#get to the door. the door Is broken to some extent. opening it means a loud THDPD noise is sent throughout the entire house lol. and you

[keeps-ache]

little soup cans are some of the neatest things we have, wish there were more soup-can-like things in this world

[wttcsms]

as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader  word count 4.2k  synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it. 

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist. 

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not. 

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him. 

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again. 

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane. 

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway. 

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on. 

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise. 

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side. 

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in. 

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends… 

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough. 

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer. 

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no. 

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate. 

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support. 

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left? 

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.” 

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for. 

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through. 

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics. 

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not. 

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both. 

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine. 

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home. 

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat. 

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself. 

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again. 

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips. 

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises. 

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault. 

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice. 

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours. 

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.” 

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know. 

“I’ll jog your memory.” 

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid. 

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel. 

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge. 

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent. 

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down. 

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock. 

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it. 

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out. 

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it. 

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him. 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess. 

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it. 

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real. 

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze. 

Satoru. 

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

[soft-beams]

hiii! i read your fic about reader x vi where the reader passes and omg it broke my heart so…for the sake of my sanity! can we have a pt 2 where it expands on the days afterwards and how vi grieves ! alsooo if you could maybe a time skip where vi either moves on (that girl would NEVER) or she stays single until she herself eventually passes :(( anyway thank u sm!

hello! first off, thank you for reading my fic, and i'm sorry to have broken your heart 🥺 i just had that idea rolling around in my head, and i couldn't help myself. ;-; but i'd be more than happy to do a pt 2 where we look into how vi copes (she Does Not Cope).

tw//mention of character death (reader), vi x f!reader

part 1

--------

Life instantly becomes meaningless after you die. It's as if the world is void of colour, leaving everything in shades of grey.

It's horribly depressing, but it makes sense. You were what gave her world meaning, you were what give her world beauty and now...you weren't there anymore.

So what was the point of anything?

She slips into drinking again, heavy liquors that numb the pain and made the grey world go away. She's angry, she's fury as she punches anyone who dares look at her for even a second too long. She's tired, exhausted and all she wants to do is sleep. But sleep isn't kind, it eludes her and when she's able to catch it, all she sees behind her eyes is you.

You laughing.

You smiling.

You holding her close and telling her everything is going to be alright.

You.

"You can't continue on like this," Caitlyn says, having appeared at Vi's door five minutes ago. She's a concerned friend, her brow furrowed with worry. "You...this isn't what she would want." She struggles for a second to find the right words. "She'd want you to heal and find some sort of peace and—"

"You think I don't know that, Cait?" Vi interrupts and she sounds exhausted. Her voice is hoarse, dry from thirst and sucking in too deep breaths when she cries. "You don't think I know she wouldn't want this for me?" She gestures around herself, at the mess of her small apartment and the mess that is herself. "I...try so hard to even get up in the morning but it feels so fucking pointless because she isn't here when I open my eyes."

Something akin to pity flickers through Caitlyn's eyes as she watches Vi slump down onto her bed, her head in her hands.

"I loved her for so long," Vi murmurs. "Since I was thirteen and didn't even know what love was." She lifts her head to stare at the ceiling. "And when I finally gathered up the courage to confess to her at sixteen, I was so happy when she returned my feelings." A weak smile curves her lips as she lowers her head, looking right at Caitlyn. "We had plans. We talked about how we were going to leave this place and explore the world. See what we could bring back to Zaun to make it better. We were going to take Powder so she could finally fly on one to those airships and..." Vi trails off, going quiet.

Caitlyn finds herself at a loss for words, unable to compile what she feels for Vi into speech. She knows how grief feels. She's more than aware of how it crushes and consumes you. When her mother died, she didn't know what she was going to do. How she was going to cope when someone so important to her was gone.

She can relate to Vi to some extent but to lose someone you loved with your entire heart, soul and mind...

Caitlyn very slowly makes her way over to Vi and sits beside her. Then she places a careful hand on her shoulder and says, "I'll never be able to fully grasp how you're feeling, and I won't pretend to even try. But...think of her and ask yourself if this is how she'd want you to waste your days."

Vi thinks about it, lets Caitlyn's words dance around in her head before you appear in her mind's eye.

"I'd be real pissed if you just laying about doing nothing," you say, frowning with your arms crossed. "I mean, I'm glad you love me enough to wallow so hard but fuck, Vi."

Vi laughs wetly, tears already forming in her eyes as she stares at you, wistful.

"Shut up," she mumbles before her chest is shuddering with heavy breaths, a thick sob leaving her throat. "I just...I just miss you so much. You weren't, fuck, you weren't supposed to leave."

Your frown turns into a sad smile, and you look away, as if trying to hide your own tears.

"I know, honey, I know," you reply, words thick on your tongue. "And I'm so sorry for leaving you, you know that, right?"

Vi nods, wiping away still falling tears.

"But I don't want you to live this way, sweetheart," you tell her. "Fighting every day and getting shitfaced. I thought we were past this after your pitfigher phase."

That pulls a genuine laugh from Vi, with a snort and all, as she cackles. That has you laughing too, your grin wide and toothy, and God, you're so beautiful.

Even in death.

"I'm losing my mind, aren't I?" Vi says as she looks up at you, and you move your head to the left and right before shrugging.

"Maybe a little bit, but that's fine," you reply before leaning in close, and Vi sighs desperately as your foreheads touch. "But you've never been truly sane."

Vi reaches for you and swears she can feel the warmth of your skin beneath her fingertips.

"I love you," Vi rasps, eyes closed tight as she holds you close.

"I love you too," you mumur, and Vi feels your hands smooth over her cheeks. "So do me a favour and try and be happy, okay? Go outside and do something that isn't reckless drinking and violence. And take a damn shower, you're gross."

Vi snorts, smiling. "No promises."

"Idiot." Your voice is loving and fond as it slowly disappears in an echo.

"...Vi?" Caitlyn's voice replaces yours and it's here that Vi smiles, albeit sad but a little bit happier.

"Yeah, this isn't how she'd want me to waste my days," Vi replies before slapping her knees and standing up from the bed. "I'm gonna take a shower and...maybe we can do something?"

Caitlyn stares at her for a second before smiling.

"Yeah, of course we can."

That's my girl, Vi hears in your voice as she goes to the bathroom, and that gives her the extra push she needs.

[hydrngea]

Rafe x reader

They grew up together and as kids Rafe got reader a necklace and she still wears it to this day but Rafe doesn’t notice until she’s all dressed up for midsummer

(This is really random but I thought it was cute lol)

Ur writing is amazing btw! 🫶🏻

perfect pick

a/n : thanks sm!!! i appreciate the compliment :)) i didn’t completely answer the prompt but i might do a part 2 in a couple of days :))

notes : rafe cameron x reader, au to some extent featuring rafes mom before she disappeared.

masterlist | PART TWO

————

rafe could care less about your tenth birthday. in fact, the only reason he even knew it was coming up was because it was all you and sarah could ever talk about lately; what the theme would be, what kind of cake would be the best to eat, who should and should not be invited.

rafe cameron does not care about your birthday- which is why when his mom forced him to come along with her to pick out a present for you, all he wanted to do was jump out of the car and run away.

“but she’s not even my friend.” he whined as they entered the mall, keeping the door open for his mom to go in with wheezies stroller.

“no buts. she’s family, rafe.”

he groans, his steps heavy against the large and perfectly square porcelain tiles of tiffany’s.

“just because she’s your best friends daughter doesn’t mean i have to get her a present.”

his mom shushes him as they approach the jewelry counter, placing a hand on his shoulder before smiling at the associate.

the associate is too enthusiastic to be genuine at this time of day. rafe rolls his eyes at her sickly sweet tone while she asks what they’re looking for. he feels a nudge at his side and his face twitches with annoyance.

“a necklace.” he says under his breath, planning on choosing the first one the associate suggests.

she leads them to the left side of the store, hand gesturing to an array of really expensive necklaces for them to choose from.

“i’ll be right where you found me if you need any help with specifics.” she smiles before abandoning them.

rafe turns to look at his mom, who holds wheezie on her hip. “so?” he shrugs.

“hm?”

he shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, “what one do you want?”

his mother laughs, adjusting wheezie on her hip and grabbing her hand, stopping her from dirtying the display with her chubby fingers. “i don’t want any of these. which one does y/n want?”

the question makes him think for a second. he doesn’t know what you would like. he flips through his memories for some sort of indication, but really he should just point to a random piece and call it a day.

red. he thinks, he remembers you saying your favorite color is red- on multiple occasions.

it was red like ladybugs 4 years ago. then red like pretty roses. red like red pandas a couple years before. red like taylor swifts iconic lipstick now.

he shakes his head, then points to a silver chain with a little red charm in it. “that.” he shrugs and then turns on his heel, before his mom can question if its the best choice.

…

he fidgets with the black ribbon wrapped neatly on top of the gift box theyd put the necklace in, eyes tracing over the bolder lettering over and over again as they walked back to the parking lot. he avoids making eye contact with his mom, like for some reason it’d trigger her to go on another rant about how he should act gentlemanly when he gives her the present or at least act like he cares.

they make it to the car without any conversation, save for some half-coherent blabber here and there from wheezie. he slips into the passenger seat while his mom buckles in wheeze into her carseat, the box still in his hands.

halfway through the car ride, the silence between them is broken. “i know you don’t like to talk about your feelings rafe, but you don’t do a great job at hiding your facial expressions.”

“mom,” he groans, leaning the back of his head deep into the leather seat of her escalade.

“i can tell you have a soft spot for her.” she continues, pressing on the brakes as they approach a red light.

“i don’t.” rafe grumbles, fingernail digging into the box and leaving a mark.

“deny all you want, but i saw the way you looked thinking about her. it’ll catch up to you one day.”

he finally brings his gaze to her, his blue eyes meeting her mirroring irises with a glint of curiosity over what her words mean. he makes to open his mouth, to ask what she means by the look. to ask what’s going to catch up to him. but then reminds himself it doesn’t matter and stops himself.

he doesn’t have anything to catch up to him, because he doesn’t have any sort of feelings for y/n.

there’s no way he feels something towards you- could he?

he shakes his head, putting the box to his side and out of his lap and flickering his eyes to his window. why is he letting his mom get into his head?

he doesn’t care about you. doesn’t care about hee stupid birthday, or even care much about the stupid present he chose for you.

—————-

your tenth birthday party is excatly how you wanted it to be. it’s perfectly decorated, with red streamers hung all over the downstairs of your house and taylor swift themed snacks and games. you were having the time of your life, drunk off shirley temples in fancy alcholol flutes.

you notice a stain on your birthday sash and you pout. quickly excusing yourself to drop off the sash in your room, you rush out of your back patio and into the house, making your way towards the stairs when you bump into someone’s solid chest.

here’s one thing to note; regardless of what everyone says, you do not like rafe cameron. “oh, rafe.” you say, taking a small step back-you can feel your cheeks burn under his gaze.

okay fine, the previous statement was a lie. but not completely, it was only a small crush. tiny. as big as the sprinkles on your birthday cake.

“here.” he shoves a small gift bag into your hands and then hastily walks away before you can ask what it is.

the interaction leaves you somewhat disoriented but also flustered, skin pink and pulse fast.

on your past birthdays, you always get one present from sarah and one from her parents. and that’s what you think it is, a present from sarah’s family.

you bring the bag up with you into you room and pull the sash off your body, throwing it into a random corner of your room.

you know it’s bad etiquette to open presents before it’s time, but for some reason you’re too drawn to the gift bag to wait. you peak your head out your bedroom door and find that the coast is clear, and open the bag, pulling out a small teal box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. you shake it close to your ear, guessing it’s some sort of jewelry and grin to yourself when you realize you’re right

you open the box and find the most perfect necklace ever. it’s silver, with a small red heart attached to its chain with your initial engraved onto it.

you’ll have to thank mrs and mr cameron for the gift. it might be even better than the one sarah got you.

you hear your mom call for you from the bottom of the stairs and you quickly shove the box into the top drawer of your dresser, leaving the bag on top of your bed before hurrying back downstairs to rejoin the party.

——-

you’re confused when mrs cameron hands you another gift bag when it’s time to open presents.

“another one?” you ask with your brow furrowed, though you aren’t complaining.

“from me, ward and wheeze.” she hands it to you with a warm smile and a quick wink.

that’s when it clicks that the present wasn’t from who you thought it.

you slip away from the party and rush back up to your room, grabbing the original bag and digging inside for a card or an indication form who it could be from.

there’s a note stuck to the bottom of the bag, made of ripped loose leaf and written with a dull pencil.

“happy birthday” it says, with no signature. but you don’t need one to know who it’s from.

suddenly, your heart starts hammering and your face starts to swell with a smile.

you can’t believe it- rafes the one who got you the necklace, and somehow he managed to make it perfect.

—-

authors note part 2 : i want to say this is extremely UNEDITED so i apologize for any errors and incoherences etc ! there’s a 90% chance i’m gonna take this down and repost this with edits lol.

taglist : @mrsstarkey1 @maybankslover @of-many-fandomss @dearreader03 @penny4yourthoughts @willowpains

PART 2

[carolmunson]

how to train your wyvern

sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader desc: when bratting becomes intentional disrespect, eddie has to go to new measures to make sure you stay in line.

cw: minors dni, smut, d/s dyanmics, spanking, slapping, spanking (with hands/with implements), degradation, humiliation, mean names, pet names, pet play (but not the mainstay of the fic), references to other women, emotional sadism, physical sadism, p in a (f receiving), fingering (f receving), oral (m receiving), mmf threesome, spitroasting, facials, rice kneeling, mouth soaping

He could take it to some extent, a little smart remark, a mean joke here and there. A sarcastic reply to a question with an obvious answer. That was fine, nothing a little stern look couldn’t quell. But every now and again there would be nothing he could do and it would drive him fucking insane.

You’d been bratting for days, and nothing — nothing, was working. 

It started last week and some change ago when you decided to invite yourself over after his mid-day shift at the garage. He was exhausted, but he still had to fix a pipe under the bathroom sink that hadn’t stopped dripping – and also repair the cabinet door that he slammed off the hinges when he was annoyed about the broken pipe. 

Normally, having you around after a stressful shift was nice for him. You’d fawn over him, make him dinner, get him a drink, rub his shoulders – suck him off, if he asked. This night was different, you clambered into the trailer and snapped the door behind you, cheeks bitten by the cold and snow in your hair.

“What’s your problem?” he asked softly from the kitchen, cracking a beer open and quickly catching the foam off the top of the can. 

“You forgot to pick me up on your way home,” you huff, “I had to take the bus and then walk.” 

His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that your car was in the shop. He wasn’t working on it, so it slipped his mind, “Oh honey, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to forget. Sal’s working on your car so y’know it just – out of sight, out of mind.” 

He puts the beer on the table and takes your coat from you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His warm lips sooth your snow soaked face, but the frustration still remains. 

“Why didn’t you just call?” he asks, seeing the furrow on your brow still stuck in place, “I would’ve come to pick you up.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” you grumble, “You’re such an airhead sometimes.” 

“Hey,” his voice isn’t gruff or mad, more hurt than anything, “It was an accident, you don’t have to say shit like that.” 

You take a breath, pushing it out of your lips, mulling over whether the insult was worth it, “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just cold and annoyed.” 

His lips press against your cold cheek this time, “It’s okay. Um, get yourself cozy – I gotta fix the sink in the bathroom.” 

Your face falls, “Oh.” 

His face falls too, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just – I came all the way over here and we’re not even gonna hang out,” you frown. 

“It won’t take me that long, baby. I just have to fix the sink and the cabinet and then I’m done,” he explains while you kick your shoes off. Your eyes roll dramatically when he mentions the cabinet. 

“So first it’s just the sink, then it’s the sink and cabinet. You’ll finish those and go ‘Oh let me work on the leak in the shower, let me WD40 the door’, you always do that. You start a project and then start fifty of them and I just sit here,” you huff. 

He juts his lower lip out in a teasing frown, “Aw, so sorry I wanna make the place habitable, honey.”

When you don’t crack a smile his shoulders fall, “I promise I won’t be long. You can even sit in there with me while I work on it if you want.” 

“You hate when I do that. When I hover,” you say. Eddie smiles, pressing kisses to your cheeks while he pulls you in to hold you close to him. 

“So it must mean I missed you all day today if I want you to hover when I fix the sink, huh?” he jokes. You relent, giving into his kisses, and his warm chest, and the caress of the tendrils of hair falling out of the low bun on his head onto your nose. 

It’s not long before you're sitting on the shut toilet seat and he’s half concealed in the cabinet, t-shirt riding up while he lies on his back. You’re not focusing on what he’s telling you, something about his day or a customer. Something about Dustin and the new one shot they were putting together next week. All you were focused on was the sliver of his belly peeking out of his shirt, begging to be touched. Begging to be squeezed. You slowly get to your knees and sink onto the fuzzy dark green bath mat by his hips, reaching out slowly to graze your fingers over his happy trail. 

“Jesus!” he shouts, body jumping, a loud CLANG! sounding as a result of him dropping whatever tool and part he had in his hands. 

You laugh, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

He shimmies out of the cabinet with a small red cut gleaming on his forehead, “Babe you can’t do that while I’m working. That’s so dangerous.” 

“I got bored, you were looking so cute. How could I resist?” you ask, “Let me look at your head, I’m sorry.” 

You peer at the little cut, it’ll definitely heal in the next day or so, but it’s enough that he’s wincing when you go near it. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut, pressing a kiss just next to it, “Is that better?” 

“Yeah, it’s better,” he smiles, “But please, I’m barely balancing this tubing in my hands – no distractions please.” 

“Fine,” you say sweetly while he lays back under the cabinet. You wait a moment before your hand reaches out again to drag your finger over a clothed rib. 

His body tenses, “I’m not kidding, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just fucking with you, I promise. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.” 

You let him continue, back to his original one sided conversation where he starts explaining the Wyvern appearing in the campaign and all the differences between a dragon and a Wyvern. Your eyes glaze over and your hand reaches out for a third time, sliding a finger at the top of his jeans to trace the waistband of his boxers. You hear him huff angrily in the cabinet, face hidden by the door.

“I asked you to stop, baby, please,” he urges again, “I had a long day.” 

You roll your eyes, standing up and slapping on the cold water in the sink before you walk out of the bathroom, “Whatever.” 

He emerges a few moments later, fuming, soaked, brows furrowed – almost teary with frustration. He wanted an apology but he never got one, opting to put you over his knee so you’d learn a lesson that would sting well into the next day – but it was a lesson that wouldn’t quite stick. 

After his show at The Hideout he’d pulled you onto his lap in one of the booths with the rest of the band. They’d rehearsed all week, canceling two date nights at the last minute in lieu of the show – and the practice was worth it. They got the whole crowd jumping this time, even if it was just thirty to forty people. His hand slid over your thigh, back and forth to bring down his speeding adrenaline, the smoothness of your worn jeans soothing him. He talked over you in conversation, leaning forward past your shoulders to interject. You huffed dejectedly, sulking into resting your chin on your hands with your elbows on the table. Tensing when a group of girls came over to join their after show debrief. 

After all the introductions they start talking music, the girls giggling and smiling. You’re not mean, so you indulge in the conversation – but that grating happy, bubbly friendly voice behind you booms over yours, his chest vibrating against your back when he speaks. “So who’s band is it? Who’s the brains of the operation?” one of the girls asks, glossed lips shining in the low light. The boys clamber to answer for each other, all attesting that the band is theirs as a group, no one’s the head, they all make their own decisions – but they’re all talking over each other.

“It’s obviously Jeff, he’s lead guitar,” you piped up, “It’s Gareth and Jeff.” 

“Isn’t Eddie the lead?” one of the girls laughed, her painted nails tinkling against the glass of her beer. 

“You asked who the brains was. Look at this guy, he look brainy to you?” you tease, running a hand through his curls. The table laughs, including Eddie whose cheeks are tinged red, but his grip on your thigh tightens under the booth. Excuse me?

To add insult to injury, you took his half finished beer out of his hand, taking a few sips to finish it  while your empty bottle stood at the center of the table. You felt his chest press up against your back, leaning forward towards one of the girls sitting next to him, “S’cuse me, we’re just gonna go grab another drink.” 

“Sorry!” she says, scooching out of the way while Ed nudges you forward to get out. You know he doesn’t really want another drink, he just wants to be mean to you. You know you’re riling him up in the way that he likes, you’ve been waiting for this all week. 

“You think you’re bein’ cute tonight?” he says to you when his calloused fingers wrap around your forearm, walking you towards the bar, “Last week wasn’t enough? Want me to make it worse this time?” 

“I think I’m being funny,” you shrug, “Everyone else thinks so.” 

“Yeah, you’re real funny,” he rolls his eyes, ordering another beer that you snatch before he can grab it. 

“Not an eye roll, baby,” you smirk while you take a sip of the beer, “You’re so bratty tonight.” 

“You’re one smart comment away from me taking you home,” he warns. You can see from the glint in his eye that he’s still buzzing from the show and there’s only one way for him to get relief from it. It normally ends with you sobbing on his bed, tied up and begging for more of whatever pain he feels like dishing out.

“Ooh, you’re so tough, Ed,” you tease back at him. His jaw clenches while you drink the beer he just bought. He snarls when he gets you home, shoving you into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off while he berates you over and over again. Lips and teeth gnashing, kissing, biting, growling over you while he does it. But you didn’t give in, you couldn’t. His frustration was too delicious. You didn’t cry when he paddled you, you didn’t even make a sound that resembled unhappiness. You just alternated between pouting and smirking, little remarks pouring out of your mouth with your moans. Every burning strike making you jump and keen and purr.  Eventually he gave up, resorting to a long lecture about bratting and boundaries while you both showered and got ready for bed. He counted every eye roll. Seventeen. 

Two days ago, you dropped off some lunch for him at work and normally he’d melt at the gesture, but he knows why you did it. This was the incident that made it clear that all your behavior had been intentional. Still mad about your two previous punishments you showed up in the one dress you’re not allowed to wear to the auto shop. The hem was a hair too short, bending over would put on a whole show to whoever was looking, and boy, were the guys at work looking. The fabric was light and fluttery, one gust of wind would send it up like Marilyn’s. With the right bra, your chest would heave out of it, but even braless it held you in place just right. It was his favorite dress on you – just for him. 

His jaw clenched when he saw you walk in, leaning suggestively over the front desk to ask where he was. The guys snickered and leered at you, elbowing each other to get the other’s attention. You didn’t even bother to wear tights. Everyone would see the leftover welts from a couple nights ago if the wind blew into the shop the wrong way.

Before making eye contact with Ed, you looked back at them and waved, smiling, working the sway of your hips into your walk. Your knee high boots clicked on the smoothed over cement floor while you approached him. He was found leaning up against a car he just finished working on, wiping his greased hands off on a rag, his face unimpressed with you. Now normally, this is whatever, Eddie’s used to you getting attention from guys. But at work it was different because even though they ogled, the minute you left they’d start to shit on him. 

You let your girl walk around like that? Act like that? 

You must be real pussywhipped Munson.

Gotta make her behave when she’s got an ass like that on her.

You never settin’ any ground rules? 

Better put a ring on her finger before I do. 

“C’mere, wanna talk to you for a second,” he said calmly nodding you over to him, slinging the rag over his shoulder. It was unfortunate how fucking hot he looked at work, even more so when he was disappointed. Old t-shirt covered in oil and grease stains, sweat collecting in some spots, clinging to him. His cover all opened and hanging open at his waist, boots shining in the industrial light. 

“Aw, what is it babe? You look so upset,” you mocked him loud enough for everyone to hear, lips in an exaggerated pout, “What’s got you so mad? I wore your favorite dress.” 

“Yeah! Don’t be so pissy, Munson,” his co-worker joked, “She wore your favorite dress.”

Eddie ticked his head over to the back room where the guys took their breaks, implying he wants you to follow him. You click behind him, giggling at the guys comments, joking back with them, tossing little waves their way until Eddie shuts the door behind you. 

He walks slowly over to the coffee pot set up, pouring himself a cup and turning to lean against the counter. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of the mug. His stare makes you shift uncomfortably, his calmness was sometimes more terrifying than his rage. 

“We’ve had a big talk about this dress, baby.” 

“The weather’s nice,” you said softly, crossing your arms. 

“It’s January,” he deadpans, he takes another sip of coffee, “S’there something you need to talk to me about? You’ve had this lil’ attitude all week. Now you’re bringin’ it to my job? That’s not fair.” “I don’t have an attitude,” your tone is petty and touchy, “You’re just being sensitive.” 

He nods while he puts the mug down, voice still measured, “I really hate taking this mean guy thing into our real life, sweetheart – but you’re really not leaving me any choices. Is gettin’ spanked not enough for you? Am I not gettin’ that ass red enough to teach you a lesson?” 

“You’re not even good at it,” you lie, tossing his lunch on the table in front of you. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says with a smug smile, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you when I get home.” 

He approaches you slowly, hand reaching around to grab your ass to pull you in close to him. You whine at the grip over your welts from the other night and he snickers into his goodbye kiss. His stubble grates against your cheeks while he holds you in place to slide his tongue into your mouth, just enough to leave you wanting more. 

“Bye, princess – love you,” he lilts, letting go of you to grab his lunch and sauntering out of the room. 

The caning he administered that night was brutal, but you still didn’t cry. You yelped and whined, you begged him to stop, you called him all his favorite names to get him to go easier on you. He called your safe word after ten minutes – scared that you were too caught up in the challenge of not giving into him that you’d ignore your own safety. After making sure you were okay, he took his pillow and slept on the couch. 

He canceled your date night last night to work on the finishing touches of the one shot campaign he and Dustin had been working on for their monthly group ‘catch up’ at Steve’s. When he picked you up earlier this morning your attitude had nearly tripled in spice. Every word out of your mouth was a quick whip of the tongue. 

“Baby, please,” he begs, “Please just let me have one good day. Can we please have a good day?” 

You don’t reply, hopping out of the van and slamming the door behind you. He gets in front of you before you get to the door, eyes pleading while he leans in for a kiss that you don’t return, “Bub, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m just – I’m so tired. Can you please just be nice?” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask sweetly, a sliver of sarcasm in your tone, “I’m so nice.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t start.” 

Steve opens the door before you can ring the bell, running a hand through his hair and dropping it into his pocket, “Surprised you didn’t break the window with how hard you slammed the door.” 

“It was the wind,” you lie, “Took it right out of my hands.” 

You brush past him and ignore Eddie’s gentle reach for your hand, heading straight to the dining room to hang out with Robin and Nancy while the ‘kids’ set up their game in the living room. 

“You look beat,” Steve says to Eddie while Ed kicks his shoes off, “You okay?” 

“Something’s been up with her this week,” he huffs, “Longer than a week, even. M’so tired of her attitude, it’s getting out of hand.” 

“Did you talk to her about it?” Steve asks, watching as Ed rifles through his backpack to pull out his binder full of DM documents and his pencil case. 

“I keep trying,” he shrugs, “I’ve given her more than enough chances to talk to me about it. Even playing hasn’t gotten her to open up and normally y’know, once the water works start and she’s had a rough week she’s all out with it. It’s all about that release with us, does that make sense?” 

He sighs while Steve nods along with his rant, “And instead she showed up at my work the other day just to piss me off. Wearing her little dress, showin’ off to all the guys. After we went through the whole trust chat and everything, after the scene – which I had to cut short cause she just didn’t even cry? Wild. After the scene she told me she did it on purpose – as if that wasn’t already clear, but I didn’t need her to confirm it, y’know?”  

He stands up, flipping open the binder and making sure everything is accounted for. Steve chuckles to himself, leading him to the kitchen to grab them both a drink. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Ed grins down at the paper, “I’m not like you, I just know how to smack her around. You like all that mean girl shit.” 

“It works. You want me to step in while the game’s going?” Steve asks. Eddie takes a breath, hearing your happy laugh bubble out from the dining room. He savors the sound for a moment – the smiliest you’ve sounded in days – and shakes his head no. 

“Nah, it’s not worth it,” he says while he heads out, meeting the group in the living room. 

After a couple of hours they took a break. It was always an all day affair, stopping to catch up with each other, getting lost in conversations. Eddie walked by you in the kitchen, hand plopping itself on your head while you reached into the fridge to get a beer. 

“Hey, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he softly suggests, “You’re just gonna get mean.” 

“I’m not gonna get mean.” You roll your eyes when he gets between you and the fridge. 

“I said no,” he reminds you gently, “Please? I’m not drinking either. You’re already in whatever mood you’ve been forever – getting drunk s’just gonna feed it. Can I get you something else?” 

“You’re being such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?” you snap. Eddie doesn’t react how you expect, no anger flashing in his eyes, no playful frustration. He just looks hurt, nodding curtly before stepping out of your way back into the living room. “Whatever you say, baby,” he shrugs. His shoulders round forward, settling in the couch and watching the conversation bubbling and tittering around him. He tosses you a look through the archway, shaking his head in disappointment. It was clear he wasn’t having fun with this anymore. You jump when the fridge closes and look around to see Steve next to you, alone with you in the kitchen.

“You think ‘cause you’re Eddie’s girl I won’t embarrass you in front of everyone here?” he asks pointedly, “You don’t get to act like that when you’re in my house.” 

“Fuck off, Steve,” you sigh, your eye roll rivaling even his best. 

“You better feel lucky that I didn’t get the okay to put you in your fuckin’ place,” he hissed while the conversation got more lively in the living room.

“Cause if you think for one second I wouldn’t bend you over that coffee table in front of all your friends and show ‘em how I deal with brats like you, you got another thing coming,” he continues. You shrink under his words, frown painting your face while he stares down at you — but that angry attitude, the reminder that Eddie couldn’t even bother to give you a solid warning, woke that mean girl right up.

“You wouldn’t do shit, Harrington,” you mutter, crossing your arms. 

“Yeah? Try me,” he offers. He shakes his head, hands on his hips, “You swear you’re so tough. Your bullshit is tired. He’s bored with you, look at him.” 

You look over and he’s frowning while everyone gets back into position to play but still lost in their conversations. His legs are splayed out in the recliner at the head of the coffee table, slouched down enough that his chin is in his chest. 

“He just looks sad,” you mumble. 

“Whose fault is that?” Steve asks. 

You sulk, “Mine.” 

You huff one final time before going into the living room. He peers up at you when you come up next to the recliner, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes close at the feeling of your lips against him, opening them when you break away. He scans the room to make sure no one is paying attention before pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “Kneel.” 

“Ed –” you start, heat running to your cheeks. 

“Kneel at my feet for the rest of the game. Do you understand?” he asks quietly. You nod, kneeling down beside him while he got up to start the campaign where they left off. To everyone else, you were just watching everything play out – to him you were finally obeying. But it could never be that easy – just like the devil, you had to have the last laugh.

When the game was over, Steve and Eddie hauled off to smoke outside, talking quietly with each other – deliberating over something. You took that time to snag a beer from the fridge, confident you could finish it before they made their way back into the kitchen. However, talking with Robin made you less aware – hopping from one subject to the next, both big chatterers you had neglected the beer in your hand so it was only three fourths finished when the sliding doors opened and the boys showed up in the kitchen. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, continuing his conversation with Steve while he grabs your coat and slides the can gently out of your hand, pouring the remaining contents out in the sink. You put your jacket on while he throws it away, starting his round of goodbyes to the group. 

“Let’s pick up some dinner, hm?” he asks when you both get back in the van, eerily calm, tossing his hair up off of his neck as the heat blasts. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, “You’re not mad? About the beer?” 

“Oh, I’m upset about the beer,” he says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road, “But I can’t expect you to listen these days. You’re making your own rules, aren’tcha?”

“No, I –” 

He smiles, finally turning to you while he pulls into a drive-thru burger joint, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna be very unhappy with how things go when we get home.” 

The food tastes like ash in your mouth. 

“C’mon, on your knees,” he says casually once he’s done undressing you down to your underwear. The ride home had been silent aside from the radio. You stepped in the trailer and he barely gave you a moment of reprieve before stripping you down in the bedroom. All tired eyes and frustrated grunts while each item of clothing got tossed onto a chair in the corner of the room. You obey his command but your eyes shoot up at him with a furrowed brow when you make it to the ground. He sighs while he puts your collar on, he looks defeated and worn out.

“Hey, wait,” you urge, taking his hand while he finishes clasping the buckle behind your neck. He looks down at you and falters at the look on your face — not playing, not in your role. Serious, concerned. 

“No choking, please,” you ask softly, “Not tonight.” 

He meets you down on the scratchy carpet while continuing to hold your hand, pressing a soft and gentle kiss against your lips.

“Of course not,” he agrees, “No choking.” 

His hands find your face, fingertips brushing against you like you’re made of porcelain, “Do you trust me?” 

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss before you can answer, taking your breath away in the process. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at his attention, the way his eyes glittered when he looked at you like that. Hungry, aching. 

“I trust you,” you whisper between his kisses. You catch his gaze and he looks at you expectantly.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” he asks, “You okay? We can stop, we don’t have to do this. Could always just talk to me about it, you know I’m all ears.” 

“You’re not mad, mad are you?” you asked softly, “Are you really mad at me?” 

“M’not mad at you, sweetheart,” he assures, “Very disappointed, but not mad. Just like teaching you a little lesson. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you smile. He kisses your face, again and again. Reminders of who he really is. 

“At least I’m not Steve,” he laughs, standing back up, “He loves taming brats like you.” 

“I’m not a brat!” you gasp. 

“You sure?” he asks, looking down at you with a hardening demeanor, “No? You’re not?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, he laughs at you pitifully, “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Remember what I said to you?” he asks, going into the closet. His voice is muffled while he’s in there, “You’re going to be very unhappy with how I treat you tonight.” 

He emerges and your furrowed brows soften into sadness, eyes rounding into pleading when you see what he has in his hand, “No, sir, please…” 

“Pets don’t talk, baby,” he says gently while he clips a chain link leash to your collar. 

“But I don’t…I don’t want to,” you whine, tugging at the chain in his hand. He looks down at you without remorse, petting the top of your head.

“This is how you learn to behave,” he says, “Nothing else is working, so I have to punish you with something you don’t like.” 

“But…” tears pooled in your eyes as he took a few steps forward and tugged on the leash for you to follow. You frowned, crawling on all fours to follow him to the kitchenette. He tugged twice when he wanted you to stop. 

“Sit,” he mutters down to you, catching your eyes while he walks over to the cabinets above the sink, “Stay.” 

You huff, sitting back on your heels while he rummages through the cabinets, finally reaching in and coming out with a tall yellow Tupperware. He opens the top and looks into it, frowning, and then looking at you.

“I hate to waste food but you need this,” he says softly, walking over to stand in front of the sink. Next to him, he lays down a line of white rice by his feet. 

“Eddie, please,” you whined, “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

His head whips towards you, “What did I say?” 

“Pets don’t talk,” you whimper back. 

“Want me to beat that into you?” he hisses, reaching for his belt.

“No sir, I’m sorry.” 

He stands at attention, looking down at you, “Come.” 

You start to crawl forward but he stops you, “You’re gonna let your leash drag on the floor like that? You know better.” 

You shake your head no, reaching for the leather handle and putting it between your teeth before starting your slow journey next to him. You hesitate when you get to the rice. He very rarely goes back to these kinds of basics because he knows you don’t like them, you’d much rather be spanked. He reaches down to grab your leash and gives it a sharp tug, pulling you forward.

“Don’t make me warn you again,” his voice is stern and you inch forward, knees settling on the rice slowly. You start to whimper quietly to yourself, the sting is immediate. 

“Eyes up at me,” he instructs, fingers under your chin tilt your head up toward him, “You’re gonna kneel here while I get these dishes done.” 

“That’s stupid,” you whine while he wraps part of the leash around his hand so there’s little slack for you to move anywhere. The backhand he deals you at the sound of your voice is shattering, your thighs tighten at the feeling, lips parting in a low moan.

“Open your mouth again, see what happens,” he growls, “My number one rule when we play, for years, is only speak when you’re spoken to.”

 You grit your teeth, putting your face back to center and tilting up to look him in the eyes. 

“Shouldn’t expect a brainless pet like you to take orders though – that’s why we gotta train you.” 

You shift uncomfortably on the rice, trying to relieve the pain one knee at a time but it only makes you gasp as the pain increases. 

“You gonna cry?” He asks. You shake your head no despite the burn you feel in your nose and the rattle in your chest. Your knees sting with the bite of the rice, whimpering when he starts the dishes. He casts a few looks down at you while you stay looking up at him. 

“We’re gonna keep at this until you break, you understand?” he asks, you nod. It doesn’t take him long to do the dishes, you squirm when he looks down at you down the slope of his nose. 

“Stay,” he commands, walking out of the kitchen to the bathroom to get something, then back to the bedroom. You wait for him on screaming knees to return but he doesn’t. You hear the shift of weight on the couch, the creak of the springs in the cushions, the stomp of his boots as he spreads his legs wide. He whistles. 

“Come here, baby,” he calls out to you cooly. You hear the flick of a lighter and start your short journey to the living room. 

“Do I hear that leash dragging on the floor?” he asks with a warning edge. You let out an annoyed groan, pulling slowly at the chain link while it skitters across the tile. You put the leather back between your teeth, gingerly making your way over to him again. 

“Let’s check out those knees before I keep you on them even longer,” he mutters, cigarette burning between his lips. He waves his hand at you, encouraging you to stand.

“C’mere, pretty,” he says sweetly, the mask coming off briefly to wipe off the stray grains that stuck to your skin. It was certainly irritated, but there wasn’t any blood, no damage that would last overnight. Less frequent types of punishment, non-impact play, sometimes made him nervous — not as confident in the outcomes.

“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at you. His calloused hand finds yours, a soft check in, a gentle touch. 

“It’s okay,” you nod while he presses a kiss to your fingertips, putting your hand back by your thigh when he’s done. He lazily places the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch to settle. 

“You know where you belong, pet,” he says, voice dropping register again. The clink of his belt coming undone makes your hips twitch, the slow drag of the zipper of his jeans. He lifts his shirt up before he pulls it out, tattoos smattering dark against his pale skin. 

He leans back on the couch while you kneel between his legs with your tongue out, flattened against your chin. His cock makes you drool, spit pooling at the sides of your mouth while he lets his fingers drag over the underside, pink leaking tip peeking out from his foreskin. 

When he lifts it up off his stomach you audibly gasp at how wet the top is, hips shifting on your legs for friction. He leans it towards you teasingly and you eagerly lean forward to let your tongue stripe over it but you’re met with a hard crack to the face instead.

“Very bad,” he admonishes, “You’re such a bad girl.” 

He starts with slow strokes, soft little gasps puffing out of his mouth when he runs over the more sensitive spots. Your mouth waters despite the sting on your cheek, “Guess I gotta keep training you, huh baby? That’s too bad, was gonna let you suck it if you could behave first.” 

You let out a frustrated huff and he likes it.

“Let’s keep that mouth busy since I can’t trust you not to act on your impulses,” he says, his voice dripping with mocking disappointment, “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.” 

He reaches into his back pocket and it’s clear now, what he got from the bathroom. The bar of Pears soap glowed amber in the side table lamp light when he unwrapped it. 

“Y’know, I forgot about this trick,” he says with a smile, like you’re having a casual conversation. You gulp at the sight of it, leaning back with your mouth shut.

“Steve reminded me today, when we were out having a smoke,” he continues, eyes and smile wolffish while he leans forward toward you. 

“You hated it last time,” he shrugs, “But you didn’t run that pretty mouth for a while. So it must’ve stuck, huh? Open your mouth.” 

You hesitate a moment too long and his patience runs out before the buzzer to obey goes off in your brain. His fingers work between your lips, pressing at the hinge of your jaw like you’re a dog who has a piece of plastic in their mouth. You sputter over his fingers, head turning and twisting to keep him from getting a hold on you but your efforts were useless. The bar slid half way into your mouth, wedged between your teeth. You knew better than to raise your hands and fight him, he’d cuff you before you could protest – better off not seeing how bad he could go tonight. 

“Much better. Y’look so pathetic with your mouth full,” he teases, “Really suits you.” 

“Since I have to do this myself now, who should I think about, sweetheart?” he asks you, your heart sinks. He lets his eyes flutter closed when he squeezes gently around the base, a dark laugh bubbling out from his chest.

“Should I think about Chrissy from the diner?” he asks, heavy lidded eyes staring at you, his breath hitches. He pumps in slow strokes, taking his time, “Think about her pretty blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes?” 

You whine, swallowing thickly while slimy suds start to leak out of your mouth, he smirks.

“Mmm, bet she’s a really good girl,” he moans, “Bet she’d never talk back to me.” 

Tears start to well in your eyes and he has the audacity to fucking smile. The bitter bubbles gather on your tongue as your salivary glands work to push the taste out, but there’s no point with the bar pressed deep into your mouth.

“You know I love a nice girl like that, baby,” he coos, pace quickening while he fucks into his fist, “Probably loves getting stuffed full. You think so?” 

His eyes open fully and he grips your hair at the scalp with his free hand, “You think so?” 

You nod, face burning with embarrassed and frustrated heat. 

“God, watching her pretty tits bounce when she’s on top of me? Fuck. Bet she’s so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes while he teases the tip with his thumb, brows knitting in focus and pleasure, “So fucking sweet, too. Not a brat like you, baby.” 

He leans his head back while he feels himself get close, edging himself – slowing down and speeding up. And then he hears it, your broken, sad, choked sob. The sound of the Pears bar dropping onto the carpet. His head perks up, and there you are, crying on your knees in front of him, wiping at your eyes.  “My poor baby, there you are,” he coos, tucking himself into the waistband of his underwear, “Finally got you cryin’. You don’t like that? When your master thinks about someone else?” 

 “No sir, I don’t like it,” you answer through blubbering and spitting up suds. He tuts, leaning forward, letting a thumb drag over a tear on your cheek. 

“I’ll be good, please don’t think about someone else,” you cry up at him.

“You’ll be good? Yeah? You’re a good girl?” he asks, sentences peaking up at the end like you’re a dog. You nod pitifully. “You see a good girl in here?” he questions, “Is there a good girl in the room with us right now?”

“Stop,” you huff, wiping your eyes again.  “Now that I finally got you crying I can really go to work, huh?” he smirks, “Think getting belted will put you in your place?” 

You nod while he pulls up his pants, “Let’s get that mouth rinsed out first.” 

He keeps up with ‘walking you’ to the bathroom, now a mess of tears and a soap slicked mouth. Shuddering and stuttering while you get cup of water after cup of water to spit out until the water runs clear. You still don’t settle, all the feelings of the week and some change of aggravation and anger surging and pulsing through you all at once. 

“You wanna tell me what’s got you acting like such a cunt this week?” he asks while you get situated on your knees on the mattress in the bedroom. Foolishly, you thought he might soften up when you started to cry – but now it’s clear he’s just getting started. 

“You just weren’t paying enough atten-attention to me,” you confess, quietly. He gapes at you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes.  “All this ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ enough attention?” he hisses, “When’d you get so weak, huh?” 

“You kept w-working late, and ditching me f-for Steve, and D-dustin, and the band,” you whined. 

“Cry all you want,” he says with a straight mouth, “This is so disappointing, baby. Thought you were tougher than that. Gotta get you correct, don’t I?” 

“You kept c-cancelling, so I thought –” you continue.

“Hey!” he barks, startling you to look up at him, “I asked you a question.” 

“Yes, you have t-to correct me, sir,” you nod, “I need it.” 

“You need it?” he mocks back, “Get in position for me.” 

You oblige, bent over on the bed while he goes to get the belt that hangs next to the front door. You hear it clink with every stomp of his boots back down the hall, your thighs twitch with anticipation of him taking his anger out on you – much more pliable this time, much more reactive, no longer trying to stop yourself from feeling it.

“Attention, huh?” he repeats when he comes back in, “Well you got it, whore. I’ll pay attention to you all night.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe. You hear him open the top drawer of his dresser, the sound of plastic, zippers. 

“Maybe we can invite Steve over to help,” he suggests, “Does that sound good? A little extra hand to make the lesson sink in.” 

“Do you wanna share me, sir?” you ask while he reaches over you to press each wrist to the outside of your thighs, wrapping each of them together in thin rope he picked up at the hardware store. A shopping trip you are certain had the owner looking at you both with a cocked brow as you both left blushing.

“Something fun about watching someone use my toys,” he says playfully. The makeshift spreader bar finds its way between your legs, clicked into soft cuffs around your ankles. A vision, bent over and spread out for him. Eddie’s not an awful man, so he offers the courtesy of tucking a pillow or two under your torso to keep you raised and balanced, pressing a kiss to the middle of your back. 

“M’gonna really fuck with you tonight,” he threatens softly against your skin, “How do you feel about that?” 

“Orange,” you say back. Orange, the coolest flame. The okay. 

“And Steve?” he asks, fingers grazing your inner thighs. 

“Orange,” you reply, pussy clenching at the thought of being beaten by both of them. 

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he rasps low, “Really good girl.” 

“When’s the last time I made you cum, pet?” he moves away from you again and you whine, the ache of your cry still sitting in your throat to be reactivated. 

“Last week after your sh-show,” you answer obediently. 

“So mean of me, huh? To keep you so needy,” he says, and that’s when you feel it. The handle of the wand being pressed against your inner thigh, the low buzz as he turns it on. You gasp while he adjusts it, feeling it press up against you before he secures it there, hips already searching for more pleasure as he turns it up higher. 

“Let me make it up to you,” the way he says it, you know he has that devilish look pulling across his smile. The metallic flick of his switchblade sounds and your panties are the first to face its wrath, pulled away with ease once the right slices were made. He follows up with the straps of your bra and you want to protest but you know he’ll buy you a new one before the day ends tomorrow – he’s always ruining your shit and buying you more, his mouth running apologies as he does.

“S’that feel good?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes already rolling at the orgasm building in your lower belly. 

“What do you say?” his voice is expectant. 

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp out. 

“You tell me every time you cum, okay?” he instructs. You nod, losing yourself in the feeling of being restrained and used. Your eyes flutter closed while you succumb to the vibrations between your legs and the sound of his voice, the stomp of his boots. A soft gasp pushes out of your chest, hips pressing down on the head of the toy for more friction. 

CRACK! 

The belt is unforgiving against the fat of your ass and your gasp quickly falls into a loud wail, the cry in your chest pushing to your throat. 

“Okay?” he repeats. 

“Y-yes sir, I’ll tell you every time,” you hurry out, feeling the coil in between your legs get tighter immediately at the sting of the belt. 

“Sir?” you ask quietly, “Hit me again, please.” 

“Yeah?” you shivered at the low gravel of his voice. You hear him rev up, then the leather whooshing through the air to land in a hard ‘thwap!’ across your behind. You whine at the hit, hands balled into fists at the pain – but god was it good. It was so good. 

“I have to make a quick phone call,” he mutters, “Keep track for me.” 

He returns some minutes later, leaning over the mattress to look at you, “Look at you, what a fucking slut. You like this?” 

You nod pitifully and he rolls his eyes, your hips twitch at the sight. 

“You cum yet?” he sounds so bored when he asks you think you might cum again instantly. 

“Twice, sir,” you confess. 

“Twice?” he repeats, “Must not be enough – so quiet.” 

You feel the tip of something drag against the flesh of your thigh while Eddie draws two short vertical parallel lines, “Just using up your eyeliner to keep track.” 

“But thats –”  His hand cracks down on your fresh welt before you can continue, “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. Get you a new lipstick, too. So shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp out. 

“Let’s get you nice and loud for me,” he mumbles, reaching between your thighs to turn up the toy's speed. 

“Oh, fuck! Oh my god,” you cry out, “Oh, shitshitshitshit.”

His giggle is grotesque when you feel the slide of your lipstick on your skin; your back, your ass, your calves. the waxy scent wafts through the air with the smell of your arousal, “Steve’s right, writing all over you is really fun. Wanna see what you look like, whore?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you obey, hips stuttering while a third orgasm runs over you, “Three! Fuck, three.” 

Another vertical line is sketched on your thigh with the other two. The sound of his Polaroid goes off when he’s done with his handy work, leaving the picture next to you to fade into view. 

“H-hope you spelled everything right,” you tease, knowing exactly where it’ll get you, “Know how hard that is for you, ‘86.” 

He growls, a stinging dig he didn’t deserve, but you remember the ache of each canceled date. Every ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ Him mentioning Chrissy while he jerked off when you always suspected he’d secretly been checking her out when you went for lunch there. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice.” 

You groan at the blend of the crack of the belt on your ass and the sound of Steve’s disappointed voice. 

“Four, fuck, four,” you cry while your thighs shake — another line added to your collection. 

“Looks like your training isn’t done, peach,” Steve says sweetly, “You’re still being such a little bitch.” 

You hear him fall in line with Eddie, his ringed hand pulling at your hair to lift you up, “Say hi to Steve, sweetheart.”

“H-hi Mr. Harrington,” you rasp out before he drops your head back down on the pillow.

“Hi, angel,” his voice was low and syrupy, “So respectful.” 

“Heard he’s been real mean to you, peach,” he announces, and you can feel his hand skate over the hot skin of your ass where the belt has met you more than once tonight, “Making you be his pet, kneeling on rice, he’s so mean isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathily as the buzz of the vibrator turns up higher.

“I have to be mean, too,” he says softly, hand cracking down hard on your ass in a sweeping smack, “Remember what you said to me earlier?” 

“No, sir,” you whimper, the cry caught in your throat finally aching back out. Tears rapidly stain your face as you see Eddie come into view at the end of the bed.

“Why don’t you try a little harder?” Eddie bites, a short smack with his fingers bouncing off your cheek, “Use your brain.” 

“I said you — shit, five, FIVE, oh my god five — please turn it off Ed, please,” you whine, hips jumping to escape the vibrations, your clit beginning to ache. A wave of concern washes over his features at the sound of his name and not ‘sir’.

“What did you say to Steve earlier? Tell me and I’ll consider it,” he says, eyes scanning you hurriedly to check your face for signs of discomfort beyond what you could normally handle. You huff and cry, too overstimulated to answer him.  

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warns, hand snaking back into your hair.

“I said he wouldn’t do shit,” you grit out, whimpering out a broken, “Six.” 

“You can turn the toy off, Harrington,” he says gruffly. Two more lines are marked on your thigh, you shiver when Steve traces them after he turns the toy off.

“Nice collection,” he says, cocking his head over to Eddie’s implements laid out on the dresser. You hear him rifle through his options, Eddie’s quiet instructions while they look together, ‘Too much, she’ll tap out,’ ‘She can only do a few with those,’ ‘You’re not experienced enough for that, you’re not here to practice on my girl.’ Warmth pools in your belly and soothes you despite the stinging on your skin and the bruised ache between your legs. They decide on the belt, it’s Steve’s favorite and yours, and you’re silently happy he joined in because Eddie absolutely would’ve caned you otherwise. 

“You have a nice break?” Eddie asks, he appears at the end of the mattress again – torso in your vision. You nod, feeling a wet spot under your cheek from drooling. 

He tuts, wiping some of it away, muttering, “You fucking dog,” under his breath.

“I’m not gonna do shit? That’s what you said, right?” Steve asks, you moan in frustration when the toy starts up again between your legs – setting turned up high. 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you stutter out. The last syllable leaves your lips and Eddie’s belt meets you across the thighs with a speed and precision you’ve never felt before. The sound that comes out of you is desperate and aching, barely coming down from the sting when the second comes down hard the side of your ass. 

“Didn’t think this one through, did ya, peach?” he asks, a grunt and flounce of his hair adding power to the next one. 

“No, sir. I’m s-sorry,” you cry, shoulders shuddering when he follows through with two more. The vibrations of the toy and his rough smacks of the belt blend together again and you gush between your thighs with a high whine.  “S-seven,” you whimper. 

“What a slut,” Eddie mutters while he adds another line to your orgasm tally, “Gettin’ beat makes you cum?” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod feverishly, easing your hips back down lightly over the vibrator wand. He slides the belt he’s wearing out of his belt loops and wraps it firmly around his knuckles. You look up at him petulantly with wet, glassy eyes. Another strike of pain hits your backside as Steve whips the belt against you again.

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised, “You got somethin’a say?” 

“No, sir,” you raspily whisper. 

“Good,” he smiles, “Cause pets don’t talk, do they?” 

“No, sir,” you admit with a nod, yelping when the leather strikes your thighs. 

“You’re gonna cum ten times, baby,” he explains, “I’m gonna help you get there.” 

“Since getting whupped makes you cum so much,” he teases before both of them bring their belts down simultaneously. The release of crying is more euphoric than the orgasms, settling into the burn of each rise and fall of their arms, each crack of their belts and slap of their hands raining down on you.

“Ow, fuck that hurts so fucking good,” you wail, “Please more, please.” 

“You dirty fucking bitch,” Steve glowers, “You learning anything?” 

“Yes, sir – AH! EIGHT – EIGHT!” you scream, the choked sob in your chest wracking through you into a full on meltdown. They both drop their belts, Steve approaching you again with both hands gripping your hot, welted skin hard. You squirm under his touch while his hand barrels down on you again, the other turning off the toy. 

“You know something, peach,” he says, finger softly tracing whatever Eddie wrote on your back, “I think you act like a bitch ‘cause you wanna be fucked like one.” 

You squeal out a noise while he kneads the burning fat of your hips and thighs, spreading you open, “Does that sound right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you say between big breaths, trying to steady your sobs. You relax into the relief of the toy being turned off, shivering at the feeling of his finger going back to trace the words on your back. 

“Says here you’re an anal slut,” he smirks, “You like getting fucked in the ass?” 

“She loves getting fucked in the ass,” Eddie answers for you, a whiff of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafts through the room while you feel him detach the spreader bar from between your legs. 

“So how about I fuck you like that? Think that’ll drive it home?” 

You nod while Eddie uses his switchblade to cut open the rope on your wrists and thighs, your hands falling down towards the mattress limply. You lift one of them to push yourself up but Eddie catches your arm.

“Stay,” Eddie says sternly, “You didn’t answer his question.” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” your voice sounds moody and petty. 

“Is that what you want?” Eddie asks, brows raised again. You can tell he wants your extra reassurance since this was newer territory. He didn’t share you very often, and not normally with someone so close to home. 

“Yes, sir,” you nod, he squeezes your arm twice in silent communication. A gentle reminder. A silent ‘I love you’. 

“Get her on her back, Harrington,” he smiles, “That’s how she likes it best.” 

Steve, though still stern, takes his time working you up to it – teasing your clit with his thumb until wetness pools out of you down to your ass. 

“You like it slow like this? Like getting stretched out?” he asks, “You’re not my toy, so I don’t wanna break you.” 

“Mmm,” is all you can reply as one of his fingers pumps slowly in and out of your tight hole, your hips moving in time. Your head lolls back over the end of the mattress where Eddie’s stood over you, the mix of his musk and body wash filling your nose while his balls sit over your mouth. 

“Oh, you can break her, Harrington,” Eddie nods, “Put some miles on her.”

Eddie pops open a bottle of lube and tosses it to Steve, “Two squirts is normally enough to get the second finger in, she’ll loosen up good after that.” 

Your thighs twitch while you hear your boyfriend’s low gravelly voice instruct someone on how to fuck you. How your body reacts, what your body wants. Like he’s always been studying you this whole time. You preen into his touch when his ringed hand slides town your torso to move Steve’s thumb away from your clit. 

“You like getting used, angel?” Steve asks, easing a second finger in slowly. You groan at the stretch, legs shaking when the pads of Eddie’s fingers swirl over your clit at the speed and pressure you like the most. “Mhmm,” you muffle out, hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s thigh, nails digging into his skin while you continue to drool onto his sac. He hisses at the bite of the assault, “Hands to yourself.” 

You whine when he takes his hand away, offering three short slaps to your clit with his fingers. 

“Nine,” you gasp out, hips jolting at the pleasure from the pain and the fullness of Steve’s fingers pumping in and out of you. You lay there like that for a bit, eyes fluttering closed while Eddie guides his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing in and out while his hand cups your face. 

“Think you’re ready for something bigger, peach,” Steve says softly, pushing your thighs up to press against your chest. You instinctively hold them up, never having to be told where and when to be helpful in providing access to you. You feel the blunt head of his cock push forward and you suck in a breath through your nose while Eddie’s length slides against your tongue. His thumb smoothes over your jaw bone. 

“You can take it,” he encourages, his hand moving downward to grab one of your breasts. A quiet groan bubbles out of his chest when Steve pushes himself in to the hilt, making you moan over his cock. 

“So tight, shit,” Steve grunts, a soft sheen of sweat forming on his forehead while his body finds balance on the mattress to begin thrusting. And thrust he does, not caring about your pleasure – only his. Eddie doesn’t mind though, he knows that part of what gets you off is the total disregard for you, that delicious taste of degradation and humiliation that comes with being used. 

“She’s good, isn’t she Harrington?” Eddie asks, hips moving a little faster while he fucks your mouth. Your eyes roll behind closed eyelids as the sensation of one of them pushing in and the other pulling out rocks you against the mattress. 

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, “Yeah, shit – better keep her on a fuckin’ tight leash.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair before both of them find a solid grip on your waist, drilling into you. You jump with each slam of his hips while your skin smacks together, waking up the buzzing sting of the welts they both left behind. You let yourself be used, moaning muffled by Eddie’s girth, pussy pulsing over nothing while they took turns teasing your clit and chest. Rough grabs turning into soft, feathery touches. Leather and lace, push and pull, back and forth.

“Gettin’ close, baby,” Eddie grumbles, the snap of his hips starting to stutter when he pulls out of your mouth. You obediently keep your mouth open and he laughs at you, tapping your chin closed. 

“No, you don’t get to swallow my cum,” he taunts, “You didn’t earn that.” 

You watch him fuck his fist, eyes burning with lust while he watches Steve pull you closer to him on the bed, your face finally staring up at him. You can smell the spice of his cologne, see the fire in his light brown eyes, his furrowed brow while he rapidly reaches his orgasm. Each thrust gets more punishing while he berates you into the mattress. 

“You take it so good, you fucking slut,” he hisses, “He trained you real fuckin’ good.” 

He leans over you, one hand supporting him, the other creeping up the front of your neck. You’re too fucked out to notice Eddie grab his wrist before Steve can put any pressure on your airways. Offering him a quiet ‘not tonight,’ with a shake of his head, curls bouncing next to him. Steve nods, not skipping a moment to use the same hand to smack you hard across the face – your back arches immediately. 

“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you cry out while your final orgasm rips through you, gushing down between your legs over Steve’s cock. Relieved and satisfied, the tears start to pour out of you again. Aftershocks of your orgasm making you writhe and whine, cry and shake. 

Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s cum shoot in hot spurts over your face. You sputter, eyes shut tight, face contorting while he purrs a low, “You want some more?” 

You whimper, letting out a pathetic ‘mhm’ with a nod in order to keep your mouth shut. You feel Steve’s knees walk over you, the ‘schlick, schlick, schlick’ of him fucking himself over you, using your cum for friction. 

“Say please, baby,” Steve coos over you. 

“Please, sir, please,” you beg, warm briny spend leaking into your mouth at the words. You catch the hitch in his breath before his own thick ropes of cum land on your face. You hear his ragged breathing, feel the shift of his weight while he leans over your body before getting off the bed. 

“Fuck, heh, she’s – damn – she’s good, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie laughs with him, ringed hand coming down to smear their cum into your face before cracking his palm against your cheek from above you. 

“As usual, rode hard and put away wet,” his tone is bored and it makes you shiver again, “Go hit the showers, Harrington.” 

You hear him step out and the bathroom door shut partway down the hall, the air stills now that it’s just you and Eddie. You let out a long, contented, shuddering sigh; too tired to cry, too tired to do much of anything. In the fog, he says ‘I’ll be right back,’ to you, and you aren’t sure how much time has passed between his leaving the room and his arrival. 

“Hey baby,” he croons, “You with me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble. You feel the warmth of a wet washcloth smooth over your face, taking gentle care over your eyes and lips. “Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks, pushing your hair away from your damp forehead. Your eyes open halfway, looking at him through bleary vision – he’s handsome just the same. 

“Hi there,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you croak out. 

“Why don’t you rest a little?” He suggests, pressing a kiss to your cleaned off cheek, “I’ll be right here.” 

You barely register the last syllable of his sentence, exhaustion taking over before you can even agree to the sentiment. 

You wake up slowly, eyes blinking open to the dull flicker of the collection of drippy pillar candles on Eddie’s dresser and the glow of his bedside lamp. He sat up against the wall beside you, book in hand, something new he picked up from a friend at the garage. You lazily reach over and put your hand on his knee, groaning a little at the stretch in your skin where him and Steve had left their marks. 

“There you are,” he smiles, peering over his book, “You have a good rest?” 

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “How long was I out?” 

“Couple of hours,” he said, starting to giggle, “You slept like a log. Just – out cold. I thought you died.”

You peer around the room and see that it’s been straightened up, the heats on. You’ve been covered up in blankets – water and aspirin already set up next to you. 

“Where’s Steve?” you ask, wincing while you sit up in bed, reaching for the pills to down them. 

“He went home,” he says, dog earring the page and setting it down at the end of the bed, “But he told me to tell you he owes you a night out.” 

“Ugh, a night out with Harrington – can’t wait,” you roll your eyes, sipping your water. 

“I told him you’d rather chew glass,” he laughs, the laugh fades to a look of fondness, “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“Was that good? Was that okay with you?” he asks, scooting closer to pull one of your hands between his. His fingers toy with your absent mindedly while he waits for your answer. 

“Yes, baby, it was okay,” you smile, chuckling at the dichotomy of his dominant persona and who he is after. 

“Just okay? Are you alright? Did you like it?” His questions are feverish and you can tell he feels guilty, teetering on getting too in his head. 

“Ed, honey –” you start, offering him a kind look that makes his shoulders relax, “I loved it. I love when we play. Adding Steve was really fun.” 

“You don’t want him, like, every time, right?” he asks. 

You pull a face, “No, ew. That’s like, a punch card kind of thing. Every five fucks he gets to join or something.” 

You both laugh in the low light of the room and he leans his head against the wall, looking at you through the slits of his eye lids, “I love you – I’m sorry it felt like I wasn’t connecting with you lately.” 

“It’s okay,” you nod, “I should’ve said something. I just, I don’t know – hate seeming like I’m being needy when I’m sad that you canceled a date. Like, we’re adults.” 

“It’s okay to be disappointed about it,” he shrugs, “I would be, too. S’not gonna hurt my feelings or start a fight if you’re just like ‘Hey, you’re bumming me out – let’s fix it’. I wanna fix these things – this is the long haul, baby. You’re not getting away from me any time soon.” 

“Um – but can I be honest about something?” you ask, nerves creeping into your chest. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Um, please don’t talk about Chrissy like – ever again.” 

His shoulders deflate, “Baby…I wish you told me, you should’ve–” 

“I know, I know, I should’ve said something when it was happening but I just. I froze?” you try to explain, “I didn’t like that.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and you know he really means it, “You know I would never. I don’t really want her like that. I was just trying something new. I never want you to feel like there’s someone else.” 

You nod with a tight smile, “I just like – that’s why I’m scared to complain. Cause what if you wanna be with someone who will just like – brainlessly do whatever you want and not care?” 

He tries to fight a smile but he can’t help it, “Well, babe, I mean…you already sort of brainlessly do whatever I want.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you tease, swatting at him. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

“You can complain every day for the rest of your life,” he says simply, “And I’’ll feel lucky to be the guy you’re complaining to.” 

“So, why don’t we get you in the shower,” he starts, voice soft and smokey, “I’ll clean you off.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek, crawling over you. 

“Get you all relaxed,” he says, before tilting your head up to take your lips in his. It’s loaded with desire, not a peck, but a hungry mouth on yours, “Patch you up a little.”  

“I already started dinner.” 

Kiss. “Your favorite.” Kiss. 

“We can eat.” Kiss.

“We’ll have dessert.” 

Kiss. 

“Your favorite, again.” 

Kiss. “And you can have –”

Kiss. 

“All of my attention –” 

Kiss. 

“For the rest of the night.” 

His big brown eyes linger on yours when he breaks away from his final kiss, lost in looking at you. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I just – damnit –” he sucks his teeth, “I made myself hard again.”  You giggle at his frustration, leaning forward until your noses press against eachother.

“We can take care of that,” you start – 

Kiss. 

“In the shower.” 

[luxaofhesperides]

Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended. 

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. 

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become. 

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself. 

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green. 

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him. 

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain. 

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really. 

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down. 

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else. 

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes. 

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating. 

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham. 

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking. 

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line. 

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes. 

Danny shivers and walks faster. 

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty. 

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers. 

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park. 

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin. 

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman. 

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say. 

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes. 

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile. 

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate. 

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world. 

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate. 

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers. 

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice. 

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says. 

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding. 

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air. 

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again. 

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke. 

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance. 

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to. 

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten. 

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life. 

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise. 

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 5

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 5 Summary: After a fight with Lucien, Reader gets to know and bond with the others. Feyre gives her job and she is finally allowed to return to Velaris.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, accidently injury.

A/N: So my chapters are likely just going to be between 3k-4k words from now on. Which just means more chapters in the long run, lol. There's some slight Ruhn x Reader, if you squint. Mainly because I have no clue where the terms of endearment came from at the end. I may explore that further in a side story...

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 4

Feyre and Nyx spent two weeks at the Moonstone Palace with you and those from Midgard. With her there to oversee things, she had sent Lucien back to the Spring Court and Mortal lands to resume his emissary duties. And after your little spat with him, he was all too quick to leave.

“What the fuck Lucien?!” You didn’t give him a chance to breathe after shutting the door to your room that night. You watched as his full lips opened to protest, but you weren’t going to let him. The sting of a betrayal from his lack of confidence in you hurt too much. “First you tell people my personal matters without my permission, then scold me like a child!” The argument had been brewing in you all afternoon. The way he spoke to you, spoke about you, in front of the others had your blood boiling. Did he think that you were a child in need of being reprimanded for speaking out of turn? All you did was point out what that fucktard-

“(Y/N) it wasn’t-,” He followed you into the room.

“I understand informing the healers about my nightmares, but everyone else?” You skirted away from him. You were too pissed off to want to be near him right now. “They are strangers to me, Lu!” You continued to rant, not paying attention to his attempts to speak.

“I am aware of that, but-”

“Are you aware? I am a grown woman, and yet you treated me as if I were some fragile child,” You felt the tears sting your eyes, “Is that what I am to you? I’ll have you know I don’t need to be coddled.”

“Of course, not-” He reached out towards you.

“And I wasn’t threatening Bryce. I didn’t do anything wrong by pointing out the fact that Rhysand nearly killed me due to my lack of knowledge about her.” You began to pace along the side of the bed.

“No one is saying you did,” He took a few steps closer.

“Then why speak to me that way? As if what I said was not supposed to be mentioned,” You whirled towards him.

“(Y/N), can you please let me explain?” He grabbed your elbow in an effort to get you to stop your pacing. But neither your nightmares nor Bryce were the real issues that plagued your racing thoughts. The male before you had violated your trust in the one way that you feared the most. 

“You let him into my room Lucien!” You pulled out of his grasp, your voice cracking with the pained revelation. “The one person that I can’t feel safe around. You let him in! You let him see how weak he has made me! I don’t need others knowing…I don’t want others knowing…” You had just barely gotten used to the idea of Lucien seeing you in such a vulnerable state. The thought of others knowing how broken Azriel made you…

“You know what, I should just take care of myself from now on,” You weren’t even convinced by your own words as you quickly brushed away the tears before they had a chance to fall.  

“I am just trying to help,” He raised his hands in a form of surrender. “They need to see your pain.”  

“My pain?” Something in your chest twisted and cracked. “What do you know of my pain?” Hot rage filled tears broke free and streamed freely down your cheeks.

“(Y/N),” Lucien’s deep timbre was like a caress, one that was desperate to get you to understand. “Feyre and the others…They need to know the extent of what has been done to you.”

“My pain is not yours to exploit!” You didn’t want to understand. You wanted to be angry. Anger filled you with a fire that allowed you to hide the hurt and fear.

“Exploit?” He dared to look personally offended. “Do you…I don’t want to help you-” Your mind, a whirlwind of rage, had it been in a better state would have let him finish his sentence.

“Then don’t!” You wanted to take back the words as soon as they formed on your lips. Darkened feelings swirled and tunneled up from the recesses of a deepening crevice that you thought you had blocked access to years ago. It clouded everything and brought up old insecurities. Ones that you didn’t want to acknowledge were playing out in front you at this very moment. You had always hated feeling dependent upon others. Hated the feeling of being a burden, and you could clearly see that you were just that to Lucien. Of course, he didn’t want to be here. He had other more important duties than to babysit the broken human girl. He had friends, a family, and a mate. All of whom were much more important to him than you.

“I don’t need your pity,” You spat, your voice thick and rough with your own self-loathing, “I don’t need your help. I don’t need you!” But you did need him, and that terrified you.

“(Y/N),” His russet eye filled with regret. “I-I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did,” You whispered. Your jaw was tight as you tried to keep your lip from trembling.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was soft, and your heart cracked again.

“Don’t lie to me!” You sobbed, arms wrapping around your middle. The room was silent for the span of a heartbeat.

“Fine,” He spit back at you, losing his usual composure as he stormed towards the door, “You’ve clearly made up your mind on the intention of my actions. I’ll leave you to your misery as you wish.”

You had cried yourself to sleep that night. While you tried not to let his absence get to you, the next few nights spent alone were filled with terror. You had barely slept, even with the aid of the sleeping tonic that was provided with by the healers. The nightmares had only continued to rip you from slumber within minutes of drifting off. All the tonic did was paralyze you inside your body, while the shadows took the forms of monsters drenched in moonlight. The warmth and light that Lucien brought you was now gone. So, to avoid the nightmares you avoided sleep. And the best way to do that meant keeping yourself busy.

To you, keeping busy also meant making yourself useful. So, you went to see what assistance you could provide to those from Midgard. Which really just ended up being Ruhn as you wanted to give the mated couple their space. It took two days for him to say anything to you after that initial meeting. And while you wanted to ask him what his issue was, it appeared that it was a story he was not willing to speak on just yet.

Once you started talking, you got along surprisingly well with the male. He was easy to talk to, just as Lucien had been. The two of you shared a similar sense of humor, slightly sarcastic and just on the verge of being dark.  He was more open than Bryce was about life on Midgard, which you were able to confirm had similar technological advancements to your own world. Although, you had been disappointment to learn that their technology was powered by Firstlight and not electricity. Which to you, Firstlight just sounded like magic. Which left you to conclude there was no way to power your own cell phone once the battery was fully drained. The portable charger you had ran out of juice the night before after fully charging the smart device. Now, you had approximately 75% battery left. Still, you used some of the power it had left to share your musical tastes alongside Bryce and Ruhn. Nesta had been just as curious as to the music of your world, noting how there were similarities between all three of your respective worlds. Primarily in regards to the "classical" genres. Overall, you felt comfortable and at ease around Ruhn. Surprisingly, when you first saw the misty shadows that curled around him, you hadn’t recoiled from their touch when he demonstrated his ability to utilities them. There was a completely different feel to them compared to Azriel’s. You attributed that to a clear lack of sentience, which allowed them to feel warmer somehow. Despite the budding friendship, you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to share your vulnerabilities with Ruhn. You weren’t ready to make the same mistake of letting someone in too quickly as you had with Lucien. Not when it was clear they wouldn’t be sticking around long enough for it to even matter.

When those from Midgard were busy, you then assisted Feyre with Nyx. It started after he had a particularly difficult day with teething. The three of you had been eating lunch when the child continued to cry. You could tell the new mother was starting to become flustered as she bounced and shushed him. But nothing she did appeared to sooth the child. You had noticed the way he chewed on his balled-up fist and asked if you could try something. While she was hesitant, Feyre handed you the 11-month-old babe. You took a cloth napkin and dipped it in your water glass before asking the High Lady to slightly freeze the fabric. Once frozen, you wrapped it around your pinky finger and stuck it in the wailing child’s mouth, making sure to gently massage the back part of his gums. He quickly took over chewing on your finger and finally started to settle. Your make shift teething toy worked as well as you had hoped, but it was when you started to sing that had endeared you to the boy. Feyre had sat in awe at how quickly Nyx calmed and studied you with rapt attention. The soft melody floating on the wind and the warm timber of your voice entranced the child. That was all it took to win him over. At each subsequent meal, after you had finished eating, Nyx would stretch his arms out towards you. Which quickly lead to his wanting to be held by you every time he saw you. Your mealtime songs soon became bedtime lullabies. By the end of the first week there was no doubt that Nyx absolutely adored you, and you adored him in return. It was due to your fast and unique bond with the child that Feyre offered you the position of being a part-time nanny and offered you a room in their Town House in Velaris.

Which is where you found yourself now, tucked into a bedroom that reminded you more of the simplicity of your apartment rather than the opulence of the Moonstone Palace. Rhysand had not been too happy, but relented when his mate insisted. She had later explained that she had showed him her memories of you with Nyx and how important it would be for her to get back to her duties as High Lady, if even just on a part time basis.

You had just finished hanging up the last of your dresses when you heard Cassian’s booming voice echo up the staircase quickly followed by Nesta instructing him to keep his voice down lest he disturb you. Their voices were soon followed by Bryce and Hunt’s greeting towards Rhysand. You heard the door to the High Lord’s office shut and the hall was silent yet again. You decided that now was as good a time as any to get a glass of water and an apple from the kitchen. It wasn’t that you were avoiding-actually that was a lie. You were avoiding two individuals specifically. You had yet to speak with Rhysand since he had stopped your bleeding all those weeks ago. And you had not seen Azriel, despite the fact that he had seen you. You didn’t know what you would do, or how you would react if you saw the Shadowsinger. You had nearly gone into a full blown panic attack at the sight of Cassian, who had merely resembled Azriel at first glance. The only thing that had kept you from crashing down into that pit was Lucien, who was now back to residing in the Mortal lands on the opposite side of the small continent of which Prythian was located.

You descended the staircase as quietly as you could, fearful that someone would come out to investigate any noise. You doubted your stealth abilities though. It was likely that someone picked up your presence as the voices died down when you began your descent and picked back up when you made it to the landing near the foyer. Once in the kitchen it wasn’t difficult to find what you needed. You were grateful for the fact that the town house had running water from what appeared to be modern style plumbing. You filled a glass from the tap and drank about half in one large gulp. You filled it to the top again and grabbed an apple from the countertop before you made your way back up the stairs. This time you didn’t bother to hide your footsteps. Which oddly enough, seemed to have not been heard given the muffled cacophony of voices from inside the office. You paused just two steps below the doorframe when you heard your name.

“I can’t believe that you still feel threatened by her,” Nesta’s voice was muffled, but you could still hear the exasperated tone. “You are currently the only one that is.”

“Amren and Mor have yet to meet her,” Rhysand’s tenor sounded just as annoyed as Nesta. “I will pass my judgement once they do.” Judgement? You hadn’t even realized that you were on trial. Were you not going to be even granted the opportunity to speak on your own behalf? The nerve of this fucking asshole! But your ire quickly merged into fear. What decisions were there to be made? What sort of sentence awaited you? Would you lose your newfound freedom so quickly? Sent to a lifetime of imprisonment on that desolate inescapable island? Your grip tightened on the glass in your hand.

“You said that the gate we set up was sealed with blood magic,” Bryce spoke up. “That only those who’s blood is keyed in, or even shares a substantial amount of blood to one that is keyed in, can pass through.”

“If that’s the case, I think its obvious as to how she passed through,” Ruhn spoke up. “She’s related to someone in this room, except scary shadow dude there. And Hunt.” Blood rushed in your ears. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way you could be related to any one here. They were all a different species for fucks sake. You were a human from a different world, a different reality. Magic was not the same on Earth as it was on Midgard or whatever the fucking name this planet was called. And even if this was to be believed, that you were somehow related to those that originated on this planet…all it did was explain a portion of the ‘how’ you got here. The ‘why’ was still unknown, and honestly the ‘why’ was much more important.

“How would any of your bloodlines have gotten to her world?” Hunt asked. “Midgard has no records of anyone leaving the planet through the Rifts, with the exception of the armies from Hel. And from what Bryce and your people found under that Prison, the members of that court only traveled to Midgard.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Nesta spoke up. “I have a friend that works in our main library. She’s an assistant to a Priestess that had conducted some research on travel to different worlds. According to what she found, there was a second wave of Fae that went missing a whole generation later, but they were from the large continent to the east of Prythian.”

“Even so,” Azriel’s voice sent a chill down your spine. “Her blood should be too diluted to have triggered the blood seal. She’s mortal, not Fae.” His words were cold, but the truth.  

“What proof do you have of that?” Ruhn challenged. “Did your slicing and dicing of her skin reveal that tidbit of information?”

“Dude,” his sister spoke up, “Chill.” Azriel didn’t respond. You felt the air hum with electricity despite being on the other side of the door. Your breathing became shallow.

“How would anyone go about proving that?” Cassian asked.

“We can in Midgard,” Hunt spoke up. “DNA blood tests are used on Vanir and even those with mixed heritage prior to the Drop.”

“She’d have to go with us,” Ruhn stated. “Which is a huge no-go right now. We, unfortunately, need to lay low for a bit.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t waste time on figuring out who she is,” Bryce interjected. “We need to find a way to Hel. We need to stop the Asteri before they destroy Midgard and find their way back here. I vote that someone goes to talk to that guy at the lake.” Your stomach dropped, but you were grateful to Bryce. She was right in that you should be the least of their concerns given what you currently understood of their conversation.

“Figuring out who she is may lead us to those answers,” Rhys’ voice remained annoyed. “And no one is to make contact with Koschei until we have that information. For all we know-”

“Stop talking Rhys,” Azriel warned. The next thing you knew the door to the office was flung open and a pair of captivating hazel-green eyes met yours. The glass slipped from your hands and shattered on the stairs. The breath ripped from your lungs as your brain caught up to the fact that Azriel stood in front of you. The apple was next to fall, bouncing down the steps. Your body screamed for you to run, but you could only manage slow movements. Acting on the instinct to not make any sudden movements lest the predator in front of you strike. You backed away down the stairs, one hand glued to the railing and the other the wall.

“(Y/N),” the male before you called out and took a tentative step in your direction. The movement sent your fear into overdrive. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the pace, not daring to take your eyes of the threat in front of you.

“(Y/N) wait,” Azriel called again. His mouth continued to move, but you couldn’t hear him. Your vision blurred and the edges darkened. The center of your chest burned and you couldn’t catch your breath. You dropped your weight into your heel, but it was met with air. The loss of balance causing you to tumble the rest of the way down the staircase. Pain tore at your ankle and raced up to your thigh. You hit the floor of the foyer hard, head cracking against the stone tiles. You felt hands on your arms, but you thrashed against them. You kicked and swung your arms, trying to create any distance you could between yourself and the male that tortured you. Your foot connected with something and you cried out from the searing pain that the impact caused. He was not going to take you back there. You were not going to be taken anywhere without a fight. You felt yourself screaming and you continued to fight off the hands that touched you.

“Hey hey hey,” A gentle deep voice finally reached your ears, “Sweetheart it’s me. It’s okay. It’s just me.” You used your feet to push against the ground, but you couldn’t get anywhere with the pain in your ankle.

“(Y/N), open your eyes,” the voice instructed, “Your ankle’s broken, baby. Stop. Stop kicking. I’ve got you.” You hadn’t even realized that your eyes had been closed. Everything had been a dark blur when you fell backwards. But you complied. You had expected it to be bright when you cracked your eyes open, but instead all you saw was blue. Ruhn sat on the ground next to you, his warm hand pressed against your cheek. You caught a glimpse of Nesta’s golden brown hair as she knelt on your other side. Your eyes met Ruhn’s again and you felt yourself break. Covering your face with both hands you sobbed. The fear, the pain, and the embarrassment that you were yet again crying was too much.

“A healer is on her way,” Nesta’s voice was as equally soft as Ruhn’s, “Let’s get her upstairs.��� You winced as your two friends helped you to stand. Each of your arms was placed around one of their shoulders, Ruhn having to bend down slightly given the 4 to 5-inch height difference between you. His arm wrapped around your waist allowing him to take the brunt of your weight.

The trek upstairs wasn’t as painful as you anticipated. The two Fae helped you onto your bed, where you waited for the healer. Luckily you didn’t have to wait very long. The slightly older looking female worked quickly and efficiently in setting your ankle back in place before mending it with magic. Still it was wrapped up tightly to keep it in the ideal position while the bones slowly fused together.

Once she left you asked for some time by yourself claiming that you wanted to sleep. Which wasn’t a complete lie, you were exhausted. You carefully pulled the covers down and tucked your legs under them. The bed was already warm and despite the amount of information that you had taken in just minutes before, your mind drifted off to sleep.

Next: Chapter 6

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie @fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion @randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee @hardcoremarvelfan

[lalunanymph]

sniffles lemme be delusional for a bit and imagine what it would be like if gojo came back home after shibuya.

gojo who faced death right in the eye and was reborn for the second time in his short life.

before everything that happened with suguru, his only wish was to go on his own path, and create his own fate. not the one his parents wanted or the higher ups envisioned for him.

he wanted a life of simplicity. domesticity. starting the day beside you in the early mornings; cooking pancakes, getting the baby dressed up and sending the other 2 kids to school.

so, when he finally opens his eyes, back in jujutsu high, gojo makes a decision. he can't imagine living if it was not with you.

gojo who teleports back to the upscale penthouse he bought just for you, fortified to protect his most priceless person from any evil in his world wanting to harm her.

gojo who stumbles pass the door, still in his sticky, soiled clothes from the battle. he sees you on the couch, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

he knows he must look like a madman to you right now; blood streaking his face, some of it still on his hands, but you had never looked this beautiful to him before.

dressed in one of his sleep shirts with your bare legs tucked under you, you slowly stand up, and gojo swears the first time you say his name, a choir of angels could've proclaimed it.

"satoru?"

he nearly collapses to the floor, but summons the last bit of strength to push himself into your arms. you catch him, not minding the blood, or the gore. all you want to do is hold him close, cradle him tight enough until the horrors disappear.

"i'm so sorry," he says into your shoulder, and for the first time, he's crying—he's allowing himself to cry. "i should've been stronger. i should've came back sooner, i—"

"you're here," you whisper, and though you do not know the extent of how terrifying it is to be a sorcerer, you can taste gojo's anxiety; his self-hatred. "you're here and that's enough."

"i couldn't save them."

"ssh."

"it's my fault."

"satoru, it's not—"

"i should've been the one who died."

"satoru." you grip his face, and he finds tears in your eyes, too. pressing your forehead to his, you take his cheeks in your hands.

for the first time, the strongest was at his weakest, and you were all too prepared to nurture his broken pieces back to fullness.

"satoru, you did your best. you did your best and that's all that matters."

he knows you don't understand his world fully, and yet, your words were exactly what he needed.

"i'm sorry, pumpkin."

"why?" your soft voice was a soothing balm for him. "why're you apologizing to me?"

"for never giving you the life we wanted."

gojo is a strong man, but he is still a man. he still had regrets, anger, sadness, despair and frustrations. just because someone was born into greatness didn't mean they were exempted from the human experience.

they were still born into this terrifying, dark yet beautiful world, after all.

you laugh, a short little miserable sound that tugged on his heartstrings. "any life with you is perfect enough, satoru."

and gojo kisses you. he kisses you until you can't breathe, until your heartbeats sync as one. he brings you back to the bedroom, and under the sacred, watchful eye of the moon, he makes love to you, wanting to feel human again; to be human again.

every touch, every caress and whisper of his name grounds him back to safety. your presence was an anchor he sorely needed.

as he makes you cum around his cock for the third time tonight, gojo presses his sweaty forehead onto yours, tasting your sweet exhale of his name.

"satoru—"

"forever," he whispers, in a strained, low tone. his cock feels too good, and his next words are positively euphoric. "forever and ever. just us, baby. wha'dya say? we'll run away from this stupid town, this stupid life. we'll raise a bunch of kiddos and you can be my wifey. wha'dya say?"

and gojo knows his life is limited; his destiny was already co-written by the cruel hands of his family's legacy. but he yearns and pines and stupidly wishes things were different. that he was anyone other than gojo satoru.

but he doesn't care about his own name, about his own existence, not when you smile and cradle his face in your hands again.

"i already said it before 'toru—any life with you is perfect enough. i'd rather have half of you than none of you."

gojo gives a strained laugh. half of him. wait till he told you the full story.

"okay," he murmurs, kissing you on the nose. "i'll give us the life we both deserve, baby. you know i will."

"i know," you hum. "you're satoru. my satoru. and i love you."

not gojo satoru. not the strongest. not the man who has the entire world on his shoulders.

just your satoru.

©️ lalunanymph.

[olderthannetfic]

RE: porn addiction discussion:

I've seen a lot of both breakups and divorces over that very thing in the past decade, Imo I don't think its reasonable to expect everyone who has seen a dissolving in their relationship due to the excessive pornography usage of one partner partner to just suck it up and get used to liking porn themselves, accept watching porn together as a replacement for their sex life, otherwise /they/ must be some non-communicative creep who just wants to use their partner like a dildo.

More and more chicks get pressured by guys into doing that. Or like the other asker said, acting out things from porn that they dont wanna do, and regret it/dont enjoy it. I think its less about ~protecting pristine sacred christian piv~ and more of an acknowledgement that its not realistic to expect the majority of sexual relationships to be able to healthily function like that as long as theres 'communication'.

Communication isn't the end all be all when there's only one clear party that this scenario benefits. The person with the broken dick. To promote the idea that they should, can and is be used against people who don't want that for themselves or their relationship, under the guise that if their boundaries are firm they must be some flavor of "sex negative/christian/radfem/prude"

There's nuance to the topic. People with the same level of porn usage can be happy together, engage in their kinks mutually, all that jazz. But there are also an increasing number of relationships where a dude uses porn and sex-positive language to pressure chicks into doing things they dont want to, having the kind of sex life that they dont want to, which becomes a slippery slope. Or a dude gets so into porn that hes leaving it open on his computer for their kids to see in an exhibitionist sort of way, completely disregarding welfare.

And I don't mean that as any sort of hyperbole or rhetoric, that example happened with my own Dad. Lemme tell you, your father leaving open pages and pages of anorexic amputee torture porn on the family computer that you, as an 8 year old girl, have to rush to close before your younger siblings come in the door after you home from school, will have an impact on both that relationship and ones level of comfort with porn longterm.

And even then, I still got into relationship after relationship once I was old enough, where guys were constantly wanting to replace sex with watching porn with them, and when we did have sex they always wanted to 'try something they saw' rather than just have fun doing something mutually enjoyable and intuitive. Partners sneaking off at my 15 year old sisters birthday party to jack off to 'teen porn' in the bathroom, leaving home for work early just to jack off in a gas station parking lot for 2 hours, watching porn in bed next to me when I have to get up for work soon, being unable to maintain an erection without porn-related stimuli (be it watching or scenarios), spiraling into cheating, etc. Years and years of sex positivity, attempts at understanding, experimenting, and accommodating, and communication on my end didn't help, until that communication was "I can't keep trying to salvage this by myself anymore, I'd be happier alone."

Not everyone is going to be down with it, or should push themselves to be, and not all reasons for not wanting that for your own sex life are rooted in some Christian or Radfem rhetoric. Lived experience plays a role in such stances. Strong boundaries can be hard to build when there's pressure in both the bedroom and outside world that the ones you have are 'wrong', but it's worth it to stand up for ones own comfort, security, and happiness rather than endlessly accommodating.

Personally, I'm overjoyed to have now found a longterm relationship now where the furthest extent of that either partner engages with is fanfic and lewd art. I wish everyone the same luck in finding a partner that has compatible desires.

--

~broken dick~

Oh please.

This kind of discussion is obsessed with "porn" meaning mainstream live action porn aimed at straight guys and with the kind of dumbass men who think that stuff is a model to emulate. In reality, there are shittons of types of porn. People who pressure their partners suck regardless of why.

These experiences sound shitty, but I'm still rolling my eyes at this spin.

[1800titz]

could we hear a bit about harry and isla’s dynamic once they’re in a relationship? i feel like he would still be a dom even in an out of sex setting 🫣

OOOO yeah he’s definitely still dommy when they start seeing each other outside of Indulge, and I think he ends up being dommy even in an out of sex setting, too!! I feel like they end up going for more of a 24/7 type deal and the dom/sub sort of dynamic starts to leak into their everyday lives (I’ll be doing extras on patreon going into this more). But I think he does subtle things without even realizing at first like always having a hand on her when they’re out and about, or scolding her for opening the door instead of letting him do it, or giving her The Look if she’s doing something out of line ((Like one time they were eating out and she started throwing chips at him across the booth and then yk. The Look).

It’s like, they’re not innately dommy things, but they are. Eventually, their relationship sort of just evolved and they talked and talked and talked and figured out what worked for them!! 

When it comes to the 24/7 thing with rules, and punishments, and etc, a BDSM dynamic is infinitely flexible, so they end up finding what works for them over time, like I said. And they talk about EVERYTHING. Because safe, sane, and consensual(!!) 

There’s hard rules and there’s “bendy” rules — breaking “bendy” rules is an outlet for Isla to let Harry know she wants a certain type of attention, and “bendy” rules earn funishments that aren’t pre discussed, ie lighter spanking, more sexual forms of punishment like orgasm denial, overstimulation, etc. Harry is very mean dom but he’s also a huge brat tamer, so he’s got a ton patience as opposed to the type of dom that expects outright obedience, and Isla is a huge brat when it comes to subbing, so the “bendy” rules let them explore that more — they’re sort of expected to be broken, to an extent! For example, a “bendy” rule that Isla always seems to break has to do with her attitude/sarcastic tendencies. If Harry asks her to grab him a cup of coffee in the morning since she’s getting up out of bed before him to get her own, she comes back with two cups— a cup of coffee for herself and a cup of literal coffee beans for Harry. Trying to get a rise. Which results in Harry rolling his eyes and telling her she can go ahead and eat a coffee bean if she wants to be a brat (to which Isla incredulously squawks, “No!”) and he teases her about her saying no to him and spanks her a few times. ((Also he steals the coffee she brought in for herself, and then complains and gives it back with his nose crinkled because it’s too sweet.))

Hard rules are pre-negotiated rules in place that earn deliberate, unpleasant corrections that fit the infraction (that are also heavily pre discussed — I literally can’t emphasize enough that Isla and Harry always talk everything over and communicate). The rules are all stuff that Isla and Harry have both decided will improve something for Isla in some way, like self care rules, rules regarding punctuality, etc, and they’re always open to be edited or revised! For example, a hard rule that she has is put her shoes away when she gets home ((because she’s tripped over them 64838483948839493 times leaving them out in piles)) and if she doesn’t do it then there’s a punishment to follow that isn’t any fun, because it’s intended to alter a behavior. Since she didn’t focus on this tiny detail that would take literally a split second to do, she then has to write lines and spend much longer focusing on “arbitrary” details. So, she has to write 100 lines really neatly in a specific layout, and if she messes up on any of the lines she has to start over. 

Honestly, the worst “punishment” for Isla is being told that Harry is disappointed with her. Like. Ouch. And he only does it for the hard rules that she’s broken, when he really is disappointed. It’s pretty effective. Other super unpleasant punishments that Isla has (that they’ve both talked over and agreed upon) are cold showers, harder spanking sessions, being forced to stand in a corner for an allotted time period with no attention, etc. It’s all stuff that fits the crime and Harry gets pretty creative with it sometimes (like she’d been told 748848593943 times to clean up after herself if she was baking in the kitchen, and she doesn’t clean up for the 648839493th time, so he has her eat a crumbly food in the guest bedroom on the bed and has her sleep there, and the crumbs are super annoying because she can’t get them all the way off the bed — very creatively sadistic on Harry’s part). Which isn’t really sexy per say, but it’s more about the power exchange than a sex thing most of the time for them!! Although it does play into their sex lives!! 

This is super important — they also still have their safeword in place!! One to pause what’s going on and another to pause the dynamic altogether, and to just be Harry and Isla, whether it’s during an argument, etc. ((They don’t ever yell at each other. They just converse and disagree dhdjdj)).

Anyways, this might sound a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs, but they are super happy with each other!! Their dynamic is built on loads of trust and communication, and they are both really, really good to each other. Absolutely everything that they engage in is entirely consensual! This felt like a huge amalgam of dom/subby punishments but even with their 24/7 dynamic they are just chilling with each other and hanging out and being a normal couple 99% of the time :D

[iridescentscarecrow]

struggling to put this into words but kind of obsessed with how the rain making ritual in aono-kun is such an undoubtedly public one, submerged in festival landscape & the open air, & yet the ugliness of the dreams it imparts is experienced intimately, personally, diverging from what is known & shrouded under the living/dead barrier...

the wedding ritual right after it relies on bloodline, the correct director, & it's enclosed in a small auditorium... unlike the rain bringing ritual, it imparts nothing unto you; it dredges the ugly & private bits out of yourself & shoves them at your audience, at your family, at the one hundred eyes upon you...

the shame associated with teenage pregnancy also seems significant here... it's so visceral, you're not emerging from the waterfall unharmed, your clay self has taken in a part of him, has mutated & this mutation is somehow *more* unspeakable of than the hair & the eyes... the horror in the wedding ritual isn't the paranormal occurences of the prev. volumes,, those are almost absent... it's the past, vomited out on stage, contained within the tragedy of the play's [love story]...

like a lot of aono's mom's masking, hurt,, even the way her rape is conveyed to us is through the red hot guilt of embarassment -> anger -> rage. idk,, i'm thinking about the neighbour at the door. abuse is presented in this absurdly /normal/ fashion (that one spread of aono studying as she beats teppei up) but it boils up into some other kind of tension with the issue of <making noise>,,, *that* is the transgression. the rain making ritual chops up bits of you & feeds you to the river, it places yuri into domestic life dream, it underlines this with ignorance: they keep having to /find out/ about structure, about the way it works and why, they need to get them off the mountain.

the wedding ritual confronts you with the bits that have been eaten up from people & their grief & messy rage.. its the cycle brought to completion here. the knowing is less about what's not found, it's about what's unspoken. yuri getting pregnant, aono killing himself, the abuse... all of this, to some extent, we knew... the clues were there, decipherable. but they're still brought to the forefront, they shake & rattle & scream & /make noise/ & that's terrifying.

and also ugh. especially the fact that all this, all these stories & meanings are conveyed through past ritual form.. you're trapped in it like fly in amber... you become just that signifier: the mother, the sister, these echoing ghosts of abuse bred in you, haunting even your rawest love. the boundary of ghostliness exists metaphorically here: both - you are your ancestors, you repeat your ancestors & are bound by them, by their blood & their mistakes & - deadness at least.. as thought of in memory.. a kind of evokation of this. death molds together the fragments of broken community into something truly inescapable, & at some point you only see your abusers at weddings & funerals, & yuri only ever knew aono through this shroud of mediation... this barrier informed by everything that came before...

[afyrian]

no. 11 - sluggish dancing masterlist

    "so where'd you learn to dance?" atsumu keeps a hold of your hand, his other hand on your back.

  you sway with him, head resting on his shoulder. the night had gone by in a blur, the alcohol and snacks filling your memory. a part you knows that this isn't right. that you'll never get the satisfaction of knowing that he's sorry, that he regrets what he's done. that now you're dancing with someone you don't know, someone you don't recognize in the best way possible.

  dancing with him feels pleasant, despite the swirling feeling in your stomach, "my grandad, when i was really young. i mean this is the extent of it though."

  "so if i dipped you, you wouldn't really know what to do?" he asks, eyebrow raised as if he were about to do it, revert to his old ways and dropping you to the mess hall flooring.

  you shake your head against his shoulder, hand resting just below on his bicep. rolling your eyes, you take in a deep breath, smelling a light scent of cologne and the forest. it soothes you slightly, drowning out the nausea that was starting to build, "no, so don't get any ideas, atsumu."

  he raises his eyebrows in surprise, yet chooses not to say anything. hearing his name come from your lips is like music to his ears. you could say it in a whisper and it'd overpower the song playing over the radio. he takes in a deep breath and smiles, "okay, no ideas. you know, i wish this could've happened when we were campers."

  you stiffen some under his touch, eyes opening as you wonder what he means. does he remember? maybe it's the alcohol finally soaking in, but his lips loosen, words spilling out that you weren't expecting to hear, "i wish i could've overcome my jealousy of you, got to know you better. i would've loved to have danced with you."

  i wish i could've overcome my jealousy of you. it plays over and over in your head like a broken record. your lips form a straight line, eyebrows furrowing. moving your hand off his arm, you back up some, "wait you remember?"

  instantly atsumu looks like a deer in headlights, blindsided by the moment that you found yourself in. "you remembered and didn't say anything? you didn't even attempt an apology?" your lips part as you take another step back, voice growing louder as your lips form a snarl. 

  atsumu purses his lips, closing his eyes for a moment, sobering up as your frown only grows. he never wanted it to come out like this, not now. especially when the two of you had finally started to grow closer. "well- i, uh," a frog is caught in his throat, eyes searching anywhere but for yours. 

  "wow, you picked on me for years, and this whole time i was thinking this was some forgotten memory for you. i couldn't blame you for not remembering, but remembering and not saying anything? god, i'm so stupid for thinking you've changed," you shake your head, tears forming in your eyes. 

  the party had stopped at this point, your friends and fellow counselors unable to speak up in the moment. you roll your eyes, turning around to walk out of the door. atsumu wants to follow you, to tell you that you are the smartest and more impressive person he knows. but instead, he stands in place, watching with a sullen look.

  osamu looks over at his brother, unsure of what to say, gaze flickering towards aran. both stand there awkwardly, the catchy tune still playing through the mess hall. each lyric worming its way into atsumu's head, echoing as his head starts to pound.

a/n: it’s been revealed!! just a few more chapters left… taglist (open): @lemurzsquad, @froyaoya, @localgaytrainwreck, @guitarstringed-scars, @girlkissersco

@just-coreee, @notverymarley, @eujoana89

[ltash]

Rescued

If loving you means my destruction, then let it be Simon.

"Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves."

I don't know for how long I was out. When I woke up again, I was still lying on the same spot on the floor. As I came to, the excruciating pain started again. It was like someone was twisting my insides. The bleeding had grown heavier, soaking almost all of my jeans. I couldn't even get up to use the bathroom to check myself, to understand what was happening with me.

A bottle of water and a sandwich lay next to me.

Desperation welled up inside me as I reached for the water bottle, my hands trembling. I managed to unscrew the cap and took a sip, hoping it would give me some strength. The sandwich remained untouched; my stomach churned at the thought of eating.

Tears streamed down my face as I lay back down, clutching my abdomen. The pain was unbearable, and the fear of losing my baby gnawed at me.

Simon’s face flashed in my mind. I needed to hold on, to survive for both of us, but the darkness threatened to pull me under once more.

Muffled cries of the cartel members and bloodied walls welcomed him as he stepped forward. Shards of glass crunched under his boots as his eyes scanned the dimly lit hallways for any sign of the room where Nora could be. The mansion, now a darkened labyrinth of chaos, echoed with the sounds of distant gunfire and the faint hum of the night vision gear.

Ghost's mind was laser-focused, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and rage, pushing him forward. He couldn't afford to waste a single second; Nora's life depended on it.

"Gaz, report," Ghost whispered into his comms.

"Perimeter secure," Gaz replied. "No visual on additional hostiles. You're clear to proceed."

"Copy that," Ghost responded, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. He moved swiftly, his senses heightened. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every corner a potential ambush.

As he turned a corner, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft, desperate whimper. His heart lurched. "I've got something," he murmured, signaling the Shadows to cover him.

He followed the sound, each step bringing him closer to the source of the faint cries. Pushing open a partially ajar door, he entered a small, dimly lit room. The sight before him made his blood run cold.

Nora lay on the floor, her clothes torn and bloodied, her body battered and bruised. Blood stained her jeans, and her eyes were half-closed, her breaths shallow and labored. She was barely conscious, her strength waning.

"Nora!" Ghost's voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to her side. He dropped to his knees, his hands gently cupping her face.

Nora's eyes fluttered open, and she let out a terrified gasp, recoiling as much as her weakened body would allow. The sight of Ghost in his night vision goggles, his face obscured and menacing in the dark, filled her with fear.

"Shh, it's me, Nora. It's Simon," Ghost said softly, his voice trembling. He quickly lifted the goggles, revealing his eyes to her.

Recognition dawned in her eyes, and she relaxed slightly, though the pain and fear still lingered. "Simon..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me. I've got you," he reassured her, his heart aching at the sight of her so broken and vulnerable.

Seeing the extent of her injuries, Ghost knew they had to move quickly. He glanced around the room and spotted a bed sheet. Gently, he wrapped it around her, covering her torn and bloodied clothes.

"We're getting you out of here," he murmured, lifting her as carefully as he could. Her body was light in his arms, but the burden of her suffering weighed heavily on him.

Ghost pressed his comms. "I've got her. We're heading out."

"Copy that. Extraction point is secure," Gaz's voice crackled back.

With Nora cradled against his chest, Ghost navigated back through the mansion, the shadows providing cover as they made their escape. He kept whispering soothing words to her, trying to keep her conscious and calm. Each step was a reminder of the urgency, but also a promise to never let her go through this again.

As they neared the exit, the night air felt like a welcome embrace. The helicopter's rotors were already spinning, ready to whisk them away to safety. Ghost tightened his hold on Nora, determined to protect her at all costs.

Nora managed a weak smile, her hand gripping his shirt. "Thank you, Simon," she whispered. "I knew you'd come."

"Always," Ghost replied, his voice filled with unwavering determination. "I will always come for you."

"You're safe now, Nora. I won't let anything happen to you," he vowed.

•••••••••

I opened my eyes to the muffled cries and the sounds of gunfire. The room was pitch black, but even in the darkness, I knew he had come to save me.

My heart pounded with a mixture of relief and fear as I lay there in excruciating pain. I strained to see through the darkness, my senses heightened by the chaos around me.

Through the cacophony of noise, I could hear his footsteps drawing closer, each step a promise of salvation. With every fiber of my being, I prayed for his safety, knowing that he would risk everything to rescue me.

As the sounds of battle grew louder, I closed my eyes, clutching onto hope with all my strength.

•••••••••••••

Ghost sat in the helicopter, cradling me in his arms. The thrum of the rotors vibrated through the metal floor, but all he could focus on was keeping me safe.

I opened my eyes briefly, feeling weak and in pain. I looked up at Ghost, my vision blurred but recognizing his presence. "Simon..." I whispered weakly.

"I'm here. I've got you," he replied softly, tightening his hold on me. "You're safe now. We're getting you out of here."

The helicopter lifted off, the night sky stretching out beneath us as we ascended. Gaz glanced over from his position, concern etched on his face. "How is she?"

"She's hurt bad, but she's a fighter," Ghost replied, his voice steady but strained. He looked down at me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "Just hang in there a little longer, okay?"

I managed a faint nod, my eyes closing again as I leaned into his chest. Every breath I took seemed to echo in the enclosed space, a reminder of the ordeal I had endured.

Ghost's mind raced with thoughts of vengeance and fury, but for now, all that mattered was getting me to safety. He held me close, his heart aching with a mix of relief and fear.

"Don't worry, love," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the helicopter. "I won't let anything happen to you ever again."

My eyes opened slowly, the thud of the helicopter landing registering in my ears. Ghost carried me out, his steady arms offering a sense of safety amidst the chaos.

As we stepped onto solid ground, my eyes glanced around at the lights surrounding us. It was probably a base, a haven from the darkness and danger we had just escaped.

But then, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and my vision blurred. My blood pressure plummeted dangerously low, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of consciousness. Clutching onto Ghost's shirt for support, I managed to utter just one word, my voice barely a whisper.

"Si..."

"Nora!" Ghost's voice shook with urgency as he held me in his arms. "Nora!" he called again, but I didn't respond.

With a sense of panic gripping his heart, Ghost wasted no time. He rushed me to the hospital, his strides quick and determined as he carried me through the doors. Every second felt like an eternity as he prayed for me to hold on, for me to be okay.

In the hospital, doctors and nurses sprang into action, their faces a blur as he laid me gently on a stretcher. He stood by my side, his eyes never leaving my face as medical professionals worked tirelessly to stabilize me.

"Fucking do something!" Ghost's voice rang out with desperation, the echoes reverberating through the hospital corridors. He stood there, feeling helpless and powerless as medical staff rushed to take me into the operating room.

As they wheeled me away, Ghost's eyes burned with a fierce intensity, his fists clenched at his sides in frustration. He watched, his heart in his throat, as they disappeared behind the swinging doors of the operating theater.

With every fiber of his being, Ghost prayed for my survival. His mind raced with thoughts of all the moments we had shared, the memories that now felt so precious and fragile.

In that moment, all he could do was wait. Wait and hope that the doctors could save me, that I would emerge from this darkness and come back to him.

[hugsandchaos]

Dinotrux x Murder Drones still has me by the neck, so I want to start a small debate.

Which would win in a fight: A murder drone or a t-trux?

Because a murder drone’s small size combined with their speed could be an advantage, and they have a vast range of weapons. Claws, guns, RPGs, their acid tail, the list goes on! They also regrow and reattach limbs, which we saw in the first episode when N regrew his own head, in episode 3 when he and V put themselves back together, and in the final episode when J and V seemed to regrow their arms and legs in a matter of seconds.

However, their metal might be thinner and more easily bent and broken, not to mention their weight is probably not much compared to a t-trux, which means it wouldn’t take much to knock a murder drone off its feet or crush its insides.

Another thing we need to remember is that the murder drone would be heavily dependent on the weather. If it’s too warm, they might not stand much of a chance. If it’s cold, then they will be able to fight. If it’s a storm, especially a bad blizzard at night, they’d be at their highest advantage point not only because of the low temperatures helping them last longer, but also the harsh winds, snow, and darkness would make it harder for the t-trux to see the murder drone coming.

Remember, Copper 9 was basically in nuclear winter, and murder drones were built to survive the unbelievably intense and inhospitable storms that plagued the planet, and they’re nocturnal, so I’m very sure that storms and darkness aren’t a problem for our murder drone.

Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that they can fly. That’d give them a huge advantage to strike from above.

Going back to speed, the murder drone would have the advantage depending on if they’re flying or not. Walking and running might be too slow to escape a t-trux, but their wings would carry them to speeds above 100, which would definitely make them much faster.

Now let’s move on to the t-trux.

A t-trux’s engine is built for power, and as far as I know, it runs the hottest of all Dinotrux engines. T-trux are able to sniff out ore, which by extent could mean they might be able to smell metal. I know some might disagree with me on this, but in one of the episodes, Ty specified that he was getting a wiff of iron and “the slightest hint of magnesium”, so am I wrong for liking the idea he might be able to smell being made of metal as well if he tried?

Regardless, a t-trux would have the size and possibly strength advantage over a murder drone. Definitely the size, strength is a bit debatable since we don’t know if it’s a murder drone’s weight or strength that keeps them from being carried away by the strong winds of Copper 9. I’m guessing weight, which would make me rethink my previous statement about a murder drone being easily moved by a t-trux.

Moving on, dinotrux seem to have tougher external plating than drones, but I’m not entirely sure we could add “armor” to the list of advantages a t-trux has. N was able to dig his claws into a door that looked just as tough as a dinotrux and force it open. Not only that, but he played with one of his hands a little and spoke without any strain in his voice, suggesting it wasn’t much of a struggle. He also left claw marks in the walls during his attack.

Next, t-trux tails have some sort of weapon at the end. Ty has a wrecking ball, D-Structs had a wrecking mace before he lost that and got a chainsaw tail, and then Skrap-It made him his claw, and D-Stroy… I don’t know what that thing was, but it was spiny and definitely did some damage. So it looks like what kind of tail varies from t-trux to t-trux, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a wrecking ball was common.

However, going back to their size, it could also be a disadvantage because it’d make them a bigger and easier target, and if the murder drone were to escape through a small tunnel, they wouldn’t be able to follow.

What do you guys think?

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 21: The General

You finally meet the Imperial you've heard so much about. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-19 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a smidge beyond. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 3.1K

You barely slept. Your mind was running through scenario after scenario, coming up with contingency plans. You had to fight to not pick up the com and try to talk to Din every five minutes. His voice was comforting. He was familiar and safe and when he was talking it felt like everything was going to be OK. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been in spots like this before. You’d been in tight places, you’d broken into bases, pretended to be Imperial, been pinned down and outnumbered. This was different. 

The Mandalorian and the kid made it different. You’d gone into the war expecting to not make it to the other side. Your attachments were few - Sosha, Dagres, your family, your fellow handmaids. You wanted to come home to them and survive, but you’d known that you probably wouldn’t. There was almost a comfort in the relationships you did have - that you knew Sosha wouldn’t put her life on the line for you. That wasn’t her job, it was yours. Your fellow handmaids would prioritize the needs of the greater good over you, including making sure Sosha and as many handmaids as possible made it out alive. Even your parents would choose the future of the galaxy over you. 

When Dagres had fought through troopers to get to you, when he’d ignored his own safety to help you and it got him killed, it was the first time you’d realized you were a liability. You didn’t understand your relationship with the Mandalorian. You weren’t sure he did, either. You weren’t sure if he even really liked you but he had, for some reason, decided he was responsible for your life to some extent. And he didn’t like to fail. If nothing else, your death would be a failure and that made you a liability. 

“I’m heading down,” you said, twisting the com between your fingers. 

“I’ll come get you,” he said quietly. “Right now. Let me come get you, tell me to come get you.” 

“We have to finish it,” you replied, looking out the window in the direction of the ship. 

He was silent for a moment. 

“Anything happens, call,” he said. “I’ve got the ship ready. I’ll get you out.” 

You made sure you had everything you wanted to keep on your person as you left the inn that day, settling in at the bar early. Now, you just had to wait. 

The man arrived, alone, at dusk, your stomach in knots. 

“Haven’t found a better job,” he said. 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” you replied. 

“Still want to see what my contact has to offer?” He asked. 

“Can’t be worse than anything else I’ve gotten this week,” you said, slinging your bag and new rifle on your back. “But if he’s as useless as everyone else on this damned world, I’m leaving.” 

He gave you a cocky smile and led the way from the bar, into the street. You followed behind him, watching for everything around you, to a spot on the edge of town. There was a door at the side of the building, opening directly onto stairs, going down into a basement. You swallowed, your heart beating hard against your ribs. Basements meant less means of egress, easier ways to get pinned down. You looked toward where you knew the Razor Crest sat, where Din and the child were waiting. It was instinctive. You wanted to go home to them. They were home. You went into the basement. 

There were four troopers at the bottom of the stairs, armor dingy with sand and age. 

“We’re here to see the general,” your contact said. 

“Who’s she?” The nearest one stepped toward you. You met his eyes beneath his helmet. 

“Someone who doesn’t suffer fools and their questions,” you snapped. 

“She has to leave the blaster and the rifle,” another trooper said. 

“What, don’t trust me?” You asked the man. 

“I don’t even know your name,” he said. “Of course I don’t trust you.” 

You shrugged, taking off the rifle and slipping the blaster from your holster, handing it to the trooper. 

“Those are sighted for me,” you glared at him. “Fuck with them and I’ll kill you.” 

“They’ll respect your weapons,” the man said, opening another door and holding his arm out, inviting you in. You glared at him. 

“This had better be worth my time,” you said, your heart in your throat. You went inside. 

It was a larger room than you’d been expecting, it looked like storage for one of the shops that was above it. A man, wearing his old Imperial uniform, sat behind a makeshift desk, just a table with a crate behind it he was using as a chair. He was the right age, human, just had to confirm his identity. You crossed your arms, standing across the room, looking him up and down as the man who’d brought you followed you inside, the door closing behind him. Well, no in room backup at least. That made things easier. 

“My assistant has told me you wish to serve the Empire,” the man said. He was watching you, closely. 

“Only if the work will actually restore our Empire,” you took a step closer. “And only if you give me a good reason to serve you. I’ve encountered too many men like you, who just want revenge, who feel slighted. You want to feel like you’ve won, don’t give a damn about bringing back the Imperial power of my youth. I’m not wasting my life on that.” 

“I can assure you, my only goal is restoring our great Empire,” he smiled. His skin was almost sickly pale, he was probably spending a lot of time moving from basement to basement. “But first I need to collect talent. My associate said you served aboard the Executor.” You nodded once. “You look… familiar. I spent some time aboard that ship when traveling with Lord Vader. Tell me, what was your role.” 

You hoped the knots that had tightened in your stomach weren’t showing on your face. 

“Interrogation and information gathering,” you replied. You jerked your head to the man who had brought you here. “He called you general. General what.” 

“Shadrin,” he smiled. “And I haven’t come across an interrogator the New Republic let survive.” 

“Who said they let me,” you said. “I don’t answer to the New Republic, whether or not they want me dead is of no consequence to me. What’s your plan, to restore the Empire? Why would you need me?” 

He smiled, giving the man you were with a small nod. 

“You seem very interested in my plans,” he gestured to a crate on the opposite side of the table from him. You stalked over to it, keeping an eye on the position of the man you were with. You didn’t want him at your back. He followed and you sat on the crate, your escort taking a seat on the one beside you. 

“I don’t like wasting my time,” you snapped. “And you were a general before but that means you’re a general who lost us the war to rebel scum. I have no reason to trust your plans now.” 

He looked over your face, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips to your hair. He was analyzing you, like he was either trying to place you or trying to decide if he wanted to fuck you. 

“What have you been doing since the fall?” He asked, still examining you. 

“Getting by,” you replied. “What’s your plan.” 

“Oh I’m sure you’d like to know everything about it,” he said. “Handmaid.” 

You pursed your lips, glancing to the man at your side. He was frowning. He didn’t know. For a moment - not even half a second, really - the Mandalorian was there in your mind. The sound of his voice, the way he’d taken care of you, the feel of his hands on you. You’d never get to see him again and you’d never be able to tell him what he meant to you. You’d resigned yourself to death before, but this time was worse. You would be losing him.

But if you were going to die here, you could at least take some of the operation down with you.

“Well,” you sighed, slipping your hand into your pocket and wrapping your fingers around the handle of your knife. “Since I’m not leaving here alive…” 

You freed the blade and brought it down onto the hand of the man beside you, pinning it to the desk. He screamed and you grabbed his blaster from its holster before you yanked your knife free of his hand and the wood and jammed it into his neck, pulling it forward through the sinew and flesh until the wound was gaping and your knife was free. 

“That’s for Naboo,” you hissed, leveling the gun at the general as the man slumped forward, dead. 

The door hissed and you immediately dropped down, putting the dead man’s body between you and the troopers. 

“Find who she’s with,” the general demanded, sounding almost bored as he went for the door. “Take her alive.” 

Alive. Alive was a window. A chance to escape, they’d be trying to stun you or go for non-lethal targets. Alive you could work with. 

The troopers moved for you and you retrained the man’s gun on them, firing. They shot back, hitting the lifeless man you were using as a shield. The general was getting too much of a head start so you decided to risk it, standing to get a better shot. An almost eerie sense of calm took hold and you held the foreign blaster comfortably, downing all four troopers in seconds, your last shot landing just as one of their blaster bolts connected with your shoulder, sending you sprawling. 

You gritted your teeth and forced yourself up, yanking the com from your pocket. 

“Mando!” You said quickly. “Need evac, north side of town, I’m bringing company.” 

You stopped on your way out, grabbing your rifle and blaster, ditching the unfamiliar one on the stairs. 

Shadrin moved fast for a man who was on the wrong side of 60, heading, you were sure, for more allies. You got close enough and fired, aiming for his legs. Your second shot made contact, sending the man sprawling into the sand. People started emerging and you kept your weapon trained on the general. Someone stepped out to intervene but you shot at their feet. 

“Back off,” you snapped. “Next shot kills you.” 

They retreated and you reached Shadrin just as he’d pushed himself up to his hands and knees. You grabbed him by the back of the neck, pressing your blaster to the man’s skull. 

“They’d like you alive,” you said, breathing heavily. “But I’d like you dead. Give me a reason.” 

You kept the weapon to his head and your head on a swivel, watching for other threats. You caught a flash of white armor out of the corner of your eye and you aimed the blaster, dropping the trooper where he stood, continuing forward toward the north entrance of the outpost as quickly as you could, the general’s neck still tightly in your grip. You pressed your blaster to his head again.

The Crest passed overhead as you cleared the street you’d started on, the edge of the outpost in sight. The Mandalorian set the ship down and lowered the ramp, running to the end of it, blaster drawn. A bolt flew past your head from behind you and you ducked on instinct, Mando firing behind you as he ran for you, putting himself between you and whatever was coming for you. You heard the shots hit his beskar, the sound staying close to you. You threw a look over your shoulder. He was walking backwards, firing on the gathering Imperials, as you made it to the ramp. 

“Kill them!” The man in your grip screamed, as though that would make a difference. You tightened your hold and dragged him up the ramp, throwing him on the floor of the hold, keeping your blaster on him as you slammed the ramp button. The gate closed and Din ran for the cockpit, the general looking around in disbelief. You smiled. 

“We were talking about your plan, General?” 

***

Din wasn’t sure he’d taken a full breath between the time you’d called him and the time he set the jump for Nevarro. He all but ran for the hatch, sliding down the ladder into the hold instead of taking it step by step. You were there, blood at your shoulder, a man in a general’s uniform at your feet. 

“Found him,” you said, looking up at Din, still breathing heavily but smiling, smug. 

“Good,” the Mandalorian said. You turned your gaze back to the man at your feet. 

“Think your friend needs help pulling information from him?” You asked, your head cocked. 

“You’ll never get a word out of me,” he growled. You smiled, crouching low, grabbing him by the hair. 

“I like a challenge.” 

Din picked up the man by the collar and hauled him to the carbonite chamber, throwing him in. 

“We can make a deal,” he said quickly. 

“Shut up,” Mando said, pushing the button. He looked up, looking for you. You were standing at the entry to the carbonite chamber and the moment you saw the freezing process begin, you slumped into the door. 

“Doll,” he went for you and your threw your arms around his neck, clutching yourself to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, his fingers clinging to you, holding you tightly to his chest. 

“I thought I was dead,” you were breathless, sobbing into him. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again…” 

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, just feeling you in his arms. “I’ve got you.” 

He wasn’t sure how long he held you like that. He couldn’t bring himself to let you go. His hands adjusted, one arm going tighter around your waist, holding you closer, the other going to your head to press you against him. He knew he needed let you go. There’d been blood on you. But he needed to keep holding you, touching you, feeling that you were alive and back with him where you belonged. 

“Were you hurt?” He asked eventually, your cheek still pressed against his beskar. 

“Shot in the shoulder,” you said softly, sniffling a bit. He was able to pull back from you then, his hand going for your injury. “I think that’s it, it’s not bad. Were you?” 

“I’m fine,” he said, his hand moving from your shoulder to your face. You pressed your cheek into his palm, taking a shuddering breath. “Let’s get you fixed up, come on.” 

He kept his hands on you as you both went to the galley. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stand to have you any further away than that. Din helped you onto the counter, standing between your legs, and you shrugged your shirt down, exposing the injury. It was a rough shot, close range and dead on. If it had hit you much lower, you’d be dead. His heart clenched at the thought. 

“I’ll need to cauterize it,” he said. “Don’t have bacta right now…” 

“It’s OK,” you nodded and smiled a little, meeting his eyes below the helmet. “You’ve fixed me up from worse.” 

He removed his gloves and cleaned the wound, you wincing as he did. Once the cauterizer was ready, he guided your hand to his side. 

“When it hurts, give it to me,” he said, brushing your hair back. You nodded, eyes closed. He pulled your forehead to the cool metal of his. “Deep breath, Doll…” you obeyed and he pressed the cauterizer to your shoulder. You hissed and squeezed his side and he held onto the back of your head, keeping you close before pulling the cauterizer away. 

“I’m OK,” you said after a moment, nodding against him and opening your eyes. He released you and you leaned back, giving him space to check the wound. It was closed now. His bare thumb traced the uninjured flesh of your shoulder before going to your face. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, your lips brushing the base of his palm. He watched you for a moment, the desperate, screaming need to be closer to you winning out over his better judgement. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said softly. You nodded into him. He slowly pulled his hand from you, watching you as he did, your eyes shut tight, brows drawn together in a slightly confused frown. He eased the helmet off his head, setting it down beside you on the counter. Your fingers brushed the cool metal and you jumped a little but your eyes stayed closed. 

Din took your face in his hands and softly, slowly, pressed his lips to your forehead. Your breath caught but you stayed still, the scent of you filling him as he held you. 

“Breathe, Doll,” he said quietly, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. You obeyed, eyes still closed. He slowly, cautiously, moved his mouth lower, softly brushing against yours. Your arms hesitantly went around his neck, loosely wrapping around him. He pulled you slightly closer, lips fully meeting yours. You kissed him back, holding him tighter. His mouth moved with yours, his tongue dipping into you, tasting you, exploring you, and you moaned quietly against him. Your hands found his hair, wrapping your fingers in it, and he stilled against you, his lips against you. He reluctantly pulled back from you, his nose still brushing yours, his forehead still against you. You were breathing the same air, so close it was almost painful. 

“Din,” you said softly, fingers still in his hair. He kissed your forehead again before replacing the helmet. He brushed your eyelids with this thumbs and you opened them, slowly, keeping your head tilted toward the ground. He lifted your chin, wanting to look in your eyes. 

“You need rest, Doll,” he said quietly. You just nodded. The Mandalorian put a bandage over the wound. He stepped back from you but, before you could jump down from the counter, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you to his quarters. He set you gently on the bed and pulled off his armor, leaving his helmet on, before climbing in beside you. You immediately wrapped around him and he held you against him and he felt you relax into him. It was almost like you needed him as much as he needed you.

[kay-elle-cee]

I would love to know about James' feelings that time they first meet eyes years later. Directors take OR a James POV 😍

HELLO Athena! Thank you for your patience since I've saved this in my inbox to answer after the final chapter of i'll be fine, i'll be good went live. Answer below the cut! (And a reminder that anyone can ask me for thoughts/Director’s Cut for any of my fics at any time!)

(sorry I tried to refine this but it still ended up a bit word vomity!)

ALRIGHT so we learn in chapter six that James was, in fact, really broken up about Lily for awhile (I mean....that's not particularly a spoiler, is it?). I like to think that by the time James sees Lily—like walking into the shop and having face-to-face interaction with her for the first time since he told her he loved her all those years ago (oh my god ow)—he's really processed everything and made peace with it all. He's had his eyes opened a little bit more by his work with the Order to just how difficult and dangerous it was for her. He's forgiven her, and he understands (to an extent) her actions, but he also knows that because of this he can't really be mad at her, and he just...is trying to be as normal as he can (even though a part of him misses her). So he has to be careful.

He's known she's worked at that apothecary for years. Remus absolutely told him immediately (well, maybe not immediately, but definitely within that first month). And he's likely agonized time and time again on if he should go in, how bad would it be to look through the window, maybe one of us should just, like, make sure she's okay...But then you have Sirius (and to a lesser extent Remus and Peter) reminding James of what kind of toll Lily took on him last time, reminding him that if she wanted to see him, she could reach out, reminding him how far he's come and fuck Evans because she hurt you. And James, even if he doesn't feel Sirius' anger at the whole situation, maybe listens to this, lets it bolster him to keep his resolve hardened and his guard up.

But then he gets paired up with Sam for the potions run. And he definitely panics and feeds her some BS line about him needing to wait outside so they're not ambushed in the shop and she's like whatever you weirdo I'm going to go see this really interesting girl I met and could definitely be friends with YOUR LOSS. And then she's chatting and he's out there just getting so nervous because what if Sam lets it spill to Lily that he's out here and then they get to talking, what would Lily say would Lily be mad would she want to say hi why do I care so much about what Lily thinks? He's done so well at living his life in a post-Lily world but suddenly everytime he's around this shop she's just there on his mind. So he gets a little overwhelmed and opens that little door and tells Sam to hurry up without ever looking in because he knows there's a real possibility that the second he sees Lily (really sees her) this resolve he has might crumble.*

*And I think it's important to note here that I'm not suggesting James would fall to her feet and confess his love with one glance, but he'd be James. He'd be kind (maybe too kind), and he suspects that somewhere in his heart he still loves her and is worried that it'd be too easy to fall back into that pattern after all the work he's done.

But yeah so he and Sam leave and he's in the all clear but then he gets injured in the field and Sam has to leave and suddenly he's in charge of the potions supply runs and he has no other choice—he has to SEE HER. He spends the whole morning fretting, trying to remain calm, trying not to run scenarios through his head and telling himself he can do it, that it's no big deal—he's just a patron and she's just a shopkeep. (He's definitely not looking forward to it, even if he had all of those musings about dipping in and seeing her over the last few years—that's idealistic James and this is practical James.) I think he goes so far as to even try to remember some of the anger he had felt towards her at one point of time—really grasping for anything to make sure and keep that distance between them. But it's this weird thing because Remus told him about the Snape encounter so he's also a little worried about her and it's this tightrope of keeping things professional. Not concerned, not angry, but something neutral in between.

And then he sees her. And he thought he was prepared, and he was so, so wrong. There's pain, when their eyes meet. The last time he looked into them echoes in his mind and there's pain and a little bit of that anger comes back and maybe it's anger at her but maybe it's also a little bit of anger for himself—for not understanding her as well as he feels he should have. But he leans on the anger, only giving her the shortest of answers, and he leaves. And he thinks: I can do this.

And when he gets sent again, he holds onto that anger a bit tighter and tries to ignore the undeniable way his heart beats faster when that bell over the door rings.

Listen I might do a James POV of some scenes one day, if the urge strikes and people are interested, who knows?