, that have your feet aching, and that are way too hard to remove.

“Let me help,” Dain offers. 

“I can unbuckle my own shoes. I just need a second.”

“You’re certainly capable, but you’re already stressed right now, and if you put your head down, you’ll get dizzy again,” he reasons.

You sigh in defeat and lower yourself into the nearest chair, letting him kneel in front of you. He undoes the tiny buckles around your ankles with surprising ease, sliding the shoes off and setting them aside. 

His hands find your stockinged left foot, his thumbs pressing into the arch and rubbing gentle circles into the muscle before he tests the waters — his hand sliding up to your ankle and massaging gently.

Xaden occupies himself with your hair, gently removing the dozens of pins that were used to hold your updo and starting a pile of them on the coffee table.

Your shoulders drop, your posture loosening and eyes closing…

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand tangling into your hair, fingertips rubbing against your scalp in the exact spot that had been aching. “Just relax for us. Let us take care of you.”

This time, you don’t protest the princess treatment.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

The Pilot’s Private Song.

pairing; Jake Seresin x wife!reader

summary; How each member of the Dagger Squad found out Jake's been married for over a decade.

word count; 3.6k

warnings: nothing. established relationship, secret/private marriage, found family, fluff, all good stuff.

a/n; i am a SUCKER for a secret relationship trope. this concept is so cute i want to write a hundred different pieces about it. also, if you're reading my jake series, next part should be up tomorrow :))

masterlist

A year after the Uranium mission, the aviators once known as the Dagger Squad were summoned back to Miramar. Expecting another top-secret assignment, they were instead offered something unexpected: a chance to stay on at Top Gun indefinitely. Their answer was almost immediate—a resounding yes, with an enthusiastic "hell yes" from Fanboy.

But when they arrived, one thing was clear: Jake hadn't accepted the offer yet.

"Can't believe Hangman's playing hard to get with Admiral Simpson," Phoenix muttered, eyeing the empty spot where he should’ve been.

"Bet that promotion to Lieutenant Commander already went to his head," Rooster quipped.

"If you’re talking about Jake, he’s coming," Maverick said. "He just asked to report in on Monday."

He left the room without another word. The Daggers exchanged looks, then shrugged. It was Jake, after all—he probably just wanted to make an entrance, with nothing but his damn ego walking through the door first.

When Monday rolled around, he strolled in with that trademark smirk and a swagger only he could pull off. Annoying? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing? Without question. Missed? More than anyone was willing to admit.

“Be honest—did you tear up a little when you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

Bob and Phoenix.

Bob had a thing for those absurdly healthy smoothies from a place called Erewhon. Overpriced, organic, and influencer-approved—it was his guilty pleasure. Naturally, it wasn’t long before he dragged his favorite front-seater into it.

“What the hell is a Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, and why does it cost twenty bucks?”

The line was a nightmare—packed with people who all looked like they drove Teslas, had just come from Pilates, or were on their way to pitch a startup to their fiancée’s hedge fund bros.

Phoenix couldn’t quite figure out what Bob saw in these overpriced green sludge drinks, but she was usually down to try something new, even if her wallet cried a little every time.

“I don’t really get the hype either, but my husband’s obsessed,” You said with a shrug. “If it’s your first time, I’d go with something simple—maybe the pitaya, or the post-workout one is solid too. You look like you work out.”

They startled slightly when you turned around, smiling and introducing yourself after your unsolicited smoothie rant.

“I’ll take your advice—I’m Natasha,” Phoenix said, shaking your hand. It was only then that you noticed the massive emerald-cut ring on her finger, catching the light like it knew it was expensive. Bob followed with a shy introduction, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sticking to your word, you went ahead and ordered the absurdly named Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, along with a few other things. Once you paid, you turned back to them with a grin.

“If you’re free, my husband’s just parking the car—want to sit and chat for a bit?”

“Oh, we’d love to,” Phoenix said, “but we’re running late for a few apartment showings—this line took forever. But we should exchange numbers, maybe grab lunch sometime?”

“I’d love that! We actually just moved here, so it’d be nice to make some friends.” Your smile didn’t waver; wide, bright, and straight out of a movie scene.

After saying your goodbyes, you grabbed your order and stepped out of the line, letting them move forward. With one last wave—bright, effortless—you pushed through the door and disappeared into the sunlight.

Phoenix turned back to the cashier, halfway through her order, when her gaze drifted to the large front window—and froze.

"Holy shit."

Bob instinctively looked where she was staring, and his brows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

Jake Seresin was outside, casually leaning against a matte black Jeep Wrangler like he belonged in a magazine ad. Arms crossed, aviators in place, his flight jacket unzipped just enough to hint at the crisp white tee underneath. That usual cocky smirk was on his face—or at least, they thought it was.

But it wasn’t a smirk.

It was a smile—wide, open, and so bright it looked like it had cracked straight through his usual armor. Jake Seresin was glowing. Radiant. Practically lit from within.

And then they saw why.

You stepped out into the sunlight, heading straight for him, holding that ridiculous Hailey Bieber smoothie like it was a gold medal. Jake’s face lit up even more. He threw his head back and laughed, his whole body moving with it—unrestrained, joyful, real.

Then he reached for you, pulling you into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. One hand at your waist, the other settling on the small of your back, fitting you against him like you belonged there.

Phoenix’s jaw dropped slightly. Bob just stared.

Jake lifted his sunglasses, pushing them up onto his head, and looked down at you like you hung the stars. The softest expression they had ever seen on his face—like the man didn’t know how to look away. You said something that made him laugh again, and you handed him the smoothie like it was some inside joke.

They must have been staring too long. Jake’s head turned slightly—just enough to catch them in the reflection.

His eyes found theirs through the glass. For a split second, something flickered across his face.

Surprise. Panic. Maybe even guilt. Just enough to register—before he shoved it back down and straightened up, as if nothing had happened.

He opened your door and helped you in, careful not to jostle the armful of overpriced smoothies and whatever else you’d picked up. Then he turned back toward the window, his eyes meeting theirs once more.

A subtle nod. Barely there. But it carried weight—an unspoken request.

Not for secrecy exactly, but something quieter. A plea to let it be. To pretend they hadn’t just seen past Hangman… and caught a glimpse of Jake.

Phoenix and Bob exchanged a long look, sipping their drinks in stunned silence as they tried to process what they’d just witnessed. It was easy to box Jake in as the poster boy for cockiness—the walking embodiment of swagger and ego—but deep down, they’d always suspected there was more.

More to him than the sharp one-liners and smug grins. More than the call sign.

And now, they’d seen it.

Guess this was it.

The next day, Jake showed up with his usual swagger, every step as self-assured as ever. But his eyes—sharp, watchful—carried a flicker of guardedness. It was subtle, the kind of thing only Phoenix and Bob would pick up on.

“Hey, Strawberry Glaze,” Phoenix said casually.

She could’ve let it slide—pretended like nothing had happened—but she couldn’t resist poking at him just a little. Jake shot her a look sharp enough to make most people flinch.

She just laughed.

The words had been soft, low enough that no one else could hear. And the smile she gave him—amused, knowing, a little smug—said it all:

Your secret’s safe with me.

2. Bradley.

Bradley hated shopping. He wasn’t good at it—never had been. He took forever to decide what he liked, forgot to write down what he actually needed, and always left the store with random things and none of the essentials.

This time, though, he had a mission: crockery. At the moment, he owned exactly two plates and three mismatched forks. And if he was serious about settling down here, it was probably time to get his shit together.

Normally, he’d drag Nat along—not because she was a woman and supposedly knew about this stuff, but because she was mean enough to keep him on task. She had no patience for his two-hour deep dives in the mug aisle, where he’d examine every single one before deciding he didn’t like any of them.

But Nat had bailed on him, leaving him to fend for himself. Now he was aimlessly wandering the store, eyeing every dinnerware set like it might reveal the meaning of life, tossing random items into the trolley with no real plan—just vibes and mild confusion.

Ever the gossip, Bradley’s ears perked up at the sound of a laugh he knew far too well.

Hangman.

“Darlin’, if you put one more candle in the cart, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to burn the house down.”

“But Jake, smell this one—it’s amazing. And it says limited edition, so they won’t have it next time,” you replied, dropping not one, but two candles into the cart.

Bradley watched, stunned, as Jake didn’t even argue. He just shook his head with a helpless smile and kept pushing the cart like a man who knew resistance was pointless.

“I also saw this gorgeous botanical garden plate set online—we have to get it.”

“Whatever you want, doll,” Jake said, voice low and warm as he pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hip a casual, affectionate tap.

Bradley was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor. He wasn’t stupid—and he definitely wasn’t blind. He saw the massive rock on your finger and the way Jake looked at you like you hung the stars.

Hangman, married?

The motherfucker was married.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Bradley had always assumed Jake Seresin was the type who’d never settle down—too cocky, too stubborn, too Hangman. Honestly, he’d half-expected the guy to grow old alone, flirting with waitresses and arguing with air traffic control until the bitter end. Harsh? Maybe. But Jake had never given them any reason to believe otherwise.

Yet here he was—married, domesticated, and currently letting his wife toss candles and dinner plates into the cart like she owned the place. And judging by the look on his face, she did.

The man Bradley was low-key stalking from behind a shelf of overpriced wine glasses wasn’t the Hangman he knew from the skies. This wasn’t the ruthless, lone-wolf aviator who treated teamwork like a contagious disease and would rather eat glass than back down in a briefing.

No—this Jake looked… soft. Happy. In love.

And it was messing with everything Bradley thought he knew.

He ducked behind the endcap as you turned down the next aisle, nearly knocking over a pyramid of mason jars in the process. This wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself—it was reconnaissance. For team cohesion. For morale. For… reasons.

Jake Seresin, hopeless romantic and candle mule, was not something Bradley had mentally prepared for.

He peeked around the corner again just in time to see Jake reach for a throw blanket you were eyeing. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the cart. “Matches the couch, right?” he said.

“Exactly,” you beamed, and Bradley swore the corners of Jake’s mouth lifted in something dangerously close to a fond sigh.

Who was this man?

Bradley had spent years knowing Jake as a walking testosterone complex with aviators and a call sign, someone who’d charm the hell out of a bartender and then ghost her before the first date. The idea that this man—this patient, domesticated, grocery-hauling version of Jake—existed at all was blowing his mind.

And worse? He looked good at it. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to play husband in a West Elm ad.

Bradley finally backed away from the aisle, muttering to himself, “I need to go look at forks before I lose my grip on reality.”

Still, as he wandered toward the kitchen section, a weird feeling settled in his chest—part disbelief, part amusement… and maybe a little bit of envy. Not the kind that stings, exactly, but the kind that pokes at something you didn’t realize was hollow.

Because despite all his jokes, all his gripes about shopping and settling down, maybe there was a tiny part of him that wouldn’t mind someone tossing limited-edition candles in his cart, either.

But first, he really needed more than three forks.

3. Payback and Fanboy.

It was just past 7 a.m. when Fanboy and Payback jogged down the beach trail, sneakers thudding lightly against the packed sand. The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, golden glow over the shoreline, and the waves rolled in slow and steady, their rhythm soft and soothing beneath the buzz of gulls overhead.

It was the kind of morning that made you forget how exhausting the week had been.

“If Mav makes us watch one more hour of grainy debrief footage, I’m walking into the ocean,” Fanboy grumbled between breaths, arms swinging loose at his sides.

“You say that, but last time he caught you checking your phone, he added another hour to the session,” Payback replied, grinning.

“I’m just saying—death by drowning would be less painful than another slideshow.”

They rounded a gentle bend in the trail, where the dunes opened up to a more secluded stretch of beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving wide, smooth patches of sand dotted with seashells and a few early footprints.

Payback slowed, frowning. “Wait. Who’s already out here?”

A large cream-colored blanket had been spread beneath a sun-bleached lifeguard stand. A wicker picnic basket sat off to one side, its lid open and lined with fabric. There were iced coffees, a brown paper bag, a small vase of wildflowers—wildflowers, at the beach—and two people.

One of them crouched near the cooler, pulling out what looked like a container of fruit. The other approached barefoot, holding two drinks, sleeves of a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, light catching in his sandy hair.

Fanboy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on a second…”

The barefoot man looked up—and grinned.

Jake Seresin.

Hangman.

Golden-boy aviator, squadroom shit-talker, human ego parade.

Except… something was different.

He stepped forward, took one of the iced coffees from your hand with a quiet thank-you, then leaned in and kissed your temple with the kind of easy, familiar affection that made both Fanboy and Payback freeze mid-stride.

Jake said something with a lazy smile and you laughed, the kind of laugh that came from your belly—bright, genuine, totally unfiltered. Then you plopped down on the blanket, legs curled underneath you, pulling a croissant from the paper bag as if you’d done this a hundred times.

And maybe you had.

Because Jake didn’t hesitate. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it behind you, just in case the blanket wasn’t enough cushion. Then he sank down beside you, stretching his legs long across the sand and casually slipping one arm around your waist.

Payback immediately ducked behind a nearby dune like he’d just witnessed a war crime. “Tell me I’m not seeing this.”

Fanboy crouched next to him, equally stunned. “What the hell is happening right now?”

Jake leaned back slightly, watching you unwrap something else—probably another baked good—and tilted his head, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. You fed him a bite without even looking, and he accepted it like it was second nature. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m in shock,” Fanboy whispered. “He just tucked her hair behind her ear. That’s a boyfriend move.”

“That’s not a boyfriend move,” Payback muttered. “That’s a married guy move.”

Fanboy squinted. “Wait—zoom in. Look at her hand.”

A glint of metal caught the sunlight as you reached for your coffee. Simple but elegant. An emerald-cut diamond, gold band. The kind of ring that said permanence. The kind of ring that didn’t come off easily.

“Oh my God,” Payback breathed. “He’s married.”

Jake leaned back again, one hand lazily tracing circles along your knee while you showed him something on your phone. Whatever it was made him chuckle low in his chest, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek before setting the coffee down in the sand.

Fanboy was frozen, processing. “So Hangman—Hangman—sneaks off on weekends for romantic beach picnics… with his wife.”

“And we never knew.”

“I thought he lived off protein bars and sheer arrogance.”

“Same.”

You pulled something else from the basket—what looked like a floral plate set, one of those whimsical ones you’d find in a lifestyle magazine. Jake took it from you with care, set it between you, then reached for the wildflowers, adjusting the little vase so it wouldn’t tip over.

Fanboy stared. “He brought flowers.”

Payback shook his head. “He packed a goddamn centerpiece.”

They both crouched lower behind the dune, as if Jake might sense them. The only thing louder than the waves at that moment was the sound of their worldviews shattering.

Fanboy finally whispered, “Okay, but like… how dare he be this soft and not tell us?”

“We’re his squadmates. This is betrayal.”

“We were supposed to know before the blanket picnics started. There’s an order to these things.”

“I mean—what’s next? He gets a dog and starts doing couples yoga?”

Fanboy paused. “He would be good at couples yoga.”

Jake leaned back, hands behind his head, face turned up to the morning sun as you laid your head on his chest, sipping your drink and humming along to some song playing quietly from a speaker. You looked perfectly at ease, like this was your favorite part of the week.

Like he was.

“Okay,” Payback muttered. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“But also,” Fanboy added, eyes still wide, “we are absolutely never letting him live this down.”

“Obviously.”

They finally stood, dusting off their legs, still stunned but grinning. One last glance over their shoulders showed Jake pressing a kiss to the top of your head, like you were the only person on earth that mattered.

Hangman hadn’t just settled down.

He’d crash-landed into love, and apparently? He was thriving.

4. Javy (ten years ago)

The bar was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer, its low-ceilinged walls pulsating with neon light and the steady beat of a bass-heavy pop song. The air was warm and sticky, full of laughter, shouting, and the occasional off-key karaoke warble daring to take the stage. Jake leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the corner where you and your friends were holding court.

You were the heart of the group—laughing without restraint, glass in hand, your voice rising clear and confident above the din. Your friends egged each other on to the microphone, but you owned the room like it was yours, moving effortlessly through the crowd, radiating that kind of joy that was impossible not to notice. Jake’s gaze softened as he watched you—like you were a secret he had stumbled upon, the kind of thing you didn’t want to shout about but couldn’t stop looking at.

Javy, never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass, nudged Jake sharply. “You been staring at her all night, man. You planning to say something or just get a reputation as the creepy aviator?”

Jake barely glanced at him. “I’m just… watching.”

Javy smirked, shifting on his feet. “Right. Watching. She’s having fun—seems like she owns this place. You gonna sing or what? Or just keep mooning over her?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I don’t sing.”

“Everyone sings at karaoke night. Even you.”

Before Jake could respond, you stood with your friend, grabbing the microphone like it was a lifeline. The opening notes of a popular pop song spilled through the speakers, and suddenly, the bar seemed to hush just enough to let your voice soar.

You sang with an easy confidence, playful yet sincere, the kind of performance that made people stop talking and just listen. Jake felt his breath hitch—the way you smiled at the crowd, the way you closed your eyes briefly on the high notes—it was like watching sunlight break through storm clouds.

Javy elbowed him hard. “Dude, you look like you’re about to pop the question right here, right now.”

Jake shot him a sharp look. “I just met my wife.”

The words slipped out quieter than intended, but Javy caught them all the same and grinned wider, clearly not buying it.

After your song ended, the room erupted into applause. You laughed, cheeks flushed, and caught Jake’s eyes from across the room. It was a brief glance, but electric—like a door quietly opening.

Jake made his way over, weaving through the small crowd until he was standing right beside you. “Hey,” he said, voice low and just above the music.

You smiled, a little breathless. “Hey.”

Jake nodded toward the microphone stand. “That was… impressive.”

You shrugged, flicking your hair back. “Well, I had a good duet partner.” You glanced at your friend and winked. “But it’s nice to have an audience.”

Jake laughed softly, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what’s your name?” You offered it to him, along with your hand to shake. “Jake,” he replied, taking it. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was trying to make sure you felt it. “And I’m supposed to be focused on training missions, but I can’t stop watching you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that so? What’s more distracting—the music or me?”

He smiled, just a little crooked. “Definitely you.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a spark in the dim bar light. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no crowd, no noise, just the hum of a song fading out and the start of something new.

Javy sidled up, grinning. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But remember, Jake, if you break her heart, I’m coming for you.”

Jake’s grin turned serious. “I don’t plan on breaking anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling a flutter you hadn’t expected. “Good.”

[jellysmosh]

More Than Just a Dream

Summary: As an actor, you knew more people would be noticing you after starring in an indie movie that gained some decent popularity. Although, the last thing you expected was to watch your no.1 YouTube crush yap about your performance in their latest video. Title is from Out of My League by Fitz and The Tantrums.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, actor!reader, two idiots losing their composure, gender neutral pronouns for reader but more feminine qualities

Word count: 4.7k

Note: Based on this request for celeb!reader, this was my take on it! Happy belated birthday to our special guy! I hope my fellow Spencer-heads enjoy this one. <3

✩

You had been acting for a good majority of your life. Nothing major, local productions, community plays, your school’s drama troupe, extracurricular acting classes, you were even a theatre major in college. It was your passion. You loved diving into a character, exploring their story and becoming a part of a narrative separate to your own. You’d always been a huge fan of escaping into another world.

That’s how you ended up auditioning for and being cast in a small production company’s film as the main character. You were no big name, so when you got the call offering the part, you were ecstatic. It was called Shuttlecock, an offbeat black comedy about a virgin who somehow becomes the owner of a sex shop which they initially thought was a sports supply store. Long story. It was fun and bizarre but had vulnerability and heart. It was the first time you were mesmerised watching back something you had acted in. While you would not necessarily consider this a big break, it was definitely a huge step in your career.

The film did decently well, you tried not to let it get to your head as your best friends showered you with compliments, constantly telling you your “star was rising”. You started to semi-believe them when a few actors you had admired for years followed you back on Instagram. But one account in particular made you freeze in your tracks, sitting up in your bed when you saw the notification.

Smosh started following you.

“Oh my god”, you breathed out, “what?”

You had been a Smosh subscriber for ages. You recalled watching old sketch videos as a young theatre kid, they had definitely influenced you, in your comedic acting skills at least. And now, they followed you back. You resisted the urge to message them, they followed you minutes ago, you needed to play it cool.

✩

It was days later, when you were watching the latest Smosh Games video that you realised why they may have followed you.

“I have no idea”, Shayne put his arms up. Him and Spencer were doing another video where they guessed the movie by the frames.

“I… I think I know this”, Spencer scratched his chin, squinting at the monitor in front of them.

“Of course you do”, Shayne replied, slapping him on the back, “you got this, bud, I’m just here for moral support.”

Spencer was deep in thought, leaning forward. His fingers were resting on the keyboard as he tried to figure out what it was.

You recognised the first frame. It was from Shuttlecock. You felt excitement build inside you. It was a very vague one, a simple shot of one of the sex shop’s walls from the outside.

“I need to make sure”, Spencer said under his breath, skipping to the second frame.

The next one was of you. Well, it was your hand, pointing at something out of shot, fingernails covered in nail polish that was chipping off slightly.

“Yep”, he said with finality, typing the movie title in while Shayne whooped in excitement at him getting the correct answer.

You covered your mouth, scared you might scream with the giddiness that was rising in your chest. You didn’t want to alarm your neighbours in the adjacent apartment.

“What is this movie?” Shayne asked as they flicked through the other frames that would have popped up if they guessed wrong. There were a couple of different cast members and sets, the final one was of you looking at another character incredulously while holding a vibrator at arms length. This made the two of them laugh.

“This indie movie, Shuttlecock”, Spencer replied, “I saw it recently. It’s so good, dude, so funny, and I’m obsessed with the main actor.”

Your heart did a weird jump in your chest, you slapped your hand over it in alarm. Spencer, a.k.a your favourite person at Smosh, was talking about you.

“They played this sort of innocent, but not naive, and really hilarious character who ends up running this weird sex toy shop, it’s hard to explain”, he laughed as Shayne looked around, expression bewildered. “I’m not doing a good job talking about it, I promise it’s so good, we can watch it later.”

Shayne threw his head back in laughter before agreeing.

Spencer pointed at the camera, “if you like funny movies, watch Shuttlecock.”

Then they moved on with the video like it had never happened. You wanted to shriek. If you had more energy, you would have run laps around your room like a dog waiting for a walk. You couldn’t believe he had talked about you, specifically you, in a video. You fumbled with your phone as you opened Instagram, scrolling through all the new follower notifications, your eyes scanned for a specific name.

And there it was.

Spennser started following you.

You had missed the notification since he followed you at the same time a wave of new followers came in. You kicked your legs in excitement. Had he not realised you were already following him? Why hadn’t he messaged you? Should you message him? You reasoned that you weren’t being a creep, and it was normal to want to ask to collaborate with a creative person you were an admirer of. And this had nothing to do with the parasocial crush you had been harbouring for him from your side of the computer screen for the past few years. Nothing at all.

You took a couple breaths to calm yourself down. You could totally message him, hit him with a cute (and flirtatious) ‘heard you were a fan?’ with a wink emoji. You shook your head. No, that was cringey. Maybe a simple ‘hi, love Smosh Games’. No, you were still cringing. You ended up chickening out, thinking too hard about it made you just a little bit nauseous. Maybe you would try again when you were feeling braver.

✩

Bestie: ‘Seriously, DM him. NOW!’

You stared at the text message from your best friend, you felt like there was a hive of bees buzzing in your head, confused, frantic, excited, scared. It was early in the morning and you were getting ready to run off to a meeting when your phone started blowing up. They had sent you a TikTok edit of you using clips from Shuttlecock, which was crazy enough, you had never seen a fan edit of yourself ever. But the part that freaked you out was at the very start of the edit, it kicked off with the clip of Spencer talking about you in the recent Smosh Games video, smiling in that way you had engraved into your brain.

You: ‘I don’t know…’

You messaged back, apprehensive.

Bestie: ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me, you’re like super into this guy. And he just rambled on about how great you were in your movie. This is your chance, TAKE IT!!!’

You wanted to scream again. They were kind of right, but you had a million reasons to be nervous about it.

You: ‘What if he wants nothing to do with me?’

You texted with one hand while the other fiddled with your hair, a nervous habit.

Bestie: ‘You are actually a huge pain in my ass.’

They shot back, making you giggle.

Bestie: ‘Did you see his face? He’d probably click his heels with joy if you DMed him.’

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. They were just glazing you at this point. You couldn’t blame them, gassing you up was part of best friend duties.

The internal battle on whether or not to message Spencer raged on when it was interrupted by a new direct message appearing on your phone screen. You opened it so fast, you didn’t even care that they could see that you read it. As your eyes rapidly read over the message, you felt your heart beat even faster. This was almost as thrilling as when you were first casted in the movie. You read the message again and again and again to make sure you were interpreting it correctly.

Smosh wanted to feature you as a guest in a video.

You returned to your conversation with your friend.

You: ‘I’ll talk to you later, something insane is about to happen.’

You were totally going to be late to your meeting.

✩

After weeks of correspondence and the rapid approach of the event in your calendar named ‘FILMING AT SMOSH HOLY SHIT’, the day had finally come.

You had spoken with the team multiple times about what they wanted you to come and record. You tried your best to keep it professional and mature, you weren’t sure if they realised how big of a fan you were. Essentially, they were filming a Try Not to Laugh video on the Smosh Pit channel for Spencer’s birthday, and they were inviting guests to have a turn making him spit water. Emily Rose had the bright idea of inviting you when she watched him gush about you in the Games video he did with Shayne.

“It’s going to be a surprise”, she had explained to you over a video call. “Some guests he will be anticipating, but a few are going to be extra fun because he has no idea they’re coming. We’re going to save your turn for near the end of the video because he’s going to lose it.”

You chuckled at that, both nervous and excited.

“Are you sure he will?” You were a little unsure. Sure, he followed you on social media, you saw him like your posts, but he only talked about you one time in one video.

“Oh, yes. He will.” Emily Rose practically cackled, “trust me.”

You shrugged. She seemed confident that this was a good idea, and in what world would you ever turn down a chance to film a video with Smosh?

When you went through the whirlwind of arriving at Smosh HQ, meeting people, being whisked away to the area where they were hiding surprise guests, and preparing to appear on camera, you felt like you were walking through a fever dream. The excitement that buzzed in your body from your head to your fingertips was akin only to the feeling right before you stepped out on stage for a performance. In a way, this was the same, but the audience for this performance included Spencer Agnew, which made you sweat from anxiety.

You were a fan of the guy, you thought he was funny and charming and watching videos of him brightened your day. But you had never actually met him, and now you were going to go out there in front of a whole cast and crew and try to make him laugh hard enough to spit water, that was a bit daunting.

You shook out your limbs and tried to relax. This was going to be fun. Emily Rose said so. And so did Courtney and Angela when they saw you, offering you friendly smiles as they nudged each other in sheer enthusiasm. You didn’t expect that many people at Smosh to recognise you, let alone seem super glad you were there. As filming started and people took turns doing their bits, you watched on the monitors behind the partition. You covered your mouth laughing multiple times, not wanting to be too loud on an unfamiliar set. You were having a blast watching Spencer’s beloved castmates, crewmates, friends, and former coworkers attempt to break him, most succeeding.

“No way!” Spencer guffawed loudly after spitting his water. A couple of his former colleagues from ClevverTV surprised him, doing over the top impersonations of some of his most famous Smosh bits.

That was followed by Angela and Amanda doing a bit inspired by the three of them playing Resident Evil 8 together, then it was Chanse reprising his Bit City role as Cunty Spencer but with a Fred Darts twist this time. Everyone moved so naturally and put so much thought into their bits. Emily Rose had told you that you just needed to walk out there and the rest would take care of itself. Whatever that meant. So, you didn’t really have a proper bit ready. That terrified you.

For a split second, you forgot you were actually there, feeling like you were at home watching the latest TNTL video on your computer, and when you snapped out of it, it all felt so surreal again.

You were prompted by the team to get ready. It was your turn next.

You mentally prepared yourself as best you could, drying the bit of perspiration you had collected on your hands on your jeans and attempting to fix your hair. When given the cue, you walked out from behind the partition. As you turned to him, you locked eyes with Spencer and felt a bit embarrassed, offering a small wave.

As soon as Spencer recognised you, which took about one second, he immediately spat out half his water, followed by a gasp, which made him choke on the rest of his water and then he was thumping his own chest as he sputtered, coughing hard. The sudden display of a complete lack of composure made Courtney and Shayne, sitting on either side of him, spit their water as well with surprised amusement. The room erupted with yells and roaring laughter, many of them never having seen Spencer get so red in the face.

Turns out Emily Rose was right. No bits needed.

“You’re Y/N from Shuttlecock”, Spencer simply wheezed out, his eyes were a little watery from choking, but they were wide as he stared at you.

You nodded. “I am”, you replied, smiling at him. “I’m so glad you all spat because I had nothing prepared.” The crew and cast responded with another round of laughs. “Happy birthday”, you leaned in to quietly say.

“Holy shit”, Shayne was cackling, “how did they get you on here?”

“Instagram DM”, you simply replied, shrugging. You looked at the cameras, “it’s just that easy.”

“They’re not a huge blockbuster movie star just yet”, Spencer turned to the room, he held his hands out like he was defending you.

You raised your brows at him, “yet?”

“I have big plans for you”, was his fast response, earning another bunch of laughter from the room, you joining in.

“I’d love to hear them”, you couldn’t help grinning.

The video had to continue, so you scurried away, heart still pounding hard and fast in your chest. You tried to convince yourself it was because you were just nervous from being on camera. You were glad the viewers wouldn’t be able to feel the heat emanating off your body through their screens when they eventually watched this. Filming wrapped not long after your turn, and the mood was so high when they called ‘cut’, that everyone lingered to chat and mingle, the amount of people on set much higher than a usual shoot.

You were finishing up talking to Arasha when the man of the hour approached you. He was finally talking to you, and it wasn’t over Instagram messages, so you felt even less prepared for this moment than you could hope for. You knew you would probably speak with him one-on-one at some point since the moment you received that DM from Smosh, but now that he was standing in front of you, it felt dreamlike, like you weren’t in control of your own body.

He looked a little sheepish as he spoke, “hi”, his voice was loud enough to be heard in the loud room, but still soft.

“Hi”, you echoed back. You had been performing for most of your life, but somehow felt out of your depth just talking to a guy you loved watching on YouTube. “I love watching Smosh Games, by the way. I’m a big fan of your work”, you couldn’t help yourself from blurting out. You cringed at yourself internally, you couldn’t be nonchalant in this moment if you tried.

“I'm a big fan of your work”, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, cheeks slowly reddening, but refusing to break eye contact.

“I’ve only been in one movie, Spencer”, you laughed, feeling a little less anxious to speak to him. He seemed to light up when you said his name, but you were sure you were imagining it.

“Yeah, but I bet you'll be in many more and I'll be a fan of those movies when they happen”, he explained as you felt your neck and face heat up. “Like I said, I have big plans for you.”

You guffawed in a way you were sure was unattractive, but Spencer was smiling at you nonetheless.

“You want to quit Smosh and become my manager?” You joked, nudging him lightly on the arm.

“I’m thinking about it”, his voice was low, you were pretty sure you were the only person in the room that could hear him. There was a quiet lull between you for a second as you stared at each other, smiling like idiots, eye contact magnetic, unable to look away. His grin was bordering on goofy when a familiar brunette practically jumped on him from behind.

“Hey, Spence! Hi, Y/N!” Angela greeted the both of you as Spencer regained his balance and Courtney trailed after Angela, joining the circle.

“We’re all so glad you could make it, Y/N”, Courtney gently rested a hand on your shoulder, “we’re grateful you could take time out of your schedule to come meet a bunch of strangers.”

You shrugged, “I was more than happy to come over. I’ve been watching Smosh for ages, so you guys don’t really feel like complete strangers to me, honestly.”

“Are you for real?” Angela stared at you with wide eyes, “you’re a fan of Smosh?” She leaned into Spencer, mumbling near his ear, “you totally have a shot, bud.”

He practically shoved her away as she giggled, directing her attention back to you. “I’m sorry, but he has not shut up about you since he watched Shuttlecock. You can ask anyone in the office and they’ll agree. He’s obsessed, so I’m just excited for him that you seem to like our content too.”

“Angela”, Spencer’s brow was furrowed, but you could tell he wasn’t mad, just embarrassed. That also made you feel embarrassed in turn, wondering if it was obvious how hot your face was as you thanked them. Your hand gently adjusted your hair as Courtney piped up.

“Yes, obsessed with your movie”, they gave Angela a pointed look that made her shut her mouth and nod along sagely. “He is definitely a big fan. So, you guys must have a lot to talk about. We’ll leave you to it.”

They gave you one last winning smile before basically dragging Angela away.

“Uhh..” Spencer scratched the back of his head, looking back at you, “ignore Angela, she gets post-shoot zoomies and says wild shit.”

You breathed out a laugh, you had calmed down significantly, feeling less like you were about to have a heart attack and more like you were just a little nervous while talking to your YouTube crush.

“I’m really, really happy you liked Shuttlecock”, your voice was barely above a whisper, sincere. You moved slightly closer so he could hear you. Instinctively, your hand gently grazed his forearm, a silent plea for him to see you were being genuine. Your eyes were glued to his again, your heart skipped a beat when he offered you a gentle, almost shy, smile. You felt like the air was especially warm in this corner of the set.

“I can’t believe you’re here”, his voice was quiet again too. He raised his eyebrows, it was as if he was in a daze. You had never seen him like this in any videos. “Angela was kinda right, frankly.”

“About which part?” The rest of the room became a blur to you, the sounds around you were muffled and distant sounding. All you could focus on was the man in front of you, cheeks pink and expression unguarded. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, no amount of stage fright compared to this feeling, like you were perched on a precipice, threatening to tip over and plunge into something unknown.

“That-”, he looked down, hesitating. His arm twitched like he wanted to reach out to you, but he stopped himself. “That I haven’t stopped talking about you since I saw the movie. I am a little obsessed, I guess. Oh man, I sound like such a creep.”

“No”, you quickly stopped him, “you do not sound like a creep. I think I’m the creep here, honestly.”

“How?” His shoulders shook a bit with humour.

“Because”, you took another step closer, probably the last one you could before it was a complete breach of personal space. Plunging into the unknown. “I have been watching you on YouTube for ages. I had to stop myself from screaming out loud when I saw you follow me. You have always made me smile when I’m having a bad day before you even knew me.”

He covered his face, you could tell he was laughing, ears beet red. It felt so good to fluster him like this, it gave you a rush you had to chase.

“I have had this huge YouTuber crush on you”, you continued, watching his face leave his hands to snap up look at you, astonished. “So imagine my surprise when I watch a new video from my favourite channel and my crush is talking about me.”

When you made eye contact with him again, time was suspended. The air was sucked out of your lungs as you took him in. His face was flushed, glasses a tiny bit askew, a couple strands of hair diverging from the rest to dangle down by his eyebrow. You were sure you looked a mess, your face was so, so hot. You adjusted your hair again.

The spell was broken when another staff member called Spencer’s name by the door, yelling something about being behind schedule. As you both looked away from each other, you felt like you had come hurtling back down to earth from floating through space. You hadn’t even realised most of the people that were loitering behind had all left.

“I, uh”, Spencer pointed back towards the door with his thumb, tone reluctant. His expression was still stunned, “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry”, you shook your head, pushing down your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t keep him to yourself all day. “Duty calls.”

He remained for a few beats longer, just looking at you. Then the voice sounded again, more frantic this time, prompting him to scamper off, shouting a goodbye to you over his shoulder.

“I’ll message you later, can I message you later?”

“Yeah!” You were almost shouting so he could hear you as he got further away. He wanted to talk with you more, that sent a thrill through your body. “Yeah, you can!”

The last you saw of him was his hand waving as he was ushered out the door. You smiled and waved back, already missing his presence. You spoke with a few more people before you left, Emily Rose walking you to your car.

As you drove home, you were riding the high of a good time at Smosh HQ. You tried to focus on that and not the fact that you told Spencer he was your crush and he did not respond to that confession. In fact, he practically ran away. Pulling into your parking spot at your apartment building, you dropped your head as your car stopped, horn sounding as your head hit the wheel with a ‘thump’.

Focus on the positive, Y/N, you thought to yourself, you got to film at Smosh, that’s fucking amazing. You would have never expected that a year ago, in fact, you-

Your own thoughts were interrupted by your phone dinging multiple times.

You picked it up to check who was sending you so many messages and your heart stuttered in your chest. There were notifications from Spencer.

Spencer: ‘I’m SO SORRY, I had to run, but I wanted to tell you…’

Spencer: ‘I have a huge crush on you too. I honestly can’t stop thinking about you.’

Spencer: ‘I mean I kept talking about you after seeing your movie, but after meeting you irl today…’

Spencer: ‘I feel like I’m going insane, I’m so sorry for spamming you.’

You stared at your phone, your entire body warm, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Before you could reply, another ding from your phone.

Spencer: ‘I don’t normally act like a freak btw, I just don’t want to miss this chance.’

You laughed at his text, you felt like you were the freak here, sitting in your parked car grinning at your phone. You saw the little sign saying he was typing pop up and disappeared a few times before another couple messages came through.

Spencer: ‘You’re so out of my league, I was speechless when you told me about your crush on me earlier.’

Spencer: ‘Y/N. I would absolutely love a chance to take you out to dinner sometime. On a date. What do you say?’

You frantically typed a definite, ‘Y-E-S’, slamming your thumb down on the send button and throwing your phone like it was on fire. This time, you let yourself scream. A high-pitched, victorious one that sounded more like a screech. You saw a cat on a nearby fence jump in surprise and skitter away. You let your head drop down again and kicked your legs around the pedals out of giddiness. Your horn sounded through the car park a second time, covering the sound of your excited yell.

Silly, silly Spencer, you thought, if anything, he was the one who was out of your league.

✩

Tommy, Courtney, and Angela stood huddled together, holding their afternoon coffees and teas, whispering conspiratorially.

“He’s being so weird”, Angela muttered, the others hummed in agreement.

They were all watching Spencer, sitting at his desk and bouncing his knee at a speed nobody has ever bounced their knee before. He was texting someone, they had deduced, fingers flying across the keyboard. They were growing concerned, he was normally way more chill than this, seeing him seemingly write out an essay at record breaking speed was a new concept. His brows were drawn together, serious.

“Did something bad happen?” Concern laced Tommy’s voice, but they all continued to stare.

“No”, Courtney replied slowly, “I think this is his own personal, weird type of excitement.”

“Excitement?” Angela grabbed Courtney’s wrist with her free hand, “Oh my god, what if he’s texting Y/N?”

Courtney gasped at the idea while Tommy shook his head.

“No way, they were just here”, he reasoned, taking a sip of his drink, “he’s not brave enough to message them so soon, right?”

The other two silently stared at each other.

“I dunno”, Courtney’s tone was sing-songy, “they were getting pretty cozy before Y/N left, I actually wouldn’t be surprised if they messaged him.”

Their quiet discussion was interrupted by a ‘bang’ as Spencer abruptly kicked the side of his desk as he scrambled to stand up from his chair. He was staring down at his phone, reading something over and over again before throwing his hands in the air in silent celebration.

“Oh, oh, oh, something’s happening”, Tommy fluttered his hand around in a feverish way.

“Spence!” Courtney threw caution in the wind, calling out to him, “what happened?”

He turned to them in surprise, arms still in the air. A boyish smile broke out across his face, his excitement came off him in waves, everyone in the room feeling it.

“I’ve got a hot date, that’s what happened!” He exclaimed like he couldn’t keep it inside, like he had to tell them or he was going to explode.

“That’s my boy!” Angela cheered, the three of them clapping like he had just won a trophy. “Happy birthday, Spence!”

✩

Note: I hope you guys like this, I changed and rearranged it a bunch of times before I was happy with it lol. Let me know what you think! <3

♡ masterlist

[ventique18]

~ analysis with a bit of 🐉🌸 drabble

Malleus is obviously wealthy, but throughout the game, he's always depicted as someone who doesn't particularly flaunt this. While he does have times when he gets carried away and offers to purchase exorbitant amounts of something (Jasmine Silk, New Year's), most of the time he would just act like any regular student with a humble budget.

We may have thought of this as "person in a position of power is actually down-to-earth to make him lovable" or the "rich prince is actually humble" stereotype. Until you realize that he is intimately familiar with poverty... because his adoptive dad lives in poverty.

Lilia was never given the riches the country owed him, because he was branded as scum. Forced to live like a rat in the middle of nowhere.

(drabble) So when 🌸 bravely announced that they would be treating him to a nice lunch, he gladly accepted with no expectations whatsoever. Neither did he offer to pay instead-- unlike what you would expect of a wealthy CEO trying to impress the person they like. He tagged along only with keen interest in what they thought he preferred to eat on a special day.

They stopped in front of a rather pedestrian Western restaurant. The type a layman would dine in with their family on a nice Sunday. He neither liked nor disliked the menu posted just outside the entrance but... Seeing 🌸, brows furrowed, burning holes into the restaurant menu display, and unconsciously fiddling with their wallet, was not worth considering any of the cuisine over.

"By the way, I heard about this popular street food recently. The one with meat and vegetables rolled in seaweed-wrapped rice."

His companion, surprised at his sudden comment, quickly stuffed their wallet back in their pocket, "Street food... Kimbap?"

"Yes, that. I feel rather out of place when everyone in my dorm has apparently had it, except for myself. I think I would like to try it out today, if you would be inclined."

Lies. Silver brought enough for all four of them yesterday.

Their eyes lit up. Suddenly, the glum washed away from their face; replaced only with a mixture of relief and excitement as they grabbed him by the arm. "Okay, let's go find one. It's grab-and-go, so we can even stroll around town while eating!"

You would think he would simply offer to pay for their meal instead. That would be easy, yes, but time and again he tried that on Lilia when they dined out as a family, knowing that he barely had enough to even feed Silver. He would refuse every time. I may not be rich like you, but treating my growing boys to good food always fills my heart with pride! It makes me feel less like a bum and more like a responsible guardian, you know?

As he got dragged along the street, he couldn't help but smile. That was another one in the long list of things he had to thank Lilia for.

[wynnevee]

a classic

bob floyd x reader

synopsis: an unsuspecting jake hits on you at the hard deck while the gang waits for bobs new girlfriend to arrive (spoiler alert: that’s you)

warnings: alcohol, insecure reader, social anxiety and concerns about fitting in, fluffy bobby ☺️, horny bobby 🤭, hickeys, mentions of sex, unedited as always

notes: the second ‘jealous bob’ blurb. i am really feeding y’all good with this content this week. enjoy!!

you’d been at the bar for maybe five minutes, watching bob and his friends from the bar.

it sounded creepier than it was; really, you were just nervous. stomach twisting, heart racing, palms sweating, absolutely so fucking nervous.

you and bob had only been dating for a year now, but it felt like you’d known him forever. as cheesy as it sounded, he’d quickly became a part of every little bit of your life, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

however, bob also wanted you in every little part of his life… which meant meeting his navy friends.

and just like that: your bubble popped.

it’s not that you weren’t sociable, you were just a bit more awkward than the typical hot-shot pilot. you were interesting, but not… that interesting. some of these guys have flown into certain death and survived—could you really make an impression on them? what if you embarrassed yourself? what if you didn’t meet their expectations?

unable to find an answer to these questions in the floorboards of the house you’d spent all day scrubbing, you’d come to the hard deck early, hoping a drink or two would loosen you up a bit.

it didn’t. and now you watched your boyfriend and his friends laugh and drink, and you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

you just hoped nobody had noticed you—a hope that was squashed when you saw a familiar man in a familiar tan uniform saunter up to the bar.

john? jason? jake? jake, that was it. you’d seen him in group pictures of the squad, and honestly, you’d been the most nervous to meet him.

‘loud, cocky, and weirdly lovable’ was bob’s description of him, and as he walked up to the bar like a male peacock doing a mating dance, you began to see the truth in this statement.

“hey gorgeous, you look awful lonely. can i buy you a drink?”

you didn’t know what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn’t that. you sputtered, almost choking on your own saliva. “i’m sorry, what— what was that?”

you must have misheard him.

he laughed, seeming to think your confusion was amusing or cute. you didn’t like that. “can i buy you a drink, sweetheart? maybe buy you dinner sometime too?”

oh god, this was escalating quickly. “oh, i’m, uh… i’m actually—”

fucking your friend and colleague?

the one you’re here to meet?

absolutely desperate for you and your friends’ approval and so am trying to let you down easy so you won’t hate me?

“you’re cute,” he cuts in, before you could pick a suitable end to your sentence. “sorry, i have a habit of getting ahead of myself around such gorgeous women. let’s start with names: jake.”

“i know.” fuck, fuck, why did you say that?! those first two drinks weren’t a good idea. “i meant—"

but before you could finish, there was a call of your name from across the room and another familiar face coming into view: bob, your knight in shining armor, here to save you from this rapidly sinking ship.

he reaches you in a few strides, face a bit flushed, hair messed and absolutely perfect. wrapping a strong arm around your waist, he pulls you in, leaning down to peck your lips softly.

“hey beautiful, when did you get here?”

“what the actual fuck.”

bob and jake speak at the same time, leading bob to turn to his teammate, pretending to have just noticed him. “hangman, i see you’ve met my lovely girlfriend! sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt; what were you talking about?”

his sneaky smug smile led you to believe otherwise.

it was jake’s turn to sputter, the tips of his ears turning cherry red. he tried to play it off, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “just chatting.”

bob smiled, arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “you look surprised. did you think she was single?”

jake shrugged, shoulders finally relaxing. “i mean, she’s gorgeous—” he looks to you “—you are gorgeous. if he ever fucks up, you know where to find me.”

and he’s off with a wink, no doubt on his way to find a rebound conquest. you feel bob pull you tighter and you’re able to picture his furrowed brow and exasperated expression perfectly.

“dumbass,” he murmurs, kissing and nipping at your jaw gently. “flirtin’ with you, thinking i’d ever screw somethin’ this good up.”

you smile, bringing a hand up to hold his cheek as you lean back to look at him. “you’re getting a little southern there, cowboy, how much have you had to drink?”

he sighs, eyes trailing down your body shamelessly. “not enough that you should feel uncomfortable letting me tear that dress off with my teeth—”

you pat his cheek, turning in his arms so you can further silence him with a soft kiss. “keep it in your pants, lieutenant, we’ve still gotta meet the rest of your friends. can’t have anyone thinking i’m single.”

you weren’t gonna lie: hangman hitting on you did give you a little confidence boost for the introductions to come.

bob pouted, clearly not wanting to share you with the rest of his squadron. he buries his face in your neck and you’re expecting him to mumble something about going home early—you gasp when you feel him bite and suck at your skin like an eager leech.

“bobby! someone will see!”

he hums. “i know. until i put a ring on that pretty finger there, this should give everyone the message that you are not single.”

[hxbbit]

Darkest Desires (Void x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, all you wanted was to be distracted, to forget. Wishing that Bob could just stop being so nice and pin you down, do all those filthy things you don't dare say out loud. Too bad Bob can't hear your thoughts or read your mind. But someone else can...

Warnings: Unprotected sex, face fucking, choking and breath play, spit play, dom/sub dynamics, degradation and humiliation, dub!con (bob), slight voyeurism, name calling, afab!reader, no use of name or y/n,... lmk if I forget something, but really it's just pure filth.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: This is just absolutely self indulgent smut, cause there was a serious lack of Void!Bob fics imo. The last fic I've posted/wrote anything for public consumption was like 4 years ago, so I might be a little rusty, but I'm still pretty satisfies with how it turned out. Also not super proof read. I hope you enjoy it, though! Comments, reblogs and likes would be greatly appreciated... I need validation lol

It was so quiet on the ride back, you could’ve heard a pin drop. 

No one spoke, no laughter. Just the low rumbling of the truck engine and the occasional ticking of the indicator, but you barely even registered that. Your thoughts were swirling. Overthinking and replaying every single step of the mission and how it could end so badly. 

All of the hostages got killed. And the bad guys got away. 

You should’ve done more, done things differently, maybe come up with a better plan. It was rushed because it was a very time sensitive mission, but you had to at least try. 

The reality was, there was nothing you could’ve done and deep down you knew that. Didn’t mean you had to accept it, though. 

A quick look around the truck told you that the others were probably thinking similar things. Solemn faces on each and every one of them. Even Alexei kept his mouth shut for once. That was a big indicator on how badly things had gone. He was usually the first one to try and motivate everyone or make a dumb joke. 

Silence was only broken when you got back into the tower and Bob came striding towards the group. 

“How did it go?” There was a hopeful and cheery tone to his voice and a small smile on his face that dropped immediately when he really took everyone in. 

“What do you think?” Walker spat back, before turning towards his room, door slamming. 

Bob knew not to take it personally, but you could still tell that he felt guilty. His face always betrayed his every emotion.

He then looked at you. And you just shook your head, not ready for words yet. 

You were closer to Bob than the rest, understood each other wordlessly. When you met something just clicked and since then you have basically been dancing around your feelings for one another. Hesitant because you were working and living together. Both still dealing with your own demons and issues.

And even though it was an unspoken thing, everyone knew, but no one dared mention it.  

You needed a shower. Showering after a mission was essential, not only to clean the physical grime off you, but it also helped with the unseen. As if the water would wash away the sins and worries, cleansing everything. 

You were just stepping out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel when someone knocked at your door. You had a feeling who it could be. 

“Come in,” you said, loud enough to be heard on the other side. 

The door slowly opened and as expected, Bob stepped inside. 

As soon as he had looked at you, he looked away again towards the floor, his face tinted slightly red. 

“Uh- sorry - I uh- just wanted to ask if you were okay…” He trailed off, hands still on the doorknob, slightly fidgeting. Sparing a quick glance towards you. The towel around your body covered all the important bits, but it was more skin than Bob usually got to see. The few droplets of water that were still shimmering on your skin or fell from your wet hair and slid down the curves of your body didn’t help much either, his eyes drawn to them.

“No,” you answered honestly. “But I will be.” 

A sad hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was nice of Bob to check in on you and for a split second a part of you wished he wasn’t so nice and considerate. That part of you wished he would just rip that towel off you, throw you on your bed and take you, making you forget all about that failed mission for little while. 

But you didn’t think Bob was the type to do that. He was gentle, loving Bob who couldn’t even kill a spider, always scared to wake the Sentry or the Void, so he pushed those things down. Kept his emotions in check. 

It was something that also made you hesitate to pursue a relationship with him. You weren’t sure he could handle or satisfy those darker desires. 

“Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He managed to actually look at your face this time, a faint blush still staining his cheeks and he tried to give you a reassuring smile. He was about to leave you and close the door when you stopped him. 

“Bob?”

He looked at you expectantly, brows slightly knitted together. 

You were so close. So close to saying to hell with it and asking him to stay. To spend the night with you, to fuck you until the only thing on your mind was him and how good he made you feel. 

The words were at the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out, when at the last second you decided against it. He didn’t deserve to be used for your selfish needs. 

“Thank you,” you whispered instead. His brows relaxed but instead you could’ve sworn that a shadow flickered in his eyes. Just as quick as it had appeared, it disappeared again and you weren’t even sure if what you saw was real. 

“Yeah, of course.” A reassuring smile lit up his face and he moved to close the door with a soft click behind him. 

Walking back into the bathroom, you finished drying your hair and body, putting on your underwear and a big t-shirt to get ready for bed. 

It was strangely chilly as you stepped back into your bedroom and pushed back the blankets. You looked towards the window. Closed. Glanced towards the air-conditioning unit, but it was also off. 

You looked towards the door and there he was. 

Bob but not Bob. 

Void. 

Last time you saw him was such a long time ago, you almost forgot what it felt like to be in his presence. 

He was darkness personified. A figure drenched in night. The deepest shade of black. 

He was sucking in all the light around him and reflecting none. 

Except for his eyes. 

That glint in his eyes the only indicator of what - or who - he was looking at. And right now, he was looking at you. You stood frozen. 

People don’t realize how eerie and uncanny it was, seeing a person but not at all being able to see their face or read their expressions. The only hint was him slightly cocking his head as he seemingly took you in. 

“Bob?” You asked quietly, knowing that it wasn’t him you were dealing with. 

“Bob’s not in control right now,” he replied.

“Don’t worry, he wants this too.” The voice came from all around you and was inside your head at the same time. 

You didn’t know what to do. There were protocols and rules in place in case Bob lost control, but somehow you couldn’t do anything right now. Never have you frozen during a mission, but this was completely different. 

“Come now, don’t be so shy,” Void continued speaking and it made goosebumps rise on your skin. He still sounded like Bob, but just like the rest of him, it was darker, deeper, huskier. 

It was also smoother, no stuttering or stumbling over words. 

Void took a step closer to you but you still couldn’t move. 

“I know what lurks inside you. I can see it all. There is no hiding it from me.” He kept coming closer, each step silent as he moved. 

For a moment you were confused, not knowing what he meant. Until he stood right in front of you. So close that you had to look up to still be able to look into his eyes, as they were taking in your whole body unashamedly and with intention. 

And then he looked at your face again. Eyes boring into yours. 

Staring at him so up close was like being in a dark room, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually you could make out the contours of his face.

“I know you want to be fucked. Degraded. Made to submit,” the voice purred as he was raising a hand up to your face and slid his knuckles down your cheek. A breath hitched in your throat. Pulse quickening. 

“Your thoughts were practically screaming it earlier. Like a little slut.” Void let out a low chuckle and you could make out a smirk on his face. 

“But that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it? A needy little slut begging to be fucked.” He now traced the thumb of his raised hand over your lips. 

You knew there was something very wrong with you, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch and feel arousal start to build in your body. A soft pulling sensation low in your belly. And a wetness between your legs, which had you involuntarily clench your thighs together. 

Because Void wasn’t wrong. In fact he was so, so right. 

His thumb on your lip moved from your bottom lip to push into your mouth and you opened it, let him inside. The pad pressed down on your tongue and you instinctively wrapped your lips around his digit, sucking on it. 

All too quickly he pulled it back out of your mouth, dragging it over your chin and down your jaw. His hand moving into your neck where they found purchase in your hair. 

The grip tightening, as he was closing the gap between you. His body now flush against yours, he pulled your head back further, making you look at his face as a quiet moan slipped from your lips. 

You could now feel the solid panes of his torso against yours as well as the hardness of his arousal. Your body arched against him, wanted to feel more of him. Be closer. ´

“God, you’re so fucking eager, it’s embarrassing.” Again he let out a soft laugh and this time you felt it rumble in his chest against yours. 

“Please…” It was the only word you could manage. And even then you didn’t really know what you were asking for. You just knew you needed more.

“What is it you want?” 

Not even thinking about it, the word simply spilled from your mouth. 

“You.”

He leaned in even closer and you could feel his breath fanning over your face. 

“Is it me you want or Bob?” 

That caught you off guard and you didn’t know how to reply. Of course it was Bob. Bob who you’d been harboring feelings for, for so long. But you wondered much of him was Void? And how much of Void was him? Guilt cut through your arousal at the mention of him, sharp and sickening. Was he aware of what was happening?

Void leaned in closer until his lips grazed your ear. 

“He’s watching right now.” The words were whispered. 

Bob watching. A voyeur. The idea twisted something deep in your gut. Filthy and wrong, stoking the flames of your arousal. 

“Open your mouth.” Those were not the words you expected from him and you didn’t immediately react. He gave your hair a sharp tug. 

“I said open. your. mouth.” His other hand came up, gripping your jaw. This time you complied, opening your mouth and you felt you knew what was coming. 

He leaned over you a little more and when his face was directly parallel to yours, he spat into your open and waiting mouth. His spit hit your tongue, mixing with your own saliva. 

“Swallow,” he ordered. You obeyed. Something about the depravity of it, made you let out a whimper and bite your bottom lip. Trying to keep more sounds from coming out.

His grip in your hair relaxed but was still holding on to you. The other one slid from your jaw down to rest at your throat.

“Good girl,” he muttered, smiling again. This time you could see the flash of his teeth and heat was blooming inside you, happy to have pleased him. Eager to do it again. 

“Now what if I told you this was all you’re going to get?” Void asked. 

“What?” It caught you off guard, panic rising inside of you. You needed more. 

“Because if you want more, you’re going to have to work for it. That’s what whores do. And you do, don’t you? Want more?” Now it was his other hand whose grip tightened, fingers digging into the sides of your throat, slowly cutting off your blood flow. 

“Yes. Yes I want more,” You ground out, voice trembling, your vision starting to blur at the edges until the only thing you could still see was him.

That’s when Void released you. Hands dropping to his sides and taking a step back. You needed a second, head still spinning, vision going back into focus.

“Then get on your knees.”

Immediately and embarrassingly fast you dropped to your knees. The floor hard underneath them. You were sure that you’d have bruises tomorrow, but you couldn’t find yourself to care right now. 

Glancing up once more, you were met with the shining look of his eyes, head cocked to the side, observing. 

Lifting your hands, you reached to open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and freeing his cock. Of course you had fantasized about Bob before, but even in your wildest imagination, you didn’t imagine him like this. Even in his all encompassing blackness, you could tell he was perfectly long and thick and felt heavy in your hands. It made your mouth water, just looking at him, and you needed to taste him. 

“Go on,” he encouraged, but you didn’t really need it.

You started by dragging your tongue over the underside, from his base to the tip in one broad stroke and then closed your mouth around the top. You moaned at the weight and taste of him on your tongue, slowly moving up and down on him. Trying to fit as much into your mouth as you could, lips stretching, and taking him deep, but it was not easy. Not only because of his size, but also because of how hard and rigid he was. 

Void let you work at your own speed. But you could feel him grow impatient. His hand found your hair once more, tangling in it and started guiding your movements. Faster, harder. You let go of his cock and placed down on his thighs, finding purchase there. 

In time, his hips started moving too, thrusts matching your rhythm, pushing in as you were moving towards him. 

You started gagging when he hit you especially deep. Forcing himself down your throat, making tears blur your vision. You looked up at him and saw that he had thrown his head back, chest heaving. And over the sound of your own gagging you could even hear him moan. 

Seeing the effect you had on him, spurred you on more. 

You tried opening your throat more, relaxing to take him deeper and slowly breathe through your nose. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, pushing you even harder down his cock and holding you there until you couldn’t breathe anymore and he was so far down your throat, sputtering around him. The sudden need to breathe made you want  to pull back, but Void held you in place. 

“Shhh, you can take it.” He was breathless but there was also an air of amusement to his voice. He obviously enjoyed hearing and seeing you suffer. 

Digging your nails into his thighs, you tried to hold on and when he finally released you and pulled your head back you desperately gasped for air. Threads of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. 

“Is this what you fantasized about? Mouth wrecked, crying, being used like a whore?” He mocked and you only nodded still trying to catch your breath, but you knew that he didn’t really need your confirmation. 

Before you could verbally answer, he shoved his cock back down your throat and started fucking your face again. Faster this time. Merciless. His tip making you gag repeatedly, your throat clenching around it while spit flowed from your mouth, pooling in your lap.

“You’re just a mouth to fuck. Nothing more,” he growled, still keeping his brutal rhythm. 

“But you’re taking it so well.”

It was almost too much, not enough air filling your lungs, on the verge of passing out when he finally released you. Tears were now freely streaming down your cheeks and you collapsed in on yourself. Taking in heaving breaths. 

And then, to your utter confusion, Void got down on his knees, too, He was on your level now and took your face in his hands wiping away the tears with his thumbs. Then the spit from your mouth.

“If only you could see yourself right now. So wrecked but absolutely beautiful. My perfect little slut.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you, but what surprised you even more was when he leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

It was surprisingly gentle, his lips sliding over yours, but hunger was hidden within. A promise that he wasn’t done with you just yet. 

A part of you thinks you should’ve pulled away, felt ashamed or disgusted. But you didn’t. Instead you craved his approval and eagerly kissed back.

Void wrapped his arm around you and pulled you up to stand with him, placing you down on shaky feet. He grabbed the bottom hem of your oversized t-shirt, becoming aware for the first time how little you've been wearing the entire time. Pulling it over your head and discarding it to the side. Then he hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down, letting them drop to the floor. You stepped out of them, kicking them towards where your shirt was laying.

For a moment Void was simply staring at your body. The glint of his eyes roaming over your shape so intensely, it made you want to cover up yourself with your hands. But then his hands joined in on the exploration. Moving over your hips and waist, to your tummy and breasts, squeezing them, circling your nipples, before sliding one hand down between your legs, finding your dripping center. 

That smirk appeared on his lips again, eyes shining. 

"I knew you would be wet... but this..." he trailed off, shook his head amusedly as he slowly glided two fingers between your slick folds, grazing your clit on the way there and making a shiver run through your whole body. And finally he eased those two fingers inside you, with almost no friction, pumping them slowly in and out, knuckle deep.

Finally being touched by him felt like ecstasy. Wanton moans escaped your lips with every movement, eyes screwed shut, trying to take in all the pleasure. After all this build up, you knew that it wouldn't take much to make you come. 

As if he had read your mind, he withdrew his fingers and slid them into his mouth instead. Making you watch as he sucked them clean with a grin. Tension coiled tight in your body, making you squirm as you were waiting for his next move.

Once he was done, he pulled his fingers from his mouth and placed his hands on your hips once more, quickly spinning you around.

With your back now to his front, he pushed you towards the bed. 

"Get on all fours," he commanded. Quickly you crawled onto the bed and got into position. 

You glanced over your shoulder as he discarded the rest of his clothes and then kneeled behind you. He stroked your back with his hands and squeezed your ass before he placed a sharp smack on it. You flinched but stayed in place. He repeated the same process a few more times until your butt cheeks felt hot and burning. 

"I can practically see you dripping, your pussy so desperate for my cock.” He started sliding the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering up some of the wetness and spreading it over his length. 

When he pushed in, without warning or hesitation, you were seeing stars. For so long you have wanted this, to feel Bob - Void - inside of you. 

One deep and swift push and he was fully seated inside you. There was a stretch, a slight burn, but you were so wet and ready that it was bearable and even pleasant. Feeling your body try to accommodate him, taking everything he had to give. 

He waited a few seconds for you to adjust and then started moving. His hands grabbed your hips tight in a bruising grip and every thrust was forcing a moan out of you. You pushed back, grinding against him.

"Your pussy feels so perfect, like it's made for my cock." He rasped out, moans escaping his lips too. Hearing him degrade you was filthy and beautiful, but the praise… it made you feel thing you weren’t sure you were supposed to feel. Not for the Void. 

One of his hands slid up your back between your shoulder blades, pushing your front down against the mattress.

It allowed him to angle your hips more, hitting even deeper inside you. Gripping your bedsheets, digging your nails into the fabric you also buried your face in the sheets, muffling the sounds of your moans slightly. 

His hand smoothed over the surface of your ass, before his thumb landed on your asshole, circling it, applying slight pressure but not quite pushing in. Stilling your own movements, you no longer pushed back. Letting him take complete control again. 

You let out a whimper, not knowing if you wanted him to do it or spare you some dignity.

"Oh yeah, I'm thinking about it..." he mused, still fucking you, but having slowed a little. 

"And I know you'd let me do it too, my dirty little slut. Let me claim your every hole. Make you mine completely." He kept going for a few seconds longer, making you wait. The air around you heavy with anticipation. Because he was right, you would let him. 

"But I think I'll wait until next time."

Next time... the words barely registering in your lust-addled mind, but had a deeper meaning.

He reached for your throat, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against his chest. His other one snaked around your waist first up towards your boobs, giving your nipples each a hard pinch and tugging on them.  Then further down towards your clit, starting to rub circles there. All the while still rutting into you from behind. 

It didn't take long, your own climax building up so rapidly. The combination of him rubbing your clit, his hand on your throat applying pressure and feeling his whole body pressed against you as he was hitting those deliciously deep spots inside you. 

You clung onto his arms, trying to keep him in place but you knew that he was stronger than you and he easily moved his hand away from your core.

"Oh, you're not gonna come yet... maybe I won't even let you come at all. Keep you a desperate, wanting mess. Utterly ruined without even finding your own release, just to keep you begging for more.” The voice was right by your ear.

"No please!" You cried out. You knew he would do it and that he would enjoy watching you suffer. 

"I need it. Need to come,” you continued.

"Need it?" He laughed. "If you need it so bad, why don't you beg for it?" 

Tears were beginning to prickle at the corner of your eyes once again but this time out of sheer frustration. Your last shred of dignity wanted you to keep your mouth shut, thinking that you could just make yourself come afterwards. But you knew it wouldn't be the same. You needed him to grant you the release, to be the one to bestow it upon you. The desperate part of your mind won.

"Please Void, please! Please let me come. I need it so bad. I want you to make me come, please!" The words were spilling from your lips, continuous. Breathless, lips quivering.

"All right, I'll help you out.” You could barely hear it, lost in your begging. Still chanting please, please, please over and over again like a prayer to this god of darkness, as he moved his fingers back onto your clit. In mere seconds, the coil that was so tightly wound inside of you, finally snapped. Pleasure releasing all throughout your body in probably the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced, blinding and all consuming, your whole body shaken by it.

And as those waves were still washing over you, a faint voice in the very back of your mind stirred. 

He should not be able to make you feel like it. You should not have let him do this.

Deep down you knew, the voice was right. You have now crossed a line and there was no going back.

If it wasn't for Void holding you up, you probably would've slumped forward onto the bed. Limp and spent. 

You knew that he was chasing his own release now. His thrusts becoming faster, his grip on your body tightened and with one last deep thrust and a low groan, he spilled himself inside of you. For a little while you just stayed like that, both with heaving breaths while still connected. 

He then slipped out of you and without him holding you in place, immediately collapsed back onto your front. The soft mattress catching you. Only able to move so your head could rest on one of the pillows. Between your legs, his release was beginning to seep out of you, slick and warm and sticky. 

Void came to sit down on the edge of the bed and he reached a hand out and gently stroked over your hair. And for a split second you could see a hint of Bob in that action. 

"Fucking perfect," he whispered, head cocked to the side as he took you in. 

You tried to fight it, but couldn't any longer, your eyelids too heavy, slowly falling shut. You were barely conscious, drifting off to sleep when you heard the voice again.

"He doesn't deserve you.” The dark voice whispered in your head. “But I do.”

Tags: @trelaney

[wendichester]

Hi! It’s my birthday today, I was wondering if there was a scenario you’d write about where it’s the readers birthday it can be Sam or Dean but like how they would celebrate her birthday, can include smut/fluff whatever you feel like!

🍰♡ ༘*.ﾟ birthday roadkill & bunker love,

pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader genre. cute birthday fluff

wordcount. 586

notes / warnings. aaaa happy (late) birthday sweets!!! i hope you had an amazing day and here comes my late birthday present 🩷 // weird relationship vibes with the brothers cause it seems like you're dating both (?? don't ask), found family feelings all over the place.

You’ve never been big on birthdays.

They always come with too much pressure, too many expectations, and not enough love to match them. You stopped celebrating years ago. Stopped hoping.

But today?

Today, something’s different.

It starts with Sam.

You walk into the bunker and immediately smell burnt sugar and chaos.

“…Sam?” you call down the stairs.

“Uh—wait! Wait, don’t come in yet!” Bang. Crash. A very distressed “Dammit!”

You grin, setting your bag down and slowly making your way into the kitchen, where you’re met with one of the most beautiful disasters you’ve ever seen.

A cake sits on the table. It is… leaning. Boldly. Confidently. Defying gravity. There’s a single candle stuck in the middle, standing proud like the last man alive.

Written in wobbly red frosting: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART.” (You’re pretty sure sweetheart was the third attempt at spelling.)

Sam stands behind it with flour on his cheek and guilt in his eyes. “I tried,” he says softly, “really hard. Dean said it looks like roadkill.”

You bite your lip, already tearing up. “Birthday roadkill.”

“I made it from scratch,” he adds, like it might save him. “And I didn’t burn this one.”

You throw your arms around his waist and squeeze him tight. He smells like cinnamon and stress.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper. “I love it. I love you.”

His arms curl around you carefully, like you’re the delicate thing in the room. “Make a wish.”

You glance at him, then the crooked little candle.

You already got it.

Then comes Dean.

He finds you later, curled up in the library with a plate full of cake and a content smile. He grins like a man with a secret.

“Ready for your real party?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Was Sam’s cake not real?”

Dean scoffs. “That thing? It was a structural hazard. Come on.”

He leads you down the hall, humming to himself. When you step into the war room, your breath catches.

Candles. So many. Some flickering on ledges, others in empty beer bottles. Your name is written (badly) on a paper banner, hung lopsided across the map table. There’s music playing low—classic rock, softened just for tonight.

And there, at the center, is another cake.

This one is smaller. Sloppier. It says: “Y/N’S HOT BIRTHDAY THING” in green icing, underlined twice.

Dean smirks. “It’s a theme cake.”

You can’t help it—you start laughing. You double over, tears stinging your eyes.

“You baked this?” you wheeze.

He puffs out his chest. “Bet your ass I did. Got a war wound to prove it.”

You spot the band-aid on his thumb. “Aw. Was the mixer too feral for you?”

Dean grabs you, pulls you close by the waist. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday, smartass.”

You smile. “Am I?”

His voice dips low. “You have no idea.”

Later, it’s just the three of you.

You, stretched out on the couch with a blanket over your legs. Sam beside you, fingers brushing yours, still proud of his disaster cake. Dean on the other side, feet up on the table, hand lazily tracing your thigh under the blanket.

“Next year, I’m making a pie,” Dean declares.

“You cannot put candles in pie,” Sam says.

“You can if you’re creative.”

You close your eyes, the laughter echoing around you, the warmth of the room sinking into your bones.

You’ve never had a birthday like this. Messy. Loud. Lopsided. Full of burnt sugar and crooked love.

But for once—you don’t feel forgotten. You feel home.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[creati-bunny]

GOJO SATORU HAS A ONE-SIDED ACADEMIC RIVAL RELATIONSHIP WITH THE PRESIDENT OF THE STUDENT COUNCIL. Even when you’re buried with so many responsibilities from the whole administrators of the school, one student from Class 1-A still has the balls to annoy you.

“Guess what, I got a 97 in our chemistry!” He proudly grins before showing the evident red mark on his paper. Your fingers drum on top of your keyboard, letting out a hum of disinterest, already expecting his presence.

“Congratulations,” you sarcastically quipped with no emotion in your voice. Satoru blindly believed your praise.

Satoru scoffs smugly, “I have been tracking your grades, and I know chemistry is one of your weakest—,”

You stopped typing before humbly showing him the 99-grade mark on your paper with an unbothered smile, and went back to focus on your computer; even while he choked on his own saliva and screeched that made your ear drums bleed.

The doors in your classroom slammed open; you were buried deep in scanning your reviewer on your iPad. You yawned quietly while rubbing your nose with your finger before sniffling, the lack of sleep getting to your immune system.

Your classmates groaned when they saw the perpetrator, another fight that was about to erupt because of his childishness.

“A 95 on Basic Calculus, and our teacher said that it’s the highest grade that he has gotten,” Satoru cackles in delight, relishing in the annoyance on your face; not the fact that he got a 95, but the fact that it was the nth time that he disturbs your peace.

“…”

You do not know his passion in comparing his grades with you—you do not care if you got the higher grade or him; who the hell cares when you two are not going to be in the same course in college?

You seriously want to kick him out of the school.

“Do I look like I have time for your antics, Gojo?” you seethed with bite in your voice, your eyes glared at him—that did not bother him in the slightest. He let out an amused hum, thinking he got under your skin because he was higher than you.

Gojo rebuts, “Judging from your reaction, I’m guessing you’re so mad that I have the higher one, yeah?” He waves his finger in front of your face, pressing his hand on his chest while leaning his neck back dramatically.

“Not really.”

“It’s okay, president. Grades do not define who you are, it only meant—”

“We both got a 95, dumb idiot,” you slapped your Basic Calculus exam on his face very hard and shooed him away. “Now, please get the fuck out of my face,”

Gojo Satoru falls to the floor, with depressed lines hovering over his form.

Gojo becomes unusually enraged when he learns that you were not in the top 2 of the highest scores in the exam board. An unknown name with a bold mark ‘100’ beside it makes him click his tongue.

Akito Fukuzawa - 100

“Maybe he cheated,” he grumbled, munching on the rice crackers in his palm. There should not be a third party involved with his determination to beat you, he rolled his eyes while Suguru gave him a weird look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be glad that you got a higher score than the president?” Suguru pressed on in confusion, making Satoru scoff as if his best friend just asked a dumb question. “A 96 over their 94,” he mumbled.

Satoru sticks out his tongue in disgust.

“Boring! There is no thrill if one of us places on the 3rd,” he speaks like he has a point to prove. “It is fun beating the president when it should be only us two who are at the top of the board.”

Suguru lets out a sigh, “You and your weird fixation. I do not even think they are bothered by it.”

Gojo Satoru glares daggers at the name with hostility Suguru cannot explain. Satoru does not know yet, but his motivation to keep studying in school was all because of you. And it sucks, because you couldn’t care less about him.

Maybe in college, it will be different?

I ONLY WRITE FOR FUN. I DO NOT INTEND TO REWRITE THE CHARACTERS AND CLAIM THEM AS CANON. I AM AWARE OF THE COMPLEXITY OF THE CHARACTERS PRESENTED.