#ramble in the tags you know the drill

[rainesjupiter]

Beneath the veil of the Moon, another pair of vows was made. Here we sow the catalyst for a mother's grief. For the Will's rage. For the Queen's madness. Now cometh the Age of the Stars.

[god-of-this-new-blog]

“For a master of deception and subterfuge, You’ve made yourself quite the bed to lie in”

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

It's 1am right now, but the whole concept of Roomies There Was Only One Bed Trope has taken over my thoughts today so much, and it leads way too much into every thought I gave about the Roomies as a whole

Just. First off the hilarity of it all, that there are three of them all living in the space and the only person they think to make a bed and bedroom for is Bdubs, who doesn't even live there

But beyond that, the idea that the three of them, all who have a tendency to be very self-sufficient and keep their distance from their teammates, who probably all have trust issues to some degree (Cleo absolutely does, at the very least. I think Grian's — and maybe also Etho's — trust issues are more towards himself), who, within the context of Life Series, aren't terribly clingy or affectionate, and who all mesh so well almost because of how they don't need each other-

But they do, they each needed the space they grant each other, and the relative trust and loyalty they all give, even when joking at times that they might not expect any loyalty of each other (especially towards Grian, the outdoors cat of the group. Cleo and Etho are a bit more assuming of each other's loyalty). Ultimately having each other as a steady place to return, an anchor for their wandering and loose canon tendencies

So the Only One Bed Situation provides them that easy excuse for closeness, and thus to subtly and subconscious demonstrate their trust in being as entirely vulnerable and guards down as they physically can be around each other. By nature of the Life Series being death games trust, safety, and quiet (non-sexual) intimacy / physical affection aren't exactly the easiest things to come by, and it's just a nice way to save them from the touch starved state they would often have to deal with

(And I could also get into that as a whole with Secret Life, how everyone seemed more focused on finding ways to slip peace and domesticity into their lives this time round, but this post is too long already)

Anyways, I'm gonna keep rewatching their Secret Life so I can get more fuel to maybe try writing a fic for this idea, because it is very beloved to me right now

[emometalhead]

My brother just told me to "have a good Taylor Swift session".

[selencgraphy]

Hi!!! If you’re comfortable with it, could you write something about Logan meeting reader’s parents for the first time and he sees that her father is verbally abusive and he maybe stands up for her and stuff. Thanks so much!!

— 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄

PAIRING: logan howlett x f!reader

TAGS: she/her pronouns for reader, verbal abuse, body shaming, protective!logan, logan is whipped (but when is he not?), established relationship, meeting the parents for the first time, hurt/comfort, reader is like in her early 30s, mutant!reader (telepath but she uses her powers like once...), thanksgiving, logan calling reader princess

A/N: i love protective!logan and have been meaning to write smth around these lines so thanks for the ask! sorry that it took a minute, i couldn't figure out how i wanted to go about writing it :( i hope you like it <3

WORD COUNT: ~1.3k

masterlist || request box <3

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Lo,” you voiced as you watched him pack. It was tradition in your family that everyone gathered back at your parent’s house for Thanksgiving, but it had been only a few months since the two of you started dating. Things were going really well between the two of you and as much as you wanted to spend the holidays with him, the idea of Logan meeting your parents was overwhelming. You never failed to go home before despite your gripes with your father, but just because you had to go didn’t mean he did.

He stopped folding the shirt he had in his hands at your remark, setting it down and walking up to you, his gaze soft but laced with a hint of worry. As soon as he was within arms reach, you went to place your hands around his neck and his hands immediately found your waist. His eyes bore into yours as if he was looking for something in them. “D’you not want me to come, bub?”

Your heart dropped at the question. “Of course, I want you to come, baby. It’s just… my family. They can be a bit much. I’ve never brought someone home to meet them before, and we haven’t exactly had the best relationship since I left to be here,” you ramble, eventually stopping when you notice the look on his face. He was smiling. “Why’re you smiling?”

“My girlfriend is really cute, is why,” he whispered, pecking your lips without warning.

“M’being serious, Lo…”

“I know, I know, bub. I’m sorry,” he breathed, gently squeezing the part of your waist where his hands were. “I wanna go with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You sighed, letting your head fall to rest on his chest.

“I just… I just don’t want them to scare you away,” you whisper. At your words, he removed one of his hands from your waist to gently lift you by your chin to look at you once more.

“M’not going anywhere, bub,” he assured, his voice never wavering as he stared into your eyes, trying to drill the words into your head. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Lo.”

—

You watched with bated breath as Logan greeted your parents, especially your dad. The handshake they exchanged felt like it lasted hours as your dad tried to size him up. “Nice to meet you, Logan,” he gruffly greeted. “Was worried Y/N made you up.”

You chuckle in an attempt to hide the fact that your father’s idea of a joke hurts, but you notice the subtle way Logan’s jaw clenches. The respectful demeanor he displayed was cracking. “Let’s eat, shall we?” your mother suggested, forcing the two men out of their macho exchange. With your father following after your mother, you took Logan’s hand in yours and gave it a squeeze, flashing a feeble smile.

Sitting down, your father sat at the head with your mother to his left and your sister next to her. Logan sat to the left of your father with you right next to him. Once everyone was settled with enough food on their plate, your father spoke again, completely dismissing Logan and looking at you. “Have you found work yet, Y/N?”

At the question, you wiped your hands and mouth, clearing your throat before you spoke. “I have,” you hesitated, unsure of where your father was taking this conversation. “Professor Xavier offered me a teaching position actually.” You were met with a dismissive hum, your face falling at the reaction. A moment passed before he spoke again—this time, speaking to Logan.

“So how did you meet my daughter, Logan?”

“I work at the school too,” he replied, his voice confident and steady. Your father merely scoffed and continued to eat while your mother asked more questions to fill the awkward silence. Even with your mother trying to lighten the mood as Logan told her about how you got together, the weight of your father’s silent gaze sent your heart racing, sweat slowly seeping out of your pores. In an attempt to ease your anxiety, you reached for more food.

“Make sure you save some for the rest of us, Y/N,” your father jeered. You froze, setting down the serving spoon in embarrassment and quickly placing your hands on your knees, tugging at the fabric at the sudden wave of self-consciousness.

“Lo, can we go?” you asked telepathically. He quickly nodded, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I think we’ll get going,” you mumble, your voice low in an attempt to maintain your composure. “Thank you for the food, ma.”

“Oh, c’mon Y/N. It was just a joke. I can’t joke around with my little girl anymore?” His words cut through you, but it seemed to hit Logan just as hard with the way his hand clenched, his claws threatening to break the skin. Just as you were about to speak, Logan beat you to it.

“S’not a joke. You’re just being fucking rude,” he started. Before continuing he turned to your sister. “Sorry for my language, kid.” He then looked back at your father. “I was actually a lil’ excited to meet the people who brought her into this godforsaken world, but now I’m just disappointed. She’s your daughter for fuck’s sake. Y/N is the kindest person I know. She’s been through hell, but she’s never let any of that get to her. You should be proud of her—of the woman she’s become and I won’t have you shit talk her, let alone do it in front of me. You don’t deserve my time and you sure as hell don’t deserve her.” Logan was breathing heavily now, his eyes blown with anger as he stared down your father.

He was standing up to your father in a way you and your sister never could, too afraid that harsh words might turn into something more, and it made you love him even more. But the emotions evoked by your father outweighed them, tears filling your eyes. “Let’s go, bub,” Logan gruffly said, the hand he held in his gently guiding you out of your parent’s house and into his car. He pulled out the driveway and headed off.

It was obvious he was trying to calm himself down before he tried to comfort you, still keeping a gentle hand on your thigh to tell you he was still here for you. Once his breath slowed, he pulled over and put the car into park, turning to you. Your eyes were red rimmed, eyes looking every which way and fingers tugging at your sleeves. “Princess?”

You hummed in response but didn’t look at him, tears threatening to spill. “Y/N, baby, can you look at me, please?” His voice was gentle, a hand raising to your cheek to try and face you to him. Slowly, your eyes met his and the floodgates opened, his thumbs immediately moving to wipe the tears away. His arms gently wrapped around you, pulling you into him the best he could over the center console. “I gotchu, honey. I gotchu.”

You stayed like that for a while until you were able to calm down. When he pulled away, he softly held his face in your hands as he spoke. “How about I make you your favorite, and we watch that movie you like when we get home?”

You sniffled, nodding at his suggestion and placing a hand over one of the ones he held on your face. He always knew how to make things better. When you got back to the mansion, you two did just that and as you sat in his bed, you couldn’t help the swell in your chest when you looked over at him. “Thank you, Lo,” you whispered. When he turned to you, his eyes softened.

“Anything for my girl,” he grinned, nudging his nose against yours before placing a kiss to your lips. 

[joannasteez]

starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity 

size 

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?... 

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'. 

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree. 

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'". 

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice. 

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction. 

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me". 

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would". 

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you". 

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go". 

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm. 

"did i wake you?", you ask. 

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning". 

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention". 

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips. 

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion. 

"how does it feel?" 

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine. 

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it". 

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare. 

"thank you for being here". 

"of course". 

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other". 

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it. 

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore. 

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin. 

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin. 

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth. 

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires. 

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still. 

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early". 

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business". 

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then". 

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later". 

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order. 

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe". 

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear. 

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could". 

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well". 

"you really did". 

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks. 

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm. 

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless. 

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious". 

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever". 

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way". 

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time. 

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird. 

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden". 

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe. 

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am". 

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug. 

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact. 

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand. 

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same. 

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay. 

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze. 

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again". 

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them". 

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious". 

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me". 

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you". 

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits". 

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs. 

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two". 

"oh fuck you punk". 

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all". 

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think". 

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment. 

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him. 

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision". 

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body. 

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day". 

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea. 

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy. 

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination. 

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire. 

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you. 

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him. 

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory.  his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily. 

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words. 

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star. 

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from. 

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call. 

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare. 

"have breakfast with me", he starts. 

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body. 

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate". 

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?" 

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine". 

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do. 

"can you not?" 

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space. 

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop". 

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right". 

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat". 

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it". 

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about". 

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him. 

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart". 

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment". 

"then give me a time and place". 

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings". 

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin. 

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things. 

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still. 

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd. 

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek. 

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves". 

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back. 

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens. 

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd. 

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze. 

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe. 

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking. 

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone? 

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me. 

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television. 

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you? 

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here. 

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling. 

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection. 

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news. 

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually". 

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough. 

"what'd he say to you?" 

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv". 

"well it feels pretty damn personal". 

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?" 

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so. 

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks. 

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win". 

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own. 

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match. 

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match. 

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too. 

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival. 

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy. 

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego. 

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason. 

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition. 

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel. 

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?" 

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody". 

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning. 

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body. 

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him. 

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me. 

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment. 

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars. 

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory. 

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach. 

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.  

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be". 

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land. 

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all. 

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection. 

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear. 

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get. 

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world. 

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe. 

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself. 

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment. 

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while". 

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it. 

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them. 

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable. 

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes. 

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought. 

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls. 

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance. 

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine. 

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth. 

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half. 

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit". 

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife. 

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days". 

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself. 

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips. 

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it. 

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same. 

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'. 

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth. 

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest. 

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again. 

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over. 

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ". 

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs. 

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again". 

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over. 

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too". 

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you. 

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly. 

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit. 

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering. 

"how do you want me?" 

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress. 

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful. 

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead. 

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips. 

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion. 

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole. 

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly. 

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.  

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums. 

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal. 

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy. 

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume. 

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar 

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones. 

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process. 

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart. 

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk? 

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy. 

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed". 

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable. 

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing". 

"unfortunately?" 

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence. 

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?" 

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure". 

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it". 

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?" 

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".  

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over". 

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways". 

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are". 

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table. 

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves. 

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere. 

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same. 

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help. 

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in". 

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good". 

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus". 

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing. 

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true. 

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that". 

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it". 

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace. 

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly. 

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..." 

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear. 

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up". 

"will do". 

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time. 

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area. 

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?" 

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling. 

"time and place sweetheart". 

[reserved-system]

Impulse & Skizz Splatoon AU

When the Imp- AND THE SKIZZ?! [EXPLODES]

More Splatoon AU RAAAAHHH

There's so most I wanna say about these two but you know the drill! Rambles + bonus context under cut

Wanna see more from this AU? Check out the tag #Res. Splatoon AU ! :D

Okay okay so--

Impulse is a roller main that mainly uses the Splat rollers or Big Swig depending on what's ended. Skizz is Dualie main and uses the Enperry Splat dualies or Dapple dualies (both kits)

Impulse is the proud team captain of Team Ties! The professional league team of himself, Tango, Etho and Skizz, with Skizz being his right hand man. The team started out as just Imp and Skizz competing in low level duo tournaments that later evolved as they honed their craft and learned how to work with each other.

Skizz was the one who proposed the idea to Impulse one day after a tournament, mentioning he already knew someone who competes at their level but is currently solo. Impulse was hesitant at first but after he met the sharp shooter Etho, he felt more secure about it. Imp later reached out to his old college partner Tango and formed Team Ties. The competed at small events together and walked their way up the ladder, eventually allowing some members to quit their day job to pursue splatting full time.

Skizz is an Octoling from the Splatoon 2 story mode, that's how him and Etho met! The served in the same unit and went through a lot of the same things like the collapse of the underground, but they were later separated as Etho was taken away to be sanitized. Years after Etho was sanitized, he was found and the pair was reunited. Skizz is the only one who knows the full truth of what happened to Etho.

Impulse was one of the first Inklings Skizz ever met, bumping into each other on the way to a turf field before a match. Skizz talked his ear off the entire way there, asking a bunch of questions to better understand the new area he'd be living in. They were paired together during the match and later went out to eat to celebrate their win and the rest was history.

Skizz makes a lot of bracelets and kandi for his friends as a way of showing that he cares! Him and Impulse have matching bracelets. Impulse is a piercing junkie and a lot of the pierces he got was with Skizz.

I'm gonna talk about hermitshipping now, mainly Skizzpulse and Poly Soup Group so if that bothers you, you can scroll along! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Idk if y'all saw my other post about Queer platonic poly soup group but yeah, that's canon in this au. I myself am polyamorous and just wanna show a little representation because it's something that means a lot to me and is often looked down on.

Imp and Skizz are dating each other and have been for a few years now. Imp is also dating Pearl and Gem, who are dating each other. Skizz is not involved with poly soup group but supports his boyfriend. The four of them go on double dates from time to time and have a healthy relationship. Of course this took time and lots of work but they make it work for themselves.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi! I hope you're well! I've got a bit of a request (maybe? idk can be whatever u want it to be:D) So- R recently has had their wisdom tooth removed, and I think you've seen how people get so loopy afterwards. I think it'd be hilarious writing Hobie trying to keep a straight face and talk to R rambling on about some random things in the most serious manner he can muster lol

Thank you for requesting! Muah 😘 ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie's nervous for no reason, he knows you're alright behind the tooth shaped door but the sound of the drill’s muffled whirring has his spidey senses going haywire. He thinks it's the weird smell of the dentist's office and the stark white of the walls that adds to his anxiety. His leg nervously bounces to the beat of the crappy music that the dentist's assistant keeps playing on loop (torturing him basically.)

He kneads at his temple to get the scraping sound out of his ears, due to his enhanced senses that includes super hearing, he can hear every pull and tug of your tooth, unfortunately. But he thinks you have it worse since you're the one who feels every tug and pull. Or maybe he just hates it when you get hurt, especially if he can't help you or even see you. He curses the tooth shaped door for hiding you from his view. Seriously, who makes a door shaped like that?

With a sigh, the toothy door finally opens, and out you roll out of it in a squeaky wheelchair. Hobie stands up lightning quick to get to your side. The dentist smiles at him with her perfect teeth, hands guiding you out of the sterile room.

“She’s good, don't worry.” The dentist senses Hobie's worry, or she just sees it etched on his face. “Your girl's a bit loopy because of the meds but it'll wear off in a few minutes.”

Hobie kneels down to face you. He almost laughs loudly at your swollen cheek that makes you look like a squirrel that's hiding its nuts inside its mouth. He rubs your knee softly to wake your foggy self based on how glossy your eyes are. Drool drips from the cotton in your mouth and he swears he almost loses it right there and then.

“Hi, love, ready to come home?” Hobie smiles softly like he usually does when he finds you endearing. Despite all the bloody saliva dripping out of your mouth.

“Hat?” You ask, voice murmured by the cotton. Hobie guesses you said ‘what?’ instead of asking for his invisible hat.

Raising your hand to his face, you give him a good pat on his cheek, you then let out a giggle that sounded more like a cackle. It all makes him raise an eyebrow.

“You gave her the good stuff huh, doc?” He asks, never leaving his eyes off your disoriented self.

The dentist chuckles, “just give her paracetamol for the pain and don't let her eat or drink anything for an hour or two if she can help it.”

“Thanks, doc.” Hobie gives her a polite smile while standing back up to his feet. “Ready to walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at him, eyebrows knitted, hands balling at your soft pants. You dressed for the occasion, or rather, dressed down for it. You had the foresight to know that you'll be bleeding all over your clothes right after. Like how you are right now with one of Hobie's old band shirts. He clearly doesn't mind since he owns a hundred like them. But he won't miss the opportunity to tease you about it once you're sober and well awake.

You look at him like he told you the copper you gave him is in a poor state. “I hab boyfriend.”

“I know you do, it's me.” He sees the dentist crack a smile. “Get up, love, you'll kick my arse if we miss your episode.”

“Episode?” You once again ask with wonderment.

“Yeah, that dragon show you like so much. Up you go.”

“Dragons?!” Your voice echoes out in the room, like he just told you dragons are real. You stand up quicker than he thought you could. “Really?” Your question cements what he thinks. “They're dragons right? Not wyverns, they're different creatures y’know.” He tamps down a laugh.

Holding you by your biceps, Hobie flicks his eyes behind you and over to the dentist who just shrugs with a grin. “Her tooth was stubborn. Sorry, I could've given her the lighter stuff but she would've felt it.”

“That's alright, doc, this is how she usually is.” He jokes, which you chortle at. Well at least you recognize humour amidst the fog of whatever concoction the dentist gave you. “Thanks again.” He waves goodbye whilst he guides you out of the clinic.

“Why are you so pretty?” You look at him with sparkling eyes like you're about to cry from his sheer beauty. Tapping his chin, cheek squished against his shoulder, you don't look at where you're walking as you continue to admire him in the sun. “So p-pretty…like a-an angel.”

Hobie does all the walking for you, his arms are looped around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the pavement. The tips of your shoes grazes the concrete as you squish his cheeks in your hand, making him pout from your cuteness overload.

“An angel? Just last night you called me a dick for eating your mango.” How could he know you were trying to save it inside the fridge?

You giggle, “mmm, mango.”

“I'll buy you a hundred more if you continue to dote on me.” You two finally make it to the van, he thanks his abilities for not getting winded out by the trek.

You lean back dramatically, making Hobie catch you in his arms. You both look like a cover from a romance novel.

“I can't! I have a boyfriend.” You say with your whole heart, and as serious as you can with your mouth full of cotton.

“Fuckin' hell.” He laughs, lifting you back up before someone in the street sees. “I'll buy you some ice cream if you get in the car. Mango or chocolate flavour?”

“I will,” you poke his chest, “not be,” poke “bribed by you–you stranger!” You poke him several times.

Hobie catches your finger mid poke. Leaning closer to your face, he smells the iron from your mouth. You sniff, moving your head away from him with a pout.

“Love,” he says sweetly, catching the back of your head before it falls further back. Laying his forehead against yours, he gives you a minute to recognize him from his warmth alone. He'd give you forever if he can. Holding your hand, he raises it to his chest, letting you feel the familiar thump of his heart. He remembers that you do it whenever he gets home from patrol. “It's me, yeah?”

Hobie doesn't realize the tears brimming in your eyes. He stands up straight at the sound of your quiet sobbing.

“We're gonna miss the dragons.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, the cotton in your mouth threatens to fall out as you weep in the parking lot with him trying his best to wipe the tears while he coos softly at you.

Hobie definitely has his work cut out for him, now to get you home without crying about dragons or acting like he's kidnapping you. Yet, he'd gladly do it all over again if it's you.

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Never Alone

paring: Bradley Bradshaw x female!IC!reader (callsign Nike )

wordcount: ca. 3700 (only because this will be a multi-part thing XD)

synopsis: When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser he has a plan for the night. Take her home, fuck her, kick her out. Not that this was something he did often but with the stress at work he needed to let off some steam. That is until he hears someone crying and his night takes a turn he hadn't expected at all.

note: I initially intended to post the whole thing (currently at almost 12000 words 🤯 ), but I really wanted to post a new piece and since I started a lot of new WIP instead of finishing something I thought this would be a good idea. Also, my Rooster debut so to speak (you can thank @mynameismckenziemae for this one. The fact that Rooster is the hero in this one is kind of on her 😅 . Thanks for helping me decide and for listening to my rambles on the regular. I am really thankful for the support) and I hope you all like it. And you know that navy inaccuracies are a given with my stuff, but this time I went a bit more ham than usual. The role of IC (Incident Commander) is existing in crisis and natural disaster management but fuck if I know if some work for the Navy. I made all of that up for the sake of the plot. Don't like that, please skip this one. And last but not least, yes this is yet again very self-indulgent stuff and it will get only worse with the next part, so if you don't like it, click off 😘

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): plus-size!reader, military/navy inaccuracies, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), allusion to trauma/dissociative episode, written by a non-native speaker

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics gif by @jensens-ackles

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser on his arm he knows how this is gonna end. Take her home, have some fun and then kick her out. He wasn't one to indulge often, but considering how Maverick had been on his ass during training all week, he really needed to let off some steam. His arms were wrapped around her waist, lips wandering over her neck as he manoeuvred her back towards his Bronco until he stopped in his tracks.

There it was again. He had almost missed it with the busty brunette giggling into his ear, but he was sure that he heard right. "Hey Casanova, I am down here", she puts a hand on his cheek to pull his focus back to her," You wanted to show me a good time, remember?" But Rooster couldn't focus on the way her hands were roaming his body or the way she began to kiss his jaw, leaving a trace of lipgloss in her wake. "Didn't you hear that? Someone's crying" "That's just a girl who got what you promised me", she retorts, but it only makes him cringe. If this is how she imagined the sound of a consenting couple, he sure as fucking hell didn't want her in his bed.

Untangling himself from her limbs he walked over to the dark place next to a huge palm tree. The curled-up figure was barely visible in the shadows, but the sniffling was getting louder the closer he walked. "Hey what about me?", the woman whines, stomping her high heel sandal-clad foot on the ground. "Go in and find yourself another set of tags", he growls back annoyed, regretting the tone of his voice and the volume the moment he sees the figure flinch.

This was bad.

For a moment he wondered if he should call Phoenix or even Penny to make sure he wasn't doing more damage than good, but then he saw how a ring caught the light from the Hard Deck entrance. He knows that ring. The silver laurel branches that are winding around a delicate finger. He has seen it more than once.

"Nike?", he freezes for a moment unable to compute the situation. He had been at the Hard Deck all night and was sure he would have spotted you in the crowd. Not to mention that you weren't one for bars. You said as much yourself whenever one of the others had invited you for an evening out. "Hey Nike, it's me. Rooster", he tries to make himself small as he approaches, not wanting to intimidate you, voice soft and gentle. "Are you...", he begins before he stops himself. Was he really just about to ask you if you were ok? It's so goddamn fucking obvious that you are not, so he settles for something else. "What happened, Nike?" You were still sitting there, legs pulled close to your body, head resting on your knees as you cried. He moved another step closer when you suddenly looked up at him as if only now you realised that someone was there. "Rooster?"

Your chest was heaving, your fingers nervously drumming on your kneecaps while you tried to focus on him, clearly struggling with the situation "Yeah. It's me. Shall I call someone?", he asked and as soon as he mentioned the call you began frantically shaking your head, reaching a trembling hand out to him to grab the wrist of the hand that was about to reach into his pocket. "No, please don't" He pulls his hand back out of his pocket and lifts it up in the air to signal surrender. "Ok, I'm not"

Bradley only knows you as IC. The woman for the impossible jobs and who you call when shit hit the fan and you need someone to fix it. A woman tough as nails and level-headed who always has a backup plan for the backup plan to make sure you got your people home safe and you were fucking brilliant at it. They named you after the goddess of victory for a reason. Whenever he was on a mission you were responsible for he felt a lot calmer and he knew he wasn't the only one. People trusted your competence and your judgement. They trusted you.

Hell, you were probably the only person on planet Earth to tell Admiral Simpson no if you thought something was a shitty idea and lived to tell the tale.

"Then say what you need Nike. Please?", he pleads feeling completely helpless. He has never seen you so utterly terrified and there is a feeling rising in his chest that makes him want to knock on the door of whoever left you so scared and very impolitely beat the shit out of them. You loosen the grip on his wrist and let your hand glide down his arm until yours is in his and he gives you a reassuring squeeze. Even with his fingers wrapped around yours, he can feel the trembling. When you finally answer him your voice is barely above a whisper. "A place to stay"

He didn't need to hear anything else. He just nodded and pulled you up by the hand that was still clinging to his own. Your feet were wobbly and the heels didn't make it any better. His eyes wandered over you, assessing whether there was any injury that he had to be mindful of before he let go of your hand for a second, the terror lighting back up in your eyes immediately. "It's ok, Nike. I am here", his voice is low and raspy as he places one hand on your back and bends down, placing the other under your knees to pick you up bridal style. He felt the way your body seemed to relax in his hold, face buried in his neck as he rested his head on yours before he murmured into your hair. "Let's get you home"

At a red light on the drive to his place he looks down where your hand is still holding his, his thumb gently petting the back of your hand while your head rested on his shoulder. In all the years of knowing you, he's never seen you so close to someone else. You usually prefer to keep people out of your personal space. It was something everyone on base respected and that makes him wonder.

You were so strong, so resourceful and intelligent. You had seen so much shit in your life and 9 times out of ten they called you in when it already hit the fan, so you were no stranger to working under immense pressure, the lives of people depending on the shots you were calling. How could someone bring you into a position where you would be so utterly terrified that it'd push you into a state that looked like a full-blown anxiety attack?

Considering the pretty dress, the heels and your by now smudged make-up it was likely you'd been out today and since bars and clubs are not your scene, he figures it must have been a restaurant. The thought that someone treated you so badly was infuriating him. You had dedicated your life to protecting people, making sure that they get back home to their families and loved ones unharmed. To treat someone like you bad enough to send you spiralling called for a grade-A asshole and a part of him hoped you'd tell him the name later. He would gladly pay that asshat a visit and he would bet, the rest of the dagger squad would happily tag along.

It's not much later when he puts the Bronco in park in front of his house, feeling the way you instantly stiffen next to him. "I'll go ahead and open the door", your grip around his hand tightens even more. You are holding on to him for dear life. Bradley Bradshaw was your lifeline right now and to be someone you trusted so much filled his heart with pride. He only wished he would have found out under different circumstances.

"I'll be right back, Nike", he hears you stifle a sob while you tremble. Whether it's the chill night air or your fear, he is not quite sure and so he leans to the side to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You tell me when you are ready", he adds, pulling you into an embrace as the two of you sit here in his car. He'd stay here with you for hours if you needed it. "Promise you'll come back" "I promise", he looks down at you and you nod. Letting go of his hand so he can get out of the car. Brad cannot remember any other time when he ran up the steps to his house this fast, unlocking the door and grabbing the quilt from his couch before he gets right back to you.

Seeing the way your eyes light up when you see him as he opens the car door makes his heart soar and ache at the same time. "Told you, I'd come for you Nike", he steps closer and gently places the blanket around your shoulders and when he picks you up again he feels how you instantly melt into his embrace. "I'll always come for you"

He tried to kick his front door closed as quietly as he could to not spook you even more and kept the lights off too as he made his way to his bedroom. From there he goes into the en-suite and sits you down on the counter. "Blanket on or off?" "Off" He nods, taking the colourful patchwork off of your shoulders and throwing it in the corner where he usually stores his dirty laundry. He could deal with that some other time. "I'll turn on my bedside lamp in the other room. Close your eyes and I’ll tell you when to look”, he was looking for any sign that you needed another moment but you nodded.

So he turns around and walks into his bedroom, turning on the lamp and throwing the next best piece of fabric over it to dim the light. It was enough to see something but not too much on your eyes that had probably gotten used to the darkness outside. "You can open your eyes", he says, turning back to look at you, eyes wandering over you for a moment to see if there was any injury that he had missed in the darkness outside the Hard Deck but he couldn't find anything. On his way back to you he rummaged around in his drawer, finding a Phillies jersey that could fit you if the dress wasn't comfortable enough for you to sleep in.

"I'm back", he announces himself and sees how your entire body relaxes, shoulders lowering and fingers no longer playing nervously with your ring. "I'm gonna take your shoes off first" He throws the jersey over his shoulder before he goes down on his knees, unlacing your oxford heels, every move slow and deliberate, before he places them down on the floor under the cabinet, to get them out of the way. He is looking up at you from his crouched position. He wants to seem as non-threatening as possible for what comes next.

"Do you want to keep your dress on or change into a shirt?", he asks, taking the jersey from his shoulder and showing it to you. He sees the way you are contemplating for a long while, brow furrowed and teeth sinking into your lower lip before you reach out for the worn-out material. It's soft and you are digging your fingers into the material and holding onto it the way you'd been holding onto his hand. Holding on for dear life.

"Want me to stay or wait outside?", he asks, not wanting to put you into a worse situation than you are already in. Damn, he wished you would have allowed him to get Phoenix or Penny, then this would have been not as bad by a long shot. You are quiet for a while and he wonders if you've drifted off again the way he found you in front of the Hard Deck, but then your gaze finds his and you take a deep breath. "Can you help with the zipper?" "Of course"

He gets up and watches you jump off the counter, your stance much more stable now that the heels are off. It's more the look he's used of you and it gives him the feeling that he's at least doing something right here. You turn around, his jersey still pressed to your chest, looking down at the washed-out red and white fabric as if it gave you some form of solace. Bradley takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours in the mirror to make sure you know what would come next and when you give him a nod he reaches out his hand, gently pulling down the zipper. Underneath the fabric is some sort of underdress all laced up with a pretty bow. Fuck. He would have never taken you for the corset-wearing type of gal.

You let the dress slide down to the floor before you pull his jersey over your head. He wants to help you to smooth it down your body but you shake your head and his hands are off immediately. "Sorry" "No...Can you untie...?" This time he's the one nodding, letting his hands glide under the fabric, pulling at the laces to undo the bow and then loosening them enough so you could let it glide down your body too and step out. The pile of fabric, tulle and boning is on the floor and he sees that you attempt to lean down, your hand on the counter for balance in order to pick your clothes up but he's faster. "Thank you" “I can put this on a hanger for you”, he nods over to where he usually stores his drying shirts. “There are loops...”, you start and he easily finds them, placing them on the hanger's hooks before he puts them on the clothes rail. As his eyes wander over the dress, he's wondering for a moment who you had met to doll up like this. "Anything else?"

He sees the way you are thinking, fighting with yourself "Whatever it is, if I can do it, I will" "Can you help with the stockings?" You don't meet his eye, probably embarrassed to make yourself vulnerable in front of a coworker like this but right now Rooster doubts that there is anything in this world he wouldn't do for you.

So for the second time tonight, Bradley Bradshaw lets himself fall onto his knees, feeling your hand on his shoulder for support while both hands are smoothing up your calf to your knee and under the jersey, feeling where the nylon ended so he could pull it down for you. His eyes are glued to the ground to make this at least a little less awkward for you. Once the fabric is gone, he switches to the other side and repeats the same movement before he looks up at you, the bunched-up material ending up under the sink next to your shoes.

"You good, Nike?", he asks, eyes searching your face for any sign that he's overstepped but all he finds is that gentle expression of fondness on your face, not quite a smile but considering the circumstances, Bradley would settle for this. You give him a small nod, hand moving from his shoulder closer to the crook of his neck, fingers lingering on his scars and Brad couldn't help but close his eyes at the gentle touch, willing his body to stay perfectly still to not destroy this moment of peace. Not for you and not for him. "Thank you Rooster", he's had your voice in his ear so often, assertive and commanding, but now your voice was gentle, as much a caress for him as your fingers. "For you, always", he looks up at you and for a moment he feels like the world stops turning and he wonders if given another chance at a different time, you would return to his home and allow him to prove to you that there were men out there who could treat you right.

When you finally pull back your hand he slowly moves up to stand before you, towering over you but you don't flinch. Bradley Bradshaw doesn't make you feel you need to and he cannot help but feel a pride rising in his chest that of all people, you chose him to put your trust in. "Now let's get you into bed", he steps to the side, letting you walk past him with his hand hovering over the small of your back. His hand wants to touch, but he doesn't want to push. Not after the night you had. That is until he realises that you are walking towards the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" "Couch" Fuck no. He would not make you sleep on that thing that was short and so worn out that it'd surely break your back. But what was even worse than the idea of you on his couch was the fact you believed that he would allow, let alone want that. Getting his hands back on you he picks you up bridal style and carries you back over to the bed. "You take the bed" "Rooster..." "No" There is a small smile playing on his lips. It reminds him of the first time he met you way back when.

You had just finished the mission briefing when Hangman suggested a change to the plans and your only reply was: "No" "What no?" "No", you looked Hangman straight in the eyes, pretty brow arched, and everyone in the room could feel the fury start to simmer in Hangman's veins at the way you're dismissing him and his points so easily. "No is a complete sentence, Lieutenant Seresin. Considering your reputation as base casanova I was hoping you'd understand the concept" That was the moment Rooster knew that he liked you.

Rooster was a navy guy and could sleep wherever, even on the hardwood floor if he had to, but you needed some proper rest. He lays you down on the bed as gently as possible and when he straightens his back he sees the expression on your face. It's such a wild swirl of emotions that are washing over your features, ever-changing like the ocean, that he doesn't know what to expect next, but it sure as hell wasn't this. "I'm scared of being alone"

He knows that this is far more than a simple statement. It is your way to ask for him to stay, to have him around for your comfort. It's not like he doesn't want to, but there is a part of him that wonders if this would be something you'd come to regret the next morning. He had always known you as someone who loved her personal space, avoiding even handshakes whenever you could. He had his hands all over you tonight and he didn't want to push his luck, but then he saw your pleading eyes and he smiled down at you. "I'll just get into some comfortable clothes and then I'm right back", he leans down and presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this soft around someone and yes, the circumstances were shitty at best, but there was a part of his heart that revelled in the gentleness of these moments. "Thank you, Bradley"

He has to stop himself for a moment, eyes wide with surprise as he looks at you. Never before have you used his first name. It was always Lieutenant, Bradshaw, Rooster or a combination of those three, usually depending on how pissed you were at him for fucking around with your meticulous mission plans. There was a flicker of fear that washed over your face as the realisation hit you what you just said but he reached out his hand, gently resting on your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. "No need to thank me, Nike. I am glad if I can help"

He allows himself another moment to enjoy the feeling of your soft skin against his before he pulls back and turns to grab some fresh clothes to sleep in and heads to the bathroom. His movements are hurried, almost frantic while he gets out of his clothes and ready for bed. All the while feeling a fear creeping up on him. He closed the door, to make sure to respect your boundaries but now he regretted it. It meant he couldn't check in on you, couldn't make sure that you were ok and not spiralling. Throwing his worn clothes over to the hamper without caring if he actually hit or not he just pulls on his sweat pants and opens the door, muscle shirt still in hand as he walks into the bedroom and pulls it over his head.

When he reached the bed where you had curled up already, he crouched down to be on eye level with you. “Tell me what you need from me", his voice is soft and quiet as he talks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He sees how you try to sink even deeper into the pillow as if you wanted to hide from him and that makes his heart ache. "Remember Nike. Whatever you need as long as I can make it happen, you'll get it" "Can you...", your voice is barely above a whisper and when he tries to meet your gaze you turn around and scoot over on the bed to make room for him. "I just really don't want to be alone"

You feel the way the mattress is dipping under his weight but you cannot bring yourself to turn around and look him in the eye. "You are not alone Nike", his voice is close to your ear and you can feel the way his breath is fanning out over your cheek and neck. And then you surprise him when you reach behind him and take his hand to place it over your waist, your fingers interlaced with his as your thumb drummed a nervous rhythm into the palm of his hand. "You are never alone"

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist HERE

[satrs]

Hii can I request older brother’s best friend karasu fucking you while you’re on the phone with your brother (otoya) 🤭🤭🤭

i feel like he’d go faster on purpose to make you scream out loud 🤞🤞

ᥲ/ᥒ ꜝꜝ ✎ Hihi nonnie! Urghhh ur right, he 100% would. Hope you enjoy this drabble^^ mwah^^

HELLO?

FEATURING; big brother's best friend!Karasu x fem!reader

WORD COUNT; 0.4k

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI. unprotected intercourse. risky(on the phone). doggystyle. nicknames (pretty).

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+!

"Yo. You got the stuff I told you about?"

You barely deciphered your elder brother's voice through the phone, fingers slippery in glistening sweat and hands shaking due to the harsh thrusts that resulted from the man behind you, drilling his cock into your abused cunt at a tantalizing speed.

"W-what?" You punched yourself mentally at the sound of your high-pitched voice, spasming around Karasu's thick length as he hit that gushy spot inside of you so deliciously. "You're acting weird, sis. Is everything alright?"

You cursed your brother out in your head, desperate to just hang up and dwell in the pleasure his best friend was gifting you - but you couldn't. If Otoya were to find out, he would-

"Y/N?"

Your eyes widened, snapping your head back as you noticed Karasu's hushed snickering, your warning glare not having any effect on him as he leaned down your ear, cock reaching even deeper into you, bright smirk on his face once you lifted the phone from your hear, head falling into the pillow as a muffled moan rang out.

"Yes! Yes. All good." Karasu took the phone from your hold, holding it firmly up to your ear, his increasing thrust causing tears to well up at your lash line, biting your lip so hard that it almost drew blood, drowning out whatever your brother was rambling on about.

"Gotta keep quiet," he whispered into your ear, other hand reaching down to draw firm circles around your clit, "don't want big bro to know what his cute little sister is doing with his best friend, hm?"

You nodded your head frantically, thighs shaking as you felt your release nearing. "S-sorry, Otoya. Can I call you back later? I'm kinda b-busy right now." You were barely able to form your words, eyes knitting together.

"Alright, we'll talk about it later. I gotta wait for Karasu right now anyway. He's taking some time, maybe I should call him." You breathed out in relief as you bid your brother a quick goodbye, ignorant of his last words while you hung up and threw your phone somewhere on the bed, hands tangling into the soft silk as you moaned out loud at the man's intense thrusts, back arching into his touch.

Your eyes snapped open, close to your release as you heard a phone ringing, whining in protest as Karasu was about to lift his phone to his ear, flashing you a teasing smile.

By the look of Karasu's face, you already knew who was on the phone, bracing yourself as you knees began to gave up on you, head buried back into the pillows.

"Gotta get that call, pretty. Let's see if ya can shut that pretty mouth while yer' cumming 'round my cock."

©︎𝐊-𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐒. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[sugar-omi]

Since it's getting close to Valentines Day, I wanted to ask something wholesome.

Imagine getting one of those candy and card things in school (I think they are called Teddygrams) for Cove. (This can be any step)

i looked it up, n google just showed me pictures of bear shaped graham crackers n ion think thats what you mean... but i do know what you're talking about!!! i remember exchanging happy V-day cards and candy w the class!!! i've been thinking abt step 2 mc and cove exchanging gifts, so i'm glad others are thinking abt the same thing too.. and even though this is, prbly, definitely?, different than what you want, i was alrdy writing something so here you go LOL happy valentines day everyone <33

tags : Fluff, step 2, gn reader, you or cove confessed at the end of step 2, multiple choice dialogue, your mom is out to embarrass u for sure....

synopsis : cove asks you to be his valentine for the first time as his partner.. he's probably way more nervous than he should be.

cove doesn't know what got into him this year.

well.. he does. you two started dating last summer and with valentines day decor and gifts all over town, and sly comments from his father about his plans for the week. he can't ignore it.

he also can't ignore the fact that he does want to do.. something for you for valentines day. enough though it's embarrassing and nerve crushing, and he could probably drill a hole in the ground with how much he's shaking.

but he tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and he definitely ignores the way his dad looks at him, a smirk on his face as he watches cove carefully put your gift in his backpack, and when cove glares at him, he whistles around the edge of his coffee mug, his eyes drifting around the room and turns his back to cove.

cove ignores his dad's shaking shoulders, and continues to ignore him until it's time to leave.

cove throws his bag over his shoulder, avoiding his dad's gaze as he flips the locks. "i'm going now, bye dad..."

cliff smiles, feeling a bit bad that cove looks so flustered, but he's sure he'll make it worse if he tries to comfort him. "okay, have a good day at school! tell everyone i said hi."

cove peers at his dad, trying to weigh if there's any sarcasm or teasing his dad's words... but he just nods and slips out the door, deciding to lock it on his way out.

even though he can't wait to se you, he also is procrastinating the inevitable...

he eventually finds his way across the road, and on your doorstep, hypnotically knocking on the door, a habit he is used to but also falling out of ever since you two agreed on another method of entrance via your window...

the door flies open, and instead of you, he's greeted with elizabeth's bored expression.

her face morphs into a lopsided smirk, a quip on the tip of her tongue.

she turns over her shoulder, yelling. "y/n! your baby boyfriend is here!"

cove sputters, his face flushing a bright, deep red. he hears some muffled yelling and thumps, presumably from you, but your mom coming around the corner keeps him from dwelling on it.

she puts her hand on elizabeth's shoulder, squeezing. "now now, be nice! it's a bright and new day after all, don't start by teasing the poor boy."

cove eyes pamela while she speaks with elizabeth, already knowing she's just saving her comments for later, and that she's just saving cove from elizabeth's terror since noelani left for work earlier.

pamela turns to cove, smiling brilliantly. "good morning cove. lovely day isn't it?"

ugh, she's definitely hinting about it being valentines day...

cove nods, "uh, yeah... good morning, mrs. l/n. my dad said hi, by the way."

she nods, waving him in. "tell him hi for me. you two should join us for dinner one of these days! it's been awhile.."

cove nods along with her ramblings, sitting stiffly on the couch, not sure where to look since elizabeth is also on the other end, stretched out across the other couch and engrossed in her teen magazine.

the creaking of the stairs snap cove out of his daze, and he ignores the snickering and hushed words between elizabeth and pamela.

you give a look to your mom and sister, but your eyes quickly turn to cove and you brighten up.

"oh! hi, cove.." you smile, hiding something by your side, trying to shield whatever it is with your backpack.

pamela claps, commanding attention. "now that you're all ready, lets get going, i gotta get to work. liz, where's your bag?"

cove stands up, walking to you to escape elizabeth's whining about being called 'liz', running to you to greet you.

you smile, a bit flustered this morning since unbeknownst to him, you also have a gift for him.

cove scratches his arm, smiling shyly, "um, hi y/n.."

there's a stretch of silence between you, awkward glances and you're fidgeting with your hands.

"um.." you break the silence, shuffling on your feet. "i have something for you... i was gonna give it to you at lunch but, maybe now is better?..."

you hold out a box with a red ribbon around the box, a little card folded and slipped through the ribbon.

cove flushes, a soft "oh!" slipping out his mouth. he probably shouldn't be surprised by the gift, but it doesn't mean he isn't flustered still.

your first valentines together... his heart is gonna beat out his chest.

"feel free to open it up and taste it, i [ made it myself / made it with ma / bought it ], so i hope it tastes good..." you ramble, watching cove read the card, his blush only spreading to his ears.

he pulls the ribbon, opening the box with slightly shaky hands.

he brightens up when he sees the brownies inside, white and pink chocolate drizzled on top with heart shaped sprinkles. it's cute, and looks extra yummy with caramel and chocolate chips inside the perfectly cut cubes of brownie.

he looks up, like an eager puppy, "can i really try it now?"

you nod, and cove breaks off a piece, chewing on it happily.

he licks his lips, eager to eat it right here and now but he decides to save it for later, remembering he has something for you too.

"uh, i have something for you too..." cove grabs his bag by the door, unzipping and reaching into an inside pocket and pulls out a pink, plush bunny holding a heart, and a box with a pretty ribbon wrapped around it.

you take it from him, squishing the rabbit in your hands and enjoying the fluffy fabric. reluctantly you put down the soft rabbit, in favor of opening the box that cove said you could open too.

you look inside, happy to see your favorite, [ chocolate / chocolate covered strawberries / cookies ] inside it.

you look up at cove, trying to meet cove's dodgy gaze. he scratches his cheek, shyly meeting your eyes. "i'm not good at cooking, so i just bought 'em. but i promise they're good! at least, i think.. i hope, they were the nicer ones so.." cove trails off.

you wave him off, closing the box. "they're perfect! thank you cove.."

you open your arms, silently asking for a hug which cove all but dives into, snaking his arms around your back and melting in your arms.

he's so happy.. and his heart has returned to a more reasonable beat.

you break apart, and cove covers his mouth and cheeks, feeling shy. "so.. does that mean you'll uh, be my valentine?" cove mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

your smile wide, unable to keep the grin off your face. you nod, "i'd really like that, cove."

cove smiles, so happy he could float. "so.. do you wanna eat lunch with me? i mean.. i know we do already but like.. just you and me? maybe?" cove anticipates your response, buzzing with new, good energy.

you bite your lip, trying not to laugh at how cove is just missing a wagging tail to match his enthusiasm. "yeah, i'd like that too."

but your mom shouts from the door way, her keys jingling in her hand.

"okay lovebirds, now that you've set a date, lets go! you're late for your date with algebra!"

"mom!" you groan, looking at her laughing form with a scandalized look, cove shrinking, hiding his face.

[causeilikelix]

Rose Garden - Part One - Lee Know Smut

↳Pairing: Prince!Lee Know x Maid!afab reader

↳Words: 7,800

↳Warnings: SMUT 18+ only!!!!! Minors DNI!!!!!, Lee Know has a dirty mouth, unprotected sex (we all know the drill), inexperienced virgin!reader, Lee Know also might be a virgin but idk, pretty vanilla stuff, power dynamics, creampie, multiple orgasms, multiple (2) positions, semi-public sex, they almost get caught but aren't, angst, a mention of throwing up but no one does

↳Summery:  You are a maid for one of the ladies eligible for a chance to see if they are the prince's soulmate. You join your lady and attend the tea party but you grow bored and wander off. After a while, you stumble across a beautiful rose garden and an even more beautiful man- though he's not very nice.

TAGLIST: @ohmy-moonlightx , @junebug032 , @giyusatorou , @skzfelixlove , @kittkat44 , @nap-of-a-starr, @ventitto , @blankdyean , @lethallyprotected , @poisonivy21 , @nobody3210 , @chuuswifereal , @hisokasimp1

(Strikethrough means unable to tag)

↳Notes: Long story short, I work a lot and I'm tired but I'm trying to get these written!!!

↳Ready on my AO3: Here

Part One

“MOTHER!”  JOY COMPLAINED loudly, “Do I really have to go to this ridiculous ball?” 

“Yes, darling,” Joy’s mother, Mrs. Park, flitted around the room and checked each of the offerings of the maids, “Tonight is vital.  You must catch the eye of the Prince!”

“What if he's not my soulmate, though?”  Joy pouted, which you caught through her vanity mirror as you carefully curled her hair. 

“Darling, when you’re this high up in society you can’t be concerned about all of that soulmate dribble!  You are a lady!  You are out in society and your position matters!”  Mrs Park insisted.  She made her way over to the vanity and gestured for you to move aside. 

Wordlessly and obediently, you stepped aside to let Joy’s mother take over your task of doing Joy’s hair.  You backed away to stand with the other maids who were holding various jewelry options for this afternoon’s tea party.  

Joy looked absolutely stunning, which was truly no surprise.  As one of the higher ladies of the court, she had to be.  Whenever she went to these tea parties or balls, it was part of your job to make sure she looked her best.  You did her hair, helped her into whichever gown was chosen for the event, and applied the perfect amount of rouge to her cheeks.  As her dedicated ladies maid, you also had to cater to her every whim.  

Technically, you weren’t allowed to be friends with the lady you served but you and Joy had gotten rid of that ages ago.  As her mother rambled on about the importance of holding the family’s position in society, Joy locked eyes with you through the vanity mirror and rolled her eyes.  You had to stifle your giggle into your hand and pretend it was a sneeze in order for the other maids to ignore you. 

“Mother, the prince does absolutely nothing for me.  We would be an awful match!”  Joy whined. 

“Joy, I won’t keep telling you why you have to attend this event.  This is your last chance to catch the Queen’s eye.  If you don’t then they will choose a bride for him this evening at the ball.”

“But every eligible girl in society will also be peacocking around!  There’s no way I could ever stand out.”

“Joy!”  Mrs Park scolded with a light smack to her shoulder.  She moved away and gestured for you to continue your task.  “Ms. Y/N, please do your best work.  You are serving the potential future princess of our fine country!”

“Mother!”  Joy screeched, but Mrs Park made her way out of the room before Joy could whine much more.  “Y/N, you’d better make me look like a monster!”  

“Ma’am, I’ve heard that the Prince is a fine young man!”  You chimed in as you went back to putting small crystals into Joy’s dramatic updo.

“Oh, come on, please don’t call me that when mother isn’t around.  It makes me feel like an old maid.”  Joy pouted. 

“Of course.  Which jewelry set do you want to go with your dress?”  You waved over the other maids, who hurried over to present their offerings.  Joy perused them for a moment before pointing at a silver and blue set to complement the rich navy she had on.

“I don’t know why mother insists on jewel tones.”  Joy sighed, “She knows I prefer pastels.  All the other girls will be wearing pastels to tea!”

“Or maybe they won’t!  This is the last chance to impress the Queen before she makes the decision for him.”

“I hope she’s decided already.  I think I’d hate being married to a prince.  What if he’s dull?”  Joy sighed.

“Honestly, they probably chose his intended ages ago and they’re doing all this for the sake of some social events and entertainment,” You suggested innocently.  

Joy gasped in horror and turned to look at you.

“How dare you insult the royal family!”  She exclaimed.  Her eyebrows furrowed and your heart dropped into your stomach.  You hadn’t meant to-

Joy cracked a smile.  She giggled openly, which helped your muscles relax.  She was just joking.

“Don’t frighten me so!”

“I will never reprimand you for voicing your opinions, even about the royal family.  I believe we are well past that, don’t you?”  Joy turned back to the mirror and you got back to work on her hair. 

You were able to breathe a little better. 

Once Joy had her hair done and her jewels put on, she got up and started towards the door.  You bowed as she left and mentally ran through the list of duties you had to attend to once she left.  Tidy the closet, dust the shelves, make her bed, wash her pillow cases and-

“Oh,” Joy sighed, her hand on the doorknob, “I do wish you could come with me.  You make much better company than any of the other ladies.”

“I wish I could go too, Miss.”  The formality slipped out, but she allowed it. 

“Maybe you could go.”  Joy mused, “I could demand you accompany me in case I have a fainting spell or something.  I suddenly feel one coming on.”

She shot you a mischievous grin.  

“You just want to paint all afternoon."

For almost ten years she’d been faking fainting spells in order to either get out of an event or get you to go with her.  You were surprised that she hadn’t faked one today.  Despite the dramatic navy gown and the sparkly jewelry, Joy preferred to spend her days with you in the greenhouse painting away.  Each year for your birthday she gifted you a blank sketchbook and some pencils and often invited you to paint with her.  You weren’t nearly as good as her, but it allowed for you to have something to do together.  An even playing field.  No titles. 

“You caught me.  What can I say?  I prefer painting with my best and only friend in the ton over mingling and pretending to hope for the Queen’s approval.”  Joy mused for a few long moments.  Then, terrifyingly, her eyes lit up.  She opened the door and called out into the house.  “Mother! Y/N is joining us to the ball today!  I shall require her assistance changing into my other gown for the ball.”

“What?”  You gawked.

Joy closed the door and turned to you triumphantly.

“Crystal,”  Joy turned to one of the other maids, “Please prepare my pink and blue gown with the flowers and sapphires on the bodice for the palace with the fullest underskirt you can find.  Oh, and the pink set of jewelry that Papa gave me for Christmas!  Y/N, go prepare your best dress!  You’re going to the royal ball!”

~!~!~!~!~!~

Joy’s scheming got you right where she wanted you.  If you had the chance, you definitely would have stayed home but you were in no position to refuse her.  Joy’s mother wasn’t thrilled that you were there but at this point she knew that there were some battles you just don’t win.  

It wasn’t as if there was much for you to do at this party anyway.  Joy made you change into your event uniform, which was really just a cleaner black-and-white version of what you normally wore.  Today you wore a long black dress with a white lace apron layered over the skirt, with a white collar and cuffs.  

All well and good if the tea party wasn’t outdoors.

By all means, the temperature outside was quite pleasant unless you had to stand off to the side with the other ladies maids in direct sunlight.  All of you had delicate sheens of sweat along the backs of your necks as you waited to be summoned by your respective ladies.  Some of the maids you’d seen before and had decent friendships with.  The great part about being a maid is that almost all of them were into gossip, as if they were reading a dramatic-real life romance novel. 

“Ryujin, you’ll never believe it!”  Yuna exclaimed, “Mr Lee proposed to Lady Shim last week!  They had a few moments together in the garden and he got down on one knee and he had a ring prepared and everything!”

“How romantic!”  Ryujin squealed, “Did she accept?”

“Honestly, I’m in disbelief!  She didn’t refuse him but she said she needed time to think.  It’s possible that she’s hoping to be chosen by the Queen but she can’t be selected if she’s betrothed.”

“Have any of you actually seen Prince Minho?”  Ryujin sighed, “I mean, Mr Lee is a catch.  Why would she turn him down?”

“I saw the prince once!”  Lia, another maid into all the gossip, chimed in eagerly, “He is unbelievably handsome.”

“Oh, shove it.  You only saw the back of his head once.” Yuna rolled her eyes, “I saw him once a few weeks ago.  He is, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever set my eyes on!”

“What about you, Y/N, have you seen the prince?”  Ryujin turned the attention onto you.

“No, I’ve only heard about him from Lady Joy.  She has no interest in him.”

“Well, I think he actually plans on attending this event alongside the Queen, so hopefully we should get a glimpse of him soon!”

“Why aren’t they searching for his soulmate?  I heard that a soulmate match makes for more successful breeding.”  You asked.

“That was the purpose of these parties all month!  They’ve been bringing in all the ladies and the princesses of neighboring countries to each try their hand at being his soulmate but no one suitable has been found,” Ryujin explained, “If he doesn’t find his soulmate tonight then the Queen will choose one of the offers submitted by various other royal or noble families.”

“This is all so dull,” you sighed, “Who cares about soulmates and politics.  All we can do is watch!  At this rate I’ll die an old maid.”

“If you find your soulmate I’m sure your lady will let you marry!”  

“Only if he’s someone of my rank.”  You rolled your eyes, “It looks like Lady Joy is enjoying herself so I think I might go for a walk, care to join me?”

“Goodness, no.  I would get in trouble if I ever left my lady’s sight!”

“Well, tell her I had to find the servant’s quarters if she asks about me.” 

You didn’t know why Joy wanted you along so badly if she was only going to get caught up in the other ladies she was friends with.  You figured a turn around the gardens wouldn’t be such a bad thing, especially since no one was paying any attention to you.  Also, this might be the only chance you ever got to see the royal garden.  

Quietly, you slipped away from the other maids and turned to venture deeper in the gardens.  The party was relatively localized so there were acres of untouched flora to explore.  Maybe, if you were lucky, there would be a pond or a fountain to sit by and watch.  Something about water always fascinated you. 

The sun warmed your skin as you walked through the hedges and trees.  The cobblestone paths crunched delicately beneath your shoes.  Flowers and shrubs lined the path, allowing for a delicate floral scent to fill the air.  You sighed happily when a light breeze helped the aroma into your nose.  

By all means, this was the perfect day for a tea party.  The only thing missing was the tea.  The more you thought about it the more a cup of tea sounded wonderful, but you would have to wait for a cup until you got back to the house and put Joy to bed.

As you walked you occasionally passed by other maids or servants of the palace but they paid you no mind.  Your finer uniform gave the impression that you belonged within the palace walls, but you knew you did not.  Your family was intimately entwined with the Park family.  From birth you were predestined to be Joy’s lady's maid.  You feared that you would never do anything else. 

When you were a little girl you used to dream of entering the palace.  As a child, it was as a woman of nobility who got to wear all of the pretty dresses that Lady Joy got to wear and dance at all the balls.  However, as you got older you figured that the more realistic track would be for you to enter the kitchen and work as a servant.  There was little to no chance of changing rank and now that you were a proper soulmate-seeking adult, you had to accept your reality.  Nothing would ever change for you.

Then the gardens began to change. 

The standard hedges turned into lofty lattice structures.  The wood was painted white and the structures created square arches over the path.  Lattice fences lined the walkway as well.  Vines snaked up the structures and overhead, creating lovely shadows that helped to soothe the sweat pearling at the back of your neck.  The white gravel turned to cobblestones under your feet.

Soon, however, flowers began to appear on the vines.  As you ventured deeper into the garden, roses of every color began to decorate the lattice and the arches.  There were several stripes of color.  Several feet of white roses, then orange, then red, then purple.  The soft aroma of the roses wafted into your nose and you sighed happily.  The occasional iron bench lined the path and you had half a mind to sit down and take a rest for a while. 

“Goddamn it!”  A voice carried from a crevice in the hedges and you jumped.  The exclamation was soon followed by a loud thump and a groan of pain. 

On instinct, you gasped and went to find the source of the noise.  The second groan of pain helped you navigate the maze of lattice fences with roses on them.  The path curved into a generous arch before an opening into the center of the garden appeared.  You dipped through a circular hedge gate until you emerged into probably the most beautiful place you’d ever seen in your life. 

In the center of a generous opening was a stone gazebo with lattice fences lining it.  Those, of course, had large rose bushes wound throughout making the gazebo feel like a proper enclosed building.  A delicate trickling stone fountain of a woman pouring water into a basin sat in front.  A plethora of garden trimming tools like shears and a basket of weeds sat at the stone woman’s feet.  Along the back wall were more fences lined with roses so you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised to see the man on the ground near them. 

The man wore a pair of brown trousers and a white flowy top that hung off his shoulders and showed off his milky collarbones.  He wore a pair of black boots that went up just below his knees.  You couldn’t see his full face but you knew only from his profile that he would be beautiful.  He groaned and wiped his hands on his pants before standing back up.  He sighed and fixed his cuffs before turning and seeing you at the entrance to the small garden.  Instantly, his face morphed into one of horror and he backed away from you slowly.

“Leave immediately!”  The man commanded in a sweet and melodic voice that was a strong contrast to his barked orders, “And tell no one what you saw!”

“I… I’m sorry!”  You dipped down into a low curtsey, even though you couldn’t tell who he was.  Judging from the dirt on his pants and the trimming shears on the ground by your feet, you had something of an idea. 

“Didn’t I tell you to go?”  He asked again after you hesitated to move. 

“I do apologize but… I appear to have lost my way and-”

“You lost your way?  Isn’t it required of the help to know their way around this oppressive castle?”  The man rolled his handsome cat-like eyes and he tossed a hand through his rich brown locks. 

“I… Well, I am just visiting.”  Your throat closed as you spoke.  He glared at you, making you feel small under his intense gaze. 

“Ah, you’re just visiting then?  For the party?  Well, that makes you forgiven for your presence here.  You shouldn’t be away from your post.”  The man scoffed, making you doubt that he was serious about his words. 

“Sir, I’m truly sorry.  I got lost.  If you could tell me the way out then I will-”

“I will tell you.”  The man sighed in defeat, “but only if you tell no one where you were or what you saw.”

“Sir, no one would believe me anyway.  If you wish to escape then it’s none of my business.”  

“You are just a ladies maid, I suppose.  Fine, if you go back through the arch and turn left then-”  the man paused.  

He finally looked up at you and straight into your eyes.  You were shocked by how strangely warm his eyes were, despite the neverending glare.  The sunlight was hitting them just right and making his eyes a swirling exhibit of chestnut and gold.  The crease between his eyebrows softened after a moment before his entire face relaxed and he sighed.  

“Sir?”

“Look, I’m…”  he winced before he forced out the next words, “I’m sorry.  I am under a lot of stress right now and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“What kind of stress?”  You blurted out your question before you could stop yourself.  You knew you had to get back to your duties but something about this man kept your feet glued to the ground. 

“Have you ever had a huge obligation?  Like, something that has been planned practically since your birth that you can’t get out of?”  He paused to gauge your reaction.  You shook your head.  “I suppose not.  Anyway, it’s like there’s all this theater to pretend like my life is up to me but I know that it’s not.  I will be the subject of command my entire life and I can’t take it anymore.  I need to get out of here before it’s too late.”

“And you’re trying to climb the rose bushes?”

“Not successfully, I might add.  Those bristles are sharp.  But it’s the only place in the garden that has any sort of structure that can get me out.”

“Do you need some assistance, sir?”  You took a bold step deeper into the garden and towards the beautiful man. 

“Assistance?”  he chuckled, “You mean you would help me try to get over this fence?”

“Well, if you truly don’t want the life that’s been planned for you, why go through with it?  I believe that everyone should have a chance to live the life they want.  Granted, that’s not completely realistic in this society…”  

“It’s not?”  The man blinked at you in surprise, as if he was genuinely learning of hierarchy for the first time.

“Well, no.  Everybody has their master.  There’s no room for dreaming.  So, I think that if you have the opportunity to escape and follow your dream then you should.  What is your dream, if not this?”  You gestured vaguely to the flowers.  

“I want to live a simple life.  I want to be in control of myself and who I love.  I don’t want anyone to decide for me who I’m supposed to be with.  I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder all the time.”

“Then go!  I’m certainly not stopping you.  It looks like there’s a place to grip the fence up there, if you want me to give you a lift?”  You moved a little closer, tearing your eyes off of the beautiful stranger and up at the lattice fence.  

“You?  Want to give me a lift?  Are you sure you wouldn’t be crushed under my weight?”

“I am a ladies maid, sir, I would sooner be crushed under the laundry I must do after the ball this evening.”  

The man smiled at you.  The first warm gesture since you’d met.  For a moment, the smile almost seemed… endearing.  

You couldn’t deny that being under his gaze made you weak in the knees.  Whoever this escapist gardener was, he was handsome.  You enjoyed the sound of his voice as it wafted through the air.  It sounded sweeter than the scent of the bold blooms surrounding you.  Sunbeams that were cast through the flowers landed on his golden skin, making him practically glow.  Your time together was fleeting… and you wanted more of him.

“Come,”  he gestured with his hand for you to move closer.  You appreciated the contrast from only a few moments ago. 

You followed his command and floated closer to him.  Your feet practically moved on their own, as if you were being drawn to him like a magnet. 

“You’re so obedient when you want to be.”  He complimented.  He turned towards the wall and put his hands on his hips.  He scanned it until he found the patch of white wood that wasn’t covered in the thorny flowers or their leaves.  “I think that will work, like you said.  Why don’t you come stand right here and-”

He turned and suddenly put his hands on your shoulders.  You gasped at the contact but let him move you into position by the wall.  As he dropped his hands from your shoulders, the tips of his fingers grazed against the back of your hand.  The man stopped speaking at the skin-on-skin contact, but he also didn’t stop touching you.  His fingers lingered there for a few seconds before he pulled away entirely. 

“I’m sorry, do forgive me.  I know that was careless but-”  He began but he was cut short by a gasp.  

You both gasped at the same time when the tell-tale arousal ripped up your spine.  It was practically instantaneous how you went from completely normal to, in a matter of seconds, dripping and empty.  You watched as his trousers grew tighter as an erection swelled under the fabric.  Both of you stared at each other for a few horrible seconds.  Of all places to meet your soulmate, why here?  Why now?

Your gaze flickered from his eyes to his mouth and you almost audibly groaned.  His pretty pink lips were parted slightly and they looked shiny with spit.  All you wanted to do was taste him.  From the way his eyes flicked down to your lips, you could only assume he wanted the same.

“You?”  He breathed out. 

“I could go,” you offered, though you could barely recognize the sound of your own voice.  He stared at you for a few long seconds.

“Don’t you dare.”

Then his mouth was on yours.  No ceremony, no build-up, just pure urgency.  His hands circled your waist as he waited for you to respond to his kiss.  Your eyes were open for a second as you contemplated the new situation, but before you knew it your eyes closed and you kissed him back.  He wasted no time in twisting his head and deepening the kiss.  Your inexperience didn’t seem to bother him as he worked his mouth with yours.  

He kissed you as if his life was on the line, as if this was the last time you would ever see each other.  For a moment, you wondered if that was true.  

The thought left your mind the moment his tongue swiped at your lower lip, requesting entrance.  You wasted no time in parting your lips and pushing your tongue against his.  You wondered if he really did taste like honey or if that was the soulmate hormone talking.  Your hands curled into his hair and he moaned at the contact.  Gratefully, you swallowed every noise that came from him.  

“I need to have you now,” he mumbled against your lips, “Please, let me have you.”

“I’m yours for the taking.”  

He wasted no time at all.  

In an instant, he was pushing you into a corner of the rose garden that was just out of sight of the entrance.  There wasn’t a bench or anything to sit on and he didn’t have anything to cushion the ground, but it didn’t really matter to either of you.  The emptiness between your legs was probably going to kill you if you didn’t have him immediately, so you pulled him to the ground and straddled his lithe hips. 

He gasped in surprise when his back hit the ground, but he grinned at your enthusiasm.  The kiss broken, you worked together to get your skirts out of the way and he tugged at your undergarments.  He glared at them like they were offensive to him personally.  He shot you a quick smirk before the sound of tearing fabric met your ears.

“Hey!  I kind of need those.”  You protested.

“I want to see what’s mine.”  

He lifted his head off the ground to gaze at your dripping sex.  You wonder if he could tell how wet you were just by a little kissing.  He moved one of his hands towards your center, shooting you a quick glance as if to ask permission.  The moment you nodded, the tips of his fingers grazed your outer sex and you gasped at the touch.  The mere touch alone tasted sweet.  

His fingers explored further, slipping beneath your lips to prod at your drenched hole.  He sucked in a sharp breath when he pushed his index finger into the first knuckle. 

“Damn, angel, you’re so wet.  This is all for me, hm?”   He pulled his fingers away and you groaned at the lack of contact.  Your eyes widened when he slipped his pointer finger into his mouth and lapped at your essence.  His eyes rolled into the back of his head at your taste before he looked up at you with eyes clouded with lust.  “Angel, I wish we had time for you to sit on my face so I can drink you up but right now I think I’ll die if I’m not inside you soon.” 

Honestly, you shared the sentiment.  You reached for the laces on his britches and tugged at them.  He leaned back and watched you wrestle with his pants for a few minutes.  However, it didn’t take him long to get needy himself and soon his fingers were joining yours. 

Together, you freed the laces and pushed his pants down just enough for his cock to pop out and slap onto his lower belly.  You were thankful that his shirt had ridden up a little in your efforts.  His dick, while being the only real one you’d ever seen, looked perfect.  It was thick and long and the head was a gorgeous shape of pink that matched his kiss swollen lips.  Since turning twenty one and being told about some of what to do, you had an idea of what was about to happen.  

“Have you ever seen one before?”  He grasped his cock with one hand and stroked it a few times.  His other hand gripped your waist and maneuvered you into place above him. 

“No, I’ve only heard about them, sir.”  You gasped when something hot and wet glided through your lower lips.  

“They really don’t teach you girls anything, do they?”  He tsked and pressed the head against your dripping hole.  With how wet you were, it could have slipped right in with no resistance.  “I’m going to put it inside you now.  There might very well be some discomfort, but you’re so wet I think you’ll drown my cock, so I think you’ll be fine.”

“Please, put it in.”  You practically begged, lowering your hips and accepting him into you.

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan when the head breached your entrance and began pushing inside you.  Your swollen walls stretched to accommodate him readily.  Like he said, there was a little discomfort from the initial stretch but there was no pain.  He moved the hand that was on his dick to your waist and used both hands to help you descend onto him.  You squeezed your eyes shut and let it happen.

When your hips were flush with one another, your thighs were shaking with effort.  You dropped your hands to his chest and held on for stability.  You kept your weight off him as much as you could, aside from how your pussy was finally wrapped around his delicious cock.  

“Are you alright?”  His soft voice made your eyes snap open to look at him.  His eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his grip on you tightened.  “You need not hold yourself up.”

“I am quite heavy, sir.  I don't want to crush you.”

“Nonsense.”   He growled, pushing down on your hips hard enough for your legs to give out.  Your full weight descended onto his hips, shoving his cock deeper into you and causing you both to let out groans of satisfaction.  The pressure of him being fully sheathed inside you made you want to cry.  It was as if he’d split you open.

Instantly, he lifted a hand to press it over your mouth.  Effortlessly, he pushed his hips up, held you in the circle of his arms and rolled you so you were on your back.  He shifted his hips a little bit just to be sure he wouldn’t slip out of you while he changed your position.  Once he was over you, dick still lodged within your warm and wet walls, he leaned down to whisper against your ear. 

“We don’t want to get caught, do we?  Stay quiet while I ruin you, yeah?”  

He kept his hand across your mouth as he ground his hips into you.  You groaned against his skin as the friction sent sparks of pleasure up your spine.  All of the discomfort of being filled melted away until all you could feel was absolute pleasure.  His cock massaged your insides perfectly with every single thrust.  He was so deep you could practically feel him in the back of your throat.  

You gazed up at him through your eyelashes, watching his face as he fucked you.  Every time he pushed in, his face contorted into a beautiful picture of pleasure.  Droplets of sweat trickled down his face, giving his skin a glowing sheen.  He gazed right back down at you, locking your eyes together with every grind of his hips.  From this angle, his shirt dipped down and you could see the expanse of his collarbones and chest.  You wished you had a better angle without all these pesky clothes in the way so you could see his cock as it entered you.

You mumbled against his sweaty hand, tasting the addicting salt of him.  

“Can you stay quiet if I take my hand away, my angel?”  He moaned lowly as a particularly deep thrust made you clench around him.  You nodded rapidly and he slowly pulled his hand away.  “What is it?”

“Faster,”  you begged.  You slightly pulled your knees up and your skirts away to give him more room.  “Please, sir, want to feel you.”

“Do you think you can handle it, precious angel?”  He threw two quick, hard thrusts into your heat and you bit back a pitiful moan.  You nodded quickly at his question.

“Please, I want more.”  You parted your knees a little more and it was his turn to moan.  He buried his head in your neck so that he could not be heard outside of your bubble. 

“Since you asked so nicely,”  He groaned and he began to pick up the pace.  Each thrust made an audible noise as your skin collided.  The burn between your legs grew and you reveled in the feeling.  

“S-so good,”  you reached for him to tangle your fingers in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto, “Don’t stop, sir.”

“Never, Angel.  Never.  You feel so fucking good.  So wet and tight for me.   Just wanna be inside you all the time, never wanna pull out.  You’re mine, yeah?  All mine, just mine.”  

His hands were everywhere.  He grabbed at your neck, your chest, reached below your skirts to grab your thighs before circling up towards a distinct target.  You weren’t sure what he was doing until his fingertips were collecting your slick and circling up your slit.  You didn’t think it could get much better until he circled a spot that had you biting his shoulder to keep from moaning loudly.  He grinned and kept his efforts focused on that spot.  

The pleasure began to mount.  Something pulled taut in your stomach and your legs began to shake.  A string in your belly tensed.  Your pussy ached from his constant rough thrusting but it sent sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.  

“Sir, please… please it feels-”  You weren’t sure what you were begging for but your soulmate seemed to double his efforts.  He thrust harder and pressed a little more on the swollen bundle of nerves at your center.  

“It’s okay, angel.  Just lay back and feel.  Don’t think of anything else.  Cum for me,”  He peppered kisses on your sweaty neck and collarbones.  

You focused on the pleasure building within you.  The peak approached you quicker than you would have liked, but before you knew it something wondrous washed over you.  Your thighs clenched around him and a choked moan caught in your throat.  You grabbed onto his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin, desperate for something to hold onto as a powerful orgasm washed over you.  

Your soulmate kept pushing his thick cock into you, but he slowed down to help you ride out your orgasm without overwhelming you.  Something sticky slipped out of you and he was sure that you’d left a gorgeous white ring of cum at the base of his cock.  

His angel had given him a halo.

He moved his hand away from your clit and anchored his elbows by your head.  He landed several soft kisses on your cheeks and lips but you were too far gone to respond.  Your ears were ringing and all you could think about was the avalanche of pleasure between your legs.  Waves of your orgasm made your thighs quiver a little.  You stared at the leaves above you and the golden streaks of light that stole in from the gaps.  The world slowly formed around you.  When you met his eyes, he smiled warmly.

“There you are.”  He whispered.

“That was… amazing.”  You sighed, but it turned into a gasp as your soulmate rocked his hips into yours a few times. 

“Angel, I still need to cum, too.  We can stop if you want but I need to-”

“Yes!  Please, keep going.”  You begged suddenly.  Your walls ached from the exertion but you also craved the feeling of him inside you even more. 

“Yeah?”  He groaned lowly as he pushed into you again.  He moaned into your neck as his pace began to increase more and more.  “Good.  Fuck, angel, I can’t wait to cum inside you.  Please can I cum inside you?”

“Yes, please!”  You begged.  

You knew what could happen if he came in you and you didn’t really want that right now, but the desire and the need to feel his release inside of you overpowered every other thing in the world.  You probably wouldn’t have cared if the prince walked in on you at this point.  

Your soulmate’s thrusts began to pick up speed.  The overstimulation in your pussy stung but you gritted your teeth through it.  His moans got higher in pitch and he panted wetly against your neck.

“I’m getting close, angel.”  He grunted above you.

His thick cock speared into you over and over again.  His heavy balls slapped against your ass and you just knew that he would have a lot of cum to give you. 

Your assumption was proven right only moments later.  He groaned loudly, shoved himself as deep into you as he could go, and his milky release coated your insides.  The pressure and the warmth against your cervix made your skin tingle at the base of your spine and you figured you could probably cum again.  You reached down between your legs and gasped to find your center slick and messy.  You rubbed your fingertips around until you hit your clit.  

It only took a few short rubs before your cunt clamped onto him.  He moaned at the feeling.

He thrusted shallowly into you a few times to ride out his high and every push resulted in another generous spurt of cum inside you.  It was as if your orgasm triggered his to last longer.

Finally, he slumped against you.  He did his best to keep his full weight off you but at this angle it couldn’t be helped.  You didn’t mind.  Despite the warmth of the day and the fact that your skin was sweat slicked, you needed him close.  

Together, you laid on the ground in each other’s arms for a few seconds.  The afterglow began to set in.  You craved his body close.  It must have only been seconds because a loud voice boomed through the garden, startling you both back into the real world. 

“Where is he!  He is going to be late to his own party!  I don’t care what he wants!  He’ll be an embarrassment to the royal family if he doesn’t make an appearance!  Search the grounds, go!  Now!”  A stern voice barked.

“Oh, shit.”  Your soulmate muttered. 

In an instant, he slid out of you, stood up and worked on redoing the laces on his pants.  His nimble fingers got the job done in almost no time.  It left you to quickly gather yourself.  Your undergarments were ripped but you could tie the scraps a little to keep yourself somewhat decent.  You fixed your skirts and started to get up, but your soulmate spoke again.

“Let me.”  His soft voice sounded sweet, like the roses.

He offered you his hand and he helped you rise to your feet and brush off the leaves and petals from your skirt.  When you met his eyes, you were shocked by the grief swimming in them.

“Are you okay?”  You reached out to cup his cheek in your hand but he flinched away from your touch.

“I’m sorry, I must go.”  He turned on his heel and started out of the garden. 

“Wait… what?”  You gasped out and followed him a few steps. 

“I must go.  I’m sorry, I wish I could stay but… I’ve waited too long and duty calls.” 

“But… wait, shouldn’t we talk about this?”  You followed him to the archway that led into the garden.  He stopped abruptly, his back to you for a few seconds.  His breath heaved.  When he turned to face you, his eyebrows were hardset.

“No.  I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened.  You can’t be my soulmate.  They would never allow it.  Let’s try to forget this ever happened, okay?  It’s for the best.”  His hard voice sent a shock down your spine.

You stared at him in surprise.  He didn’t give you the time to retort before he was stalking away and disappearing into the green.  You hurried after him but quickly found that you had no idea where you were going.  The turns and the bushes all looked identical.  

Tears welled in your eyes.  The more you searched for him, the more lost you became.  You ran blindly through the garden, your dress swirling at your ankles.  The sun beat down on you and a bead of sweat dripped down your temple.  Was it sweat on your face, or tears?  Was it sweat dripping down your legs, or cum? 

You ran until you bumped into a palace maid.  Both of you cried out in surprise and fell back.  You were unable to stop yourself from crying.  The other maid scolded you for making her drop her washing, but she stopped after a moment when she noticed your hysterical state. 

“Are you alright?”  She asked tentatively. 

“I don’t know… I… my soulmate… the party!  I’m lost!  What if… my mistress… she needs me.”  You wailed, dropping your head into your hands. 

“Are you a ladies maid for one of the ladies at the party?” 

“Yes.  I only stepped away for a moment but I got lost!”

“It’s okay!  It’ll be okay, I promise.”  The maid soothingly rubbed your arm.  “Let’s get you back to the party, okay?  You’re not far.”

The maid led you through the garden.  You followed blindly, not really paying any attention to where you were going.  The garden didn’t hold as much beauty as it did a few minutes ago.  You kept your eyes peeled for the gardener.  Your soulmate.  

Like she said, it wasn’t long before soft music filled the air.  A harp, by the light, airy sound of it.  Then the murmur the guests followed.  Before anyone could come into sight, the maid turned around and stopped you. 

“You look a mess, my dear.  Let’s clean you up first.  You don’t want your lady to see you in this state, do we?”  The palace maid gently wiped away your tears and smoothed your hair.  She pulled a few leaves out of the tangled strands. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?”  You sniffled.  The maid smiled sadly. 

“My soulmate is above my standing, too, love.” 

“What?  No, it’s the gardener… he just ran off and-”

“There.”  The maid smoothed your hair one last time.  “Go on!  You don’t want to keep your lady waiting.”  

Before you could think to ask what she meant, the maid hurried back into the garden, leaving you alone with your thoughts.  

Only moments ago, you were with the person you were meant to be with but now you were alone.  Your body ached and your eyes burned from crying.  You needed a drink.  

Instead, you held your head high and ventured back into the garden where the party was in full swing.  So to speak.  A few women danced in a clearing next to the pavilion where the musicians played.  Mostly, people milled about, sipped on drinks, and snacked on hors d'Oeuvres.  The girls wore various lightly colored pastel dresses that glittered and shimmered in the sunlight.  If you were sweating in your dress, you were certain that the girls in attendance would be feeling faint.  Luckily, there were several open-air tents pitched around the garden where the girls who weren’t partaking in the festivities could rest. 

It came to no surprise to you that Joy had set up underneath one of the tents.  You made your way over to her and she waved at you the second she saw you weaving through the crowd.  You hurried to her side and you curtsied deeply in apology.

“Miss, I apologize for slipping away without saying anything first, I-”

“You what?”  Joy blinked at you in surprise.  “You know what, it’s okay.  It’s no matter.  I called you over because the prince is about to make his entrance!  I wanted you to get a good look at him.  There’s a tiny chance he’ll be my soulmate, afterall.”

“It might be nice to live at the palace.”  You cleared your throat, hoping that she wouldn’t catch on to the fact that tears still brimmed in your eyes. 

“It is quite pretty, isn’t it?  I’m not sure if I could stomach all of the royal duties.  Waving at crowds, kissing babies, the politics within the court.  How exhausting!  Maybe if he’s handsome then this wouldn’t be so bad.”  Joy sighed, “Y/N, how I wish you were a lady.  I would rather sit with you, gossip, and share this food with you.  Maybe I should have dressed you up in one of my gowns and pretended you were my cousin from out of town.”

“I’m afraid I’d be useless at one of these parties.” 

“Nonsense!  Didn’t I teach you to dance when we were teenagers?  You know all the steps.”  Something clicked in Joy’s head and she jumped.  “A-ha!  Y/N!  I had Crystal pack an extra gown and corset in case I spilled tea on this one.  After the party, let’s dress you in that!  You can attend the ball with me!  Not as a maid, but as a friend.”

“Miss!  I don’t think that would be proper.  I am only a maid and-”

“No one will recognize you!  Once you put on a gown, no one will be the wiser.  What do you say?” 

“I’m not sure if that’s wise-”

“ALL RISE.”  A voice boomed over the party. 

The music and the murmur of the crowd lulled and faded out.  A butler stood up a few stairs on a path towards the palace.  He stood tall and held a cone in his hand in order to amplify his voice.  Those who were seated scrambled to their feet, Joy included. 

“I am here to announce the entrance of the Royal Prince Lee Minho!  All bow!”  The butler screamed into the cone.  A few birds squawked and flew out of their nest that was in a tree along the back wall of the garden.

The musicians played a fanfare.  You joined in bowing with all of the guests and maids at the party.  The music swelled and you peeked up to see if you could catch a glimpse of the prince. 

His footsteps echoed on the stone path.  His pants were blindingly white but it was offset by a blood red officer's coat, adorned with a sash and multiple medals of honor.  A golden circlet crown sat atop his head.  His stoic face- wait.

That face. 

That gait. 

His cat-like eyes surveyed the crowd, taking in his subjects.  Prince Minho’s shoulders were set and broad.  There was no happiness in his face and, in fact, his eyes looked a little puffy as if he’d just woken up or if… he’d been crying.  

His face was one you knew well.  You’d know him anywhere.  It would be impossible to forget the man whose cum was currently dripping down your legs. 

Your stomach lurched and you could have sworn that you were going to throw up.  

“Lady Joy?”  You whispered. 

“Hm?”

“I’ll take you up on it.  I want to go to the ball.”  

You looked back up at the Prince to find him staring right back at you.  He showed no surprise on his face, only melancholy.  

Horror settled inside you when the realization washed over your senses.  Everything and nothing made sense all at once. 

Prince Minho was your soulmate.

Part Two ->

[peachesandcreames]

What Are We? Part 3

A/N: Any and All Military Mistakes Are My Own. I'd love to thank @mrsevans90 for helping me get the ball rolling on this installment. It would not be possible without their input and feedback!

Trigger Warnings: A Vague Disclaimer is Nobody's Friend. You and you alone are responsible for your reading material. Jake Seresin is a complete menace. I tried to tag as many as possible but it wouldn't let me tag everyone and for that I apologize. Angst in the form of parental death/drunk driving. Illusion to Goose's untimely passing. Airplane accidents. A little bit of smut because this is Jake we're talking about. I think that covers it. If I missed anything please feel free to let me know! Hearts, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ❤ Happy Reading 📚

The next morning came bright and early with Jake's alarm clock waking him. He groaned and rolled over to stop the offending noise. He slammed his hand down until he made contact and all noise ceased. Lying on his back he roughly ran his hand over his face trying to wake up, he looked out his window and the sun was barely peaking over the horizon. Today was going to be a very long day of running drills and flight plans.

Jake wished that it was you waking him up with your warm, soft lips and hands instead of his shrill alarm clock. He grabbed his phone that was sitting on his bedside table and saw that he had a missed text from you. Just seeing your name first thing in the morning brought a smile to his face. Y/N: Good Morning, Handsome. You're probably still sleeping. Call me or text me when you see this. If I don't hear from you I hope that you have a wonderful day!! xoxo Y/N

Jake tossed his phone onto his slept in bed and made his way to the head to drain the snake. His dog tags rattling around his neck and his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. He quickly took care of business and washed his hands. He was desperate to hear your voice hoping that it would make his day go by quicker. Checking the time he saw that it was only a little bit past 6 in the morning.

He wasn't sure why you were awake so early but you hadn't texted him that long ago, he dialed your number and listened to it ringing on the other end. You picked up on the 3rd ring and answered, "Hello?" "Good morning sunshine. What are you doing awake this early?" You could hear the humor in his voice, Jake knew that you weren't a morning person at all. "Oh, ya know just thought that I would be up before the sun. You do this every day? On purpose?"

Jake let out a chuckle "hazard of the job, Sweetheart. So what are you doing up this early?" You groaned that Nat had talked you into joining her on her daily juice and jog as she called it. Phoenix always starts her day with a juice cleanse and a jog and she roped you into it. You were changing into a pair of leggings and matching Tshirt plus some sensible shoes. You pulled your hair into a messy bun and resumed your conversation.

"Oh you know, trying to fit in some sister quality time before she goes to work." You took a good long hard look in the mirror and decided that you looked fine for an early morning run. You were pretty sure that muggers wouldn't care what you looked like. "Can I ask you for a favor?" "Anytime. What you got for me?" You felt awkward asking and you figured that Jake could sense that.

"You don't have to be shy around me, remember I know what you sound like when you cum. " You could pretend to be scandalized but he was in the right. "Could I drop you my location? I'd just feel better knowing that you know where I am incase anything happens. Logically, I know that nothing will but I've definitely seen one to many true crime shows and horror movies that start with this exact scenario: Hot young women go jogging and boom they either find a dead body or end up as said dead body. "You were aware that you were rambling but couldn't stop yourself.

Jake thought it was adorable but he didn't want to diminish your anxiety and he thought it was cute that you were still shy around him after everything. "Of course you can. Do you know where Phoenix is taking you?" You pulled your phone away from your ear and googled the directions. "Mission Beach Park," you let Jake know as you scrolled through the pictures. It looked really pretty and not secluded but it was still dark outside and you'd rather be safe than sorry.

You dropped your location to Jake's cell phone and he heard the ding a few seconds later. You felt a little bit of relief that someone else knew where you would be. Now that you got that out of the way, it was time to move on to why you really texted him so early in the morning. You weren't sure how to broach the subject so you just dove right in. "So, next week Nat and I are hosting a little get together at the house. It was actually Amelia's idea and Penny's too. Everyone's invited. "

You kind of let the silence fill the void, the implication being that you were looking forward to seeing him again in a more personal setting. Jake decided to put you out of your misery, "wild horses couldn't keep me away from seeing you again. " You released the breath that you weren't aware that you were holding. "Good." Jake could practically feel your smile through the phone.

Phoenix yelled up the stairs that she was going to get ready and your freshly squeezed juice was sitting on the kitchen counter. You gave him all of the information for next week's gathering and you were hesitant to end the call. "I gotta run, literally. " You let out a snort and Jake thought you were adorable and had no problems letting you know that. "You're so goddamn adorable it hurts me. "

"Oh no, we wouldn't want you to be in any pain. You might have to come over and let me kiss it and make it better. " A sly smile on your face had Jake groaning into the phone. "Don't be a tease Y/N, you know that I'll drop everything and be there so fast your head will spin. " You gave yourself a final glance in the mirror and went downstairs to the kitchen.

You saw your juice where she said that it would be and you could hear the shower running as you took a sip of the green juice. It was surprisingly good and you finished about half. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Seresin." That brought a smile to his face as he was changing into a pair of athletic shorts and tshirt, you could hear his dog tags rattling as he slid them under his shirt. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Jake tried to keep his tone light when he told you that he was joining Coyote on his run followed by breakfast in the main dining hall followed by a few flight test runs and then being debriefed. "Just a typical day, sunshine. I should be done around 6. I'd love to take you out for dinner and drinks, pick you up and take you out on a proper date. You put on your best dress and get all dolled up for me. How's that sound?"

"I know what you're trying to do here, you're trying to distract me from you training for life and death missions, Lieutenant. " That got a laugh out of Jake. "Tell me that it's working?" You begrudgingly acknowledged that yes the idea of being wined and dined by him was definitely working on you. "Good. " You heard a banging on his door and you caught bits and pieces of his conversation with Javy. "Tell Javy that I say hi and you guys have a safe flight training."

Jake could hear the worry in your voice and he hated it. "I'll see you at 7 sharp, Princess." You tried to take the fear out of your voice so that he wouldn't worry about you being worried about him. "I'm counting down the seconds" you whispered into the phone as Nat made her way further into the kitchen to put on her running shoes. You both quietly hung up and you turned to face her.

"You ready?" You nodded and grabbed your light athletic jacket and you made sure that you had your gps on and your pepper spray. You and Nat stepped out onto your front porch and she locked the door behind you. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Phoenix asked you as she did some pre run stretches and you followed suit. You looked at her warily and let her know that Jake was picking you up at 7 tonight for a date. "Oohhh, the plot thickens, " she smirked at you.

"That's not until later tonight. I think that I'll look for a job or maybe I'll go back to school. I'm not sure yet what I want to do." Phoenix nodded and linked your arms together as you started to walk together towards the beach. "I'm really happy that you're planning a future here, I honestly wasn't sure if asking you to move here and uproot your entire existence was the right thing to do but I'm willing to help you figure everything out. "

"I appreciate you offering and for everything else that you have done for me. I should plan at least one trip back home to get the rest of my stuff out of storage and finalize the sale of the house." Phoenix lightly punched you on your shoulder and you looked over at her. "You know that you don't have to do everything on your own, right? I mean I'm all for being a strong independent woman but sometimes the adult thing to do is ask for help. Let me help you."

Your sister's words brought tears to your eyes and you were too choked up to speak so you just nodded yes and hugged her. "I love you, Y/N. You're my family and the squad already considers you one of us. There's no escaping it now." That made you laugh through your tears "only a crazy lady wouldn't want to be surrounded by hot U.S. Navy men and live near the ocean. "

That elicited a groan and an eyeroll from your sister who playfully kicked you in the butt. "I should have known that would have been the deal breaker for you. " You put your hands on your hips and started jogging down the path. "Catch me if you can," you called over your shoulder and kept up a steady pace. You two jogged in comfortable silence for a few miles and made it home just as the sun was rising.

Phoenix made sure that you got home safely and got her stuff ready for work and soon the house was quiet again. You made yourself a light breakfast of egg whites and avocado toast and took a quick shower. You threw your dirty clothes into the washer and changed into a pair of shorts and tank top. You found your laptop and fired it up, you were quickly burning through what little savings you had and you desperately needed a source of income. You refused to sponge off of your sister as you browsed the help wanted section.

In your previous life back home you were going to school for nursing and working part time when your world was turned upside down. You didn't want to go back to school so work it was, you emailed a few different places with your resume and hoped that someone would reach out to you soon. You cleaned up the kitchen and switched your laundry and decided that you would need something pretty to wear on your night out with Jake. You looked at the clock and saw that it was only a little bit past noon and you figured that it was as good as a time as any to text him and ask him where he was taking you so you could decide on an outfit. Standing in the middle of your room you shot him a quick text.

JAKE'S POV:

Jake was standing in line for lunch when his phone vibrated in his shorts pocket. His morning and afternoon consisted of a 5 mile run with Rooster, Bob, Payback, Coyote and Fanboy. A few laps around the track to cool down and then they hit the showers just in time for lunch in the mess hall. His blonde hair was still damp from the shower and he was starved. After lunch they'd be practicing evasive flight maneuvers.

He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out and saw that it was you asking for hints about how fancy should you dress up. He planned on taking you to the best steakhouse restaurant in San Diego. He fired off a quick text letting you know that he thought you would look stunning in a burlap sack. Two seconds later he got your response : not at all helpful, Seresin. Coyote was standing behind him and trying to look over Jake's shoulder to see who he was texting.

You had it narrowed down to a few different options and decided to send Jake some pictures and let him decide on which outfit was your best look. Unaware that Javy was still looking over Jake's shoulder he opened the picture messages and Coyote let out a wolf whistle. "Yo, who's the hottie sending you sexy pictures?!" Jake quickly put his phone back into his pocket but it was too late, the damage was done. All of the guys swarmed Jake trying to figure out who you were. Rooster and Phoenix walked in and saw the guys huddled around Jake.

"What's going on?" Phoenix asked and they all turned to look at her. Javy was the first to spill the beans, "Hangman has a hottie sending him sexy pictures and he won't share." If looks could kill there would be five mortally wounded men in the mess hall. Rooster glanced over at Phoenix and elbowed her in the side, "ain't that your sister, Y/N?" Phoenix slowly nodded her head and as she was walking towards them they at least had the common decency to scatter. "Before you attempt to rip me a new asshole she's not sending me nudes, she's asking for my opinion on outfits for our date tonight. "

That seemed to appease Phoenix as Jake showed her the pictures that you just sent him. "Tell her to go with the LBD and the black stilettos. " Jake quickly replied that he wanted to see you in that little black dress and sexy heels. With that decided the squad sat down and dug into their food. "What's on the agenda for after lunch?" Coyote asked Rooster. "We're going up in groups of four and practicing different counter strikes, basically the last two pilots flying are the winners. "

Hangman and Coyote fist bumped each other "Y'all might as well forfeit because you're looking at the winners right now. " That got a collective groan from the dagger squad as they made their way to their respective quarters to change into their flight suits. As they strode out onto the tarmac and waited for Maverick and the rest of the instructors to arrive Jake sent you one more text that he couldn't wait to see you tonight. Your reply was pretty much instantaneous: the feeling is completely mutual. See you soon 😉. The first four pilots got into their fighter jets and taxied down the runway.

Jake, Coyote, Phoenix and Bob were next. Everything was going according to plan, Hangman was in his element in the sky until he made a move to counteract Phoenix's attack and the sun was in his eyes and he didn't see the incoming flock of birds getting sucked into his plane's engine and everything started going haywire and he couldn't get it back under control. The next thing he knew was going into a spin and all of the fighter jets alarms started going off. "Pull up!" Coyote shouted at Jake as he struggled to bring it back under control. "I can't! All systems are in failure!! Eject!! Eject!! Eject!!"

Y/N POV

It was getting closer to 7 pm and Jake should be here any second now. You curled your hair and pulled it into a loose pony tail, you sprayed enough hair spray to put another hole in the ozone layer and once you were satisfied that not even a hurricane could move your hair you moved to put the finishing touches on your makeup. You went with a classic cat eye and fire engine red lipstick, you were spraying some perfume and getting your black clutch that matched your outfit and you heard the doorbell. You smiled as you grabbed a black leather jacket and made your way downstairs and opened the door expecting to see Jake but it was Maverick and Hondo instead. Your smile faltered and you felt your stomach sink.

"Hey Pete, Hondo. Is everything okay? Is Jake running late and he sent you to keep me preoccupied until he gets here?" Pete couldn't look at you and Hondo had his head down. Pete shook his head and cleared his throat, "I'm really sorry Y/N, earlier today we were flying flight maneuvers and patterns and there was an incident involving Hangman and Coyote. They lost contact with the control tower and ejected somewhere over the desert. Their GPS gave their last known location but it's not exact coordinates. Search and Rescue are out looking right now. "

You couldn't hear Pete but his lips were moving and Hondo looked to be on the verge of crying. You couldn't breathe, your chest felt tight and it hurt to inhale. Pete made a move to step inside your house and it all went silent. You must have dropped the stuff that you were holding but you didn't realize it. You tried to shove past them but they gently stopped you.

"No, I...we...he....had plans...." you weren't sure when you started crying but you were on the verge of hysterics and everything was happening at lightning speed while you felt like you were sinking in quicksand. Their words running through your head: Jake...Coyote....accident...desert....search and rescue. You couldn't focus, you couldn't breathe. You just knew that you couldn't sit here and wait for word if they were alive or dead. You must have made it to your room to change into jeans and a sweater.

It gets cold at night in the desert and you couldn't help but think are they hurt? Are they cold? Are they injured? Are they... no. Not possible. You wouldn't allow yourself to entertain the thought. You were frantically looking for a flashlight that you had somewhere and you found it under a pile of clothes, you saw Jake's brown bomber jacket and you grabbed that too. You ran down the stairs and grabbed your car keys sitting in the dish by the door.

Pete was chasing after you but you were quicker than him and Hondo. You got in your car and drove as fast as you could towards the base. "Shit, Hondo we have to get there before Y/N. She doesn't have the credentials to get on base and she's not thinking clearly. Text Phoenix and let her know that Y/N is headed that way. "

Hondo nodded and let Phoenix know that you knew what happened and were driving like a bat out of hell. The ride to the base was quiet and somber, Phoenix let them know that she was waiting for you at the gate. "Do you think that they're ok?" Pete took his eyes off the road for a split second and shook his head. "I honestly don't know, I really hope that they are. Y/N and Phoenix lost their parents not too long ago in a drunk driving accident. I don't think that Y/N would be able to recover losing someone who she cares about so soon after...."

You somehow made it to the base in record time without being pulled over for speeding. You barely put the car in park and jumped out leaving the keys in the ignition and the drivers side wide open. Pete and Hondo pulled in after you, "Y/N! Wait!" Their pleas fell on deaf ears and you barely recognized your sister standing at the entrance. "Natasha!! You were flying with him and Javy!! What happened?!" Pete parked your car in the visitors area and pocketed your keys and followed you onto the base and into a waiting vehicle designated to take you to the search and rescue site. "I'll fill you in on the way but you have to promise me that you'll stay out of the way and let the professionals do their job, promise me?"

You couldn't speak so you weakly nodded yes. Nat filled you in without going into to much detail. You felt stupid and weak for crying in front of your sister and her superiors but you didn't care. You couldn't lose Jake so soon after losing your parents. You made it to command central, military personnel and ATVs were scouring the desert.

Nat led you to the makeshift shelter that they had set up. It was at best controlled chaos and pandemonium. Radio chatter and flood lights overwhelmed your senses. You were numb and just standing under the white canvas tent staring into the inky darkness. You felt more than saw someone slip a wool blanket over your shoulders and hand you a cup of coffee.

You glanced over and saw that it was Rooster. He gave you a sad smile, you took the coffee into your ice cold hands and quietly thanked him. You took a sip and grimaced at the black bitterness but it was just what you needed. It was beginning to thaw out your hands and you were grateful. "We don't have to talk but just so you know I'm here for you. "

You were too overwhelmed with emotions to thank him but you hoped that he could tell you appreciated him and his efforts. Rooster led you over to a chair and you all about collapsed. Rooster sat next to you and ran his hand over your back in comfort. You had a million different questions and you wanted to ask but you thought it would be inconsiderate. You had a death grip on your coffee cup and your leg was bouncing wildly.

Rooster's big hand was on your leg trying to cease your jumpy movements. You put your hand over his and held on so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. There was a lull in the commotion and you could hear excited chatter throughout the crowd of military personnel. ".....found the wreckage ..... ejected....no sign of......bringing in trackers...."

Your head snapped up at the mention of trackers being brought in to help with the search. You looked at Rooster with hope in your tear stained eyes and he didn't have the heart to tell you that it wasn't always a good sign. He didn't have it in him to add to your heartbreak. "What does that mean? That's good, right? They walked away from the crash? They're still alive?!" Rooster silently pleaded with Maverick and he came and sat on your other side. "It's too early to tell but we should know something soon."

Dejected and overwhelmed with worry you felt a fresh set of tears forming behind your eyes. You were starting to succumb to exhaustion and fatigue. Your eyes drooping shut, you just decided to close your eyes and rest your head on Rooster's shoulder. Soon enough you let the comfort of darkness consume you completely with one last thought of Jake and Javy. Please let him come back to me.

~fin~

@tess-love @erindiggory @luna-lovethegood @scarlettwidow19 @ilack3 @imlilconcerned @sarahwasfound @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @mini-bee-bee @supergirl000983 @mrsevans90 @trickphotography2 @jakeyzzz @jessa-21 @madisonmg @these-books-are-ruining-my-life @1111zxc @topgunfan1986 @tess-lecter-blog @tgmavericklover @hangmandruigandmav @hookslove1592 @the-romanian-is-bae @kyliesalvatore @runningawayfromsociety @awhitemanswhoresblog @halibshepherd @atarmychick007 @86laura11 @rockstxr-x @kissmunalodz @crispycitrus @dizzybee03 @caitsymichelle13 @bellaireland1981 @blah-blah-blah-bla @mamachasesmayhem @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @beautifulandvoid @rosiahills22 @erindiggory @tonkatesuramen @fandom-life-12 @tootser98 @ellianwhite @mamaskillerqueen @kyliesalvatore @toobouquet

[ghuleh-recs]

Hey did you know one of my favorite people was born today?! It's @ramblingoak's birthday and it feels very fitting to me that she gets the first mixtape: volume two (you can find vol. 1 here)! As per usual, I have compiled a list of some of my favorite fics to celebrate Oak Day.

Where to even begin with Oakie? Well you'd be hard-pressed to find a more supportive person in this entire fandom. She's an incredible friend who always ALWAYS has a kind word to add in the tags and/or a sexy photo of papa to brighten your day when you need it most. If that weren't enough, Oak is a truly wonderful writer. I dare you to find a collection of works that feel more cinematic. I reread her writing whenever I need to feel something™—which is to say: often.

All that to say: Oakie I adore you and hope you have a fantastic birthday. Everyone go leave some kudos and comments as a lil gift. Or maybe even a birthday tip!!

recs under the cut.

Clockwork Hearts - Copia x Reader T, 3.7k

The Ghost universe set in a world of machines and magic. This takes place in a new alternate universe series I'm working on, Clockwork Hearts. Eventually there will be a Copia x Reader main story but for now I've been working on small little fics that take place in that world and I'll be adding them here.

Wholesome Headcanons - Primo Thinking About His Brothers - Primo G, 1.3k

Someone on Tumblr asked for any wholesome Papa headcanons I had and I rambled about how Primo felt about his younger brothers. Perhaps a spiritual sequel to Dumbasses.

Naps With Copia - Copia x Reader G, 8.9k

Just a series of drabbles/ficlets featuring you napping with Copia throughout the abbey.

The Repugnant - Mary Goore x Reader E, 4.6k

Your father always warned you that you were too curious for your own good. After hearing rumors of the pirate ship The Repugnant in the area you snuck out of your father's villa to try and get a peek at the dreaded pirate and his crew of monsters. But what happens when Captain Mary Goore gets a peek of you first?

Tales From Lucifer's Hollow - everybody x everybody E, 15.6k

Short snippets of what life is like for the ghouls and humans that live in the picturesque (and Satanic!) town of Lucifer's Hollow. This is an alternate universe series I'm working on that will feature lots of drabbles and one-shots here as well as longer fics focused on particular pairings in the future. To begin with most of these will be based on the prompts for Mushy May on Tumblr.

Another Round - Secondo x Reader E, <1k

Just some all night worship with your Papa…

To Tease A Cardinal - Copia x Reader E, 3k

While your Cardinal is away on tour you can't help but tease him from the comforts of his own bed…

Shooting His Shot - Terzo x Omega E, <1k

It's the Winter Olympics and Omega gets distracted hearing his favorite ABBA song playing nearby…

Copia on ICE! - Copia x Reader E, 14.8k

At what would probably be your final Winter Olympics you needed to focus on realizing your dream of winning gold. You definitely didn't need to start a whirlwind romance with world famous speed skater Copia Emeritus…

Suggestions - Copia x Swiss T, 1k

From a prompt list on Tumblr, an Anon wanted Papa x Swiss with a kiss "as a suggestion"! a very thorough kiss with some suggestive stuff after hehe

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

You've always got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[artsyhamster]

And we've reached the end! I cannot believe we made it but here are the final four. :)

You know the drill by now, explanations and ramblings underneath the cut :D

(1) THE FOOL / THE MAGICIAN / THE HIGH PRIESTESS |

(2) THE EMPRESS / THE EMPEROR / THE HIEROPHANT |

(3) THE LOVERS / THE CHARIOT / STRENGTH |

(4) THE HERMIT / WHEEL OF FORTUNE / JUSTICE |

(5) THE HANGED MAND | DEATH | TEMPERANCE |

(6) THE DEVIL / THE TOWER / THE STAR |

(7) THE MOON / THE SUN / JUDGEMENT / THE WORLD

THE MOON - As I mentioned in the previous set, I had The Star and The Moon exchanged at first. Colorwise I found the Balcony Smoker to be more fitting but descriptionwise.... "[The fool's] bliss (...) makes him vulnerable to the illusions of the Moon" fit Klaasje more. I feel like Harry related to her on a level and of course was drawn to her beauty, and fell for her deception. Or well at least I did lol. Although I don't even want to call it deception, more like...obfuscation in self-defense. Klaasje on the rooftop staring at a moon seemed like a nice visual image too.

THE SUN - I had. So much trouble. Filling this role. Since The sun stands for everything warm and joyous. "It enlightens, so the Fool both feels and understands the goodness of the world." And it's pretty hard to find something joyous in Revachol. I almost chose Ruby just for the orange aesthetics and the sort of... enlightenment. But considering she might shoot herself in the head, I refused to put her in the role of the sun. I wanted to save the Insulidan phasmid for THE WORLD at first, but I am damn happy I let go of that thought. Especially since the story starts and begins with the fool anyway. SO YEAH. I love this stick bug.... I cannot describe it. After you go through this whole bleak game, filled with death, misery, failure and coldness you find this...walking wonder. And the soundtrack to this encapsulates it so well, too. The phasmid scene always fills me with so much happiness T_T

JUDGEMENT - Also one of the the cards that were pretty clear to me from the beginning. Trant looks pretty menacing here but I love it lol. I added a small Harry, because under the judging eyes of his colleagues, everyone would feel small. "The Fool has been reborn. His false, ego-self has been shed, allowing his radiant, true self to manifest." The radiance is debatable, but Harry definitely went through a lot of development in the past few days and hopefully he came out a better person. He isn't absolved of his past mistakes and further judged on those, rather he is judged on the things he did right. And I don't know, what I like about Harry in general is that he is an absolute fuckup but if you give a person the right support and faith in them to be better, they can. If you keep reminding people only of the things they've done wrong, you are taking their room to grow, by defining them as an irredeemable failure.

THE WORLD - "The Fool reenters the World, but this time with a more complete understanding. He has integrated all the disparate parts of himself and achieved wholeness. He has reached a new level of happiness and fulfillment." Well, what can I say. Our fool Harry started this journey full of ignorance but he opened his eyes to the mistakes of the past and learned from them, and is now hopefully ready to tackle life anew. And I love the last sentence of The Fool's story: This cycle is over, but, the Fool will never stop growing. Soon he will be ready to begin a new journey that will lead him to ever greater levels of understanding. While this chapter of his life is over, there'll be new stories to be told. Setbacks and more opportunities to grow, and only time will tell where his journey will lead him this time.

Thanks to everyone who followed me and Harry on this journey and read through my ramblings. Also thanks for all the lovely tags & comments, it was an absolute pleasure reading through these. <3 Much Love!

[thirteenemeraldcats]

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣