#it’s the length of a short story now and there’s no end in sight

[cptn-sulu]

chat am i cooked?

[orangeblossomsintheair]

A LESSON ON HUNGER | SIMON RILEY

summary : You were small. He would give you grief about it until the end of time. End of story. Well end of story till the two of you started fucking in the dead of night.

wc : 5k of pure filth

an : if yall see @keen-eyed-creature suddenly in ur likes, that's me 😔

Simon knew you were small.

Hard to miss, really, when you had to tilt your head back just to look him in the eye. He was the first to admit that it was a bit of a laugh sometimes.

But it was never something he really thought much about, not in any serious way at least.

It was a detail, like the way you tied your boots or the way your hair stuck out from under your cap. It wasn’t like being short affected your ability to pull the trigger or call in air support.

You got the job done. That was what he cared about. You could be a foot shorter and it wouldn’t make a damn difference.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.

Every now and then, he would drop a jab, something about needing a step ladder to talk to him, or how he has to stoop down like he's dealing with a kid. He had a knack for teasing, and you were an easy target.

It was harmless, though.

Just some friendly fire. You took it well, knew that it was all part of the routine. Gallows humor. Good for morale, or whatever the hell Price said. Kept things light, even if it was at your expense.

You were small. He would give you grief about it until the end of time. End of story.

Well end of story till the two of you started fucking.

He first noticed it when your hand wrapped around his cock, the tips of your fingers barely brushing each other. His breath hitched, and his cock pulsed in your grip, thick and heavy in your tiny hold.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed, mesmerized by the sight. “Look at you.”

Your eyes darted up to his face, wide and innocent, as if you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to him. His chest heaved, the tight control he usually prided himself on slipping with every stroke of your hand.

"Fuckin' tiny," he muttered again, half to himself, watching the way your hand moved over him, struggling to take him all in. He hadn’t thought he’d ever care about something like that, never thought the size difference would drive him this insane, but here you were, bringing him to the brink without even realizing it.

You started slow, pressing soft, wet kisses along the length of his cock like a damn kitten, rubbing it against our cheek and spreading his pre-cum across your face.

When your lips parted, dipped your head, the first touch of your tongue against his tip had him groaning. Hot, wet, and so fucking soft.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, one gloved hand moving to the back of your head, the other braced against his thigh. He resisted the urge clawing at his chest that told him to shove himself deeper, to push till your throat bulged with the shape of him.

The first swipe of your tongue had him groaning, body tensing. Knuckles white, muscles straining as his hips jerked forward

You dragged your tongue slowly along the underside of his cock, the soft, wet muscle flicking over him. It swirled around the head before dipping into the slit, teasing, before tracing every vein on the underside.

Spit began to gather, dripping down his length as you worked him over, your desperation pushing you to keep going, keep pleasing him. Your doe eyes locked on his, wide and pleading, as you swallowed him as deep as you could.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he rasped, his voice gravelly. “Mouth all full, dripping down your chin. Bet you’d let me fuck your throat, wouldn’t you?”

You moaned around him, the vibration making him swear under his breath. He couldn’t look away. The way your lips stretched around him, your cheeks hollowing as you tried to take more of him—Ghost knew he was a ruined man.

When the blunt head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged softly, pausing there, and he felt the tension in your body. His hand moved to cradle your jaw, fingers curling around it.

“Relax,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t fight it. Doing so fuckin’ good for me.”

You blinked up at him, tears spilling down your cheeks, and he felt his cock throb at the sight.

“Let me fuck your mouth,” he said, voice low.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Look at me,” he barked, tone sharpening. “Need to see you mean it.”

Your eyes opened again, glassy and wide, pupils blown. You nodded again, and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Obedient when you’ve got a cock in your mouth, huh?”

The glare you shot him would’ve been more convincing if your jaw wasn’t slack, the weight of him resting heavy on your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His hand sliding to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “Now, open up. Gonna make you take all of me.”

You obeyed, jaw slackening, and Ghost wasted no time. His hips rolled forward, the thick length of him pressing deep into your throat, stretching, filling.

His breath hitched as he slid deeper, the tightness of your throat trying desperately to accommodate him. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. A sick part of him thrilled at the way you fought to take him all the way, despite the fact that he really was too fucking big for you to handle.

He watched you for a moment, eyes fluttering as your lips met his base, tears slipping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep your breathing steady, swallowing around him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his other hand moving to cup your jaw, holding you steady. “Feel that? Feel how good you are, huh? You’re a fuckin’ mess, love. Spit everywhere, tears down your face. Fuck’s sakes, you’re perfect.”

Ghost growled under his breath, feeling you pulse around him. “..Takin’ me so well, little thing.”

He gripped your hair tighter, guiding you, forcing his cock deeper. The sounds—wet, obscene—drove him insane. You were taking all of him, your mouth and throat the perfect fit, even though it was clear you were struggling.

“Fuck, you feel so good... Perfect,” he groaned. "You're so fucking beautiful, letting me fuck your throat like this." He slammed into you again, deeper, and watched your face contort in that beautiful, desperate way, knowing you’d take every inch of him, no matter how overwhelming it was

Your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his pants as you braced yourself, letting him take control. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with practiced precision.

“Gonna fuck your throat ‘til you can’t think straight,” he growled, his voice dark and heavy with lust. “Gonna make you choke on it, make you feel how deep I can go.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his cock. His head tipped back briefly, a deep groan rumbling in his chest before he forced himself to look at you again.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Wanna see you when I come. Wanna see that pretty little face all wrecked for me.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking with his, and the intensity in your eyes nearly undid him. He could feel the heat building low in his belly, the tension coiling tighter with every thrust.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he drove deeper one last time. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours. Don’t spill a fucking drop.”

And when he came, spilling hot and thick down your throat, the way you swallowed around him had him swearing again, his grip on you tightening as he rode out his release. “F-fuck- damn it, damn it-“

When he finally pulled back, his cock slipping from your swollen, spit-slick lips, he couldn’t help the crooked grin that stretched his lips at the sight of you. Messy, tear-streaked, and utterly ruined.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your chin to catch the stray drips. “Knew you could take it.”

The praise lingered in the warm air as he leaned back, watching you catch your breath. His thumb lingered at your jaw for a moment before retreating, replaced by a hand gently coaxing you to your feet.

“C’mere,” he said, tone still rough around the edges, but laced with something terrifyingly tender.

He pulled you up until you were straddling his lap, broad hands settling on your waist. The heat of his palms seeped through the thin fabric still clinging to your skin.

“Alright?” he asked, pale eyes scanning your face.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He shifted beneath you, guiding you closer. “Think you’ve got one more in you, sweetheart?” He spoke against your lips, eyes searching.

You swallowed, the anticipation curling low in your stomach. “I can take it,” you whispered.

The grin that spread across his face was something wicked. “That’s my girl.

With your confirmation, Ghost moved, lowering himself between your trembling thighs. He shouldered your legs apart, spreading you wide as he settled in like a man on a mission.

“G-Ghost,” you whimpered, instinctively reaching for his head as the heat of his breath teased over your cunt.

“Shh.” He looked up. “Let me return the favor, yeah?”

The first swipe of his tongue had you arching off the bed, a startled cry ripping from your throat. He groaned against you, eyes rolling back. Always tasted so good. He could cream his fucking pants just licking your pretty pussy.

You squirmed beneath him, thighs trembling as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit, a thumb spreading you open as he pressed the flat of his tongue against the bud.

As you squirmed in place, Ghost’s hands flexed, refusing to let you wriggle away for a moment of reprieve.

“Stay still,” he growled, voice muffled against your clit. “Let me enjoy this.”

His mouth worked you open slowly, licking and sucking at your clit with just enough pressure to have whimpers tumbling out of your lips.

He moved downwards, dipping his tongue into your heat before thrusting it inside, fucking you with it in deep, deliberate strokes.

The slick muscle pistoned into you like it was a cock, curling and stroking every inch of your walls, nose brushing against your clit with every movement.

Your thighs trembled around his head, but his strong hands kept them spread wide, holding you open for him.

“Ghost,” you sobbed, your hands fisting in his hair.

“Keep those legs open,” he ordered, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pushed them wider.

Your hips bucked against him instinctively, but he pinned you down as he worked his tongue deeper, faster. “Look at you,” he rasped, pulling back briefly to catch his breath, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Fuckin’ soaked for me. S’small and tight.”

You sobbed out as he latched onto your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. The sharp jolt of pleasure made you cry out, back arching off the bed.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, his voice rough and needy as he returned to thrusting his tongue inside you. He fucked you with his mouth like a man possessed, his hands roaming over your thighs, your hips, everywhere he could reach,

When he latched onto your clit and sucked gently, you shattered. Your cry echoed in the room, your body arching as the orgasm ripped through you, shaking and gasping for air.

“There it is,” he murmured, every line in his body thick with satisfaction as he lapped up every bit of your release.

But he didn’t stop.

He growled against you, hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips higher, giving him better access as his tongue delved deeper, dragging out your orgasm until you were sobbing beneath him.

“Too much,” you whimpered, body twitching with the aftershocks.

“Not for me.” Ghost pulled back to look at you. His pale eyes were filled with hunger and pride as he took in the sight of you. Tear-streaked, trembling, and utterly ruined.

“P-please,” you whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes as the overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave.

“Not done with you yet, love.” His tongue returned to your clit, circling the swollen bud with ruthless precision until you were sobbing beneath him, your hands weakly pushing at his shoulders.

“Ghost-”

Another climax built impossibly fast, and before you could protest, it crashed over you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his hair, anything to ground yourself as he lapped at your release like a dog.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening and his chin slick with your release, he looked at you like you were a feast he hadn’t quite finished.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was moving again, his strong hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself above you. The sheer size of him looming over you sent a thrill down your spine.

“Think you’re ready for me now, yeah?”

Ghost pressed you down against the mattress. Your thighs trembled as he pressed them further apart.

The sheer size of him left you gasping before he even moved, the head of his cock brushing against your slick entrance as he teased you.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice laced with a hunger that made your head spin. “Need you to open up for me.”

You whined, the sound barely coherent as he held you in place with a grip that bordered on bruising. He pushed forward, just enough to let the blunt tip breach you, and the stretch had you clutching at his forearms in desperation.

Your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips. “So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ..”

“H-hah.. too- too big-” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if to anchor yourself.

“Y’can take it.” His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he bullied his way inside your pretty cunt.

His jaw tightened, burying himself deeper, head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna take it.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as he pressed further in, splitting you open inch by inch. The burn was sharp but his hands kept you pinned, leaving no room for escape.

“Stop squirmin’,” he ordered. His weight pressed you deeper into the mattress, his shadow covering yours entirely. “You’re only making it harder for yourself.”

Your sobs broke free as he surged forward, his cock sinking deeper into your heat. “I c-can’t,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clung to him.

“You can,” he insisted, his tone softening but his pace unrelenting. His lips brushed against your temple, a stark contrast to the overwhelming force of him inside you. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, the rasp of it grounding you even as your body felt like it was being torn apart. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, before his hand drifted down to cradle your throat.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Taking me so well, yeah? D’you feel how tight you are, hm? How perfect you’re gripping me?”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, and you whimpered as your body finally began to yield, the burn giving way to an ache that bordered on pleasure.

“That’s it.” Ghost’s lips curved into a grin as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “Knew you could do it. Knew this perfect little cunt could take all of me.”

Your sobs turned to broken moans as he pulled back, only to thrust forward again, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it knocked the air from your lungs, and your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping at anything to ground yourself.

“Feel that?” he rasped, his thrusts slowing down as he grinded against you. “Feel how deep I am?”

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat as the pleasure began to build, overwhelming in its intensity.

“Good girl,” he praised.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter as he picked up the pace, the sobs spilling from your lips mingling with broken cries of his name.

You were a mess. Tear-streaked, trembling, utterly consumed by the sheer size and force of him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he groaned, quickening as he pressed you further into the mattress. “Ruined, cryin’ for me. Takin’ everythin’ I give you.”

His words tipped you over the edge, and when you came, it was with a shattering cry that left you trembling in his arms. But he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow. Oh no, Ghost dragged you through the aftershocks and straight into the next wave of pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” you sobbed, your nails raking down his back as he growled against your neck. “Please, Ghost- don’t stop-”

“‘M not going anywhere,” he promised, pulling out of you slowly and you felt an unbearable emptiness that followed his absence. Gasping at the way your walls clenched around nothing, already missing the stretch of him.

Before you could voice your complaints, his hands were on you again, lifting you effortlessly as he shifted onto his back.

“C’mere,” he ordered, his voice rough with need, guiding you to straddle his hips. The sight of him, broad chest heaving, his cock glistening and impossibly thick, standing proudly between you, made your stomach flutter with equal parts apprehension and arousal.

“Ghost, I-“ you started, but his hands ground you in place as he pressed his forehead against your trembling body.

“Be good,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking your skin in slow, deliberate circles. “Take what you need. I’ll make it fit.”

Your breath hitched, and with his steadying hands guiding you, you reached down, positioning the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

The pressure was instant, overwhelming, as you sank down the smallest fraction.

“Bloody fuck,” he growled, his head falling back against the pillow. “Look at you. So tight, so perfect-” His words cut off in a guttural groan when you shifted your weight, trying to take him deeper.

The stretch burned, his girth spearing you open inch by inch, and you couldn’t help the broken sob that fell from your lips. “S’too- too much,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you hovered above him, the sheer size of him making your head spin.

“Shhh,” he cooed, though his own voice was strained, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep still beneath you. “Doin’ s’good, sweetheart. Just take your time. Lemme fill you up.”

You nodded shakily, nails digging into his chest as you slowly lowered yourself further, feeling every ridge and vein of him stretching you impossibly wide.

He felt endless, and the way he groaned only heightened the unbearable pleasure-pain of being split open by him.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, urging you to take him all. “Don’t stop now. You’re almost there. Gonna take every inch, yeah?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you finally sank down to the hilt, his cock buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was in your very core.

You let out a choked sob, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with awe and something darker. His gaze burned into you, watching as you struggled to adjust to his size. “So fucking tight, squeezing me like you don’ wanna let go.”

You couldn’t form words, your mind hazy and overwhelmed as he filled you completely, stretching you to your limits. He let you sit there for a moment, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your thighs as you trembled above him.

“Move,” he commanded softly, voice coaxing but firm. “Show me how good you feel, baby. Ride me.”

You whimpered, your hands splaying across his chest for balance as you lifted yourself slightly, only to sink back down again. The friction was devastating, and the stretch still burned, but the heat building in your core had you panting for more.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin as he met you halfway with a shallow thrust that left you crying out. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Each rise and fall of your hips had him spearing you open all over again, the sheer size of him filling you in a way that made you feel utterly wrecked, utterly his. Your sobs mixed with moans as the pleasure overwhelmed you, Ghost taking over to guide your movements with a possessive grip.

“Made for this,” he growled, his voice raw as his gaze locked on the place where your bodies joined, watching as his cock disappeared inside you with every thrust. “Made for me to fuck you like this. Look at how you’re taking me- so greedy, so fucking pretty.”

The sound of your sobs only seemed to spur him on, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he thrust up into you, meeting your movements with a force that left you breathless.

“Ghost,” you whimpered, your nails raking down his chest as your thighs burned from the effort, your body trembling from the relentless pace.

“Don’t stop,” he growled, his voice a low, possessive snarl. “You’re not stopping until I feel you come around me. Wanna feel this tight little cunt squeeze me, got it?”

You nodded, unable to do anything but obey as his hands gripped your waist firmly, slamming you down on his cock with a force that had you keening.

The stretch was unbearable, your body trembling from the sheer effort of taking him. The swollen ache between your thighs was overwhelming, but the pleasure sparking through you burned brighter.

“Good girl..” He guided you to ride him faster, deeper.

Your head fell back, tears streaming down your cheeks as your body clenched around him. The first climax tore through you like a lightning strike, sudden and all-consuming, leaving you shuddering and gasping for air.

“Fuck, there it is,” he rasped, thrusting up into you, dragging the aftershocks out longer. “That’s my girl..so fucking perfect when you come for me.”

You barely had time to recover before his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb pressing down hard on your swollen clit.

Your scream echoed in the room, your hands scrambling against his chest as the sharp jolt of overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave.

“N-no!” you sobbed, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his hands held you down, refusing to let you escape.

“Don’t think so.” His thumb circled your sensitive bud in maddening, unrelenting strokes. “You’re not running from me. You’re gonna take it, all of it. Gon’ make you come over and over until you can’t think straight.”

Your body jerked uncontrollably, every nerve alight as his cock drove into you, his thumb working your clit. The relentless friction sent you tumbling headfirst into another orgasm, this one sharper, rawer.

You screamed his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you shook in his hold, but he didn’t stop.

“That’s two,” he growled, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he watched you fall apart. “Think you’ve got another one in you, sweetheart?”

“I c-can’t,” you sobbed, tears spilling freely as your body quivered against him. “It’s too much, I c-can’t-”

“You can,” he interrupted, his voice dark and commanding as his hips snapped up again, driving his cock deeper.

His thumb pressed harder against your bud. Your thighs trembled violently, every nerve in your body raw and exposed as he pushed you toward another peak.

“You’re so sensitive,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction as his thumb slowed just enough to keep you on the edge. “So swollen, so perfect..”

“Ghost-!” you sobbed, voice breaking as another climax slammed into you, your walls clenching around him like a vice. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from chasing it, your hips grinding against him despite the tears streaming down your face.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his free hand gripping your ass as he guided your movements, keeping you firmly in place. “Keep going, love. Don’t stop until I say so.”

Your body was beyond exhausted, trembling violently as his relentless pace and the constant attention on your clit drove you into the kind of pleasure that felt like madness. Every stroke of his cock, every circle of his thumb sent shockwaves through you, leaving you an incoherent mess.

“Ngh..” you whimpered, your voice breaking as your head fell forward, your hands clutching desperately at his chest. “Can’t- please-“

“But you’re being such a good girl,” he murmured, softening slightly as his hand slid from your clit to grip your waist again. “You’re taking me so well..look at how swollen and perfect you are.”

His cock throbbed inside you, and as you slumped against his chest, he leaned up to press a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, his voice a rough whisper in your ear.

“Think you’ve got one more?”

Your body trembled uncontrollably, tears streaking down your face as you shook your head weakly, barely able to form words. “N-no more.. please, Ghost… it’s too much,” you sobbed, breaking as you slumped against him, completely spent.

But he wasn’t having it.

“Thought you wanted to be good for me?”

Effortlessly, he lifted you off his still-throbbing cock, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness, your thighs trembling as they struggled to hold your weight.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soothing as he shifted you, his large frame easily maneuvering you like you weighed nothing. “You’re not done yet, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Ghost, no-” you whimpered, trying to squirm away as he laid back fully, his broad shoulders pressing into the mattress.

But he didn’t give you a choice.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you forward until you were straddling his chest. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver, your swollen, oversensitive core throbbing as he moved you higher.

“Be a good girl and sit,” he ordered, eyes locking onto yours with a predatory intensity that made your breath hitch.

You shook your head frantically, tears pooling in your eyes as you whimpered, “Ghost… I’m too sensitive, I-”

His grip on your thighs tightened, silencing your protests.

Before you could protest further, he pulled you up, positioning you directly over his face. The heat of his breath against your soaked, swollen folds made you cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you tried to lift yourself away.

“Don’t run from me.” He forced you down, lowering you onto his waiting mouth.

The first swipe of his tongue against your overstimulated clit sent a sharp jolt through you, and you sobbed, your body jerking as the overwhelming sensation threatened to pull you under. “Ghost, Ghost-“”

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive bud, his hands holding you firmly in place no matter how much you tried to squirm away.

“That’s it,” he whispered between long, torturous strokes. “Don’t you dare run from me. You’re gonna take everything.”

Your thighs shook violently on either side of his head, your body trembling as wave after wave of unbearable pleasure crashed over you.

You sobbed, tears streaming down your face as his tongue circled your clit mercilessly, his mouth devouring you like a man starved.

Ghost snarled, his grip tightening as he dragged you even closer, his tongue plunging deep inside you before returning to your swollen, throbbing bud. “You’re gonna come for me again, and you’re gonna let me taste every fucking bit of you.”

You couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat as another climax ripped through you, your body convulsing violently as his mouth pushed you over the edge.

Your hands tangled in his hair, desperate and needy, as you sobbed his name, begging for mercy even as your hips ground against his face.

Finally, he slowed, his tongue gentle now as he lapped at you lazily, his hands sliding up and down your thighs in soothing strokes. “There you go,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though the satisfaction in his tone was unmistakable. “That’s my pretty girl.”

Your body slumped forward, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. He let you collapse against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he kissed your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“I told you you could take it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he held you close.

[lavshaze]

🖤 | Terrible thing

✧ contains ⤐ SMUT. dirt and filth. oral, missionary, doggy in front of a mirror. very brief mention of a breeding kink. also very brief reference to cannibalism bc im into the artistic image it creates. title is a reference to the song by AG because I'm obsessed with that song, and with silco. oh and lethal levels of yearning but yk, that's the usual. based on a real true story! w.c ~ 2.6k

Ao3 version | part 2 | collective works

You remember how he tastes. 

The feeling of him in your mouth— warm, sweet, and entirely unexpected of someone like Silco, who's all jagged teeth and rough angles. 

You remember gazing up at him through your lashes, fingers eagerly digging into his thighs as you wait for him to open his mouth and say something— praise your performance, degrade you for being so desperate to have him that you'd get on your knees in his office, call you a filthy whore for the behavior you've been exhibiting, for acting like a bitch in heat— anything in the sonorous tone that you’ve grown accustomed to. 

But nothing comes out of his mouth. 

Instead, you blink and find yourself in a new location. One where he's on top of you taking you at an agonizingly slow pace. You're on his bed now, sinking under his weight into plush crimson sheets; the questions you had a second ago melt on your tongue when he digs himself deeper into you, erasing any coherent thought from your head.

He fucks you into the bed with a passion that you have only dreamt of finding in other men you’ve taken to bed. He splits you open at the center, keeping your legs wrapped around him securely, and stitches you together with every deep slow thrust. He buries his head into your neck, hot breath over your skin as his teeth sink into the junction of your neck and shoulder. The moan that escapes your mouth is intensified when his long lithe fingers dig into your hips, making sure to leave dark, blossoming bruises to match the ones on your neck. The thought of admiring all these marks later makes your heart beat erratically in your ribcage. 

Yeah, that's more like the Silco you know. 

Your vision blurs as you reach up to thread your fingers through his unkempt hair, so different from his usual look. Despite the slow pace, you find yourself inching closer to your release, body hungrily clenching around his length. The heat of his body and the slow languid motion of his thrusts plants a sort of heavy yearning in your heaving chest, a hunger that grows every time he’s deep inside. You want to hold onto him forever, cage him in your arms, hold him against your chest as you come undone under his ruthlessness. You want to reach out and dig your teeth into his flesh, take a part of him and keep it to yourself.  

The moment feels too short. It feels too long. You can't tell where he ends and you begin. 

His scent heightens your senses, the characteristic dark musk mixing with cigar smoke, as you find yourself drawing closer to the edge. This is something holy, something sacred, something you’ll be praying to for a tremendously long time. His hips snap against yours in a particularly brutal thrust and a devastating noise escapes you, akin to a warning. He pulls back from his attack on your neck to watch, to observe with eager eyes— dark and wide, pupils blown wider than you’ve ever seen— as you fall apart under him. 

Despite him blowing into you like a shimmer addict, the desire in your body isn't fully sated yet. 

You’re just as hungry for him as you were when you kneeled down in front of his office chair and hurriedly unbuttoned the pants holding the cure to all your late night problems. The need to see more of him lands the two of you in front of his vanity; the mirror you imagine he adjusts himself in every morning now reflects the sight of your naked bodies, giving you a perfect view of all the bruises he’s been littering your body with. Pliable under his touch, your body aches deliciously as he enters you, a firm arm on your waist holding you back from toppling over. The sensation still feels new, the ache in your chest reinvents itself over and over again. 

In this room, it feels like only the two of you exist, and all you have to care about is how he feels. 

How does he feel? 

He handles your body so recklessly and yet with so much love, bending you in whichever way he likes and taking you as deep as he can go. You give yourself to him readily as you watch his face in the mirror, aquamarine and hellfire orange merging to touch the deepest part of your soul while his cock does the work to reach the deepest part of your body. 

He wraps his other arm around your waist and kisses your neck, almost like he's apologizing for the bruises he left earlier— warm, wet tongue soothing the ache of the newest ones. 

You admire how he looks in the reflection, nose buried in your neck like he’s finding a lost part of himself in your body, like he wouldn’t mind getting on his knees and worshipping you. 

Your eyes move down to observe your own body. It responds so steadily to his touch, moving and changing every time he thrusts forward, if it weren't for his tight grip on your waist and the possessive hold he has on you, you'd be up against the mirror. You wouldn’t mind that if it meant he got to feel you deeper. But you focus on your appearance, on your breasts, on your chest and the heaving thrum of your heartbeat, on all the imperfections you thought would bother you forever. The dip of your hips, the stretch marks that decorate your body, the fat of your stomach that Silco holds so possessively. 

Were you always this perfect? 

The thought is so erotic, it makes you want to lean in and kiss the mirror, press your bare tits to the cold glass and create a mark for everyone who comes into his room to see. For everyone to know that he bent you over the vanity and fucked you until you saw stars and could only utter his name. It makes you want to turn around and kiss Silco, make him feel the same appreciation that he works so hard to fuck into you. 

The man in question lifts his head and your breath hitches when your eyes meet in the reflection. Countless people have gazed into his eyes in fear, trembled at his feet and begged for their lives, but few of them have had the pleasure of trembling under his touch in the way you’re doing right now. The thought that this man is dangerous, and undeniably cruel at times, sends a jolt through your body. The realization that you’re in the arms of a monster, a beast, and he’s holding you so affectionately, it plants an unspeakable feeling in your chest. 

You watch with bated breaths as his eyes scan over your body, appreciating everything you have to offer. It's a little humiliating— being put on such an open display, having nothing to cover up your most intimate areas besides his bruising grip that travels from your waist to fondle your breasts— but it turns you on endlessly to be ravaged by something as simple as his gaze. 

Something deep in your stomach coils as you watch a sharp, razor-like smile stretch across his face. You think about his sharp edges, how you'd willingly cut yourself on them over and over if it meant having him close. Even when he's literally inside you, filling you up to beyond satisfactory levels, you're thinking of ways to have him closer. 

The thought of him planting something irreversible inside you, something alive, passes through your head like a seductive whisper. 

Your eyes meet in the mirror again and he looks proud of his work. He must know that after he's had you, he's ruined everyone else for you. He must know that everytime you let someone else touch you, you'll be thinking of his steady slender hands; and everytime someone slips their length inside you, you'll be comparing them to his size, to his drive. He must be smug as fuck knowing that no one in the undercity will ever fuck you like he's doing right now.

He looks into your desperate, wanting eyes and knows that you belong to him. 

The thought of him being possessive over you, with all the marks he's been planting, is nearly enough to push you over the edge once again. But you hold back, wanting to savour this moment, to savour the way he stretches you out and holds you close. Your breathing grows erratic and your pleas more desperate, but you hold it in because he looks at you like it's a silent order. If you hold out a little longer, you can come together.

The increasingly loud sound of your moans and gasps makes you long for his voice. You realize, on the verge of ruin, that he hasn't spoken much to you. This whole time, the sounds echoing through the bedroom have been coming out of your throat, deep from your chest, and only intermittently interrupted by his groans as he drilled into you like an animal. He hasn't been talking to you, using that silver tongue of his at what he does best, telling you things to satisfy that gnawing desire in your chest. 

You wanted him to tell you that he loved you, but you wouldn't fling that onto him during your first time together. You wanted to hear him call you nice things, call you pretty and use pet names like he always does outside the premises of the bedroom. Darling, dove, lovely, filthy, whore, slut. You wanted him to be a little mean, tease you for how desperate you've been to get into his pants. You wanted him to claim you verbally the way he does physically, you wanted him to say it out loud, claim you as his in a passionate declaration so you could replay it in your head when you touch yourself to the thought of him. 

You wanted to hear his voice. 

You straighten your back, pushing up against his chest, and tilt your head slightly to try and face him. You observe his neck and his flushed complexion, watch his throat bobbing like he's almost nervous that you're looking so closely. You notice some fresh love bites that you barely remember creating on his neck, but they're undeniably yours. It’s almost like they carve your name into him. You soften at the sight, realizing that Silco must trust you tremendously to let you touch him so intimately, especially around his neck. 

He looks down at you and you admire the shape of his nose, hoping that you'll get to have it between your legs soon. You look directly into his eyes and feel your knees grow weaker at the fondness in them, so raw and honest, like everything he's ever given you. The scarred side of his face is uncovered, giving you a clear view of the dark grooves that run down his face, like river streams flowing down to his neck. You lean your head further back, resting it on his shoulder, losing sight of his normal eye but holding the gaze of the altered one. The deep charcoal has always fascinated you, how someone could survive and continue fighting after being plunged into the depth of darkness of betrayal. But what always stole your breath away was the burning orange in the middle, illuminating the orb like a vicious flame in the middle of the rich black darkness. You catch your reflection in them and feel your chest swell with pride, the Eye of Zaun only has eyes for you.    

Your eyes move down to his lips and you feel the desire inside you increase tenfold. The shape that you've spent years memorizing, pinning after, it's so close in your reach now. Your mouth goes dry when you realize he's drawing in closer, the same idea infiltrating his mind. 

You can almost taste the alcohol and rich flavorful cigar on his lips, only a sliver of distance between you and everything you’ve been yearning for. 

But not all good things come to fruition. 

You should've known. It doesn't make sense. 

Three years of being his friend, being at his side when he needed you the most, growing closer despite everyone warning you about the notorious crime lord ruling over Zaun. Months of pining over him and memorizing his features and the lovely shape of his lips, wanting desperately to get a taste of him, to get a taste of the bitter and evil monster that sends horror coursing through the undercity. Sitting in his office, on his couch, pretending to innocently read the book you borrowed like you weren't imagining him bending you over that desk and fucking you until your legs were shaking.

Nearly a year of harboring feelings for him and you've never told him. 

The first thing you see is darkness. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the lighting, and you realize, with a heavy heart, that you're in your bedroom. Alone, no Silco between your legs, nothing to accompany you besides the dull aching in your lower stomach and the wetness between your thighs. 

You knew your feelings for him were getting out of hand, but a wet dream like that is officially reaching a new low. 

Not that you haven't had dirty dreams about him before, or fleeting inappropriate thoughts when you were around him, but none of them have felt this raw. You've never felt so loved in any of your previous wet dreams, and you're starting to doubt if you've ever felt that loved when awake too. 

You turn to plant your face into the pillow, groaning in frustration. Even in your dreams, he fucks like an animal and loves like a starving artist. It felt like you were cursed; when everyone was warning you about him, they forgot to mention that you'd want to fuck him so bad it would haunt your every waking thought— and sleeping ones too, apparently. 

The alarm besides your bed beeps and you lift your head up from the eternal anguish to glimpse the time. The realization that it's 6:50 on a Saturday night jolts you awake. 

In exactly half an hour— 7:20 never made sense to you but you've learned to stop asking questions when it comes to Silco— you were supposed to meet the man who was just fucking the daylight out of you. Or, well, the man you wish would fuck the daylight out of you, and the nighttime and all times of the day really. But that's besides the point, you're fucked, and not in the way you need to be. 

You fight the urge to bury yourself into your bed sheets and just play dead until Sevika or some other trusted employee comes to drag you out of your apartment. But the thought of having to meet him in your sleepwear, the one with all the evidence of your arousal, was more mortifying than having to pretend you aren't thinking filthy, dirty thoughts about him. 

You've done it before, how hard could it be? 

Besides, it's almost a family activity now, your weekly meetups. Maybe Jinx will be there and a reluctant Sevika will join you and attempt to teach you how to play poker and you'll suck at it and it will just be a good old fun time. And you wouldn't be thinking of how sexy he looks when he leans back on the couch and drinks his whiskey like that and blows smoke rings and smirks when you lose and- 

No.

You were going to get up, take a cold freezing shower, and exorcise every dirty thought from your gutter of a mind. You were going to sit in his office and not have a single deranged thought about him, and it was going to be fine. 

Right? 

[torialefay]

"you've never had someone be this good to you before?"

perv!changbin x fem!reader

✨ synopsis: changbin couldn't help but to offer his services when he found out that the object of his obsessive thoughts had never been properly taken care of.

✨ word count: ~3.2k

✨ warnings: perv changbin, orgasm control, oral (fem receiving); minors DNI 🔞

✨ note: you can pop over to my masterlist & scroll toward the bottom to find the smut request info & prompts. i would love to receive some prompts that aren't strictly fem!reader (but ofc those are welcome too) <3

• you'd been friends for well over a year, yes. so how could you not have known that this entire time, changbin had been watching you?

• it had started as innocent, really. simply watching the way you walked and how your hips moved side to side with each step. he watched the way your shorts would ride up your thighs every time you sat down. he noticed the way your eyes got so big for him each time you raised your head to look up.

• and slowly, it started to drive him crazy.

• in his head, it was only natural- inevitable really. there was no harm in giving you a little bit of extra attention. nothing wrong with that.

• but before he knew it, he was going to lengths he'd never dreamed.

• friendly banter turned into more extreme measures, like him pulling you into his lap. "playfully" of course, and *not* because of the rush he got knowing that your pussy had just been resting so close to him... only thin fabric separating the two of you.

• although he would never admit it to anyone, he'd secretly taken photos of you. any time you were sitting in your chair, legs wrapped behind the chair legs, which made your ass stick out perfectly in his view. any time your top was low-cut enough to make out the lines between your breasts. any time you were innocently sucking up your drink, licking your lollipop, or licking your lips. he always had his camera at the ready, meticulous in making sure the flash had been turned off. he'd never blow his cover so carelessly.

�� he'd "accidentally" drop things next to you just so he could bend down close to you and savor the sight as he came back up. your legs... they looked so soft. he wondered if a day would ever come that you would let him touch them... willingly.

• he'd even go as far as to say something spilled in the seat you were about to go to, so he could lay his jacket down for you to sit on and collect your scent for later.

• when he could finally be alone at the end of the day, he'd make sure he had all of his prized possessions out before he got to work on himself. the photos of you pulled up on his phone. his jacket held up to his face so he could take it in as he began to furiously pump his cock. and before he knew it, he was busting everywhere- his body overwhelmed, begging, and wholly giving in to the thought of you.

• but he didn't think that he'd ever be able to *actually* act on his urges... that is, until you'd messaged him one night that you needed help with something. moving some furniture or something like that- he didn't take the time to read much of the text past "hey, is there any chance you'd be able to come over-." that's all he needed to spring up and out the door.

• after taking care of what you needed, he'd hung around on the couch for a chat. he listened to all of your stories. he admired the amount of information that you entrusted to him. and for you, all of this felt like de-stressing in the most natural way.

• after talking vulnerably about past relationships (at this point, you weren't even aware how you'd gotten to this level of comfort), changbin had managed to squeeze out of you a more intimate conversation- one in which you told him you'd never actually been properly eaten out before.

• his brain couldn't comprehend it. someone as... perfect as you? with those few words, he lost it. all inhibition had left his body now that he'd gotten you to this point.

• "i could, ya know? if you want to of course," he said, his heart leaping inside his chest. he was high off of the adrenaline.

• "what?" you almost laughed in both embarrassment and disbelief. changbin was your friend, nothing more. why would he even joke about something like that?... well, unless he wasn't.

• "i said i could eat you out. show you it can feel good... if you want." his voice remain firm and steady.

• "where is this coming from?" you asked, your mind full of confusion.

• "nowhere, i-" he cleared his throat, now the wobbliness beginning to catch up with him. "nowhere. i just never would have thought that you hadn't, uhh.. had that before. i'm sorry if i made you feel weird," he mumbled in a rush, beginning to stand up.

• "no changbin, it's okay!" you held your hand out, motioning for him to stay. "i just... wasn't expecting that i guess? you've been such a good friend to me, i never thought..." your train of thought ran off. "i mean i'm just surprised is all. i don't want this to come between us. a spur-of-the-moment thing," you voiced nervously. you still weren't sure of the situation, so why were you saying this?

• "spur of the moment?" he chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. "you don't know how badly i've wanted you? you've had no clue this whole time?"

• "no..." your voice went shaky. "you never said anything." you looked down, not sure what to do.

• "what should i have said? that i've thought about fucking you every day for months on end? that i've spent my days doing everything i can to get closer to you... to want you so badly to the point that i cannot physically stand it? and to get anything possible from you because it turns me on? is that what i should have said?"

• you were taken aback. "get anything possible? what do you mean?"

• "nothing," he huffed defensively. you could tell that he was trying to calm himself down. you didn't think he meant to scare you. "just drop it. please. i shouldn't have said anything in the first place... but now here we are."

• "but..." you started, taking a moment to collect the words in your head. "but what if i do want it?" you looked up at him with nervous but hopeful eyes.

• changbin could feel his pulse begin to heighten. "say the word then, and i'll show you." he tried his best to contain the smile that so badly wanted to spread across his face.

• turns out, you didn't need to say anything. you put on a shy grin as you nodded your head, signaling your readiness. within a second, changbin was springing up, eager to finally turn his fantasies into reality.

• "okay, we can go slow if you want?" he half-smirked, looking down at you now. he'd never seen a more perfect sight.

• "yeah, i think that'd be good," you said, still a bit shy. you weren't quite sure where to go from here, so you gladly let him take the lead.

• "turn this way for me," he instructed, holding his hand out for you to grab onto. you took it, and he pulled slightly towards himself, helping you to rotate so that your body was now turned toward the front of the couch.

• changbin followed up with a satisfied smile at how well you were listening to him. just like his fantasies.

• "can i?" he asked, running his hand down gently to rest at the waist band of your shorts.

• you nodded, nibbling at your lips in anticipation.

• gently, changbin lowered himself to begin removing your shorts. slowly but with smooth hands, he removed your legs, one by one. he was careful with watching you- he'd studied your face far too well to miss out on any changing expressions he could coax out.

• throwing your shorts to the side, he sank to his knees so that he was now almost eye level with your pussy. suddenly, you felt exposed. intimidated. suddenly not quite sure how you'd gotten here.

• you closed your thighs together tightly, the red embarrassment evident on your face.

• "here, don't be shy," changbin said, sensing your hesitancy. he softly placed each hand on the inside of either thigh, applying slight pressure to move them apart. although you were fighting through the nerves, his gentleness washed over you with a much needed calming sensation.

• you let out a deep breath, not sure how long you'd been holding it in. you wiggled yourself a bit, trying to adjust to the newness of the situation as you settled into your position.

• changbin smiled up at you in return, his eyes endearing yet full of excitement. a sense of fulfillment had his brain clouded over.

• he wasted no time in running one hand up until it found the heat of your clothed core. you could tell that his hand was slightly shaking in his bout of disbelief, no matter how hard he was trying to cover it up.

• you shuddered a bit at the feeling of his thumb lightly grazing you, making momentary contact with your clit. it sent a bolt down your spine from a feeling that you'd been missing for far too long.

• changbin started slowly, rubbing up and down, then left and right, then in small, dredgingly slow circles trying to figure out what you liked.

• and if you were being honest, at this point, even you didn't know what you liked. no one had ever touched you like this before- so softly, so tenderly. every movement felt like it was the best sensation you'd ever experienced.

• changbin tried unsuccessfully to jerk his smile down while looking at the sight of you beginning to grind your hips down onto his fingers. you were silently begging him for even more contact. seeing you like this... it was better than he could have ever imagined.

• "let's take these off?" changbin whispered, pulling slightly at the hem of your underwear.

• you nodded, your mind coming out of its haze. you tilted your head just enough to watch as changbin slid them down with ease. almost as if he'd trained to do this all so perfectly... for you.

• the look on his face when he finally came in contact with your core, now entirely unclothed, was something you would never forget. his jaw dropped a bit, as if he couldn't believe what was in front of him. but following, barely a moment after, was a face full of determination. determination for what?... well you hoped you knew the answer.

• changbin again decided to rest his hands on the insides of your thighs so that he could spread you open as wide as possible. he wanted to see all of you. have access to every last inch. he was going to do this right.

• "you have to tell me what feels good, okay?" he cooed, looking up from in between your legs.

• you gave a bashful nod in response, signaling that you understood.

• carefully, changbin brought his fingers back to you, letting you get used to the feeling of his contact without moving. once he could tell that your tension was gone, he slowly started to rub up and down, one inch at a time. the fact that you were so wet for him almost made a gasp fall from his mouth. but it didn't. he wouldn't let it. he was going to have to fight the urge for now, not wanting you to feel overwhelmed by him so quickly. he wanted to savor every second he'd get with you.

• almost painfully slow, he continued to let his fingers slide along, getting you more and more worked up with each movement.

• it wasn't until he was completely sure that you were ready when he moved to land over your clit, which had been throbbing by this point. he remained calm, drawing gentle and slow circles around you to gage your reaction. as you strain out an inhaled breath, he knew he was right where he needed to be.

• he brought his face down to your core, mentally preparing to hold himself back. he didn't know how you'd respond, but he knew this was his only chance. he placed a few soft kisses on your inner thigh, acclimating you to his mouth. the kisses grew lighter and lower as he picked your leg up, kissing down to your knees as he went. he settled with resting your leg over his shoulder, granting him better access to you.

• just like the first time, he positioned his face at the opposite thigh, taking his time with soft pecks and temptingly letting his teeth graze your skin. he calmly lifted your leg to position it in parallel to the other, effectively caging himself in.

• you took a deep breath as you felt his tongue on your core, licking its way up. he didn't take much time before finding your clit and proceeding to roll his tongue up and down, trying to gage your reaction.

• as you gradually let yourself relax, you leaned into the feeling that he was providing you. you focused solely on his movements and how each of them made you tingle in a different way.

• you almost lost your breath entirely as he began sucking in, making the wildest noises and moaning on the spot once he heard you let out a tiny whine yourself. the tingles that were being sent into your thighs was proof enough that you'd never experienced something that felt like... well, this before.

• your heart skipped a beat each time he nipped at you in your most sensitive spot. slowly, you were burning for him. you wanted to scream out- to beg to him to do it again. over and over. but at the same time, you didn't know how you'd be able to bear it.

• but changbin knew you well. a small smirk crept across his face as he realized what he'd done to you. it only made him want to work harder to please you. to make you understand exactly what he's been working for for all of these months.

• "mmm, feels good?" he hummed into you, sending shock waves that only added to the feeling.

• "ye- yes," you strained out, trying to hold back.

• "you like it when i eat you out, huh?" he pulled off just long enough to give you a short smirk. something about his tone almost caused you to convulse on the spot. you were fighting back the urge to throw your knees together entirely.

• "yes," you whined now, grinding down onto his tongue as you went. you wanted so badly to let go.

• "mmm, are you gonna cum for me?" his voice rang out, darker now.

• you reflexively bucked your hips. this was exactly what you needed to spiral. you felt your toes begin to tingle, preparing to lose yourself.

• "yes, -fuck!" you arched a bit, feeling a particularly sharp jolt. "fuck, i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum-"

• "no you're not," he stated, fixated on your pussy with his lips still attached. "need you to keep going. cum when i tell you to."

• your eyes shot open. no? what did he mean no? you knew you weren't going to be able to hold it back. this was a side of changbin you'd never seen before.

• as the sensation built, a tear started to build up in the corner of your eye. this was too good. too too good. your legs were beginning to shake already. this was getting to be too much.

• as changbin's eyes came up to connect with yours, you were sure you were gone. you quickly threw one hand down to his hair, pushing his face further into you, while the other hand gripped tightly to the blanket next to you. you watched the tiny smirk in his gaze as you threw yourself down onto him.

• "please, please," you moaned, louder than you'd intended. "please, i'm gonna cum. i have- have to."

• "mmm? you've never had someone be this good to you before?" was all that he responded with, sending the vibrations along with it.

• "please," you cried. "please, i-- OH FUCK," you yelled one last time.

• the joints in your hand began to ache, giving in to the pressure put on it from bunching into the cushions around you.

• this was it. whatever he said, you weren't going to be able to hold it off any more. this was all you could take.

• noticing your shift, changbin smiled. "you can cum now, princess." his tongue returned once more to your clit, holding his lips taut to you. "cum on me right now," he ordered.

• finally, you were able to relish in the quick bolts that were shooting up from the bottoms of your feet and into your core.

• you couldn't stop yourself from yelling out, sending changbin into doing the same

• moans sang out in choirs, each hitting its note precisely as instructed. your hips moved accordingly, trying to ride out your full high, but trembling in the process.

• this was bliss. pure and utter euphoria like you'd never experienced before. in a jolt of a moment, your neck shivered, feeling a tingle working it's way up your spine. and before you knew it, your brain caught up to the feeling, blanking out and turning to static.

• your body reflexively arched, losing control of itself entirely. it was now a slave to the feeling that changbin was giving you. your body reacted to him like he was the only man in the world. and maybe now, to you, he was.

• fighting to finally throw yourself off of him, you wanted to cry. you never knew it could feel this good- so all consuming, so deep. to feel totally and completely taken care of.

• it was then, in your shaking, quivering state that you realized that a few tears had actually been spilled out. you took deep breaths, wiping your eyes as quickly as you could.

• as your mind slowly started to return, you couldn't believe what you'd just experienced. your body was spent. your brain was spent. you didn't know what you could possibly say or do at this point. it's as if you weren't even in the world.

• changbin snaked himself up slowly, wrapping his arms around yours in an attempt to sooth you. "was it okay?" he asked, the tiniest bit of pride in his voice.

• you couldn't help but to laugh in response. "yeah," you blinked as you sniffled. "yeah, i think it was okay."

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

✨ if you enjoyed, please consider liking, commenting, and/or re-blogging <3

✨ i promise y'all, one day i will figure out which formatting i like the best & then i will stick to it. i have problems 😭

[starlazergazer]

Always Find a Way

Pairing: Sith!Anakin x Reader

Summary: Very similar idea to This Is How You Lose The Time War. Enemies to lovers style series of meetings between sith Anakin and jedi reader as they start to realize that maybe the two sides aren’t as different as they originally thought

Warnings: None in this part

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: So the plan in the end is 7 parts with an epilogue for this series! They’ll be fairly short parts (for me lol) around this length and 5 of those parts are already written so they should come out fairly soon! Promise I’m doing me best to get this whole thing done but figured for now enjoy this first part and as always please let me know what you think!

You liked to think if you had known how your story would have to end you would do everything differently.

That if you could’ve foreseen the pain, the emptiness, the disillusionment you would suffer later, that maybe you would’ve walked out of that cantina the minute Anakin Skywalker set his sights on you.

But honestly you weren’t sure that was true.

They say pain and joy exist as two sides of the same coin, that one cannot exist without the other, the Jedi always did like a tale of cosmic balance. Given that, could you give up one side of that spectrum just to save yourself from having to experience the other?

You knew the answer to that question. Logically you knew the answer. Realistically you knew that you would suffer though it all again if it meant you got to have just half of the good things you did with him, a quarter even.

But maker was that a hard question to answer.

-

You had felt his presence all day.

Sure, at the time you didn’t know it was him but there was this undeniable itch in the back of your head that persisted, a dark cloud looming over everything that had the hairs on the back of your neck sanding up straight, a foreboding warning sign that settled itself deep into your very bones.

But what if you were just being catastrophic? What if you just hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before? What if you were just needlessly worried?

So you kept your mouth shut about it. Afterall you didn’t have a big role to play in today’s mission anyway. Your master would meet with his informant in the corner booth of the cantina like he always did. You would order food and watch him from a booth on the opposite side of the room. In and out in half an hour, at worst your master learns nothing new and you get to fill up with a hot meal. This was easy, routine, normal.

That was until there was a man sliding into your side of the booth without a word.

He pressed his side up against yours without a second thought, the entire movement having an incredible fluidity to it you weren’t ready for. In fact you were completely unprepared for any of it, that was the first thought that ruminated through your head in the moment.

He perched his elbows casually upon the table before you and gazed over at you, eyes flicking with subtle interest over each of your features wordlessly as you wondered how this man had been able to sneak up on you like that. Not a noise, a visual indicator, or a sign through the force to warn you of this new invasion of your personal space. You couldn’t help but gape at him slightly, the shocked look on your face seeming to please him immensely as he smirked at you before directing his gaze across the room to where your master sat.

“Now what brings a Padawan like you into a cantina like this”

It finally hit you once he spoke. His force presence crashing over you like a wave and you could do little but try not to drown within it, the dark cloud that had been hanging over you seemingly personified into the man before you. How had you not been able to pinpoint it any earlier?

You were reaching for the saber at your hip without putting any real thought into it, the action occurring more as a knee jerk reaction than any sort of attack.

The man caught your wrist easily, fingers digging harshly into the skin as he held it in place in your hip, a soft “tsk” dropping condescendingly from his mouth “come now we shouldn’t cause a scene in as nice an establishment as this”

You tried your best to hold back your scowl, tried to put back on your blank Jedi mask, tried to exude any sort of levelheadedness you could muster. It wasn’t very much.

“Let go of me” it came out as more of a hiss than a command.

He smirked down amusedly at you but released your wrist with a small flourish “ahh so she does speak”

You opened your mouth to respond but he dismissed you with a flick of his fingers, turning his head back to your master’s table “Really I should thank you, I’ve been trying to track down our mole for weeks”

The gravity of the situation hit you squarely in your chest at that moment, a bolt of panic ramming your spine straight as your wide-eyed gaze snapped to your master, your muscles instinctively tensing to get up when a hand grabbed your chin suddenly again taking you enough by surprise it had your head spinning.

“Just eat your lunch” his grip was much softer this time as he directed your gaze down to your forgotten meal before you, his touch thankfully this time not lasting any longer than necessary. “Don’t worry I won’t do anything until you and your master are back on your ship”

“you really think I’m just going to let you kill that man?”

His gaze snapped back to yours and there was that annoying smirk again, eyes alight with unrepressed amusement as he took the time to study you, eyes drifting unhurriedly to each of your features before he turned back to the room “I do”

The answer was so matter of fact, so simple, you weren’t entirely sure how to respond.

He gazed back at you once again as he felt the silence form between the two of you, giving you a dramatic eye roll in response as if the explanation were obvious “That’s the deal. You don’t try and stop me and as a thank you I let everyone in this cantina walk away with their lives, that master of yours included”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response “the deal? This isn’t a negotiation”

He chuckled at that, the sound weirdly soft coming from him as he shook his head “sweetheart everything is a negotiation”

Accepting at least for the time being you couldn’t do anything yet you took the chance to study him, gaze sweeping over each of his features just as he had done to you, eyes lingering uncomfortably at the black hilted saber he had attached to his hip. “You really think you could take on a Jedi master, the mole, and everyone in this cantina by yourself?”

Again his chuckle filled the air as he dismissed your question flat out with a simple shake of his head, as if it were so ungrounded in reality it bordered on absurd. “I noticed you didn’t include yourself in that list, going soft on me already?”

Again you were at a loss for words, little more than huff of air leaving you as you rolled your eyes and settled back into your booth, crossing your arms over your chest as you checked on your master from the corner of your eye.

That damned smirk was growing on his face again and you couldn’t help but wonder if the man only had the one default facial expression.

“I don’t think I can, I know” he answered your first question finally, relaxing his posture back in the seat like you had “Just for the record”

A silence fell over the two of you and you tried to ignore the realization that it wasn’t a tense one, not even an awkward one, dare you even call it comfortable.

“Tell you what” he broke it with a soft concession “you hold up your end of the deal and next time I see you I’ll give you my name for you to look up in the jedi archives. Then you can see for yourself how bad of an idea trying to call my bluff here would’ve been”

You raised an eyebrow in response, arms tightening over your chest almost defensively at that “and what makes you think I’m going to see you again”

At your question his usual smirk seemed to morph ever so slightly, into what you weren’t sure, as his voice softened “call it gut feeling”

Both of your heads snapped together to the table across the room as you felt the shift in the air around you, watching as your Master stood and offered his hand to shake to the informant.

“And there’s are cue” the man beside you hummed as he watched your master say goodbye, hands bracing on the table before him as he got ready to slip out of the booth but not before whispering tauntingly back at you “remember our deal sweetheart”

You scoffed at the comment as you pushed yourself up to stand as well, sliding out of the booth after him, not making it far before his hand was on your elbow, softly keeping you in place, physically drawing your gaze back to his.

“Till next time padawan” finally he sent you on your way with a cheeky wink.

You tried not to dwell on it too much as you quickly made your way towards the exit to catch up with your master.

It felt almost wrong for things to fall back into their usual place so easily after that. To have your master waiting in the ally next to the front door like he always was, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, as if your entire world hadn’t just been turned on its head by one man in the last ten minutes.

“Who was that who sat with you in the booth” You had been expecting this question from him as the two of you made the familiar trek back to your ship.

What you weren’t expecting was how easily your answer came to you. It scared you how little you seemed to entertain any other answer. How naturally the words fell from your lips.

“Just someone who didn’t know how to keep their hands to themselves”

[eringobragh420]

➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ❤︎ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Damian ignores his girlfriend, and she attempts to exact revenge. ➔ Word Count — 1.5k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, cum 18+ ➔ Notes — Spanish translations at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!  ➔ Requested By — @bitchyseawitch. Hope you enjoy!  ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

You could see the mild distress in his eyes, though those dark pools were mostly consumed by lust, and you wondered if the interviewer on the monitor in front of Damian noticed it, too. You’d warned him, so you felt no guilt as you lifted your shirt over your head, dropping it to the floor before unhooking and removing your bra as well. Your boyfriend gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing, and he sat back in his chair, trying and almost succeeding in appearing nonchalant. You smirked—the interviewer had to notice something was going on behind the camera, but they carried on in hopes of roping Damian back in. Making the quick decision to leave your shorts on, you descended to your hands and knees on the soft carpet and crawled toward him. The desk Damian sat at was nothing elaborate—a glass top on a frame with four legs, until he could decide on something more permanent—so he was able to watch every move you made, unable to say anything to stop you, though he could have closed his lewdly spread legs. He could have, but he either chose not to or was too late, because you were between them, your own legs tucked under you as you massaged his muscular thighs through his black jeans.

Damian stammered through an incoherent response about his tattoos, and you kept your giggle silent as you lifted his shirt just enough to reveal his belt buckle and a noticeable bulge. Biting your lip, looking up at him with lust-filled eyes through the glass table, you rolled your tongue out of your mouth and swiped it obscenely along the length of the flap that covered the zipper. He glanced down in time to watch and his body jerked, trying to play it off with a fake cough. You supposed if he grabbed your hands or blocked your path to his cock, you would stop because, while it was funny and hot to you, you didn’t want him to appear unprofessional since he was technically working. But he did neither, continuing on with the interview, and so you continued on with rummaging your boyfriend’s heavy dick out of his jeans and briefs, finding him semi-hard, so at least something about this situation turned him on.

Lifting your eyes to Damian’s face, you engulfed his cock in the wet heat of your mouth, adding suction, and he inhaled and exhaled slowly, so slowly, through his nose. His eyes fluttered briefly, but he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and straightened up in a futile attempt at giving the interviewer his undivided attention, as well as appear unbothered. You smiled around the spongy head of his dick, breathing a laugh, and then you sucked him all the way down your throat, a feat made easier while he was still hardening. Damian faked a cough again, his hips subtly thrusting against your face, and he started stumbling his way through an answer regarding his recent move to Smackdown. Something about setting his sights on Cody Rhodes and the Undisputed title, but you couldn’t be sure—you were busy fisting his cock with one hand while the other fished his balls out. You tongued the tender flesh, sucking each ball into your mouth, worshipping them just as you did to his dick as you licked it to the tip, dipping inside the slit. Damian took another deep breath, elbow now on the armrest of his chair, hand over his mouth, doing everything in his power to ignore you as you bobbed your head, your hands descending to fondle your breasts, tweaking the nipples, and he couldn’t ignore you anymore because he fucking loved when you showed off like that. 

“Fuck,” he uttered behind his hand, and it somehow went unnoticed by the interviewer—unnoticed or ignored. He shook his head, dark eyes dropping to meet yours briefly before rising again to the monitor. You giggled, him deep in your mouth, and the vibration had him scrubbing his hands over his face. Releasing your breasts, you gripped his thighs, and really went to work—sucking, wiggling your tongue, stuffing him just far enough into your throat to keep from gagging, or making any otherwise lewd noises. 

“Uh, Damian, are you okay? Do you need to take a break?” the interviewer asked.

Your eyes returned to Damian’s as he massaged his forehead and replied, “Uh, no. No. I’m—I’m fine.”

Your brows rose—oh, really? You’re fine? I must not be doing a very good job. You maintained a consistent bobbing of your head, hand squeezing and twisting around the several inches of his length you couldn’t get in your mouth, and your eyes never left his face. Sometimes you wondered if the eye-contact turned him on more than your mouth, feeling him twitch against your tongue as he met your gaze. His brows came together, he licked his lips, and there was no way the interviewer didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes—or, under the scenes, as it were. Pausing to take a breath, you kissed the head of Damian’s cock, hand still stroking the length as you brought your other hand up to massage his balls. 

“Damian, are you … sure you don’t wanna maybe … call us back?” the interviewer asked once more. Yeah, they had to know.

Lips rubbing against his leaking tip, you whispered, “You should probably call them back.” You then licked the tangy precum from his slit, eyes fluttering at the flavor as if this was your first time tasting him, tongue tracing each and every pulsing vein down the shaft.

Your boyfriend’s jaw tightened. “I’ll call you back,” he growled, his now ebony eyes piercing your very soul as he reached over your head and simply closed the lid on the laptop. If the interviewer had had any doubt about what was going on before, there should be none remaining now. “That was rude,” Damian said.

Your mouth popped off his cock, jaw dropped, and you gasped dramatically, hand over your heart—this last action brought his blown pupils to your bare breasts, and his cock jolted. “You started it,” you replied to his accusation. 

“I started … What?” he stammered.

Rolling your eyes, you reminded him, “I told you I was hungry. But you just had to finish that stupid Cobra Kai episode, and then you conveniently remembered you had an interview.” The more you explained it, the stupider it became, but this was the route you’d chosen and you couldn’t turn around now. Damian blinked, disbelieving. “I got hangry.” 

“So you sabotaged my interview?” he exclaimed. 

“I mean, if you want me to stop …” You started to turn away, but Damian snatched your chin, returning you to your original position between his legs and close enough to his cock you could smell him. 

“No pares,” he rumbled. You sighed, rubbing your lips up and down the underside of him. “You said you were hungry,” he mocked you. Your eyes were mere slits as they rose to meet his. “Eat.”

Somehow, in your quest for revenge, Damian had utterly turned the tables, the power you’d had before transferred to him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten off the call, but damn it, you loved the sounds of a cock getting properly sucked, and more than that, you adored the noises your boyfriend created. Noises that began as soon as you put everything you had into this blowjob—to hell with revenge—because you were hungry, and you couldn’t think of a better appetizer, and there was no way in hell he wasn’t taking you out to dinner now. 

“Christ,” Damian moaned, the backs of his fingers brushing along your cheek, fingers tickling your skin as they wrapped around the back of your neck. Damn, you loved this man. He added no pressure—only interested in holding you any way he could—but you still worked harder. Not necessarily dirtier or sloppier, but the muscles in your neck and shoulders were beginning to ache as you twisted your head this way and that, relying more on technique than filth to get him off. “Ah, that’s my girl,” he praised, thumb stroking your jawline. “Sweet angelita.”

He held you in the palm of his hand at that moment, and you nuzzled into his touch, basking in the praise. “I love you, Papi,” you said, wet lips gliding along his taut skin.

Damian let out a breath, his broad chest deflating, thick lips forming an O. One of your favorite things about your boyfriend? The man got off on hearing I love you. You never thought men like him existed, and you sometimes wondered if you didn’t end up with the only one. 

“I love you, baby girl,” he rasped. “You ready?” You nodded, sucking, stroking, repeating. “Fuck, I’m gonna—” He unloaded in your mouth before he could finish, coating your tongue, and you had to swallow twice to get it all down.

With your jerking slowing, guiding him through his orgasm, you asked, “You gonna call them back?” 

“I’ll reschedule,” Damian answered. “I got a hangry girl to take care of.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know … I might be a little full now …”

જ⁀➴°⋆ No pares — Don’t stop જ⁀➴°⋆ Angelita — Little angel જ⁀➴°⋆ Papi — Daddy

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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[purplestanleypinkblanket]

First Kiss With Logan:

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: After a shitty date, you seek comfort from Wade who threw you a ‘Cherry Popped’ party. It ends up making you feel worse, which leads you into the arms of a man who’s grown fond of you. Logan.

Warnings: Kissing, talking about bad date, cursing, brief mentions of drinking, innuendos to "cherry popping", use of the word virgin. Self-deprecating talk in some areas, from both reader and Logan.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2,388

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You hated that you found yourself, seated across from a man who, frankly, hadn't asked you a single question about yourself all night. You also hated how much this man yapped. God, all he did was talk and talk without even the slightest breath. And you hated that you continued to stay seated. Perhaps you were too kind, or maybe you thought you had no right to leave. After all, the man was buying you dinner. It was hard to shake that kind of guilt. You knew you owed him nothing, that it's okay to leave a shitty date- but a part of you wondered if this was all you had going for you. A shitty date, with a shitty man on a shitty afternoon.

As you spaced out your thoughts drifted back to Logan, you wondered if dates with him were like this. What if they weren't? What if he was kind? Well, slightly kinder than normal. He didn't strike you as the pull-your-chair-out-for-you kinda guy, but you had a feeling he would ask you questions instead of yapping your ear off. Maybe he would ask about your day at work, or what you like to do in your free time. Possibly he'd like to hear funny stories about your family. No, that felt too intimate for a first date. Maybe on a third date you'd share those stories with him.

God, what are you even on about right now? You're on a date with a man buying you dinner and you're thinking about Logan! As your eyes looked over the man, you finally tuned back into what he was saying.

"My ex was fucking crazy! That bitch-"

Aaanndd, you lost interest immediately. The more this dude spoke, the more of a dick he sounded. You couldn't help but feel thankful when the date ended. However, the chime of your phone caught your attention during the walk back to your apartment.

'Hey, sugar tits.' Wade's text read. 'Come over, we're celebrating you getting your cherry popped!' That dick knew you weren't a virgin, he just wanted a damn reason to celebrate. What better way to celebrate then partying over your friend not getting laid? It was a cruel joke you really weren't in the mood for but the image of Logan blowing up balloons with Blind Al, a smile just barely tugging at his usually grumpy face...it was hard to say no too. And Wade knew that- its why he sent you the picture after all.

"Fucking dick." You murmured to yourself as you wrapped your cardigan around you tighter, pushing the front door to Wade's apartment open as you did so. The sight was ridiculous, balloons, streamers, wall decor, banners that read 'Pop That Cherry!' draped off the ceiling. You took a mental note to punch Wade in his smart-ass lip later. But, for now, it was nice being in the comfort of your friends. Yes, even the snarky teenager Negasonic and her girlfriend. You were a teenage girl once, but it still didn't stop you getting annoyed when she nitpicked your outfits. It isn't your fault baggy sweaters and legging were literally a godsent.

You trudged your way through the crowded apartment, hand adjusting your white sweater to cover the tank top under it a little better. As you approached Logan and Wade, you grew more aware of the length of your skirt. Was it too long? Too short? Would Logan think it looked good? God, why did you even care what Logan Howlett, labeled the worst wolverine, thought of you? You didn't think he was the worst wolverine. You'd never say it, of course not, because then he'd know you actually liked being around him! Perhaps it was selfish of you to keep yourself so guarded around him, but you couldn't shake the fear of letting down your walls and risking getting hurt. It was scary. Losing that much control. And over what, a feeling?

A hand extending towards you caught your attention, it was Logan, offering you a drink.

"Thank you." You spoke to him, voice quiet compared to the blaring pop music Wade was playing. He grunted in response, but you swear you heard a 'you're welcome.' You brought it to your lips, casually slow sipping the alcohol over the course of the night. It was fun to dance with Vanessa as Wade and Peter tried to convince Logan to join the group. You couldn't help the laugh on your lips when Wade made a snarky comment about Logan's panties being in a twist, earning a threatening unsheathing of claws from logan. You never fully understood the shame Logan felt, even though you tried incredibly hard to. To you, he was amazing, he was strong, he was...well, to say you only admired him would be a lie.

You wished you could show Logan the way you saw him, the way the world saw him. Sure, he was hot, unnecessarily hot, with large biceps and shoulders that went for days. But he was more than that. He was a grump who pushed people away out of fear of hurting them. And to prevent himself from getting hurt. It was ironic, really. Perhaps you and him were more alike than you thought. After a while in the overstimulating party, you slipped away, moving to stand on the balcony. You hadn't been there long, probably thirty minutes? It was nice, listening to your friend's party as you took a break to look at the city.

"Thought I'd find you here." Logan's rough voice spoke as he walked out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

You hummed in response, flashing him a smile as you looked away. Logan could feel his heart skip a beat at your smile- it was always nice when you graced him with it. He'd give anything to see you smile. Hell, he wished he could make you smile and laugh the way Wade and Vanessa did. They matched your morbid sarcastic humor easily. Something he struggled to do. He approached you, leaning onto the railing beside you.

"Congrats on the...uh..."

"I'm not a virgin."

"Oh..."

The silence was awkward between you. You had to purse your lips to prevent you from bursting out in a laugh. You found it hilarious how just one statement suddenly made him go quiet.

"Wade had-" You spoke, trying to stifle your laugh with your hand. "Wade thought it would be funny to throw a 'cherry popped' party because it's been forever since my last date." You revealed, not able to contain your laugh any longer. "It's actually kinda sweet. In a weird way, ya know, Wades weird way." The corners of Logan's mouth lifted slightly at the sound of your laugh. It had always been his favorite sound after meeting you.

"Guess so." Logan contributed to the conversation, bringing the glass beer bottle to his lips. You looked at logan watching as he looked over the city, your eyes analyzing him. His jaw, his hair, the crow's feet by his eyes from his constant state of scowling. Maybe it was the liquid courage you had drank. Or you finally just decided to give Logan a sense of affection. You loved to shower your friends with affection, often times holding Wade as you two watched tv, or Vanessa sitting on your lap as you gossiped. Logan had seen it plenty of times. God, sometimes you even gave Peter affection. Each time he felt a twinge of jealousy, he wanted to be the object of your affectionate touches. Or the way you murmured praise directed at them after a task- he wanted that.

Your hand reached up, gently soothing out some strands of his beard that were in disarray. Logan tensed under your touch, and you immediately pulled away, guilt and embarrassment swarming you.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You adamantly apologized, face heating up.

"Don't worry about it." Logan roughly said, silently regretting the way you withdrew so quickly. He watched as you tried to subtly put some distance between the two of you- the sting of rejection clear as day on your face. He hadn't meant to reject you; you were reading too much into it. His mind sidetracked as he looked away, maybe he was the one reading too much into it? "How was your date?" He settled on asking, bringing the beer to his lips.

"Shitty." You sighed, frowning.

Logan nodded, waiting for you to continue. Silence falls between you two and he flashed you an expectant glance. You hadn't realized he wanted you to keep talking until he looked at you.

"Oh, uh, there isn't really much to say." You shrugged, looking away. "He didn't ask any questions, just talked about himself the whole time. Was super annoying too." Logan couldn't help the satisfaction that welled in his chest upon hearing your defeated words. It sucked for you, of course it did. But Logan was so glad the date was bad- that way no one could come in, sweep you off your feet, and away from him. He hadn't made a move on you, and he couldn't decide if he ever would. He didn't want to risk hurting you like he had done the others he cared for.

However, the glance of tiredness in your expression when you had looked at him momentarily...he hated it. He hated himself for being so happy your date was bad, and he hated that he wasn't the one you wanted to sweep you off your feet.

"Like...it isn't hard to make a girl feel special. To make her feel like a princess." You laughed with a shake of your head. "I dunno, maybe I'm just expecting too much?" You looked at Logan as you asked, a need for reassurance present.

Logan stared at you; brows furrowed as he analyzed you. The scowl on his features prominent. Believing you had said too much, or you annoyed him with your ramblings, an apology escaped your lips.

"Fuck, sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Princess." Logan's comment snapped you from your rushed apology. "Relax." He had taken that brave step closer to you, facing you fully as his side and arm holding the beer leaned against the balcony railing. He was glad you were comfortable enough to unload that on him and he was determined to keep it that way. "I don't mind." You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed as your mind ran. That was another thing he liked about you. It was so easy to tell if you were thinking. Your eyebrows always furrowed, your lips pursed into a line, and your eyes always spoke a thousand words.

Despite his better judgement, his hand rose, gently flattening the skin between your eyebrows. The gesture was small, yet it held so much intimacy. You had always been picky about who could touch you. You loved to shower your friends with affection, but rarely ever let anyone reciprocate it back. Logan wondered why that was. What had affected you so much that you refused to let anyone even shake your hand. Here he was, though, thumb moving from the area between your eyebrows to his hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes were wide, your throat dry. You had never expected this from him. This gentleness, the way he had observed your furrowed brows...you leaned your face into his hand, unable to help the way you melted into it. It was a chilly night, and, God, was he warm.

Logan closed the distance between the two of you, now standing directly in front of you. His thumb caressing your cheek. As he stared into your eyes, his gaze couldn't help but flicker down to your lips, a red faded stain on them from the lipstick you had worn to your date. They looked so soft, so enticing. And he couldn't help but wonder if that peppermint chapstick you wore 24/7 worked. He had never been one for chapstick, but you seemed obsessed with it. Logan's thumb slipped from where it rubbed your cheek to your bottom lip, slowly tracing it. You subconsciously licked your lips as he traced them, your chest tight. Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? Your throat was beyond dry, your face paled under his gaze yet somehow it felt like your blush deepened. The way his eyes analyzed your lip, your eyes, your nose, that mark you had since you were a child...It was like he was memorizing you.

You wanted to say something, anything. Preferably something sarcastic and witty. No words came to your lips regardless of the fact that your mind was working overdrive. Time slowed as his thumb gently pulled your lip down, encouraging your mouth to part as his hand cupped your chin now, guiding you closer to him. He leaned down, face inches from yours. He paused there, however, waiting for your permission because he knew that you needed that variation of control to feel safe. He wanted to make you feel safe, he wanted you to know you were safe. That he had you. You brushed your lips against his, slightly closing that gap between you two. He took that as permission as he pressed his lips to yours fully. It was gentle at first, as if he was scared that at any moment you'd disappear. Or worse, break.

Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as you held onto him. His hands finally rested around your waist, the kiss growing stronger as he deepened it. People claim that you would feel fireworks during a kiss, but that wasn't the case at all. You felt electricity against your skin that was against him, but the most powerful feeling was how right it felt. Like you were meant to be there, in his arms, kissing him, holding him. He had broken the kiss, opening his eyes to stare at you.

Logan wondered if he'd ever be able to let another person get close to him. He was certain Wade would've been the only one- a victim of the circumstance's kind of thing. But he sure as hell was glad that today he was the one who held you attention as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

[bunny-jpeg]

hey! i had some weed so - lando & the joint

lando in a slutty little tank top and black adidas sweatpants with the lines down the side. coming from outside on the balcony, inside where you're seated on the couch. he lazily comes to you with the joint in his hand. it was his apartment, he could smoke up the whole joint if he wanted to. he throat was a little dry and he could feel the hunger in his stomach. and while a sleeve of oreos would be perfect about now. he wanted something even better. he took an inhale and lazily exhaled. he could taste the weed in his throat as he dropped down on the couch beside you.

the rush was in the base of his skull, a feeling that only embolded him to get closer to you. he tasted like smoke when he lazily kissed you, his cock was hard in his sweatpants. his gold chain glimmered a little in the low light of the living room. it was just you two tonight, no one to bother the both of you while you got stoned and have a some fun. his eyes were hooded a little as before he took another drag and exhaled the smoke into your face. you weren't any better, you had your smoke earlier outside and were feeling it as well. especially when your lover started to grope you by the ass. you lazily smiled at you, "you fuckin' perv, lando." "ah, cry me a river, beautiful. i know you want it." you hated when he was right. the kisses continued as the two of you started to make out on the couch. lando was barely able to get the joint in the ash tray before he laid you out on the couch with his strong arms around you. you knew that the world thought that your boyfriend was handsome, but to see it so close made your heart race. he was quite handsome in your humble opinon. he made you run hot, even without the use of substances. his kisses were hungry, he wanted you. then again, he always wanted you. you were his favourite girl, the one he'd bend over backwards for. he loved when you kissed him, held him, loved him. and he had every intention of doing the same to you.

you both ended up in bed, lando's hands up your tank top as he palmed at your breasts, he rested his face against them from a moment and groaned. the shiver of pleasure mixed with the high felt good. lando learned that masturbating while high was a good feeling, but to have sex with a partner after smoking a little felt amazing. it was only weed, still a substance, but, with the stories he's heard from formula one, weed wasn't a concern. lando got the shirt off of you and his mouth on your breasts, only licking your nipples when he got your bra off. you worked at his shirt, and pushed down his sweatpants as best as you could. he groaned and shifted a little. he could feel the heat bloom in his head. he wanted you, he wanted you badly. "you're mine, right, baby girl?" "always yours, lando. even when you grope me like a pervert." "i can't help it, beautiful. they're right there, they're calling to me like nothing else. of course i want them. i want them anyway i can have them." he beamed up at you. those pearly whites shined, cunning and predatory. he kissed at your breasts some more as he got the sleeping shorts off of you, followed by your grey cotton panties. "beautiful." he said lowly, he giggled a little at the sight of you, "you're so fuckin' pretty. have you always been this pretty? i think you've gotten prettier since i last saw you." (he had only been gone for a day prior). you shifted a little on the bed where lando kept you pinned down to the soft mattress, "ah, ah, ah, you're not going anywhere."

you were both soon naked and lando was still close to you. he got you on top of him, legs on either side of him. he got a good sight of your figure and felt something warm run through him. well, aren't you just beautiful?" his hands on your hips as he guided you onto his cock. the feeling of your pussy around his length made him choke out a moan. that felt good, really good. the buzz in his brain from the pleasure and the high melted together. you let out a soft moan as you held onto his thighs, leaned back, and working your hips on his cock. the angle made lando tense up for a moment and say, "holy shit. keep going, yes, fuck." when he got stone, he became a motor mouth, he rambled his words when he got a couple of puffs into him. the weed melted away his filter and left him a hungry dog of a man. he tensed up further and let out a loud groan, which was accompanied by your sweet sounds. the bed squeaked under the both of you as you rode him. the intensity in your gut bloomed from the pleasure of it all, you felt hot all over. erotic in a way that made you yearn for more. "fuck, lando." you groaned, your breasts bounced as you rode him. he once called you a bull-rider during sex and you almost wanted to punch him. but the way you took him, you could see his line of logic. you bounced on his cock, the pleasure coursed through your blood and you felt excitement in your body. the feeling was amazing, you felt the excitement of lust as you moved against him. lando held onto your hips tightly as he tried to guide you on his length, but it was hard when his brain was polluted with hot lust and weed. he wanted to bruise your pretty tits some more, make you feel good inside and out while your rode him. you were doing so well making him feel amazing, he could almost feel his heartbeat in his throat from the intensity of everything.

you both weren't going to last long. this wasn't a slow love making, it was a drug fueled inferno of the two of you rutting against one another wildly. lando came first, he tensed up, lifted himself a little and planted heavy kisses on your skin as much as he could while he finished inside of you. but even as he relaxed, you continued to ride him. you moved against him feverishly. his eyes looked a little glazed over, still red from the high. he chuckled a little as the pleasure buzzed in his brain, his grip on you was a little looser and his noises were a little louder. you continued to move against him, you panted a little heavier as you held onto his shoulders to get a better pleasure. you groaned a little louder, "lando, fuck. please, lando." you arched your back a little bit and squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. you held onto him tightly and came around his cock. you felt the heavy thump in your chest as you slowed down your pace to a stop. you felt the intensity in your head as you stayed on top of him panting wildly. he pulled you down on top of him and lazily made out with you. the pleasure made the high more intense.

so it wasn't a surprise that lando got you on your back and his gaze remained hungry on you. he just beamed at you as he said, "we're not done yet. not until the munchies kick in." then pulled you in for another searing, hot, kiss. <3

[goldenlaquer]

Woahhhh if asks are open... can I ask for Gintoki trying really hard to impress this girl he likes, but everything goes to absolute shit because this is Gintama? Totally fine if you delete! I still devour all your old stuff to fill my soul with life 🥹 Never come across anyone who writes Gintama as accurately as you bebe 😘

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

If Gintoki made a list of pros and cons about himself, it would probably read like this:

Pro: he has a big dick. (Big dick reading as BIG DICK, in bold, all-caps. Triple underlined.)

Con: he's a perfectionist. (Con: he's a liar.)

So, it isn't all that hard to imagine impressing you would be a Herculean task for Gintoki.

Asking Kagura for advice is like shooting yourself in the foot. Gin-chan is penniless, she says matter-of-factly. No lady wants a broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend. A pause to let him absorb these insults, and then, Papi brought Mama three heads, she kindly tells him like it's the secret to your heart, and that's very romantic in Yato culture apparently. Which reminds Gintoki that Kagura is from a different species just as much as her barely counting as female to begin with. Well, in human culture, he could give you as many heads as you'd want— but that's bases away and he's been swinging strikes all throughout this sad, unrequited game.

Asking Shinpachi— no, no. Now, that's a lost cause.

He tries. He does. He really tries.

He tries complimenting you. Suavely slide in a comment about how your teeth looks like it could bite into hard candy, no problem. That your hair doesn't look as dry and brittle today than it did yesterday, and oh wow, your tits look... wow. Double thumbs up.

He tries paying for your meal, to show that he can provide for you, that he's not going to be the broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend Kagura deemed him to be. Work a few odd jobs and have all the correct bills in his normally depleted wallet, even break a comb on his hair and get dressed to the nines in his nice, regular clothes that passed the sniff inspection when he shook it out from a pile of unwashed laundry— and it's just, while on the way to his favorite family diner he invited you to, he's passing by a pachinko parlor, with all of its flashy get-rich-quick displays and bright dinging noises from within, and that was when he's suddenly sensing it... the taste of victory. Long story short, the only thing he'll end up tasting is the strawberry parfait that you paid for.

Whatever poor progress that manages to inch forward always ends straight back to the negatives. Damn the perverted stalker and her masochistic plays she forces on him. Damn the timing and whatever deity has pitted against him when you step onto the scene to the sight of him wielding a paddle as the stalker squeals happily while tied to the wooden cross. No, this isn't— he wants to tell you, but your expression has already smoothed into a carefully blank canvas before you turn your back to him and walk away to leave him to... it. No, this isn't what it looks like, he wants to scream.

In a mood of desperation and shots deep in cheap gutter sake, he'd even wrote a poem in the dead of night, detailing the color of your eyes and all the things they reminded him of, invented a new word just to make a rhyme with your name, how the sound of your voice catches in his chest when he hears it— shit if he knew anything about pretty words, he'd never wrote anything longer than a drawn penis before— and once he was done, what he did next was ball the whole sheet up, open the nearest window, and pitch it to the stars. The lamest shit he ever did in his life will be taken to his grave.

Sometimes, because his name is Gintoki, and he is the protagonist of a septic tank for low hanging fruit comedy series called 'Gintama', sometimes the whole universe is against him.

There is a two episode-length arc the occurs, but due to the time-constraints of these headcanons and the writer's own laziness, the details of it shall not be outlined, but please know it involves an exposition, conflict, rising action, a climax (and not the good kind), falling action, some explosions and a tiny grave misunderstanding that leaves you storming from the wreckage in fury and exasperation, and Gintoki catching your wrist, spinning you around to face him. Emotions and adrenaline running high, chests heaving in exertion, and seeing your face covered in soot and sweat and your eyes huge and wet, looking damn more beautiful than you have any right to be, that's when Gintoki finally decides to put his big balls to use and confess himself to you. Opening his mouth and—

Plotfully, the wind picks up, and then suddenly a wadded ball of paper rolls to hit your feet. Both you and Gintoki look down to stare at this interruption. You bend down to pick it up and unfold the ball, startling at whatever you find, snapping your eyes up to him. "Gin, your name is on here?"

Shit! Gintoki realizes, recognizing the paper now. This is the worst possible timing! My stupid shitty poem somehow found its way to the woman it was written for. And why the fuck did I sign it!

He looks left and right, searching for a vending machine to put his head through, and when there are none, he's scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you and the damned poem he wrote that found it's way to you, as if was meant to be there. "I wrote it." He finally grumbles. "For you. Don't be creeped out."

Your eyes scan the page from top to bottom, reading. Your eyebrows shoot up, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"This is really what you think about me?" Your trembling voice barely above a whisper.

Gintoki pauses. Then nods. "Yeah. Every word."

Your expression blanks. You turn the wrinkled paper around. Gintoki squints.

Shit! Gintoki thinks. I was so drunk I never wrote anything down, I just drew a penis!

[sepherinaspoppies]

Be Strong My Heart

ꕥseries masterlist & taglist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚regular masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3

⟢summary: After she gives birth, she has a fun night with her husband. Until it is ruined by reminders of her past and possible future.

⟢pairing: Original Female Character x Original Male Character x Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen.

⟢warnings: mentions of Aemond only, mentions of past trauma (inflicted by Aemond), OC is latina, OC name reveal!, make out sesh, aphrodisiacs made by a witch, palm reading, Oral F receiving, P in V sex, and plot twist at the end.

⟢wc: 4,103

⟢gif credit: @thiskryptonite

⟢notes:This is a drabble to my main story Only If For A Night. So future spoilers!!!! I've decided to skip the birthing part of this story for later lol. World building details are heavy in this drabble 👀

Two months after she’d given birth, her abuela, Selena, suggested for her and Armando to take a little break from their little one. 

While normally any parent would be overjoyed at the given opportunity of having a night out, she felt the opposite. 

The twenty-five year old had a strong instinct to keep her baby at least in line of sight and in arms’ reach at all times. Even going as far as using the bathroom and cooking with him all while attached to her hip or on a sling. 

Selena disapproved of this, saying the baby will grow to be unusually clingy to her at all times as he gets older and that now was as good a time as any to get a little separation. 

Even if it was for one night. 

As a result, Armando surprised her by gifting her a flowy and bright red dress that ended right below her knees. The color accentuated not only her tanned skin but every inch of her curves. 

And there were many new curves, now that she became a first time mother. 

Selena helped curl her hair as well as adding a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick as the color of her dress. While Armando made the bold choice of cutting his lengthy curls that she came to adore so much.

The Mexican heat was no joke, though. She too, wanted to cut her hair to at least shoulder length but she quite enjoyed braiding her hair in all sorts of different styles to do so. 

After the couple finished getting ready, they both said their short goodbyes to their son and it took everything in her to not cry and stay home. 

“He’ll be alright, cariño.” Armando reassured as he drew small soothing circles at the back of her hand. “Selena knows what she’s doing and she even said that if anything happens, she’ll give us a call.”

She knows this. Selena made her aware, before they left, that she managed to raise four children, with Vidalio to occasionally help whenever he wasn’t working. 

“I know, it’s just…” she stopped walking to sit on a nearby bench with Armando trailing behind her. 

Armando’s brown eyes deeply looked up to her with concern. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” He whispered with a hint of anger lacing his tone. 

Armando Flores never considered himself a man of anger or violence, but when it came to Aemond Targaryen, he did not mind going to jail for brutally killing his white ass after the trauma he caused his wife. 

Whenever the twenty-five year old wasn’t working or helping taking care of their son, he practiced his fighting skills outside in his makeshift gym, using a sword his wife called Blackfyre. The sword felt appropriate in his hand, and Armando came to love the intricate metal work.

Apparently it was made from a special type of magical steel that originated in Old Valyria.

Wherever the hell that was. 

In his anger, he pictured using Blackfyre against Aemond Targaryen. 

“It’s highly unlikely that he’ll come here; Alys said so.” Armando consoled. “It’s been almost a year, and if he hasn’t come it’s because Alys did something right.” 

A part of her wanted to tell Armando that he was a fool to place his trust on Alys. 

The Witch Queen had been a good help during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Although she accepted her help, she couldn’t help but to feel wary of her. Rightfully so. 

But her distrust with Alys spiked higher when the green eyed woman cradled her son, minutes after he was born, and whispered: “my baby.” 

Since then, she felt as if Alys was hiding something. So she kept the medieval witch in arms length. 

“Or he’s waiting for the perfect moment to come,” she added rather quietly. She felt paranoid and scared that something or someone was lingering nearby just waiting to take her and her son to the world she escaped from and back to the arms of the man she loathed. 

Armando lifted her chin with his hands, gazing upon the panicked look in her eyes. “Listen to me and know this. I will never let that pinche puto come and take my family. Not now and not ever. I will fight for us until my last dying breath. You are safe with me. Do you understand?” 

She never witnessed this impassioned side of Armando before and she could perceive that he meant every word besottedly. 

She nodded as her eyes trailed to his lips then to his deep dark brown eyes. It was unclear who kissed who first, it did not matter. She kissed her true husband back with equal passion. 

Somewhere between steamy kisses, loud cheers followed by lewd whistling were heard from in front of them causing the couple to blush from the apples of their cheeks to the tips of their ears. 

“¡Consíganse un cuarto!” 

She pulled away and hid her face in Armando’s chest as he laughed in return. “That sounds like a good idea. Right, cariño?” Armando teased, tickling her sides. 

She hummed following his playful manner, “perhaps we will tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve had a ride.” 

It took approximately thirty minutes of convincing Armando to not go back to their home after that comment. 

Her husband made it clear that he would get her back for that. Honestly she couldn’t wait. 

Instead, she redirected his attention towards the busy streets of the Oaxacan City. Almost every street was filled with tourists, waiting to get a glimpse of the soon to be Dia De Los Muertos parade. 

Armando commented that some of the locals weren’t particularly fond of them, saying that some –if not all– raised the prices on goods and treated the natives rudely. 

“They’re in our land enjoying the food, festivities, and our hospitality and yet they have our people deported. It doesn’t sound right, does it?” 

No it did not. 

Armando then led her away from the town square, into a part of the city where there were no tourists in sight. 

Laughter and loud music filled her ears from every establishment. So much so that her body began to sway into the rhythm of every music.

But one song in particular caught her attention. She recognized the song as one of her favorites from childhood. 

It was Myriam Hernández’s El Hombre Que Yo Amo. 

“Do you like this song?” Armando asked once he noticed his love stopped walking all together. 

She flashed him a sad smile. “Yea. It was mi abuelo’s favorite song. He’d always put it on just for mi abuela to sing it to him.” Selena always sang beautifully better than any artist she ever heard. And because of this Vidalio, seized every opportunity to play any song just to hear her sing. 

“I bet you miss him. I know I do.”

“Yes, I do.”

For the next several minutes, they greeted a few of Armando’s work friends and their wives, as they too longed to get away from tourists. Naturally, they invited her and Armando to a dance hall well known for playing good music in all of the city. 

However, she wasn’t one bit bothered by the warnings of her husband’s friends when they told her that the hall happened to be constantly crowded by many people. 

So she followed their small group into a small white building that she could see was filled to the brim with multiple people. Martin, whom Armando whispered was his boss’ son, got the six of them inside free of charge and without the expense of waiting in line that wrapped two streets over. 

Armando attempted to at least offer Martin money for the tickets but the raven haired man declined. Yet, Armando went as far to pay for drinks but Martin disclosed that they sold nothing but cheap beer.

He instead told them to enjoy the night as his wife, Ariana, dragged him towards the front of the dance floor. 

“So what do you feel like dancing to, cariño?” Armado asked, close to her ear. “At this point anything.” She said as she playfully kissed the tip of his nose. 

There were three floors to the club. From cumbias, norteñas, bachatas, and salsas they danced it all in a span of three very short hours. She almost didn’t want to leave if not for the heel breaking apart in the middle of the dance floor.

The pair laughed it off, taking it as a sign to go home back to their little one. They said their goodbyes to Armando’s work friends before they left and took up on their offer to come back around the same time next week. 

With her heel broken, Armando hoisted her up bridal style, unbothered by her sheer weight and carried her all throughout an isolated beach. 

The fresh breeze made for a perfect cooling. Their dancing had left them feeling warmer than ever. 

More than anything she craved a cool bath. 

The beach right beside them was tempting. 

“Oh look, there's a bar right over there. Wanna get a drink?” 

She gestured to her broken heel as a reply, which made Armado chuckle. “I’ll still carry you in, unless they have a shoe policy.” 

She giggled as they made their way inside the bar. Right away, she was hit by a cloud of smoke. Though, not of cigarettes but incense. 

The interior of the bar was the same as the exterior; with bright red walls. At the very top shelf of drinks, was a painted sign of the establishment’s name. 

El Bar del Dragon. 

The Dragon’s Bar. 

“Bienvenidos!” 

A tall figure greets as it steps out of a beaded curtain behind the bar. 

A woman. 

She stood wearing a long metallic lilac dress with endless amounts of silver jewelry on her wrists and fingers. But the one piece of jewelry that caught her eye the most was the heavy silver necklace decorating her around neck opulently with star like sapphires and emeralds. 

Once, she considered Alys to be the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. However, the woman standing just a few feet away was in fact more beautiful. 

Goddess like. 

The woman wore a headscarf, covering her hair but a single loose blonde curl hung down from the sides. A beaded veil concealed the lower half of her face, with only her mismatched eyes exposed to her viewing. 

She heard Armando suck in a breath beside her. He too was frozen by the woman’s appearance. 

“¿En qué les puedo ayudar?” The woman asked as she placed two coasters on the bar table. “El especial de hoy es un cóctel para los enamorados. Hecho con granadas y especias picantes.” 

Armando glanced between the woman and his wife, before he sat her on a bar stool beside him. 

“T-that sounds good to me,” Armando stuttured, avoiding the woman’s stare. “Y tu, cariño?” 

“I’ll have the same.” 

Once the woman occupied herself by preparing the drinks, she peered over at Armando. Her poor husband looked like she’d seen a ghost. 

“Are you okay?” She questioned, placing her hand on his bouncing thigh causing him to jolt up with wide eyes. “You were staring pretty hard…at her.” 

There was an odd feeling in her chest. It was deep and twisting with rage and anxiety. And it took her a while to realize that the feeling was jealousy. 

Armando shook his head rapidly. “Oh, no. It’s not that, cariño.” She gave him a look which made him glance back at the woman momentarily before he lowered himself to her height.  

“I don’t know what it is but she looks like you.” Armando whispers. 

“What?!” She says a little too loudly. 

“—A lover’s cocktail for you both.” The woman announced as she placed their two red drinks on the table. 

Just when she was going to briefly thank the woman, she suddenly grabbed ahold of her hand to admire the wedding ring that Armando had placed on her finger. 

“This is such a beautiful ring. Where I come from, pearls are said to be a dragon’s tear. A very powerful little gem.” 

The veiled woman couldn’t proceed with her praises towards the comely ring as her eyes landed on another certain ring. 

“Oh, but this one! This is the most exquisite one. A sapphire such as this one is a very rare find. Your husband must love you greatly.” 

Armando had not given her that ring. 

In fact it was Aemond who did almost a year ago. 

Discarding the ring was a plausible option. If not for the fact that the wedding ring was actually Selena’s own wedding ring when she married Vidalio. 

It was a great mystery how her grandmother’s wedding ring inexplicably disappeared just days before she was transported to Westeros and then suddenly reappeared the night that Aemond forcefully married her. 

Because of this, she could not be rid of it. 

She told herself multiple times that the ring served as a reminder of both of her grandparents whom she loved rather than that delusional puto that traumatized her horribly.  

“You have such interesting hands. Might I have a look?” The woman inquired a little too enthusiastically. 

She narrowed her eyes on her. A sense of uncertainty and curiousness clouds her mind. 

“You mean to read my palm?” 

The woman simply nods. “Yes. However, I could always be wrong about these things.” 

Alys offered once to do this to her, but she declined as her distrust for the witch grew each day. 

Though, this woman was a stranger who knew absolutely nothing about her. If anyone was going to read her fate, it would be her rather than Alys who could alter it without her consent as she had done so in the past. 

“Alright.” 

The woman brought her hand closer to the light and began to examine her palm extensively, caressing the planes and lines around her palm. 

Every so often she’d hum and glanced at her confusingly, and she thought perhaps she found something about the one person she didn’t want to know of. 

“Well, I am indeed right about your hands being interesting. There are strange patterns I’ve only seen once in a young woman many years ago. Yours are more… challenging to make out.” She clicks her tongue before she analyzes around her thumb area. “For starters, you are strong minded and born with a warrior’s heart within. Which comes in hand for the challenges you are about to face. And because of these difficult trials you’ve been bestowed gifts from your lineage.” 

She, then, proceeds to chuckle and raise her brow at her. “There’s a great elevation surrounding your mount venus which means there’s a substantial amount of passion in your bed.”

She couldn’t help but to feel herself blush at the woman’s confession. 

“Your life line’s disrupted or torn and there’s bits and pieces in the past, present, and future all intertwined.” The woman pauses as she glances between her and Armando, who sat eerily quiet or intrigued. 

“The marriage line is split between two marriages. But they don’t appear to be…broken.”

The skepticism and curiousness within her morphs into fear, like every single strand of hair in her arms stands. 

She means to pull her hand away, but she can detect that the woman senses what she’s feeling and twists her hand to the side for another look. 

“On a positive note, you will birth many children—”

“—That’s enough.” She speaks before she had the chance to continue. 

The room somehow feels a little harder to breathe and she takes her hand away, offering the woman a glare. She swears she sees a faint–knowing smirk through the beaded veil. 

She never took to notice the color of her eyes. One dark blue and one bright green. She had the faintest memory of seeing them before. 

“Armando, vamonos.” 

Her husband stands and offers the woman a couple of pesos from his pocket before he follows his wife outside without so much as bidding a farewell to the woman. 

They walked along the coast in complete silence the rest of the way home. 

She tried to set aside what the woman had concealed at the back of her mind as if what she said didn’t mean anything to her. 

Knowing how she is, every detail that the woman said would keep her up at night. Another endless cycle of attempting to tell herself that Aemond and his wrath would not come for her and her husband and son. 

Just before Armando reached the handle of their back door, she stopped him. 

“I don’t want to go back in yet,” she said. “I have something I want to say something before our night ends.” 

Armando nodded as he followed her back into the beach. 

“I know things could always change, but when he comes—”

“—He won’t.”

She nodded, understandingly. “If he does. I won’t let him tear us apart. I will fight for us too.” 

Her eyes searches for his and even through the moonlight, she finds his own full of warmth and adoration. 

She is nearly chest to chest with him, and she brings both of her arms up to press herself against him. She feels his heart speeding faster as she stands on her tippy toes and closes the very little gap between them into a hungry kiss.

Armando’s hands rest on her hips as he parts his mouth open to dance his tongue with hers. She faintly the taste of pomegranates and a spice that sparks a fire from within. 

She gasps for air as she breaks their kiss and takes a glance at the beach in front of them. An idea forms into her mind, making no attempt to dissuade herself. 

“What are you doing?” Armando breathes, watching his wife unbutton the rest of his shirt. 

“I want you,” she answers, tracing his tanned muscles, relinquishing the soft sighs that leaves his lips. 

Armando’s fists the skirt of her dress, eyes momentarily landing on the full rounded shape of her breasts. 

“You’ve been ogling them all night,” she points out, reaching behind her to loosen the ribbon that held the dress together. Then all at once she lets the dress pool down at her feet, Armando’s eyes widened at the lovely bare sight of her flesh. 

“Is this why you picked this dress?” She hums as she brings his palms to rest and squeeze each breast. 

“P-partially.” He admits, adorning each breast with kisses and bites before he kneels right in front of her figure and slides of her underwear off along the pile of clothes. “But also because you look breathtaking in red.” 

She but all mewls as Armando kisses her center, dragging his tongue until it begins to unabashedly lick her wetness, causing her hips to jerk more to his face. 

She find it impossible to stand as sweet pleasure consumes her lower belly. Her husband realizes this in between licks and places one of her hands on his curls and the other on his shoulder for support. 

He moans at her pleasant taste that he’d been deprived of for so long. She was so wet and sweet for that he finds it hard to ever want to stop. 

“I’m so close,” she pants as she presses Armando’s head closer to her cunt. There’s a part of her that misses the feeling of his beard and mustache between her legs. Making a mental small note to herself to never let him shave again. 

What comes next makes her mouth drop open, almost falling to edge of euphoria as Armando inserts a finger inside of her then another, pumping and curling it upwards to that spot that is throbbing full of need. 

She tries to say his name, to warn him that she’s about to release but all Armando does is lick, suckle her bud and pumps his fingers faster. 

She knows Armando senses it by the way her legs shake and are unable to keep herself up, with loud whines and pants filling his ears. 

Armando’s lascivious eyes were on her the entire as she fell apart all for him and he drank her honeyed release like a man starved. 

Once he knew his wife was cleaned enough by his soft licks, he pressed a kiss at the dark curls atop of her mound and rested his face there, breathing in her scent he loved so much. 

She takes in a moment to breathe through the waves of pleasure while her legs ached and begged for relaxation. So with trembling legs, she sits on top of her dress careful not to sit on sand. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Armando compliments beside her. She blushes and spots the evidence of her release on his lips and she can’t help but to capture his lips into a kiss, tasting herself on him. 

Midway into the kiss, Armando pulls her into his lap where she already feels his clothed hardness on her center. 

The fire in her gut, once again, implores to burn once more and surely she listens to that feeling as her fingers work the button and zipper of his jeans and pulls them down past his knees until Armando kicks them off himself just as eagerly as she. 

She stares at his length pulsating with need. There is beads of his own arousal on the head of cock and she licks her lips wanting to also have a taste of him. 

“As much as I want to be in your mouth, I really need to be inside of you, cariño.” 

She swallowed and nodded as Armando spread her dress on the sand for him to properly lay on. 

“We have to go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

She knows this. It’d been almost three months since they were intimate in any way. A week ago, she’d been cleared to safely enjoy her husband again but slowly and careful enough to not rip the stitches that had been sewed after birth. 

Armando grunted as she grabbed the base of him between her folds, gathering her slick for some aid. 

The tip of his cock prodded against her entrance until she slowly sank herself down on him. She breathed in through the sharp sting shooting through her while Armando messaged her breasts and whispered praises. 

She began to grind against him at a slow pace all whilst feeling Armando’s cock throb inside of her. 

After a while, every grind began to alleviate the pain into hot blinding pleasure. And her legs shifted so that she could bounce on his length in an angle she came to love. 

Armando spewed out some curses at tightness of her walls engulfing him. After many months, he didn’t think he could last and he prayed for it to not be over so soon. 

“Eres mi único esposo,” she claims as she starts to chase the knot that was close to being lose again. 

Armando blinks as he thrusts his hips up at the same rhythm. “Yes!” 

She watches through her own half lidded eyes as tears began to form on her husband’s eyes. “Nadie más. Eres mío. Solo mío.” 

A series of moans escape Armando as he reaches between where they were joined as one and circles her bud, causing her to whine and grind faster and faster. 

“Soy todo tuyo, Vidalia!” 

At mention of her name, her jaw goes slack as she spasms around him. Armando kept up his thrusts upwards as he too came with a loud cry. 

With him still inside her, she rested her body on top of his, awarding his chest with open mouthed kisses. 

“Gods, I hope no one saw us.” She giggled. 

“My father gave me this land, which includes the beach. So technically if anyone trespasses it’s on them.” Armando informs as he traces small figures at her back. 

“Well that explains why I’ve never seen anyone on this side of the beach before.” 

Armando hums, “Right before my father died, he said he bought this land just for the beach itself. He believed that the water held some magical power and spent most of his life researching it before he gave up.” 

“How did he come to believe that?” She asked. 

“He said, he sailed on this very beach and he landed in a desert not of Mexico. But the people there resembled people like us.” 

She watched as his face morphed into sadness.

“He met my mother there.” Armando confessed.

note 2: I watched the new Captain America movie (a month ago rip) and because the new Falcon (aka Joaquin Torres, aka Danny Ramirez), the face claim for Armando was on it, I got inspired to write more about him.

Any guesses to who these mysterious characters might be 👀👀👀

For those waiting for chapter 4 of Only If For A Night, I might release it mid April as I'm writing an Aemond x Aegon threesome fic lol.

translations (in order):

-cariño: darling

-pinche puto: fucking bitch

-Consíganse un cuarto: get a room!

-Dia De Los Muertos: day of the dead

-mi abuelo's: my grandfather’s

-mi abuela's: my grandmother’s

-Bienvenidos:  welcome

-En qué les puedo ayudar: What can I help you with?

-El especial de hoy es un cóctel para los enamorados. Hecho con granadas y especias picantes: Today's special is a lover’s cocktail. Made from pomegranates and spicy spices.

-vamonos: lets go

-Eres mi único esposo: you are my only husband 

-Nadie más. Eres mío. Solo mío: no one else. You are mine. Only mine

-Soy todo tuyo: just yours

[mono-blogs-art]

The Loyal Pin - Lesbian Period Drama Royalty

Stunning cinematography, a color-coded love story, and an overall excellent production made "The Loyal Pin" a highlight. For the past few months, I've been obsessed. Here's my full review with a spoiler-free version first and a deeper cut down below!

Summary: Overall: 9/10 - this is a must-watch, if you're into the genre. Genre: Period Drama, Historical Romance Watch if you are looking for... : A slow-paced childhood-friends-to-lovers story, beautiful and vibrant camera work, a highly dramatic romance with a happy ending! Watch out for... : period-accurate homophobia and misogyny, and overall ridiculous drama shenanigans Length: 16 episodes averaging about 60 minutes each Where to watch: Idolfactory Youtube Channel, the whole show is officially subbed in multiple languages and free to watch!

Adapted from author Monmaw's original novel "ปิ่นภักดิ์" (pinphak; The Loyal Pin) and directed by Kittisak "Fuse" Cheewasatjasakun, the series stars "Freen" Sarocha Chankimha and Becky Armstrong, who rose to sapphic fame after the roaring success of Idolfactory's 2022 lesbian drama "GAP the series". Now the acting duo is back better than ever for this high-budget production, officially co-funded by the Thai government's Ministry of Commerce.

In 1950's Bangkok, a young Pilanthita "Pin" Kasidit loses both her parents. She's taken in by her aunt, Princess Pattamika, to live with her at the court of the high-ranking Sawettawarit royal family - where she meets the royal family's youngest daughter, Princess Anilaphat "Anin". The two girls immediately become best friends and as they grow up, lovers. Even when Anin is forced to study abroad in England for most of her teenage years, their love doesn't waver. But with royal expectations, their class disparity, and the looming threat of an arranged marriage in sight, Pin and Anin have many obstacles to overcome before they can live their impossible happily ever after.

Let me be clear: "The Loyal Pin" is a good, even great show. But it will absolutely not be for everyone. I had a fantastic time with it and although it's not perfect, I sincerely loved my time within this world and with these characters. I could clearly see the incredible dedication and love poured into every aspect of it, from the performances by the actors to the beautiful camerawork and vibrant colors, the dialogues and scenes overall.

That might not be you. I don't want to dismiss critique of the show (I have plenty myself, as I'm about to lay out) as simply saying "You just don't Get It™️ like I do". But I do think the series is so vastly different from GAP that I'm sure a lot of people wished for just, something different. I can't blame those people, and hey, maybe Cranium will be more up your alley! Long story short, I have seen a lot of quite bad faith discussions of The Loyal Pin in the months since it aired and I want to stress that this review will not be that. Generally, if I didn't like something very much, I probably won't review it (which is why I didn't write about Blank or TSOU, sorry for catching strays).

Now that I've said that, I want to write about a show that I connected with a lot and why. I'm going to break down a few stand-out points to me, starting with our two main characters!

The Characters, My Beloveds:

Lady Pin: Our title character is the princess in this tale. A shy, polite and rule-abiding noble commoner, she's barely above the bottom of the food chain at the royal court and basically a servant. How can you not root for her? The way she endlessly loves and cares for Anin but is still conflicted about her burgeoning feelings and sexuality make her an endearing character you want to see happy. She's extremely devoted, faithful (I mean, the show is called The Loyal Pin...), and willing to sacrifice everything for what she believes in - including herself. We really see our heroine have to go through hell and back to see even a sliver of happiness. As time goes on, Pin becomes more confident but also grows jealous, makes mistakes, sacrifices too much, and is just incredibly human. She's a bird in a cage, and you just wish she could finally fly.

Princess Anin: The actual princess in our tale takes on more of a role of a gallant prince. Anin is the strongest character of the show, both in terms of bravery and emotional growth but also in being extremely consistent and easy to love. She's the mischievous rule-breaker of our main couple and a total optimist, always dreaming of a future everyone around her deems unthinkable. And with her natural charm, she's used to getting what she wants. On the flip side, her power and privilege have made her naive and she easily gets jealous (a trait she does share with Pin, so I guess it's at least equal). Anin is just as devoted as Pin is and works tirelessly to make their happy-ending happen, even when it seems nigh impossible. She doesn't even know that she's just as caged in her position as a princess as every other woman at the royal court - until it's all gone way too far.

The notable supporting cast of friends - Prik, Anin's loyal servant and the mandatory funny side-kick; Anan, Anin's oldest brother and certified Lesbian Ally™️; and my personal favourite Uangfah, Anin's cousin, who also has a crush on her (let's just not talk about that) - are all wonderful additions to the cast that make the world feel big and complex.

The two biggest antagonists in the show - Kuea, Pin's primary suitor, and Princess Pattamika, Pin's aunt, also bring the necessary spice to the mix. Admittedly, putting them in the same category is a bit mean - Kuea is a dumb prick you love to hate, while Auntie Patt is much more complex and hating her definitely hurts - but they're the closest we get to villains in this story. The show makes a big point out of the fact that, technically, most people are on board with Anin and Pin together, but the society around them is just simply not.

With a runtime of over 16 hours, the show can also really take its time to let you feel for the characters. And I love that!

Visuals: As already mentioned, the show just looks gorgeous. Kudos to the entire staff behind it - camerawork is consistently smooth, and although the layouts are often simple and can get repetitive it's still functional. The sets, the costumes, everything fits well together to transport us back in time. It's that delicious government money coming in clutch. The dialogue and writing is excellent, and character pay-off is deliciously sweet. The show works with very saturated colors that make everything look vibrant and pull you in with this nostalgia fantasy. Characters are also heavily color-coded, with Pin and Anin wearing palettes of pink and blue respectively. And when things go awry, those palettes also shift to represent their current emotional states.

The Plot (AKA the Romance): The story of "The Loyal Pin" can be easily summed up: It's the story of the romance between Pin and Anin. Their love story is the plot of the series - how they meet, how they fall in love, and how they end up together. There's no big mystery or drama outside of that - although there is plenty of drama to be had within. We've got jealousy plot lines aplenty, miscommunication, secret-keeping and everything else you'd expect from this genre. And it's all juicy as hell.

And if I may put some mild spoilers here already - my favourite part of the whole drama is that it has a point, and that our main couple actually learns how to talk to each other, process their feelings, and admit wrongdoing. It gives both Pin and Anin flesh and blood and makes them feel real, and so even when they fumble I want to see them get back up.

Pin and Anin have an undeniable attraction to each other and insane chemistry. Obviously, the actors are familiar with each other after all their projects together, so this should come as no surprise. The show is, of course, also really sexy, and although we don't see a lot of skin per se, my God, believe me, you're gonna be sweating.

(^ Anin is a certified Boob Girl)

Conclusion: What makes this show a 9/10? There's really not much to complain about here. I think if period dramas are your thing, in all their melodramatic glory, then you'll enjoy this show - and if you don't then you won't. For me personally, the repetitive layouting, the weird pacing in the somewhat drawn-out last 3 episodes, and "The Scene" (this one will have to go in the spoiler part, sorry!), among other smaller misses I wish weren't there, all made me retract a point. It's a great show - but I can easily name things that it could improve on. And I would like to see it in Idolfactory's next project.

With "Cranium" already having its pilot out, I've got high hopes!

I would recommend this show to anyone who watches (Thai) GL shows. It's one of the best I've watched so far. "The Loyal Pin" is a show with a lot of heart, great characters with even better chemistry, and beautiful visuals. It has well deserved its spot in my top 3 shows of the year. Go watch it, now, and then come back and tell me what you think!

Thank you for reading this lengthy post! This is the end of my spoiler-free review!

Now, let's get into spoilers to discuss some stuff more in depth - the great, the good, and the very bad.

The Break-Up - A Perfect Episode of Angst:

I famously wrote a very lengthy post about how excellent I found episode 13 AKA the break-up of Anilpin, which you can read here in its entirety. The post somewhat blew up on TLP twt when it got reposted there (without my permission, but it's all good now). And I'm glad people enjoyed reading it. I still stand by all of it! Sorry for not typing everything out again and linking to a different post. I just needed to highlight it again and how deliciously tasty the angst was. It was really the perfect distillation of showing the class disparity, power plays behind the scenes, mixed up with Anilpin's jealousy and miscommunication, the misogyny all the main woman are experiencing, Pin's martyr complex, and Anin's blind optimism. Really, really tasty, and it made their reunion in episode 15 even sweeter.

Princess Pattamika: A character I really need to expand on is Auntie Patt - and just to get it out of the way: I love her. She's my favourite "villain", because I can understand why she does what she does - even if she ends up deeply hurting the person she cares about the most: Pin, her adoptive daughter.

Princess Pattamika took in her niece after her brother and his wife, Pin's parents, died. Herself also having been adopted into the royal court of the Sawettawarit's, she inhabited an extremely similar position to Pin. A noble commoner, earning herself a good standing by serving the royal family well.

... and as we find out later on, she even wound up in a very similar romance - falling in love with a high ranking princess. Their relationship seemed extremely intense, probably similar to Anin & Pin's, but was cut short due to the princess' untimely death. Until this day, the loss of her love hurts Patt.

No other character understands Pin's position and struggles better than Patt. Which is also exactly why Patt is so exceptionally cruel to her when she finds out about Anin & Pin's relationship - and even before that, when Pin was just mildly disobedient and getting into trouble with Anin. She sees the heartbreak she suffered as inevitable for Pin. More importantly, she understands exactly the position this puts Anin in. Preserving the royal family's integrity and honor is the top priority of lower ranked nobles like Pin (and Patt herself). Anin & Pin's relationship is a ticking time bomb for the royal family if it were to be found out, so Patt is livid when she finds out that Pin has been keeping this secret for so long.

Throughout the show, Patt is stern and harsh with Pin (let's not forget the corporal punishment in episode 1?!). At the same time, you can see how much she cares for Pin and just wishes her to have a good life. Patt is also very conservative - again, see all of the above - and is keen on having Pin follow a traditional woman's role as a wife and mother. Which is why she also pushes Pin so hard towards Kuea, who can successfully charm her because he's buddies with Anon and works for the government. It doesn't matter that Pin loathes him, Kuea is the ideal husband because they have similar standing and he's on good terms with the royal family. Patt's misguided perspective morphs into cruelty and conservatorship. Only after Kuea is finally exposed as the POS he always was, Patt's world shatters - she's been wrong all along, and caused unthinkable pain for her Pin.

In the end, it's up to us as the audience whether or not we "forgive" her. I know I do, and I know Pin definitely does. Pin, being so similar to her, knows exactly why Patt did what she did, and that without her she wouldn't have the life she's living right now at all. This isn't to say that children should just be grateful for what their parents give them, and forgive them all the pain they cause - but Pin and Patt clearly see how they've been misguided, and find the love they have for each other again. In the finale, Patt stands by Pin and encourages her to follow her heart and do what's right for her love even if it would mean running away to England.

I just think Auntie Patt is a great character but also very divisive, and I was viscerally hurt when she turned on Pin, it's like I was betrayed by her myself. In the finale, she ends up giving Pin her unwavering support, even if it means defying authority and not adhering to social norms. It's such nice character development. Man, Patt, you've come a long way. I will not defend your crimes but I WILL defend YOU. And I wish you a very yuriful future. #lesbianmilfinyourarea

"The Scene":

(HBomberguy voice) "To me, it is always The Scene."

Alright, let's get this over with.

I'm referring to a very specific sequence of events that play out in the final episode, that are so astronomically stupid and bad that they have been in my mind for weeks. It taints the lovely memory I have of watching the finale with my bestie because it just makes me shake my head and think: "Wait, what were the writers thinking?". Completely immersion-breaking. I have to take a break from praising this show to shit talk this scene because I just can't get it out of my head. Among all the great characterization, pay-off, and overall love for Pin & Anin in the show, this scene stands out like a sore thumb. The finale itself is good - we'll get to that in a second - but this still makes me mad.

So let's break this down. "The Scene" plays out after Pin confronts Anin's father. In a very ominous scene he declares that he will have to simply "remove the problem" with Pin in order to have his way. Subsequently, guards show up at the Lotus Palace and abduct Pin, with Prik, Pia, and Auntie Patt all screaming for help trying to stop this. Pin then wakes up, blindfold removed - in the Pine Palace, surrounded by a moody and romantic setup themed around her and Anin's relationship. Confused, shaken, she looks around to look at the pictures of her and Anin, before Anin comes in to reveal that this whole charade was just a show her father orchestrated to get Pin to move in with Anin permantently. In a small flashback, we even see Patt, Prik and Pia being in on the joke, laughing their asses off as Pin is being driven away.

Now, to her credit, Anin didn't know about it and wanted to warn Pin first but came too late. But the rest? None of you have any excuse. Especially for Aunt Patt, whose writing I just praised to hell and back, this was a complete slap in the face. And even Anin - she just let it slide? That they fake-kidnapped her already anxious girlfriend? Pin does point out that she was (rightfully) terrified, and even then Anin is like, "It was just a little surprise!". Anin. Anin. I'M SORRY????

Whoever wrote this seriously needs to put themselves in the position of the audience. For 15 and a half hours we've been struggling to see the girls be accepted, taken seriously by their families, only for their relationship to be dissected and belittled endlessly. And now, that we finally have them be accepted, become some sort of joke to prank about? I could not believe my eyes. It's honestly unfathomable how this ended up in the final script when you look at the bigger picture and compare it to the rest of the (fairly tame) shenanigans this show pulls.

For this one, really, I have no excuse. What a way to destroy half of your main cast's development with just one scene. And for what? To bait us into a dramatic finale with the episode preview? Go to hell.

Now that I've said my piece on this, by far the worst scene of this show, I can move on and hopefully finally let it go. I've decided that this is simply just not canon and the writers just wanted to clock out early that day. Anyway. Lots of digital ink has already been spilled over how this is the worst scene of the show and I won't kick it while it's down any more. Let's get back to the good stuff again, which I promise is the other 99% of the runtime.

The Finale - or, The Defiant Pin:

The rest of the finale is very tasty and enjoyable and I want to talk about my favourite thing, which is our heroine Pin finally standing up for herself and her love.

The biggest conflict Pin faces throughout the show is her powerlessness in any decision, even regarding herself. Her life, her love and her body is commanded by the people above her. And it's no different when it comes to her relationship with Anin. Although Pin believes the impossible for a while, she's faced with the horrifying reality as soon as someone finds out about them.

This was admittedly quite frustrating after a while. As a viewer, I wanted my heroine to stand up and FIGHT! How many L's can this girl take without breaking? Well, a lot, apparently. The martyr complex really runs deep. So when it finally happens in the finale, and Pin goes to talk to the King directly, demanding of him the impossible, I cheered. That's my girl!!!! It was the character pay-off I've been waiting for all this time, and it was delicious. I wished it could have been earlier in the series, but I'll take it.

An Impossible Happy End:

In the end, all was well. Anin and Pin get to live their quiet lesbian life together, with the support of the entire family. Surely, this will not end their struggles - something we've been reminded of for almost the entire show - but with everyone having their backs, it might just work out. They even get to be the cool aunts to their niece Alin (named after Anin, aw!) and they get to have their own mini "wedding" in front of the whole family and brother, it brought a tear to my eye. The devotion paid off, our girls can be together forever. The End!

Who cares about realism, historical accuracy etc etc shut up. Just stop right there, I don't want to hear about it. Sometimes you just want a sapphic period piece to have a euphoric happy ending after all the shit they went through and I'll never be mad at it. We even get to hear that my bestie Lady Uangfah got rid of her POS fiancé and is presumably living it up as the hottest lesbian princess in Phrae. Bless. And for Pin and Anin, we know no surface in the palace is sacred, and every single person in the court will walk in on them making out at some point. And that's good for them!

Missed chances:

For one last nitpick, just to satisfy all the haters out there, let me list out a bunch of things I thought were either 1) stupid 2) disappointing or 3) both. Lightning round of cinemasins committed by a free YouTube series GO:

The hairpins that Anin and Pin have don't come back as major symbols in the end and I thought that was really disappointing. It was set up so nicely; Anin angrily gives hers back to Pin when she gets engaged but then they don't do anything with it. They didn't even wear them for their wedding or something. Boo!!!!

Anin gets sexually assaulted by her "friend" and the show, Anin included, just lets that slide? Sure, Anin is uneasy around Lady Aon for a while but eventually it's just like, okay? Not a great look and I found the way it was handled in quite poor taste.

The show has a weird way of going from funny to serious sometimes, I think it was episode 14 that this especially bothered me. But it's alright, whatever.

The layouts especially in quite important scenes are boring as hell, and that really softens the impact of them and that's a shame. You know which FreenBecky project has fantastic layouts? Uranus2324. For all the faults that movie had (and boy, there were many), the frame compositions were fucking amazing all around. It took me so long to write this review that the movie is now finally out so I'm allowed to mention it, and you should go watch it!

Pin wears blue to signal her allegiance to Anin when she gets engaged, but Anin never wears pink to do the opposite. Sure, her blouse in the epilogue has a bit of pink in it, but boo!!!! I wanted more. If you set up color coding this strict, ride it until the end.

The first opening theme song is really boring (although it does fit the period drama vibe very well) and I don't understand why we couldn't have had Cheevee as a theme song from the very beginning. That song is a huge banger.

Not enough Uangfah, like, just in general. Show me my girl.

We never had a scene where Princess Alissa calls Pin her daughter-in-law/second daughter or something. I was hoping for that to happen all throughout the show. We just hear that she's really fond of Pin all the time, and in a quite bad display of Tell Don't Show they barely have any scenes together. I really hoped they'd do something for the finale but no.

Anon sucked and idk why he was there, just to annoy me specifically I guess. They could have done much more with him!

Pin has a job and I think they just forgot about that half of the time.

... and that's all I have to say for now.

This is by far the longest review I've done so far, and if you made it all the way through, congrats and thank you!!! Thanks to all the messages and personal encouragement by my fellow Thai GL lovers I get to have fun writing these things. Whether or not you agree with me in the end, I hope you enjoyed reading.

As always, my askbox and DMs are open if anyone wants to geek out. Cheers!

Love, Mono

[reddesires]

Derelict. [Blue Eyes x Human!Reader]

Reference: This Imagine

Implied Blue Eyes x Human!Reader

Rating: Angst (a resolved ending).

Fandom: Planet Of The Apes

A/N: My first angst/Blue Eyes work on my blog as of now, hopefully many more to come in the near future. Can you believe I was listening to Bartender by T-Pain while writing this 💀

"Father, am I an outcast?" The question hung in the air with such intensity that the truth of the question didn't even have to be reflected on, there was always an inkling lingering in the reality of your mind, it was just hard to come to terms with it. How could you possibly be an outsider when this was truly all you really knew?

Maurice was your father, and the colony was your home. You very much knew that you were a human, but were you truly one of them if you were raised by the likes of apes? You wondered on that often, Maurice and Caesar were your looking glass into the world you barely got a taste of. Your reflection was only a reminder that you just may be the last of your species.

"No, you are a part of us." Your father signed to you, his expression firm and his reassurance sturdy, but you felt nothing as such. You felt as if your foundation was unstable and on the cusp of collapse. You felt your body's heavy movements as a sigh escape the entrapment of your lungs as the previous events weighed down on your mind.

                                 ○●○●○●○●○

Taking walks on your own were nothing out of the norm for you sometimes you just felt residing too long within the confines of the colony is overbearing and in a way you understood that it was normal for humans or says Caesar, Maurice tends to explain a bit more in detail human concepts whilst Caesar often keeps it short and simple, you don't push for more information from him since the distant look in his eye triggers something reminiscent of empathy inside of you.

Though your relationship with Caesar is best described as being at arms length, your relationship with his eldest son Blue Eyes was an entirely different story. Blue eyes was your kindred spirit since the moment you were taken in. He and Ash became your close companions, and thus, a trio formed in the midst of uneasiness of a human child amongst the ape colony.

It wasn't long before you became one of them and you being just a child, you were of no harm to any of them and since you were taken under the wing of the most trusted member of the colony, there was hardly any protests aside from Koba and his great distaste of the apparently bloodthirsty (gremlin) human child standing before him.

You jump over a fallen over tree that rested 2 feet away from a reserved area that you, blue eyes and Ash often habituated since it was so close to the river you all would fish from, you hadn't seen blue eyes or Ash so far today so you figured that you'd find here waiting on you to catch up with since you slept in today.

As you approached, you heard multiple voices jeering in tone, feeling an anxious feeling creeping up your throat so you cautiously crouch, making sure to keep out of sight in the tall grass watching within a reasonable distance.

You see Blue Eyes and Ash with their backs to you but with their hunched over position it seems that this encounter with the clique of young apes infront of them was anything but pleasant, the opposing apes had mannerisms that came off as condescending and taunting as they seemed to tower over your friends.

"Blue eyes weak.. for being friends with weak human" the male ape huffed out a laugh, the other apes following the action, they were amused by the way blue eyes turned into himself, by his body language you can tell he was on the defensive and you feared that it could possibly break out in a brawl but your body refused to move from your position to interfere.

The group were following Blue Eyes and Ash's movements almost as if they had the intention of corning them somehow but now you were in view of your friends fronts, their expressions and hand signs on full display for you.

Blue eyes had a stressed and almost kicked puppy dog simper while Ash looked at the apes with a leer. Clearly, he was almost at his limit of being mocked upon.

You gazed at Blue Eyes' hands, and he signed out his response. "I'm not weak. She's just an outcast." His signing was harsh and precise in nature, as if he was trying to express the finality with the subject to get it over with, ash's face contorted with clear disagreement and shock within a second.

You mouth fell open in disbelief and a gasp was ripped from your chest, the sound exposing your location to the nearby apes, Blue Eyes' face fell as he met your watery gaze, the group of apes hooted with exclamations of mirth at your presence, you couldn't keep your composure as you turned to run back down the path back towards the colony.

Morbid thoughts ran rapid in your head along with memories that contained blue eyes in the them, the memories of moments you two shared, how you two snuck off into the woods late at night to get a glimpse of the night sky with no one else but each other, your hands barely grazing as you laid next to each in the clear area or the time when he carried you on his back rushing back to the colony when you fell out of tree and bruised your entire right side, he proceeded to stay by your side your entire recovery. Did that even mean anything to him? Did he even care about you at all?

You heard a hard and fast pounding on the dirt ground before you felt a warm calloused hand grab your wrist, but you were quick to release yourself from his grasp as you whirled around.

Blue Eyes was standing before you, his chest rising and falling in panicked breathing as he reached for you again but you stepped away, tears of hurt slipped from your eyes as you stared at him with bewildered sadness.

"I thought we were friends" Your voice wavered, sniffles broke through the tense atmosphere as Blue Eyes seemed to be struggling with an internal debate, you never would have thought that he would back stab you by demeaning you in such a way, you truly thought your exterior didn't matter to him but you suppose your humanness was a bigger dilemma than you thought.

"We are.." He voiced out, despite knowing him for as long as you have hearing his voice was always a pleasant surprise for you, his voice was quiet with a rasping edge to it almost as if his vocal cords were working overtime due to his lack of speaking but you always thought it had a sweet undertone to it.

He looked desperate to comfort you, and he knew that he was at fault, but it killed him to see you so heartbroken. He's never seen you cry with such intensity.

More tears only seemed to overflow, and a sob racked your body as you looked into his crystalline eyes that also reflected your own sadness. You turned your back on his outstretched palm, ignoring his plea for forgiveness.

"I don't believe you."

                                    ○●○●○●○●○●○

Maurice placed his large hand on top of your head, his palm encasing the entire top of your scalp. He gently petted you in tender affection. You felt more tears build up in the corners of your eyes and hugged your knees closer to your chest in a plea to keep the dam from bursting from your eyes.

"Some do not understand..Some too focused on differences. You belong, you are loved." Your father signed to you, you gazed up into his eyes and you could clearly see the truth of his words as you thought back on all the times that you have been accepted by the ones who matter to you.

"Blue eyes young..trying to find his place just as you..he knows, you are of his kin." As much as it hurts to think about, you know that your father is right. You nod back at him with a strained smile. You look behind him, and you're met with blue eyes standing there with a regretful look to him.

Maurice also looks back before he nods to you and pats your head, slowly turning and leaving as he passes by Blue Eyes he gives a stern stare, Blue Eyes lowers his head shamefully before he ambles over to the ledge your sitting on.

As he sits next to you, notice that he's covered in mud and there's scratches on his face and hands and out of instinctive worry you grab his hand inspecting the wounds on his rough hands. You look to his face, and he stares back at you with a boyish charm to his face. "I fight Jon.. he called us weak.." He grabbed your hands into his, a remorseful look settling taking over his features, you feel your stomach turn in nervousness to how intimate in nature this seems to you, he's so close to you that you two could join in foreheads and you could feel the dull yearning in your body.

"You being human doesn't matter.. to me.. never will." You feel a smile pinching at the corners of your lips as you watched him present his palm to you. You couldn't help a tear fall from your eyes. You slid your fingers over his palm before holding it back into your hand with elation.

Your humanness didn't have to be a dilemma. You belong right where you are with those who love you.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the paint

lilac, chapter nine

a/n: hi! I'm back after taking a short break to obsessively work on this year's kinktober, but now i'm finally back to writing this beloved story. it feels so good to get back into it. it's only been a few weeks, one month max, but i've missed my lumberjack so much.

summary: “oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, renovating an inn, painting, kissing, semi-public sex, oral, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 1922

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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A faint ache began to bloom in the muscles of your face from how hard you were smiling. You simply couldn’t help it. Every time you thought you’d gotten it under control, your eyes would just flutter back up to the man beside you as he stretched, reaching the paint roller in his hand far enough up to kiss the taped-off crown moulding that framed the ceiling, and each time he’d do so, his flannel would ride up just enough for you to catch a sliver of his skin before it dropped back down, giving you just enough of an unintentional tease to remind you of what he looked like beneath it. 

“You’re laughing again,” Frank pointed out the soft giggle that bubbled out of you as your glance washed over him.

“I’m not laughing,” you gushed, straightening back up to your full height as you finally stopped rolling over the one low spot you had absentmindedly been painting over and over again for a few minutes or so.

Eyes briefly flickering your way, his feet carried him closer to you, “well, what’s so funny then that you can’t stop laughing?” 

“Nothing’s funny,” you tried to keep your eyes on the wall as you felt his broadness brush against your shoulder. 

“Oh, no?” 

“Nope,” you playfully bumped your hip lightly against his, childishly angling your roller dangerously close to where his was glazing the wall a soft blue tone, an action that quickly developed into a juvenile game of chasing him across the wall. 

To your amazement, Frank played along, keeping it going till he suddenly changed tactics and caught you by surprise, rerouting his roller down to collide with your own, however, it never got the chance to strike as you, in the midst of a giggle fit, retracted your brush from the wall, fearing that he would roll right over you and make your arm all sticky with paint. Though in the end, not noticing exactly where you were hastily withdrawing your paint roller to, it ended up being him that got smeared and not you. 

“Oh my god,” your eyes grew wide at the sight of the blue that coated over the dark brown of his plaid sleeve, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh yeah?” he glared back at you, grin crinkling up his eyes, “you didn’t?”

“I swear, it was an accident.”

“Ah, sure it was, just like this,” you felt his roller glide down the length of your top, making it look like you’d hugged a smurf.

Letting out a shrieking gasp, it only took approximately two seconds before you pouched in an attempt to get him back. Though the former soldier’s swift hands caught your roller before you could manage to seize your revenge, settling both yours and his own down on the covered floors before playfully wrapping his arms around you, halting your attempts at retrieving it. 

Laughter mingling and mixing into one, your feet then left the ground as Frank lifted you up. As your gaze now rose to be at the same level, the silly game swiftly vanished from your memory as you stared back into his brown eyes, both of your glee fading away as if it was never there to begin with. 

You didn’t know who initiated the kiss, but that part couldn’t be less important as your arms curled around his neck and one of your legs blissfully bent, softly flicking your foot upwards as you felt his tongue sweep across your own. 

Lowering you back down to the floor, his touch dragged up your form till his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging at the very roots in such a way that made you purr against his lips. Feet shuffling, the far wall you hadn’t begun on yet soon collided with your spine, though you weren’t pressed against it long before Frank surrendered to your enthusiastic efforts in spinning him around and switching places.

As your lips then detached, you slowly began to drop down to your knees, a wide grin warmed Frank’s features as your fingers hooked into his belt, “what do you think you’re doing, huh?” his head gently fell back to collide with the wall as he stared down at you in adoration. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” you blinked up at him as you bit down on your giggling lips, palm nuzzling against his blossoming hard-on as you undid his belt, his excitement created an impressive imprint against the fabric of his dark jeans. 

“I think we’re in an inn full of people and someone could walk in here at any moment,” he narrowed his eyes almost in a daring fashion as you tugged his zipper down. 

“Oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

Not tearing his eyes off of you for even a second as you freed his heavy length, he muttered softly, “you’re trouble…” utterly hypnotised as you wrapped your fingers around his girth. 

“Nuh-uh,” you smiled up at him, “I’m adorable,” before you swiped your tongue softly over his tip, visibly sending a shiver down his spine.

“Yes, you fucking are…” he uttered enchantingly, mouth falling agape as you began to plant sweet kisses all the way down towards his base, your dazzling eyes never leaving his, “holy shit…”

As your slobber began to gloss him up, your palm exploited it as you slowly twisted your enclosed fist up and down his length, keeping your movements up as your lips soon wrapped around his bulbous head, flat tongue fluttering like a gentle sea against his throbbing underside. 

Looking like he had died and gone to heaven, you felt as Frank’s fingers reach down to ghost over your features, his broad thumb caressing the outline of your face as your head began to bob, drool slowly dribbling down from your efforts and adding to the mess already painting the front of your shirt.

“Atta girl,” his fingers tenderly combed through your hair, “fuck,” lips stretched, his tip hit a place in the back of your throat that caused your eyes to squint, tears nearly appearing before you settled back to slobbering around his head, “you're so pretty like this.”

One hand steadily pumping the latter half of him, your other wandered over your own thigh. Like a magnet, your fingers pressed down on your clit through your pants, the astonishing relief causing a muffled moan to vibrate against Frank’s cock, a sensation he clearly enjoyed by the sounds of his own eager groans. 

“Oh, just like that,” he grunted, eyes lightly fluttering as you gurgled around his cock, “don’t stop,” fingers flexing and balling up into a fist in your hair as he twitched in your mouth, soon stifling a mesmerising moan as he came down your throat, “fuck…” 

Letting go of him with a soft pop, you swallowed as you gazed up at his hazy visage, feeling yourself drip and drench your panties from the borderline meditative motion of giving him head. 

Hands still fast in your hair, Frank kneeled down to your level and pressed his lips to yours, the teasing touch you had going on over your pants quickly grew into something more desperate. 

“Could you–…” you breathed heavily, “god, I feel like it’s been forever since you touched me…”

A warm chuckle rumbled out of him as he looked back into your blown pupils, “we fucked this morning,” he noted, rising back up and scooping you with him. 

“Exactly,” you bit down on your smile, “it’s been like three hours.”

Slipping beneath your waistband, your grip fastened in the front of his open flannel as his fingers grazed through your wetness. Eyelids fluttering at the foggy sensation, Frank manoeuvred your frames, spinning you around and pressing your back against the wall. 

“Well, I’m sorry that you had to wait that long,” he entertained your quip, rubbing your puffy clit just right, “whatever can I do to make it up to you?” his free hand securely snaked around your middle. 

Sharing his breath, your nose nudged against his, “seems to me like you already have a pretty good idea of what could suffice.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled like a crackling fire, “could this maybe make you feel a bit better?” your hold on his shirt tightened as he gently slid one finger inside your dripping heat.

“Mhm,” you nodded hazily, one of your knees briefly lifting to graze against his leg. 

As you readjusted your arms, draping them around his neck, “or how about this?” his lavish pace then intensified as he eased his ring finger in beside his middle one, curving them a bit as the root of his palm nuzzled firmly against your throbbing clit. 

“O-oh, fuck!” your head fell back and collided with the wall, your fluttering gaze glued to his. 

Leaning in to muffle your breathy whimpers with his kiss, the sensual soppy sound his efforts produced echoed throughout the half-painted room, those only growing in their volume as he rocked his digits within you rougher.

Moans melting against his tongue as it danced against your own, it didn’t take long before your pussy clenched down around him, clambering and inadvertently pulling his fingers in that much deeper as he slowed back down, rendering it a demanding task for him to get his hand back with the way you blissfully clung to it. 

Head resting a moment against his broad shoulder as you caught your breath, your puffs gradually morphed into the same blissful giggle you hadn’t been able to shake just moments before.

“You know what?” you lifted your head. 

“What?” he chuckled through his smile. 

Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you rose up to your tip toes and uttered, “I don’t know if I can wait another three hours,” before you captured your lips in another heated kiss, your hands swiftly travelling south on a mission for more. 

But just as Frank hoisted you up, your legs tangling around his hips, a booming voice from somewhere else in the inn cut through your haze. 

“I did it!” you heard your father shout, his jovial stride caused the staircase he hastily ascended to creak just as loud as his boisterous words boomed, “I finally did it!” 

“Shit,” you hissed, nearly pushing Frank away as you scrambled to hide any evidence of what the two of you had just done. 

“I’m a genius! I think I’ve finally cracked the code to croissants!” the moustachioed man burst through the doors just as you rushed to pick your paint roller back up as if it had been glued to your grip for hours. 

“Dad!” you skurried to roll some more blue on the wall, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how flustered you were, “hey!”

“I think I was handling the dough too much while laminating,” he rambled, flour tinting his apron a lighter shade of green, “also why I’ve never been great at pies, I fiddle with it too much, but I think I finally got the hang of it! Just pulled some out of the oven and they look amazing,” darting his dazzled gaze from you to Frank, he offered, “you kids want one?” 

“Uh,” you glanced back at the man, still standing close to where you’d blown him just moments before, “sure,” you stiffly heard yourself agree, “that sounds lovely, dad.” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[futbol16]

Never Say Die² •  Steph Catley

Part 2 to I Miss you and Never Say Die¹

Word count: 3,8k

On the morning of the semi finals you’re found dancing around in the common room of base camp, a spiderman mask on your face as you attempt to moonwalk.

“Yeah, Harps! Shake that booty, shake it, shake it!” you exclaim to the small girl next to you who’s decked out in the rest of the spiderman costume.

The costume was gifted to the birthday girl but she left the mask laying there as she got up to do a happy dance and you pulled it on right away, with Mini’s okay.

 The now two year old is squealing excitedly as the two of you dance to the music in the background and you take her small hands into yours and fool around with the limited dance moves you know. 

Charli is giggling at the two of you from her place on one of the beanbags, a phone in her hand recording the two of you while Kyra and Mini are close to wheezing at your moves. 

“Go Harps, go Harps!” Charli cheers from behind the phone and you shoot her a cheeky wink as you level up your moves, though not like she can see that under your mask.

Kyra can no longer take it as she rolls off her beanbag, wheezing into the floor as your shoes squeak. You look absolutely ridiculous with your sister’s goalkeeper shirt and your Matildas shorts on and the spiderman mask on your head. At this point even Katrina isn’t trying to hold back her laughs and you eventually stop, dropping your hands to your sides as you lean your head to the side, looking at them defeatedly- more like attempting to see through the small holes on the mask.

Harper doesn’t seem to care much as she continues dancing in front of you and the three can only watch on with giggles. 

You end up reposting the video Charli has posted on her own story, wishing the mini Mini a happy 2nd birthday. By the time the rest of your teammates make it down to have their breakfasts you’ve already tired out the toddler and the two of you lay on the carpet at the back of the cafeteria.

Harper has crawled on top of you and her head is tucked under your chin with her small hands gripping your shirt. It isn’t only Katrina’s heart that melts at the sight but also Steph’s who smiles dreamily, momentarily forgetting about the toast on her plate. 

Kyra throws herself onto the ground next to you and then tucks herself into your side, your best friend laughing as you groan at the impact. The dreamy look is immediately wiped off Steph’s face as she stares on, trying to be subtle about the way she glares when Kyra’s nose brushes against your cheek. Just a moment later the three of you are joined by a blonde and Charli grins at Harper on top of you, the defender placing her head on your shoulder. 

“I’ve never seen you look jealous before” Emily breaks her out of her staring and her voice makes the brunette jump.

“I am not jealous” Steph is met with raised eyebrows, clearly Eve wasn’t buying a word she said.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous of. She’s always been very close with them.” It sounds more like she’s telling herself and the blonde next to her chuckles at her tone.

“Exactly. And at the end of the day, she’s yours” Emily shrugs as Steph smiles, truthfully not worried about the situation at all. Before she gets to open her mouth a voice cuts in from the other end of the table, the goalkeeper’s voice loud and clear.

“Are you two talking about my sister?”

“What, no!”

Heavy breaths leave your mouth as you pant and you lean over with your hands on your knees to get more oxygen into your lungs. You had just sprinted the length of the field but before you could align yourself with the ball, it had been cleared by Alex Greenwood. 

Sam pats you on the back as the two of you make your way back to your side and you give her a grateful look. 

It was only the 50th minute of the game and with Ella Toone’s goal in the first half, England were currently leading. Both teams are very strong and although your legs are still somewhat sore from the quarter finals, you wanted to be ready for your team.

The Matildas have had their chances with Caitlin and Mary making amazing crosses but neither you or Sam have been very successful with your attempts, only two on target. But you knew this would never be easy, it was a world cup semi-final after all, the Matildas’ first one at that. 

You know Sam has it in her to turn the tables and clearly the fans want to see her world class skills as well. There’s a split second when you get the ball passed to you that you notice the space the English have left for you and you dribble the ball just closer to the halfway line.

You know your team has been relying too much on Sam in this game but she’s your best chance and frankly, the only one you see near you as you move away from Alex Greenwood.

Two defenders follow you close by and it gives Sam the opportunity to break free from her own defenders. You send the ball right in front of her and she takes off with it. When she gets just close enough she looks up at Mary Earps’ positioning one last time before the ball sails past Bright and Carter, Greenwood already hot on her trails. 

The fans celebrate as it goes above Mary’s hand and into the goal, Sam is running around and she cups her ear, shouting something about how the Tillies never give up and then she’s brought into a group celebration.

“There you go Sammy!”

The score is 1-1 at the 63’ minute and it is clear both teams are starving for a goal to give them the lead, perhaps the game winning goal.

England’s defense is crazy good and it takes one mistake from your team to give them the lead. Lauren Hemp had gotten herself on the ball and you knew how fast she was. You kept up with her for a good while but it wasn’t enough for you to actually get the ball away from her. When you see Ellie coming in hot from the corner of your eye you suddenly slow down and let her take over. The lack of your presence confuses Lauren who visibly stutters in her movements and Ellie attacks in this moment.

She goes for the ball, jumping from Hemp’s left side to the right but her feet just graze the ball and it doesn’t affect Lauren one bit as she slides to push the ball through the goal line. 2-1 to England in the 71’ minute.

 You groan into your shirt as the English run around in celebration but you make sure to get to Ellie and pull her off the ground. The blonde is wearing a dejected look, disappointed in her miscalculated moves and you clutch her bicep as the other team calms down.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, it was a good try” she reluctantly nods at you and you add one last bit that has her nodding more confidently. “You’ll get her back”

And she does. Many times. You’re in awe of the way her and Steph seem to be connecting at the moment despite being on two different sides of the field. It is the third try England have at the goal but Ellie sweeps the ball away from Alessia before the other blonde can even think about scoring. 

You’re only following Tony’s orders, just like the rest of your teammates and so nearly every time you get the ball you try to set it up for Sam, you try to make space for her and you cross it to her each time.

It is clearly exhausting her out as well, the raven haired girl getting passes from everyone, all of you waiting for her to just equalize. You knew it wasn’t right to rely on her so much but you felt like time was running out and the girls were in slight panic. Your heart skipped a beat each time Sam was just a step away from scoring, each time Earps made a save. 

You can see how frustrated your friend is and you can’t blame her. Poor Sam had the whole world waiting for her to change the game. Her eyes connect with yours, they’re upset and slightly tired eyes and your heartbeat slows just a little. She had too much pressure on her, with three defenders on her at all times it was a miracle that she was even able to move away from them and receive each cross. 

“We should try it from the other side” the two of you walk side by side as you’re given a moment to breathe, Sarina subbing in Laura Coombs for Ella Toone. 

Sam seems to instantly understand what you’re trying to say and her face lights up just a little, more than open to any ideas that didn’t all end with her facing Earps one on one and three defenders glued to her side.

“Like in training yesterday? The Thach weave or whatever?” the forward replies enthusiastically, recalling how the set piece you named after an aerial formation had worked so well in the scrimmage you played. 

“Yeah, you on the left me on the right” you explain and nod to her rapidly as you part ways and jog back to your position. Sam raises a thumbs up into the air and a smirk plays at your lips, your game face back on. 

Just a few minutes after Coombs’ substitution, Kyra manages to rid the ball of her and she hands it over to Courtnee. Like every time before, she passes it to Sam and Carter is immediately on her. Millie Bright is on her way too however they’re both utterly confused when instead of moving forward Sam goes across the pitch and to towards the other sideline.

They follow her close by though and when you run by the three, yourself making your way to where Sam was just moments ago, the English players don’t realize Sam had slid the ball over to you and they follow her until she stops running. The cheeky smile on Sam’s face is everything as she watches you dive down on the side of the pitch, no one in sight, all of them having been focused on her and the rest of the England players were only trying to catch up to you. 

You force Mary off her line and you fake a shot as she gets closer. She drops to the floor to deflect it but the ball never comes and she can’t do anything as you instead chip it over her and into the goal. You’re buzzing as you jump into Sam’s arms and the girls in the dugout are up on their feet and celebrating your equalizer. 

“I fucking told you!” Sam is beyond ecstatic and you bask in her happiness for a moment as the pair of you get praised by your teammates. 2-2 in the 85’ minute of the match and you were close to the end. You could only pray that your team would manage to pull off another goal.

Nothing changes. Once again Sam is left alone at the front, yourself having to fall back a little and play a defensive role as well and your midfield are struggling with creating something. England are constantly attacking and you have subconsciously drifted back a bit to help out your defensive line which meant you were hopping around between Ellie and Emily, trying to block the opposition as much as possible.

Tension is rising and you’re all getting more aggressive though careful enough to not get carded. England aren’t playing nice either because they have started to be more pushy, shoving Caitlin and Sam any time they’re close. In the 90+3 minutes the match is called to an end and extra time is announced. As long as we don’t go into penalties, you thought, knowing how good England were at that.

You hang back a little, walking slower as you join the girls near Tony and take a drink. You squeeze yourself in under Alanna’s arm and listen to what the coach has to say.

Tony however, doesn’t change much in terms of tactics and he nods towards Sam, telling her she’s been doing good and to continue the way she has and that he’s counting on her. Your captain sighs heavily as she drops her head. It has been an exhausting match and you all have been relying almost solely on her, all the while she had defenders targeting her every second. 

Clapping each other on the back, you go back out onto the battlefield and squareup your shoulders, ready to fight.

Tony’s tactics aren’t doing good. England keep good possession of the ball and although Steph and Emily as well as Alex do a good job at chasing them down, the Matildas are struggling to make a move. 

Sam has been caged between Bright and Carter, Bronze hanging close by just in case but the Aussie captain is constantly sandwiched between them. 

By whatever miracle, the first half of extra time goes by relatively eventless. 

You take Kyra under your arm as you make a team huddle, Tony scratching his head in thought. 

Looking around at your teammates' exhausted faces, you feel a sense of disappointment shoot through your body, disappointed that you guys haven’t been able to change the scoreline. 

You usually wouldn’t butt into the coaches and captain’s tactical talks but the sudden rush of blood in your fingertips, the beads of sweat running down your forehead and the deep breaths let out from the girls around you prompts you to speak up.

You clear your throat, more in thought than asking for attention but Tony doesn’t hesitate to look towards you hopefully and you straighten up as you begin.

“I know it’s not looking too good for us right now and we’re all in our heads, but it's real simple. You got 15 more mins and that's it. And most of you have been playing this game for more than ten years. You got 15 more mins and that's it. After that we are going to the final and we won't leave until we win this world cup.” you start, making sure to hold eye contact with each and every one of your teammates, whether they still had influence on the game or they were subbed off and would most likely remain on the bench.

Your gaze connects with Sam’s again and you halt your speech for a moment. 

“I don’t care what we do as long as we win” it’s spoken with much determination from her and her eyes have a seemingly livelier look in them, ready for a change of tactics.

“Good. We need you in the middle, they are targeting you too much. We need the ball to go through you and they’ll be caught off guard when you don't immediately shoot. We need you to play an attacking midfielder role here. When the ball goes through you, and you pass it off to someone, they won't know what to do, they’ve got three players on you which means when you won’t have the ball they’ll basically be useless. Which then means the rest of us have 3 players less to worry about." Sam seems to be loving the idea and she enthusiastically nods along.

You’re pleased to find the rest of your team with expressions of similar determination and when you glance at Tony he shrugs with a smile, this could work. Steph swears she’s never felt more proud in her life and your passion for the game and for the team only made her fall deeper in love.

You add a few more points on where you think the team could improve for the following 15 minutes and then you end your speech with words so motivating, it would get anyone out of bed.

“I want you to take a moment and I want you to look each other in the eyes. I want you to put each other in your hearts forever, because forever is about to happen here in just a few minutes!” the shouts you receive are more than rewarding and your talk seems to reignite that last bit of fire left in everyone’s soul.

“NEVER SAY DIE!” 

You’re much more clinical in the second half of extra time, your defense is like the great wall of china and if that wasn’t enough, your sister was impersonating a brick wall in the goal. Sam had initially gotten back into her previous position, but that was good, you wanted to fool the English.

The time is ticking and you have got four minutes left, four minutes to change the score, to turn this game around, to not go into penalties, to continue your world cup dream. Everything would break or blossom from these last few minutes.

And fool them you did. 

Alex dives for the ball as it rolls from under Daly’s foot and she sends it towards Kyra. With a good play between Kyra and Caitlin, the ball gets to Sam and instantly Bright and Carter start to sprint with her, once again towards the goal. And Sam goes towards the goal but then the Australian lobs the ball out to the side, confusion setting in as seemingly she just passed the ball to no one.

No one is the someone who comes running like her life depends on it. The ball hasn’t even touched the ground yet and you half jump in your run, striking the ball hard, your laces connecting with it and it soars through the air.

A collective intake of breath is heard around the stadium, the Matildas fans rising to their feet in anticipation and Mary jumps after the ball.

She doesn’t reach it! She doesn’t reach it and it goes in just under the crossbar! 3-2 to Australia in the 117' minute.

Screaming and screeching you run towards Sam and she motions to you with a come hither motion. You understand what she’s hinting at and the two of you run together before hitting Sam’s favorite celebration in sync. The backflips make the crowd go even more insane and the girls surround the two of you in their own yells of joy. 

“We did it!” chants of your name makes you crumble to the ground and into Sam’s and Caitlin’s arms in the overwhelming feeling and they pull you into them, yourself clinging to the brunettes as it all sets in. Australia was going to the final. 

When you’re back on your feet a hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a bone crushing hug. You reciprocate it as you hold Steph close to you, the brunette’s tears wetting your shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you, Stephy baby! 

“That was such a beautiful goal, puddin’!” both are spoken at the same time and it makes the two of you laugh as you separate. The smiles on your faces are bright and you resist from intertwining your fingers with your girlfriends.

“I could literally kiss you right now” the defender breathes out with a chuckle and you bite your lip at the thought.

“Me too” but not yet, not here with the whole world watching.

You eventually find yourself making your rounds with the fans, a Bronze jersey hanging over your bare shoulder, having swapped with the England player. The two of you knew each other well from your time in Lyon and you comforted her while she expressed her joy for you. 

Kyra barrels into you with a laugh and the two of you hug once again before Kyra presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. Clearly your best friend was overjoyed by the team’s win.

“You’re being obvious”

“She’s practically making out with Y/N’s cheek” Steph huffs out, arms crossing over her chest as she watches Kyra hug your shirtless body. Caitlin and Alanna laugh next to her and she rolls her eyes at the two.

You’re only slightly surprised when later you are cornered in the shower rooms by Steph.  She immediately latches onto you and kisses you hotly, the bruising kiss taking your breath away and making your world spin as you grip onto her waist. Her hands are all over you, her mouth claiming you as hers and you push yourself more into her.

The brunette tugs on your lip gently and then she sucks on it lightly to ease the slight stinging, your breathing picks up and you’re just about to reach under her shirt when you hear a voice just outside the door.

“Stephanie Catley, you better not be getting it on with my little sister in there!” Mackenzie shouts, making the girls in the changing room burst out in laughs. Steph groans and you give her an apologetic look, giving her another peck in exchange for your sister’s behavior. 

You almost forget about the media duties Sam and Tony have but you pay attention to the TV in the locker room as you pull on a clean shirt.

“They’re talking about you” your sister takes a seat next to you and she turns up the volume so you could hear what Tony was saying.

“I like it when Y/n takes control of a situation because the outcome is always good. These players have it in them, they know they can win but sometimes they need someone to unite them, and to remind them of what they are capable of, maybe to get their heads back in the game.  And Y/n is there to step up and take the lead” Tony’s words have you flushing as the girls cheer you on and you lean your head on Mackenzie’s shoulder.

“Do you think Y/n Arnold could be captain?”

“Oh most definitely-”

“One day” Sam intervenes, a good-naturedly teasing tone to remind you that she’s captain for now, and of course Steph. You wouldn’t have it any other way though.

With your hand grasped tightly in your girlfriend’s and her lips kissing your cheek, you fall into a peaceful slumber on the bus back to camp, too tired from today’s semi final to keep your eyes open for any longer.

“I love you” it’s whispered into your hair and you smile to yourself, leaning up slightly to kiss Steph lightly.

“I love you more”

And you couldn’t wait to smash Spain in the finals. Australia was going to win their first world cup on home soil, and the Matildas would make sure of that.

[mamadovie]

Hi! I'm the one who requested the fem!vamp!DB with Kaidan, and I wanted to say I absolutely LOVE how you wrote that! The conflict, the resignation, the way you described the hunger...*chef's kiss* ADORED IT SO MUCH!! 💜

Now I return to ask if you write for Brynjolf lol, and if so could I request for a NSFW alphabet for him? There's just something about Bryn that makes me go feral sometimes 😂 but if that's not your cup of tea then that's perfectly okay!

(Also if you're cool with "assigning" emojis to some anons, could I be 🥝 lol)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀ ⠀ ⠀𐙚 BRYNJOLF.

A N: No way? Mama Dovie is alive?! Also, hello 🥝 thank you so much. That means a lot to me, I love having feedback sm. 🫀

A B O U T: NSFW ALPHABET (Brynjolf Version)

W A R N I N G S: NSFW CONTENT, MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Brynjolf changes depending how long you have been together.

At first, while it's still fresh and - to him - not a commitment, you both do your thing and call it a day.

But, once he realises how much he loves you and how strong your bond is, he is the most attentive man to ever exist. Stroking your back as you cuddle up to him, he's whispering illegible things as you drift off to sleep and he feel comfortable the most in those moments where peace resides between you two and the world.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you: your hair. He loves to tug and pull it, knot his fingers in it, push it to the side before he presses kisses against your skin, to smell it as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and to play with it as you cuddle afterwards.

On him: his hands and, of course, his dick. He loves to see you swallow the length of either his fingers or his dick, the way they make you feel and how they look in your mouth as you wrap your lips around them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Brynjolf is a filthy bastard and he loves a good mess. It only means the exercise was worth it once you're both slick with wetness, sweat and, obviously, his cum. To run it along your bottom lip, the sight of it on your stomach could make him push another round. Yeah. He likes to get down and dirty.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's had thoughts of fucking you in the training room where people could possibly walk in on you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

... Are you kidding me? He's experienced, that's all you need to know.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves giving you backshots, grabbing your ass and dragging your body against his dick.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Mhm. Not goofy. But you have your moments when accidents or mishaps occur.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's got hair, no doubt about that. He has hair on the chest, the works. But, he's not werewolf-type of hairy. He keeps himself in check.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is intimate afterwards. But during? No. If he's going to fuck you, he's going to fuck the lights out of you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates a lot, but when you're dating him, he doesn't as much anymore because you're there.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

About maturbation, he likes it mutually. To watch each other as you work on yourselves while itching to touch each other instead.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere that's dark enough to hide yourselves and the least crowded. He likes the thrill of it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

A bad day? He's ready. A good one? He's ready. Tired? He's ready. Hungry? He's ready (to eat you). Long story short, it doesn't take him much to gain motivation. All he needs is the nod from you, and he's ready.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

With others. You're his. End of.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is a certified munch. He lovesss to give head. It's one of his trades, actually. A professional. He'd have his arms between your legs for hours if he could.

Also, whenever you give him head, he takes a grip of your hair and he's the type to control your head as you work your mouth on him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This man is roughhh, he knows how to hit every spot that makes every curve and edge of your body react. But, this doesn't mean he's careless, he knows how to fuck you right. He's rough, but sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He only likes a quickie if he's goin' down on you, he can't have your hands 'n lips on him without fuckin' youuuu, he's got no self control in that regards; he prefers not to have quickies because he likes to take him time on you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Fucking while on a mission... Him fucking your brains out on some nobles bed before slipping out the windows with his bag full of valuables and his balls empty, brrr, it turns him on even thinkin' of it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Age truly is just a number 'cause this man has stamina and knows how to use it right.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He can and will use toys, that all depends on you and what you want.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's definitely a tease - the type to rile you up at dawn and only touch you by dawn, he loves to see you squirm, wanting more.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Bryn likes to hear you, and if your react to his deep grunts and raspy comments, he'll put a show on if that means you'll present your pleasure to him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's the type to lust over you before you're an item, fisting his dick at the simplest of thoughts from that day when you bent over in front of him in the training room.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's thickkk. He's got a healthy length, two hands, and a bit. Enough to cause a tear to roll down your cheeks <3.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I'd say average for a man, and men are known to be horny bastards, so take that as whatever you'd like to believe... (he's always ready to fuck).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He likes to stay up late, enjoying the silence as he listens to your breathing, the feeling of your hair against his fingers as he empties his mind.