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luvsupa · 2 months ago

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“YOU’RE A STAR!”

tags: musician!choso x manager fem!reader, reader has a secret fan account, both are in 20, choso has lots of tattoos and is an r&b singer, he has piercings, smut (p in v), ōral sex (f!recieving), sub!choso (ish), voyeurism, etc. mdni.

w.c: 3,2k

a/n: YALL I’m almost at 2k LIKE THATS INSANEEEE!! TY GUYS SOSOS MUCHHH AHHH

+ erm if there’s errors lmkk

you sit in choso’s expansive dressing room, surrounded by his makeup and fashion assistants, eyes glued to the big screen as he finishes his final song of the concrrt. the sound of thousands of screaming fans fills the air, their voices blending with his deep, angelic one. even from back here, you can hear the unmistakable roar of the crowd, hanging onto every note he sings. the way he commands the stage, the way he moves—everything about him makes your chest tighten.

he looks unreal tonight, his stylist outdid themselves. the subversive, edgy look suits him perfectly, especially the ripped wife-beater that showcases his inked arms, gleaming under the stage lights. the body glitter you suggested—yeah, that was definitely a good call- catches the light in all the right ways, making him look out of this world.

you’re supposed to be his manager, maintaining some form of professionalism, but damn, it’s impossible when he looks this good. especially when he runs his hand through those messy brown locks , letting a few strands fall over his face. you bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the way your heart races when he’s on stage.

the thought of professionalism slips even further when you pull out your phone, dimming the brightness low. not for work—no, not tonight. instead, you open the app you use to connect with his fanbase under your secret username.

chogetsmewetter

it still makes you smirk every time you see it. his fans had been relentless, trying to bribe you for the username. but it’s yours, and you're not giving it up for anyone.

chogetsmewetter: are u guys seeing how good he looks… need him immediately

responses flood in almost instantly.

chososwhore: baby, nobody wants him more than i do…

choochoo: y’all send videos of the concert plzzz :(

kamosbaby: my baby daddy lookin good on stage.

you’re too caught up in scrolling through the candid photos and fan reactions, smiling like an idiot, when the makeup assistant catches you off guard.

“what’s got you smiling like that?” she teases, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

you quickly shove your phone into your pocket, plastering on your best fake smile. “just checking cho’s schedule for next week. his brothers want to surprise him at the last show.”

it’s a lie, of course, but you’re used to spinning quick stories, and she just shrugs, moving on. but not without another jab. “girl, you love calling him cho, don’t you? does he let you call him that in bed too?”

your eyes widen as choso’s fashion designer giggles along with her. “guys, nothing’s going on. we’re strictly business—i manage his schedule, and that’s it.” but the words taste bitter, even as you force them out. nothing more. yeah, right.

the deafening cheers from the TV rescue you from any more teasing. all eyes turn to the screen as choso wraps up, thanking the crowd with that deep, velvet voice of his. the camera zooms in on his face, his lips curling into a soft smile as he waves and blows kisses to the adoring fans. gosh, he’s perfect.

a few moments later, the dressing room doors swing open, and there he is. choso, in the flesh, followed by his bodyguards. his team erupts in cheers, swarming him with praise, but you move to the back in the corner, blending into the background. moments like this are too chaotic for you, but you know you’ll have your moment later, probably on the tour bus.

amidst the chaos, his eyes find you, and he frowns a little when he sees you typing away on your phone, oblivious to the world. he doesn't know, of course, that you're replying to posts about him.

before you can finish your latest message, you feel him standing right in front of you, towering over you. the air feels thick between you two, and you curse internally as you slip your phone into your pocket once again, heart racing.

“you forgetting something?” his voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at your hands.

you quickly shake your head, trying to play it cool. “c’mon, cho, you know i’d never survive in that crowd,” you say, nodding toward the gaggle of team still dying for his attention.

his hands, cold from the stage, slide into yours, pulling you just a little closer. you swallow hard. “i knowww, but your support matters the most outta all of ‘em,” he says, rocking slightly, his lips curling into that perfect half-smile. the one that makes your stomach flip.

he smells incredible, the scent of his unreleased cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. you smile, turning away, but he moves with you, trying to catch a glimpse of that smile.

“c’mon, let’s grab dinner. my director’s waiting,” he says, releasing your hands, and you instantly frown, missing his touch.

you follow him and his bodyguards out, offering a quick farewell to the makeup and fashion team. they don’t miss the chance to wink at you, clearly still enjoying the teasing.

as you near the exit, the noise outside grows louder—fans desperate to catch one last glimpse of choso. this is the part of the night you dread, knowing how insane the crowd can get. but when he looks over his shoulder and gives you that grin, the chaos doesn’t seem so bad.

two guards swing open the doors, harsh light flooding in as flashes from cameras blind you instantly. the screams grow deafening, and you brace yourself. this is always the worst part—being unable to see, disoriented, as the paparazzi go wild trying to capture every inch of choso’s presence.

but choso? he thrives in this. he’s in his element, beaming as he dives straight into the crowd. signing albums, posing for photos, accepting gifts—he eats it all up. you trail behind one of his bodyguards, eyes flickering to where he’s standing. your heart clenches as you catch sight of him—his lips locked with a fan.

you swallow hard. it’s not the first time. he always does this with her—his so-called “number one fan.” he remembers her face, her name, every single time. each time he kisses her in front of his adoring crowd, it feels like a punch to the gut. the fans love it. the media laps it up, turning her into a minor celebrity among his fandom.

how do you know? through your secret fan account.

you scoff quietly to yourself as you slip past the crowf, making it safely onto the tour bus. heading straight for the private area at the back, you drop your bag onto one of the leather couches, sinking into the seat by the window. from here, you can still see him outside, giving the fans hugs, taking endless photos. you watch in silence, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

finally, after what feels like forever, choso steps onto the bus, breathless and flushed. he walks down the aisle toward you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“fuckkk, they’re amazing,” he groans, collapsing onto the couch beside you, still riding the high from the crowd.

they’re amazing? or she’s amazing…

you force a smile, eyes glued to your phone. “you looked like you were having fun, choso,” you mutter, distracted by your personal texts. his head drops back with a groan. one thing he can’t stand is when you don’t give him your full attention.

before he can start whining, one of the fashion designers calls your name from the front of the bus. you sigh, getting up quickly to see what the issue is. in your rush, you leave your phone behind on the couch.

choso watches as you walk away, eyes narrowing when he sees your phone lying there. you never leave it behind, always keeping it close, and curiosity gnaws at him. his leg bounces as he contemplates it. fuck it.

he snatches your phone up, eyes widening as the first thing he sees on your notification center is all he need to see.

[chogetsmewetter] new like from choochoo and 100+ others:

I need to fuck choso nowww, he’s so fuckin hot it’s not fairrr.

damn.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. so that’s why you’ve been acting weird. he sets your phone back down just as he hears your footsteps returning.

you return, completely unaware of what just happened. “choso, they said we can’t leave until another hour—” you start to explain, but he’s not listening. his thoughts are elsewhere, his leg bouncing slightly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“how do you want me to fuck you?” he suddenly blurts out, his voice low and dark.

your eyes widen, body stiffening as his bold words hit you like a train. you fumble for the curtain, pulling it shut so the driver can’t hear.

“w-what the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer, your breath catching in your throat. his dark brown eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. he doesn’t need to say it—his gaze tells you everything.

he knows.

panic rises inside you as you glance toward your phone and then back to him. he nods slowly, confirming your worst fear. he found out.

“so… are you those shy freaks…” he asks casually, standing up from the couch. his towering frame looms over you, and your world feels like it’s shrinking as he removes his leather jacket, revealing his tattooed, muscular arms.

“y-you wanna do this here? in front of the fans?” you whisper loudly, eyes darting toward the windows that are now covered by the blinds.

he chuckles, low and wicked. “you didn’t seem to care posting your dirty thoughts in front of me.”

and he ate with that one.

just like how he’s now devouring you in the back of the tour bus. you’re nestled on the couch, right in front of the curtains that separate the chaos outside from your little world. choso is on his knees, going at you like a possessed man. your legs are pushed tight against your chest as he laps up your juices, sucking and swallowing your sweet fluids. his cold nose piercing nudges your clit as his tongue thrusts deep inside you at an inhumane speed. any trace of shame has long evaporated, replaced by his loud moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes cross slightly.

your hands tangle in his silky brown locks, tugging gently, which earns you a whimper as he pulls back, your essence and saliva coating his chin and glossy lips. “mmm, p-pull on it more, pretty,” he urges, gazing up at you with doe eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as he loses himself in you once again.

obeying him, you tug harder on his hair, bucking your hips against his face while his hands grip the back of your thighs, pushing you deeper into your chest. he’s growling now, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

“yesss, f-fuck, you’re so goooddd,” you praise, head thrown back as he slurps at your juices like a starving man. he pulls away to admire your twitching hole, his fingers parting your folds wider. he spits a wad of saliva directly into your gaping pussy, making you clench instinctively as he slides in two thick digits, effortlessly gliding through your sloppy walls. his thrusts are calculated as he studies your features, which are now squeezed shut in bliss.

“hmm, she’s fuckin’ wettt,” he comments, your pussy responding with loud, squelching sounds that fill the back of the bus, echoing your mess. “hahh, you put that username to use,” he taunts, your body burning with embarrassment. his thick fingers pick up speed, massaging that sweet spot, and your back arches off the couch, your lower tummy tingling as your breath quickens.

choso can sense you’re close, the way you tighten around him. suddenly, he sucks hard on your clit, swirling his tongue around your poor nub. you cover your mouth with your hands, muffling the moans that threaten to escape .

just before you can cry out his name, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you undone. he retreats from your soaked clit, watching your translucent essence dribble down your convulsing hole, spilling onto the couch. your breath hitches as he delivers a sharp slap to your pussy, jolting electricity through your body, and the sticky remnants of your orgasm cling to his palm, igniting an insatiable addiction to your sensitivity.

“nahhh, is this the wettest you can get?” he says, rising from his knees and unzipping his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock free from its confines. your mind goes blank at the sight. fuck, he definitely never lied about his size, especially in his songs. choso sits beside you, manhandling you onto his lap, your pussy pressing against his hard cock as you whimper,

this is really happening.

“ride me, darling—use me all you want.” he states, and it feels like you’re living out your dirtiest dream, because yu are. he leaves trails of kisses along the side of your neck, his glossy lips—coated in your cum—smudging against your skin. you stare down at his shaft, his leaky tip begging to be touched. raising your hips, you grab the base of his cock, making him wince as you align his rosy tip with your drooling entrance. his crownhead stretches you open, and you whimper at how big he is with each inch you take. your velvety walls accommodate his size, practically expanding as he settles into your pussy.

without warning, choso grips your hips, slamming you down against him. you wail as every inch of his cock plunges deep inside your walls, and he moans at how tight you are around him. “f-fuck, baby, takin’ so fuckin’ l-long,” he says impatiently, thrusting up into you as each movement leaves you more dazed and breathless.

with newfound courage, your hips immediately fuck back into his, faster than his sloppy thrusts, making his eyes roll back in pleasure. your grinding drives him wild, your pussy gripping him like it’s life or death. choso’s head falls back, broken moans slipping past his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to hold back even more sounds of ecstasy.

you can feel the heat building between you, his cock stretching you further with each thrust. you grind down harder, relishing the way his body responds, each movement causing him to whimper and squirm beneath you. his hands grip your waist, guiding you, but you can tell he’s losing himself in the sensation, growing more ditzy with every upward thrust.

“c’mon, baby, ride me h-harder,” he begs, voice thick with desperation. his eyes fluttering as he’s moaning loudly. it’s intoxicating, watching him come undone because of you. you match your pace to the rhythm of his moans, your slickness coating him more with each thrust. the sound of your bodies slapping together drowns out the cheers of the fans outside, your pussy so noisy it’s almost too loud for your own liking.

“mmm, keep your eyes on me, pretty boy,” you purr, brushing your fingertips through his hair, tugging a big- earning a whimper at the pet name. you can see the way he bites his lip, trying to hold back more moans, but you know he won’t last long.

“hgn, you think jus’ cause you’re on top ‘m your bitch?” he groans, the tension between you two thcick. his gaze is wild, pupils dilated, and it only drives you further as you increase your pace, your hips slamming hard against his thighs, coating his throbbing base with your slickness. you giggle as he pathetically moans out, hands gripping your flesh tighter as you grind harder. his chubby tip sloppily kisses your cervix, sending shockwaves through your body as it begins to shake.

the way he reacts to every thrust, every grinding motion sends a thrill down your spine. he’s completely lost in you, his breathing ragged and unsteady. “y-you feel so good,” he stammers, voice breaking as he struggles to keep his focus, each word laced with pleasure. you smirk, feeling powerful, proud at the control you have over him.

“mhmm, ‘m starting to think y’er all talk, cho. you’re not showing me how you’d fuck me,” you taunt, leaning in his ear and tugging on his ear piercings, making him shudder at your seductive voice.

your words truly did something to him, awakening something much darker within. without hesitation, he carelessly picks you up, sliding his cock out of your hole as he slams you against the table adjacent to the couch. bending you over, he realigns himself with your hypnotizing cunt, the air thick with the heat of your lust. choso slams his entire length into your pussy, the sound of slickness echoing in the cramped space as your body squelches loudly, both of you moaning in unison. he grips your hips tightly, pounding mercilessly into you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body as you cry out, not caring if the bus driver or any staff hears your cries of pleasure.

“cunt so good,” he growls, feeling you clamp down hard on his girthy length. his moan resonates deep within your core as he swats your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin sending electric jolts through you. he feels like he’s deep in your guts, rearranging everything inside you, each thrust making your pussy squelch obscenely. it’s so loud that it drowns out any sounds from outside, the wet slaps of your bodies merging into a symphony of lust. you’re practically squeaking like a damn mouse with every thrust, your body unable to contain the pleasure coursing through you.

without warning, he grips your hair and pulls you up against him, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispers, “take it all, mama. you can take it.” his words send a shiver down your spine, the duality of his sweet yet dominating tone intensifying your arousal. you nod, feeling yourself surrender completely to him, wanting nothing more than to be his.

“m-more cho’ ,” you whine, and he responds with a primal growl, his hips slamming into yours harder, faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. his movements are relentless, each thrust a story to his desire, his need for you. you can feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the pressure building to a breaking point.

but then, in the midst of your euphoric bliss, you slowly open your eyes, and your jaw drops in shock. he placed you directly in front of the window, where all the fans are just outside, oblivious to the scandalous scene unfolding inside. the reality of the moment crashes over you, and you gasp, suddenly aware of the possibility of being seen.

“c-cho… the—fuckk—the fans,” you manage to warn, your entire body jolting with his relentless thrusts, each one motivating him to go even faster, to claim you harder.

“nahh, now you wanna back out?” he snarls through gritted teeth, going absolutely feral. his grip tightens as he reaches to grab the back of your hair, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing you to take him deeper. the blinds rattle as he yanks them open wider, letting in more light for the fans to see everything happening inside. the flashes from paparazzi cameras blind your vision as they snap multiple shots of your fucked out expression, choso grinning behind like a devil at each click.

“say cheese, pretty. you’re gonna be a star,”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #choso x reader #kamo choso smut #smut #anime smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

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omgthatdress · 3 months ago

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special thanks to all my followers who have stuck with me through the "fundraiser asks are bots & scammers" mess. My post did indeed piss quite a few people off but the response has been 90% positive, with a lot of people being relieved of the massive anxiety those asks were causing them (another huge thing that I hate about them is how they feed on people's mental health issues, esp. those with hyperfixations/anxiety on doing good and morality)

For the people who are getting really big mad at me it's like "tell me you got scammed without telling me you got scammed," which is a lot harder for some people to accept than you would think.

Also for those who still insist the asks aren't bots, I made my post with a big opening statement that I readily delete and report any fundraiser ask in my ask box, tagged it "Palestine" and "Palestinian," and the number of asks I got in my box literally quadrupled the next day. They are targeting people who are blogging on the issue because that's what bots do. Classic bot behavior.

If you have fallen for a fundraiser ask bot, don't hate yourself too much. Everyone on Tumblr has fallen for a charity scam at least once, including me. Those things are fucking heart-wrenching and convincing and hard to ignore. The important thing is that once you have the scam explained to you, you accept that you've been scammed and don't double down and insist what's obviously a bot is a real suffering Palestinian without any real proof. That's when you turn into an asshole.

Some people are like "I'd rather give to a thousand scammers than put a Palestinian family at risk!" and...... yeah you realize that's bad, right? The money that could actually be out there saving people's lives is instead going to an unknown criminal of unknown origins. For all we know, these bots could be funding Zionist settlers driving people in the West Bank out of their homes. (I AM NOT claiming this as a fact, merely illustrating that we don't fucking know. pissing on the poor, etc.)

And.... well some people really are a special kind of dumb and when you're really fucking stubborn about how dumb and naive you are I'd say fuck it, you deserve to lose your money, but no. People's lives are actually at stake and that money needs to go to the people who actually depend on it, and that makes me angry.

YES these bots are harmful and YES they need to be removed from Tumblr. Delete and report any that you get.

#fundraisers #Palestinian #Palestine

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wonysugar · 8 months ago

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close the door | hanni pham

synopsis : you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she.

genre : fluffy smut!

pairing : non-idol!hanni x gf!femreader

tags : they’re in love your honor, lots of kissing and making out, cuddling, l-bombs, top!femreader, bottom!hanni, they’re both virgins, fingering, clit play, nipple play, neck kissing, hanni’s dogs are mentioned twice lawl, lots of comfort, lots of consent! they’re literally just lovey dovey girlfriends having sex for the first time aheheh

warnings : none :]

word count : 2.5k

a/n : if you’re rereading this and thinking “hey the synopsis changed and there wasn’t an author’s note before!!” well you’d be right I POSTED THIS IN A RUSH I’M SO SORRYYFKEJF

anyways!! this is just to say that this fic is inspired by the lovely writer that is sorry for tagging you twice ahh @facefullofsadness’s fic right over here :] sooo GO READ THAT FIRST! it’s truly lovely and i really enjoyed reading it, hence why i wrote thisskfke. thank you for readingg<33

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

you would die for your girlfriend, actually, even if you only started dating barely a few months ago. who could blame you? that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends prior to your relationship for so, so, so long. it simply started with a ‘hi! my name’s hanni! what’s yours?’ from her part at the innocent age of seven and just like that, years later, you guys were still inseparable.

so really, your life-long friendship and months-long relationship were both with the same gorgeous and outgoing girl, and the only thing distinguishing those two was the label you used to describe them.

“bro i genuinely don’t understand why he doesn’t just… run away. cause— get this, there’s obviously a murderer in his house right? and what does he decide to do about that? just stay in there. like, okay.. like i’m aware they needed plot but lord, i don’t know at least make it somewhat realistic you know what i mean—“ was what your girlfriend said, on her bed as she sat down in between your legs and leaned her back against you, her head facing forward and resting on your shoulder.

you simply nodded along to her words as you played with her hair, trying your hardest to stay focused on the piece of media before you whilst also paying your utmost attention to her, despite her constant ranting and criticizing of the entire movie. you, having originally liked the film, were now conflicted about your opinion on it. it’s not like she was wrong, her very heavy criticism had to have come from somewhere, after all, but you couldn’t help but slightly appreciate the storyline. so, you weren’t really sure what you felt about it anymore.

one thing you were certain of, however,

was that your girlfriend looked really good while passionately rambling. like, way too good. she had tied her dark hair into a high ponytail, it also looked wavy due to the rain that was pouring on you guys earlier, her messy bangs fell perfectly onto her forehead. and her smile? it always looked perfect. she always looked perfect.

and since you apparently weren’t hiding your admiration well enough, she very quickly noticed it.

she giggled teasingly. her voice sweet like honey, her australian accent more prominent than usual, she spoke up, “hello?” before full-on laughing, “were you even listening to me?”

you could only kiss her, that seemed like the only appropriate response in the heat of the moment. she, of course, kissed back just as lovingly before pulling away moments after, a curious and confused look on her face.

“no seriously, what is up with you?” she kept teasing, smiling stupidly as she kept her gaze lingering on yours for the following seconds, her eyes unconsciously drifting to your lips. “you look stupid.”

“and you look really pretty.” was what you whispered back to her, earning a shy smile and an exaggerated eye roll from her. immediately, you made your lips come into contact with hers again. it felt as if the world would stop spinning if you didn’t, like a slowly growing urge to keep touching her suddenly came over you and you needed to fill it.

“so.. so pretty.” you mumbled, so quietly that it was almost to yourself, before going back in. you allowed yourself to make the kiss deeper and slid her tongue across her soft lips as you demanded entrance. you could hear her let out slight noises, she clearly was not expecting you to do anything of the sorts, at least not right now. she was a tad bit confused, but let you in, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to kiss their girlfriend? immediately, your hands wrapped around her waist whilst you continued kissing her lovingly, your tongue roaming every part of her mouth.

it didn’t take long before your hands started naturally reaching under her top, caressing on her tummy and progressively going higher with each sound she let out.

you pulled away, slightly worried of going too far, “c-can.. can i continue, hanni?”

you were scared, terrified, even! despite knowing each other for years, you’d only been dating for a few months; those are two completely different things! it’s not like you see your completely platonic best friend’s naked body every tuesday. even then, despite dating, you still haven’t gotten that stage of the relationship. and on top of that,

the two of you were a proper pair of virgins. you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she. you didn’t want to seem like an inexperienced loser to her, you wanted to take care of her and make her feel good. what if that didn’t happen? what if you made it awkward between the two of you?? it was nerve-racking.

as if barging into your mind and reading your thoughts, wanting to reassure you, she grabbed your hand in a gentle manner before nodding. then, she spoke up, “can you close the door?”

“there’s.. nobody home, though?”

she giggled, “oh i know, it’s just that i don’t want the dogs to potentially walk in on this.”

you groaned dramatically, laughing and insisting that you were too lazy to get up and that her dogs wouldn’t understand the situation if they even walked in. she, in response, just tapped your knee with a cheeky smile, encouraging you to stand up.

“come on y/n, close the door. think about milly and mia; think about their innocence!” she exaggerated.

after playfully hitting her arm and laughing along with her, you got up, proceeded to close and lock the door like she asked you to and eventually walked back to her bed, sitting back on it and positioning yourself the way you originally were, her back to you again.

“happy?” you asked in a fake arrogant tone.

she hummed, radiant, “yes, very happy.” before turning her head just right and kissing you again.

eventually back to the original rhythm of the kiss, you placed your hands back on her stomach again, slowly caressing and teasing higher and higher with time. once you reached her bra, you proceeded to impatiently unhook it, immediately taking it off of her.

her breathing got heavier with each second that passed, partially due to nervousness, probably. you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the case for you too. the more your hands carefully roamed her body, the more self-conscious you got, you truly had no idea what you were doing.

then, as if something in your mind clicked, you had an idea. what if you just did to her whatever you enjoyed doing to yourself in moments like these? that could work.. right? maybe??

you glided your hand upwards, your finger lightly grazing her nipple. in response to the sudden movement, a lewd sound accidentally escaped from her pretty lips, her breath hitching. that sound was a small moan.

a small one, barely audible, yet it was still enough for you to feel the activation of every single neuron residing in your brain.

then suddenly, it’s like the concept of making love to her wasn’t as nerve-racking as it originally was.

“s-sorry..” she apologized, seeming slightly embarrassed.

you kissed her cheek, reassuring her, “don’t apologize, i wanna hear you.”

despite it being an accident, she seemed to enjoy the sensation of your hand on her chest, so you went back to teasing her tits and gently groping them before you eventually asked, “is it okay if i go further..?”

nodding in a keen manner, she swallowed her saliva, then breathed out her response, “yes. yes keep— keep going. please.”

well shit! even if you wanted to stop, it’s not like you could, not with how good she sounded pleading for you.

not wasting any more time, you proceeded to separate one of your hands from her chest and quickly slid it downwards; to the band of her sweatpants. now, of course, your other hand was still in its original place, working its magic, but you wanted her to feel more. so much more.

you wanted to convey every surge of affection you violently felt for her into pleasure. and, if there was one thing you surely knew how to do, it was kissing her.

so, you started kissing on her neck, which she didn’t expect whatsoever, and still heavily concentrated on the hand you had on her breast. then, you pulled on the sleeve of her tee just enough to expose her shoulder and moved your mouth towards it, nipping and gently licking it.

your hand now fully slipped into her pants, you teased her entrance through the fabric of her underwear as you kept kissing her naked shoulder. you listened to her attentively and took mental notes of her reactions; so far, her breathing got heavier, her thighs slightly clenched around your hand and she was now frequently biting her lip.

plus, her panties were wet.

did all of that mean you were doing good? …perhaps it did!

and did her drenched underwear make you short circuit? perhaps it did as well!

“d-d’you feel okay?” you asked, before going back to slowly kissing her shoulder. she threw you a quick glance, chest heaving up and down.

“s-so okay.” she giggled.

her smile being contagious, you found yourself doing the exact same thing, content with the answer she gave you.

soon enough, you traced your finger up her clothed slit before eventually sliding it into the undergarment she wore, making her shudder. after what felt like an eternity, you could feel her slick coat your digits from one swipe of the finger.

it was tantalizing.

growing impatient, you quickly yet carefully settled your middle and ring finger on her swollen clit, making slow circular motions on it, looking at her in the process. full on whimpering, this time, she stared back at you, no longer embarrassed. she wanted to let you know how good you were making her feel, hence why she was getting louder with each movement you made, and it filled you with enough confidence and adrenaline to gently push her head towards you, leaning in for a kiss.

thankfully, she kissed you back, deeply at that, her eyes closed and her quiet moans muffled.

you pulled away after a few moments, “tell me if it hurts, okay?” you reminded her. she simply nodded, brain all fuzzy from arousal.

she grabbed your other hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. “g-go slowly.” she whispered.

“i will.” you affirmed.

slowly and gently, you slid your fingers into her core, making sure not to go too fast or too rough. thankfully, the wetness was making it easier for you, and probably for her as well. every time that your girlfriend’s breath hitched, that her hand gripped harder on yours or, hell, every time that her eyes closed, you stopped in your tracks and double checked to see if you were hurting her, so it took a little while for your digits to fully penetrate her.

fortunately, she assured you that you weren’t, in fact, hurting her. some moments just felt more comfortable than others, is all.

once they were fully in, you gave her time to get used to the feeling, still double checking on her state every now and then. after a few deep breaths, she nodded.

“i-i’m ready.”

you started to pump your fingers in and out of her, taking in all of her as your speed slowly increased as time went on. naturally, as more time passed, you felt the urge to make her feel good get even stronger.

that’s when you decided to increase the pace, your fingers curling on just the right spot inside her, pumping faster and faster as your thumb played with her clit.

“is this okay baby—” you asked.

“f-fuck— yes y/n that feels good—“ was what she moaned out, cutting you off. a feeling of bliss progressively and clearly overtaking her whole body.

when you tried to look at her despite only being able to see her side profile, you could’ve sworn you saw an angel. her cheeks were slightly tinted with a pinkish color and her eyebrows were upturned, her whole face contorted with pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat. her eyes hooded with lust, hanni looked down at herself and attentively watched as you played with her. your fingers swimming in her slick, navigating in her folds the way a skilled sailor would the vast ocean, it was hypnotizing, and she realized how this was probably the way you got yourself off on a regular day, and she couldn’t help but moan at both the thought and the sensation.

you made her feel good, you made her feel happy, loved. you always did.

amidst the chaos that was her messy bed, the setting somehow looked better than every piece of artwork you’d ever seen combined. the bed creaked ever so slightly, and she looked and sounded so beautiful, especially with the way the sun set directly on her parted lips at that moment.

you were certain that your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“i love you so much, hanni.” you softly said, kissing the back of her ear whilst you kept fingering her. she couldn’t form proper words, so she simply tightened her grip on your hand more, as a way to say it back.

then, once you picked up a stable pace for a few minutes, her back arched against you, her breathing getting heavier, practically panting. her hand’s grip on yours getting tighter, you felt her hot breath hit your neck once she settled her head into the crook of it.

“y/n— baby i think i’m- i’m— mmh—“

that was the moment she reached climax, letting out a long and loud moan as she rode out her orgasm, bucking her hips against your hand before smashing her lips onto yours. quietly, she let a few i love yous slip out of her mouth between kisses, her hand resting on your head, fingers intertwined with your soft hair.

you particularly made sure to say it back to her every time.

you pulled out your fingers and took your hand out of her pants. still coming down from her high, she smiled at you with tired eyes and kissed your cheek. you smiled back, looking at her lovingly.

“d-did i do okay?”

she giggled, “..are you seriously asking me that? do you not see me right now?”

you raised your eyebrows, playful, “for all i know you were faking it.”

“yeah, actually.. i was faking it, especially with how wet i was from the whole thing. aren’t i such a good actor y/n? it’s almost like i legitimately came really hard—”

“shut up.” you elbowed her, laughing. she gave you a cheeky smile before she got up from the bed, grabbed a pair of new underwear from her drawer and opened the bedroom door, heading straight towards the living room to pet her dogs after changing.

“hey y/n?”

“hm?”

“…wanna bake brownies in a bit?”

“uhm.. yes? what kind of question is that?? let me just go wash my hands first.” you replied, getting up and walking towards the bathroom before adding on, “unless you wanna eat very unsanitary cum-buttered brownies, of course—“

you heard her contagious laugh from across the hallway, making you smile to yourself, “you’re fucking disgusting— go wash your hands, you weirdo!”

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

#smut #kpop gg #hanni pham newjeans #hanni newjeans #newjeans smut #hanni pham #hanni pham x female reader #hanni x reader #hanni x fem reader #hanni pham x fem reader #hanni smut #newjeans hanni #female reader #kpop gg smut #kpop girlgroups

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velvetvexations · 4 months ago

Note

i was listed in the original transandrophobia truthers blocklist by transmisogyny/-/explained. i was 15 with a tiny blog of 6 followers and i had only dipped my toe into transandrophobia theory and reblogged like 4 posts about it. i woke up one day to over 200 followers and saw that i had been tagged in the blocklist. i appeared in the second tmra blocklist too, but not in any others. but like it shook me enough to basically shut me up about transandrophobia. i suffer from mild paranoia but suddenly exploding in recognition triggered a bad paranoia episode. i had lots of harassing anons and i didn't know what to do. i was on tumblr to have fun, i saw someone talking about the specific challenges transmascs face and it really resonated with me so i reblogged a few posts about it, i had zero idea how much drama surrounded transandrophobia until i was in the fucking blocklist. and now i can't speak about it on my blog because of the paranoia it triggers.

transradfems are saying that callout posts against them are transmisogynistic but then the tmra blocklists have hundreds if not thousands of notes and bully people like me into shutting up. it's so hypocritical

I'm sorry, I know what it's like to have paranoia stuck in you real deep after you've been harassed like that. I'm still dealing with what I went through on Tumblr over a decade ago. Your voice matters and I hope you feel comfortable expressing your opinions in the future, but even if you keep your head down you're still a good person who didn't deserve the scars they gave you.

#transandro phobia

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cinnamonest · 11 months ago

Text

Uhtceare

Yandere Ayato x Reader - "Failed escape attempt" series

(I still cannot publish posts that have people tagged. I don't know why, it just gives me an error popup saying it couldn't be processed. Apologies to those in my taglist.)

Warning: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, implications of forced/coerced marriage, masturbation voyeurism that’s also kinda forced, manipulative use of mental health and problematic way of addressing it, gaslighting and psychological manipulation, implied future forced drugging, there’s just a lot of my man being awful here

------------

“Ah, there you are.”

Of course. He would be right there at the entrance waiting, wouldn’t he.

You were hoping to get a few more seconds to put off the inevitable, but the reality of your situation was not so kind as to grant you that. It was all far too fast — the full events of the night before, the journey of being dragged back here — flanked on all sides by doushin all the while — all went by in a blur, leading up to this very dreaded moment.

You kept your gaze turned to the ground, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact. Your fingers curled, digging into the fabric around your thighs.

Nonetheless, without even hesitating nor willing it, you found your feet moving on their own. Perhaps it was instinct, to get away from the unfamiliar men that made you so uncomfortable and uneasy, and into the arms that, despite everything, were at least familiar, and thereby a comfort at the end of your long trial of distress and misery. Maybe you knew it was expected, and feared some consequence for not acting as you knew you should. Or maybe some of both.

Regardless, your feet shuffled forward, any thoughts muted in favor of instinct as you bounded over towards your husband — as much as you hated to acknowledge it, your one source of comfort. As you grew close, he reached an arm out, hand firmly planting itself on your back and pulling you in. Perhaps out of that same sense of fear at the thought of disobeying expectations, perhaps out of pure exhaustion, you allowed it without struggle coming to stand directly by his side, grasping at his clothes, burying your head against him and squeezing your eyes shut as if it would obscure the others’ view of you.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how worried I was about her,” he spoke to the arrangement of men now standing a ways away, moving his hand on to rest atop your head. “I apologize for the inconvenience. The poor thing gets a bit irrational from time to time. You know how it is.”

The other men only gave a brief, curt sound of acknowledgement. One, the own standing closest to the two of you based on how close the voice sounded, seemed to deem it appropriate to give at least some response. “Of course, sir.”

Not that that actually made any sense, that such a bizarre thing to say could ever warrant an ‘of course’ as a reply. But they weren’t there to be sensible, to assess the situation and act according to any supposed principles. To help. They were there only to follow through with an assigned task, one that they had not even tried to conceal in their expressions and tones towards you was an unwanted inconvenience, and to turn a blind eye to any conclusions they might draw.

Maybe that too was intentional — the estate lord could have easily sent his private forces to be the ones to escort you back to the estate, yet he chose to allow the public law enforcement to return you. Perhaps he knew you’d grown to resent the family’s private forces, and thereby had no issue inconveniencing them, whereas he knew you’d feel more embarrassment and guilt having strangers be forced to bring you all the way back… yes, the more you thought about it, that certainly seemed like that was his intent.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Ah, I see, that’s good to hear.”

Your hands balled into fists.

The whole show made of it all was utterly humiliating — that too no doubt the intention — but you had no choice but to stand there. Doing something rash like running off to hide yourself from the embarrassment would only meet a worse consequence later.

The burning, bitter anger only made said embarrassment that much worse. It was consuming, maddening. Everything — this place, these people, their words and their attitudes, their dismissal of you as if you were a child or an animal — it made you so damn mad, and yet, you could do nothing but endure.

Your eyes burned. You blinked a few times in rapid succession. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you actually cried in front of these strangers. The back-and-forth between the two parties continued, but you did your best to tune out the words, knowing that listening would only hurt you further.

It wasn’t until there was movement that you returned your attention to them, pulling your head away from him to look — now they were turning, walking away.

Leaving you alone with him.

You then dared not avert your eyes from the ground, watching the men from your peripheral vision as they made their way down the path, growing smaller and smaller and they moved further away, until their footsteps were no longer audible.

All that remained was a heavy, palpable tension.

Avoidance was the easiest path — a foolish choice, of course, which you knew full well. It wasn't as if you could avoid the present reality forever, but nonetheless, you found yourself clinging to each precious second that ticked by, body growing stiffer as you braced yourself for the inevitable. Perhaps you could trick yourself into believing that if you just kept your gaze turned to the ground, nothing would happen.

But sure enough, you clenched your jaw as his hand moved upwards, and came to rest on your shoulder.

“Come on now. You're certainly tired. Let’s get you to rest for a while.”

His voice only made your stomach twist further. It was calm and gentle, not explosive or infuriated. It would have felt more assuring that way, if your fear could just be easily confirmed, rather than a calculated calm that felt far more dreadful and foreboding than any rage.

His hand moved from your shoulder, coming down to grasp your wrist. It wasn’t a sudden, harsh motion, nor was the grip itself strong enough as to be painful — but it was noticeably firm.

And then, he pulled. A soft tug, pulling you in the direction of the doors.

Your resistance was not a conscious choice, not something you thought about nor had any time to do so; it was only a reflex. Instinctively, your body stiffened, your feet dug into the ground, and thus his pull was met not with the meek obedience that was expected of you, with footsteps that followed where you were guided, but instead a firm resistance.

Your own realization of that resistance, what you’d just done, sent a sharp rush of fear through your veins.

And thus, for the first time since arriving, your gaze tilted upward, and your wide, frightened eyes met his.

His expression shifted. The amiable, pleasant smile half-faded, still present, but only barely.

“…Don't be difficult. Come on.”

Likewise, his voice dropped far lower, a dark and foreboding tone far removed from the one he’d spoken with just moments ago to the other men.

Your mouth opened, instinctively wanting to reply, but you couldn't summon a coherent thought. You were afraid, you were angry, you were so, so embittered and ashamed and wanted nothing more than to run to your room, close your eyes and burrow into the bed.

And for a moment, you considered the compliant option. If you just lowered your head and followed along, apologized and insisted you were just being petty or immature or whatever he would call it this time, and took whatever consequence was handed out, then you could do just that, confine yourself to your bed and try to forget it all.

But the shame only fueled the fury, like gasoline to a fire. It was his fault. As scared of punishment as you were, your pride could not stand for simply bowing your head, and as your mind raced, the sheer fury you’d been stewing in all throughout the night before, all the angry words you’d monologued in your head and vowed to spew at him when you saw him again, all came rushing back.

You swallowed, fingers curling even harder around the fabric around your thighs. Now that it was just the two of you, although you still fought it as best as you could, you couldn’t help that your eyes watered, burning as your vision blurred out of pure frustration and misery.

“I… I know you did all of this on purpose! I only got all the way out there because you let me, a-and…”

The words came out in a trembling, wavering voice, far weaker than intended.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in frustration. His voice was still characteristically gentle, but you could hear his patience waning. “We can discuss this inside.”

“But I—”

“Inside.”

You stiffened, freezing in place. That was not a tone you heard often in your married life, more firm than normal.

You swallowed, gaze darting to the ground again, unable to summon a reply and not wanting to make eye contact again. With another heavy exhale, he pulled at your arm with a gentle tug, and this time, you followed, feet quickly shuffling behind his.

You didn’t say a word, though, through the full minute or so of walking across the courtyard, through the front doors, down the hall, only dimly lit today due to curtains hanging over the windows lining the walls. It occurred to you with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you were headed straight for your shared bedroom, rather than one of the estate’s many drawing rooms and lounges, which meant the anticipated conversation to come would be one you’d both want kept in privacy. Your stomach felt as if it were turning in knots, your chest compressed by an unseen force, each breath feeling strenuous and weighted.

And then, finally, you both came to a halt as you reached the last room at the end of the hall. You felt helpless, unable to do anything as you watched the handle of the door turn, stumbling in as you were guided forward by the hand that came to gently press on your lower back.

Likewise, equally pitifully, you could do nothing but stand there and wait as you listened for the door to close behind you, clenching your jaw at the trepidation in your chest from the footsteps on the floor behind you, but made sure to not let your fear swallow your fury.

“Now,” he began slowly as he moved around you to the other side of the room, voice now back to its usual tone, but still firm nonetheless, “I can tell you have a great deal you want to get off your chest, but you’ll have to forgive me for a moment… your well-being is my primary concern.” He looked you up and down, and his voice took on a note of concern that admittedly sounded sincere. “You aren’t hurt in any way, are you, dear?”

You bit your lip at the affectionate term, and more importantly, at how unbothered he came across. Granted, you now knew just how much of the past twelve hours or so had been entirely within his control, so it made sense that he was never genuinely distressed, but admittedly, it was also disappointing. Part of you wanted him to have been panicked and worried, to get the satisfaction of knowing you’d successfully gotten under his skin.

Still, you shook your head, keeping your gaze to the ground as you gave a curt, frustrated reply. “No.”

“Good,” his eyes closed for a moment, taking a heavy breath of pause. “Well, in that case…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “I believe this would be the best time to give you a moment to explain yourself.”

You couldn’t miss the obvious foreboding in his voice, nor the way it made your body stiffen.

But you had already prepared for that — you knew it would be intimidating, that it would be awkward and shameful, but you had spent the previous few hours trying to preemptively harden your resolve against that. Besides, after it was interrupted earlier, you now had the chance to get back to what was essentially the pre-written script you’d memorized in your head of exactly every little thing you wanted to say to him.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the you that was standing there in front of him was significantly less brave than the ‘you’ in the scenes you’d played out in your head on the journey home.

Still, you clenched your hands into fists, thinking you had to at least force him to acknowledge the one point you’d deemed most important.

“You let me leave.”

In your mind, you’d spoken with a bold voice and looked him directly in the eye… and while the same words came out of your mouth, they were instead said with a weak, shrill attempt at an accusatory tone, pathetically looking to the wall as you found yourself unable to summon the gall to look up, once more lacking the firm accusation and self-assuredness your imaginative self had had.

He tilted his head. “That’s not a very accurate way to put it. I never granted you any such permission… I was simply aware of your intent to run off, and didn’t stop you.”

For a moment, you contemplated asking how he knew — but you had a feeling the answer would only make you more upset. His voice was laden with a faux sincerity, a sort of disingenuousness that made your blood boil, enough to embolden you further as you continued.

“And you… you had people following me the whole time, I know you did!” Your voice began to get louder as you grew bolder, bitter anger strengthening you against any trepidation. “They didn't even do a good job! I started noticing them towards the end of it!”

"Well, that would be because they were specifically told that concealment was not necessary.” He kept up the dry manner of speech, seemingly unbothered by your fury. “They deserve a break from high effort jobs every now and then, surely you understand. Besides, they didn’t directly interfere with your little outing, yes?”

He was so calm in contrast to your visible irritation, no doubt at least in part deliberate. It only served to make you even more mad.

“They told the local doushin to — no, you told them to tell them! There’s no other way that could have happened! I-I, I got," in sheer frustration, you jerked your fists in a sharp downward motion, "arrested!"

“I’m very well aware.”

“They put me in jail!”

“I do believe that is the standard process for an arrest, yes.”

“I was all by myself for hours!”

“Naturally. I couldn’t allow you to be placed with any dangerous persons, that’s why you were put in a solitary space.”

You clenched your fists so hard they trembled. “You, y-you let me get that far in the first place, and, and…” A lump formed in your throat again, which you did your best to suppress. “…Just to make me go through all that… I was there for hours before they came for me…” Your face scrunched up as you fought the urge to cry.

You hung your head, shoulders falling as you let your body relax, the fuse of anger burning out as it turned to a quiet bitterness swelling in your stomach. What was even the point? You knew better than to think your emotions would be given any weight, treated as anything beyond trivial.

A few moments of quiet passed, perhaps to see if you would say anything more, or perhaps just to force you to wait in uncomfortable uncertainty. After a moment, he shifted his posture slightly before unfolding one arm, holding out his hand in a standard gesture of speech.

“And what have we learned?”

You never would have thought one question could send such a spark of fury through your body in a single moment. Everything, from the wording to the timing to his tone, felt utterly mocking, infantilizing in a way that made you seethe.

You swallowed, practically trembling. “That you’ll go to any lengths to humiliate me?”

He returned the extended arm to its former position, exhaling heavily, straightening his stance. “It's rather unfair to assume I had such malicious intent. Stopping you early on in the past has clearly not worked in the long term, so further measures were necessary.” He tilted his head to meet your averted gaze, reflexively turning your attention back to him, eyes connecting with yours. “My only intention was that you would have some time to reflect on your series of decisions… and hopefully return with a change of heart. These episodes of yours are worrisome.” He gave a brief pause before finishing, “claiming I had cruel intent when you know in your heart that I only arranged this because I care for you… that's rather harsh, isn't it?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to acknowledge the notion that the words were genuine. Admittedly having fallen for the words die a moment, you mentally shook off the momentary feeling of guilt.

These situations always went the same way, you'd be driven to apologize and feel bad about your choices. You had never met anyone else in your life with such a mastery of speech-craft as to be able to control your emotions and actions with words as easily as if it were pushing buttons on a machine. The first few times, you'd actually fallen for it, found yourself completely malleable, psyche bending and shifting to another's whims. At least with time, you'd become more resilient, had learned to notice and recognize the attempts… so you believed.

You opted to avoid answering the quesiton. Instead of acknowledging his own words, you turned to another matter that had come to mind during your escapade.

“Aren’t you abusing your authority? How are you even allowed to do this to begin with?!”

He took another deep breath, as if it were a trivial matter, or one that shouldn’t necessitate explanation.

“It’s… complicated, but the law does fully permit estates to employ local forces to locate any missing property belonging to the estate… people employed or bound to it are a sort of grey area in that regard.” After a moment of pause, he added, “besides, I also made it very clear that you were not in your right mind at the time, so your wellbeing was of immediate concern, and they were happy to help.”

“What?” The anger in your tone only rose. “I was perfectly in my right mind, you, you… a-and I’m not…”

A few moments passed as you trailed off, having to pause to collect yourself, blink away frustrated tears.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against whatever he'd considered saying, closing his eyes and taking a breath before finally replying in a more exasperated tone.

“You're making yourself upset needlessly. I can only do so much… in the end, I only wanted to keep you safe. You have to be the one to accept the grace you're given. Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

There was still unease to his tone, but the way he said it was nonetheless indicative of a sort of tiredness, as if not wanting to carry on about the matter anymore. It almost sounded like he was saying that you “accepting” his “grace” was all that was required to bury the matter entirely.

You spoke slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not… mad?”

“…I never said that.” He shifted away from leaning against the wall, standing upright. ”Of course, I can’t allow this to go entirely unacknowledged.”

He took a few steps towards you, and you fought the urge to step back, keeping your arms rigidly straight at your side as he continued.

“Normally, a proper form of consequence would be in order… however, after consideration, I realized that this was in large part my own fault, and I owe it to you to take responsibility for that.”

The words took you by surprise. The idea that he was in any way acknowledging that he had any responsibility for what you did was baffling, all things considered. He had never once even acknowledged that refusing to let you leave the estate was essentially holding you prisoner, and usually insisted that everything he did was what was best for you, even if, as he seemed to believe was the case, you did not understand that.

You hesitated before replying. “What… what do you mean?”

He flashed you an amiable smile. “A lesser person would only act on their momentary frustrations, but I’m not the sort of person who acts without understanding the situation. Luckily, I do understand you.” He looked off to the side, holding a hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, before adding in a quieter voice, “I made the mistake of getting too caught up in my work recently. Acting out over feelings of neglect is entirely different from misbehavior out of sheer petulance.”

He turned his head back towards you again before finishing,

“It would be cruel to respond to a cry for attention as if it were ordinary disobedience.”

The words took you aback, and you hesitated in your response, but as it fully registered in your mind, the momentary surprise was replaced with shameful fury. You held your arms firmly at your side, hands balled into fists as you replied.

“What?! I didn't— I didn’t do it for attention!”

You felt foolish for thinking for even a second that he might actually empathize with you, might finally come to enough humility to realize that much of your perceived disobedience was due to the sheer degree of meticulous, total control he held over everything you did. But no, instead, your attempt to run away was being treated as attention-seeking. It felt belittling, degrading.

He took a short breath, as if about to say something, but as his gaze fell upon you again, he simply exhaled, an amused smile forming on his face, replacing the former exasperation — and only infuriating you further, realizing even your anger wouldn't be taken seriously.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He made no effort to hide the dismissive amusement in his voice, either, but cleared his throat before returning to a more neutral tone before you could give any retort. “Regardless, you've been through a lot already. If you can be mature and calm down, make some acknowledgement of the trouble you’ve caused and show some remorse, then, I'm willing to somewhat overlook this.” Making direct contact between your eyes and his, he finished, “Won’t that be easier on us both?”

The obvious dismissal of your statement and implications of what he thought made your face feel hot. The embarrassment that had already been weighing down on you now became suffocating, and the utter arrogance of the presumption of your willingness to comply made you so upset it felt nauseating.

“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” You tried to suppress the irritation in your voice.

He gave another heavy sigh. “Should you really be asking for specifics? It’s your best course of action regardless.”

You opened your mouth and inhaled as if to speak, holding your closed fists up to your chest, ready to spew every ounce of vitriol you’d been building up, and then, you fell silent as your eyes met.

His expression grew dark, eyes half-lidded and features blank — not contorted with anger nor curiosity, but merely waiting, watching, warning. Anticipating your defiance, prepared to react accordingly.

You looked down, hesitating.

Was it really worth it…? A few moments of lashing out, at what cost? ‘Consequences’ hurt, in one sense or another, they always did, no matter what form that word took.

You swallowed. He was right — one path before you was wiser.

You hung your head.

“…I’m sorry…”

Even with your gaze turned downward, you could see his eyes widen just a bit in your peripheral vision, not having expected such quick compliance — understandably so, based on your past incidents. But after a moment, his expression softened. He took another step, closing the gap between you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to lift your head back up.

“Mm. I’m glad you understand. You know, you've matured quite a bit recently.”

You almost, almost found yourself feeling happy at the praise, but then pushed that feeling away. It was part of the way he did things, part of the process, so you'd slowly come to recognize, putting the pieces together over and over until you became aware of how he managed to bring you down to submission each time. You refused to be swayed by that. You were only giving it up and apologizing because it was the was the easier, less painful choice… so you reminded yourself. Now, at least, you'd be done with this, could move on and quietly begin plotting again.

But then, as you felt his hand move down to your shoulder, then to your waist, you remembered the ‘somewhat.’

Yes, of course it couldn’t be left at that, wouldn’t be so simple as forcing you into humility just once.

You knew that full well. These checks of obedience after an act of disobedience never came solitary, and the desire for that subservience to be affirmed was not easily satiated. It would only grow deeper, an increasing hunger for your subservience. Pushing your pride further and further down, carving into your personhood and whittling away anything deemed unfitting. It would only go further, debasing you in increasingly violating ways.

You felt a gnawing in your stomach. You hadn’t thought of that part, in the moment, but the realization now made your heartrate begin to accelerate once more.

His eyes drifted downward.

“…Ah, right. The clothes you’re wearing, we need to have a servant wash them for you. Just set them by the door for now.”

You looked down. You hadn’t even bothered to think about it until now, having been so preoccupied with other thoughts, but indeed, the oh-so-nice and expensive clothing you’d been so lovingly lavished with, was now fully coated in grime and dirt.

At the same time, your immediate instinct was to protest the idea, knowing the intent. He wasn’t going to get you a replacement — which he himself would need to do, seeing as all of your clothing was, no doubt deliberately, kept outside the bedroom itself, and it had been established early on that you were to rely on him or servants to fetch whatever he would have you wear that day for you. Was the command too, then, intentional?

The very moment you even asked yourself the question, though, came the immediate answer, making you feel foolish for even questioning it. Of course it was intentional, planned — what wasn’t, anymore, in your life? You remembered looking back, on the day you were brought here, thinking over the past with borderline horror at the realization of how intricately detailed and precise every detail had been in his effort — what you now were certain was a premeditated plan — to get your family to call off the years-long betrothal you’d already been in, and marry you off to him instead. That realization of it all had kept you rightfully afraid of him, knowing he was always one step ahead of whatever you might attempt.

The corners of your mouth pulled taut with embarrassment, and you pulled your hands in towards your chest again, elbows pressed firmly to your sides. “That’s…”

He caught a glimpse of your face, and in turn smiled, an amused sort of expression. “Come on now,” he took a step towards you, reaching out and grasping at your hands, pulling them out of their defensive position, “even now, you’re still so shy over this?”

“I— no, I’m not—” you cut off, teeth clacking together as you snapped your mouth shut when his hands released yours, instead moving around to the binding ties of your outfit, pulling the knot apart.

You held your hands up to the level of your shoulders, bent at the elbow, fingers curled as if preparing to reach forward, to grasp at his hands, to do something.

But you didn’t.

The exchange was itself a means of conversation, communicating something not fully articulable by word alone. Violating your comfort and dignity, baring you to him, those things themselves were an assertion, a statement. To interrupt would be to challenge that assertion, to deny him. And perhaps it was, in part, also a test, a question of whether or not you would dare to deny the unspoken statement.

As the silk strands came undone, the first layer gave way to the second, and pulling apart that knot caused the fabric bound by it to slide apart, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

An unspoken reminder that your body was not your own, that any right to autonomy and privacy you might have beyond this room, no longer existed within it. Access to you was not a privilege granted by your permission, but an inherent right, provided by the very contract that legally bound you to him.

The casual, unhesitating manner with which you were stripped down only emphasized that that very reality itself was not something to be regarded as of any great significance, but a fact accepted as readily as any other. Exposing you, touching you, exercising that unconditional access to your body was given no greater thought than utilizing any of one’s possessions.

There was nothing he could ever say to you, nor adequate words to even exist, to fully encapsulate the degree to which you were owned — but with that gesture, you understood all the same.

And even though the humiliation of the reminder made your eyes burn, made you bite your lip, you lowered your hands to your side. An admission of defeat, surrender.

It did not go unnoticed. He smiled.

“Very good. You’re behaving much better today than I anticipated.”

Another moment of praise. He was genuinely pleased. You could see it and hear it through his face and voice.

Were it on any other matter, you might have felt proud to be praised in such a sweet, charming voice. If the praise were on something you actually wanted to achieve.

And then, his eyes trailed downward, running over your body, taking in each detail. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze settled on one particular spot.

“You really shouldn't lie to me,” he spoke in a quiet, low voice.

At first, you felt a momentary panic, not quite sure what he even meant, thinking you had somehow made a unintentional transgression. It wasn't until you looked down that you saw the scrape just below your collarbones from your, admittedly unsightly, vigorous resistance upon initial confrontation with the doushin the night prior, having essentially had to have been wrestled down to the concrete street. In hindsight, you were even surprised with yourself for putting up such a fight, but at the time it had just been the instinctive reflex, fueled by desperation.

It all felt distant now, as if further back in time than it was, the memory all blurring together. It was only a very small mark, and had now scabbed up as part of the natural healing process, but as his fingers brushed over the spot, you still tensed at the slight lingering sting.

“It doesn't really hurt,” you replied nonetheless. “It's fine…”

He only straightened back upright, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected common doushin to be able to follow instructions… just so you know, I did specifically say to ensure you weren't hurt in any way.” He turned his gaze downward, hand held to his chin as he added in a low mutter, “I'll be sure to only use private hands in the future, should I need something like this again.”

You shrugged, turning your eyes downward to the floor once more. Really, you wanted to not have to think about the incident any further, the mere memory stirring up embarrassment, which did not combine well with your already vulnerable state. “It's fine. It's not a big deal,” you grumbled. After a moment of hesitation, feeling another urge of spite, you added, “it wouldn't have happened if you didn't… do all that.”

He huffed in exasperation, but was quiet for the moment, seemingly composing his thoughts before replying.

“Don’t be disagreeable. We've discussed this. I care for you dearly, but that does not mean that you are exempt from expectations to behave.”

He always gave you that line — that a behavioral matter of yours had been previously ‘discussed,’ which merely meant he'd told you not to do something, or behave a certain way. That was the end-all-be-all — whatever you were told was set in stone the moment it left his mouth, and transgressing against the standard that was set was often treated as if you’d forgotten, as if it slipped your mind, the idea of intentional and deliberate disobedience being something unthinkable to such a degree that simply having done so by accident were more believable to him — and perhaps you ought be grateful for that.

You clamped your jaw shut, turning your head downward.

His gaze turned back to your body.

“…Your nerves are unsettled.” His hand slid it's way down your side, the feeling of touch lingering in a trail behind as his palm brushed over the curvature of your waist. “See, that's what causes these irrational episodes of yours. Stress, overexcitement. It just… builds naturally for you, over time.” After a moment, taking in your expression, he added, “it's nothing to feel bad about, dear. I don't mind helping you with it at all… I'm glad I can do so, really. I worry about how you'd manage without having me to help.”

You hesitated before giving a response. “What… what do you mean? I'm not… irrational…”

It was as if your words went in one ear and out the other, continuing on without responding to your objection. “But again, I failed to keep it in check this time, so this was ultimately my own fault… I'll have to make a note to be more thorough.”

His hand grasped at your waist, pulling you close. His other hand reached up, cupping your breast. He looked over towards your shared bed.

“Come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Huh? But—”

His grip tightened. “Don't be difficult.”

Your stomach began to churn. You were still angry. The last thing you wanted was to go through what was essentially a humiliation ritual. There was something about the act itself — at least, between the two of you — that made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. The inherent vulnerability, for one, but moreover, because you knew the intent, you knew the way he viewed it in his mind, could practically feel the sentiment. An act of claiming, an exchange of power in which your loss of dignity became his gain of pride and control. Carving into your very personhood, marking you as something belonging to him.

Your opened your mouth, but whatever you intended to say was cut off by your small noise of surprise as you were pulled forward, in a manner that was somehow so gentle in touch, yet forceful enough to move your whole body towards his. His arm wrapped around your frame, the other positioning itself underneath your thighs before lifting you up and moving down to sit.

You fidgeted, tried to pull away — but his grip tightened, as much to secure you as it was a warning, telling you to hold still.

“It's for your sake. This will help you… you may not realize that yet, but you’ll thank me, I promise.”

His hands moved to your hips and turned you so that your back rested against his chest.

“As I was saying, you simply… build stress and neurosis, naturally. It's not your fault, really. You're just sensitive to changes, stressors... Every individual has at least some… defects in their nature.”

His hands retracted, and there was a brief rustling sound before they returned to your skin, now ungloved, flesh on flesh. The contact sent sparks through your nerves.

“That's why people pair with those they are compatible with. They fill each other's needs, compliment each other’s natures… I’m obligated to take those defects and resolve them.”

He gave you a smile — you couldn't see it, but could feel it as his lips pressed softly against your neck. Warm, full of sincerity and adoration.

“I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t out of care… and you in turn provide me with something that needs care and guidance. I enjoy having that.”

For all his attempts at soothing words and the gentleness of the touch, you knew in your heart that there was no doubt that that was part of the intent — to humble you, to tame you and make you docile, to make you submit. Forcing you to such a vulnerable state and inflicting reactions of pleasure was itself an act of exerting power and control.

It was, in a way, remarkable, that the human spirit could not only be broken by both brutal cruelty, but equally — or, perhaps even more effectively — eroded away with a gentle voice and touch, humiliation so deeply intertwined with affection that they became impossible to distinguish from each other, forming a unique sentiment that was both one and the other.

You were endearing to him, but that affection for you was like a venom that ran through your veins — an affection that diminished you, reduced you to some inhuman possession, a toy to be manipulated in any way he desired.

It made you feel sick. It made you feel angry, it tormented your psyche—

Your thoughts were turned to a haze as his fingers rolled your nipple between them. You inhaled a sharp gasp, back arching forward.

Processing your own reaction, embarrassment took place of the momentary pleasure, and your face felt hot. You reached an arm up instinctively to cover your breasts, pulling away from the touch.

“…We've had this conversation before, haven't we?” He reached up, grasping your jaw with a grip just firm enough to communicate a warning.

You swallowed and, albeit not without just a moment of hesitation, lowered your arm. You looked down, breasts now exposed fully. “I'm… sorry…”

He gave you a hum of approval, returning to the former fondling, fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, breathing growing labored.

After a few minutes, his hands wandered downward, slowly, softly, down to your thighs, then back up over your hips, where they finally settled.

“Touch yourself.”

The command caught you off-guard. Your eyes widened. “…What?”

“Before I help you,” he murmured, “I want to see what you will do for me. That's only fair, don't you think?” He squeezed at your waist.

“Prove to me…” he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, “that you know your place. Do as I say.”

You swallowed.

It was in your best interest to obey.

You reached down slowly, shivering as your fingers brushed over your clit. You pressed down, beginning to rub your outstretched fingers back and forth. With your other hand, you reached up, tweaking your nipple just enough to send pleasure through your nerves.

“There you go.” He pulled you a bit closer to him, so your bodies were firmly pressed together. He craned his neck, no doubt catching your abashed, embarrassed expression.

Not that he would give you any words of comfort on that matter, tell you not to feel embarrassed. He only smiled, grasping your hair and forcing your head to turn, pressing your mouth to his. It was only a short contact, parting with the softest of sounds.

His grip on your hip tightened, and you realized why he’d pulled back when he spoke.

“Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized you had, too focused on the slight surprise to being kissed. You took a shuddering breath, and resumed the motion. Your eyes closed, heightening your senses — the sensation of each touch and the shockwaves it sent through your core to every nerve in your body.

Your breathing quickly became labored. Even if you were inducing the sensation itself, it was good. You bit your lip as a soft, weak little sound came out of your throat, unable to refrain from vocalizing at the intensity of the feeling.

“Not just like that.” One of his hands reached down to your thigh, hand wrapping around the underside of it and pulling it to the side, spreading you open further. “Go on.”

“Mm…” You couldn’t summon any particular words, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations — the heat to your face and knot in your stomach at the shameless way your body was so exposed, at the feeling of being watched as if the act were a performance, and the haze of arousal that rapidly began to cloud your judgement, obscuring the feeling of discomfiture, drowning your inhibition.

Even without the pleasure compromising your hesitation, you didn’t want to think about the alternatives if you refused to obey — this was thus far, comparatively, far from the worst consequences you’d ever received for acting out.

You reached down further, pushing two of your fingers past the slick coating your flesh and inside your body, curling them into the spot that made you tense, made your muscles spasm, over and over, each movement sparking a rush that surged throughout your body.

Each breath was a deep gasp. Your toes curled, your muscles went taut and your insides clenched around your own fingers.

But something was missing.

It was pleasurable, but there just wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. The sensations were too weak.

Your body had been conditioned something more, and this was not comparable.

Sweat began to accumulate on your skin as you kept curling your fingers, desperately chasing a high. His arm moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, pressing another kiss to your neck.

You tried. Frustration began to build. Your eyes watered as you curled your fingers as hard as you could, pressed as far in as they would go, down to the knuckle.

It wasn’t deep enough.

It wasn't what you were used to. Your fingers were too short, just short of reaching that one perfect spot that made you lose yourself in pleasure, melting to a mewling mess.

You shuddered. You couldn’t reach a climax, no matter how hard you tried to focus. Even without orgasm, though, your exertion reached a peak you couldn’t carry on further from, and your fingers stopped moving as you went limp, trying to catch your breath, frustration and desperation nearly enough to make you cry. Your head fell back, eyes closed as you panted.

You could feel the corners of his mouth upturn against the flesh of your neck.

“…Is something wrong?”

Your jaw clenched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

That was the other goal of it, besides proving yourself to him — it was also to prove something to you. Something you didn’t want to admit out loud, something that made your chest swell with bitterness just to admit to yourself, much more so to do so aloud.

“I can’t… I can't do it.”

“Mm.” He pulled you further back against him. “Then, what do you need?”

The tingling sensation, the desperate need, the remnant frustration of lost pleasure, was too much to bear. You swallowed your pride, closing your eyes as you forced the words out.

“…I need you to do it…”

You were expecting him to say something in return, but for a moment, he was only quiet. He began to drum his fingers back and forth against your waist.

“Is that so?”

You nodded again, which seemed to be to his displeasure—

“Use your words.”

“Yes…” You swallowed.

You waited, but no touch came.

“Hm. How odd.” His voice was low and quiet, but unmistakably derisive. “You seemed to think you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself, running off like you did.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You shook your head back and forth, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“No?” His hand trailed downward until it ghosted over your sex, the lightest of touches, borderline torment. “Then, you can't do this for yourself?”

“…No…”

He moved his face even closer, speaking directly into your ear.

“Then what do you say? Tell me exactly what you need. Show me.”

You swallowed. The burning of humiliation in your chest was almost too much to bear. Had your insides not still been alight with the wavering, tight feeling of need, your pride would have outweighed your desire. But in that moment, it did not.

You spread your still-quivering legs wide apart.

“…Please touch me.”

“Mm. And what do you want from that? For how long?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I want to cum.”

Finally — finally — his fingers pressed down against your clit, enough pressure to send waves of pleasure up your spine.

“There, see…” He pressed another kiss to your face. “Aren't things so much easier when you just choose to be honest?”

You nodded. “Yes. I… I’m sorry…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgement. “This stubbornness is just your nature.” His fingers slid back and forth, gracing the bundle of nerves with friction. “But that can be fixed.”

You bit your lip. “I… I’m not— ah—”

One motion of his hand was particularly firm, the sensation it sent through your nerves so intense it was almost painful. Your hands shot forward, grasping at his wrist.

It was only when the motion stopped that you realized you’d erred — it was a habit of reflexively grabbing at his hands when a sensation was too intense, trying to pry them off — something he very much did not like you doing.

Sure enough, he sighed, frustration blatantly evident. You jerked your hands away, but it was already too late to take back the first offense.

“…Now,” he started, “Can you refrain from doing that again, or do I need to bind them?”

“I…” you paused, realizing you genuinely needed to think it through. You weren’t certain if you could abstain.

You felt him shift back, leaning away from your body.

“Well, that’s enough of an answer itself.”

You heard the rustling of clothes, felt movement behind you, and you turned your head over your shoulder just in time to see as he pulled off first the top layer, then the undershirt over his head and off his body. You made a soft sound as he then pushed down on your back with a firm touch, forcing you to lean forward, grasping at your hands and pulling them behind your back — firmly, enough to be a clear message to not try to dissuade him, but your pride, weak as it was, still couldn't let it happen with no objection at all.

“Wait, wait, I can do it, I don't need—”

“This is for your sake. Hold still.”

“But I—”

“Be still.” He spoke firmly, but softened his voice as he continued, “It’s not your fault for having that reflex… but you have to train yourself against it. You want to be good, don't you?”

You shut your mouth, nodding as you sounded an answer. “Mm-hm…”

Cloth wrapped tightly around your wrists, using one sleeve to bind them together. Not enough of a bind that you couldn’t break out with some effort, but just enough to keep you from reflexively trying to interfere.

“Now where were we…”

You were pulled back once more, perhaps even closer. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

And his hand quickly moved back down, and the bliss of shockwaves of pleasures overcame you once more. You whimpered, biting your lip.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing circles into the nub, and for a moment, your wrists jerked against the bind as the reflex kicked in. It was too much at once, but now, you were prevented from doing anything about it. As he began to rub in circular motions, your body shuddered, and an involuntary moan came out of your throat — a wanton, shameful sound, laced with pleasure and lust.

“There you go.” You could feel him speak, shuddering at the vibration of his chest against your back and the warm breath against your ear. His other hand rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb. “Give into it.”

Your body trembled against his touch, and jolted as his own fingers pressed inside of you. His were longer, and the touches firmer, and the result was a degree of pleasure you were simply incapable of replicating on your own.

As much as you hated it — hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to try and not acknowledge it as the reality prodded at the back of your mind — he made you feel better than anything you had ever experienced, better than anything you could ever make yourself feel.

You whimpered, toes and fingers curling. Your hips moved, a rolling motion to meet each pressing movement.

A singular motion, and singular sound, both of which you near-immediately caught yourself doing, having been too lost in the feeling to think clearly. You cut off your voice and went still, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t.” He didn’t stop moving his fingers as he spoke, instead pressing down with harsh force, essentially pulling you back closer to him with the hand partially inside you. “Holding yourself back like that is another form of dishonesty.”

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, but unable to form a response before he continued.

“And you wouldn’t want,” the fingers that had been gently tweaking at your breast pinched down hard, a momentary spark of pain and the lowering of his voice making you go tense, “to make this unpleasant because you couldn’t be good for me, would you?”

You shook your head back and forth with vigor. There were many punishments in your domestic repertoire that were unpleasant, and the thought of any of them made your heart skip a beat. “No, no, I don’t… want that…”

“Then you’re going to be honest, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise…”

“Mm.”

He kept rubbing his thumb against your clit, even in perfectly synched timing to each motion his fingers curled inward inside of you.

It was so pleasurable, so intense, it made you angry. Mad that he was capable of it, mad that his control over your body was greater than your own, and most of all, mad that he did it with such ease, effortless, that making you come undone entirely was something he mastered without ever being taught.

That pleasure began to build and build. You squirmed and whimpered, muscles throughout your body tensing and relaxing over and over. Your hips rolled into his hand. Each movement built the pressure in your body higher and higher, rapidly reaching a peak.

The edge that climax made you quiver, body and legs trembling.

“There it is…” his voice was so soft and gentle, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

The noise that came out of your mouth was nearly animal-like, a whimpering cry as you threw your head back, quivering and spasming. The waves of sensation pulsated throughout your body, reaching a peak and then beginning to ebb away.

You went limp, bodyweight falling back against his chest, heaving with heavy breaths. Your head felt as if it were spinning, and you stared forward in a dull stupor, body trembling with aftershock.

You twitched at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you, with a wet squelching sound that made you shiver.

“Look at that…”

He spread his fingers apart, clear fluid forming a trail between them. You bit your lip, tilting your head downward in a futile attempt of avoidance of what you knew well came next — but that effort was quickly negated as he grabbed your jaw, turning your head back up and squeezing your face.

“Open.”

The force of the grip as he squeezed down more or less forced your jaw apart anyway. You didn't even get to take a breath before he pushed his fingers into your mouth, salty taste spreading over your tongue.

“Clean them off.”

Maybe it was a way of forcing you to acknowledge your own bodily reaction, even if you tried to deny it to yourself. Maybe it was much simpler than that — just another way to degrade you, or something simply arousing for him because it just was.

You complied nonetheless. Your tongue swirled around each finger, sucking and swallowing the taste of yourself. Even as he pulled his fingers back out, a string of saliva connected them to your tongue.

And then, after wiping his fingers off on the fabric around his thigh, he returned the arm to your waist, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See… so much more at ease now, aren't you?”

That was one way to put it. You couldn't even bring words to your mind. Even processing what he said felt like a significant effort. Everything felt far away, your mind like a blank slate, numb and empty. Your body was even more exhausted, totally lax aside from involuntary twitches.

You made a soft sound as he turned your body to the side, just enough to look you face-to-face. Looking down at your watery eyes as they met his, the stupor in your expression, even as your brain began to clear, as if a machine turning back on after a few moments of darkness.

And he smiled. It was soft, full of endearment. And belittling. It was not made any better by the small chuckle he gave, patting the top of your head.

It burned in your chest, down into your stomach.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lower lip quivered, an admittedly petulant pout. Shame formed a knot in your stomach. Disappointment in yourself, ending up like this again after swearing so many times over that this one would be the last, the last time you'd come apart so easily, the last time you'd find yourself spent and susceptible to the touch that seemed as if it were designed for your body.

And he laughed. An amused chuckle, patting your head.

“Mm. I had a feeling that wouldn't be quite enough.”

He leaned in, firmly grasping at your arms as you tried to squirm, bringing his mouth so close to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“But, that does admittedly work out for my sake.”

You grunted in surprise as he hooked his arm under your legs again, this time only lifting you just enough to set you down onto the padding of your bed, gently pushing on your shoulders until you were flat on your back, arched over your hands bound behind you.

“A-ah, I…” You swallowed, grasping at the sheets to the best of your ability. It was nothing you weren't anticipating, but the vulnerability made you tense.

It didn't help that he paused any motion, eyes trailing over your body, before reaching down and running his hands over your flesh, one moving to grip at your waist, the other your opposite hip. You couldn’t reach to cover yourself, forced to lay bare and vulnerable. Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, but firm hands grabbed at the undersides, pushing them apart and positioning himself between them so you couldn’t close them again.

The former act was not enough. Putting you through the ordeal of being made to wait in jail like a child in time-out was not enough, exposing your body was not enough, toying with your body and forcing an acknowledgement of his own control was not enough.

Your lip trembled.

But anger still pervaded through your negative emotions. It compelled your courage, you felt defiance surging up. You had to look him in the eye, tell him exactly what you felt, tell him you knew what he was doing and push him off, then, maybe then you'd have the satisfaction of some sense of control.

You could do it. You had to.

“You… you're just doing the same thing as before!” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You’re trying to, to—”

“Again with this?” He tilted his head. “I really wish you wouldn’t assume such ill intent. This is how people love each other… you know that.”

You bit your lip. You almost, for just a second, fell for it, almost felt guilty. You shook your head forcefully, clearing your mind of the thought.

“No, I won't let you—”

And with that, there was a rapid shift in expression. His eyes narrowed in a piercing, foreboding look. You went silent.

Your shoulders stiffened. The words came out on impulse, resolve of defiance broken as quickly as it had formed. “I'm— I'm sorry—”

Dammit.

For once, the dark expression did not shift back to pleasant as soon as you apologized — an indicator of having gone too far. His hand slowly reached up, this time not in a loving caress or gentle-but-firm grip, but outright harsh grip on your jaw.

“You…”

He tilted his head forward to more directly look you in the eye. His voice was low and cold, making your heart race further.

“Do not ‘let’ anyone do anything.”

His fingertips pressed into your flesh, squeezing your face between them.

“I know you understand your place. Don’t behave as if you don’t.” Finally, his voice softened as he finished, “I can’t help you if you keep fighting me every step of the way. So… you’ll control yourself, won’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding your head, twitching as the motion made his fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“You know I don’t like being so harsh with you, don’t you?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Only for a short, chaste moment, but a slow, sensual motion nonetheless. You closed your eyes, tuning out the rustling clothes, heavily breathing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this. This whole ordeal has been stressful for me as well.”

You didn’t get time to ask what he meant — he rammed himself into you all at once, completely stuffing your body in one rough, forceful motion.

You cried out, back arching and body stiffening. You felt your insides clamp down, pulsating against the intrusion.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, holding you still as the momentary sting ebbed away.

“There you go… calm down.”

You felt him slide out, then push back in, the latter movement sending sparks of sensation running up your spine, causing you to go tense all over again.

Your breathing became ragged, legs twitching and spasming at the sensation. You tried, without thinking, to snap them shut, but it only resulted in effectively squeezing his waist with you thighs.

The intensity of the sensation naturally induced a reflex of strain and exertion to your muscles, a need to channel the feeling through your body, causing your toes to curl, your thighs clamping down harder, quivering at the bare touch of flesh to flesh. You closed your eyes, but couldn't drown out the sound of skin making contact to yours, the sound itself increasingly accompanied by a wet squelching as skin met fluid with each passing second, leaking out of your body.

“You're so much more honest like this.” You could hear just the slightest strain in his voice, otherwise so very composed to perfection. “So meek… it's lovely. Once that resistance in you is fixed… you'll be perfect.”

You could see the corners of his mouth upturn into a look of amusement.

“You should see yourself.”

Your body stiffened, but all you could do was whimper. The words felt like a cold knife to the stomach — and you knew he knew that. Knew that that moment was you at your must vulnerable, the peak of awareness of your own helplessness, the moment you felt the most degraded, and yet, it still wasn't enough.

He leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, so close you could feel the warmth as he spoke, never ceasing to move all the while.

“Whimpering and drooling like that,” he murmured. “You're trembling… and that expression on your face is so adorable. Like you can't even think straight.” He leaned back up, enough to look you in the eye — now welling with tears.

And again, he only smiled.

“How precious.”

His hands ran down your body, grabbed at your hips, and began to pull you, jerking your body back and forth to meet his own movements.

It was too much. Even with the knot of emotion in your stomach, you felt a hot, tingling pressure build in your body. Your legs quivered, the wanton little sounds from your throat higher and higher.

You didn't want that. It was the final part of this ritual that so demeaned you, one more confirmation of his control of you. You pressed your hands into the mat, trying to push yourself back — but it was only met with a harsh pull, forcing your body back until you practically slammed against his hips.

“Don't fight.”

It was the last thing you heard. You threw your head back as the sensation became overwhelming, back arching and eyes rolling back as the feeling reached a peak. You could only faintly register the high-pitched sound that sounded as if it couldn't be you, a voice you didn't recognize.

And then it began to ebb away. A hazy stupor filled the void as the pleasure dissipated, a feeling of exhaustion. Your weight went limp.

You made a soft sound as he grasped your jaw again, turning your head just enough to place another kiss to your lips.

“There you go. Look at you now… all that stress and in you, totally gone. You can see it in your eyes, even.”

He paused before adding,

“Well, gone for now. I'll have to start monitoring for it more closely.”

You shuddered at the sensation as he slid out of you, fluid spilling out onto the sheets.

You felt him reach behind you, untying your wrists — you brought your arms to the front of your body, but the forearms only laid useless, having fallen asleep from your weight.

He came to rest beside you, upper body slightly propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, looking down at you with adoration and endearment.

And you were so, so weak. So much weaker than you wished you were, body, mind and spirit alike. So weak that, in the rush of emotions that followed, you found yourself slowly crawling forward, burying your face against his chest with a pathetic little noise.

“Poor thing. Maybe that was a bit too much for you…”

His arm reached behind your back and pulled you close, and the comfort you felt seemed to melt your mind into nothingness.

“You should rest for a while,” he continued, “then we'll get you cleaned off. We have a few hours before you'll need to be ready.”

After a moment to process the words, you tilted your head up with the softest of inquisitive noises. The cold, creeping dread began to spread through your stomach once more.

He seemed to realize, then, that you didn’t understand.

“Ah, right, you wouldn't have known.” He reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on, brushing his fingers over your scalp. “While you were gone, I sent someone to arrange a house visit with a psychiatrist… a private one that works for families such as ours.”

His words certainly didn’t help soothe your nerves. Your mouth felt dry. Your voice came out weak, hesitant, part of you not wanting to ask, lest you learn an unpleasant answer.

“…Why?”

He tilted his head in just the slightest, loose strands of hair shifting and waving with the motion. “Well, keeping your needs in check does help with your condition, but I’ve realized it would do you good to have a secondary means to treat your hysteric tendencies as well.”

“My…” You swallowed. “My what?” The words slowly pieced together in your mind, hitting you with a sense of dread and confusion. You squirmed backwards, shifting just a bit away from him. “There's… nothing wrong with me…”

“Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong, that’s…” He spoke in a reassuring sort of tone, as if to comfort you. “…A harsh choice of phrasing. You just need some help, is all.” After a moment of pause, he added, “don't worry, it's perfectly normal that you aren't self-aware of it. That's usually how these illnesses work.”

His arm reached out further, pulling you back towards him, pressing your bodies together before he continued.

“He’s just required to see you in-person for a little while before giving you anything. Regulations and all. We’re just going to get you something to make you a little more… docile.”

His arm wrapped around your body, and he pulled his head back just a bit to look you in the eye, smiling with endearment.

“Ah, I can tell by your face that you’re nervous. Don’t worry, I'll be there throughout the whole thing… I'll answer any questions, you just sit there quietly, alright?” He pulled you a bit closer, planting an affectionate, short kiss to the top of your head. “I know that sort of thing is a lot on your nerves.”

If your trembling could be felt, he didn’t say anything about it, only carrying on with his gently-spoken words.

“We won’t have to worry about you having these… irrational escapades anymore. And you’ll be so much happier, too.”

You felt his hand on your back, firmly in place — you were pressed so close together that there was no need to pull you any closer, but perhaps he wanted to be sure you couldn’t pull away.

“So… rest for now, alright?”

Mind and heart alike racing, in your stupor, you let the pause linger for too long. The hand on your back began to close in on itself, fingernails brushing against your skin just enough to send the faintest of pains up your spine.

You had no strength left in you to give anything other than the correct answer.

“Okay...”

He only gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and began to stroke your back up and down, a pattern that should have been comforting and soothing, yet was anything but. Exhaustion wore on your body, but even as you forced yourself to close your eyes, true rest was nowhere to be found.

#awful men portraying themselves as selfless/benevolent >>>>>#genshin smut #.ay

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months ago

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Was I an ahole for warning mutual's friend about his past? 🫶

I had a mutual in a big fandom circa 2017-2018. She was kinda sweet but shy, sometimes really bitter at people so I didn't get too close but we chatted often. Now my fandom had a big incest/ pedo shipping problems and she was one of the few people on my tl who were loudly opposed to it. I don't think she sent hatemails but she ranted in tags or her own posts often. Saying this because we had a few older fandom friends who were much more vocal and she followed their words like gospel. So the conclusion was like a betrayal.

Some years later I felt her slowly ghosting me before she finally left fandom and deleted her account. Then she came back after a few months in a new persona, totally new fandom, going by they/them, no attachment to their previous fandoms, like a new person. I don't know if they meant to hide their past or not. They contacted me and we became moots again.

Then after maybe a year I noticed that we were no longer mutual, we sort of ghosted each other as our interests diverged more so no big deal.

About 4 years since then I found myself getting into the thing they were last into. I accidentally stumbled upon their popular posts and decided to reconnect. They were going by he/him now so he was very nice and welcoming. He told me to chat with him and ask anything I needed to know, recced good blogs etc. We chatted frequently as it seemed like he was a completely different person, no longer shy or bitter, very openly into shipping and smut, happily engaging with dead dove content in the new fandom. This one also has canon incest, so I asked how he coped, he said he lost his mind in the old fandom he just filters the unwanted things out.

Now I don't know, how he changed that much or became friends with incest shippers, how he could be so casually okay with this when he was vocal about supporting survivors before. Then I saw him reblog posts shitting on sex repulsed people and some about BPD too. It wasn't hard to figure out why he changed so drastically.

I got really angry that day and accidentally sent a message to one of his "proship" mutuals how he really used to be. That guy saw my message, then blocked me, then my moot also blocked me without a word. I have regrets but I don't know what to do. Am I wrong for wanting him to not be friends with incest shippers? I miss him and I don't think he shipped them but he still joked about shipping them and being annoying. The last fandom harassed me a lot over not liking brother brother incest so I only have bad feelings. I don't think incrst shipping should be banned or anything extreme I just think they should have a separate platform so only they can see it.

#aita #am i the asshole #incest cw #ship discourse #misgendering cw

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byunpum · 2 years ago

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Hi hope you're doing well 💗

Can i ask a one-shot with a shy reader who doesn't really show affection to neteyam. BUT one day she wants to make the first move so she kiss him without any warning. AND neteyam go FERAL bc it turn him one (or he can just be a blushing mess ) it can be smut or just fluff if you are okay with it ofc :)

Pairing: Neteyam x human reader

Tags: crushes, Cute, baby boii neteyam.

Warning:the characters have 20's

Note: As you know my drafts had been deleted. For example this one was going to be much longer. But still, I did what I could remembering what I had already written. I still hope you like it a lot. I didn't want to make this smut, because the next post …. get ready!!! buajajaja

AVATAR MASTERLIST

Neteyam's method of showing affection was hugs, touching and caressing. While on your part it was to turn red as a tomato every time neteyam came closer than a foot away. You had the biggest crush that could exist in all of pandora. And that's saying a lot. Loak was always making fun of your sketchbook that was full of sketches of neteyam, no matter what he was doing. You would sit far away and draw him. But you didn't get too close to him and you didn't talk to him much. While loak, kiri were very close to you, you kept your distance from neteyam. You thought that if you got too close, you would ruin everything.

On the other hand, neteyam thought you hated him. Yes… you hated him with all your soul and he knew it. Every time he tried to reach out to give you a hug. You would open your eyes wide and pull away. Or when they were playing with each other. It was truth or dare… and he chose dare. Spider dared him to give you a kiss. Neteyam got close to your face, he was excited… he saw your face turn red and you pushed him away. Getting up from your place and running out to your room. Everyone was silent, looking at each other. Neteyam was heartbroken, the boy was in love with you and you hated him.

But what bothered him the most was your closeness with loak. Why loak? i mean…the boy was not a good match for you. And yet you were more affectionate with him, it wasn't like you were on top of him all day. But if you let loak put his arm on your shoulder, or let him play with your hair a little bit. Or sit next to you. It was killing him, because he wanted to have that contact with you.

Neteyam had taken the day off, and decided to go to the small station that the humans had set up on one of the islets of the Metkayina clan, after the battles. Norm and several scientists were welcomed to the islands to help. And you were part of that group. "Hey…nete" greets norm as he sees the boy enter. "Hi norm…how are you?" neteyam greets politely. As he tried to look for you somewhere in the small lab. "Are you looking for Y/N?" says norm, teasing the boy a little. Neteyam laughs nervously. At that very moment you emerge from one of the storage rooms. You shift your gaze past neteyam.

"Y/n…h-hello!!!" says neteyam excitedly following a few steps behind you. His tail wagged back and forth, until you felt him tap you on the arm. "I'm so sorry" neteyam moved away a little bit. "Don't worry nete" you looked up to look at neteyam, you saw how excited he was. Maybe he was happy about something else. Norm walked over to you. "Y/N honey…please I need you to help me get some samples. I need you to bring me some leaves of this plant" Norm showed you a picture. "This plant grows in the forested area of this island" you take the tablet to look further into what you were going to look for. "Why doesn't Neteyam come with you?" says Norm, looking at Neteyam to give him a wink. Neteyam laughs a little but shifts his gaze so you don't spot them.

"Ahhh I don't know if…maybe" you say as you muddle over your words. "It's no problem…I'm free" neteyam almost screams with excitement. Once again his tail taps you on the arm, you nudge it a little. "Ready…well go then, I need them before nightfall" says norm, refocusing on his work. "Let's go neteyam" you say, taking the sample tube and handing it to neteyam to put in her waist bag. You stand a little quietly as you watch neteyam's hands slide down to his waist. He looks up to see how you are looking at him. "All good" the boy teases. "Yeah yeah come on" you push him a little. You could push him all day, if this was going to be the only form of contact with you, He was going to let you manhandle him all you want.

They walked a bit through the wooded area, you were in the front and neteyam was in the back enjoying the view. "hey why aren't you wearing the outfit I gave you?" asks neteyam following in your footsteps. "I've kept it…I haven't had a chance to wear it" you say. You hear neteyam chuckle a little, but you decide to ignore him. Sometime later you see the plant near a small waterfall, you walk over and sit down on one of the rocks. Neteyam sits down next to you, pulling out the sample tube. " wow…this plant is beautiful" you say, as you pluck several leaf samples.

"You say you can't use my gift…but look" neteyam touches the bracelet on your arm. "loak gave this to you last week and you are wearing it" spits neteyam waiting for you to react. " nete… this is a accessory, you gave me a complete navi outfit" you say trying to take the sample tube from his hands. Neteyam moves his hands away. "So? I made it myself for you…but it's okay. Everything I do sucks for you," Neteyam says. You remain silent, he just said that you think he disgusts you. "What the hell are you saying?" you say. Neteyam relaxes a little, you can see how frustrated he was.

"Why are you avoiding me…why don't you want me to be by your side? Even now…" neteyam takes the tube and then you watch as he takes your hand and places the object there in the palm of your hand. You didn't want to say anything, you didn't dare. You didn't have the courage to tell him that the only reason you didn't approach him was because you were a nervous wreck around him. You quickly took the samples, and started on your way to the lab. On the way back to the station, neither of you dared to speak. You arrived at the lab, entered and noticed how it was empty.

"He asks me for these samples and then disappears" you complain, as you place the tube of samples on norm's desk. You turn to see neteyam, he was sitting on a improvised couch that norm had created for the size of the avatars. "Neteyam… you don't disgust me" you say, causing the boy to look up. "Really?" the boy scoffs a little. You walk over to neteyam and sit down next to him. "Didn't you like my gift?" asks Neteyam. The boy looks at you, see how you avoid looking at him. "You see…you don't even want to look at me and " you get up from the couch, getting on your knees so you can reach neteyam's face in your hands. You pull him close and kiss him. Neteyam's eyes open wide. You pull away and sit quietly beside him.

Neteyam felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. His cheeks grew warm, as he broke out in a cold sweat. You had kissed him." I have a notebook dedicated only to you… and I don't come close because I don't know how to act around you" you say shyly. Before you begin to speak, you feel neteyam's lips collide with yours again. But this time you let your emotions fly and do what they have to do.

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parfaitblogs · 6 months ago

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scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending. word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember.

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met.

But no, that was just Spencer.

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it.

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'.

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it.

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists.

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments.

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs.

"What's wrong?"

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong?

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling.

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard.

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart.

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake.

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago.

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie.

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?"

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body.

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that.

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing.

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence.

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it.

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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angstywaifu · 2 months ago

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Black Dahlia - 17. Jealousy

Summary: Xaden and Garrick get their squads together to train, leading to some jealousy with someone unexpected.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the long delay on Dahlia. Kinktober took priority, but we are back in full force. I wrote so many parts in the last 24 hours for this, and I can't wait for you guys to see what I'm building up to in a few parts! Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

“I don’t know why you won’t give him a chance.” Liz says in an airy tone.

I turn to see her staring at Garrick and Xaden who have gone shirtless for their sparring warm up. And she wasn’t the only one. There were more cadets here than normal for our night training session. Since bonding dragons it seemed a lot of the first years were wanting to make sure they kept their seat. And every single girl in the room was starting at them.

I can’t help but let my eyes wander as I look over at them. Garrick was by far the most muscular guy in the quadrant. As if every muscle had been carved from stone. I shake my head in attempt to get those thoughts out of my head before turning back to watch Imogen spar with another first year.

“I won’t give him a chance, because he won’t give me a chance.” I reply bitterly.

“I mean, can you blame the guy? You’ve seen how your brother and father treat the other marked ones.” Liz murmurs, still lost in a trance as she watches them spar.

“I am not my brother and my father.” I nearly snap at her, my typical anger rising to the surface at being compared to them.

“Trust me, we know. Even if you were an angsty bitch when we first met you.” Austin teases from my other side, dodging my attempt to shove her away.

“Thanks? Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.” I say as I narrow my eyes at her slightly.

”Let’s go with both.” Bodhi says as he walks over and joins us, Garrick and Xaden close behind him.

I keep my eyes focused on Bodhi as I jokingly glare at him, but out of the corner of my eye I feel Garrick staring at me. Ever since our interaction in the hallway I’d felt his eyes on me more. Almost as if challenging me to take the bait he’d laid out the other day. Which I was not. Yes I could admit he was attractive, especially while he stood there shirtless with his freaking muscles on full display as they glisten with a slight sheen of sweat. But even if I did get along with him, I was not becoming another notch in his bed post.

”Alright everyone, pair up with someone and start going through some weapon practice.” Xaden advises as he looks over us.

Tonight both his and Garrick’s squads were training together. Apparently a good way to broaden our training by going up against people we didn’t really know. Naturally Imogen tagged along even though she wasn’t in either squad. She made a habit of turning up whenever we were here. She kept saying it was coincidence, but I was starting to think it really wasn’t. Our squads start pairing off, Liz and Austin pairing up as if on auto pilot. They worked well together as they were a similar skill level, often complaining Bodhi and I were too difficult to go up against.

I go to follow Bodhi, but a large figure steps into my path and I’m forced to look up at Garrick. ”How about you and I pair up little Aetos?” His voice laced with a mocking tone as he looks down at me.

I roll my eyes and scoff at him. “No thanks, wouldn’t want to catch something from being too close to you.” I snap back, causing Bodhi and Imogen to snicker at my comment, Xaden’s eyes going wide as he looks between us.

”You’re just scared I’ll finally show you up.” He mocks, arms crossing over his chest as he cocks his head to the side.

An idea forms in my head. A stupid idea. And I silently hope he doesn’t follow through with it as the words leave my mouth. “If you’re so confident about that maybe you should challenge me once challenges start back up. Unless you’re scared I’ll prove you wrong again?”

Another round of snickers pick up around us, Garrick’s brow furrowing as he glares down at me. Clearly me proving him wrong all those weeks ago was still a sore spot for him, and I couldn’t help but smirk at him before pushing past him and dragging Bodhi with me.

”You know he’s going to end up doing that and he’s going to kick your ass in front of everyone?” Bodhi whispers as I lead us over to a spot on the far side of the room.

”He’s not going to kick my ass in front of everyone.” I throw back at him as I grab a sword from the weapons rack.

I turn around to see Bodhi looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Clearly you don’t know him very well, or you’re delusional on the size difference between you two.”

”And he also doesn’t know me very well.” I point out, Bodhi eyeing the sword I’m waving around cautiously as if worried I’m going to hurt him or myself with it.

”Maybe if you-”

”Nope, not happening.” I say before settling into a fighting stance.

Bodhi clearly takes it as a sign this conversation wasn’t going any further, his shoulders sagging in defeat before walking over to grab his own sword. As soon as he settles into a fighting stance I launch myself at him, Bodhi flailing to keep up with me. Each of my strikes fuelled with the hint of anger that had risen to the surface from my interaction with Garrick and words with Bodhi.

Bodhi didn’t deserve how hard I was going at him, but I needed to let out my frustrations somehow. Everyone was so adamant I give the lumbering oaf a chance. But why should I when he wouldn’t give me one? Since the day I’d walked across the parapet, he’d made up his mind about me. Had lumped me in with my brother and father without even a second thought.

Poor Bodhi is quick to succumb to my attacks, my leg kicking his out from beneath him as he falls to the floor with a loud thud as his sword clangs loudly on the ground as I point the tip of mine at his neck.

Bodhi just shakes his head and laughs. “Remind me to never piss you off again.”

”You’ll be fine.” I tease as I move my sword from his neck as I hold out my free hand to him.

He grasps his around mine before pushing off the ground to help me pull him up. Clearly still wobbly from his fall he stumbles into me as he rights himself, causing him and I to laugh at his clumsiness.

“You sure? I nearly just made a fool of myself by nearly sending us plummeting to the floor.”

”Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made a fool of yourself.”

Bodhi laughs as he playfully shoves me away before releasing my hand and heading over to get a drink of water from his pack. As he moves my eyes fall on Garrick who hasn’t moved an inch, except to turn and look over at us. But for once his glare and eyes aren’t trained on me. They’re focused on Bodhi. And it almost looks like he wants to murder him.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis #the fourth wing #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #fourth wing x reader #garrick tavis x oc #fourth wing imagine #the empyrean #xaden riorson #bodhi durran #imogen cardulo #dain aetos

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scoonsalicious · 8 months ago

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Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate.

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans.

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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steddieunderdogfics · 1 month ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @cuips-not-cute! cuips_not_cute has six fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @cuips-not-cute:

he could be brave

blood is an aphrodisiac

honeyed affection

blinking red light

cyclical

"cuips is a master of taking the reader on an emotional roller coaster ride. The amount of times I've laughed and cried at the same time reading his fics have been too numerous to count. Especially the depth of the sex scenes and the character beats and growth they portray are gorgeous to read - and also very titillating. I love Steve and Eddie in every one of cuips stories, adore the little mannerisms they are given and the way they interact with each other and other characters. Besides the inspiring prose cuips can pull off a plot like few other people I've found so far - since blinking red light is still ongoing, I'll just point to cyclical for that. I'm very thankful to cuips for writing and posting these stories and for being a very active part of this lovely fandom." -- anonymous

Below the cut, @cuips-not-cute answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

i don’t even know. i was happily in the ofmd fandom when i watched season 4 almost three years ago now (oh god) and then the characters… they got me. i fear they’ll never leave.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

god, so many. they’re all kinda the same flavor though so i’ll list out what i’m always filtering for to find a new fic: bottom/sub eddie, creature/monster eddie, post s4, canon compliant, soft dom steve, sex pollen, spit kink, rimming (perhaps my FAVORITE ever thing to read), switch eddie/switch steve… the list goes on.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

probably also rimming. there’s just something so romantic about eating ass. and i really love to stick with post s4 canon compliant aus, too, i don’t think i’ve written an actual for real au yet, though i do have an idea for one after brl.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

i don’t know if i can pick!! my ao3 bookmarks host my many all-time faves, but if you wanna go by the fic i’ve reread the most it’s probably the affliction of the feeling. it’s so fucking good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

YES!!! i have never written omegaverse!!! which is crazy, ‘cause i like it a LOT. i have a post-s4 omegaverse au kicking around in my head currently, and i cannot wait to sink my teeth into all the messy biology and politics that come with the omegaverse.

What is your writing process like?

chaotic, in a word. usually, i’ll get a fic idea while i’m balls-deep in writing another fic so i’ll shove it to the side and let it simmer while i finish that first one, then i’ll spend a good long while planning it out in ridiculous detail, and THEN i’ll start actually drafting. i like to have a fully fleshed out outline and a couple chapters written and edited before i start posting, and once posting begins i tend to deviate quite a bit from my outline but it’s all good fun.

Do you have any writing quirks?

definitely. i don’t like pointing them out for fear of other folks seeing them in everything i do, but they’re there. one that i don’t mind so much is my absolute abuse of the word “little.” everything is “a little” of this, “a little” of that, but i try to cut my usage down significantly while i’m editing.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

i always TRY to keep a schedule but… yeah. it never works. i’m far too busy for one, but attempts are made. i’d like to one day write a fic in full before posting it, because i think it’d be a whole lot better if i let it sit for that long but lord, i sure do like getting ao3 comments on every chapter. they make the writing motivation go WAY up.

Which fic are you most proud of?

brl, definitely. that fucker is LONG and i’m barely halfway through it. i think i’ve done a lot of cool things with it and i’m going to do some more cool things and i’ve made a lot of really awesome friends in the process of writing it so it’s got some pretty insane sentimental value to me. it’s definitely going to be a fic i’ll miss writing once i finish it, but that’s what the epilogue series is for!!!

How did you get the idea for blinking red light?

from another fic!!! @racketghost is the author of one of my favorite things i’ve ever read, which is the good omens zach and miri au, closed set (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960/chapters/55862155 <- hyperlinked), wherein crowley has been lying about the existence of some angelic sex tapes to all of hell, and then he and aziraphale have to actually make the tapes. it’s awesome. it’s gorgeous. brl is one big giant love letter to this fic, because it means so fucking much to me and i think about it ALL the time.

When writing honeyed affection, what was something you didn’t expect?

hmm, i don’t know? ha is, i think, a pretty easygoing fic with lots and lots of porn stuffed inside it, and that was all i intended it to be so i cannot think of anything i was surprised by!!

What inspired blood is an aphrodisiac?

i just wanted to write vampire eddie. it was july ‘22, kas theories were everywhere, i had to try it. these days i think i would change a LOT about it because my ideas and hcs surrounding the characters have evolved significantly, but i’ll write vampire eddie again and “fix” everything i no longer like about biaa.

What was your favorite part to write from he could be brave?

…the fisting. i genuinely think some of my best writing is in that scene, and while i feel the same way about this fic as i do biaa, the fisting scene will always hold a special place in my heart. i’m very, very excited to write the fisting chapter in brl because of this scene. fisting rules.

How do/did you feel writing cyclical?

i wrote cyclical during a very weird few months of my life, so writing it was sort of my way of dealing with all the insane shit going on around me, and i think it shows. in a good way, though, because cyclical is a timeloop fic so it needed to be a little angsty and insane. i’m stupidly proud of that fic. @ryeallytired actually BOUND it into a PHYSICAL BOOK and SENT IT TO ME and when i tell you that is the singular most precious object i own, i mean it.

What was the most difficult part of writing blinking red light?

PLOTTING THAT BITCH. GOD. i’m so happy to be actually WRITING it now, the planning was genuinely so brutal. my issue was that i was sticking too close to the plot of closed set (<3) which just… did not work for steddie. closed set’s premise centers around crowley lying about making sex tapes, yes, but he lied about them to PROTECT aziraphale, which is the messiest, kindest, riskiest fucking thing ever. and it’s awesome. in the early planning stages of brl, i was trying to put eddie in the crowley role of lying about having made sex tapes with steve, but it reallyyy didn’t work. there was an oc and i absolutely hated him, plus i didn’t like what that premise was doing to eddie’s character… ugh. it was a MESS. it took several rubber duck-ing conversations with my brilliant friend @lollaika and a rewatch of zach and miri to finally realize that it had to be STEVE who brings up the idea of sex tapes so that he could protect eddie, rather than eddie bringing it up to save his own hide (yikes).

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

oooh, lots. reallyyyy loved chapter 8 of cyclical with all of the pov shifts, that was super fun to write. i also really enjoyed writing the dry humping/sex tape convo in the first chapter of brl, and i’m stupidly excited to write chapters 12, 13, 15, and 17, because of specific scenes that will happen in each.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

i do!! after brl is completed i’ll have to choose from two story ideas (because i cannot have two wips at once or i’ll get SO stressed), one being a semi-realistic steddie cowboy au based off my own experiences with growing up on a farm and featuring messy, earnest cowboys and not-fully-human eddie, and the other being the omegaverse au i want to write, which will have a very fun mix of vampire eddie, dubcon bitching, and accidental mating bites!!!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

i cannot think of anything!! this was super fun :D

Thank you to our author, @cuips-not-cute, and our anonymous nominator! See more of cuips_not_cute's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

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Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square.

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods.

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment.

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough.

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things.

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions.

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid.

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder.

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience.

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?”

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.”

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?”

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.”

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.”

“Sure, I could do that.”

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside.

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead.

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire.

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers.

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you.

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things.

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright.

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch.

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small.

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there.

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet...

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order.

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home.

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush.

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired.

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset.

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her.

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard.

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities.

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam.

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before?

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles.

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again.

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford.

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry.

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home.

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause.

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving.

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air.

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another.

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu.

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep.

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?”

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?”

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose.

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?”

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back.

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row.

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together.

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb.

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says.

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.”

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?”

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.”

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow.

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.”

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate.

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #au #marvel #avengers #mcu #hidden treasure

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callsign-jinx · 10 days ago

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A Rebel in my Soul [2023 ver.] | Ch.4: Time to target: three minutes

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!pilot!reader (Call sign: Rebel)

Word count: 5k

Warnings: swearing, flying exercise, worried Jake (that deserves a warning), and also Idiot Jake, mutual pining (even tho nobody seems to notice duh), and maybe i'm forgetting something.

A/N: it's been a whole minute since I posted this, but i still want to rewrite it and get rid of the of version, because it was my first series and has a lot of mistakes, There are a few changes in this version, and a lot more descriptions. Won't be tagging anyone for this but if someone wants to be, let me know on the comments or send an ask!

An hour after Hangman walks out, fed up with watching Rooster flirt with every person who enters the bar, you start to gather your things. Part of you wishes Hangman had stuck around a little longer; it was nice talking to him, almost like discovering a different side of him. That is, until he reverted back to his usual asshole self. As you're saying goodbye to the other aviators, your bike keys dangling from your finger, your phone beeps with a new message. The name on the screen brings a small smile to your face.

Iceman.

Iceman: Honey, you cannot mop the floor with your father’s ass on the first day. It’s not healthy for the family relationships.

Reb: I was just doing my job, Uncle Ice.

Iceman: Breaking the hard deck?

Reb: You know too much to be on a medical leave, don’t you?

Iceman: I brought you two here; of course I know what you’re up to.

A smile tugs at your lips. Iceman had recommended both of you to Cyclone when the mission came up, knowing that if anyone could handle it, it would be his nephews. He always called you that. You remember summers spent at Iceman’s house, watching in awe as your father and he bickered over old mission memories, each convinced they were right. He was always the cool uncle. Pun intended.

He was also the one who told you, despite your father’s objections, that you were meant to be a pilot. It was in your blood. And God knows, the world could always use more incredible pilots like Maverick.

Reb: He tried to fix years of resentment in a dogfight, Ice. Can you believe it?

Iceman: Actually, I can. That’s your father’s style.

Reb: He almost got us killed.

Iceman: And yet I heard that he was the one to pull up first.

Reb: You really know too much.

Iceman: You need to forgive your father, y/n.

Only a handful of people called you by your real name instead of your call sign, and Iceman was one of them. It sometimes made you feel like a child again, like he was scolding you for running around the house the way you used to. But for Iceman, calling you by your name was his way of reminding you that you, Y/n Mitchell, would always be his little girl.

Reb: If he wants me to forgive him, he needs to explain why he did what he did.

Iceman: He won’t tell you.

Reb: Do you know why?

Iceman: Yes, honey. I know why he did it.

Reb: Could you tell me?

Iceman: I wish I could... but it has to be him.

Reb: Yeah... you’re right. How you holding up?

Iceman: I’m better. I can even talk a little.

Reb: That’s amazing, Uncle Ice! I’m so so happy for you.

Iceman: How’s Rooster? Is he doing okay?

Reb: He’s still too cautious for his own good. He’s having problems following the rest.

Iceman: He needs to be faster...

Reb: Yeah...

Iceman: Be careful out there, okay? And don’t be mean to the other kids.

Reb: I’m not the mean one?

Iceman: Do I have to remind you that time you threw Rooster in my pool because he said that you were tiny?

Reb: He’s the giant.

Iceman: As I said, don’t be mean to the other kids.

Reb: Okay, Uncle Ice. See you soon. Love ya.

Iceman: Love you too, kiddo.

If only you had the time to visit him. But between the nonstop work and exhaustion, there’s barely enough time to catch your breath. You make a mental note to try and see him next week, before the mission.

As if the day hadn’t already been stressful enough, your bike refuses to start when you sit on it, ready to leave. Not again. It might be old, but it’s your first bike, and it’s special to you. Lately, though, it’s been more trouble than it’s worth.

After several more attempts, the engine finally roars to life. You pull away from the bar quickly, a million thoughts swirling in your mind. Rooster, Maverick, Hangman, and Iceman fill most of them. It never crossed your mind that Iceman might know the reason behind Maverick’s actions. But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. After Goose’s death, Iceman was the closest thing Maverick had to a best friend. If anyone knew, it would be Admiral Kazansky.

Hours later, after a sleepless night and way too much coffee, you find yourself in the briefing room, ready to finally learn what this mission is really about. The room is empty, just you for now. You take a seat, close your eyes for a few seconds, and silently pray to whatever is listening—that this mission won’t be as suicidal as the rumors suggest. There’s still so much you want to do, so many places you want to go. You’re not ready to give it all up just yet.

All over the base, it feels like everyone knows something you don’t. When you or the other aviators walk into a room, people glance at you with admiration—and sometimes, with a hint of sympathy. They all share some unspoken knowledge, and it’s unsettling.

"Morning, Rebel," you hear Hangman’s voice break the silence.

"Morning."

You keep your eyes closed, focusing on the sound of his footsteps as he approaches. A small part of you wonders which version of Hangman you’ll get today—the usual asshole, or the surprisingly nice guy you met last night at the bar? It’s a little intriguing. He stops beside you, the leather of the seat creaking as he leans over it.

"Are you okay?"

Seems like you're getting nice Hangman for two days in a row.

"Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just a little tense." You open your eyes and find him looking at you with a soft expression, his eyes filled with something almost tender. A reassuring smile crosses his face as his hand moves from the seat, gently patting your shoulder.

"It’ll be okay."

For some reason, his words settle you a little. You nod and smile softly, feeling the tension ease, even if just slightly. You’re about to thank him when Rooster’s voice cuts through the air, making Hangman step back. He takes a seat at the farthest row of chairs, away from you.

Bradley nudges you with his elbow as he sits next to you. "Chin up, Reb."

For a moment, you don’t even care about the mission anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true, but right now, you can’t stop thinking about Hangman. He’s been surprisingly nice to you for the past 24 hours. Can someone really change that quickly? And why, of all people, has he chosen to show you this side?

You glance at him. He’s chatting with Coyote, who had walked in just after Rooster. Hangman’s signature cocky smile is back, probably followed by a few arrogant comments about his skills.

Your thoughts drift back to yesterday. His sweet, almost irresistible smile. The warmth in his laugh, the way his voice lacked its usual narcissistic edge. The feeling of his skin brushing against yours. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about it all night.

He walked into the room and checked on you, as if it weren’t the most unusual thing for Jake Seresin to do.

There’s a rumor that someone once had a crush on Jake when she first saw him back in the Top Gun days. He was young, handsome, and definitely a bit of a ladies' man. But your foolish, young heart didn’t care about any of that. For better or worse, nothing ever came of it, and Hangman quickly proved himself to be nothing more than a charming idiot.

Now, when you look at him, you can't help but wonder—can people actually change?

“Time is your greatest enemy,” Maverick begins, finally outlining the objective of the mission. “Phase one of the mission will be a low-level ingress attacking in two-plane teams. You’ll fly along this narrow canyon to your target. Radar-guided surface-to-air missiles defend the area. These SAMs, they’re lethal. But they were designed to protect the skies above, not the canyon below.”

Every aviator in the room exchanges uneasy glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You glance at Rooster, his focus locked on the screen.

“That’s because the enemy knows no one is insane enough to try and fly below them.” Rooster mutters, voicing the unspoken thought that’s on everyone’s mind.

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna train you to do.” Maverick replies, his voice unwavering.

Rooster glances at you, eyebrow raised. Yeah, this is classic Maverick bullshit.

“Great, another suicide mission,” you mutter under your breath.

“On the day of the mission, your altitude will be 100 feet, maximum,” Maverick continues, unfazed. “If you exceed this altitude, radar will spot you, and you’re dead.”

“100 feet?” your friend whispers, disbelief in his voice.

“Roos, this is impossible.”

“Your airspeed will be 660 knots minimum. Time to target: two and a half minutes. That’s because fifth-generation fighters are waiting at a nearby airbase. If you try to engage them head-to-head in your F-18s, you’re dead. That’s why you need to get in, hit the target, and be gone before those planes even have a chance to catch you. Time is your greatest adversary."

You glance at Hangman. He’s smirking, clearly relishing the challenge. He’s probably already planning to be the first one to nail it.

You almost laugh when Maverick says, "Today, we'll be easy."

Max ceiling: 300 feet. Time to target: three minutes.

And that’s supposed to be easy?

Gradually, all members of the team get a chance to try to make it on time, following the parameters and course that are marked on the screen. To call this mission "almost impossible" would be an understatement. None of your teammates make it to the target on time—some surpass the 300-foot ceiling, others hit an invisible rock wall. You manage to hit the target with only a second to spare, but you know that’s not good enough. If you want to survive on the day, you’ll need to be at least 30 seconds faster. Rooster makes it to the target, but he’s a full minute late. You can already feel Maverick’s gaze on him, knowing exactly what’s coming.

When you all file back into the briefing room after the exercise, you brace yourself for the worst.

Maverick projects a simulation of Coyote, Phoenix, and Bob’s run on the screen. You watch as miscommunication between the team leads them to failure—each mistake compounding the next. Their timing is off, their formation is sloppy, and every second counts. The message is clear. This mission isn’t just about speed; it’s about precision, coordination, and being perfect under pressure.

“Why are they dead?” Maverick asks, his tone cold and cutting once the simulation ends.

“We broke the 300-foot ceiling, and a SAM took us out,” Phoenix explains, her voice tight with the sting of failure.

“No. Why are they dead?” Maverick’s gaze shifts to Coyote, who’s clearly the one who needs to answer.

Coyote exhales, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his mistake. “I slowed down and didn’t give her a warning. It was my fault.”

“Was there a reason you didn’t communicate with your team?” Maverick’s words are sharp, pointed. You can’t help but agree—the exercise would’ve been a success if they had communicated better.

“I was focusing on...” Coyote starts, but Maverick cuts him off, his voice biting.

“One that their family will accept at their funeral.”

Ouch. That one lands hard. Even you wince at the weight of the words.

“None, sir,” Coyote responds, voice barely above a whisper.

Maverick doesn’t pause. He moves to Phoenix, his gaze steely. “Why didn’t you anticipate the turn? You were briefed on the terrain.”

Phoenix opens her mouth to respond, but Maverick doesn’t give her a chance. “Don’t tell me. Tell it to his family.” The room goes dead silent. The tension is palpable as Maverick turns, his eyes scanning the group for the lesson that should’ve been learned by now: this is real.

Maverick shifts to the next simulation: Hangman, Payback, and Fanboy. You’re not even surprised when Hangman goes full throttle, leaving the other two behind. He’s living up to his name, no question about it.

“What happened?” Maverick asks, his eyes narrowing at Hangman.

“Well, I flew as fast as I could. Kinda like my ass depended on it,” Hangman replies, that trademark smug grin plastered on his face. You’re starting to wonder if he has two different personalities—one where he's cocky and reckless, and another where he genuinely thinks he can be a different person.

“And you put your team in danger, and your wingman’s dead,” Rooster jumps in, cutting Hangman off before Maverick can lay into him. His voice is firm, not letting Hangman wiggle out of it.

“They couldn’t keep up,” Hangman shoots back, as if it’s that simple. You roll your eyes. Seriously, two personalities.

“Are you serious?” you mutter, not holding back. Hangman turns to look at you, his smirk widening, but then his gaze shifts back to the screen where Maverick is already prepping your simulation. You focus, mentally preparing yourself. You watch the simulation play out, noting the areas where you need to be more careful and the places where you could push yourself to be faster.

“This is a great example of how it’s done. We just need to be faster here. Good job, Rebel,” Maverick praises you, and you nod awkwardly. The words hit you harder than you expected—good job. You haven’t heard praise like that from your father in years, and it feels… strange. Almost foreign.

The last simulation starts, showing Rooster, Yale, and Harvard making their way through the course. They’re moving slower than required, and even though they hit the target, it’s clear they’ll have to dogfight their way out. The stakes are high.

“Why are you dead?” Maverick asks, his tone sharp. “You’re team leader up there. Why are you, why is your team dead?” The disappointment in his voice is almost tangible. You can feel the weight of his expectations. Maverick, after all, had to be expecting more from Goose’s son.

“Sir, he’s the only one besides Rebel who made it to the target,” Phoenix speaks up, cutting through the tension, trying to give Rooster some credit.

Maverick doesn’t respond right away, but the way his jaw tightens tells you all you need to know. The lesson here isn’t just about hitting the target—it’s about how you do it and when. It’s about leading your team, not just yourself. And coming back home in one piece.

“A minute late. He gave enemy aircraft time to shoot him down,” Maverick states bluntly.

“You don’t know that,” Rooster affirms, defensive. His voice is tight, but there's a certain stubbornness in it—like he's trying to hold onto something.

Well, if the situation were different, and there were actual enemy aircraft on that course, Maverick’s right. A minute is more than enough time for them to close the gap and take you out. You hate to admit it, but Rooster's being reckless.

“You’re not flying fast enough. You don’t have a second to waste,” Hangman chimes in, his voice steady, almost like a mantra. You can almost picture him saying it to himself every morning as he stares into the mirror, trying to convince himself he’s the fastest.

“We made it to the target,” Rooster snaps, his tone dangerous now. He’s fuming, but the anger in his voice is clouding his judgment. His fists are clenched at his sides, and you can see how hard it is for him to swallow the criticism.

“And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out,” Maverick counters, trying to reason with him, trying to explain why the time delay cost them more than just a minute. It cost them survival.

Rooster doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can see the internal battle playing out in his eyes. He’s not just fighting the mission, he’s fighting the legacy of what happened to his father.

You hate to admit it, but Maverick’s right—Rooster needs to set aside his resentment and listen. The mission isn't about proving something to everyone else; it’s about surviving.

“Then it’s a dogfight,” Rooster shoots back, his jaw set.

“Against fifth-generation fighters,” Maverick responds, the weight of the situation clear in his voice.

“Yeah. We’d still have a chance.”

“In an F-18,” Maverick adds, almost as if he’s reminding Rooster of the very real limitations.

“It’s not the plane, sir, it’s the pilot,” Rooster retorts, not backing down.

“Exactly!” Maverick nods, a touch of admiration in his tone.

But then Rooster presses on, undeterred. “There’s more than one way to fly this mission.”

“Roos…” you try to intervene, your voice low but firm, sensing the conversation is escalating. Both of them are getting heated, and you know this is the last place for a confrontation like this. The team can’t afford it.

Rooster doesn't listen. “You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended.”

You glance at Hangman, who’s smirking again, that stupid look plastered across his face. You can tell he’s just itching for a fight. Something in him is shifting, like the real Hangman is back—reckless, arrogant, and determined to push every button he can find.

“Yet somehow, you always manage,” Bob mutters from the side, always quick to throw in a jab when Hangman’s involved.

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all,” Hangman says, his voice dripping with condescension. You know he really means every word. There’s no subtlety in his tone.

“Lieutenant,” Maverick tries again, his voice tight, trying to stop this before it goes any further. But Hangman doesn’t stop.

“We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him. There’s no time to be thinking about the past.” Hangman says it, looking straight at Rooster. The words hit hard, and in that moment, something clicks inside you. Hangman knows about Goose. How the hell did he find out? You don’t know, but it’s clear he’s using that information to twist the knife, to get under Rooster’s skin.

Rooster’s jaw tightens, his body rigid as he leans forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice is controlled, but the anger is simmering just beneath the surface. You can feel it, the way his fists clench at his sides. You know exactly where this is headed, and you’re ready to step in before it completely derails.

“You better stop talking, Hangman,” you warn, your voice low and steady. You’ve seen this play out too many times, and you know Hangman’s about to push all the wrong buttons.

“Rooster.” Maverick tries, his voice low and firm, trying to cut through the tension, but neither of them is backing down. The atmosphere is charged, like it’s moments from exploding.

“I can’t be the only one who knows Maverick flew with his old man,” Hangman continues, his smirk widening. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The room goes deathly quiet, and you can feel the weight of the words hanging in the air. He’s digging at something deep, something raw, and you know it’s hitting harder than anyone realizes.

“Lieutenant, that’s enough,” Maverick’s command is sharp, his voice laced with authority, but Hangman’s not done.

“Or that Maverick was flying when his old man…” Hangman trails off, letting the words hang there, teasing the tension to a breaking point. You can feel Rooster’s body vibrating with rage, and you know—this is it. The dam is about to break.

You brace yourself. It’s about to get ugly, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it now.

Rooster gets up of his chair and grabs Hangman by the collar, ready to punch him in the face. Luckily, the rest of the team reacts quickly enough to stop them. From the corner of your eye, you see Mickey leap over the chairs in front of him, moving fast to get to Hangman before the situation escalates further. You’ll definitely owe him a drink for that later. Maverick is already between them, his presence commanding as he tries to defuse the chaos. You grab Rooster by the arm, pulling him back, while the others step in, each of them doing their best to separate the two.

“That’s enough,” Maverick shouts.

“You’re a disgusting piece of shit.” You say getting closer to him, but Bob grabs you before you can do something crazy.

“You son of a bitch!” Rooster shouts. You’ve never seen him this angry.

“I’m cool. I'm cool. Hey, hey,” says Hangman, smiling. He’s a complete idiot.

“That’s enough.”

“He’s not cut out for this mission,” Hangman says, looking at Maverick with that insufferable, proud smile. “You know it. You know I’m right.”

Maverick’s gaze hardens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gives a sharp command, “You’re all dismissed.”

You leave the room faster than everyone else, your heart racing. You’re almost running now, not caring if anyone notices. You just need space, away from him, away from all that tension.

But then you see it—Hangman, strolling toward the locker room, that same arrogant swagger in his step. Your pulse quickens, and without thinking, you follow him. You don’t stop to second-guess yourself. You walk in right behind him, determined.

"Hangman!" Your voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding.

He turns, that ridiculous grin still plastered on his face. “Woah, Reb, what’s up?” he asks, acting like everything’s just fine. It’s a challenge. You can feel it in the way he looks at you. He’s not expecting what’s coming next. The slap on his face leaving him staring, eyes wide, with a look of complete confusion.

“If you just think about Rooster’s father ever again, I swear to God it will be ten times worse the next time.”

“What are you gonna do? Tell Daddy that some kid is being bad with your friend?” Hangman’s mocking tone hurts more than anything. You feel the disappointment in your heart, twisting it. Did you really think that someone like Hangman could change? How stupid.

“I told you, he might be my father, but he doesn’t want me to be here.” You say it again, like somehow repeating it will make it feel true, will make the ache in your chest go away.

Hangman smirks, not missing a beat. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have privileges, Little Mav. Everyone here’s noticed.”

His words twist in your stomach, heavy and cold. “They... know?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if hoping he’s wrong.

“Yes. Everyone knows. It’s not that hard to see. The attitude, the way he talks to you, how you do the exact same things. You’re just like your father.”

His words hit you like a slap. They don’t sting at first, but they settle into you, sharp and unforgiving. The room feels smaller, suffocating, and before you can stop it, your throat tightens. "I’m not like him," you say, your voice trembling, and the tears threaten to fall, burning your eyes.

You can’t be like him. You won’t be like him. It’s something you’ve fought against for years, something you’ve buried deep. Maybe you’re reckless, maybe you’ve got the same passion for flying, the same natural skill that comes with the Mitchell name, but you refuse to be anything like Pete Mitchell. You don’t pull rank, you don’t ignore the people who care about you for your own ego. You don’t dismiss someone’s dreams just because you think you know what’s best.

You are nothing like him.

“You sure? ‘Cause the way I see it, you’re just daddy’s little troublemaker.” Hangman’s words slice through the air, bitter and cruel.

You stand there for a moment, heart pounding, and try to hold onto some semblance of control. How did we get here? Yesterday, everything was different. Yesterday, there was laughter, lightheartedness... today, it feels like a punch to the gut.

“I thought you were different. I thought you were being nice to me because you wanted to be my friend,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, the hurt seeping through.

He looks at you, but not in the way you want him to. His gaze flicks all over your face, anywhere but into your eyes. His jaw tightens, his posture stiffens. He doesn’t want to let you see how much you’re affecting him. You almost wish he would look you in the eye, to show some kind of emotion. But instead, he just stands there, the distance between you growing with every passing second.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your friendship,” Hangman mutters, his words sharp, like they were meant to hurt.

It’s like a wall between you now. You can feel it—this sudden, impossible distance. You take a step closer, not even thinking about the consequences anymore. For a second, you’re both breathing the same air, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his skin. Your heart aches, but you don’t back down.

How did we end up like this? The question lingers in your mind, unanswered, because you know what’s happening. Yesterday was so different. So good. And now… now, everything feels like it's falling apart.

His eyes finally meet yours, but they’re empty, distant. His walls are up, and you're left with nothing but the echoes of what could have been.

“When you end up alone, and nobody gives a shit about you, you will regret every single decision you’ve ever made. Nobody will ever love you,” you snap, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. There’s a coldness in your chest now, something sharp, something that feels like it’s been building up for a while.

His response is quick, flat. “I don’t need love.”

You laugh bitterly, though it’s not a laugh at all. "Yeah... love is for the living people. And you're dead on the inside.” The words hang in the air between you, heavy and final, like the weight of everything you just realized.

Without another word, you turn and walk away. Each step feels like it takes you further from the person you thought he was, and further into something you can’t quite explain. The tears come suddenly, hot and unbidden, streaking down your face before you can stop them. They blur your vision, making everything around you seem fuzzy and distant, like you’re in a dream.

You don’t look back. You don’t need to. You already know that nothing will ever be the same again.

Jake watches as Y/n walks away, her shoulders trembling slightly, and he feels a knot tighten in his chest. She doesn't turn back. The sting of the words he said to her lingers in the air, and for a brief moment, he wishes he could take it all back. But the damage is done. And just like that, his heart sinks further.

He was so wrapped up in the tension with Rooster that he didn't consider how his words would affect her. Y/n and Bradshaw, they were always a package deal. They had been since they were kids, thick as thieves, tied together by something deeper than just friendship. If you hurt one of them, you hurt them both. And Jake just fucked that up in the worst possible way.

He knows he should’ve shut his mouth. He knows that much. But here he is, standing in the wreckage of his own making. He’s been trying to avoid facing the truth, trying to keep his distance, but the truth has a way of catching up with you—like a punch to the gut. His red cheek burns, not just from the slap he deserved, but from the weight of his own guilt.

Jake never meant to hurt her. That’s the kicker. He never meant to push her away or make her cry. But here he is, powerless to fix it. Every time he thinks about going after her, every time he thinks of apologizing, he freezes. There are no simple words, no magic that can make this right. Years of bitterness, resentment, and his own damn pride are between them now. And he doesn't know how to tear down that wall.

When did things get this complicated? When did the world become a minefield? And when did he—Jake Seresin, the guy who couldn’t give a damn about anything—become the kind of man who cares?

When did he fall for her? That’s the question he keeps circling. He’d been in denial about it for so long. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He had a reputation to maintain. But when he walked into the briefing room this morning and saw Y/n sitting there, looking more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her, something inside him snapped. The sharpness of her fear was there, clear as day, and he felt a pull he couldn’t ignore. He wanted to do something. Talk to her. Touch her. Comfort her. Because as much as she acts like she has it all together, he knows better. She’s scared—scared for the mission, scared for Rooster, scared for herself. She doesn’t show it much, but Jake can see it.

He knows what’s coming. Rooster will be leading this mission. Y/n will be flying. The two of them will be out there, facing a world where only the best make it home. And Jake’s mind can’t stop turning. He knows Rooster is a great pilot. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready. He needs to move past the book, past the fear, or someone will die because of it. Y/n doesn’t need that weight on her shoulders. She’s reckless, yeah, but she’s not stupid. She knows what’s at stake, and if Rooster can’t rise to the occasion, she’ll be right there, doing everything she can to save him. And that thought terrifies Jake.

He doesn’t know if he can protect her. But he knows he has to try.

Jake leans against the wall, his mind racing. He's been so wrapped up in his own issues, so caught up in trying to get under Rooster's skin, that he didn’t even stop to consider the fallout. And now? Now he realizes he might've just crossed a line he can't undo. He’d been trying to get under Rooster’s skin, sure—but if anything, all he did was push Y/n away. And he knows her too well to think she’ll just brush it off.

He needs to fix this. He has to fix this.

Jake's eyes narrow as he thinks back to everything he’s said to her in the past few days, to all the times he made a snide comment about Rooster, to the way he tried to rile him up in the briefing room. All of that—it wasn’t just messing with Rooster anymore. It was messing with her, too. And that, he can't stand. Y/n deserves better. She doesn’t need this. Not from him.

He thinks about how she looked when she walked out, eyes full of hurt, a sharp contrast to the fire she usually carries. That image burns into his mind—her turning away from him, the door slamming behind her. And that's when it hits him: the only reason he’d ever cared enough to get under anyone’s skin, the only reason he’d ever been so reckless in his words, is because somewhere deep down, he’s terrified. Terrified of what Y/n means to him. Terrified of what would happen if he really let himself care.

But it's not just about him anymore. It's about her. It's about fixing this mess he made, even if he doesn't have all the answers. He doesn't know how to make it right, but damn it, he's going to try.

Jake rubs a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. He can’t just keep pretending like he doesn’t care. That’s exactly what he’s been doing—and it’s been a disaster. The mission, the stakes—hell, all of it would be easier if he didn't have to deal with these feelings. But he’s done pretending. If he doesn’t tell her how he feels, how he really feels, before she goes up there—before this mission even starts—he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life.

Y/n’s not just any teammate. He realized long ago that she could be his everything if he allowed it, in a way that scares the hell out of him. But there’s no more running from it. He doesn’t need to be a damn hero on this mission. What he needs is to be honest. About everything. About her. About him. About the way his heart beats a little faster when she’s around, about the way his chest tightens when she’s in danger, about how he’d give anything to make her smile again, to make things right.

He has no idea if she’ll listen. He has no idea if she’ll even want to talk to him after the mess he’s made. But he knows one thing: he can’t let her go up there without telling her how he feels.

Jake stands up straighter, determination setting into his bones. He’s not going to let his girl go into that sky without making it clear that she means everything to him.

The mission is important, yes. But if Y/n doesn’t come back, none of it will matter.

And Jake Seresin isn't about to let that happen without telling her what’s in his heart.

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