#Nobody is taking your hot pilot away

[isdrstrange]

Friendly reminder this happened

[joonipertree]

Gang Leader Girlfriend Things™

Tags: Mikey x Fem!reader, Fluff, crack, no angst, he's only soft for you <3, love of his life

You know, I think the first rule of joining a gang should be 'don't piss off the leader'. Like, you wanna fight people who can whoop your ass? Go for it, that takes courage and respect. But you join a gang like Toman with 'Invincible Mikey' as the head, the one thing you should probably not do is make him mad.

(Nobody is stupid enough to do that though, much less Toman.)

Mikey personally didn't fight the weak, finds no joy in something that isn't a challenge. Two highschoolers that got recruited by Mitchy's crew? He could tell they were nothing from the back of their babbling heads.

"My god, there's no way a girl like that is here. She's so fucking hot."

"What's a girl even doing in a gang? There's no way she fights."

Mikey's eye twitched. Not only are you most definitely in Toman, with a gang jacket and everything (You had your own but you ended up wearing his most of the time, pretty in what's his.) One of Toman's strongest was Senju, someone who would kick their ass too.

"Do you think she's single?"

"She is not." Mikey drawled, eyes dead and head tilted. Draken came behind him, wondering why his captain was just standing there. Mikey was always friendly with new members but very evidently, those two were an exception.

"What a bummer. She could've been mine."

Draken wanted to laugh so badly but Mikey's hand was warning him into silence before he could.

Mikey couldn't see the dude's face but knew that he was too ugly for you. You weren't into pathetic fucks. And the only person Mikey was pathetic for, was you.

A lot of gang members' eyes were on them now, ready to bow to their captain but stopping when Draken raised his palm. They could tell something was off, looking at the two kids who just didn't bother turning. The aura around Mikey was practically tangible though, suffocating to anyone who took notice.

Yamagishi staggered towards his friends, ready to point out the very dangerous threat behind them. Of course, he was the one who recruited them. If he wasn't Takemitchy's friend, Mikey would've added him to his blacklist. Mikey's finger against his lip kept Yamagishi from saying anything. Their fates were sealed already.

"Man, I could probably take her boyfriend on. Easy win and I get her."

Draken choked, Yamagishi wanted to die, the few people who were close enough to listen stepped away. Mikey still didn't say anything, because the moment he was waiting for finally happened.

Chifuyu had let you know of the arrival with a nod of his head, pausing in his rant about a manga you guys had been reading. You saw Draken's head first, eyes lowering, knowing that Mikey would always fall close. And there he was, his blond ponytail the only thing you could see. Your heart filled up like it always did because fuck, you wanted to consume him in your love. His eyes peaked out and your smile stretched your cheeks.

You walked as if on auto pilot, feet having a pep in them as you did. He stepped out in full view and you squealed at his gentle eyes and outstretched arms. You practically ran to him, you missed him and missed him and missed him.

Your shoulder grazed someone's as you zoomed past and launched yourself into Manjiro's warm embrace. Strong arms encircled you immediately, his cheek squishing against yours. And before you knew it, your feet were off the ground as he twirled you around. Unabashed laughter left your lips, hanging onto him and letting his warm and wet kisses pepper your face. The swooping in your chest was welcomed, clinging to the boy you've loved for years. Your precious----

"Hi, Jiro~" You crooned, eyes open to catch his reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.

He put your feet on the ground and pulled you close by the waist, noses touching each other's.

"Hi, baby." He said in a hushed voice.

You gave his cheek a peck, knowing one on the lips would result in him not getting off of you. There was supposed to be a meeting, so you decided to have him later. Being a gang leader's girlfriend was hard work.

"Did you have a good day?" You asked, knowing he woke up an hour ago, barely in the realm to text you a 'good morning, honey' ('Morning' in Mikey's realm was 1pm).

"Mhm." Mikey hummed, giving your cheek a kiss too. You relished in it.

"Where are you going?" Draken's voice came gruffly and you saw the tall man with his hands on two members' shoulders.

Your boyfriend's gaze fell on them, hardened and cold. It made you shiver, his arms tightening around you when you did. It didn't scare you, he looked hot but it never meant anything good.

You blinked at the two boys, confused and just now noticing the complete silence and the eyes of everyone on you.

I mean, you were a spectacle whenever Jiro was involved but weren't they used to it by now?

"You guys have really bad awareness if you didn't notice me even when I spoke up. I don't know if we want that in our gang." Mikey's words were sweet but dripping in venom, a grin to hide his clear rage.

"I'm so so sorry, boss! We didn't know she was yours, I swear!!" Dude no 1 got on his knees immediately, more so because his legs gave out.

"It's our first day, please have mercy." Dude no 2 shouted, bowing till his head met the floor.

Oh, you thought, they were actual idiots.

Seeing people bow and beg at your boyfriend was always surreal. You knew he had repertoire and respect because of years of being a gang leader. Personally, you never really understood gang things tm. But you knew your Mikey could kick ass and people looked up to him, so you always enjoyed the times he did gang leader things tm cuz it was hot.

"Yamagishi, you recruited them so you have responsibility. Have anything to add?" Mikey asked the frozen boy, who probably stopped breathing a long time ago.

"Uh, it was Takemitchy's idea?" The boy said, knowing who Mikey's kryptonite was.

"You're the one who asked me. Don't try to get me killed along with them!" The acting president hollered.

Mikey turned to his best friend, smile still plastered on his face. If Takemitchy didn't have the trauma to back up his biggest endeavour, he would be worried that the dark impulse would've possessed him from that interaction alone.

"Mitchy, normally I would let the head captain step in for any decision made about their division. But since they directly challenged me, we have to deal with it like all gangs do, right?"

"We didn't....we didn't know, promise!" Dude no 2 peeped out.

"Hmm, but wasn't it you who said that you could take her boyfriend on? It'd be an easy win? There's enough people who witnessed that."

"Oh, Lord Almighty." Takemitchy murmured, "nothing can save them now."

"Not even an hour in and they're going to die." Another murmur from the crowd. (It was Ran)

"I never said that, I am not a part of this." Dude no 1 threw his friend under the bus immediately. It was understandable.

"'She could've been mine,'" Mikey practically sang, taking off his jacket, "is what you said, right?"

"No I couldn't," you spoke absentmindedly, only looking at your boyfriend cuz you'd lost interest in the morons, "you're too ugly for me."

It was a blow that hit almost as hard as the kick they were about to receive. Mikey let out an affectionate snort as he covered your head with his jacket. The heavy material blocking your peripheral as he left your side within a second. A sick crack brandished the air, followed by two thuds.

"Welp, that fight didn't last. How boring, wanted to show off." Mikey sounded bored, the asphalt crunching under his slippers as he walked back.

"Are they--" Takemitchy's panicked pitch followed, a very common tone whenever Mikey was involved.

"Breathing." Draken called out, giving them a light kick on the side to check.

"Takemitchy, your crew is banned from recruiting." Their leader yelled back with his head only half turned, a flurry of 'yes sir!'s came.

"Thank you for holding onto my jacket, baby." Mikey whispered as he took the jacket off your head and draped it on his shoulders. His eyes were back to being kind and gentle, warm hand cupping your face in gratitude. You melted into him, eyes closing. He left a kiss on your forehead, keeping you close.

"Ah, I'm hungry," he whined, "let's go get mcdonald's. I didn't eat breakfast."

"You didn't?" You asked as he interwined your fingers together and tugged.

"I had cereal but that barely counts." Mikey started chattering on, waving a hand to dismiss the meeting that never began.

[tevanbuckley]

Sorry this is out of nowhere I have no one to talk to about 911 and I think I'm going insane. Some of the takes that Tommy is boring, or uninteresting, and nobody likes him are honestly so funny bc literally the characters do not agree at all

Buck thinks Tommy is confident and cool. He was driving himself crazy for days trying to find roundabout ways to spent time with him he liked him so much. He kind of can't stop thinking about him.

Eddie loves hanging out with Tommy, they're going to see fights and fixing cars and sparring together. He's inviting him round to his house and to pick up basketball. They're bros! How can they think Tommy is boring when he and Eddie have the same interests lol.

Bobby saw Tommys development back when he was with the 118 and tells Buck unprompted that Tommy's a good person. He's good for Buck.

Chimney trusts Tommy enough to call him for help multiple times. He trusts him! He thinks he's canonically 'so cool!'

Maddie was so excited to hear her brother gush about the hot pilot! She wanted to meet him! It's implied she told Buck she was cool if he invited him to her wedding!

Way back in the begins episodes Hen liked Tommy enough to invite him out for drinks and was comfortable enough to shove his face in a cake. They're friends! They're teasing!

Everyone likes Tommy and people insisting they don't has honestly gone full circle and is now just funny

Like everything else these weirdos have come up with it's just insane levels of cope, like there is really nothing else to it.

If I had one big criticism of fandom as a concept it'd be that it can make it very difficult for people to just stop watching when they don't like the direction a show/piece of media is going. And on a certain level I get it, if a big chunk of your social group is wrapped up in this tv show you watch together, walking away from it also means (on some level) walking away from the community you've built around it.

So instead of just going, "damn, this sucks, guess I'll watch something else," they come up with weird border line conspiracy theories as to why actually, the show is going in exactly the direction they want and everyone else is stupid and wrong and media illiterate.

[chanshoesunite]

Chan on the Beach

Content Info: Chan and Y/N meet on a beach in Australia at Christmas and have some fun. This is an edit of Hare's bday fic for Tortoise. No beta we die like Y/N's resistance against lifeguard Chan.

Word count: around 6K

Warnings: semi-public sex, dirty talk

„Aaaah, this is the life!”

You reach over to grab your Virgin Lavender Mojito off the little table next to your lounger. Taking a sip through your plastic-free straw, you let your gaze, well-protected behind your heart-shaped shades, wander across the bay. From your position high up next to the rooftop pool of the renowned “Park Hyatt Sydney”, you can see the world-famous opera house.

“I know, right?” Your best friend Hare is next to you, holding a flashy pink cocktail. “Bless this job!”

As a pilot, Hare is allowed to bring someone along whenever she needs to fly over one of the major holidays, and since it’s Christmas in Austria right now and you’ll only fly back on the 28th, she chose her best friend to keep her company in her five-star hotel. There really are worse fates.

You stand to let your gaze properly explore the vicinity. “Do you fancy going to the beach?” you ask, spying the almost glisteningly white sand in the distance.

Hare raises an eyebrow at you, which you only realise because now it appears behind her sunglasses. “And getting eaten by a shark? Is this your idea of a good time?”

You giggle. “Oh, come on, there are safety nets. And anyway, I was thinking we could do one of those fun videos where you throw sand and I twirl in it? You know, for the Gram?”

Hare looks like she has half a mind to protest, might find this not worth the hassle, but then her smile softens. “Sure,” she says. “Let me check with the hotel staff to find the best beach access for us.”

…

An hour later, you are in your gloriously colourful bikini, twirling barefoot in the sand even though it’s too hot for comfort – not that you would give that away and ruin your Instagram reel, though. Hare is holding your phone, trying to get the perfect angle to have the sun glistening in a golden hour-way on the water.

“And now the sand,” you prompt. “You kinda just let it fly in the breeze, so it looks nice behind me.”

Hare looks dubious for a second. “What if I mess up and hit someone else?” You wave it off. “There’s nobody around!”

It’s true enough – it’s around dinner time, and your stretch of the beach is, possibly due to the holiday, rather empty. Hare nods. “Okay, sure.” She bends down to grab some of the white sand and repositions herself to throw it into the air. You twirl, and from the way Hare’s lips widen into a grin, you can tell it’s a great shot. You can already imagine how amazing you’ll look and how many likes you’ll get, maybe you should cross-post it on TikTok and-

“Oi!”

Both of you turn to see someone standing there. And what a someone. Well, two someones, actually, but your eyes are glued to Someone Number One. He isn’t exactly tall, but well built, his black swimming shorts showing off his narrow hips and creating a marvellous contrast to his thoroughly-trained upper body. He has a sharp jawline that you would like him to use to cut you into chips, a big nose, well-formed cheek bones and beautiful eyes that are, admittedly, currently glaring at you. “What’s that all about?”

One glance at his wet upper body, which is now covered in sand, tells the entirety of what happened – that he is the unwilling participator in an Instagram challenge gone just a little wrong.

Hare gets her bearings faster, but from the way she eyes the taller, lithe man next to the buff grumpy guy, you assume that in order to get into her head, you would have to pass an 18+ ID check. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there and meant absolutely no harm!” She extends one of their towels to the taller guy who looks a little like a Korean forest fairy. “Here, please.”

The guy accepts the towel from her, cleaning his (for his build) substantial abs. You tear your gaze away and meet the buff dude’s eyes, who sarcastically pulls up one eyebrow. For a second, you don’t know what to do.

“Oh!” You realise he’s expecting you to also offer him a towel, so you do. At the way you briefly flounder around, your nemesis’ face softens, and a little smile plays on his face. It’s a good look on him, you decide. “Cheers”, he thanks you, cleaning himself up. “What were you even doing there, throwing sand?” he asks, somewhat curious and content now that the sand isn’t on his pecs but your expensive hotel towel. His voice is still a little gruff, a little dark, a little deep, his Australian accent making it all the more delicious.

Hare, the ever-trusting girl that she is, extends her phone to him. “I was filming a slow-mo reel. It looks absolutely gorgeous if you ask me. Sorry again, but it was kind of worth hitting you with sand for it.”

The two men watch the reel and you can feel your face heating up. You haven’t even seen it yourself yet, and now those two handsome dudes get to do so before you?! You should be mad at Hare, but from the way buff guy’s face softens watching it, you really, really can’t.

Handing her phone back to Hare, the guy looks at you. “You’re beautiful in this,” he says, a little sparkle in his dark eyes. “If I can follow you on Instagram, you’re forgiven.”

Ummmmmm. That’s a statement you haven’t anticipated. You gulp a bit. “Okay,” you agree, and accept the phone back from Hare to open the app for him. Your hand brushes his as you hand it over, and the back of your neck prickles. At the touch, his eyes find yours, and he smirks just the tiniest bit before focusing on the device to type in his Instagram handle. You feel a little lost for words, so you look over at Hare, who confidently winks at you. “Maybe we can buy you two a drink in order to make up for the, er, Sand Incident?”

The other boy chuckles. You take a moment to look at him more carefully and appreciate his fine features, his longer hair tied back in a ponytail. He is beautiful, no doubt about it, but you prefer his shorter friend. “That’s a lovely offer, but we’re actually headed to a party later.” Ponytail glances at the Short King. “But actually…?”

The Short King has finished typing his name. “Yeah, how about you come along?” he finishes the sentence. “I’m Chan,” he adds as he hands back the phone, “but lots of people call me Chris.” Chan nods at the phone and you glance at the handle. “Chanstopher97”. Oh, he’s younger, too. Hot. You accept his following request.

“And I’m Hyunjin.” The other boy smiles at Hare in a way that shows you he seems just as taken with your friend as her body language suggests she is with him. Nice.

“I’m Y/N,” you take charge of the conversation now, and there is a laugh dancing in Chan’s eyes. “And that’s Hare. And about our evening plans…” You look over at Hare, hoping to telepathically communicate that you’re not ready to make this impromptu decision without talking it through with her first.

Hare smiles. “We have dinner plans, but why don’t you text Y/N the address and we’ll see if we can meet you there?” You two share a look and you feel seen and comforted. Hare is keeping your options open but not consenting or refusing in your name.

There is slight disappointment in the two men’s faces, but that’s their issue. “All right,” Chan agrees, running a hand through his darkly wet hair and you are mesmerised by the way the muscles flex on his arms. “I’ll text you in a bit.” He smiles at you. “I really hope to see you there. It’s at the beach, but it does get cool at night, so make sure to bring a hoodie.” He pauses strategically. “Or you can always wear mine.”

You bite your lip to suppress a giddy grin, and his eyes follow the movement. There is an almost hungry quality in his gaze before it flickers back up to again. “See you later.” The confidence he lays into these three words is astounding but very attractive.

Hyunjin smiles sweetly at Hare, which she reciprocates, and then the two men make their way up the beach, in such a manner that the two of you can appreciate their backsides. When they turn around, you feel caught, and the slight blush on Hare’s face betrays the fact that she is experiencing the same emotion. As if in unspoken agreement, you both turn around and sink down in the sand, onto your respective towels that are already dirty anyway.

You are quiet for a moment. Then- “Well, damn,” Hare says.

“Damn,” you agree.

“He’s really hot.”

“I know. Mine too.”

“There’s one for each of us.”

“Yeah.”

Hare glances over at you. “How do you feel about a beach party on Christmas Day in Australia?”

You watch the setting sun glittering on the waves. How do you feel about this? On the one hand, many strangers in one place, mixed with alcohol, are never on top of your list when it comes to a desired evening programme. On the other hand, the party doesn’t have to be where they stay, does it? And Chan, Chris… He is really something. If he were lavender lemonade, you’d sip him. Hehe. Also, as a pilot, Hare has to stay sober, so there will be at least one reasonable person around – or, knowing your besty, at least a sober one.

“I think,” you say slowly. “Theoretically, if we didn’t like it, we could go home at any time. And we can share our location in case we lose each other.”

A slow smile spreads across Hare’s face, reminding you of a cartoon cat who has spotted an especially delicious baby bird. “All right,” your besty agrees. “Let’s party tonight.”

…

Chan texts the details within ten minutes of meeting you and you try not to let it get to your head. Hare and you enjoy an outstanding dinner on the hotel’s rooftop terrace, a Christmas present from the airline, and don’t let the prospect of two hot Korean men on a beach force you to hurry through the five delicious courses. Afterwards, you throw on bikinis, shorts, cute tops and pack long-sleeved items as well, just to be on the safe side. With on-fleek eyeliner and beautiful lipstick, you must surely be the hottest besty duo that has ever walked the hallways of this grand hotel, or so you think on their way downstairs to catch your Uber.

The party location seems to be a dive bar, and as you approach the hut, you are relieved to see that while there is a crowd gathered, it is not overwhelming. The last rays of sunlight are winking over the horizon as the two of you enter the bar.

The interior design is a little bit clichéd in its maritime theme, but since this is your first authentic dive bar experience, you don’t mind. You glance at the nets, the taxidermied swordfish, the life belts, take in the Jack Johnson song playing, and decide you like it. The bar is situated in the middle of the wooden building, an “o” marking the centre of the spot. And right there, behind the counter, drawing a beer, is-

“Is that Chan?” Hare asks the exact moment you realise that your crush is actually working here. Your gaze falls onto Hyunjin next to him, wiping glasses, and the women waiting to catch their attention in front of the bar. “Well,” you conclude. “It seems we’re here for the most popular boys. Damn.”

Hare grabs your hand. “That won’t stop us,” she disagrees. “After all, we are the hottest here.”

She pulls you towards the bar, and it is almost eerie how fast Chan’s head snaps up to meet your eyes. His slowly crinkle as he begins to smile. “You came!” he calls over the music and the waiting people, and some of them actually make space for Hare and you. “We came,” you confirm, propping your elbows up on the bar. “And you came to work, by the looks of it?”

Chan seems sheepish for a moment, but quickly shakes it off. “We are only doing the first shift,” he explains, “and then we’ll be all yours.” He gestures around the room. “You can check out the place or the beach if you’d like. Or hang out with us back here?” He has one hand on the door that swings inward and allows for entrance into the centre of the bar.

Hare glances at Hyunjin. “If we hang out back here, will you make us a kickass alcohol-free cocktail?”

Hyunjin smiles – he really looks good in his loose Celine racerback; you have to admit that. “My pleasure,” he says in a voice that is deeper than you remember.

Hare turns to you. “Beach or bar?” she asks.

You barely hesitate. “Bar.”

…

If someone had asked you a few months ago if spending Christmas day behind a bar sounded like fun, you probably would have refused to even consider the possibility. But this – sitting on chairs with Hare, sipping the amazingly lavender-flavoured cocktail Hyunjin created for you, watching the men work, throwing dish towels or napkins at them in jest – this is a perfectly lovely evening. There isn’t much time to chat, but just by looking at them interact with each other, their customers and their work, you get a better idea of their characters.

Chan seems to be caring, friendly, supportive, flirty, Hyunjin appears to be sweet, sassy and a little on the dramatic side. Both of them react well to the sarcastic comments Hare sometimes throws their way, teasing her back and each other. It is obvious that they are firm friends and likely have been for a long time.

“Hey, Hyunjin, your mojito game is actually pretty weak,” Hare exclaims, hopping off her barstool and joining the taller Korean man at the bar, elbowing him gently. “Why don’t I help you with that?”

Hyunjin’s gaze at her is challenging, but he hands her the bottle. “I am ready to be impressed.”

Someone snorts next to you, and you glance up to find Chan very close to you, also watching the two of them. “Hyunjin’s flirting technique need work,” he says, chuckling softly but not unkindly.

You arch an eyebrow at him. “And yours doesn’t?”

Chan turns to you, and with you propped up on your high bar chair, the two of you are eye to eye. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice suddenly just a tiny bit rough, his eyes intense. You feel yourself blushing but don’t look away. “I am,” you agree.

He shrugs. “Then I don’t think it does.” Chan winks at you and returns to the considerable queue in front of the bar, slapping Hyunjin on the shoulder in the process. “Stop flirting!” he barks, and from the way his friend blushes and Hare starts giggling, you can tell that you are not the only one behind this bar who is experiencing chemistry between herself and a man she met at the beach mere hours ago.

The first shift passes quickly, and as the bar fills up, you love seeing Chan get just a little bit hot, his dark t-shirt, tight to begin with, sticking to him in all the right places.

Finally, when a few of their friends come to take over, Chan throws the dish towel he has been holding down onto the bar and turns to you. “Finished!”, he exclaims happily, an almost childlike joy at having completed his task on his face. He extends his hand to you, offering you help in jumping off the chair. You take his hand, and it’s just a little rough. Does he surf? Play the guitar? You intend to find out. Relishing the moment, you wait just a tiny bit before jumping off, and Chan doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re firmly on your feet, either. You look up at him and there is something in his eyes. A dare to let go? Dream on, pretty boy, you think. I dare if you dare.

Hyunjin hands Hare two glasses – two more of the delicious mocktails, you are happy to see – and grabs two bottles of beer. “Shall we?”

The four of you leave the bar area and then the building behind, and you are thankful to be holding Chan’s hand so as to not lose him in the throng of people that seems to have been growing steadily throughout the past hour. Soon, your sandals hit the sand. There are beanbags on the beach, and miraculously, not all of them are occupied yet, possibly because the night air is just a little bit chilly already. Now you have to let go of Chan’s hand and follow the impulse to run across the now cool sand and throw yourself into an extra-large beanbag, giggling happily. Chan is not far behind, though, approaching you at a languid pace, two drinks in his hands which he has seemingly picked up from Hare and Hyunjin, watching you with a smile. When he is finally standing over you, you glancing up at him, his bravado seems somewhat diminished. “May I join you?” he asks, and when you wiggle just a little bit to the side and pat the newly gained space next to you, his smile widens again. He lets himself sink down next to you and you are overwhelmed by how much you like the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat and ocean breeze. Delicious.

It takes some arranging, but the two of you are finally comfortable side by side, your drinks secured in the sand, Chan crossing his arms behind his head and gazing up into the night sky. You can hear Hare giggle behind you as, by the sound of it, Hyunjin falls off a beanbag.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but you still decide to break it – after all, you want to get to know this delectable specimen better. “So, is this what Christmas usually looks like for you?” you ask.

Chan glances over at you and holds your gaze. Man, you really want to sink into those eyes. “The party’s a tradition,” he explains. “We always host it.”

“We?” You sit up a tiny bit, edging just a little bit closer, and from the way his body shifts towards you, you can feel that he welcomes the change. Your bare leg brushes against his and the skin-on-skin contact makes you antsy, but in a good way. This is exciting – the two of you both know where this will lead, but the timeline is yet unknown, ready to be discovered.

Chan nods. “The lifeguards. Hyunjin and I both work at this beach.”

You process the info quickly and file it away under the category “hot”. “That’s extremely cool,” is what you say, though. “Very responsible.”

The man seems to be blushing a bit and you love how his cool behaviour falls away when he’s being himself. It’s endearing. “I am a huge ocean enthusiast. I am actually currently writing my dissertation on various measures that could be taken to effectively clean the ocean, you know, to remove all of the microplastic. I’m trying to create a filter that can be produced cheaply and applied across all water temperatures.”

Your mouth actually hangs wide open at this. “So, you’re hot AND super smart?!” you blurt out. “That hardly seems fair!”

Chan smirks at this, but there is no denying that he is flattered and cajoled. “And you haven’t even seen me bench press yet,” he jokes.

You laugh. “I’d love to, though,” you say, more serious than you mean to be.

He grins widely. “Well, if you’ll have any more of those cocktails, maybe I’ll have to carry you back later.”

It’s a joke, you both know it, but you notice the exact moment where you both think about him picking you up and maybe pinning you up against a wall. The mood shifts for a moment, it feels less playful and more explicit. The silence is heavy, almost alive with an electric current.

Chan clears his throat. “You haven’t told me yet what a beautiful publicist from overseas is doing in Australia at Christmas.”

Thankful for the distraction, you tell him about the trip, about your job, and as you sip your respective drinks, you establish a shared love for TV shows, bubble tea, colourful hair, non-spicy foods. If this were a first date, it would be absolutely amazing, but sadly, this can’t be a first date, because in less than seventy-two hours, you will be on your way back, and you are severely jetlagged, having arrived only today, and this will merely be a three-day-thing, if at all. You try not to be sad about this, but it’s hard.

Chan seems to sense your distress. “Is everything all right?” he queries, using his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile. “Yeah. I was just thinking that I’d love to not leave in three days.” This feels like way too big a confession for this casual hook-up, but somehow, simultaneously, it also feels just right.

He seems to contemplate this, then takes your hand. “Want me to show you my lifeguard hut? You can see pretty far from up there.” It’s a distraction, but it’s working, so you nod and smile at him. Chan pulls you to your feet and just as you turn to tell Hare where you're intending to go, you can see her sitting in Hyunjin’s lap, making out with him. Shrugging, you turn back to Chan – after all, you can both access each other’s locations on your phones and Hare knows how to handle a dude. “You know,” you say boldly, “This could be us.”

Chan pulls you after him, towards the lifeguard station. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says with casualness that makes you shiver in anticipation, “it will be.”

…

Chan’s workspace is actually more elaborate than you anticipated. It’s a little hut on a raised platform so he can seek shelter from the sun while watching the ocean. The bottom of the steps is sealed for the night with a chain-link fence so unauthorized or drunk people won’t be tempted to climb up, but Chan produces a key from a chain around his neck and unlocks it so you can access the platform. You go first, but he keeps his hand on your lower back, steadying you, and you have to admit you like it.

Upon arriving at the top, you are greeted by a few solar lanterns glowing in the dark, illuminating your surroundings. You are maybe four metres up above the ground, but everything – the party goers down the beach, the music, the noise – seems miles away. The only thing you can feel is the wind and Chan’s warm hand against your side, and then there is the glorious sound of the sea. The lanterns also reveal that the chair Chan must usually spend his days in is folded up against the railing, replaced by a picknick blanket and a few throw-pillows. You turn to meet his eyes, into this half-embrace he has going on, and his hand finds your lower back again, pressing you softly to his firm chest. “Did you prepare this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Chan does have the decency to blush. “I was hoping our night would go this way, I must admit.”

Briefly, the thought that Chan must do this all the time, that this must be his move, makes an appearance, but you actually don’t really care to slut-shame the man. Good for him, he is hot and sweet AND smart, you hope that he has lots of amazing sex, but tonight, preferably with you.

You take it all in – the waves crashing against the sand, the darkness softened by the glow of the lanterns, Chan’s huge hand splayed across your lower back, his scent, his face just inches from yours. “Can I kiss you?” you ask.

Chan briefly closes his eyes before opening them. There is a tiny smile on his lips. “Please,” he whispers. And so, you slowly, anticipation rising in your gut, close the distance and softly place your lips against his. Your first thought is how soft they are as you slowly move, placing your hands against his chest, then sliding them upwards, holding his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Chan tastes of beer and chewing gum, but you don’t mind, you don’t have the capacity to think as his tongue touches yours and suddenly, this isn’t slow anymore, this is heat and lust and want and need. Chan’s hands are still at your lower waist, but from the way he is pressing you against him, you can tell that he wants to touch you, he is just too chivalrous to give in to his passion. You grab hold of one of his hands and place it very deliberately against your bum cheek as you pull his lower lip between your teeth and bite. Chan groans into your mouth, his left hand joining his right on your ass, and then he is lifting you up, pressing you against the railing, thoroughly devouring your mouth all the while.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and one of his hands slides down to touch your bare thigh while he breaks the kiss, pressing his lips to your throat, nibbling, licking, sucking. A moan escapes you, and you can feel him hardening in his pants. Without waiting for him to do it, you pull your shirt off so you’re just in your bikini top, and Chan immediately shifts your weight onto the railing and his left arm so he can slide his hand under the fabric and play with your nipples. At the first slight touch, you are already whining, arching into the touch, and Chan’s chuckle is half mean, half adoring as he watches you respond to him. With your bikini top askew, you feel that the clothing ratio between the two of you is a little unfair, so you pull at his shirt, and he actually stops teasing you for long enough so you can get it off of him. Unfortunately, you don’t have long to admire his physique, because as soon as the offending garment is discarded onto the floor, Chan leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips, and your moan is much throatier this time, needier, and you can feel Chan shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he breathes against your chest, making you shudder as the air hits your wet nipple.

“I want you, too,” you admit, stroking your hand across his pecs and earning another groan. “Can you take me like this? Up against the railing?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. “You want me to rail you against the railing?”

You groan at the dad joke, but, for once, not in pleasure. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yup. And speaking of right into…” He slides one hand into your shorts, going straight for your pussy and parting your lower lips with his forefinger so that any protest you had against his stupid pun dies on your lips. “Fuck, you are so wet,” he sighs. “I’d love to stretch you out with my cock.”

You cock your head to the side. “So why don’t you, then?”

At that dare, Chan crashes his lips to yours and your tongues dance wildly together as he slowly strokes your clit with his fingers, making you gasp into the kiss, before abruptly breaking away. “Fuck, let me just grab a condom real quick,” he says as he puts you down gently, placing an almost sweet kiss against your lips before approaching a bag that you didn’t notice earlier. You quickly discard your shorts and bikini bottoms; now only in your bikini top, you lean against the railing and watch the shoulders in Chan’s back work deliciously as he bends over, searches his bag and finally grabs a foil package before slipping it into the pockets of his shorts. Then he joins you again, scooping you up in his strong arms. You seize the opportunity to hold onto them and stroke them as he lifts you again and captures your lips in another scorching kiss. Your wet core presses against his naked lower abs, and Chan moans at the feeling. He lowers you just a little bit, grinding his still-clothed cock against your aching pussy as he presses kisses to your throat, your cleavage, any spot of bare skin he can reach.

“Please, Chan!” You might be begging at this point, but who cares, actually, he feels big and you want to see and especially feel if that’s the case. “I needed you inside of me like five minutes ago!” He stills, breathing heavily against your skin. “Fuck, okay,” he finally rasps after a moment of silence. “Hold on.”

You put your legs onto the railing, propping yourself up while Chan sheds his shorts and underwear, but not before grabbing the condom from his pocket. You watch as he tears open the package and rolls it over his indeed fairly large cock – it almost makes your mouth water and you promise yourself that before the night is over, it will literally make your mouth water.

Having finished his preparations, Chan steps back into the space between your legs, and you pull him closer. Your kiss is slower, more deliberate as he strokes his tongue against yours, tempting you, seducing you. And then his hard cock is pressed against you, and you shift, allowing him to press into you. Slowly, you feel yourself being filled, stretched by his girth, and you moan loudly as centimetre after centimetre disappears into your tight pussy. Unconsciously, you try to shift away from the intrusion, but Chan’s hands on your hips hold you steady, so you can do nothing but give in and take it. Chan’s tongue is back on your nipple, distracting you from the stretch by stimulating you sweetly, and the way he groans against your skin, muttering how amazing you feel, how tight your little pussy is, how good you are being for him, turns you on even further so that you use your heels to pull him closer, pull him in more quickly.

Finally, when he’s fully inside of you, he comes back up to kiss you, the movement causing him to shift inside you, making you both gasp. You are completely naked, completely out in the open, you realise, and still, this moment is intimate, like you are the only two people left in the world. It’s uncomfortable, rushed, risky – and somehow still perfect.

Chan is visibly trembling with the effort of holding still. “Can I move?” he asks, his voice hoarse against your neck as he kisses you softly, waiting for you to adjust to his size.

You cups his cheek so he’ll meet your eyes. When he does, you say, “Fuck me.”

His pupils dilate, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice before he pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in with a force that knocks the breath out of you. Before you can recover, he does it again, setting a relentless rhythm, and you are caged between his body and the railing, his thrusts an assault to your very being, but in the best way possible. His body is blazing in the cool night air, keeping you warm as he worships your body, stroking you, kissing you, licking you, fucking you. And even though your weight must take its toll on him, he doesn’t show it, doesn’t let up, pushing into you again and again, filling you, taking you. You are both trying to keep it down, so your heavy breathing can be covered by the sound of the waves, but you would not bet on it working.

He bites your shoulder, suppressing a groan. “I won’t last long, baby, you feel too good. But don’t worry, I’ll make you come as many times as you want tonight. I’ll eat your sweet pussy until you beg me to stop.” You moan, nodding, as he once again sucks a nipple into his mouth. “That’s fair,” you breathe, and Chan chuckles as he seems to again redouble his efforts, railing you against the railing as his breaths become groans rising in pitch until he bites down on your shoulder once more, stilling inside of you.

The two of you stay locked in your embrace for a moment longer, your breaths calming, before Chan tenderly kisses you as he pulls out. Scooping you up into his arms, he lays you down on the blanket and finally removes your bikini top. Drinking in your naked form in the better light provided by the lanterns, Chan strokes his hands up your sides. “There is just something about you that makes it utterly impossible for me to keep my hands to myself,” he says almost wistfully, and then he is between your legs, kissing the insides of your thighs, nuzzling into them, licking his way up to where you need him. Finally, his tongue is on your clit, and he slides two fingers inside of you, and despite the fact that you are deliciously sore from the thorough way he has just fucked you, this is exactly what you need. His tongue writes letters against your clit, every movement unexpected and all the more exciting for it, and the steady rhythm of him finger-fucking you pushes you closer and closer to the edge. God, he looks so good on his knees for you. Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him against you, and the way he groans into your pussy makes you bite back a moan as well, biting your hand to muffle your sounds of pleasure. Your orgasm crashes over you like the waves below you, unrelenting and unavoidable, and you remove your hand, letting Chan hear your high-pitched moans.

Chan stills his hand to feel the contractions around his fingers, but continues to kitten-lick your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you still, shaking from the stimulation. Only then does he press a handful of kisses to your lower belly and move to join you on the blanket properly, propped up on his side on one elbow, pulling you close and pecking your cheek repeatedly until you turn to slowly, lazily, kiss him. His hand strokes your side again. “That was… Pretty fucking great,” he reminisces, and you can’t help but giggle at the verdict.

“It was,” you agree, dragging your nails up Chan’s veiny forearm, making him shiver. For a moment, the sound of the waves is the only thing you hear. “And you’re here for three more days?” Chan asks, a serious note in his playful tone.

You continue to feel his muscular arms as you nod. “That’s right. Why?”

Chan shrugs – awkwardly, given his current position. “Oh, nothing,” he dismisses the question. “I was just contemplating how often I can fuck you in three days.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “I’d wager that a low to medium double-digit number could be achieved, don’t you agree?”

Chan’s face mirrors your expression. “Do you want to make a bet?” You shrug. “I’d rather suck your cock.” His expression is a mixture of shyness and surprise before it takes on a devilish note. “Well, in that case,” he says, his hand sliding to cup your arse, "be my guest."

[ddejavvu]

you and jake in a forbidden kind of situation, maybe you’re an important admiral daughter, rooster’s sister, don’t know. you two get close, but he can’t really make a move on you, someday you end up in the same bed, you’re like cuddling and you just move a little too much, just enough to leave him hot and bothered.

now what’s really on my mind is his big hands holding your hips in place, so you wouldn’t move anymore, like warning you “you need to stop now or i won’t hold myself”

this is along the lines of a goose lives/nobody dies au? basically they're at the bradshaw home, so carole and by extension nick would still be living there, with the reader as his younger (but adult) sister. hope that makes sense!!

this post is 18+, minors dni.

The Bradshaw house is jam-packed, and you're lucky that you have a bed at all. As a resident and not a guest, it would be common courtesy to offer your bed up to one of the pilots that have come to visit, but the one you'd chosen, Jake, had some other arrangement in mind.

Said arrangement is his broad hand over your stomach, toned chest against your back and muscled arm hanging over your shoulders. You can feel the soft, warm air that he's exhaling, washing over the back of your neck in waves as he tries falling asleep.

You'd normally be squished in with Bradley, a trip down memory lane of all the times you'd crawled into your big brother's bed after a nightmare when you were little. You're much bigger now, but you still have the same twin bed, so having someone even more broad-shouldered and bulky than your brother in it means you're extra close.

Bradley's not happy with the sleeping arrangement. Before he could secure his spot beside you to ensure that none of his friends did anything sleazy, your two younger cousins had latched onto his legs, demanding to sleep in their favorite Bradshaw's bed. You'd take it as an insult, but you're their favorite when he's gone, because they forget he exists. So you'd snickered as he committed himself to a restless night full of cold little feet and floppy babies, and lead his rival to your bed by his large, rough hand.

It feels nice where it's placed over your belly. Warm and gentle, a constant presence that rises and falls with your breaths.

You don't start it on purpose, you really are just uncomfortable laying on your hip. So you tilt yourself backwards, towards Jake, and settle further against his chest.

Then he moves. It's slight, barely-there, but he pulls his hips away from yours. Only his hips, and he clears his throat against your shoulder.

The second time is an effort of confirmation. You feign discomfort again, grunting slightly as you shimmy even further back on the mattress, locking your hips to his once more.

This time you feel it. A growing bulge, stiffening ever-so-slightly as your hips move. He's frozen, hoping you somehow can't feel it, because he can't scoot further back on the bed or he'll fall.

The third time is just for fun. You grind back into him, and his hand shoots from your stomach to your waist. His large hand blankets your hip bone, squeezing firmly.

"Don't." He murmurs, stern.

"What? You don't like it?" You peer over your shoulder, face centimeters from his own, "Feels like you do."

I'm serious, Y/N." He squeezes harder at your hip when you try to move it, "Stop now, or I won't be able to hold back."

"Then don't." You parrot him, equally as stern, "Why do you think I chose you? And why do you think I asked my cousins if they wanted to sleep over tonight, too? This is not a coincidence, Jake. I want you, too."

He's still at the information, save for the hardening of his bulge. Then slowly, tantalizingly slowly, he moves his hand off of your hip, and covers your mouth with it.

"Silent," He commands, lips brushing your ear, "Absolutely silent. Do you understand?"

You manage a nod, and he pries at your pajama shorts with his free hand, trapped beneath your side. They're loose, and he's able to flatten his hand over your cunt without taking them off. He brushes a thumb over your clit, dragging ticklish stripes up and down your slit with his thick pointer finger. They gush gooey warmth just below your stomach, and you arch yourself into his grip.

"Easy," He hums, at the bucking of your hips, "If you move, and the bed squeaks, I'm stopping."

You're at his mercy now, body begging for touch and lips silenced by his massive hand. When you feel one of his thick fingers slip beneath your waistband and slide against your slit, you gasp. It's muffled, of course, but Jake freezes.

"What did I tell you?" He whispers gruffly against your ear.

You press a kiss into his palm as your answer, a vow of silence.

"Better." He grunts, applying gentle pressure to your cunt, finger just barely breaching your slit, "If Rooster finds out he'll kill us both."

With that, he pushes his finger fully into your cunt, and its met with warm slick. You're decently lubricated already, the excitement and scandal of whatever's about to happen pooling itself inside of you.

"Good," He whispers, pumping his finger in and out, in and out. Once it's fully slick, sliding easily through your folds, he adds another, keeping them pressed together as he guides them through your cunt. You're spread open quicker than usual, but you suppose it's because his fingers are thicker than yours, and more exciting.

It only makes you more wet when he hoists himself up to his knees, rolling you onto your stomach and keeping his hand over your mouth. He has to sit up to tug your panties to the side and take his cock out of his pajama pants, but once he's settled and ready to go, his free hand lands by your shoulder.

HIs cock is thick, far thicker than his fingers that had already been a stretch. But it's only a slight burn that accompanies his cockhead at your entrance, and when he pushes himself in and bottoms out, it's gone. Now there's only pleasure swirling beneath your belly, and it's insanely hard not to moan.

He has to go slow and gentle so that the bed doesn't make noise. You're dreaming of the day when he can jackhammer you into the mattress and you can scream his name, but for now the slow drag of his cock through your cunt below your ass is enough.

More than enough, you think, as the pleasure coupled from his fingers and his cock is starting to overwhelm you. He's working a steady pace, albeit slow, and each thrust into your soaked cunt is a reward.

You can tell he's already chasing his own high, too. You suppose it's the forbidden aspect of the sex, the fact that if you get caught by anyone, you're in trouble for life. He feels so wrong bucking his hips against yours, feeling the soft flesh of your ass against his skin, but that's why it feels right. And it feels wrong for his cock to slam against your insides, over and over again, twitching slightly, but that's why it feels right.

It's quick, hasty sex so that no one has the chance to catch you in the act. You ramp yourself up, imagine the sight of his cock disappearing beneath your ass and into your gaping cunt. In turn, he fantasizes about the noises you're biting back behind his palm, leaning down to bury his face against your shoulder.

"Cum," He grunts, lips pressed to your skin and forehead sweaty, "C'mon, darlin', can't get caught. Hurry up."

His insistence, where you'd normally consider it bossy and inconsiderate, is hot. He's demanding an orgasm from you, ripping it out himself with every thrust of his thick cock. There's no way you can't cum, not with his breath on your neck, his voice by your ear, and his cock in your cunt.

When you spasm, he does, too. The convulsion of your cunt, rapidly tensing and clenching around his rock-hard cock make him stifle a groan against your skin. He hits his own climax as you're coming down from yours, and your legs tremble at the feeling of his cum gushing into your cunt.

He braces himself on his knees, using his free hand to flip you over. Once you're on your back he collapses over top of you, panting beside your ear and muffling the sound into your pillow. He only removes his hand from over your face to kiss you, lips lazily suctioning to your own.

"Good," He hums, careful to keep his voice soft as it thrums through your entire body, warm in his chest, "Nice and quiet, darlin'. They'll never know."

[tiggymalvern]

The Burn Notice pilot spackle nobody asked for

There are various moments in the BN pilot that in retrospect seem to be OOC. Like Michael begging Lucy for work by acting like a dog, a ridiculously playful side of him that we never see again.

And obviously those moments happened because Matt Nix hadn't figured out quite who the characters were yet, but as fans we're left to come up with Watsonian answers for them. In the case of Michael and Lucy, the BN podcasters explain it away as a Lucy-specific in-joke - they met years ago not long after Michael joined the army, still a teenager, and that act is a hangover from when they were silly kids together, which is a headcanon I cheerfully accept.

At least that odd scene with Michael is harmless. In the case of Fiona and Sam, there are scenes in the pilot that come across as character assassination. So here I go, wading in...

With Fiona, there's the infamous, "Shall we shoot them?" that appears in every opening credit. Fiona's a violent criminal who hates cops, yes - but she's also smart. Way too smart to think shooting three FBI agents in the street is a good move. Suggesting it makes her seem like a brain-dead, trigger-happy lunatic. So why does she say it?

Fiona doesn't really know Michael Westen at this point. The man she knew was Michael McBride, the IRA sympathiser. Michael himself says in season two (with his Irish accent back in place) that Fiona and Michael McBride 'caused a lot of mayhem'. We don't know what the CIA wanted Michael to find out in Ireland, but whatever it was, Michael would have been very interested in Fiona talking about her work. Would have encouraged her to give him all the details about it. Wanted to help out with her work in any way he could. Fi knows Michael as someone who's really into her violent side, who thinks it's amazing and fun and hot when she's showing him weapons stores and blowing things up.

So when she's trying to wriggle her way back into Michael's life and into his bed, she plays up that side of herself. She beats up Sugar's hitman outside the loft and expects that seeing her do that will make Michael horny. And she suggests shooting multiple FBI agents, not because she plans to actually do it, but because she thinks hearing her say it will make Michael hot for her, remind him of everything he always liked about her.

And then there's Sam. When Sam meets up with Michael, he's openly leering at a random woman who's just walking past in the street minding her own business, and he's making vile comments. Sam's a flirt, not a creep! There's a difference. But here the audience is introduced to Sam and he immediately comes across as the nastiest kind of sleazebag. What is going on?

Sam's meeting up with Michael, who's just been burned. Michael's been unceremoniously kicked out on his arse and he's angry, frustrated, depressed. It's exactly the same thing that happened to Sam two years earlier.

Sam can't sit there and tell Michael that being fired from the job he loved and was incredibly good at is the worst thing that ever happened to him. That he's bored out of his mind and drinking too much and eating too much and having lots of casual sex because there's nothing else for him to do. That he takes on an occasional job for Lucy when he needs cash, but he doesn't even do that much because Lucy doesn't know if she can trust him any more, and the jobs she offers him are so far below his skill level it's positively depressing.

Sam needs to tell Michael that life after your career's ripped away from you is fine! That he can have fun! That the world is his oyster! And Michael knows Sam as a flirt, someone who enjoys sex and booze between missions, so Sam lays it on extra thick, tells him how great it all is, how you can pick up hot women in bikinis everywhere you go.

Both Fiona and Sam are putting on a performance for Michael in the pilot - they're dialing one aspect of themselves up to eleven, in the hope of eliciting a particular response in Michael. And that's why they both come across as not quite themselves.

[stillsolo]

🚩🚩

send me a 🚩 and i’ll share my unpopular rpc opinions and hot takes.  bonus points if you include a specific topic to talk about, like follower count, softblocking, graphics, etc.

wow, okay!  this took me a lot longer to answer than i would’ve thought. nobody sent in topics ( which is okay! ) but without direction, my laidback attitude about everything ended up hurting me in the long run lmfao   but now i’m here!!  better late than never, eh?  tagging others who also sent in something, mainly because i’ve realized i’m chill and got nothing more to say than this it seems  @fifthdimensicn @lightburnsyou @techniiciian ( thank you for sending something!! )

i’ll preface this by saying i have nothing against anyone.   i am just a massive childhood star wars nerd, who basically learned english through the canon/legends movies, games, books, and writing fanfic etc.   so, i’m rather well read on star wars and have a tendency to be uhhh. autistic lol  stringent, for want of a better word, about the universe lore.   overall, i don’t care whether or not people agree; this is just a topic i lowkey struggle to understand yet see far too often.   why people willingly step into this paradox is beyond me!

anyway, if your muse is canonically a force-null in star wars, yet you create a serious, fleshed-out jedi verse for them, then i can’t help but think you don’t actually love your muse as much as you think you do.

of course, you’re totally allowed to have fun—i am not against fun; i’m actually all for breaking and bending verses to my will—and i understand getting bored with the same verses you’ve played in for years and years.   but when this reinterpretation becomes a serious endeavor—like, you’re really out here recontextualizing the entirety of star wars, including its characters, regardless of how ooc it would be to do so, just to fit this verse??   that’s where you lose me lol

for clarity: force nulls are simply people who are not outwardly force-sensitive, aka an individual who cannot consciously sense or interact with the force.   so, think han solo, padmé amidala, or even captain rex and the clones etc.   these are people who stand tall without the force, relying instead on their resourcefulness, resilience, and humanity.

i know the arguments.    i’m well aware some would argue that han and padmé could be considered “lowkey force-sensitive” in their own way, and i’m actually very inclined to agree—to a point.   these two do exhibit qualities that some might attribute to a higher-than-average midichlorian count: padmé’s marksmanship and her negotiation skills; han’s brilliant piloting and uncanny luck that often defies logic.   but yeah, that’s also the whole damn point—they’re exceptional because they lack the force, not in spite of it.

here, lemme use padmé as my primary example because i already know the concept of han being a jedi sounds absolutely absurd lol ( or at least it should if you know him at all 💀 )

let’s imagine a world where padmé is suddenly a jedi, wielding the force with all the grace of a trained knight.   it’s a pretty popular verse i’ve mostly seen outside of rp—and it’s utterly baffling to me.   sure, it’s an interesting twist, but it’s also a strange one.   why?  well, in my honest opinion: in making padmé overtly force-sensitive, you strip away everything that makes her outstanding.

she is extraordinary precisely because she isn’t outwardly force sensitive.  her ability to connect with people, her unparalleled empathy, and her deftness at negotiation are what sets her apart.  outward force sensitivity would rob her of these defining traits and generally diminishes her skillset—because the ability to sense emotions, to read others with an almost prescient understanding—is not a unique power, but rather one of the many force-given gifts jedi possess.  if padmé could sense others’ thoughts, how would her talents at diplomacy and empathy stand out?  just like that, what once set her apart would be merely an extension of the jedi arsenal.

the same applies to han!  this is why i’ve never written a force-sensitive han solo and likely never will.   his disbelief and distrust in anything he can’t see or feel for himself is paramount to his disposition / mentality as a character.   in the movies, he’s your taste of hard cynicism; he’s introduced as a reality check right after luke and ben’s floaty nonsense about the force.   ya feel me?   han solo is remarkable not because he’s imbued with mystical powers, but because he doesn’t have them.   he survives, thrives, and outsmarts the galaxy without supernatural powers to lean on.   to make han force-sensitive would be to strip away the very core of his character.

all in all, these characters, these force nulls, are extraordinary because they don’t rely on the force.   they are exceptional in spite of it, and i don’t really understand why anyone would make a concerted effort to take that away from them.

[lovelytsunoda]

misc. masterlist

instagram au masterlist

f1

violent delights have violent ends (mick schumacher, daniel ricciardo, pierre gasly, nico hulkenberg) 🌹

mick, danny and pierre knew they would need to fight for seats in 2023. they just didn't know that otmar szafnauer was going to take it literally.

the motorsports fiction recommendation list (part two)

the cedric diggory f1 driver au that nobody asked for but i wrote anyways

f1 drivers as characters from the magic mike franchise

tokyo drift

the day you kissed a writer in the dark ,, han lue 🌹🍑🌩

she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

see also: proud mary ( han lue ) from tina!: the series

the night agent

take one down ,, francisco jenkins 🌩

the fix-it fic we all deserve, and the ending that cisco should have had.

top gun (1986)

tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) ,, tom kazansky 🌹🌩

after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.

take my breath away ,, tom kazansky 🌹

temporarily stationed in nevada, tom and heather decide to take a weekend in las vegas to see their favourite new wave band. all the while, all tom can think about when to ask heather to be his wife.

top gun (2022)

sunday in heaven ,, jake seresin 🌹

jake’s favourite afternoons were spent with his fiancée and his dog, with hot drinks and a good book. nice and calm, different from his every day. but tell anybody that and he’d have to kill you.

uptown girl ,, mickey garcia🌹

she would do anything for her nerd boy. except maybe meet his friends in a crowded bar with a pool table where she can make a fool of herself in front of all of her boyfriend's friends. it's a good thing that mickey is a good teacher.

the sixth sense ,, jake seresin (cosy collection 2024)🌹

after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

beautiful girl (stay with me) ,, jake seresin (kinktober 2024)🌹🍑

the three lit jack-o-lanterns in their bay window shouldn't have been the lightscape to their sweetest, purest intimate moments, but hey, what happens on halloween stays on halloween.

love, actually ,, robert floyd (the christmas collection 2024)🌹

recently appointed admiral robert floyd feels overwhelmed in his new position, and unprepared to fill the shoes of the late admiral thomas kazansky. when he inherts the job, he also inherits tom's old secretary. cue the romance. inspired by hugh grant's storyline in love, actually

birthday girl ,, mickey garcia (smutmas 2024) 🍑

used to feeling like an afterthought on her birthday (mostly due to its proximity with christmas), mickey sets out to make sure that his sweet lover girl feels treasured and loved

marvel

you've got me under your spell ,, eddie brock (the cozy collection 2024) 🌹

the then's and now's of halloween in the brock household.

[raccoonfallsharder]

The Very Boring Adventures of

Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl ✩°｡⋆

Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩ Installment One (excerpt & rating key behind the cut)

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5/5 visits | complete | word count: 37,783.

In Rocket Raccoon: Grounded (2016) / Issue #3, Rocket asks a stranger on the ferry to "make sure nobody does anything weird" to him while he naps, and the stranger just, like, abandons him while he's sleeping?? who does that? when a stranger asks you to watch their stuff in a coffee shop, it's a holy obligation. x100 if it's a hot local space pilot trying to catch some Zs on the ferry. get in loser we're gonna fix it

reader x rocket domestic fluff & smut with feelings. comics-based but you don't need any comics background knowledge to ride this ride. excerpt below the cut.

Chapter One (The First Visit). rocket evades SHIELD by hiding in your purse. ✩ Chapter Two (The Second Visit). you and rocket eat omelettes in your underwear. ✩ Chapter Three (The Third Visit). rocket finds you naked & takes care of your cat. ✩ Chapter Four (The Fourth Visit). rocket teaches you about his tail. ❤︎‬❤︎ Chapter Five (The Fifth Visit). rocket stops by for a visit. ❤︎‬❤︎

WARNINGS: feelings & domestica. smut commences in the fourth visit. dirty talk, praise, use of "slut"/"whore" (affectionate), a little bit of oral.

✩ Domestic Scenes in Space Travel Masterlist ✩ Fuckin adorable sweatshirt girl art by @blueberrysquire ✩ forward one installment | return to main masterlist

That’s when you hear the screech from the hallway.

“Oh! Call Animal Control! Oh! It has rabies!”

“It is even still alive?”

“I heard it growl!”

Later, you won’t be able to say how you know.  There have been countless chaotic squirrels in the building before, and the occasional massive rat off the streets, though you suspect they all have much better reasons to be afraid of humans than vice versa. 

But you do know. Maybe it’s Mr Hobbes’ weird behavior or maybe it’s something more cosmic than that, but you know, and you grab your key off the hook and step into the corridor, still in just your bikini-briefs and a sweatshirt that almost goes to your knees.

Your gaze finds him unerringly: passed out, possibly injured, wedged in the doorway at the top of the stairwell with the heavy fire-door propped open on his ribs. 

“Uhhh,” you interrupt, pushing past your neighbors. “Sorry. Sorry. He’s my - “ you pause, thoughts colliding with each other “ - my friend.”

“Your friend?” says Josh From Down the Hall. He’s been bugging you to go out to dinner and drinks for months. “What is he, some kind of miniature furry?”

You roll your eyes and pull open the door, propping it with a hip while you try to hoist Rocket into your arms. Unfortunately, he weighs even more now - probably due to the heavy artillery on his back and at his hips, all of which makes him very awkward to carry. Geezus, one of these guns alone has to be at least as much as his body weight.  “He’s not a - “

“He must be your new cat,” says Brenda From Next Door, her voice a little doubtful. Brenda is harmless enough, though she can be annoying. “I hear millennials like to talk about their pets like they’re actual people.”

There’s way too much to unpack there and fuck. He weighs a ton. Your arms are shaking as you stagger past them. “He’s not - “

“He’s not a cat, Brenda,” Josh says rudely. “Didn’t you hear her? He’s her shrimpy, perverted boyfriend. Wasted in the friggin’ stairwell.”

You sigh. “Josh, this is why no-one wants to date you.” 

“You fuckin’ bitch - “

“Brenda, can you help me with the door?”

The older woman rushes to turn your doorknob and pushes it open for you, while also trying to stay as far away as she can from the Space Pilot in your arms. 

“Did something happen to Mr Hobbes then, dear? Is that why you got a new cat?”

Geezus. No wonder Rocket had been so exhausted of hearing people’s bullshit last time. It’s been five minutes and you’d cheerfully throttle both your neighbors. And you like to think you like people.

“Nope. He’s still alive and kickin’. Thanks, Brenda.”

You lean against the door when it closes behind you, shuffling the weight in your arms so you can slide the deadbolt and chain lock. By the time you get Rocket to the bedroom, you’re panting. Maybe the loveseat would have been the closer, better option, but you’re pretty scared you’re going to need to be able to access him from all sides. 

You rest him on the bed. Mr Hobbes is pacing in the doorway while you wipe the sweat from your brow and then tie up your hair with the elastic around your wrist. The cat meows pitifully.

“He’s gonna be okay, Hobbsie,” you mumble, looking down at your prodigal houseguest. He’s wearing some sort of jumpsuit with blood splashing up one side, but it’s hard to discern much thanks to the plethora of firearms he’s sporting. Carefully, you pick over the range of buckles and snaps and magnets holding his holsters in place. Some just look like grips, but have the weight of something much larger. You don’t know the first thing about guns, really, but you have a feeling that most of Rocket's don’t exactly have a safety.

Cautiously, you undo what you can, lifting each weapon with slow deliberation, keeping every barrel pointed away from you, from your wounded guest, and from Mr Hobbes. Probably these things can blow through sheetrock even better than regular bullets, so you lay them on the floor by the exterior wall, lined up neatly with the barrels pointed toward the brick.  

Then you’re unstrapping the harnesses, holsters, and straps of his jumpsuit. It’s been burnt in some places, torn and bloodied.

“Sorry, Space Pilot,” you say under your breath. “When you wake up, just remember that it’s not the first time I’ve seen you in your underwear.” 

read more on ao3 ✩°｡⋆

some explicit statements or references ✩ explicit scenes or fantasy sequences ❤︎‬ long, detailed, and graphic explicit content ❤︎‬❤︎‬ deliberately smut-free, mostly or entirely platonic ✮

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 7

Emerging from the flames of a must unfortunate home came one of the most fearsome sights on any battlefield with the Garleans. Fiery debris slid off the armored hide of the Reaper as it pushed through a wall like it was nothing more than a beaded curtain; the cackle of the Mi'qote woman echoed through the empty street.

"Gods DAMN, you really are an imbecile! You should've kept moving on, vagabond. A few bruises on some nobody, a little something to whet our appetites and we could've just moved on," she taunted from the magitek armor as she languidly stretched in the pilot seat. "But now? Now we have to get rough." To accentuate her point, she let loose a photon stream with a cacophonous staccato at the Viera, who dove out of the way behind a metal container. Arrows weren't going to do much to an armored monstrosity as that. The Mi'qote was an experienced pilot and likely wouldn't allow herself to be vulnerable to arrows, even the praeternaturally skillful archery of the Viera.

"You could save everyone a lot of grief and turn yourself in. A pretty boy like you..." She licked her lips. "Could fetch quite a high price..." she purred as she leaned behind a shield that took an arrow from Loksen with a solid thud. "More than we could squeeze from these bumpkins. You gotta be faster than that," she added with a laugh as she launched another volley of photon stream into the container he hid behind, easily chipping away the metal as he shifted behind the available cover.

Once the burst ceased, Loksen dashed from behind cover and closed the distance with the magitek armor, sheathed sword in hand. With surprising agility, the mech hopped away and launched another burst of strafing fire. A flash of steel and Loksen managed draw his blade and deflect one of the projectiles that got too close as he rolled out of the way.

"Quick little bunny, aren't you," sneered the Mi'qote. "We have the firepower, so just come quietly!"

Loksen's blade gleamed in the firelight as he turned it over on his hand. Retrieving his flask of sake, he took a deep draught then spewed the liquor onto his blade and sheathed it while lowering his stance.

"Real hard arse, ain'tcha," said the Mi'qote with a smirk as she looked at his unusual katana. "We may have to take your head and your steel. Nice piece of work. Probably get a nice-"

Taking a deep breath, the Viera suddenly surged forward with thunderous bang that turned him into a streak of fire that slid to a stop behind the Reaper. Loksen paused a moment in the follow through, holding a now burning blade.

The Mi'qote blinked in surprised, momentarily stunned before trying to bring the Reaper around to blow away the annoyance. Except, she found that the magitek armor's legs had been cut clean through and came crashing to the ground, the cuts glowing red-hot from the slash. As she struggled to extricate herself from the incapacitated Reaper, she found the flaming tip of Loksen's blade at her throat. Looking up, her eyes met the practically glowing icy eyes of the Viera as intense aetheric pressure seemed to emanate from him and with a sigh, she accepted her defeat.

[soapels]

mutualism

simon “ghost” riley x female reader ♡

content: sfw, ghost is soft for reader but also tsundere and has little to no idea of how to express it lolol

jupe’s notes: hope u enjoy this lil blurb thing. :] its inspired by an otome i played like seven years ago lol. (dont ask why chocolate keeps appearing in my ficlets) also pls pls show sum love if u like it >_> reading yalls thoughts and comments cheers me up, fr makes my day hehe 💗 enjoy babes

all hearts, reblogs, & comments are very appreciated! ♡

“You hungry?”

Ghost huffs, “Aren’t you?”

It’s harmless, and he’s never unwittingly harsh with the intent to hurt you- it’s just who he is, and you know that.

So you swiftly brush away the flustered pang in your chest, deciding to inch closer to him instead, the burly man settled at the bank of the river.

Gases spill over the tree-line up at the village, tucked away behind poppies and pines on the mountaintop. The two of you won’t be getting out of here for a while- the heli crashed, pilot’s dead. The radio (or the general connection out here in the boonies) is so fucked up that nobody’s responding over it to all the calls for help you tried to make.

Regardless. You fix yourself down beside him, drawing your knees to your chest as a small hand digs through your breast pocket.

“Lieutenant, I—“

Before you can even properly pull it out, (and his prediction skills are beyond you) he’s giving you an uncivil shake of his head, wrapping his gloved fingers over your forearm to stop you.

“Save it, sergeant…” As if realizing his curtness, and the slightly-dejected flicker of your wide eyes, his grip on you loosens, and he murmurs softly. “Rather you eat whatever the hell it is than give it to me.”

You pause for a fleeting moment, thinking his words over.

His dark, chestnut hues sweep over you in uneven waves from beneath his mask, slowly, taking in every movement and micro-expression on your end.

(You wonder what it is he sees.)

When he releases you entirely, you clutch the small, wrapped food tighter in your palm and carefully hold it in your lap.

And for a few weighty, silent seconds- just the sound of fresh water rubbing at the pebbled shore, the pines rustling in the breeze paired with your and Ghost’s shared breaths- Simon thinks you’ve yielded.

He’s wrong.

“But—“

“No buts, pup,” he chastises, tossing you a lingering glance from the side of his eye. It makes you stiffen up some, your own gaze darting away to the lush swathes of grass beneath you.

But it’s not quite enough to sway you, or stop you entirely.

“Just take it, Lieutenant,” you near beg, flashing him that daunting, slow little smile that carves up into the apples of your cheeks. (Never knew something so sweet could be so haunting to Ghost- how ironic.)

He intakes a long, gruff breath.

And scoops it out of the dip of your gracious, eager palms. He looks down at it, the thing even smaller in his big, gloved hands.

Makes a half-amused sort of sound.

A Hershey’s Kiss.

The wrapping crinkles, breaks, Ghost stuffing the flimsy strings of it into one of his pockets before he pauses. And you hope he doesn’t hear the rather-obnoxious grumble of your tummy, observing him carefully, quirking a brow at the odd, foreign glitter to his umber eyes-

Wordlessly, he rucks up the bottom half of his mask and pops the small chocolate into his mouth.

Your scrutiny softens, then, your smile deepening as you linger on him for a moment more, relief billowing in your chest (you were so happy you’d saved the sweet, realizing you could do some good for your Lieutenant out here stranded in the middle of nowhere) as you turn away—

A gloved thumb finds your chin, snatching your attention in as his lips brush with yours.

Ghost’s tongue grazes the roof of your mouth, and amidst the initial shock of it all- the hot spark creeping down to your guts- you don’t even realize the sweetness that invades your tastebuds until he’s already leaning away, licking unsparingly at his lips.

You swallow.

You… swallow. The sugary remnants of the treat you virtually begged for him to eat.

…Dammit!!

Your face is going mad warm and you’re grabbing for his stupidly-strong arm before you can even think to stop yourself-

“T-That’s not fair!” You blurt out, brows furrowed into a cute, flustered pinch that does no favors for the sensual storm stirring in Ghost’s belly. “You cheated- that was supposed to be for you, Simon!”

Simon.

“Well, pup,” he punctuates rather harshly, eyes flickering away briefly- holding some unreadable twinkle to them- before they find yours again.

“It benefited the both of us, didn’t it? …Mutualism at it’s bloody finest.”

(Because he enjoyed it- fuck, probably more than he should’ve… His head spins like he’s been dealt a good blow.)

You spare him one last thoughtful, riled-up huff before turning away, tucking your chin to your knees as you curl in on yourself.

Your heart’s hammering.

Simon’s is drilling holes into his ribs.

But he doesn’t tell you that. And you’d never know, only if he chose to let you—

“Though…”

his low, thick voice strikes up again, and that’s when you realize his gaze never really broke away from you.

You glance over and his fingers are working at his right glove, those dark, inscrutable eyes set dead on you. You, you, you. It sends a chill right down your spine, down to your tummy, to your everything, and your breath stutters.

His does, too, as he suddenly dips in. A large, warm palm swallowing up the soft curve of your cheek.

“I think I’ve got an idea to sate the both of us- properly, this time.”

[ladykatakuri]

A Hot Shower to Warm the Heart

Rating: Teen and up

Wordcount: 1290

Pairing: Wolffe x Reader

TW: Mentions of body insecurity and nakedness! It is a fluffy one with implied possibility of more.

Summary: When you return to base from a mission for the rebels, you take a hot shower to wash away the grime, cold and bad feelings you have about yourself. When Wolffe enters the showers and sees you, he decides to act on his feelings and help you out.

A/N: I did it! I managed to write this little drabbely one shot that was floating in my head and wanted out! Thank you to the ever sweet @imabeautifulbutterfly for doing the beta for me, you are an inspiration! Yes, despite being a meangirl you are awesome too 😘

As always likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, especially when you can help me become a better writer !

Tired of the long mission he had been on, Wolffe was ready to take a long shower and wash away the grime of the mission. With a towel wrapped around his waist he steps inside the common bathroom where usually around this time, he would have the showers all to himself. He preferred it that way. As much as he had gotten used to showering in a room where all of the rebels would be able to go, all sexes alike, he still froze in place when he realized this time, he was not alone. In the farthest corner of the room, you were standing under the shower. 

“Ofcourse, she has just been returned from the scouting mission gone wrong.” He remembered hearing about the mission you were sent on with one of the other rebels. A young hotshot with an attitude problem. Something had gone wrong and the two of you had crash landed on one of the ice cold moons of Hoth.

Not wanting to disturb you, Wolffe thought of leaving the showers until you were finished, but something stopped him.

You had been sent on a mission with Eyrlis. You had known the guy from all the rumors floating around  about his many admirers and equally as many conquests. You were one of the few who had also gotten to know him as a shallow idiot with a big mouth and small brain. Safe to say, you were not happy to be sent on this mission with him, but as things were, there were not many people free to go on this scouting mission. And, it was meant to be a rather easy  mission at that. The two of you were sent out to scout out planets and small settlements where you could possibly buy or barter for much needed supplies for the rebellion. Food, medicine, clothing and mechanical parts were on the top of the list of what you needed.

The mission was a success, until Eyrlis decided he wanted to take a little detour to a Hoth moon to gather some ice flowers for the people he was trying to add to his list of conquests. As much as he was a good pilot, he had overestimated himself while trying to land in a blizzard. The crash landing had not injured the two of you, it had disabled your craft and left you to stay safe until a rescue party would come pick you up.

Eyrlis was not good company to be in. You had been muttering about his need to gather gifts for people that ended up stranding you on an ice cold moon, while he had been making remarks on you being jealous because he would never try to woo an ugly woman such as yourself.

You had always been self conscious about your body, his stinging remarks did not make it any better. Now, you were standing under a hot shower, trying to wash away the dirty feeling of having to be in his company for as long as you had been and to warm up your body that still felt as if you were freezing. With your eyes closed you tried to enjoy the heat and water, choosing this time of day because usually nobody else would be there.

Wolffe could only look at you as you stood there with your eyes closed. You had your arms wrapped around yourself and tilted your head up, catching the water on your face.He noticed the fullness of your body, the softness of your skin and the small lines, stretch marks they were called that littered your skin. To many, those were marks that they would gladly get rid of, to him they seemed to only enhance your body looking like small silver linings crossing your skin. He then saw the scars on different places of your body, signs of a life that is being lived and distinctly you. Each mark and so called imperfection only enhances your radiance to him. He noticed you were still shivering, despite the heat of the water that was obvious from the fog which was slowly forming in the room. Still, something was off with you, still that cold and wrapping your arms around yourself like that. It only took a minute for him to realize what it was that seemed so off. Those shivers were not just from the cold, you were also softly crying.

With a silent sigh Wolffe made his decision and gently walked towards you.

You notice a presence coming closer when you suddenly hear a soft cough and feel two strong arms wrap around you. Surprised you open your eyes and look over your shoulder to see Wolffe who has his arms wrapped around you and presses his chest against your back. You always had a little crush on the man, but never even thought of acting on it. Why would someone like him even be remotely attracted to you? ”Wolffe? "

“You`re cold, I`ll help you warm up. A perk of being a clone is having a warmer body then the average person.” He gently pulls you against his chest and you feel the warmth seep through your skin. 

Still shy and insecure you try to hide most of your body from him, but Wolffe stops you from doing so. "Don`t. We are used to showering with many people around here.”

When he turns you around, you look down. “But not with me. I don't usually shower when there are others around.”

A gentle finger lifts your head up to look him in the eyes. “Shut up.” He wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you against his chest again and warming you while the water falls down on the two of you. “I know what happened on the Hoth moon. I`m sorry it happened to you.”

You feel a small smile form around your lips at the kind words. “It's ok, I am used to this kind of thing. I know I am not the beauty that turns people's heads.”You chuckle as you say it and feel his arms stiffen around you.

A hand reaches for your chin and gently lifts it so that you look him in the eyes once more. His next action and words surprise you even more than everything that had happened up until now.

He softly touches his forehead against yours as he mutters, “Your beautiful inside and out sweetheart. Believe me, it is a good thing I still have this towel wrapped around.”

Only then do you realize not only that he still has his towel wrapped around his waist, he also has a reason to not take it off right now, and he managed to warm you up very well.

With a little grin he turns you around and pulls your back against his chest. “You best get going beautiful, before this towel drops and we get into more trouble.”Those whispered words send a different kind of shiver down your spine and with a blush you move towards the benches on the other side where you have your towel and fresh set of clothing. 

Just before the people come in that you can clearly hear coming closer to the showers from the laughing and banter they utter, you turn around to look at Wolffe who has decided he as well had had enough time in the showers. “Maybe next time you can try and visit me in my quarters instead of in the showers.”Blushing from shock that you had found the nerves to suggest such a thing you leave the room but not before you hear him answer with a chuckle. “You bet I will beautiful.”

Taglist: @imabeautifulbutterfly@chaoticvampirejedi@hellothere-generalangsty@cyroku@reluctant-mandalore@uponrightful@zinzinina@saradika@galacticgraffiti@ashotofspotchka@dindjarindiaries@dinbeskarbaby@djarrex@djarinsbeskar@rowansparrow@photogirl894@rigelmoonshine@rigel-the-moonstrider@nahoney22@loth-wolffe@neon-junkie@bobafetts-princess@cyarbika@charnelhouse@zoeykallus@kin-rokku@jgvfhl@honestly-shite@here-comes-the-moose@dindjarindiaries@firstofficerwiggles@fictional-men-ruin-lives @ladysongmaster @lozalot @moonstrider9904@lorjukka@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @rain-on-kamino @monako-jinn-stories @middimidoris @wild-karrde @cross-my-heartt @arctrooper69 @eyecandyeoz

[cosmicoatlatte]

RULES: You will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of your word!

thank you so much for the tags @blakelysco-pilot & @winniemaywebber & @sagesolsticewrites!

the sentences/excerpts are from 3 diffent smuts and several sweet headcanons

my words were FLOWER & PLAYER & PAGES

F: For now you got lost in your private show, growing needier and needier while your husband worked his way down your body.

L: Loud and filthy and hard enough that it made you want to press your legs together in a desperate chase for friction only you couldn’t because of the gorgeous Brit between your thighs. Forgoing all pretense of hesitancy you just wrapped your legs around his middle instead, pulling him impossibly closer in a foolish attempt for satisfaction.

O: “Ours.”

As soon as the words left your lips he looked away, hiding his face in your stomach and the remaining fabric of your top. You could feel him groan, his breath hot against your hip where his movement caused a sliver of skin to be revealed.

W: “We can’t all have the luxury of sleeping in; some of us have meetings with generals before dawn.” He sat on the edge of the bed and started to unbutton his shirt. 

It would only take a little effort to sit up and the reward of helping him undress would be worth it but before you could even attempt to move John pulled you back against him, his strong arm holding your stomach, hand kneading at the flesh of your side. 

“We also had a wonderful morning lay, doll. So you missed out twice over.” 

E: Every little moment of your day has been planned out by him weeks in advance.

R: Realizes rather early in your relationship that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

&

P: “Please.”

L: Loves introducing you as his fiancée/his wife.

A:  A softness to him that took too long to return but got cherished all the more for it. 

Y: You tried to pay attention to hear the sound of the door opening as he left, trying to catch him this time, but what you heard instead was the sound of a zipper before a hoodie was wrapped around you from behind.

“Goodnight.” You told his retreating form. 

E: Everyone will know.

R: Real slow.

&

P: Practices his speech in front of the mirror a million times but when the time comes and he gets on his knees it’s as if all the words he’s ever known fled his brain.

A: “Alright. Up you get. There’s coffee downstairs.” The fond smile in his voice was audible even to your sleepy ears. Yet it was only when he pulled apart the curtains and showered the bed in light that you actually opened your eyes again.

G: Gives you the biggest grin before wrapping his arm around your middle and pulling you against his chest, kissing you with all the passion he had been holding back.

E: “Especially your face. You’re too handsome to hide those freckles under sunburn.”

S: Spread out like this, with your back against the soft bedding and your legs hiked around your husband's slim hips while he worked his way down your neck, it would have been so easy to forget about your plan. To simply let yourself be ravished.

tagging: nobody since i ran out of mota friends, if anybody wants to do this would you give me a COMFY please?

[antofstory]

a story a day [5]

‘You here, dad?’

We held past another winter

It was tough

But we got used playing chess in the dark

I looked at my son as I looked at a picture on my phone that I kept secret for so long. It was an unknown Reddit contributor who posted this little poem in the last days of the last winter. If it had been twenty years prior, he probably would’ve gotten a negative karma for such a cheese fest. At the time of the screenshot he got upvoted ten thousand three hundred twenty seven times. So yea, it was a big deal. 

My son has never seen winter and he never knew it had existed. He never knew such a word. Obviously. He lived in the dark, thinking he was under the sun. 

‘How are we going to the mall: ship or shuttle? Or wait, you wanted to tell me something?’

‘Nothing particular, son. Let’s take the ship and I will show you how to pilot.’

I needed more privacy this time. I didn’t want a thousand extra eyes and ears spying on us. This would give me extra minutes to explain myself. But I had to take the risk. It was the time. It had to be. My son needed to know that his dad was born in winter. That his dad liked to play snowballs, to roll in piles of snow long after that playful age. But would he believe me, what should I say? Every word, every pause counts. 

We took the elevator up to our parking lot. There was the ship. A family size, supersonic B12 Hot Air ship, with two pilot seats, five passengers and a sizable trunk. With the cruising speed of 250 knots I would never be able to outfly DTMs, but truth has had its own cruising speed.  

‘Alright. Let’s go through the checklist, shall we?’

‘Chassis is dry. Ignition is safe. Windshield is clean. The runway is clear. I guess we’re ready to go.’

‘I guess so.’ I was equally uncertain, but at least one had to show confidence. And so we took off, and went straight into traffic, among hundreds of ships like ours, having their own plans, following their own routes, flying A to B in blissful ignorance of what was about to happen in this cockpit in just a moment. 

Oles was going to be a great pilot, I could feel. Too bad I would never see. 

‘Now take the right lane and at cruising speed switch over to autopilot.’

Someone had to take the consequence, and it rather be me. I wanted to give him a couple of minutes to get comfortable, before I’d start my message. I didn’t even want to say a thing, I just watched his calm profile, so similar to his grandfather’s. Long nose, thin lips and constantly concerned look as if He would’ve been so happy to know he had one. Sadly, there was room for only one secret today

‘Right. Now listen to me carefully. I’m about to tell you something that you will lose many nights on. Going through every word, trying to find sense in what I will be saying. 

There was a time on Earth once, when everything froze.’

Now I was on borrowed time. Now they were after me. If I was lucky I had a minute, if not so lucky, ten seconds, before TMs showed up. 

‘There was a time, when I was born, when water turned to ice outside, and so did your nose. There was a time when real snow was coming from the sky and stayed on the ground making white pillows under the feet. There was a time when birds had to fly to warmer places for three months or even longer. There was a time when no fruit grew on the trees nor in the ground. There was a time when snow became ice and ice rained on the head and it was dangerous to go outside.’

‘What do you mean, I don’t understand you.’ 

‘It lasted for three months, between Autumn and Spring and was called Winter. I just shared a big secret that nobody should know, and I’ll be taken away forever, and you will be told everything I said is a lie. But you have your own choice, and you can choose to trust me instead of DTMs. But promise me you will show them you did not believe me’

‘Why are you telling me this? Don’t you want to stay? Don’t you want to be together, to fly our ship together?’ My son was crying, he felt it was real, he felt I said something very wrong. 

‘I’m sorry, boy. I miss being miserable and depressed.’

[justwriteryan]

CAPTAIN MARVEL WALKS INTO A BAR

Exterior shot. Night. A starry sky wheels over a rocky desert landscape. The only signs of life are the lights and sounds coming from a squat building decked out with neon lights. There’s a sign on the roof displaying words in an unintelligible language. Different types of spacecraft sit parked outside. It’s pretty obvious what we’re looking at.

A biker bar.

In space.

Another spaceship gently comes into land beside the others. A shuttle door opens and the pilot emerges. It’s a blonde woman in a uniform of red and blue with a golden star emblazoned across their chest. She is CAROL DANVERS aka CAPTAIN MARVEL. She enters the building and walks straight to the bar. A large surly alien is cleaning glasses. It turns to the newcomer and growls.

CAROL: Gimme something strong.

She slides some coins across the counter. The barkeep produces a green bottle and pours the contents into a small glass. Carol sniffs it suspiciously, then takes a swig. Her face curdles.

CAROL: Tastes like Brood spit. 

The barkeep laughs. Carol turns away from him. She catches snippets of conversation from a table behind her. Two aliens are talking amongst themselves, but they aren’t being discreet about it.

ALIEN: Where do you wanna hit next?

ALIEN #2: Chitauri-Space will have a few abandoned outposts after the Terra invasion.

Carol freezes. She sets her glass down and marches across the room to their table.

CAROL: Tell me everything you know about this Terra invasion.

ALIEN: Frakk off, blondie!

Carol slams her fist on the loudmouth’s hand, crushing it into the table. Her fist begins to glow and the alien starts to whimper in pain. His companion jumps to its feet. Carol raises her free arm at them and they freeze. She shoots them a warning look. Her eyes are glowing like hot coals.

ALIEN #2: It’s you! You’re that Kree renegade!

Carol turns her attention back to the alien squirming under her grip/

CAROL: Talk.

ALIEN: Two cycles ago… a Chitauri fleet invaded Terra.

CAROL: Impossible!

ALIEN: Its true!

CAROL: There’s no way an alien armada gets near Earth without the Nova Corp or freaking Asgard noticing first. No way.

ALIEN: They used some…weapon…or artefact. Used a portal to move from Chitauri-Space to Terran orbit. I swear!

Carol goes quiet as her captive writhes beneath her. They aren’t lying. Carol whispers a question to herself.

CAROL: Why didn’t he call?

Carol intensifies the light and heat emanating from her clenched fist. The alien shrieks in pain.

CAROL: What happened?

ALIEN: I don’t know the details! The Chitauri were beaten back, their mothership destroyed! Nobody knows how the Terrans did it! All we know is some word!

CAROL: What word?

ALIEN: Avengers!

Carol’s face breaks into a smile. Then a grin. The other alien uses this moment to pull out a blaster. Carol jerks back her raised arm and fires a photon blast, knocking her would-be shooter onto the floor. She turns back to the alien she’s been interrogating.

CAROL: One last thing.

ALIEN: I’ll tell you anything! Please!

CAROL: Who gave the order?

ALIEN: Some Asgardian outcast was with them-

CAROL: I don’t care who led the charge! Chitauri are spineless pirates, they aren’t smart enough to pull off an attack from one end of the universe to the other! I’m asking you: who ordered the invasion of Earth?

The alien stops squirming and looks Carol directly in the eye. She looks back at him. Suddenly she understands.

CAROL: Oh. Him.

Carol lifts her arm off the table. The alien clutches it’s hand and collapses in a heap on the floor. Carol turns and marches out the door.

CAROL: You’ll get your turn one day, you son of a bitch. One day.

                                                    END.

Like all of us, I wondered what Captain Marvel was doing during the Chitauri Invasion. While I don't quite answer that here, I thought it would be cool to show her learning about it and tying things back to her own story as well.

[hellofanidea]

thank you for the tag @lewis-winters!

WIP Ask Game

Rules:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one/all of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in or just post.

WIPs under the cut because some got a little long. Surprise surprise its mostly OC stuff:

Webgott White Collar AU - Featuring Web as a criminal consultant, Speirs as his handler, and Lieb as his very complicated ex/nemesis. Background Speirton.

He was out of plays. Short of slipping his cuffs and probably getting shot in the back as he ran, there was nothing more he could do. What window of time he had, he had wasted on this.

"Got the place surrounded?" He asked instead. 

He sounded flat, even to his own ear. Scuffed patent leather creaked as Special Agent Speirs crouched beside him.

"You know it," he told Web. "If I ask before the cavalry comes, will you give me an honest answer?"

Web finally lifted his head, hoping whatever redness remained in his eyes could be explained away as sleeplessness. He raised his eyebrows at Speirs to continue.

"They're going to give you four more years for this. If they're lenient. Halfway through your sentence, a possible parole hearing coming up… what the hell was all of this in aid of?"

Hands tightening around the neck of the bottle, Web shook his head. His knuckles went white around the dark glass and he sniffed, putting it down on the floor and rolling it away with a hard push. It made it all the way to the other side of the room, where it collided with the wall with a crack of glass. The sound seemed to bury itself deep in Web's brain, like something there had been broken too.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Pacrim au - Pacific Rim AU, OC-Centric, multiple background pairings and ensemble cast.

“They’re closing the training school.”

Natalie didn’t react, and waited for him to continue. He wasn’t like Nix, who had a way of luring you into whatever he was trying to tell you. Winters was direct, concise. Everything he said, he chose for a purpose.

“We had our last batch of replacements last spring. Most of them ended up working around the Pacific breach.”

How many of them are even left? Natalie wanted to ask.

“So now we’re doing what we can. Calling in old favors. Bringing back old pilots. Anyone who still wants to help.”

Slowly, Natalie looked up.

“The hell kind of help do you think I’d be?” She asked bitterly.

Winters’ expression never flickered. There was little wonder how he’d become the poster-boy for the American Jaeger program, aside from his combat experience and level-headed leadership. He looked like every propaganda poster Natalie had ever seen, all stoic dignity and quiet, patriotic, confidence. Once, she had clung to it. Now it tasted like blood and seawater.

“I think I have Jaegers with no pilots, and pilots wasting themselves by carrying around guilt for things out of their control.” That unshakeable mask softened. “I think I have what’s left of White Horse taking up a bay in my Shatterdome until her surviving pilot tells me what to do with her.”

It hurt to hear its name said out loud again, after so long. Something sharp and hot pricked at the back of Natalie’s eyes.

“I can’t Drift,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t do it, Dick, I can’t let nobody in there again. I can’t risk it.”

The Boxer (T/S) - OC-Centric, pre-canon slice of life

“The children are asleep. They all crawled into our bed, though, so I think we will have to sleep in theirs,” Sylvie laughed softly.

“I can sleep in my chair,” Thomas offered.

Her smile slipped, and Thomas felt the misstep, even though he didn’t understand it.

“Are you hurt?” Sylvie asked.

“No. Not badly, anyhow. Just some bruises.”

She made an unhappy clicking noise with her tongue and moved forward to help him out of his coat. He did his best not to wince as he raised his arms and shrugged the heavy, woolen, overcoat into her hands. As she hung it up, she dipped into the pocket he always kept the winnings in and drew them out. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they would have without it, and Thomas let himself feel some small measure of pride as it was deposited into the empty coffee can they kept their savings in.

It would feed his children, keep a roof over their heads, put shoes on their feet and send them to school. That was worth a few bruises.

---

Tagging @almost-a-class-act @bitch-butter @georgieluz @ep6bastogne @latibvles and inviting anybody else who wants to join in