#she is standing on a crate to be the same height as him

[personinthepalace]

My Lady Jane - Behind the Scenes

[acotarxreader]

Other Worlds

Azriel x reader

Synopsis: Nesta accidentally pulls you from our realm into theirs and a certain Spymaster can't help but be enamoured.

Original Request: "So I was wondering if you could do like Reader is from the modern world but ends up in the ACOTAR world, and ends up like falling in love with one of batboys."

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of cuts from a fall, my silly wordplay

A/N: I loved writing this, it really had me in my silly sense of humor (at one point Azriel is jealous because he thinks Xanax is a person) and just like also so happy to have written my first request! I hope you like it Anon and tolerate my silliness.

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“Do you think she’s dead?”

“Hard to say, you fall that height and would expect it” Nesta gently rocked the body back and forth with the sole of her shoe and you groaned.

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t practice without Amren Nesta” Feyre bit out.

“And how was I supposed to know that a human would fall out of the sky? And besides, I did catch her before she hit the ground” Feyre gave a huff to her sister’s bored tone. 

“But not before all the trees Nesta”

“Details, details”

“Rhys is gonna kill you, we have to move her before he finds out” Feyre got level with your marbling body, sticks and leaves sticking out of your hair from your fall through the canopy above. Nesta folded her arms across her chest in protest as Feyre rolled you onto your back, a deep whimper escaping your throat.

“Well she’s not dead”

“For now” Nesta raised an amused eyebrow before rolling her eyes and squatting to lift your feet as Feyre caught your shoulders with her own disapproving look. 

“Her clothes are so odd, is it continent fashion?”

“Hard to say, the material on her legs is so…dense?” Nesta replied, a thumb rolling over the cuff of your jeans, your Doc Marten burying into her sternum.

The two sisters carried your weak body through the hillside towards the cabin they had retreated to for a break from the Illyrians. They reached the humble home after a small uphill climb in the Winter air and gently placed you down on the couch again. The two stood then at the foot of the couch, unsure of what to do next with their new house guest, a thud from outside followed by a swear interrupting their thoughts. 

“Shit it's Azriel with the food supplies you forgot”

“You forgot” Feyre returned

“Whatever, here help me cover her” The two sisters sheathed you in a thick woollen blanket as Azriel pushed through the door causing the females to shoot straight up, standing shoulder to shoulder to try to hide you behind them. 

“Hey, I dropped a bottle of liquor on the path sor- what are you two doing?” he looked suspiciously at the two, plopping the crate of food down by the mouth of the door. 

“Nothing!” their heads snapped to one another at the same time, cursing their simultaneous reply. 

“You two have the same look on your face that Cassian had when he was trying to hide the blood ruby he got from Summer Court after his experiment with arson” he gave a laugh that turned nervous when the females didn’t do the same, another almost panicked glance shared between them. 

“Well if that’s all Az, thanks for coming” Feyre made a quick movement to Azriel, catching his shoulders and turning him back towards the door, Nesta taking a wide stance to try to obscure more of you. 

“Fucking hell” your voice rattled out in pain as you pushed to sit up, the wool sinking down to your lap as your heavy hand found your bleeding head. Azriel’s eyes grew to nearly the width of his skull as he looked frantically between Nesta and Feyre. 

“She did it!” they said in unison again, pointing to one another. 

“Oh Rhys is going to kill you” he whispered angrily, moving to the couch as Nesta sidestepped, throwing an anxious look at Feyre.

“Whe-re the fuck a-m I? What happ-ened?” your hand traced through your thick hair, branches catching in the locks. You squeezed your eyes together tightly, trying to bring the cozy cabin into focus before swinging your legs to the ground and supporting your weight with one arm. Your movement went entirely still as you looked up to find the three members of the Night Court staring at you with matching bewilderment. 

“Am-am I dead?” Your stare landed on Azriel’s wings, conclusions forming quickly.

“No unfortunately not” Feyre elbowed Nesta into the ribs as Azriel analysed your whole figure with his hazel eyes, his shadows swirled around his feet until they wrapped around yours. Your shriek of pure terror caused them to dash back to their master. 

“You're okay!” Azriel tried but it was too late, you were in full panic mode, your system shutting down in utter distress until you felt your blood pressure hit the soles of your feet after hitting the ceiling, sending you into a loss of consciousness. 

“Nice going you big bat, you killed her” Azriel gave a dirty look towards Nesta, her eyes rolling for the thousandth time that day. 

“Send for Madja-”

“-Rhys will kill Nesta for this”

“Well I think her little magic trick will die without her” Feyre folded her arms into her chest, weighing up the options. 

“We could give her the tonic that's here, let her heal without everyone gawking at her at home. I’ll go back with Nesta and explain, by the time we’re here again perhaps she’ll be healed and Amren will be home from her travels and can send her back” 

“And am I supposed to play healer Feyre?”

“Well you have more experience with healing because of the battlefield than us and besides, Nesta isn’t known for her bedside manner” Azriel sighed before rubbing a hand across his face at Feyre’s logic, she showed him how you got here in his head to help her point.

“Okay fine, go but if she dies, I’m not to blame” They nodded in agreement, taking another look at your floppy body before heading for the door with their things, kicking the box of supplies out of the way. 

Azriel lifted your legs slowly back onto the couch before fetching a dish full of mountain water and healing tonic. He hovered the cloth over one of your large gashes that had cut straight through your straight-leg jeans. He looked over your body, unable to hide his curiosity towards the university logo decorating your sweatshirt, the deep purple colouring at the very ends of your hair as well as the multiple pieces of metal piercing through your ear's cartilage. Despite the series of cuts and bruises generously coating you, Azriel believed you might be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and you were entirely out for the count. 

He sighed, dropping the cloth back into the dish and going to make tea with another healing concoction. He rolled his shoulders back and tucked his wings in as tight as possible to minimise their appearance before gently tapping your shoulder to bring you around. When that didn’t work, he fetched one of Cassian’s training boots and ran it beneath your nose, you stirred immediately. You went to shoot up in shock, his strong steady hand, gently pressing you back down. 

“You’re okay, you…you just fell but you’re okay.” he said as softly as possible, the ease of his voice unable to settle the rising worry across your face. 

“I-I fell?” he gave you a small nod, not entirely a lie he thought to himself. 

“Fucking hell my head-” you once again ran your hands down your face, the dry blood slightly flaking in the movement “-do you have any paracetamol or something?”

“Para-what-almol?” Azriel’s eyebrow raised in question before he reached for the tea he made for you from the small table behind him. You removed your hands from your face and looked towards the squatting Illyrian, taking in the beautiful male in front of you, pain being replaced by embarrassment. You pushed up despite his disapproval look, returning to the same position you were in before you fainted.

“Sorry, I should-I should go? Emm…where are we?” 

“This is Velaris”

“Velentia?! How did I get here?!” You shot to your feet in surprise, the blood rushing and sending you shakenly back to the soft fabric almost as quickly. 

“No, I’m not sure where that is but you’re not there, here take this” he passed the cup with a half laugh and you looked down unconvinced. 

“No thanks man, not here to be poisoned” Azriel scoffed in slight offense as he watched you wince to put it back on the small table. You look down at your freshly ripped jeans, your fingers tracing the fresh wounds. 

“I’m Azriel” His voice brought your eyes back to him as he passed you the soaked cloth, allowing you to run it over the gashes. 

“YN” You gave a small smile back, fighting the singe of the elixir. 

“YN? That’s an odd name”

“You say that as if there’s an Azriel at every petrol station in town” You half laugh, more questions entering Azriel’s head than answers. Azriel rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen with the abandoned groceries as you finished with your leg, starting on your forehead. 

“No paper here or something?” Azriel looked towards you as you took the cabin in in all its glory, Feyre’s artwork the object of your marvelling. 

“They’re Feyre’s, she was here earlier. She went a bit mad up here when she found out Rhysand was her mate”

“Mate? Oh she’s like Australian?”

“What? You speak in riddles” he laughed, joining your side on the couch with his own cup of tea. You looked at it with an air of hunger, not unnoticed by the Spymaster, he looked from the cup to your face. 

“You can drink it YN, it’s not poisoned, here look I’ll take a sip” You watched him take a taste before offering it back to you where you took it from him, its fresh floral taste having an almost reviving effect, you drank it almost one gulp. 

“Now, I’m afraid you can’t go home just y-”

“Fuck I knew it! What’s in this tea?! I’m being kidnapped!” You shot towards the door, almost knocking the dish of water all over the floor, sending Azriel swearing. You reached your exit and with a wave of his hand, Azriel locked it from the inside.

“YN, no one is going to hurt you, you just, this is going to be hard to explain, one of my…friends brought you here by accident” You still tried to pull on the knob of the door, glancing from it to Azriel as he stood to close the distance.

“Stay back! I know self-defence!” Azriel couldn’t hold his laugh at the small human girl before him threateningly looking at him. He went to catch your arm softly, only for you to send your heavy-booted Doc straight into his instep, followed by the base of your palm up and into his nose, the shock of your sudden movement catching him off guard. He groaned slightly reaching for his nose as it bled, missing your hand reaching for the keys in your pocket and the mace on the keychain. Azriel roared at the feeling of the spray of chemicals burning into his eyes, sending him onto the floor writhing in pain.

“Fuck! Fine! Die in the snow!” He shouted out, waving his hand and releasing the door. You hardly heard him, whipping the door back as the now night air lashed in near-freezing gails of icy snow. You fought the tornado of air as you put the oak door between you and it, sliding down the wood to the ground, your body screaming in pain still from the fall. Azriel sat up, still blinking hard to clear the burning liquid. 

“And you thought I’d be the one to use poison” A breathy laugh left him as his red eyes watered and you found yourself matching his smile.

“I promise I won’t kill you, if you don’t kill me” he gave you a genuine look and for some reason you felt such a wave of trust hit you. You agreed, too tired to run from him or face the snow and you rolled your head along the door before looking back at the Illyrian, tracing your eyes along his linen shirt and leather pants

“Are you in a motorbike gang or something?”

“Gods I hope you start making sense soon” he pushed up from the ground, doing his best to not untuck his wings for balance. You looked up at him and reluctantly took the hand he offered, noting the deep scaring covering them like burls on a tree. He followed your eyes to his hands before he gingerly took them back to replace them across his still-stinging eyes. Azriel threw himself back down on the couch and you followed suit.

“I’m sorry about the-” you gestured to your own eyes and he gave a small laugh.

“It’s okay, I’m impressed a human would have such speed, to be honest”

“Human? And what are you a fish?” 

“No” he didn’t return your laughing tone, only reaching for your disregarded cloth and placing it over his eyes. Your hand ran down the side of your jeans until you retrieved your phone, the screen fully destroyed from your dance with the trees. 

“Great” you sighed, throwing it down on the table, Azriel watching the action. 

“Nesta couldn’t save your mirror from the fall?”

“Nesta? Rhysand? Azriel? No one called like Dave around here?” 

“Not really the fashion in Prythian” he smiled.

“Prythian? Like from the children's stories?” you chuckled at him.

“No, Prythian like the realm” he tossed the cloth back into the dish, the red in his eyes subsiding. 

“My mom used to tell me stories about Prythian and these like great bat boy warriors with these really big-big-win…” you trailed off as you looked to see the shape of Azriel’s wings over his shoulder. 

“Really big? Well, thanks for the flattery” He laughed aloud as your face greyed. 

“Fuck, it’s happened, studying for my physics final has finally driven me insane, this is all in my head, a stress-induced dream” Azriel reached to your thigh and gave you a gentle pinch following your matter-of-fact speech, causing you to flinch a little.

“Okay so not a dream…”

“Not a dream, my brother’s lovely ma-wife’s sister, pulled you through a sort of rip in the realm and landed you here…not very carefully might I add” He said softly so as to not have you black out again, you nodded very very slowly to his words. You faced away from him, fixing your stare on the smashed phone, you thought of your physics lectures. The theories of tears in the fabric of time being possible, the possibility of alternative realities, the possibility of unexplored realms before settling finally that this wasn’t a possibility, this was a reality. 

“So, okay, right-” you bit your lip, working through the thought, Azriel trying to push the shiver down his spine away at that action “-okay cool, right, so I’m gonna need like an excuse note or something for the exam and then, right, cool, Xanax maybe”

“Is Xanax a friend of yours who can help?” Your head shot towards Azriel at his genuine question and you let a roar of laughter leave you. 

“Definitely although I don’t think they’re here somehow” you offered with a smirk, Azriel feeling a weird sense of jealousy at not being the object of this smile. 

“Well, we’ll make do and try to get you home” You nodded sheepishly to him.

“Do you not want to go home YN? You seemed pretty eager when you tried to break my nose earlier” he smiled and you gently knocked into his shoulder playfully. 

“I mean…I’m not in a rush to get back to the test” 

“Okay well, it will be a day or two before my friends are back and Rhys has calmed down over Nesta bringing you to greet us so you’ll have time. As for now, care to have something to eat? You can help me make it so we both know neither is trying to poison the other” he gave a light laugh while standing again, and you followed him along to the kitchen. 

For the rest of the night, the both of you spent your time cooking, laughing and teaching one another about your worlds. Azriel explained the Courts, his role and his family’s as well as giving a shortened version of their relationships with one another. In return, you told him about your studies, what Instagram was and how democracy works. Azriel wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such strong feelings towards someone he’d just met before and it confused him almost as much as what microwaves were. 

“Here you go, a glass of our best liquor, you deserve it” Azriel passed you the tumbler as you sat cross-legged on the couch beneath the woollen blanket you were previously hidden under.

“Oh slay”

“No, I didn’t kill anything to get this for you” You almost choked on the drink with the laugh that left you at his confused words. 

“No Azriel it’s like-actually maybe I’ll explain drag culture to you another day” He nodded eagerly at the prospect of learning more, sinking into the couch alongside you with his own drink. 

“So have you girlf-mate type person like Feyre and Rhys?”

“No, no girlf-mate type person-” he teased back and you sighed, clipping him with the pillow from under your elbow “-do you?”

“Nope, to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be missed from home, I lost my parents young and never really found my flock at college either” you shrugged. 

“How could anyone not miss you YN?”

“You have to say that, you’re my captor”

“Actually Nesta captured you, I’m just minding you-” You returned his smirk “-speaking of which, time for sleep, tomorrow they should be back to figuring getting you home for your exam” you whined like a misbehaving child but you’d been fighting off sleep since dinner so agreed with him.

He lead you to his room in the cabin before offering you one of his clean linen shirts and leaving you to sleep. You practically swam in the fabric, with no wings or Illyrian muscles to fill it out, feeling the same way about the colossal bed that you slipped into. You looked up at the ceiling where Feyre had painted delicate little consolations, the day washing over you, had all your prayers finally been answered? You smiled as you gave into the sleep that hunted you all day.

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“We are sending her back!”

“Amren can’t guarantee she’ll end up in her realm, she’s not going anywhere!” You wiped the sleep from your eyes, Azriel's blunt tone waking you from the best sleep of your life.

“She can’t stay here Az!”

“And what if she ends up somewhere a lot worse, she coul-oh YN you’re awake” You looked from the doorway between the two gorgeous Illyrians. 

“This is Rhysand”

“Oh, your majesty I suppose” you did a half bow after stepping closer to the males, a small laugh leaving Rhysand at the action. 

“Don’t flatter him YN”

“YN, flatter me if that would make you happy” he grinned, Azriel rolling his eyes. 

“You’re exactly as described” You shrugged at him, settling down on the couch between where the lllyrians stood

“I would like to apologies for Nesta’s…interuption to your day to day life and more so for…probably being all Nesta when you woke up” Rhysand offered, Azriel folding his arms tightly across his chest as he inspected you closely, you in his shirt may now be his favourite sight. Rhysand watched the slight change in his brothers demanour at your presence, this increasing his worry. 

“Now YN, it’s time we get you back to-”

“-I heard you guys say you can’t say for certain I’ll get home” you cut across Rhysand, his eyes darting back to you, Azriel trying to bury his smirk.

“I’m confident we know how to get you there”

“Okay cool, so Feyre will accompany me” 

“What?” Rhysand bit out.

“Well its just if you’re so sure you’ll get me in the right spot, surely you’ll have no issue allowing Feyre to accompany me yanno, since you’re confident” Azriel lost his battle in holding in his smirk. 

“She’s got you there Rhys, if one of us wouldn’t do it, why should she?”

“Because she doesn’t belong here” Rhysand chewed out, locking eyes with his brother.

“She is sitting right here and she isn’t going near any wormhole or whatever if you’re not sure I’d get there safe” You forced his attention back to your with your sharp words.

“Who said anything about worms?”

“YN has a habit of speaking in riddles” Azriel sat alongside you, giving you a somewhat proud smile, his arm instinctively resting on the back of the couch behind you. 

“YN, I’m sure you’re great but I can almost guarantee that our world is vastly different to yours, it’s a lot to take on for your mortal mind, perhaps we could arrange a home for you in the mortal realm?” you tilted your head side to side weighing up his offer before Azriel replied for you.

“I can teach her our ways, I can school her like you did Feyre” Rhysand sighed out but couldn’t deny the way Azriel looked at you and you at him was deeply familiar to him. 

“Fine, a week, you may stay a week and if it doesn’t work out then the mortal realm it is, we’ll set you up with a nice manor and you’ll live very comfortably”

“Like Downton Abbey?” you teased despite your audience.

“I’m not familiar with that region”

“Is that where the drag culture is?”

“Of sorts” you laughed at Azriel and his quizzical words, his hazel eyes so enamoured by the sight, further cementing Rhysand’s suspicions. Rhysand sighed deeply ensuring you agreed to the terms and to be taught by Azriel before he left to continue to reprimand Nesta. 

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Over the next week it became abundantly clear that despite being from two different realms, you and Azriel were made for one another. You both had the same humor and intelligence as well as thirst for knowledge. You continued to teach him about your home and he taught you about the new world around you and the more you learned the less you wanted to leave. On your first day in Velaris, you thought your heart may burst with the growing love for the place and even more so for your guide. 

“And then Cass completely blew the building up, I thought the vein was going to burst in Rhysand’s head” Azriel tilted his head back and laughed loudly while you both crossed the bridge of the Sidra, your last official day in the Night Court before you had to decide. Somewhere along the way, Azriel and your hands became interlocked and forgot to separate.

“You live such insane lives here”

“And you could too” he stopped you in your tracks, his eyes warming over your body as he looked down on you, the sinking sun reflecting off of the snow. 

“Maybe with less arson though” he added with a grin you loved so much. 

“Az, I’d love to stay but-”

“-No, just say ‘Az I’d love to stay’ and leave it there” he fought his faltering smile as you looked down at his shoes, both hands held in his now. 

“But Az-” you couldn’t find the end of the sentence, the words lost on Azriel’s lips as they met yours with such searing passion. His mouth slotted over yours with such a perfect fit it was like they were always meant to be there. You stood further on your toes to deepen the kiss as his hands traced around the nape of your neck and yours landed around his torse. You separated when the need for air almost matched the need to never let go. 

“I-I can’t remember the end of my last thought” you laughed lightly and he grinned. “So you’ll stay?”

“I don’t think I was ever going to be able to walk away from you…well not without mace anyways” you smiled back into another kiss, the second of many many more.

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Let Me Know What You Think Friend!?

Part Two

[batchilla]

my life fell apart

Hello all. You read the title of this post. I won't have time to write much for... a bit. I am coming back, things will be completed, but I doubt I'd be able to post till mid next week or the next two weeks. So. Something from a WIP to tide you over: AUTHORS NOTE This is a prequel story to the most married divorced couple focused on Jason’s time as Robin. He is therefore a child, as is the reader. It can also be read as a stand alone. It takes place over a few years, with them being 11ish here. Jason is NEW to the role, and will end the series around 15. For no particular reason. Divider made by @super-marvel-dc

The first time you were rescued by Robin was not your first time being kidnapped. It was the twelfth. You were fast closing on the Gotham record. You hoped not to break it. You will. It always seemed to play out the same. Your mother’s position as a judge in Gotham had some low level goon decide that the best way to help their buddies escape was to hold you hostage. You were just grateful she had never sentenced anyone more serious than Mr Camera. It hadn’t gotten any easier. Your head hurts. You’ve been tied to a plastic chair for the better part of the day, in a hot, dark, shipping container in the warehouse district of Gotham.You’ve been wedged unceremoniously between a set of crates, which gives you something to kick in frustration if nothing else. You kick the crates. Nothing changes, except now your foot smarts.  You are so thirsty. You figure theoretically someone is nearby, and you could call out for water - maybe you’d get it.

You don’t trust anything these people would provide. You know, on one level that it’s stupid. They aren’t trying to kill you. They probably wouldn’t poison or drug you. Perhaps it is less distrust and more foolish pride that prevents you from making a noise. You don’t care to examine your inner motivations while you’re waiting for the Gotham police to show up. Which … typically took a day. Or Two. Three, if the freaks of Gotham decided to cause problems on purpose more than they typically did.

Except… you heard a startled cry from outside. Then a thud. Another thud. A man’s scream. You go tense. Perhaps whoever your mother was putting on the stand was a more frightening figure then you’d thought…

But then the door is kicked in with a ringing din of a boot meeting metal. The light blinds you momentarily, your vision returning in silhouette first. A caped figure, around your height, is standing in the entryway and now moving at speed towards you.

You blink as colour returns to you. Red, Green, Yellow.

Odd. You didn’t claim expertise in the Batman’s protege. But you were pretty sure he was a grown up at this point. Not a boy your age.

“Robin?” You ask groggily, as he kneels to untie you. “Don’t worry.” He looks up at you with a grin that would shame the light of a supernova. “I got you.”

He helps you to your feet, and brings your arm over his shoulder to keep you upright and guide you to the door.

A distant siren has you turning your head to see the Gotham PD coming into view - you try not to be miffed they showed up to arrest Robin so much faster then they came to rescue you.

You turn to Robin as you feel him leaving your side, and see what must be a smoke bomb hit the ground.

When it clears you can still see him running down one of the many long corridors between warehouses as fast as his legs will carry him.

A police officer touches your shoulder, and you look away. You hadn’t gotten a very good look at him… but you were pretty sure he lived up to the name of boy wonder.

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

32) dust motes, Martin

The way that stained glass filters sunlight has a way of making everything feel—a little more holy. A little more beautiful. He understands anew, when the frosted segments of Akatosh cast the chapel in bright hues, the sense of serenity the chapel bestows.

The stained glass paints the front pews in bright afternoon oranges and golds, where Sister Oleta dozes next to the cobbler’s little girl. “We are praying, boy,” she grumbles without opening her eyes. The little girl cracks an eye open to peek, ducking her head again in embarrassment and holding her clasped hands over her face when she sees Martin.

Where Sister Oleta is praying in the front pew, he amends mentally. “I wouldn’t suggest otherwise,” Martin says, smiling, and blows a thin speckling of dust off the worn edge of the pulpit. In the light, against the shadows further in, the dust in the air looks like the flecks of gold leaf that cling to one’s fingertips from the front covers of the older catechisms. He draws a slow inhale. Dust in the air, breath in his lungs.

Perhaps it’s only that the right light can make anything beautiful.

The heavy sound of the chapel doors opening interrupts his cleaning and earns a dignified snort from Sister Oleta, mimicked in miniature by her studious little shadow. Eldamil stands squinting under the arch at the shift from bright outdoor sun to the darker chapel interior, his tall spindly frame silhouetted nearly black against the color of the city. His expression shifts as his eyes must adjust. “Brother Martin,” he nods. “I have the Guild’s donations for the month.”

“Ah—thank you.” Martin skirts the pulpit to hurry down the aisle. The small wood crate Eldamil lowers into his arms rattles faintly with the tell-tale sound of alchemist’s bottles. “Let me put these away and I’ll draw up your receipt.”

“Oh, do allow me to assist,” Eldamil says with a cat’s smile, quick. “I didn’t make any of these; it’s the least I can do, I’m sure.”

The hues of light in the chapterhouse are much less bright, much less variegated, but not unwelcome. Martin sorts and Eldamil tallies, head bent and shoulders stooped to accommodate his height as the pen scratches over the page. “Have you been well?” Martin holds up a bottle to inspect the smudged label—handled wetly while the ink was yet drying, it seems.

“Fairer than ever, Brother Martin.” He peers over the tops of his glasses frames at the bottle, then offers, “Allergy warning—wheat in that one.”

He sees it, now, the feathered shapes more legible once the meaning is supplied. “Thank you,” Martin sets down the bottle. “The constitutionals have been helping, then?”

Eldamil flickers another smile, somehow more obfuscated than the bleeding of the ink on the label. “You’ve no idea.”

“It’s good,” he says, watching him, curious, “to find a fresh perspective. A change every now and again refreshes the mind, I’ve found. Did you find anything interesting, exploring the streets afresh?”

“Many things,” Eldamil waves a hand. The curve of his mouth does not falter. “Odd, isn’t it, how people perform the same routines, take the same paths every day? Nothing changes, nothing new. No one really knows the place they live in.” He huffs a laugh, the light catching a glint off the lenses of his glasses. “No one really knows their neighbors, for that matter. Do we, Brother Martin?”

The last bottle tallied, his signature on the receipt. “No,” Martin says thoughtfully. “But isn’t that why we make the effort? There is always something to learn.”

“There is that,” he agrees. He scans the receipt before nodding, satisfied, and folding it to tuck into his shirt pocket. “Thank you for this. And for the privilege of assisting.”

“Please,” Martin lifts the emptied crate, amused, “I appreciate it. Let me carry this to the door for you. It went much quicker with the help—you seem singularly focused, lately. You are well?”

Some note of surprise flits across his face, then is subdued by his usual composure. “Yes, I promise. No need to waste your priestly concern on me, Brother. I suppose I am…” Eldamil pauses, adjusts his glasses, almost embarrassed. “I am only a little—a little excited. I am making myself ready,” he says at last. “I have a friend, coming to visit soon. That’s all. I’d like to show him all the new ways to walk the streets I’ve been learning. All the—small things, to appreciate, you understand.”

He does. It’s a nice thought to share with someone. He thinks of his own little discoveries of wonder, things to pause and point to. Dust in the air. Flecks of gold leaf. It’s only that people so often take it as doctrine instead, from his mouth. Martin walks him back up the short flight of stairs, the colorful chapel light welcoming their return, warmly dazzling. “I hope that your friend enjoys the city.”

Eldamil’s gaze lingers at the front of the chapel, where Sister Oleta has acquired three more small students tugging at her skirts with a thousand whispered questions that she shushes: There’s an order to these things, you lot; finish your prayers. He smiles without teeth, as blooming and golden as the motes still suspended aloft. “I think he will.”

[tdinyomomma]

The Not So Great Outdoors: Pt. 2

If you haven’t read: One

I stood off by myself, hugging my torso as I watched some people freak out. Others were calmer. Trent comes up to me and I raise a brow. "You alright?" He doesn't face me, we're both watching everybody else. I purse my lips thinking. "We're about to jump off a cliff. How should I be?" I glance up at him and he snickers, nodding. "True, but you're away from the group." He points out, "Very observant.'' I start to go closer to our team. "Your first task is to jump off this 1,000 foot-high cliff into the lake." He simply explains. "Piece of cake." Bridgette smirks. "If you look down you will see two target areas, the wider one represents the part of the lake that we have stocked with psychotic man-eating sharks. Inside that area is the safe zone." I tense up, what the fuck goes on in this man's mind. And who gave the okay for any of this to happen? "That's your target area, which we're pretty sure is shark free." Super comforting to know they're "pretty sure it's shark free."

Something that also doesn't slip past by Leshawna. "Excuse me?" He of course ignores her. "For each member of your team that jumps and actually survives, there will be a crate of supplies waiting below." We look downward by the shore to see stacked boxes. "Inside each crate are supplies that you'll need for the second part of the challenge... Building a hot tub. The team with the best one gets to have a wicked hot-tub party tonight." He points to the camera and I yawn, not out of boredom but impatience.

"The losers will be sending someone home." I scan around everyone, taking guesses on who that first person could be. "Let's see, Killer bass, you're up first." Bridgette was already by the cliff.

"Oh wow. So who wants to go first?" Silence and crickets on the other end. Honestly I'd just get it over with. I'm surprised Eva's not going.

"Hey don't sweat it guys. I heard that these shows always make interns do the stunt first to make sure it's survivable." Owen encourages and assures us. "So, who's up?" Eva shouts to her team. "Ladies first." Duncan inquires. "Shouldn't he be going then." I mutter and Gwen shakes her head, snickering. "Fine, I'll go." Bridgette takes the stand. "It's no big deal, just an insane cliff dive into a circle of angry sharks." And she jumps, making the circle.

"She did it! Yeah! I'm next!" Tyler declares, he runs back and then off of the cliff. "Cowabunga!!" Not the same soft landing, hitting the metal booy between the safe and shark zones.

Geoff, Eva, Duncan all jump next but DJ refuses. "Nuh-uh, no way man. I'm not jumping." He steps back. "Scared of heights?" Chris asks, not honestly caring though. "Yeah, ever since I was a kid." DJ admits. "That's okay, big guy. Unfortunately, that also makes you a chicken. So you'll have to wear this for the rest of the day." He places down a chicken hat onto the kids head. "Aw man, for real?"

"Bawk, bawk, bawk!" Chris mocks him.

"That means the chicken path is that-a-way." He points, DJ sadly takes the escalator down the hill.

"Next!" Ezekiel jumps, hitting a part of the cliff going down but he makes the circle, his teammates cheer. Harold goes after, doing the splits in the air, hitting the water like that too and all the guys can physically feel his pain. "Oh, hate to see that happen."

"Excuse me, Chris. I have a medical condition." Courtney crosses her arms. "What condition?"

"A condition that prevents me from jumping off cliffs." She tells him in a smart tone. "You can chicken out if you want, but it might end up costing your team the win. And then they'll hate you." He remarks.

"It's a calculated risk. I've seen the other team and I don't think nine of them will jump." She postulates, seemingly confident in her thinking. "All Right! Here is your chicken hat." He places the hat.

"So, let's tally up the results. Hold on, that's eight jumpers and two chickens, we're missing one." He looks around and Sadie's holding Katie. "I'm not jumping without Katie." She informs him. "We have to be on the same team, Chris." Katie adds. "Please!" They cry in unison, running up to him. "Please! Can we? Can we Chris?" They plead, it's kind of creepy how together and in sync they are. "They can't go to the gophers, they already outnumber us." Courtney huffs but Izzy speaks up. "I'll switch places with her."

"All right! Fine, you're both on the killer bass now. Izzy you're on the screaming gophers." Chris was annoyed, it was a wonderful sight to behold. "Yes!" They two girls cheer. "That means you're up girls." He calls and they link hands running off the cliff.

"We're coming, killer bass!" Making it into the circle. I take a deep breath, putting on a fake smile, I turn to my team. "You guys will do great, don't think too much and jump!" I reassure them, a few of them smile back at me.

"Okay, so that's nine jumpers and two chickens. Screaming Gophers, if you can beat that we'll throw in a pull cart to put your crates on." Chris reveals, "Nice!" Trent grins. "Okay, guys who's up first?" He turns and I already start moving my feet. I'm not waiting on who wants to go first. I want this over with. Walking past Courtney I bend my arms like a bird, flapping them. "Bawk, bawk." I wink, then jump off the cliff, flipping into a dive posture and landing in the safe zone.

I earn the cheers from my team and a few from the Killer Bass. "She's on the other team you nimwitts!" Courtney scolds them. "And you chickened out, I don't want to hear it Princess." Duncan says.

I get onto the boat, missing all the conversations going on up on the cliff. Jumping off the boat into the shore Duncan comes up to me. "Nice dive." "I know." I stared up at my team who seemed to be in an argument. "Why so avoidant, mouse?" The same nickname he used earlier.

"Opposite teams, remember?" I mimic Courtney causing us both to laugh right as Heather gets thrown off the cliff. "Leshawna you are so dead."

"Hey I threw you into the safe zone didn't I?" She yells back then jumps herself. Lindsay, Gwen, Izzy, Justin all jump next and when Justin was in the water two sharks go swimming his way but quickly come to a halt when he looks at them. I watch in shock. The sharks carry him to shore. I take a breath, rolling my eyes. I look up to see Beth hesitating, she yells a sorry down and both Leshawna and Cody cackle like chickens at her. "That is, like so lame, right?" Lindsay asks Heather and I furrow my brows. "Fully lame." She agrees, I scoff. "Okay, miss perfect." I whisper under my breath. Trent jumps and makes it. "Okay, campers. There's only one person left. You guys need this jump for the win since you guys do have a slight advantage." Chris announces down at us.

"No pressure, dude." Chris tells Owen. "Okay, there's pressure!" All of our team cheers him on, he puts floaties on.

"I'm looking at this guy and I'm thinking. There's no way he's gonna make it." Geoff says.

"I actually thought, if he jumps this, he's gonna die." Gwen admits.

"He better make this was all I was thinking." [Name] crossing her arms.

Owen walks back like Tyler did, as we're watching I feel something grab my hand. I look over and it's Cody acting like he's not doing anything. "Get off." I shove him away.

"Come on big guy!" Leshawna encourages but he can't hear this. He starts running and jumps off. "Oh crap!" He screams, and like a tidal wave explosion we all get hit with the water. Knocking us down I might add. I fell onto Gwen somehow accidentally. "Sorry." I push myself up.

"Yes! Yeah! Oh yeah! Who's the man?" He cheers himself on. Beth adds in too. "The winners! The screaming Gophers!" Chris yells into the mega phone. "That was awesome dude!" Trent compliments then his demeanor becomes worryful as Owen's searching for something in the water. "What's wrong?"

"I think I lost my bathing suit." Everyone then ews him, telling him he's gross. "Oh, now I don't want to see that." Lindsay whines.

Now we're all clothed using the carts to carry our crates, I walk with Gwen. The others sing about the bottles of pop on the wall. "Nice jump by the way." Gwen suddenly says, snapping me from my thoughts. I was zoned out from all the singing. "Oh, thanks, you too." I compliment back. I notice her cheeks flush but I think it's from the sun glaring down at us. "I just wanted to also say, I hope we can become friends." She nervously admits, it was a little cute. "Hm? Is that so?" To which she stammers, I chuckle. We can definitely be friends, Gwenny." I poke her side before glancing behind me to see the Killer Bass struggling

"I'll be right back." I told her not realizing she was about to speak up herself.

I walk up to the other team and Tyler drops his crate. "I gotta take a wizz." He walks to the forest. "Hurry up, we're already behind." Eva grunts.

"Ooh, I have to go too." Katie says. "You do? Oh, my gosh, me, too." Sadie gasps, I make a face as they leave, silently thanking Chris for switching them to this team and not mine.

I then see Courtney smack her eye, "Oh, I think something just bit me." She points to her face. I laugh, "Let me know if it swells, I got cream for that." I smile sweetly but she just scoffs. "Like I'd ever take something from you." I shrug. "Suit yourself, pumpkin." I then went back to my group as the other team wasn't as interesting as I thought they were going to be.

"Pumpkin? Who does she think she is? Ugh, whatever." Courtney rolls her eyes... eye.

I jog back up to Gwen, "Hey, where'd you go?" She questions but I wave it off. "Hey look, there is the campground!" Beth points. "That was pretty easy." Owen says. "I'm pleasantly surprised." Cody places his hands on his hips. Now everyone is using their teeth to open the crates, pulling on rope but I decide to stay back.

"I am not ruining my teeth for some show." [Name] sasses, crossing her legs.

Izzy was the first one to open hers. "Ow. Ow. Rope burns on my tongue." She sticks her tongue out to show it is really irritating. I go over to check on Noah and Trent, by now everyone has gotten the crates open. "You guys did great." I tell them. I thought Noah would've been a smartass but instead he goofily smiled up at me. "You too." Trent tried to act cool but failed a bit.

"Oh [Name]? Yeah she's going down. Everyone might like her but I don't. I truly don't." Heather squints her eyes in anger.

"She said that?" [Name] tries hiding her smile from forming. "Funny."

The camera cuts to Heather watching [Name] from afar in admiration.

"Hey, check it out, I got wood." Owen picks up two wooden planks. "I've got some tools here, and what looks like a pool liner." Trent holds his things from the crate. I was now by Leshawna leaning on her box as Heather and Lindsay came over. "I just wanted to say, I didn't mean bad about you being a ghetto rap-star wannabe, and I love your earrings." My eyes widen, is that what was said on the cliff? "They're so pretty."

Leshawna holds one of her earrings. "Straight up? Well I'm sorry about pushing you over the cliff and all." She sincerely apologizes, which is more than Heather can say. "No worries, I needed a push. Truce?" Heather sticks out her hand but Leshawna holds out a fist instead. Heather looked confused at first but then smiles and fist bumps the other girl before walking away as I scrunch my nose in confusion. "You know that was total bull, right?" I caught up to Leshawna who started to walk in the other direction. "Of course, I can see right through that skinny girl." I laugh, high fiving her. Harold, Courtney and Ezekial threw down their crates. "Finally." Harold huffs. "Hey, what's up guys?" Trent asks, then Leshawna pops up from the crate. "Hey aren't you missing a couple of white girls?" The three glance around. "They're getting a drink." I immediately notice Courtney's eye and I shake my head. I go into my cabin.

Grabbing my anti-itch cream I head back outside, "Ooh, what happened to your eye, girl?" Courtney covers it. "Nothing, just an allergy." She lies. "Think it's getting' worse." Ezekiel comments.

"Shut it." She gets in his face to whisper. I hide the cream in my pocket. "We don't want them to know that." I go up behind her, taking her hand to drag her up on her team's cabin porch. "Hey, let go of me." She snaps and I pull out the little tube. "Here! My skin is sensitive to bug bites. Use it around the eye if you want to." I walk away leaving her alone, she blinks to herself a few times at a camera holding the cream.

We all worked on our hot tubs until Bridgette came up to me. "Have you seen Sadie or Katie?" She was obviously in a hurry to find the two, so I stand up wiping my hands on my shorts. "I haven't but I can help you look." I smile, perfect. Another chance to befriend another person on their team. I'm not exactly worried about my team as they all seem pretty friendly enough with me. But if I have their friendship that means I can maybe soften them up to help my team win.

"Oh, you don't have to-" I place a hand on her shoulder. "I don't mind. I finished my part here anyways." She then shyly smiles at herself, "Alright, then." We make our way out to get the two girls.

"Is that them?" I point to two girls sitting in the lake with their shorts at their knees. Bridgette face palms. We sprint over to them. "Hey the challenge is almost over, you two should join your team." I inform them, they look at one another then back at me giggling. "What?" I raise a brow, asking the blonde who shrugs.

We help the two girls up, looking away so they can put their shorts up. "What happened?" I chuckle. "They sat-" "Nothing! We're fine, right Sadie?" Katie nudges her best friend who seemingly catches on to whatever she's trying to hide. "Oh- Yeah! Nothing, totally." They run off in front of us.

"They squatted over poison ivy." Bridgette whispers, I cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing. "Poor things." I try to calm myself, we end up walking back chatting about a few things. She rants a little bit about her team.

We go our separate ways, going back to our teams. Heather glares at me. "What's got your panties in a twist?" I ask, she scoffs in response. "Helping the other team? You seriously don't see something wrong with that?" She folds her arms, stepping up to me. "I wasn't helping with the challenge, we're going to be on this Island for eight weeks, might as well be friendly to people." I shrug, "You should try it sometime." I go over to Gwen who grins.

"What was that about?" She glances over to Heather who has an angry expression on her face as Lindsay was going on about something. "She just needs some anger management, I don't know." I roll my eyes, lining up behind out beautifully made hot tub as I then notice Killer Basses hot tub does not look so amazing... Chris checks out ours first. "This is an awesome hot tub!" We all cheer, Owen pops out of the water. "Nice!" Then the host progresses over to the Killer bass, I wince at the sight. He taps a side of it, water spraying out at him. Then it collapses.

"Well, I think we have a winner here... The Screaming Gophers!" We all cheer again as the other team mopes. Gwen and I side embraced as we 'whooped' for our team. "Gophers, you're safe from elimination and you get to rock this awesome hot tub for the rest of the summer. Bonus!" He points at the camera.

"Killer bass, what can I say? Sucks to be you right now. I'll see your sorry butts at the bonfire tonight." He tells them and I wonder who they're going to send home tonight.

"We won!" Lindsay celebrates, "We all get to stay here for another three days!" Heather and Beth hug her, joining the celebration. Owen shouts naked in front of us. "Hahaha, yes! We get to stay, we get to stay-yay. We are so awesome." He dances then picks up Heather and Lindsay. "We won the contest!"

Yeesh, glad I'm not them right now.

Later on we go to dinner, of course having to eat whatever this is called that Chef made. I'm in between Leshawna and Gwen this time. "Girl, where'd you get that bathing suit you wore earlier, I've been meaning to ask." Leshawna turns to me and I shrug. "I want to say a flea market in my hometown. I've had it for a while." I try my best to remember. "Well, we're gonna have to go to that flea market after this mess." We both laugh, and I nod. "For sure."

I found out what Heather said after speaking with Leshawna when we were building the hot tubs, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And everybody is my enemy.

I over hear the other team talking about who's being eliminated and Courtney says "What about him?" That makes Lindsay shoot up, screaming "Nooo!"

We all stare up at her and she stammers, clearing her throat. "I mean... there's no salt on the table, bummer." She sits back down. I look behind me and realize it's about Tyler. Hm...

"Well, I just don't get why we lost, eh? They're the ones with seven girls." My eyes widen, I excuse myself from the table and cross my arms as Bridgette and Eva stand on either side of him angrily. "What's that supposed to mean?" The blonde asks. "Yeah, home school, enlighten us." Eva slams her first on the table in front of him. "Well guys are much stronger and better at sports than girls are." He simply says, Cody and I look at each other in shock. We then look at Sadie and Katie who stopped eating and smiling.

"Oh snap, you did not just say that." Geoff laughs in disbelief.

"My dad told me to look out for the girls here, eh? And help them in case they can't keep up." Why didn't he just shut up? Eva lifts him up by his neck. "Still think we need your help keeping up?" She squeezes. "Uh, not really." He grunts. Geoff gets in the middle of them. "Okay, guys let's give him a break. I mean, at least he doesn't think that guys are smarter than girls." He tries to help out the kid but of course homeschool makes it ten times worse. I get ready for the showdown. "But they are." I shake my head, closing my eyes as Bridgette punches him.

After dinner we walk back to the cabins but Killer Bass heads to the bonfire for elimination, I already know who they're picking. "I hope you know I think girls are better than guys in every way." Cody comes up to me, proudly stating his thoughts. I suck in a deep breath then smirk. "Oh really?" I speak in a flirtatious tone. "Yup!" He closes his eyes, grinning from ear to ear once we come to a complete stop to us walking. "That's very admirable of you, cutie." I kiss his cheek, walking away, not even seconds later I hear a thump. Glancing back there he is on the ground, fainted. Trent and Owen help him up, I snicker to myself.

"Hey I might as well have a little fun with the constant flirting. I'm bored here." [Name] laughs, shrugging her shoulders.

"Yup, this camp pretty much still sucks. But now that I'm here I guess I might as well try to win. Plus having [Name] around is a plus." Gwen smiles to herself thinking of the girl.

Trent, Lindsay, Cody, Heather and Justin sit in the hot tub. I stand next to Gwen, both of us holding juice boxes. Cody stands up to make a toast. "To the Screaming Gophers!" We all repeat after him, throwing our hands in the air.

"Go Gophers! Go Gophers! Go Gophers!" Leshawna chants, Noah and Owen join.

Gwen and I clink our juice boxes together and I lean my head on her shoulder. 

Three

Link to all chapters

[wild-karrde]

Part 2: The Pillar

Series Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: ALRIGHTY THEN. Did I intend to write a part 2 for this little ficlet from my 400 follower celebration? No. Did I do it anyway and use it as an excuse to introduce my OC Crater? Yes. Will there be a Part 3? Also yes. I REGRET NOTHING. The biggest of thank you's to @teletraan-meets-jarvis, @sleepingsun501, and @rexxdjarin for helping me make sure my boy gets the best intro and that all of the thoughts/thots about him in my head translated well onto paper! If you'd like a little more info about Crater, you can find his character sheet here.

Pairings: OC Crater x f!Reader, mentioned Gregor x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE)

Warnings: language, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, fingering, rough sex, anal play, oral sex, PiV sex, marking, anal sex, sex toy use, cum eating, mention of foursome

Word Count: 13.5k words (I'm sorry... it got away from me so fast)

“KARKING HELLS, CHUCK! Do you have mynock shit between your ears instead of brains?” 

You’re angry. Angrier than you’ve been in a while. And Chuckles isn’t backing down either. 

“I don’t know who the kriff you think you’re talking to, Bolts, but you’d better take a walk before we both say something we’ll regret,” he grits out, teeth clenched and a fire in his eyes. 

But you’re not about to be told what’s what. Not when he’s on your turf. 

“It’s my fucking garage. You don’t like what I’ve got to say? You take a walk.” You jab your finger into his plastoid chestplate threateningly. His nostrils flare as he glares at you, and you can see him teetering on the edge of control.

You’ve gathered a bit of an audience as you and the mohawked clone pilot go nose to nose, some of which are snickering and “ooooh”-ing. 

“Your garage?” Chuckles snarls.

“Yeah, in case you missed it, I run shit around here. And I’m telling you I can’t get your fucking fighter fixed until next week.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“You should have thought about that before smoking your stabilizers flying like a fucking hotshot.” 

“You sure you wanna tell me how to fly my ship, Bolts?” 

“Since you don’t seem to have an idea how to, sure.” 

The vein in his neck is bulging now, and the scar at the corner of his mouth is pulled tight. You’ve known Chuckles long enough to tell that you’ve pushed all the right buttons to get a rise out of him.

Good. Asshole. 

“I thought Gregor fucked the grump out of her,” Strike mutters from his seat on a crate, which garners more snickers. You whirl on him, brandishing a wrench and waving it menacingly at the pilot. 

“You want me to fix your face next, shithead? Got the only thing I need for that right here.”

Strike scowls, pushing himself to a standing position. “You’re out of line, Bolts.” 

“I’m out of line? Fuck you.”

“That’s enough.” 

The jeers and laughter grow silent and the crowd parts as the commanding officer of the 28th Combat Wing strides forward, carrying his helmet under one arm. Crater’s voice is gruff as he steps in between Chuckles and you, glancing back and forth between the two of you. 

“She’s right, and you know it Chuckles. You’ve been told before not to fly in that config. You know it burns out the stabs faster. Now, I’m sure you’ll get your fighter as quickly as Bolts can get to it. Isn’t that right, Bolts?” 

You glare at him, but his eyes demand a response. “When I get the parts.” 

Crater watches you for another moment before nodding. He seems to understand that’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get out of you right now.

And then he whirls on Strike. “And you will learn to hold your fucking tongue. We don’t do that shit here. You want to air other people’s business out in front of everyone? You go run for the fucking senate. Until then, you keep the scuttlebutt you hear to yourself.”

“Didn’t hear anything. Just not hard to put two and two together,” Strike mutters under his breath. 

Crater strides forward until he’s looming over Strike. They’re the same height, but somehow, the captain towers over the other pilot. His tone is low and dangerous, his voice dropping to a gravelly octave that makes you shiver. “I know you haven’t been off of Kamino long, but around here, you don’t speak to a commanding officer that way. Especially when you don’t have a single scratch on that shiny fucking armor.” 

Strike swallows slightly but says nothing else. 

Crater glares down at him for one more second, pinning him with his gaze before he turns and addresses the rest of the onlookers. “Now all of you get to the fucking barracks and get cleaned up. You stink to the seven hells.” 

The squad departs, some of them still shooting dirty looks over their shoulders at you, especially Chuckles.

He’ll get over it.

You turn on your heel, heading towards your private office in the corner of the garage. The door’s been off track for a while, so you slam it open unceremoniously and stride inside. Just as you go to slide it shut with a grunt, a gloved hand slips around the edge, keeping it open. You glance up and meet Crater’s eyes. 

“Can we talk?” 

You shrug, stepping away from the door and plopping down on the creaky chair by your desk. The joints protest as you lean back in it, threatening to finally give out and dump you on your ass. Crater shuts the door behind him before setting his helmet on your desk and leaning a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies you. He looks tired, and you’re not sure if it’s the campaign he just got back from or his men or you. A small pang of guilt shoots through you as he meets your eyes, raising his scarred eyebrow at you.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?” 

You sniff, shrugging as you pick some lint off your jumpsuit. “Nothin’. Just a scuffle.”

“Seems like you’re getting into more and more of those.” 

You and Crater have always gotten along just fine, finding a mutual respect and trust almost immediately. He always seems to have everything figured out, and you’ve never seen him fly off the handle like some of his brothers. In fact, the incident in the garage just now is the most upset you’ve seen him, and even that was hardly more than a growl and a few threats. You admire his leadership. He always seems to find the right thing to say to each of the various personalities on his squad, but sometimes you dislike when he deploys the same understanding on you. It unnerves you to a degree. 

Now, you roll your eyes at his observation, astute as it is. “Your boys don’t listen, Crate. Neither do any of the other flyboys that come through here. Everyone’s shit is broken because they can’t be bothered to fly with an ounce of sensibility, and then they’re all pissed when it takes time to get repairs done.” You wave your hand at the stacks of datapads and flimsi that are stacked on your desk. “I’ve got backorders on backorders, out-of-date maintenance logs, you name it. But I’m one person. And there’s not exactly a line to come work down here.” 

“You’re stressed,” he notes. 

“No shit.” 

“Overwhelmed.” 

“Tired of giving orders and making requests that are ignored.” 

“Tired of being in charge?”

“Sometimes. Yeah,” you admit. “But someone has to be.”

He nods. “When’s Gregor planetside again?” 

You glare at him, but he gives you a knowing look. You sigh. “Who the kriff knows? That’s not a regular thing, by the way. Just a way to blow off steam. But it’s been months since I saw him last. Seems he’s being kept busy.” You worry about the commando sometimes, but you’re not about to admit it. Judging by the look Crater gives you, you don’t need to. 

“And you were more tolerable when it was happening,” he teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m on my own in that department for the foreseeable future.” 

You don’t know why you feel comfortable talking with him about Gregor. Probably because it felt less like an accusation and more of just a concerned observation, not like he was looking to get more gossip at your expense. 

Because you trust him. Maybe too much.

Crater is quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, clearly weighing something. 

“What?”

He smirks. 

“Well, if you’d ever like to blow off some steam, let me know. But you can’t keep taking it out on my men.” 

You snort out a laugh. “Crate, I don’t think you can help with that.” 

“Oh, I think I could.” 

“How so?” Your curiosity is piqued, particularly with the way his grin is playful but his eyes have darkened considerably. You’re in denial internally about what he might be implying, but that only lasts for another second as Crater huffs a quiet laugh before closing the distance between you. He puts one gloved hand on your desk, leaning over you as his other hand comes to rest just above your shoulder, gripping the back of your chair. Your stomach flutters as he stares down at you, tilted back in your chair so far you feel as though you’d tip over if he let go. The chair creaks, but you hardly note it over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel his breath on your cheek and your cunt throbs at the realization he’s standing between your knees, your toes barely touching the floor with the way he has you tipped backward. You feel as though you can’t breathe. He’s studying you again, clearly making a final judgment call before he speaks. 

“I think you’d like someone else to take charge for once. So you can let go.” 

His voice is so low, it feels as though it rumbles every organ in you and sends shivers down your spine. He’s so close, you can smell him, see the tattoos on his neck that just barely poke out above the collar of his black undersuit, and the greys that are beginning to dot his dark chestnut beard and hair. You’ve always thought Crater was attractive. You’d have to be blind not to, but you’d never anticipated having him lean over you like this, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he suggests things like that. 

At least, you think that’s what he’s suggesting. 

You can’t help but tremble slightly at the thought as his eyes bore holes into yours. Your thighs clench together subconsciously, and his eyes dart downwards, watching you squirm. He laughs in a low rasp that promises trouble, straightening and picking his helmet up off the desk. You haven’t moved, but he’s already at your door, pushing it open again. 

“Remember what I said, Bolts. All of it.” 

And with that, he’s gone. 

—

Weeks pass. Nothing gets better. If anything, things get worse. A major supply hyperspace lane gets shut down by Separatist forces, meaning parts are even harder to come by, causing even more delays. At least the clone pilots seem more understanding, the 28th Wing in particular. You aren’t sure if Crater privately met with his men, but they have been suddenly more lenient with you. The natborns, however, make up for it by being infinitely more terrible. 

“THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE,” one particularly surly human admiral rants, spittle flying unchecked as you don’t even bother looking up from your datapad. “You are to have those fighters ready to go within a rotation. That is an order.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, Admiral, I don’t take orders from the GAR,” you mutter. “And unless you’ve got a stash of converters, stabilizers, hyperdrive capacitors, and power couplings in your back pocket, no, your fighters will not be ready to go in a rotation.”

“I’ll have your job for this.” 

You’re exhausted, but can’t help but give him a smug smirk, nudging him even closer to an explosion. He’s easy prey in that respect, hardly sporting, but it’s been a miserable week, and you’re ready to have some fun. He’s not the first officer to try to intimidate you with unemployment, and you know he’s unlikely to be the last. But you also know it’s an empty threat. No one else could handle this work. If that person existed, the GAR would already have hired them since you’ve pissed off everyone else. 

“I have work to do, Admiral. So if you’re done bloviating, get out of my office and try to have a lovely evening.”

The man is practically purple with rage, veins bulging from his throat above his tight Republic collar. He clearly isn’t used to having people check him, and his response is even more telling. 

“I’d heard you were challenging, but really, you’re just a frigid little bitch.” 

That does it. 

You stand, kicking your seat away from you. It rolls into the back wall with a loud crash. “You wanna try that again, Admiral?” you ask, charging towards him with anger heating your cheeks. He’s taller than you, but that’s never stopped you, and you certainly aren’t going to let some washed-up asshole that reeks of stale caf and cheap cologne talk to you like that in your own office. His fists clench, and you almost hope he swings first so you have an excuse to pummel him right there. 

“Problem in here?” 

You both whirl to look at the doorway. There stands Crater, helmet on and cocked to the side as he studies the both of you. His posture is completely relaxed, as if he didn’t just walk in on the start of a physical altercation. 

It takes all of the wind out of your sails. 

The admiral turns and smirks down at you, clearly convinced he’s won by your reaction. “I was just leaving.” He pushes past Crater, exiting the office. Crater’s visor never leaves you, but you can’t look at him. 

You’re fuming. Angry that nothing’s going right. Angry that your garage can’t run efficiently and the reasons are completely out of your control. Angry that you didn’t sock that admiral in the jaw. Angry that he got the best of you and he knows it. 

Crater says your name, but you don’t look up, trying to slow your breathing. He sighs and turns to leave. 

You make a decision. 

“Captain.” 

He turns back. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you plunge into uncharted territory.

“I’ll take you up on that offer you made a few weeks back.” 

He doesn’t move for a moment before, clearly making sure you won’t change your mind. Some of your fire returns at his hesitation, and you jut your chin out defiantly. 

“Chickening out on me?” you challenge.

In an instant, he’s closed the distance between you and has backed you up against the wall. Your breath fogs his visor as he stares down at you, resting his hand against your throat. 

“You certain you want to be a brat right out of the gate?” 

You swallow hard, feeling the gloved palm of his hand press against your neck. 

“Might want to pace yourself. Otherwise you’ll be in for a long night,” he warns.

“What makes you think that isn’t what I was hoping for?”

He chuckles darkly, and the helmet’s modulator seems to make it even more intimidating. 

“What are your hard no’s?” 

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find them,” you reply. Your mouth is dry, but other places are already soaking. You’re almost glad he has you braced against the wall because your knees suddenly feel gelatinous beneath you. 

He tilts his head. “Think on it a bit more. Have an answer when I come back from my briefing. Then we’ll begin.” He releases your throat and steps back. “Be ready.” 

He once again leaves you alone in your office, shivering in his absence. 

How the fuck do I get ready for this?

You brush your hair out of your face, catching a glance at your reflection in the small mirror you have stuck to one wall. You’re covered in grease and sweat, and your hair is sticking out at odd angles. 

A shower then. 

You’re glad the day’s over as you slide your office door closed. It would be hard to concentrate on anything else right now. You push through the door that connects to the small apartment and refresher that have become your home away from home. It had been one of your few stipulations when you took the job, knowing you’d rarely make it back down to your lower-level Coruscant apartment. It had originally been a large storage closet, but with some work, you’d converted it into a decent-sized bedroom, stacking a few changes of clothes in an empty crate in one corner. The bed was at least comfortable, tucked up against one wall with a small bedside table next to it. You quickly shove the dirty clothes strewn on the floor in a corner before shucking off your jumpsuit and hurriedly showering. You don’t have any sort of lingerie or anything remotely alluring here, and you’re considering what to wear while wrapped in a towel when you hear a soft knock at your door. 

You turn and find Crater’s silhouette looming there, blocking out the dim light of your office. 

“That was a quick briefing.”

He shrugs as if he’s used to coming upon you in only a towel. 

“You shut the office door?” you ask.

“Yes. And you should really get that fixed.” His helmet is off, and his dark eyes are roving over you and your towel-covered body. 

“Add it to my list,” you mutter, trying to maintain some sort of confidence under his stare. “I’m sure that admiral will be so pleased to hear it takes priority over his fighters.” 

He snorts in amusement as he steps into the room, shutting the apartment door behind him. He sets the helmet on the ground before he starts peeling off the top half of his armor, one piece of plastoid at a time, and neatly stacking it in the corner. 

“Did you think more on what your hard no’s are?” he asks. 

You’d come up with a few and rattle them off. 

“Those are fairly extreme. Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he rasps. The top half of his armor is completely off now, and he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt as he approaches you, circling you slowly. “But I’m glad you put serious thought into it and came up with something.” 

“You got anything I need to avoid doing?” you ask, trying not to nervously rock on your heels. You’d rarely had issues with people seeing you naked, but for some reason, Crater’s gaze has you feeling timid, even with the towel still hiding your body.

“I don’t think you’ll get there, but I’ll let you know if you get close,” he replies as he comes to a stop in front of you. His sleeves are rolled all the way to his elbows, and you can see the tendrils of the other end of his tattoos poking out on his forearms. You’d never realized how far his tattoos stretched, only ever having seen the fine lines that poked out of the collar of his shirt. Now, you find you want to know how much of his skin is inked and how far the pattern stretches. 

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous.” 

You flush, but raise your eyes to meet his steady gaze. He’s watching you carefully and fuck, you want to squirm with him looking at you like that. 

“So you respond to praise then. You prefer that?”

You shrug. “Could go both ways.”

“Where would you like me to cum?”

You can’t help but smirk at that question, but his expression is stern. “Wherever you like,” you reply. “I’ve got an implant.”

He hums, gently brushing some of your damp hair out of your face, a tender gesture that contrasts sharply with his next question. “May I mark you?” 

“Nowhere the jumpsuit can’t cover.”

“How rough would you like me to be?” 

You think for a moment. “Breathplay is good. Impact too. Bruising is fine. Nothing that would draw blood.” 

He smirks. “Good girl.” 

Your thighs rub together, and he notices, huffing a quiet laugh. 

“Toys I can use?”

You point to the bedside table. “In that drawer.” 

“You know the color system?”

You nod.

“Give me your definitions.” 

“Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop.” 

“And if you can’t verbally communicate?”

“Three taps.” You reach out and demonstrate on his chest, letting your fingertips rest there.

He catches your hand. “I want to be very clear here. You are under no obligation to do anything with me. And if you say red, we stop. No debate, no questions. This is for your benefit, so I’ll push, but when I hit a limit, you have to let me know. Deal?”

You can’t help but smile there. “Deal.”

“Any other last requests?”

“Ruin me.” The words fall out of your mouth before you realize you’ve said them, but you don’t regret them. You need this, and he can see it. Crater’s eyes darken even more, and he grins wickedly as he pulls your wrist to his lips. You feel his beard scratch your skin, and you shiver at the thought of where else you may feel that sensation before the night is over. 

“With pleasure.” He cups your jaw, running a thumb over your lower lip. “You will refer to me as Captain or sir. Understood?”

A thrill shoots through you, and you push your luck, shrugging. “Sure.”

His nostrils flare and his grip on your jaw tightens. “You are such a fucking brat,” he whispers. “I'll fix that.” He grips the towel, giving it a firm yank and tossing it in the corner. He steps back and studies you. You shiver again, although you can’t be sure if it’s from the chill on your damp skin or his piercing gaze. He circles you again, inspecting every inch of your body. You feel yourself tremble slightly as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “On your knees.” 

You think about pushing him further, but decide against it, at least for the moment, slowly sinking to your knees and gazing up at him expectantly. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. He squats down in front of you, balancing on the balls of his feet, watching you. You start to giggle from nerves, but his hand rockets out, catching your jaw again and squeezing until your lips part from the pressure.

He slips the tip of his glove into your mouth. 

“Bite,” he grits out. 

He loosens his hold just enough for you to do as you’re told this time, gently taking the tip of the fabric between your teeth. His fingers slip out of the glove, and he takes it from you. He repeats the exercise with his other glove, tucking them both in his back pocket. Warm tan fingers press on your lower lip, and you open your mouth, allowing him in. Two fingers slide in, pressing on your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth, but Crater keeps your jaw pried open until you feel some drool slide down your chin. 

“Messy girl,” he rasps. “Suck.” 

You close your lips around his fingers, sucking gently on the pads. You can taste his sweat, slightly salty against your tongue. 

“Oh, come on, gorgeous. With a mouth like that, I expected more. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to let you suck my cock later.” 

You feel your cunt throb and you inhale sharply as warmth floods between your legs. You’re certain you’re dripping onto the floor by now, and it’s only been a few minutes. 

“You like that thought, don’t you?” Crater asks, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat. You gag, and he starts to withdraw, but you catch his wrist, pressing his fingers deeper while you run your tongue over his knuckles. 

Crater’s brow furrows and his lips part slightly as he watches you gag again on his fingers, but you keep going, obediently sliding them in and out of your mouth. You hum around him, and you can see he’s fighting to maintain control. You grin. 

“Something to say, pretty girl?” he asks, shoving another finger into your mouth. “Go on.” 

“Having fun, Captain?” is what you try to ask, but it comes out garbled around his digits. 

“Try again, gorgeous. I can’t understand you.” 

You glare up at him and he smirks before withdrawing his fingers. 

“I was always told it’s rude to talk with my mouth full, sir,” you snark. 

“You’ve had no problem being rude up until this point,” he murmurs, letting his damp hand trail across your collarbone before grazing your breast. 

You clench around nothing. It's been months since anyone touched you. 

He notices your response, raising his eyebrow as he pinches one nipple between his fingers and tugs it gently. You whimper quietly. 

“Needy,” he observes. 

“Been a while.” He pinches your nipple harder. “Sir,” you gasp. 

“Hmm.” He releases you, pushing himself to a standing position. You shift, trying to gain some source of friction, but he slips a knuckle under your chin, tilting your head upwards. “None of that. You take what I give, and nothing more. Understood?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him. “Yes, sir.” 

Crater stares down at you with an unamused expression for another half a beat before releasing you. He crosses your room to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer, rummaging inside. You can see his eyes raking over the contents, carefully cataloging everything before he holds up your plug, glancing over at you. 

“You stretch yourself on this?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say quietly. 

“Anyone ever taken you there?”

“No.” It’s something you’ve always wanted to try, but you’ve never had a partner you felt bold enough to ask. And those that have asked have always seemed too eager. So you’ve resorted to toys, stuffing your ass full with the plug as you fucked your cunt with another toy. But no matter how many times you came, teeth clenched around the fabric of your pillowcase, your curiosity about the real thing still wasn’t sated. You always knew it would have to be with someone you trust completely, someone you know won’t push you or your boundaries just to lay claim to you. 

Someone like Crater. 

He stays silent, clearly expecting more from you. 

You try to stutter out a more thorough response. “B-but I like to feel full when I…”

“When you what, pretty girl?” 

“When I fuck myself.” 

The corner of his lip curls. “Filthier than I thought. Good.” He takes out a bottle of lube, your dildo with the remote, and the plug and sits on the bed with them next to him. He leans forward on his knees, crooking a finger towards you. 

“Come here, gorgeous.” 

You grin, falling forward on your hands and crawling towards him, allowing your ass to sway back and forth. His face remains neutral as you slide between his knees, running your hands over the plastoid that still covers his thighs. You’ve always been good at finding the right buttons to push with people, but Crater has largely remained a mystery to you in all the time that you’ve known him. Now, you watch carefully as you scrape your fingers closer to his inner thigh, watching for any telltale twitch. You want to see if you can make him crack. 

He’s immovable. 

“You seem to think this is some sort of competition,” he says quietly, as though he can read your thoughts. “You won’t break me, sweetheart.” 

You pout your lips. “You’re no fun.” 

He slips one hand into your hair and grips tightly, pulling your head back as he leans over you again. You can feel the roots of your hair tug sharply, and it sends another thrill through you. Crater leans forward to whisper directly into your ear. His beard scrapes your cheek, and his breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “You’re still being a brat.”

“I thought pilots enjoyed a challenge,” you manage to gasp. 

“I do.” He releases your hair, and you sit back. He shifts back on the bed and pats his knees. You start to straddle one, but he places a hand on your hip, stilling you. “No, love. Over them.” 

Your legs quiver at the realization of what he’s asking, and your mouth falls open slightly. 

“Tick-tock, pretty girl. The longer you stand there and waste my time, the longer this’ll be.” 

You drape yourself over his thighs slowly, shuddering at the chill of the plastoid and how the edges of it bite into your skin. You rest your elbows and knees on the mattress on either side of him, balancing as he pushes down on the small of your back to arch it to his liking. Your ass is in the air, and it feels so exposed. Crater rubs small circles in your spine before allowing his hand to drift downward, lightly passing over the curve of your ass. You feel your skin explode in an array of goosebumps as a jolt shoots through you. You unleash a shuddering breath. 

“You are needy. So eager to be touched,” he teases as he traces down the curve of your ass, curling his fingers on the inside of your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him, but he steers clear of your dripping cunt. For now. 

“I think fifteen is a good start considering how you’ve behaved the last few weeks,” he rasps. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you have my cock.”

“Fifteen, huh? Can you count that high, Captain?” you ask, earning yourself a sharp pinch to your nipple with his other hand. You inhale sharply, biting back a curse. 

“Twenty then. And you’ll be the one counting. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, smart girl?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but the first smack lands hard, biting into the skin of your asscheek. Heat floods through you and your mouth falls open. 

You’re already craving another. 

“Count for me, or we start over.” 

“One,” you pant. 

He continues, landing some blows over the same area, and you can feel the heat and redness bloom there. Other times, he moves onto an untouched patch of skin, and the shock of sudden pain makes you squirm, desperate for some sort of friction against your neglected clit. It feels as though electricity is licking up your spine with every strike, the pain giving way to a euphoria you’ve never before experienced as his warm palm soothes your stinging skin in between each blow. 

But you keep count. 

“See, I knew you could be a good girl for me. You’re doing so well,” he whispers as he rubs the place you’re certain he just left a handprint. “Halfway there.” One hand curls around your thigh again, and you feel fingers finally brush against your folds, slipping along them with ease. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Crater observes. “You’re soaked.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking your taste off of them before he lets his hand slip back between your legs, sinking two of his thick digits into you. You fist the blankets as the next blow lands at the same time Crater curls his fingers inside of you. 

“Ah fuck! Eleven!” 

Crater pulls out slightly out before pressing back into the knuckle, driving into you. He finds the spongy place inside of you and bears down on it as he spanks you again in the same place. Your eyes roll back into your head. 

“T-twelve.” 

“Good girl.”

SMACK.

“Thirteen,” you whine. The plastoid is so cold against your heated, sweaty skin as you writhe in his lap, trying to press back against his hand. He adds a third finger. 

“Who would have known all it took for you to be nicer was a few spanks and some fingers in your pussy?” Crater chuckles. “Such a desperate girl.” 

“Please,” you whisper. 

“Please what?” 

“More.” 

“So polite all of a sudden.” He presses against your asshole with his thumb, and you arch your back, pushing against him. “Oh, you want me to take you there, don’t you? Want me to claim your ass tonight?” 

You do. You want him to, and he knows it. You mouth a silent “yes” as you glance back at him, and his eyebrow raises at your muted admission.

Crater hums as he pushes harder against the tight ring of muscle and you gasp. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re gripping the sheets. 

“Color?”

“Green. Fuck. Green.” 

SMACK.

“FOURTEEN.” 

Your breath is coming in short pants as he rubs at the raised, tender flesh of your ass. You hear the click of a cap, and suddenly his thumb is pressed back against your asshole again, slicker than before. He pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle as he curls his fingers in your cunt again. 

“Oh, Maker, yes. Right there, Crate-”

SMACK.

“It’s Captain or sir,” he reminds you in that same gravelly tone he used on Strike, sending a shiver through you. “Now what do we say when someone gives you what you want?”

“Fifteen! Thank you, sir,” you gasp, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes.

“Good girl.” 

You clench around his fingers at the praise, and he huffs another laugh, pressing his thumb deeper into your ass. He lands the next few blows in rapid succession. 

SMACK.

“SIXTEEN. THANK YOU, CAPTAIN.”

SMACK.

“FUCK. SEVENTEEN. THANK YOU, SIR.” 

You can feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he lands two more, nearing the end. After nineteen, you’re babbling in his lap, desperately pressing back against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“You think you deserve to cum?” he asks.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you whimper. 

“Not yet, pretty girl.” 

SMACK.

“Twenty,” you sob. 

He removes his fingers from you, and you immediately feel painfully empty. His other palm rests on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you feel your pulse in your fluttering, empty cunt.

“You did so well,” he praises. You quiver under his touch. “Are you still green?”

“Still g-green,” you stutter. 

“Louder.”

“Green,” you declare more firmly.

“Good. Lie down.” 

He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully moving you to lie on your back on the bed. You feel the softness of the blanket rub against the inflamed skin of your ass and thighs, and you shudder at the thought of the marks that’ll be there tomorrow, a reminder of your night with the captain. 

But he’s far from done with you. 

“Wait here,” he commands. “Don’t touch yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh with a hint of a whine. 

He retreats to the refresher, washing his hand before he comes back, his head tilted as he watches you, laid out for him on your bed. He quickly removes the rest of his armor and boots, grinning smugly as your eyes follow every new part of him that’s exposed to you. You want him, and he knows it. Reaching for his waist, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it next to his armor. 

He’s fucking stunning. You knew he would be, but somehow still weren’t prepared. The tattoos you’d seen evidence of curl from his elbows over his shoulders, weaving in geometric patterns across his collarbone and shoulder blades before reaching up his neck, where they end. Each line seems to flawlessly frame a muscle or tendon, perfectly accentuating it. His body is littered with small scars, with one larger one visible on his hip, dipping below the waistline of his pants. Without his codpiece, you can see the pronounced outline of his cock, straining against the black fabric. Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips, meeting his eyes. 

“Not yet,” he teases.

You’re huffy now, having recovered slightly from your denied orgasm, and he glowers at you as you pout. 

“Hands under the headboard,” he orders. You glare at him for another moment, and he raises his eyebrow again in warning. You concede, slipping your fingers under the wooden edge and gripping it tightly. “Good. Keep them there,” he orders as he slowly approaches the bed. “Or else I’ll get some binders.” 

“Probably the most use they’ll have gotten,” you snicker. 

“You really want to make this difficult?”

“Got a reputation to keep up.” 

He snorts before climbing onto the bed and straddling you, lowering his body onto yours slowly. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your skin, and your body is screaming at you to wrap your legs around him, but you really aren’t that interested in the binders that he threatened you with. 

You’re more interested in getting his cock inside of you as quickly as possible. 

Crater is infuriatingly patient and precise in his motions, but then again, you suppose that’s why he commands an entire combat wing. He slips his hand into your hair again, gripping but not pulling. He tilts your head slightly, exposing your neck to him. “If I remember correctly, your jumpsuit collar goes to about here,” he whispers, nosing at the perceived boundary on the skin of your throat. His beard is tickling you, and you’re shaking with anticipation. “That seem right to you?” 

“Yes, s-sir,” you stutter. 

“Already a mess and I’ve hardly started,” he rasps, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He kisses your neck, and you let out a sharp exhale. You’ve tried to play it neutral, but somehow, he’s zoned in on the exact spot you like to be kissed, the spot that drives you wild. And he notices the way you respond, bearing down on it with his teeth and tongue. You start to grind against him, desperate for any sort of friction, desperate to feel his cock. You manage to catch the head of it on your clit through his pants, rubbing for a millisecond before his unoccupied hand locks firmly on your hip, holding you still. 

“You’ll take what I give, pretty girl,” he snarls in your ear. “And the longer you’re greedy, the longer you’ll wait to have me fill that pretty pussy.” 

You whine but relent, letting him resume his attack on your neck and collar bone. He works slowly and methodically, marking you as he works his way to your breasts, where he seemingly spends an eternity lavishing them with attention. He sucks bruises, he bites gently, and he takes your nipples in his mouth, paying special attention to what makes you writhe and gasp. 

And then he moves lower, slipping between your legs and kissing just below your navel as he spreads your legs wide with his hands on the back of your thighs. His breath is so warm against your dripping cunt, and you spasm in his grip as he blows on you purposefully. 

“Asshole,” you grumble. 

He bites the inside of your thigh hard, and you yelp. Looking down, you can already see the bruise blossoming where his teeth caught your skin. 

“Only nice girls get to cum. Now, remember, keep your hands where they are.” 

He nuzzles against the flesh of your unmarked thigh, placing warm kisses and gentle bites. His beard scrapes the tender skin just before his teeth graze you, threatening to mark you where only you’ll see. You close your eyes, tipping your head back as you try to fight the way your legs are trembling, but that earns you a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” 

You catch your lip between your teeth as you obey, your eyes finding his brown ones, which seem to be practically glowing. He keeps his gaze locked with yours as he nuzzles your clit, blowing on it gently. You whine, and your legs try to close, but he firmly holds them open. 

“I’m going to break you,” he whispers. “By the time I’m done, all you’ll know is my name and the word ‘please’.” 

You tremble again just as he dives in, driving his tongue and eating you ravenously as you gasp and thrash in his grasp. 

Crater is a master at pulling you apart slowly, and he takes his time, working you to the edge with his tongue and mouth and then chuckling as he pulls away, leaving you trembling and crying out in frustration. He’s a quick study and eventually adds his fingers, thrusting into your cunt as he suckles at your clit in the way that he now knows will have you clenching and gasping. The third time he deprives you, you unleash a frustrated growl, and he laughs quietly at your frustration. 

“Please, Captain,” you whine. “Please.” 

“Not yet.” 

He goes at you again, alternating with his tongue and his fingers, and it feels as though it only takes seconds for your body to begin to tighten, begging for the release that he’s robbed you of. 

“Knew you’d taste good,” he mumbles into your skin as he presses his fingers back inside of you. “So sweet and warm.” 

“P-p-please. Please.” 

He nips at your thigh and you cry out, tears leaping into your eyes as droplets of perspiration dot your forehead. Crater bears down on the spot inside of you, watching you as you babble. 

“Please, I'll do anything you want. Please, sir, please. I need it.”

“Tell me what you need, gorgeous.” 

“I need to cum. Please. Do anything you want to me. Please just let me cum. PLEASE!”

“Not yet.”

You sob. 

He keeps working you, disintegrating your resolve with every pass of his tongue and his fingers. The scratch of his beard is delicious, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his mouth and the soft press of his tongue against you as he laps at your heat.

“Captain, please. Gods above, I’ll let you have anything.” 

“Anything?”

“Yes. I’ll suck your cum out of your cock. You can have my ass. I’ll give you anything.”

He chuckles. “At the bargaining phase, are we?” 

The tears are streaming from your eyes, and you unleash a choked sob. 

“Ask me again.”

You’re gasping now, teetering on the edge. 

“Please, Captain. Please let me cum.”

“Good girl.” He kisses your clit, and you moan, your knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding the headboard. 

“Cum for me.” 

You do, screaming his name as your body spasms with wave after wave of your orgasm. He holds you in place, working you through it until your body finally sags into the bed, slick with sweat and wrung out. Your mind is hazy as you feel him crawl up next to you, pressing his fingers against your lips. You let your mouth fall open, welcoming them in as you clean your release from the pads of his fingers. When he’s satisfied, he leans over you and kisses you, and you can feel how wet his beard is from your release. He reaches up as he kisses you, pulling your hands from the headboard. You immediately bury them in his dark curls, running your fingers over the back of his head, relishing this new touch he’s permitted. 

The way Crater kisses you feels as though he’s stealing the air from your lungs. His tongue gently finds its way inside your mouth, running along your lower lip as his hands wander your body, gently rubbing and caressing. After what feels like an eternity and not long enough, he relents, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Are you ready to continue, my gorgeous girl?” 

“Yes, sir.” You’d been determined to make this harder for him, but he’s broken you, and you’re more than ready to bend to whatever his will may be. You trust him implicitly, just like you always have, but somehow, it feels deeper now. You know as rough as he may be with you here, he’ll never hurt you in a way you don’t ask for. His eyes are staring directly into yours as he strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“So good for me,” he whispers. He kisses your cheek, moving along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He gently takes your earlobe between his teeth as he grips your thigh, coaxing you to wrap your legs around him. You do it immediately, quivering again at the thought of finally being filled by his cock. 

Crater is kicking his pants off as he whispers into your ear. “Now that you’re being good, I’m going to fuck you until you’re boneless. You’re going to cum exactly as many times as I want you to, and no less. But you have to ask me first, and ask nicely. Do you understand?” 

You nod. 

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Color?” 

You can feel the head of his cock resting against the puffy, soaked lips of your pussy. Crater is stroking himself against your slit, coating himself with your release. You look down and see he’s as big as Gregor, but with a little more girth, and Maker above you’ve never wanted anything more. 

“Green.” 

He grunts as he notches his head at your entrance. “Good girl.” 

Crater enters you slowly, watching your face as he breaches you. Your release makes it easier to take him, but not easy. You feel your walls stretch to accommodate him as he slowly thrusts shallowly into you, pressing a little deeper each time. Every time his head catches your entrance, you whimper, and he responds with a thrust. You can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him, every ridge apparent as he takes what you’re more than willing to surrender.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. 

You reach up to touch his face, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before he leans forward and captures your lips again. He groans into your mouth as he bottoms out, pressing his hips against yours, and the feeling of him inside of you is bliss you’ve never experienced. He stays still, but his entire body is tensed, a taut spring waiting to be unleashed. He strokes your cheek. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t be gentle.” 

You raise your head, grazing his lips with yours. “I don’t want you to be.” 

He chuckles darkly. “Good.” 

His hips draw back before slamming against yours, and you see stars as the head of his cock finds the perfect place inside you. He starts off at a steady but hard pace, knocking the wind from you with every thrust of his hips. His hands wander your body, squeezing your breasts, playing with your clit, finding every place that makes you unfurl more underneath him. 

At one point, he sits up, placing his hands at the back of your knees and pushing them towards your chest. The angle of his next thrust has you screaming to religious entities you don’t even believe in as he reaches impossibly deeper inside of you. His thrusts are deliberate and perfectly timed, his fingers bruising, and it’s not long before you’re pleading with him again. 

“Maker, I’m gonna cum again. Please let me cum, Captain. Please.” 

“Yeah? Already? You’re not making this very difficult.” He sheathes himself to the hilt and holds there. It feels as though he’s rearranging your insides, and you’re shocked you can’t see an outline of his cock through your stomach. 

“Gods. Please, Crate. I’m so full.” Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drags himself out again, leaving just the head inside of you. His thumb presses against your clit with a feather-light touch, and you jolt at the contact, whining desperately. 

“Not yet, you’re not,” he rasps. You feel his fingers prod at your asshole, and you fist the sheets, arching your back as your mouth falls open. You hear the click of the lube bottle opening again. 

“Color?”

“G-green.” 

His cock slips from you, and you want to scream, but he holds your legs where they are, and you feel the blunt head of the plug nudge your other entrance. 

“Relax for me, pretty girl.” 

You do, inhaling and exhaling deeply as you quiver with anticipation. The plug slips inside you, and it’s bliss you’ve never experienced. Crater watches you for a moment before he slides his cock back inside of your pussy, folding you back in half again. 

You’ve never felt this full before, never this pleasured, and you’re not sure you’ll ever feel this way again. 

But you need it. 

“Fuck. Don’t stop.”

A hand settles on your throat, firmer than the last time he grasped you like that.

“Eyes open for me, love.”

You didn’t even realize you’d closed them, but your eyes flutter open and find Crater’s in the dim lighting. They’re piercing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and his gaze follows it. 

“Do as you’re told, yeah?” he groans. 

“Yes, sir,” you gasp. 

The grip on your throat tightens slightly, pressing on the sides. “Squeeze for me.” 

You focus on contracting your muscles even though your mind feels like a blur. Crater grunts as your cunt tightens around him. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.” His cock slams into you, and you relax, letting him fill you. 

“Again.”

Crater releases your legs, fucking you with his hand around your neck. You’ve never tried spice, but you imagine this has to be what it’s like. You’re floating, you’re moaning, you’re sweating, all while wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, more intense with every thrust of Crater’s hips as the head of his cock continues to stroke that perfect place inside you. The grip on your throat tightens when he wants you to flex your muscles, and after a few cycles of it, you tighten around him without having to be asked. Crater’s fucking you in earnest now, the hand still around your throat, and your head is swimming. He releases you for a second, watching you. 

“Color?”

“Green,” you whisper. 

“Louder for me.” 

“Green,” you say more firmly. 

He’s still watching, and you see a flicker of something, concern maybe. 

“I said I’m green, Crater.” 

He takes your hand, placing it on his side. “Tap if you need.” 

“I will. Now please fuck me.” 

The grip tightens again, and you’re back to floating, and before you know it, you’re begging him again. 

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 

You do. You cum hard, clawing at his back as he bites your shoulder. Your vision whites out as you writhe underneath him, clenching around his cock until the orgasm subsides, leaving you panting. 

“Good. That’s two.” 

“How many you shooting for?” you gasp. 

“As many as it takes. Now on your knees for me, love.” 

You roll over onto your knees, bracing yourself against your elbows. You feel exposed like this, back arched and presenting yourself to the captain. You feel him staring at your dripping heat, and you shiver under his gaze. His fingers trace along your lips as he positions himself behind you, nudging your knees apart as he presses his cock back into you. Your back arches almost by instinct, and he groans as he bottoms out, leaning over you. You feel his abdomen press against the plug in your ass, and you try to push backwards to drive it in deeper, but a sharp smack to your ass makes you freeze.

“What did I tell you about being greedy?” he rasps. “You take what I give you.” 

You squeeze around him in the only act of defiance you can muster, and he chuckles darkly before he leans forward, pinning your arms behind your back with one hand while fisting your hair with the other. The roots of your hair creak again under his grip, but the pain is beautiful as he slams into your cunt again with a wet slap that makes your face burn. 

“You talk a big game, but I know what you really crave,” he grunts as he fucks you. “You want to be told how filthy you are. You want to be used like this, to surrender to someone else. You want someone else to take charge. Your dripping little cunt tells me everything I need to know.” He’s got his weight tipped forward onto the small of your back, arching it even further as he snaps his hips into you again, accelerating the pace with each thrust until he’s pounding you into your mattress. Your head is pulled back and forth by the grip he has on your hair, and you allow yourself to go limp as Crater drives into you again and again. You’re more than happy to let him use you, especially as he strokes your insides deliciously, stretching you around his cock as your ass relaxes around the plug. It’s bliss. 

After a few minutes, he adjusts again, tipping further forward, and suddenly, he finds the deepest part of you again, and he knows it when you moan loudly under him. He slows, dragging himself out of you before thrusting roughly back in, and you try to bury your face in the sheets to hide the obscene whines that are falling from your lips. But a rough tug of your hair turns your face outward, and you gasp and moan, some of your saliva leaking onto the sheets as Crater fucks you. 

“None of that, love. I want to hear every noise you make.” 

He pulls you apart, piece by piece, yanking another orgasm from you in a matter of minutes before he flips you back onto your back, pulling your ankles up to rest on his shoulders and gripping your hips as he pistons into you roughly. You lose track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and each time, Crater only allows you a moment to catch your breath before he’s moving you again, gripping your body roughly and taking what he wants from you. You’re boneless and malleable, and he’s seemingly insatiable. 

He’s fucking you on your back again, with one leg extended between his with the other on his shoulder as he drives into your soaked cunt. Sweat is trickling down his neck, trailing along the lines of his tattoos. His dark curls are glistening with moisture, and one drop falls from his nose, landing on your abdomen as he snaps his hips into you relentlessly. 

“I’m almost there, love,” he gasps. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” 

You’re panting with exertion, trying to hold your orgasm at bay as he grips your hip, driving himself into you impossibly deeper. You worry that his orgasm will mean the end of this night, and he seems to notice your concern.

“Ask for what you want, pretty girl.”

You’re suddenly shy, even with his cock buried inside you, even wearing the marks of his teeth and his hands on your flesh. 

He slows, whispering your name. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want you to fuck my ass. I want you to have me there, Crater.” 

His eyes search yours for a second before he resumes his relentless pace. “I’m going to cum in this pussy. Then you’re going to clean my cock off with that smart mouth of yours. And once I’m nice and hard again, I’ll claim you there. That what you want?”

Heat rises in your cheeks. “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir. Please sir.”

“Good girl.”

He leans forward, adjusting to the angle that he knows will rip another orgasm from you, and sure enough, you’re pleading with him again in a matter of seconds. This time, he’s merciful. 

“Cum with me. Right now. Do it.”

You’ve never been so responsive to a lover, never felt as though your body was perfectly calibrated to follow their commands, but Crater’s words send you hurtling over the edge, and you feel him twitch as he empties himself inside of you. It takes several thrusts, and you’re certain you’re full of his cum, dripping with it. 

His final thrusts make obscene sounds, and you feel the warm stickiness dribble out of you. Crater pushes himself up on his hands and knees, reaching for the dildo and gently nestling it inside of you, replacing his cock. It’s cold and not enough compared to him, but your disappointment only lasts a moment as he crawls to the head of your bed, sitting against your headboard with his legs spread. He reaches for the remote on your nightstand and beckons you forward. 

“Come clean me off, love. Get me ready to take you again.” 

You feel as though you’re drunk as you roll yourself onto your hands and knees, clumsily crawling towards him on wobbly limbs. He watches you with a slight smirk as you drop to your elbows between his knees, nuzzling at his abdomen and kissing the scar on his hip. He gently brushes your hair out of your face, gathering it in one hand. 

“You want this, love?”

“So much,” you whisper. 

His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your combined releases, and you gently wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. The taste is salty and tangy and warm, and you can’t believe how quickly you crave it, slipping him further into your mouth. He grunts in surprise as you suddenly feel a second wind overtake you, making you eager to run your tongue along every inch of him. You clean him until your saliva replaces the slick cum on his shaft, tracing veins and flicking the head of his cock with your tongue. You hear a dull thunk as his head falls back against your headboard, and he gathers your hair in one hand, applying pressure to the back of your head. 

You want him to use you. You want him to bruise the back of your throat. You want him to make your voice rasp in the morning as a reminder of this night. 

His cock hits the back of your throat, but you hold yourself there, fighting your gag reflex and the tears that are blurring your vision. You can see his abdomen heaving as he experimentally thrusts into your mouth, testing your limits. You swallow around him. 

Crater moans. 

“Good fucking girl. Maker, I knew that mouth would be incredible. Gonna have to be careful or else I’ll cum down your throat, love.”

You hum and the grip on your hair tightens as you feel his cock swell and pulse against your tongue. 

“Oh, you want that do you? You want me to fuck your mouth?”

The sounds as your saliva squelches around him are obscene, but he begins pistoning up into your mouth, moving your head to meet his thrusts. You rest one hand on his thigh in case you need it, and you feel his muscles tense with every snap of his hips. 

“So fucking good. I should come by more often just to do this. Shut your office door and fuck your throat when you get mouthy with me. You love this, don’t you? Love being put in your place. Love being used to slick my cock, you sloppy little thing. Relax your throat for me. Oh, fuck, yes. Just like that.” 

You’ve never heard him this vocal, and as you manage to glance up, you see how his lips are slightly parted. His brows are furrowed, and you can tell you might finally have him knocked slightly off balance. A new wave of arousal shoots through you at the thought of making Crater crumble. With renewed fervor, you bury your nose in the curls at the base of his cock, inhaling his scent just before your airway is cut off, and you gag. But you hold yourself there, and his hand rests heavily on the back of your head. 

Suddenly, you groan as he clicks the remote for the dildo in your cunt. It vibrates to life, pressing against your stretched walls, making your legs quiver.

“Good girls get rewarded,” he rasps.

You become ravenous, eager to taste his cum, desperate to have this man fill your throat. You want nothing more than to pleasure him, to submit to him, and you let him take what he wants from you. Crater drops the remote, burying both hands in your hair as he lazily thrusts in and out of your mouth, giving you instructions occasionally, which you follow without question. The dull buzz between your legs combined with the pressure in your ass and the throb of Crater’s cock on your tongue brings you to the edge again, but this time, you can’t beg with your mouth full. 

He notices. 

“Do it. Cum for me. You’ve been so good.”

He clicks the remote again, and you scream around his cock. He presses your head all the way down, groaning as your shrieks vibrate around him. Just as you’re spent, he pulls you off of him, turning the vibration off. He’s almost painfully hard, you can see that. His cock is fully erect and twitching, glistening with your saliva in the dull lighting of the room. You rest your cheek on his thigh, and he strokes your hair. 

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

“Wanted… wanted to taste… you,” you pant.

He strokes your hair. “Another time. I promise.” 

You whine. “Please fuck me.”

That was apparently the answer he was hoping for, not wanting to expend himself too early if that’s what you really wanted. He’s read you again, but you can’t be bothered by it as he asks you “Where?”

You know he’s making sure this is what you want, so you meet his eyes with as firm a gaze as you can muster. “Please fuck my ass, sir. I need it.”

“How could I refuse such a polite request?” 

Crater eases out from underneath you, crawling around behind you and guiding you onto your stomach. He folds a pillow in half and helps you raise your hips to stuff it under them, raising them to his liking before he straddles you, enclosing your legs with his. He pushes the vibrator in your cunt a little deeper, you having squeezed it out slightly during your last orgasm, and then he clicks the low vibration back on. Your muscles tighten around it, and you grip the sheets, arching your back and moaning as he presses it further in and clicks the button again. The vibrations ramp up, and you writhe beneath him. He taps the end of the plug in your ass, and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. 

“You gonna let me have your ass, sweetheart?”

It’s one last check. And you’re so grateful for it. But you’re also so impatient. 

“Yes. Please fuck my ass, Captain.” 

His eyes leave yours to watch as he plays with the plug a little, tapping and moving it in and out of you before he removes it completely. You feel achingly empty and wiggle your ass, hoping it will entice him to fill you faster. You’ve never been taken there before, but right now, you want nothing more. 

“I’m going to go slow. Use your colors.”

“Please, Crater.” 

The lube bottle clicks open, and a few seconds later you hear the sound of him slicking his cock. Coolness hits your asshole, and you gasp as fingers slip inside of you, working you even more open. 

And then you feel it. 

Crater uses one hand to spread your asscheeks as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and slowly begins to ease in. So slowly. Tears leap into your eyes as your muscles stretch to accommodate him. It’s slightly painful, but the pleasure outweighs it as he gently thrusts just the head in and out of you. It feels as though your cunt is stretching too, and the vibrations inside of you suddenly become more intense. 

You need him deeper.

“More,” you plead. 

Crater sinks a little further into you, moving his hand to the small of your back instead to brace himself. And that’s when it hits you: he’s inside of you completely, not having to hold himself there, in a place no one else has ever been. 

The realization drives you wild. 

And then he taps the vibrator again. You gasp loudly, fisting the sheets. 

“More. Please!” 

He sinks deeper, but it’s too much too fast this time. You gasp out a color.

“YELLOW.” 

He backs off quickly, but your hand rockets around to keep him inside you. 

“Just a little slower. I’m sorry. I thought I was ready,” you choke out.

“Don’t be sorry. Not at all. I’m glad you told me.” His voice is tight. You know he’s holding back. And that’s why you want to keep going. Because you trust him like you’ve trusted no one else. 

“Don’t stop. Just go slower. But please don’t stop.”

“You’re sure?” he asks again.

“Yes. Please. I’m green.” You thrust back slightly, just to your breaking point, and he takes your lead. You feel your body relax around him, and this time, you’re positive when you ask him for more. He’s slow and patient, working his way inside you. The stretch is delicious, and Maker, you’ve never been this full. Nothing you do with your fingers or toys after this will be enough. Not with the way his hand is rubbing comforting circles in the small of your back as he destroys you one centimeter at a time. 

“More.” 

He sinks deeper, and now you’re babbling as he slowly drags himself back out of you before sinking back in. You reach between your legs to press the vibrator against your clit. 

“Fuck, Crate. You’re so big. It’s so big and perfect. Fuck. I fucking love the way you feel in my ass.” 

“You gonna let me cum in this tight ass, pretty girl?” he grits out. He doesn’t correct you on his title, but you’re pretty sure he’s almost as far gone as you are.

“Gods, yes. I want you to claim me there. Paint my walls where no one else has. I want to feel you leak back out of me.”

His hands grip your hips so hard you’re certain there’ll be a perfect set of fingerprints there. He’s doing everything in his power to go slow, and you can’t wait to turn him loose. 

“More, Crate.” 

You feel his hips come to rest against your ass as he bottoms out. He’s panting against your shoulder blades, attempting to keep his composure. The realization of how deep he is inside of you has your cunt fluttering around the vibrator, and you almost orgasm from the thought alone. He stretches his legs out, lowering his weight on top of you. One set of his fingers interlaces with yours, and the other hand comes around to cup your throat. He doesn’t squeeze this time, just cradles your jaw, holding your head up as he nuzzles against you. 

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking good.”

You look over your shoulder at him as much as you can, watching a line of sweat trickle down his temple. 

“Fuck me, Captain.” 

He does. He’s slow at first, but the drag of his cock all the way back out and all the way back into your ass makes you mewl, and before long, you’re pressing back into him. He ramps the vibrator up to its highest setting, and your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Harder. Please.” 

He obliges, snapping his hips deeper and putting more of his weight into each thrust. Your toes dig into the sheets as your whole body begins to tighten. 

“I’m so full. It’s so good. So good. Fuck.” You can’t stop babbling as he pounds into you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he gasps. “You take my cock so fucking well. Like you were made for it.” He groans loudly as he bottoms out again. “You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed in both holes?”

“Yes,” you sob. “It’s so good.”

“I bet you’d love to have Gregor’s cock in here too. Maybe he takes your sweet little cunt while I pound your ass.” You moan, clenching at the thought. Crater doesn’t stop. “But that still leaves your mouth. Maybe I get Chuckles in here to fuck that smart little mouth while Gregor and I take you. Would you like that, pretty girl? To be ruined by three men at once?” 

You whine and spasm around him, and he feels it. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty girl. Who would have known the smart-mouthed mechanic would let me do this to her? Let me ruin her in the backroom of her office. I want you to always remember this when you’re out in that office working. How I took you back here and made you scream my name. How you begged for my cock. Maybe I’ll take you over that desk before I go in the morning so you think about that for the rest of the day while my spend leaks out of you.” 

“Crater, I’m gonna cum.”

“Not until I say you are,” he grits out. “Not until I’m ready to.” 

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your body from toppling over the edge. 

“Don’t you cum yet,” he snarls. 

“I’m trying,” you whine. “But I’m so close, Captain. So close.” 

“Keep talking.” 

Your mouth runs on autopilot, desperate to find the words that will yank him to the edge alongside you so that you can both tumble off together. 

“Your cock is so fucking good, Crater. Gods, nothing will ever be enough after this. You fill me up so perfectly. I need it, Crate. I need to feel your hot cum in my ass. I want to feel it leak out of me. Fuck. Please give it to me, Crater. Please cum in my ass.” 

His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know you’re about to get what you want. 

“G-gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna be the first to claim you here.”

“My ass is yours, Crater.” 

“Yeah it fucking is.” The grip on your throat tightens, pulling your head back again, and that last little pinprick of pain has you teetering on the brink. It’s like the first day when he had you tipped in the chair of your office, your toes barely touching the floor. All it will take is the slightest push to send you toppling over the edge.

Just a little further. So close.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you sob. 

“You’re so cute when you beg,” he rasps directly into your ear. And with a loud groan, his hips stutter as he cums in your ass, gasping. 

“Now,” he moans.

And your orgasm rips through you. He drops your head, and you scream into the sheets as wave after wave washes over you in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears stream from your eyes and your body spasms again and again. You feel like you’re floating somewhere between consciousness and some other plane of existence as you come out of it, barely aware of what day it is or what your name even is anymore. 

When the waves of your orgasm finally stop battering your wrung-out body, you collapse limply against the sheets of your bed. They stick to you, but it feels as if you’ve sunk halfway through the mattress somehow. Your mouth feels dry from screaming. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, and you’re aware Crater is laying on top of you, panting against your neck, but trying to hold the majority of his weight off of you.

“Get it out,” you mumble. 

He’s already slipped from your ass, but he quickly turns off the vibrator and eases it out of your cunt. You feel yourself start to shake uncontrollably. You’re not sure if it’s due to the orgasm, the sudden chill on your sweat-soaked body, or something else. Regardless, Crater lies next to you and pulls you close to him, being careful to keep his sullied hand clear of you. His nose grazes yours as he gently cradles your head. 

“Breathe with me, Bolts.”

You do, and the shivering begins to subside after a few cycles. You finally open your eyes and find Crater’s steady gaze watching you, a comfort as always. 

“I’m going to go get something to clean you off with. I’m going to be right back. Alright?” You nod, your mind still hazy, and he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving off towards your ‘fresher. The sink hisses softly, and a moment later, you feel your legs gently being parted and a warm, damp cloth moving over your body, thighs, and between your legs as Crater carefully cleans you. Once he’s done, a dry towel runs over the same areas, soft and gentle, before he rolls you onto your back, removing the pillow from beneath your hips. You hear the mini-fridge in your outer office open and close, and a straw is placed at your lips. You drink greedily as he strokes your hair, draining the water packet in a few seconds. 

“Good girl.” The words are softer now, carrying no heat. “Do you need more?” 

You shake your head and open your eyes just in time to see him toss the spent water packet into the rubbish bin. He slides into the bed next to you, pulling the blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You snuggle into the crook of his shoulder in a daze, inhaling his smell and draping one of your legs over his thigh. His fingers stroke your cheek, and he presses gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Strong, gentle hands trail over your skin, caressing tenderly in a way that so sharply contrasts with how he touched you just moments before. He searches for sore muscles or tension left untouched but finds none; you’re completely relaxed in his grasp. His fingers graze over the bruises and bite marks he left, pressing gently and watching for your reaction, ensuring you’re not in too much pain. It’s sweet, but not something you’re used to. You know this hardly counts as being pampered by most people’s standards, but you’re not used to the doting tenderness. Even if you do find yourself melting into him more with every passing second, allowing your eyes to drift shut again as you release a satisfied sigh.

“I’m alright, Crate,” you mumble after a few moments, growing shy under his attention. 

“I need to be sure,” he says quietly. “That was intense for you.” 

You smile. “It was, but it was so good.” Your eyes flutter open, and your heart melts at the way he’s looking down at you. You were worried about how this moment might go, concerned about how your friendship might shift after allowing this to happen. 

But you should have known better. Crater is a pillar but also a soft place to land, someone you’d confide in without hesitation. His men fall in line because he’s someone to fly into battle with, someone you know will keep you safe. He’s proud but humble. You know he won’t tell a soul about this night. He doesn’t need to. He knows what he did for you, how you begged for him, and that’s enough. And if you’re honest, you think he got as much out of it as you did, enjoying watching your walls come down and you relaxing with him, enjoying the process of helping you. 

“Just didn’t realize this was an all-inclusive sort of encounter,” you joke. “You’re starting to make me feel like royalty with all the attention.”

His expression grows serious as he looks down at you, pushing some of your hair out of your face. “You shouldn’t be accepting any other kind of encounters, Bolts. Do I need to chat with Gregor when he gets back?”

“Nah. He’s fine for what he is. And he does take care of me. It’s just… different.” 

He grunts noncommittally, pulling you closer. You feel his thumb graze your spine. 

“You jealous?” you ask, tongue poking out between your teeth teasingly.

“Not at all. We’re different people giving you different things.”

“That makes it sound like you don’t intend for this to be a one-time thing, Crate.”

“That is entirely up to you.” His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you kiss it. 

You pretend to consider it for a moment, as if this night won’t have you craving his touch seconds after he’s gone. “Well, I can’t be getting cranky with your men again, now can I?” you murmur, snuggling deeper into the crook of his shoulder.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Definitely can’t have that. And I’m more than happy to do my part.” 

“More than happy?”

“Yeah, Bolts. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself too.” 

“You do this with a lot of people?”

“Nope. Only ones I trust. And that trust me.” 

You twist one end of your hair nervously, the mention of trust bringing a question charging to the forefront of your mind. He can tell, taking your fingers and carefully intertwining them in his own. 

“What is it? You having second thoughts?”

“No, not at all. This was great. It’s just… have you heard if Gregor’s talking about him and I? I didn’t think he would, but what Strike said a few weeks back stuck with me. I don’t want to be the Battalion Babe of the week.” 

He nods, pulling your knuckles to his lips. “I can assure you that I haven’t heard anything and I don’t think Gregor’s like that. I think Strike was angry and lashing out. I know several of the men did see you leave 79s with Gregor, so the conclusion wasn’t too far-fetched. But Gregor’s not feeding the rumor mill.” 

You sigh. “Dammit.”

“For what it’s worth, you haven’t been a topic of conversation within my earshot. I had a chat with Chuckles too and asked him to make sure it wasn’t happening when I’m not around. He said he would, and I trust him. As much of a pain as he is at times, he’s a good man. I trust him.” 

You nod appreciatively, melting slightly at the thought of Chuckles doing that for you, but the mention of the mohawked pilot brings another question to the front of your mind. “Were you serious about you and Gregor and Chuckles?”

He shrugs. “It was something I said in the moment, but not a thing I’d approach them about without your express consent. No one needs to know about this if you don’t want them to. And I would only bring in people you and I trust explicitly. Gregor and Chuckles are two of those people. But again, it was said in the moment and doesn’t have to be a serious thing ever.” 

Your mind is whirling at the thought of having three of them at once. You can’t lie, it does pique your interest. You smirk up at him. “I’ll let you know.”

He huffs a laugh. His eyes are gentle as he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me to do all that for you.” 

You snuggle further into him, absently tracing his tattoos with your fingertips. “Thank you for doing it for me in the first place. I’d have never asked.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “I know. You’re too stubborn. That’s why I offered.”

“Glad you did.”

“Me too.”

His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep only a few minutes later. 

—

When you wake in the morning, Crater’s still there, but he’s in the process of getting dressed. He’s snapping his vambraces in place as you stir, sitting up and stretching. You ache deliciously in all of the right places, but seeing him standing there reawakens your hunger. He smiles at you as you sit up in bed. 

“Morning. Figured I should get out of here before the droids start powering on. They’re not known for gossip, but better safe than sorry.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice, and even if you had, you’re confident he still would have picked up on your cues. He pauses. 

“What’s wrong?”

You wonder if you’re overstepping, but after the night you just had, you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. You get out of your bed, opening the door to your office. Despite you being completely naked, covered in his marks, Crater’s eyes are firmly locked on yours. You lean against the doorframe, glancing over at your desk. 

“You mentioned a parting gift last night that involved my desk. That offer still on the table?” 

He huffs a laugh, his hands falling to your waist and gently guiding you out into the office. The cool edge of the desk presses against the front of your thighs as he leans down to speak directly into your ear. 

“Elbows on the desk for me, pretty girl. And try to be a little quieter this time.” 

You shudder as he nudges your feet apart, placing his codpiece on the desk next to you. 

“Yes sir.” 

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @extrahotpixels @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @dnxgma @meekaielmyerhs99 @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @samspenandsword

[osunism]

If

"If I was your girl, oh, the things I'd do to you; I'd make you call out my name; I'd ask who it belongs to." —Janet Jackson, "If"

🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️ Be Advised: Explicit sexual situations, alcohol use, recreational drug use. ❤️‍🔥 Pairing: Satoru x Sundari 🪧 Summary: One night, Satoru meets an intriguing stranger with interesting tattoos.

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Fic Masterlist 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 HCs & Meta ⛩️

Three months before Itadori Yuji consumed Sukuna’s Finger and changed the very trajectory of the jujutsu world, Gojo had an incredible and memorable one-night stand.

It hadn’t been intentional at first. He’d gone out with the express purpose of observing people in their natural habitat. As megalomaniacal as it sounded, Gojo was well-aware of the lofty position he occupied in jujutsu society and the world at large. In his free time, he knew and understood the worth, merit, and import of coming back down to earth to be amongst those whom he was born to protect.

In other words: Gojo loved people watching.

Tonight was no different from the others, and he’d consumed enough sugar that he was wired. Gojo enjoyed dancing as much as the next person, and he was unsurprisingly good at it. So of course he found himself at the Shibuya Spot–a warehouse that was clearly in dire need of sprucing up that had been turned into a rave hotspot where Tokyo’s night creatures could gather in the dark, laser-strewn space and dance until they sweat, until the sun came out and they scurried back home while regular people were starting their workday.

The music choice for tonight was deep, throbbing techno. It put Gojo in a mood, watching the lasers and lights paint the crowd, illuminating sweat-slick bodies clad in all manner of futuristic black clothing. The best part of going to these raves that he knew were barely legal was that he did not stand out wearing his sunglasses indoors, clad in all black as he was. It made watching everyone much easier.

The other good thing about these raves was the cursed energy output was lower than most other gatherings of non-sorcerers. His eyes hurt less, and the flow of cursed energy was almost synergistic. Between the music, the crowd, the drugs, and the alcohol, everyone seemed to be on the same wave.

Gojo was perched on a crate near the back of the crowd, just enough out of the way that he could observe in peace. He saw some sikes of cursed energy, likely low-level curse users enjoying a night off, so he paid them no mind. Likely they felt his cursed energy and were willing to behave. He was off the clock if one could consider such a thing. At some point, Gojo slipped through the crowd toward the bar, little more than a booth with a neon sign, and a flushed and busty rave bunny serving drinks. He’d been requesting the sweetest juices they had available, and no one questioned why he didn’t imbibe alcohol, nor did they tease him for it.

Several people offered him substances, including lollipops imbued with cocaine or acid [dealer’s choice]. Gojo considered it before ultimately turning them down politely. His eyesight was trippy enough without the additive of a psychedelic. And cocaine was actually disgusting, despite it having the same stimulating effects as his sugar rushes.

He thanked the bartender for her service, tipping generously before turning to find a new perch to observe the rave from. He’d found another crate and settled when he saw her. He didn’t know why he noticed her so immediately, and looking back he probably should have made the connection. All he knew was that her presence was a singularity on the dance floor, even when he lasers weren’t illuminating her.

She was tall. She towered over most of the people on the floor, and she was wearing a pair of black sunglasses like many of the other attendees. Gojo’s eyes saw her as clear as if she were standing in the sunlight: 6’2” at least, Amazonian in height, and built like a fighter. He saw full feminine curves made harsher by hardened muscle. She threw her head back in private ecstasy, and her braids flew elegantly around her head, her plump lips parted. Her nut brown skin was slick with sweat, and Gojo could make out the path the sweat took along her skin.

Her dancing was exquisite.

She rode the rhythm as if she alone could hear every kick, every 808, every throbbing bassline. Her curves undulated in concert, lending her a more controlled and effortless appearance to her dancing than the wild swaying and thrashing of those around her. Gojo smiled, and finished his drink, heading back to the bar right when the Amazonian warrior left the dance floor, making a beeline for the same bar stand.

As she got closer, Gojo got a better look at her. He was slightly taller than her, and she stopped short, turning her face to look directly at him.

“You in line?” She asked, awarding him a cursory smile. Gojo smirked.

“I am,” he said. “Loved your dancing, by the way.” He learned that the easiest way to put people at ease in these environments was to compliment them in sincerity. She smiled, receiving the compliment with an easy confidence.

“Thanks,” she said. “You dance?”

Gojo shrugged as they moved up in the line.

“I’ve been known to bust a move or two,” he says with a grin. The woman laughs, full-throated and amused.

“Bust a move?” She asked. “What are you, thirty?”

Gojo bristled a little but took it in stride. “I’m 28 if you must know. I’d say I’ve got about two more years before my presence at these events delves into the territory of concern.”

The woman laughed again. “Aw don’t be like that, baby, I was just fuckin’ with you. There’s no age limit on these things. I’m gonna be old and gray and still throwing ass on the dance floor.”

Gojo decided he liked this woman. She gave him the air of someone who was brash, who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and gave as good as she got. He ordered another sweet drink, and she ordered a Jack and Coke.

“So,” he said, “what’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The woman sips her drink like the bartender didn’t “break” her wrist pouring mostly whiskey. Gojo admired people who could handle liquor. He simply was not built for it.

“Sundari,” she said, and he could see her eyes peering at him from behind her large sunglasses. He said her name back to her, watching her lips curve into a pleased smirk at his pronunciation.

“Beautiful name,” he said. “Beautiful woman too.”

Sundari grinned around her small straw.

“Oh I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teased. “What’s your name, stranger?”

Gojo grinned at her. “Gojo. Gojo Satoru.”

Sundari mouthed his name to herself and he took that moment to focus on her beautiful lips, still wet with whiskey and lipgloss.

“Gojo,” she said with a smile, as if she was pleased with how his name felt on her tongue. At least, that’s what Gojo hoped that sexy little smirk meant.

“Want some company on the dance floor?” He asked, reckless and curious about this enigma who moved like a force of nature through the crowd, which parted for her like she owned the floor.

She glanced at him over one shoulder, smirking in clear invitation, and he noted the tattoos, his brow furrowing briefly before he put it out of his mind and joined her on the dance floor.

Sundari and Gojo danced for what felt like hours, and Gojo knew from her body language–her sexy, sexy body language–that she was supremely impressed with his ability to keep up. He got close a few times, and she invited him in, their lips hovering dangerously close before she danced away from him. He quietly laughed. It was like a damned nature documentary and they were doing some sort of mating ritual. She sized him up with open appraisal, and he did the same. They traded no words during their dance, and it became clear to the others on the floor that the two of them were locked in for the evening.

Gojo offered to get them drinks, his hair dripping with sweat, and she obliged him.

“Jack and Coke, right?” He asked and Sunari lowered her sunglasses a fraction and winked at him, giving him her approval of his need to impress her.

“Good boy,” she said with a grin and Gojo felt a flush creep up to his ears. Oh why did she have to say that?

He went to the bar, bought the drinks, and turned to see her dancing again, and one little gnat buzzing around her trying desperately to get her attention. Sundari moved with the grace of a trained warrior–or dancer, he couldn’t be sure–and evaded the clear intrusion of the little gnat’s groping hands as he attempted to hold her hips, which swayed in a serpentine evasion from his grasp.

Gojo was smirking with smug maliciousness when he returned.

“Your drink, baby,” he said in a rich voice, peering at the little gnat as Sundari took her whiskey and slurped it down.

“Thank you,” she said with a smirk as he joined her in dance again.

Gojo couldn’t recall the last time he simply let himself be thoughtless for a while. He focused on Sundari, who seemed unburdened by inner turmoil, and danced for the sheer joy of the movement she could create. And Gojo indulged that energy wholeheartedly, finding a rare moment of joy in the hours spent in that sweaty warehouse.

But dawn was coming, and the last set of the night was winding down. Sundari slurped the dregs of her drink and stepped away from the crowd momentarily.

“Hey,” she said to Gojo. “You wanna get out of here? By the time this is over I’m sure there’s a breakfast joint nearby that’ll serve us.”

Gojo wanted to agree but he would have rather had breakfast at his apartment and…her for a second breakfast.

“I got a better idea,” he said. “How about we go to my place and I whip us up a nice breakfast and we can watch the sunrise over Tokyo. That sound good with you, beautiful?”

Sundari chuckled. “You don’t have to sell me on it, Gojo Satoru,” she drawled. “I had plans to fuck you since I spotted you perched on that crate hours ago.”

That sent a delightful shiver down his spine and most of his blood rushing to cock.

He’d never really been hunted like that before. This was new territory.

Sundari peered at him again, and he thought her eyes had an almost auburn glow to them momentarily but blamed the flashing lights and jittering laser tracing.

“How do you like your coffee?” He asked.

“Black, two sugars,” Sundari said back.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“Whatever is easiest for you.”

“Are you on birth control?”

“IUD. You wanna see if you can knock it loose?”

Gojo stared at her, then, and for a moment they held one another’s gaze, the tension between them threatening to snap. He would have fucked her right there on the dance floor, but instead he reached out to take her hand, and then he was leading her out of that sweaty warehouse into the cool spring night in the middle of Shibuya. He debated how to get to his place without warping before he got a good look at Sundari in the light.

She took her sunglasses off, and looked at him with a pair of eyes the color of garnet. He noted the scars beneath her eyes, settled on her cheekbones. She was as beautiful in the artificial neon of Shibuya as she had been in the darkness of the warehouse.

“Fuck you really are gorgeous,” he breathed. Sundari chuckled, and he saw the heat warming and flushing her brown skin.

“You’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself, Gojo,” she said.

“Satoru.” He corrected. Sundari’s brow furrowed.

“You sure?” She asked. Gojo grinned.

“That’s what I want to hear you scream when I make you come.”

It was Sundari’s turn to be taken aback, and she held his gaze like she had just heard him say something truly interesting, because he had.

“That so?” She asked, and stepped closer, unafraid of him when she really, really should have been. Gojo thought about how much of a monster he was and how this woman with a face like a petulant queen was not afraid of what kind of stress he wanted to put her pussy through.

“Yeah,” he said as she leaned in close, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth from his. “Yeah,” he breathed before their mouths sealed over one another in their first, mind melting kiss of the night.

Gojo could taste the warmth of the whiskey on her tongue, and she could taste the sugar on his. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his long fingers cradling her skull as they kissed. It was at once tender and passionate, and Sundari kissed him as if she was seeking to imprint the signature of the very sun on his mouth. She licked into his mouth, nibbled his lower lip tenderly, and kept her eyes on his as they pulled away. There was nothing shy about her, and Gojo loved that.

Their cab ride was rife with tension, and Gojo rested his hand on her thigh, stroking tenderly, and occasionally he drifted higher to give feather-light touches to the region around her cunt, delighted when she shivered and bit her lip in mischievous pleasure and anticipation, shooting him a knowing look.

When they arrived at his building and took the elevator up to his penthouse, she didn’t seem to feel out of place at all, and Gojo had to resist the urge to just fuck her in the elevator. That didn’t stop them from engaging in some heavy petting, and Gojo took an opportunity to corner her away from the elevator’s camera, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings to tease her lace-clad cunt, finding it hot and wet already.

Fuck he wanted her bad.

Sundari let him lead her into his penthouse, didn’t even ask for a tour as they skipped awkward pleasantries and got right to kissing one another as if they were lovers who had been parted for too long. Gone was the tenderness of their kiss in Shibuya Crossing, replaced by the feral clacking of teeth, the impatient grunts and growls of two people who wanted nothing but to crash into one another until exhaustion defeated them both.

At each stage of their furious undressing, Gojo put his mouth on whatever flesh he could find: from her neck [he loved kissing her right at the center of her throat, and feeling her voice vibrate beneath his mouth], to the strong slope of her shoulder where the two black concentric rings were tattooed, down her arm where two black bands were tattooed at her wrists, and along her palm and fingertips. He kissed her breasts, sucked lewdly at her nipples until he coaxed a true whine from her throat, silently smug in victory to have stirred her. He kissed the taut, hard planes of her stomach, tongued a wet path around her belly button, before his lips grazed the lace edge of her panties.

Sundari looked down at him, her gaze hot and expectant.

“Don’t stop on my account, Satoru .” Why did she say his name like that? It made his cock twitch.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said, and felt the difference in them, even as he knelt before her, prepared to do one of the things he did best but could not openly brag about alongside being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

He traced the edge of her panties again with his fingertips, chuckling when he saw the tiny muscles in her thighs twitch from the strain and sensation. Then, he hooked his fingers and slid the gusset of her panties aside, revealing her swollen, dripping cunt.

“How long have you been wet for me?” He asked. Sundari parted her thighs a little more, even as she took a deep breath as his fingertips traced her slick lips, purposely avoiding where she wanted him most.

“If I tell you since I saw you would you believe me?” She asked, her voice coming a little breathless as Gojo just barely grazed her clit, making the muscles in her thighs jump.

“I’m flattered,” he replied. “Why didn’t you approach sooner?”

He gathered some of her slick on her fingers, watched a few droplets drip onto the floor as she got wetter from the contact.

“Was too busy dancing, baby,” she said. “You’re having way too much fun down there.”

Gojo grinned up at her, cerulean eyes sparkling.

“I am,” he said, and he parted her cunt with his thumbs, exposing the swollen bud of her clit. Without warning, he leaned in, fastened his mouth around it, and sucked.

Sundari’s head dropped back against the fridge and bit her lip on a whimper. Her effort to try and hide her pleasure only made Gojo more aggressive and he opened his mouth wider to encompass more of her, his tongue delving deep into her cunt, working her until she was dripping down his chin and his jaw started to ache.

Sundari cursed with a sailor’s eloquence, and she reached blindly for anything to hold onto, one hand fixed and threaded in Gojo’s soft white hair as a pair of galactic eyes looked up at her and saw her. The other hand grasped the top of the fridge for dear life, and she worked to move her hips against his working mouth, the lewd, wet squelching and her moans the only sound in the kitchen while dawn spilled into his penthouse, backlighting the entire skyline and painting Sundari’s skin in gold.

Gojo shut his eyes and focused. He sucked and licked, and then his fingers joined the fray, first the middle finger, which slid easily within her, making her cry out in surprise and delight. Then his index finger joined, and he got a feel for her rather intense muscle control. Her lust-slick walls gripped his fingers greedily, pulling them in down to the knuckle and gripping them which made it difficult for him to withdraw.

“Hm?” Gojo hummed around her clit as he opened his eyes to look up at her. He saw her ribcage expand and contract as her moans became a whine in her chest, her breath came out in hard, heavy pants. She was close–he could tell–she was so wet there was slick dripping from his chin, along his neck, and droplets pooling on the floor. She wouldn’t have been the first to spill herself all over his face and his nice floors.

But from the way she tasted, she was definitely becoming one of his favorites.

“ Satoru… !” She hissed his name in a desperate plea and Gojo didn’t let up, and focused his tongue on her clit, sucking and licking until Sundari’s head thumped against the fridge and she let out a long, keening cry, squirting all over his face. Gojo rubbed his face into her pussy, and briefly entertained drowning in it.

He pulled away from her clit with a lewd, wet pop .

“Mmm,” he said, licking his lips as he savored her flavor. “This is some of the best pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m sure,” Sundari breathed, her tone a tad wry. Gojo placed a tender kiss to the inside of her thighs, and one to her cunt which made her gasp as he gave her clit one last teasing flick before standing.

“Can you walk or do you want me to carry you?” Gojo asked smugly.

Sundari playfully flicked his shoulder, smirking.

“Be a good boy and take me to bed,” she said, and then ran her tongue over her lips. Gojo would have fucked her right there against the fridge but instead he took her hand and led to his bedroom and she smiled when she aw his large bed beneath a large skylight. The sun wasn’t overhead yet but dawn illuminated his soft linen sheets, and she mounted the empty bed on all fours. He liked the way her cunt looked, barely restrained by her panties, which she peeled off slowly as she rolled over, spreading her legs so that he could see her in full.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he said, and slid out of his briefs, his cock springing free, a pearly drop at the tip. Sundari sat back on her hands, but she lifted one to beckon him closer. Gojo went to her, crawling onto the bed, seeking a place between her spread legs.

She lifted one leg and planted a foot on his chest to halt him.

“Ask for permission,” she said quietly. Gojo’s hand came to capture her ankle, and he saw her pupils go wide as she registered his true strength.

“Permission to ruin that pretty pussy?” He asked, turning his head to pepper her ankle and calf with kisses. “I only got one taste, I wanna make sure she remembers me.”

Sundari chuckled, a husky, sensual sound that made his cock twitch and she noted it with a raised brow.

“That’s not how you ask for permission, Satoru,” her voice turned stern, and she pressed the ball of her foot into his chest, prompting him to let go of her ankle, she dragged her foot lower, along his sculpted and toned abdomen. She just barely brushed his cock with her foot and he let out a choked sound.

“Care to try again?” She offered, looking highly amused.

Gojo eyed her pussy, naked and wet, her clit poking from between those velvety folds just begging for him to touch it or suck it or do whatever it took to make her come again.

But the way she was tightening the reins was making his cock throb and he didn’t want to beg her but he couldn’t move without her permission.

“Please…” the word was so quiet the vented air could have stolen it away. Sundari brushed his cocked with her foot again.

“Please, what, Satoru? Use that talented tongue and ask me for what you want.”

Gojo knew he could end this power exchange physically, but something about the cool, unassailable confidence with which she made her demands compelled him to submit.

“Please let me fuck that pretty pussy, Sundari,” he said, at once ashamed and privately in relish of the whine in his voice. “Been wanting to fill you up since I saw you. Please let me fuck you. Let me fuck you until the sun goes down again.”

Sundari chuckled.

“I like you begging, Satoru,” she said. “I like when you have manners. You’re so poetic. I bet that tongue of yours flusters all the girls you bring here.”

She stroked his cock with her foot again. Gojo liked that her toes were so well-cared for, painted a glossy but vibrant blush color. She took her foot away and he heard a small sound escape his throat that sounded suspiciously like disappointment .

“Come here, Satoru,” she murmured, her voice like warm honey, rich velvet, and smoke all at once. Satoru crawled between her legs, and in one swift movement she flipped them over. It shocked him so much he almost activated his technique, his fighter’s instincts momentarily brought to the fore.

But Sundari had other plans.

She straddled him and immediately trapped his throbbing cock beneath her cunt. She slid her soaking sex along his shaft, coating it and Gojo moaned, letting out a soft reverent swear.

“Fuck, you’re k-killing me baby,” he breathed. “Let me in, already. You’re so wet and I need to be inside you.”

“Patience,” Sundari said, and wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking a few times before positioning the head at her entrance. She rubbed the head along her dripping slit until Gojo’s eyes widened and he was panting. And when she saw him at the edge of crazy, she suddenly sank down onto him. Gojo let out a sound that could only be described as somewhere between a moan and a howl.

“Fuuucckkkk, that pussy feels so fucking good, baby,” he groaned as Sundari fully seated on his cock. He watched her pussy stretch around him, licked his lips as he moved his hips, seeking the friction of her slick, wet walls.

Sundari shifted again, quick and confident, rising into a squat, further tightening her cunt around his dick, making him hiss.

“Oh fuck,” Gojo breathed, and he only had a moment to prepare as Sundari flashed a grin that would haunt his dreams.

And then she began to move.

Gojo had been ridden before. Countless men and women came and went in his life. He’d seen some Herculean effort by his partners to not only take his cock, which was prodigious in size, but to handle his stamina, which he knew was superhuman. He rarely got anyone willing to ride him like this because of the latter reason, and less because of the former.

You can take it , he’d always say when one of his partners would start whining and fretting about him being too big as if they hadn’t gotten a free sample before he ever invited them to cross his threshold.

Sundari was not one of these partners.

Not only did she take him and take him with consummate skill, she claimed him. Her body was strong–nearly a match for him–and she bounced on his cock like it was her personal fucktoy and Gojo could not have been happier to be reduced to such an illicit thing. She rode him with vigor and skill, bracing herself as he gripped her ass, squeezing as she came down and his hips came up.

The impact made Sundari groan, and soon the room was filled with the rapid sounds of moist skin slapping against moist skin, lewd moans, and lurid calls of Sundari’s name throughout Gojo’s sun-drenched penthouse.

Sundari grinned all the while, brown skin slick with sweat, garnet eyes wild with pleasure and power alike. Gojo had never felt so goddamn good in his life. This woman wanted to own him and wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t run from his dick, and instead she swore at him, bucking like she breaking him in, a stubborn stallion.

And Gojo made her work for every stroke, fighting for dear life not to come too soon if only to savor this prime pussy he’d been so lucky to experience. Fuck she felt so good, she smelled so good, and the way she looked fucking herself on his cock was probably going to be front and center of his wank bank for the next several weeks.

“You close, baby?” She asked, and laughed when Gojo grunted against the onslaught of what he came to understand were deliberate contractions and release of her walls while she rode him. Her muscle control made him want to weep.

He almost did weep. He definitely drooled a little.

“Sundari…” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, a desperate whine of her name. “I’m so goddamn close. I wanna fill this fuckin– ngh –fill this pussy up so bad.”

Sundari switched and shifted again, coming down to her knees to shift the angle of his cock in a way that stroked her most tender and sensitive regions. Gojo moaned at the new change, his hands went to her hips to grasp them and spread her cheeks apart so that she could take as much of his cock as he could give her. That was to say: all of it. And she took it.

“You like this pussy, baby?” She asked. “Wanna fill this pussy with your come?”

“Yes yesyes …!” Gojo moaned in agreement. And he dug his fingertips into her hips hard enough to leave his prints on her marrow as he felt his orgasm creeping up on him, making his balls tingle and his lower back build in pressure.

“Not yet…” Sundari panted. “Be a good boy and make me come again, Satoru. Are you a good boy?”

“Yes!” Gojo cried. Fuck. How had she turned the tables like this? He reached forward, found her clit and stroked it with his thumb. He felt good when she answered him with a keening wail that spiraled up to the skylight above them.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, reclaiming the power in their exchange. “That’s it…come for me, baby. Come all over my dick. Love this pretty pussy.”

He really did.

And Sundari did come for him, and after he’d flipped them over, pinned her legs over his shoulders, and pounded into her until he was sure there was and imprint of them in his mattress. And he came hard, emptying his balls into her until they felt it leaking out and pooling beneath her. Gojo gave a few more ragged thrusts, fucking his seed back into her, and sighed. Both of them lay there, sweaty and panting for breath before Gojo finally released her legs and slowly pulled out of her with a wet, slick sound that made them both groan and shudder.

“Fuck, that was…” Gojo breathed.

“Incredible.” Sundari said, her voice softer now that she was sated. Gojo grinned. He could not disagree. He climbed out of bed and padded into the bathroom, emerging after a few moments with a warm towel. He wiped Sundari down, careful and tender, kissing the places where he’d bit and sucked marks into her warm, brown skin.

Sundari kissed him too, nibbling at his sleek jawline, and kissed his pulse, which raced a little more under her touch.

“This was wonderful, Satoru, thank you,” she murmured. Gojo grinned.

“I aim to please,” he said and she laughed as they kissed again, tender and indulgent, saturated with the post-coital glow and easiness of two people who had seen each other’s most intimate parts.

They slid beneath the sheets and duvet, and tangled in one another’s arms, legs wrapped around one another. For a while they lay like that, and Gojo smiled at her as she dozed off. As she slept, Gojo watched her, his expression pensive, cerulean eyes hard and calculating.

He’d seen the tattoos on her back, the familiar script that ran the length of her spine. He could detect no cursed energy from it and so he wondered if it was mere coincidence.

Gojo did not believe in coincidences when it came to jujutsu. Still, he learned that caution was a better preparation than wild accusations and unfounded suspicion.

He activated his technique, just in case.

🩵 Read the sequel, Crystalline!

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[mionie]

🅂🅄🅁🆅🄸🅅🄰🄻 🄼🄸🅂🅂🄸🄾🄽 🄸🄽 🆃🄷🄴 🅆🄾🅁🄻🄳 🄾🅵 🄿🄶🅁

(A/N: sorry that it took too long for me to update this series. School's been busy😭. Anyway, enjoy guys❤️)

Log_04

"Hang in there, Commandant!" The medic said, holding the trembling hands of Julia on her lap. The spaceship they used just begun to enter the spacecraft.

Babylonia Spacecraft was MASSIVE. The in-game loading illustration looked the same as what she was witnessing, but she didn't expected this to be gigantic. If she were to put into comparison the Space station and their current vehicle, it's similar to comparing an ant to a vending machine.

Julia held back the bile rising at the back of her throat, watching their ship enter one of the more than 50 loading compartments.

She had been vomiting since she boarded the spaceship and out of the atmosphere, now, she had to adjust to the sudden change from anti-gravity to applied-gravity of the station. The ship released pressure and the construct pilot signaled them that was now okay to unboard the ship.

Her team members removed the harnesses attached to them while Julia just slipped herself out of the belts. As expected, her legs were wobbly and Liv supported her out of the cockpit.

Blinding light entered her sight as they walked down the ramp. A gasp left her chapped lips as she saw the size of the loading compartment. It was able to fit eight spaceships. Constructs and human personnel moved with precision as they handle crates of food, weapons, and many other things.

An officer greeted them, saluting to the elite squad of Babylonia. Lucia, at the front salute as well. Lee and Liv nodded at him.

"Welcome back, Gray Raven. President Hassen had requested your audience. I'll be escorting you there." They followed him towards a Humvee and they drove to the central receiving area. The Central Receiving Area was a large space with two-way, four lanes connecting to others compartments and sections of the craft. There was also a tall tower that serves as information and management centers that for supplies and people at the bottom. Inside the tower were elevators connecting the top and bottom floors.

The Humvee dropped them off to the foot of the tower and they rode the elevator toone of the top floors. Her eyes sparkled at the height of the elevator shaft until they reached the their destination.

The top floor was breathtaking. Liv had to nudge her gently to keep her moving. The Command Center overlooked the space. You can see the distant stars shining into the dark void, and spacecrafts hovering near Babylonia. They descended a flight of stairs and went to the small platform were a young woman with blonde hair tied into braids, and an old man with an eye patch was discussing things.

Lucia, Liv, and Lee saluted towards the man and Julia followed their gesture. The old man, Hassen, turned towards them and smiled.

Gosh, he's more handsome in personal. Aged like fine wine.

"Welcome back, Gray Ravens." The woman beside him, Celica, waved at them.

"President Hassen, Gray Raven, here as you requested." Lucia said, stepping forward.

He nodded, "I wanted to hear about your reports personally regarding your mission. As you all know, it's not that simple."

"Shall we head to the meeting room?" Celica smiled angelically, leading them towards an empty room with a long table and seats located at the center of the room. They sat down while Celica remained standing beside Hassen.

"How was the mission." Hassen started, getting himself comfortable at the head of the table.

"Corrupted were scattered within the perimeter of City-005. No signs of survivors, but we came across animals every 1 kilometer, mostly dogs and birds." Lucia said.

Liv opened her screen and played it at the center of the table. It showed data and video clips attached on her report, "each corrupted we encountered were similar to frame and design from the typical corrupted we encountered before. However, according to what I gathered, there was a 1.892 percent change of their attacks and behavior but it was dealt with accordingly."

Lee added while he played one of the recorded video of their fight, "the slight shift of their behavior was only recorded near the edges of the city. No more similar change was detected as we got inside."

"I see." Hassen continued watching the video until it finished before turning to the ineardly confused commandant.

"Commandant [+1-!/],, what are your thoughts?" She jumped when she didn't hear her name. Her ears tickled from the computerized sound of her supposed-to-be name was uttered by her Commander.

What... was that? Am I okay?

Celica looked the shocked Commandant with worry. She could see eyebags hanging heavily under her eyes and interrupted him, "President Hassen, shall I get us some beverages?"

"Hm? That would be a great idea, Celica. Coffee for me plea--"

"Water? Okay, water for President Hassen. How about you, Gray Raven?" She ignored her superior's whine as she turned to the team.

"We don't require that, Celica, but thank you." Lucia nodded in gratitude, but Celica was having none of it. It seemed like she made up her mind as she chirped, "water as well? Alright, three more water added on the list! How about the Commandant?"

Me? "Ah... Water as well, please."

"Alright. I'll be back with water soon. Everyone, please use the time to relax first." She said as she left the room.

They were silent the whole time. The three constructs rigidly sat on their chairs, while Hassen just closed his eyes and leaned back on his seat peacefully. As for the alien in the room, Julia burried her face in her arms on top of the table, letting her eyes shut while they wait for their water.

She could understand their conversation but she had a hard time processing what they said. Then another problem arose, her name wasn't uttered freely, as if her name was being censored. She thought back to what happened to her profile back in the bathroom.

Moments later, Celica returned holding a tray of their own glasses of water and side snacks. The humans in the room munched on the snacks Celica provided while the constructs sipped their water. For the time they had their shirt break, Julia was glad Celica was the one doing most of the talking. President Hassen was occasionally the center of the topic with her openly expressed her bitterness regarding her work, her salary, how her direct boss was a workaholic, and many more complaints.

She knew what her predicament was, and she was aware that she was losing her mind. However, as much as she worried about her isekai'd situation, plus the sudden responsibility placed on her shoulder as a soldier and a commandant, she temporarily freed herself from those gnawing worries.

Julia took a last bite from the plain, but subtly sweet biscuit, "... President Hassen ought to be mindful of his health as much as he is to his employees," she joined in, earning a gasp from the old man. Celica nodded in irritation, "right? Is he even aware of how much it worries us? Maybe he thinks he's still as strong as he was in his prime."

"Ahem, Celica, I'm still here, you know?" He sighed. The poor man could not do anything but accept their words, as painful as they may.

"Right. Has everyone finished eating? Good, we will be resuming our discussion," Celica stood up and Hassen nodded, "Commandant, shall we hear about your input of this mission?"

Julia calmed herself, donning a confident persona. She should not fail this, her future lies at the outcome of her delivery. She practiced her lines and any possible questions given to her back in the Babylonia transport terminal.

"None, sir. The mission went alright."

"I read in Liv's health-check report that you were experiencing shock and temporary disorientation?"

"Yes. It almost cost us the success of the mission. This is due to my incompatibility and recklessness," she bowed her head towards her superior in apology.

Celica looked at her, "do you plan in having yourself check?"

"I'll have Liv do it, if it's okay with her?"

"Yes! Of course, it's okay, Commandant!" The soft construct smiled before tilting her head, "I will ensure that Commandant's back to her past self."

"Okay. We'll be counting on you, Liv," Hassen nodded to the girl. He then stood up, the others followed, "then this meeting's adjourned. Commandant [+1-!/], I will be expecting the documented report." Him and Celica left and the the team were left inside.

Julia released a sign, a hand on her chest. That was nerve-wracking. Even though they were nice, they still hold authority over her. She consoled her weak heart. Julia turned to her team, "shall we go? And uh, I might need support." I'm gonna use my excuse of dizziness so they will lead me to our room. Exploit of authority? Lol, maybe. She smiled at her thoughts.

Lucia supported Julia as she wobbled down the large and very, very, very, very long hallways of the Command center. Why couldn't they ride the Humvee once more? Or at least, should they build a transport belt for faster transportation.

She looked around their destination, they kept on walking from hallway to hallway, and not once did she saw the outside. Well, exploration comes later after she memorized the twists and turns they made earlier. She'll need to inquire Liv of a map later.

Soon, they arrived at a door with a sign saying "Gray Raven Dormitory" and entered. They entered they were greeted by their lobby. Julia's gray eyes widened. Their dormitory lobby looked the exact same thing as the default background of the in-game lobby.

"Wow..."

"What is?"

"Nothing." Lee raised one of his eyebrow before going to, Julia assumed, his room. Liv proceeded to the kitchen, saying that she needed to prepare healthy food and medications for their Commandant. Lucia assisted her until they reached her room at the corner of the dormitory.

"I'll be going now, Commandant. If there's anything you need, please yell."

"Uh, yes. Thank you, Lucia."

Lucia nodded before entering the first room aligning Lee's. The room in the middle must be Liv's.

She entered her supposed room and noticed how simple and bland the room was, same to their room in the terminal. Although, the difference was the existing pictures placed on the wall. She took a closer look. They were picture of her team, some were they posed with the camera, others were taken by the Commandant without their knowing.

Her fingertips traced the edges of the photos until she reached the corner of the mosaic of pictures. She sat on the bed and kept her eyes on the pictures. There were only a handful of photos on the wall, but each of them told a story. Based on Lucia's frame earlier, Dawn, she could surmise that she was either in Chapters 3 to 6. Looking back at the photos, it showed that there was still tension and awkwardness with the group.

She took out her notebook and started writing.

Number 2. Investigate and study.

- take note of the timeline in the game.

- make sure not to arouse suspicion from others, especially Gray Raven and the higher-ups

- memorize Babylonia layout

- familiarize the rules and regulations of the station, as well as the norms

- study battle strategies and tactics

- familiarize with the command and heirarchy of the system

She tapped the pen on her chin, thinking of other things to include on her to-do list.

- study and practice use of weapons

- familiarize with medicines especially the serum

- in every mission, a report should be made

Maybe these are all of them? She triple read the list she made before closing her notes and lying down on the bed. Weariness started to settle on her system before she jolted up again.

Right. Hassen said he would be waiting for the report...

She swallowed the knot in her throat and made her way to the table at the corner of the room. On the desk, there were papers were scattered with scribbles and formal writing, and two stacks of documents remained untouched on the floor beside the desk. With the amount of work to be done, she sank on the chair and cursed the original Gray Raven Commandant for their negligence. Well, she was not sure if the original Commandant was negligent and lazy, but she blamed them anyway.

She began segregating useful papers from trash-related ones before studying the pattern of delivery of the Commandant. It would take time, yes, but she need to send a report as soon as possible to earn her much needed rest.

[moon-quq]

Arataki Itto × Male!Reader

This was a request from a dear friend of mine, hope you enjoy! Guys don't forget I do take requests, I will deny them though if I don't know the character. Feel free to ask! Enjoy le smut <3

Warnings: Degradation, CNC, Itto is an asshole in this fanfic universe.

" Y/N go put the extra empty crates away, we need to clear the area before the rush in the evening. " Some burly dude with a mustache barked towards you, making you cringe externally but did as you were told none the less. The crates themselves were honestly light as shit since they were empty so you didn't complain much, not until you got to the dumpster area behind the tavern where someone you'd seen all too much was digging through garbage. " Kiro why are you digging in the trash again! I've told you that you cannot do that here.. If my boss catches you he will have both of our heads and you know I need this job! " Your voice wavered, shuddering at the fear of what could happen if you didn't get enough money to pay him back.

" I-im sorry Y/N I just really.. wanted some food and I know Mr Tab likes to waste a lot so I hopped I'd find some.. " Kiro whispered, her face slowly starting to fall while tears starting pooling at the corners of her eyes. You couldn't deny she was like a younger sister, but you hardly knew her at the same time. " Go on, get out of here. I've got to get back inside before Tabs complains again. " You could tell she didn't want to leave, the inner battles in the younger girls brain were arguing against her better judgement. " Hey, meet me at our usual place later, I'll get you some food,, okay? " You spoke softly in an attempt to comfort her which seemed to work almost instantly as she quickly nodded and ran back off, leaving you to chuck the crates and run back towards the tavern.

Backstory ➜

You grew up an orphan in Inazuma, always having to fight your way up the ladder for any sort of food, clothing, housing.. That was until you met the Oni named Arataki Itto. He and his gang offered to help you, in turn you do work for them,, this work however came with a contract that you consent you anything they tell you or do. You being the naive young adult you were agreed and just as your stupidity did, it got you into trouble.. Somehow you had managed to loose over 2 million Mora,, that belonged to the gang. So they made you swear to work your ass off to get it back or their would be consequences.

Present Time ➜

You had managed to collect half of the Mora you owed within a year and a half, working day in and day out for anything and anyone, no matter the price or sense in the job. The day you came to visit Itto and deliver the portion you had collected it was eerily quiet among the group, Itto was waiting in his room of the buildings while the others stared you down.

By the time you had reached the room itself you were absolutely terrified, scared and worried for what was going to be said. " I already know you are there. " Itto called, signaling that you could just step right in, the room smelt of flowers mixed with dirt and musk, it was pleasant in a sense but also weird for a man like Itto. " I brought the half I've collected, I still have to get the rest but I will I swear to it! " You shouted, standing as straight as you could while staring straight forward. The low rumbling of Ittos laugh however made you gulp. " I don't want the Mora anymore. I'll take the half and something else. " His frame that once was sat in his cozy chair was now stood directly infront of you, his height scary compared to you. " W.. what else could you want Itto? " You were terrified was an understatement,, the way the Onis eyes were dark but still had a red glare to them alone had you wanting to run for your life. " I want you. "

Time seemed to stop at his words, the adrenaline and fear in your body surged you to turn and run towards the door but he was too quick.. So easily dragging you back by your hips to press into his chest,, the feeling of his breath fanning down your neck had you whining to be set free. " Please.. anything but this- " You sobbed, hoping this was all a bad dream. " You consented anything could be done or told to you, And I've had my eye on you for a long.. time, so I'm going to have you. Here, and now whether you like it or not. You're mine Y/N. " Itto growled against your ear, causing a twitch within your trousers as well as a whine to escape your lips. " N-no. Get off me Itto. "

He was stronger in every way,, height, muscle, thoughts, will.. everything about him over powered you as you were pushed to kneel in doggy on the floor. " I won't hurt you too much.. Just have to ingrain in your mind and body that this.. is mine. " He purred, groping your ass before giving it a harsh smack that made you involuntarily moan out his name. " Oh? You like that puppy~? You like when I manhandle you like my own personal.. cumdump? " His degrading words left you speechless,, your fear being replaced by arousal as you felt your own cock pressing against your pants. " Itto.. " Your voice was quiet, so quiet in fact he didn't hear you at first until he had ripped your pants and shirt off in one swoop of his hand. " ITTO! " You whined loudly, turning over onto your back whilst your hands covered your aching cock. " Ah ah ah.. cmon pretty boy, show me that cock of yours.. " He cooed, tracing his hand along your thighs up to your hands before grabbing and removing them himself.. And by the gods the view of your scared shaking figure sprawled on the floor before him with an aching leaking cock all because of him was an absolute thrill that he couldn't get enough of. " Oh I'm going to ruin you. " Your body was now yanked upwards to sit on the kneeling Onis lap, the obvious buldge pressing against you making you whimper yet again whilst looking up into his eyes. " Do you want to do it yourself or do I have to? " Being given the option you quickly went with the first,, now reaching beneath you to push his clothes down enough to free his cock that sprang up happily to greet your puckered hole almost perfectly.. You knew you had no lubrication so this was going to hurt.. but you also couldn't deny and run away. " Hah! You thought! " He laughed before ramming upwards to sheeth himself in you in one go,, your eyes instantly rolled to the back of your head whilst you clawed at his shoulders. He wasted no time in letting you adjust, no time in letting you get your bearings before he was holding you up by your thighs to ram deep within you like a feral animal.. It hurt but felt so fucking good at the same time that you couldn't resist moaning his name like a filthy prayer. " That's right.. say my name, scream who you belong to slut. " He growled out against your throat, biting down harshly onto your shoulder while continuing to piston into you chasing his own high. " Ngh! IM G-gonna cum if you keep, doing t-that.. FUCK! ITTOOO~!! " Your cries fell on deaf ears,, no one was going to save you. With one last cry of his name your own release slammed into you,, your cum shooting out to land on his and your chest but he kept going.. until he started panting heavily against your ear. " fuck- Gunna breed that ass,, shit you feel so fucking good. " He slurred, thrusting balls deep before releasing his load inside of you., the warmth alone filling your body leaving you a crying, shuddering, whimpering mess in his arms.

" Told ya~.. You are mine. " You couldn't even bring yourself to respond,, or even think for that matter as your eyes fell closed and you drifted off in his arms,, cockwarming him into your sleep. " Don't worry pup, we'll have plenty more fun.. "

[cavalierious-whim]

Heroes of Old

Childe, a Harbinger of the Round table, is sent to a small town in Liyue to hunt down the dragon known as Rex Lapis. Written for Eclipse, a Tartali AU Zine.

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--

“It is a simple matter for one such as yourself.” The Tsaritsa pauses, flicking away a spot of ice that curls around her wrist. “Far to the south lies a village in need. They say that Morax has risen again, terrorizing their home with his cruel, golden-eyed gaze.”

A preposterous idea to most but one that makes Childe’s blood sing. The challenge is too good, pulling and plucking at his being, calling to him with a subtle swan song that sets his veins on fire. But, he cannot seem too eager in the face of his god. 

“Morax,” he starts, still unable to stop the curve to his grin. “That seems unlikely.”

“I feel it in the ley lines.” The Tsaritsa drags a sharp nail across the arm of her throne. “Like calls to like, as they say, and we are kin in the way that we are both children of Celestia. I feel the way his blood boils, I can taste it on the wind.”

He lifts his chin confidently. “When do I set out?”

“Immediately. There is no time to waste.”

Childe falls to his knee easily, a practiced motion that he’s done time and time again. One hand over his chest plate, the gentle dip of his head—all to lay himself bare before the Queen Beloved. 

In return, she sends him off without a word.

#

Far to the south is the reaches of Liyue where the people work until their backs are bent and their fingers bleed.

Childe stands at the edge of Qingce Village, tapping his boot against the ground. He is out of place here, wearing the full armor of a Harbinger of the Round Table, helmet tucked under his arm. He takes a step forward and a child runs away on skittish feet. Another watches him from behind a crate, eyes wide with wonder as she peeks over her fingers. Adults step around him with wary, suspicious gazes, fleeting around his side at no less than ten paces. 

Something is off. These people do not want him here. Childe presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he thinks. If they have not called him here, then who? The Tsaritsa, he knows, must have taken matters into her own hands, perhaps because this village was too stubborn to ask for help.

But these people do not look scared. They whisper Morax’s name in awe behind soil-stained hands. 

There is a tugging at his side, near his waist. Childe’s face tips down to find a boy staring back, face round with wide, chubby cheeks. He tugs again and says, “Sir Harbinger, right?”

Childe dips low, kneeling until they are the same height. He reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair, who sputters, cheeks tinting red. “Do you like knights?”

The boy nods. And then he says, “Wuwang Hill, just where the mountain crests and the stone turns dark.”

“Wuwang Hill?”

“It is where he waits for you. The Consultant. Said he’d give me one hundred Mora for passing on the message—but he forgot.” The boy then waits expectantly, hand held out, flat and steady. 

Childe huffs, shoves a hand into his purse, and pulls out a glittering golden coin. He twirls it around with a flourish and the boy reaches, but his fingers just graze it as Childe tugs it back. “A moment,” he says, flashing a second coin. “Another if you answer a question.”

The boy nods greedily, fingers itching to take the gold. 

“Right, then. Tell me—are you not afraid of Morax?”

The boy squirms at the mention of the old dragon’s name. “Lord Morax saves us,” he says simply. Childe swallows this knowledge down, mulling over it. Then he drops both coins into his grimy little hand, and then adds a third because he pities him.

“Wuwang Hill,” says the boy again, “where the shadows creep and darkness lurks.”

Childe ruffles his hair and laughs. He doesn’t believe in fairytales. These rural folk are the ones that breathe life into them, insistent with their old superstitions. 

#

At the top of Wuwang Hill, Childe is greeted by a glowing gate that leads straight to the Abyss. 

He hisses, hiding his nose in the crook of his elbow. The acrid tang of sweat, rust, and metal fills his nose; but it is better than the reek of rot and death. Even now, it tugs at him. The Abyss. He wants to go to it, sinking back into the depths that he once called home—

“I expect our meetings to take place on time in the future.”

Childe freezes. It’s hard to tear his gaze away from the gate, but he manages. The Consultant is a tall, thin man, his wispy, finely-boned limbs hidden by rough-spun robes. He stands there, primly, hands held behind his back. Solid as stone, feet planted into the ground, entirely unbothered by the Abyssal taint that surrounds them. 

“I apologize. I was surprised by the village’s… lack of concern for the matter at hand.”

The Consultant sighs at that. “Legends are legends—they get handed around. It is natural to think your Tsaritsa would be worried.”

Your Tsaritsa. “That’s the sort of blasphemous talk that I usually handle,” drawls Childe. It is no secret that his hand is swift when it comes to cutting out the tongues of those who speak ill.

“Ah. Apologies, then. I didn’t mean to offend.” The Consultant seems uncaring about his lack of propriety. 

Childe is a Harbinger, he deserves respect, but— “You’re in luck, then,” he says instead, surprising himself. “The only head I was told to bring back was that of Morax himself.”

The Consultant does something strange, then. He smiles, a wry thing that crinkles the edges of his eyes and makes him look older and wiser, and perhaps even dangerous. It is not the smile of a normal man, it is serpentine as his teeth peek out from rosy lips. “A pity,” he says.

“For Morax?”

“For you.” The Consultant does not elaborate, he just waves him over, and like a moth to a flame, Childe goes without restraint. 

The Consultant gestures to the gate. “You likely cannot see it, but there is a seal—”

“I can see it.”

The Consultant pauses, head tilted to the side. “Interesting,” he murmurs, tapping his chin in thought. His eyes are golden and they watch Childe with newfound interest. “Ah, right—the seal. While effective, it is old, and like most things, will break down. It is only a matter of time now.”

“What is your point?”

“This is what the Tsaritsa should be concerned about, not Morax. He is spending his time trying to find a solution—” Childe bursts into laughter and the Consultant stops. “Have I said something funny?”

“Only implied that Morax is actually alive and well.” Even if the Tsaritsa had been convinced, Childe was and still is, not. The Consultant looks amused. “Look,” continues Childe, waving to the gate. “I’m not here for that. If you can just point me in the direction of Morax then I can do my job and get out of here.”

“If you kill Morax, this village will die. Karma rots this gate and once the Abyss is unleashed, it’ll only seep into the land. You’re a Harbinger, correct? You know what that does.”

Childe does. He’s seen plains turn to blistering hot deserts, and skies that are choked with dusk and smoke. Once the rot seeps in and karma lays waste, there is no coming back from it—and there are no gods left to reverse the damage like in the days of old. He’s hunted most of them down.

The Consultant sighs again. “Morax will likely choose to challenge you. He doesn't like his name being tarnished. As to when that will be—well, you might just have to be patient.” He tugs at his robes, distracting himself. “In the meantime—are you hungry? Miss Xiangling is no doubt nearly done with the night’s dinner.”

Childe blinks. “Are you asking me on a date?” The only thing that Childe dates is death itself. 

The Consultant blinks back and laughs dryly. “I do think that I am merely being a gracious host.”

For once, Childe is embarrassed, turning pink with sheepishness. But, at least the Consultant doesn’t hold it against him. 

#

Days stretch into weeks, and there is no sight of Morax.

It matters not how often Childe asks—at the mere mention of him, The Consultant derails the thought. 

“Ah, but Zhongli,” says Childe with far more familiarity than most would see fit. “Morax was a man of distinction in war-time—”

“The Primordial Jade-Winged Spear,” cuts in Zhongli. He nods towards a boulder in the center of the village. A slightly bent lance sticks out from it, the blade smelted into the rock. “Morax crafted this with his own hands in order to quell the raging of the sea beast Baqiu.”

“Oh did he?”

“So the stories say. It waits for a new hero worthy of it.”

At first, Zhongli’s verbose utterances about the past irritated him. Childe does not sit idle; he is a man of action, quick with his blade and cruel with his might, and as a Harbinger it is his job to hunt down the gods of old in Celestia’s name. Morax made his bed by leaving Celestia and blaspheming her name before melting away into nothing but memories. But Zhongli’s words have needled deep. It is weeks later, now,  and Childe leans into his baritone timbre, far too interested in the mythos of a place that isn’t even his home.

They share meals and tea. They take long walks where they knock shoulders together, and Zhongli drones on about everything and nothing. Childe should be concerned with Morax, not that crumbling Abyssal gate, and what it might do to this sleepy village. He should be dreaming of a god’s head in his hands, not how soft Zhongli’s lips might be if pressed against his.

Zhongli nudges Childe gently with an elbow. “I figured this would appeal to you, considering the hero that you are.”

“I’m no hero,” says Childe. A Harbinger is just a bully that wears the skin of one.

Zhongli watches him for a long moment before saying, “Let’s continue, then, shall we? I won’t bore you with the details of this old thing anymore.”

Childe almost forgets about Morax in favor of the heat of Zhongli’s hand when he grasps him by the elbow. It isn’t until Childe nearly forgets about His Queen Beloved that he realizes just how much trouble he’s in.

#

“Ajax.”

Childe jerks awake at the sound of Zhongli hissing his given name. His room is empty. The sheets next to him are unrumpled. He slept alone that night, cold in the soft-spun silk in Zhongli’s absence. He is bereft for a moment, his fingers curling into those sheets, and then he remembers that hiss in his ear. 

Something is wrong. Darkness clings to Childe. It coats his skin, thick and oily; cawls down his throat, trying to sink in deep, drowning him in icy hatred. Outside his borrowed room, the town is on high alert. He hears yelling, shouting, and the clanging of metal. It’s then that Childe’s focus sharpens.

The Abyss. 

“Ajax!” Zhongli’s voice again, slicing through the air like a whip crack. 

Childe jerks into action, tossing on some trousers and tugging the first shirt he can find over his head before throwing himself outside.

The seal must’ve broken. Abyssal taint creeps down the mountainside and threatens to sweep the village. People run around crazed and Childe stands there, stock still. 

The darkness, that’s what you are. Come home.

“No,” murmurs Childe, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Home is—”

In this quiet village, tucked away in Liyue, where the people have warmed to him despite being a red-haired devil. At the side of Zhongli who speaks in fancy words in dulcet tones. Childe’s heart lurches as he licks his lips.

The spear. It’s the dumbest idea he’s ever had but Childe darts through the square in desperation. I

Zhongli is in the middle of the fray, hands curled around his own lance, twirling it around with expert ease. Childe should be more surprised but he isn’t. There’s always been something about the man, something barely off—

Ajax, whispers that second voice. It strikes cold dread into his heart, unlike the warmth the Zhongli’s call breeds. 

“No,” he mutters, pushing away.

Like calls to like, you are one with us, don’t you remember?

Childe does but he’d rather protect Qingce Village. The spear is cold underneath his fingers as he yanks. Metal screeches as it slides from the stone. 

Zhongli turns, eyes narrowed, his gaze tracking the length of him. Childe stares at the weapon in his hands, marveling at how natural it feels there, how easily it slid from the stone as if it finds his palm home. 

It waits for a new hero worthy of it.

“Ajax, move—”

Childe barely ducks in time. He’s a magnet. The Abyss seeks out what it’s lost and it wants to claim him again. Childe swings the spear around, but it’s only a matter of time before there’s too much to handle. Darkness reaches for him—only for another person to step in the way. 

Fury floods through him. “Zhongli!” he snaps, already striking out again.

Once closer, though, he sees Zhongli’s form ripple before melting away. Antlers crown his head. His hair flows free, whipping in the gales, and obsidian scales glint in the moonlight. He holds a hand out, Geo pulsing above it, and the land around them shifts, quaking with the barest squeeze of his palm. 

Childe remembers something Zhongli said once. 

“I merely care for Liyue, as a father cares for his children.”

Childe’s throat is dry. “M-Morax?”

“Not now, Ajax.”

Suddenly he regrets telling Zhongli his real name, a soft whisper in the night blurted in the throes of hungry passion. “But you—”

“Not now. I have a contract to keep, which is not with you.” Zhongli watches the Abyssal taint that hovers before him, curious. It wavers, hesitating, knowing just who he is. “You were to leave the seal alone,” says Zhongli. “I was always going to have to replace it, but have you forgotten our bargain?”

The Abyss hisses at him, a tendril striking through the air, only to stop dead the moment it smacks against a golden shield. So effortless. The seal couldn’t be repaired easily so Zhongli waited for it to break. “A patch won’t work. The seal is old and decayed, too unstable, and so it will have to be entirely rebuilt.”

Childe should’ve realized. Zhongli has never hidden who he is, only answered the wrong questions asked with mirth in his eyes.

Zhongli sweeps his hand from one side to the other. The Abyss shudders, shrinking in on itself, rearing back as Geo coalesces around it. Zhongli forces it back to the foot of the mountain. His other hand jerks as he cuts a hole into the earth there, creating a new gate. He presses the Abyss right into it with startling ease, then weaves the most intricate seal that Childe’s ever seen. 

It took nothing. Nothing. With the wave of Zhongli’s hand, the Abyss has been forced into a new prison.

When all is said and done, Zhongli lurches, losing his ground. Childe drops the spear and crosses the distance to catch him by the waist. “You—”

Zhongli grunts. “Tired,” he murmurs, pressing his face into Childe’s sweaty nape. And then: “Ajax.”

“I’m… very annoyed.”

Zhongli hums at that, a chuckle spilling from his lips. He braces himself against Childe and finds his footing. Then, he curls a hand around Childe’s neck and presses their foreheads together. His scales prick Childe’s skin. “My hero.”

He is not. “I did nothing. You…”

“This wasn’t your fight—it never was. But, I knew from the moment I saw you that you were destined for more—far more than you can achieve with your Tsaritsa. Later. In the future. I’ll consult with Madame Ping. But first—” Zhongli’s hands are warm against Childe’s face. They butt noses as he shifts. Zhongli’s lips are chapped and his kiss is sweet. “You meant to save me,” he whispers against his mouth. 

“I love you,” replies Childe, realizing where his loyalty now lies.

Zhongli’s chest rumbles in delight. “This old dragon is pleased,” he says before seeking out his lips once more.

[winns-stuff]

Sorry same anon. No one tell RS about apple crates - cause that's a thing they do in movies where if one person is much shorter than the other and their characters are romantically paired they will have the actor or actress stand on an apple crate to accommodate the height difference so it doesn't look so drastic. But yes I agree, there really is only one type of body in lo and it's strange that they're presented as "perfect/godly beings" when they all look one way. (And it's probably why Persephone randomly flies sometimes so she doesn't look so short but honestly it just makes it worse somehow cause to be on hades' height level she has to fly just to talk to him. Must be exhausting having to do that all the time.

Yeah it’s very weird, especially with how absolutely immature and ditzy Persephone is written to be at times it really is hard to see her as anything more than “Hades’ young hot wife!!!” quoted by Ares even though he literally saw her save the Underworld, her body and how fat her ass is is the only thing that matters apparently.

[sosuaveh]

Hil'Jit of the Burning Sands: Chapter One

Chapter 1: Smuggler's Oversight

"Tell me again, khajiit. Why should I believe you that you know the Half-Giant?" The nord before Hil'Jit was an inch or two taller than him. The 'Half-Giant' was almost two heads taller than both of them. Hil'Jit didn't know if Titanborn was truly a half-giant but it didn't matter. She was a terrific fighter who was known to clear a battlefield on her own. 

"You do not have to believe this one, it would just be in your best interest to." Hil'Jit responded. If he knew anything about Lady Titanborn, she was standing behind him already. 

The nords face dropped, as he looked at the figure walking up the dock. 

"Wait, so you do know the Half-Giant? That's Lyris Titanborn! You weren't lying?"

"Of course not, now listen, if you go get the pommel of your favorite sword, this one can get her to autograph it for you." He smiled hoping it added just enough to the story to convince him. 

"Really? You promise? Okay wait here!" The nord rushed off, his face a look of amazement as he passed Lyris. The way people looked at his larger than life companion always gave him a chuckle. Normally he was one of the tallest wherever he went. He was not a small man at just over six feet tall, but everywhere he went in skyrim the nords were his height or taller. Lyris was no exception, though perhaps she broke the rule. She towered over everyone. 

"Let us go," Hil'Jit said, unlocking the door the nord had been guarding. 

"What did you say to him?" Lyris asked once they were inside. "I thought things were going to be a little rougher than that."

"Let's just say, you have many fans in this kingdom," Hil'Jit said as he opened one of the boxes with the red paint on the side. 

"Ashes? Again?" He said, his brain working like a dwemer machine. Maybe Lyris could even hear it turning. 

"Something is not right here. All of these boxes have the same thing inside?" Her last sentence was less of a question and more of an oddly inflected statement. Before Hil'Jit could announce that he'd had an idea, the door behind Lyris opened and three nords walked in holding weapons. The one in front, a shorter woman that Hil'Jit had already seen before spoke up. 

"Well well, looks like we caught some rats poking around in our warehouse." She growled, trying her best to sound intimidating, "Why don't we show them what we do to rats?"

"You're welcome to try," Lyris said.

The hair on Hil'Jit's neck went up from the comment and he stepped in front of the Half-Giant. 

"Now, now, no need to fight," The khajiit flashed a smile at all of the parties involved, and got a slight grin from the usually stone-faced Titanborn. "We are investigating a murder and trying to stop an assassination here. What can you tell us about the crates?"

"Those ones are from Bankogai, someone paid us to transport the boxes." The leader said, apprehensive in her tone. 

"And you never checked inside the boxes to see what you were smuggling?" Hil'Jit asked, opening another box to reveal a collection of ashes and crumbled bones. A threat on a king of skyrim, let alone the attempt Lyris has already stopped on the other king in Windhelm. Hil'Jit searched every possible answer he could find that his brain held. The Icereach Coven was involved, that much they knew. 

"In my line of work they generally pay us NOT to look into any of the shipments, this one particularly well."

"Fair enough. Well you've got to know something. Where were these shipments headed?" Lyris cut in.

"They were headed to Kilkreath Temple. That was our next destination." The leader responded. 

Lyris' face crunched as she thought. The temple of Meridia? Hil'Jit had passed it on his way to Solitude. The priests and pilgrims of Merida had been in a tough spot when he passed by. A storm of sorts had caused havoc the day before and separated, even killed worshippers.  

It was there he would meet the vampire Fennorian, another whom Hil'Jit would count as his friends as far as things went since Molag Bal's invasion started. 

It was outside Kilkreath Temple that Hil'Jit met Fenn. The vampire was rather easy to spot, despite Hil'Jit only knowing what the Elsweyr strain of the disease looked like. His eyes had an unnatural discoloration to them and when he walked outside during the day, he tended to wear a coat and hood. 

"Kilkreath was more of the same, a lot more questions than answers." Hil'Jit said, already having passed through the old shrine to Meridia once. "This one helped some of the priests there recover worshippers and pilgrims earlier. There were others, though that I didn't have the time nor foresight now that I think of it."

"You head to the temple, I'll meet you there after I have a talk with King Svargrim. See if you missed anything."

Hil'Jit nodded and walked out of the small warehouse. 

The cold northern wind blew in from the Sea of Ghosts to the north, bringing with it more grim news. A ship holding a great amount of money and valuables was lost somewhere among the ice flows. The rumors say that the Ice Queen was the culprit, but even Hil'Jit thought she was a legend. Something the nords told their children so they wouldn't stray too close to the ocean. 

With the chill seeping in, Hil'Jit headed west past the Solitude Stables. The verdant forest of Northwestern skyrim was blooming and busy during the summer time, and he took in the many smells around him. To the north, not far away he could smell a large creature, not exactly unpleasant but certainly something that could use a bath. 

"Boar, come on now, you know this one has a nose just as sensitive as you," Hil’Jit said aloud as he walked down the cobbled path. His friend was always close, the bear that he had raised since it was a cub. Boar, as Hil'Jit called him, never let the khajiit far out of his sight for very long. They shared a bond, one that Hil'Jit suspected was connected to the ancient magic of Hircine. He could feel all of Boar's feelings and was sure Boar could feel his. 

Rather silently the bear padded through the forest and joined Hil'Jit on the trail. He held a rather feral look in his eye at the moment and Hil'Jit knew the bear had been hunting for food. And by the looks of things, found something. 

A shadow cast on the ground as Hil'Jit thought about the bear's lunch and what it could have been. He looked up to see the familiar outline of a cliff racer against the skyrim sky. 

"And I knew you were keeping watch the whole time, Uril." The creature gave a squawk and closed its wings, diving towards the ground. Just above Hil'Jit's head it opened its wings again and floated down onto the khajiits shoulder. Hil'Jit brought his hand up and gave the racer a little scratch under its chin, then slid it a piece of mammoth jerky from his pack. The cliff racer swallowed the meat whole and nestled itself into the pack Hil'Jit was wearing. 

"Alright, I guess it's nap time," he continued to march on. Kilkreath Temple was a few hours away from Solitude, further north and west where the snow was still fresh on the ground. 

"Go on ahead, Boar. Let me know if those fiends are still around." Hil'Jit said and the bear bounded off down the trail.

Want more? Buy my book on Amazon!

[beanusu]

𝟸

word count: 2.8k+ ← part 1 · part 𝟥 →

Loki barely raised his hand to knock before the door flew open, Thor’s ridiculous grin filling the doorway as if he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“Brother!” His grin grows wider, “Come to take a break from the glamorous life of ‘Luke Ashford,’ have you?

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, Thor, because pretending to be a mortal actor is the height of luxury. I’m living the dream.”

Thor closed the door behind Loki. “Well, at least your mortal fans seem to think so. Getting many autograph requests this week?”

Loki shot him a sideways glance. “Enough to make me consider erasing their memories just for some peace.”

Thor chuckled. “Oh brother, you of all people, hiding on Midgard, playing pretend for mortals. Our father must be shaking his head somewhere in the palace.”

“Hiding?” Loki scoffed. “You call standing in front of cameras with my face plastered on posters ‘hiding’? I think I’ve made myself perfectly visible, brother.”

“Speaking of posters, do you know mother’s already showing off your movie posters to the Valkyries?”

Loki rolled his eyes again. “Please, do not encourage her.”

As they moved deeper into the apartment, “Jane,” Loki greeted her. She waved absently in his direction but didn’t look up. Hunched over her laptop, papers were strewn across the table. Her workspace was cluttered, save for a suspicious number of crates shoved near the small corner.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Are you importing wine to Midgard now, or is that my brother misusing the Bifröst again?”

Jane snorted, not even looking up. “You know it’s Thor.”

Thor followed his gaze. "What?" He gave a sheepish shrug. “Bifröst makes for efficient shopping,”

Loki sighed, shaking his head. He made his way to the balcony, pushing the door open as he pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

Thor followed him out and offered him a glass of mead, leaning on the railing as the distant lights of the city twinkled below them.

”You never text unless it’s something serious.” Thor sipped his mead. “What happened?”

Loki took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly before speaking. “I ran into someone today.”

“Sounds ordinary for you.”

Loki shot his brother a look. “Someone that looked like– her.” His jaw clenched for a second. “Someone that looked like Eirwen.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Thor’s playful expression faded. He didn’t need much more context; he knew the weight of that name and the memory it carried. “Eirwen?”

Loki nodded. “I grabbed her, Thor. On the street. For a moment, my mind just… stopped.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, his finger scrolled through the link. Tapping into the video, pausing at the exact moment– Luna’s close-up. Those familiar green eyes stared back through the screen. He handed the phone over to Thor.

Thor’s expression changed as he watched. “It could just be a coincidence, brother. You know the Norns weaves strange threads.”

Loki taking another drag from his cigarette. “You know I don't believe in coincidence.”

Thor handed the phone back. “You’ve had run-ins with the bizarre before, but what makes this different? Surely, it’s not just her face.”

“It’s not just that.” He murmured, taking a sip of his mead. “She is working on the same movie I’m supposed to consider. The head of sound for the production.”

“So you’re telling me you run into a woman who looks like Eirwen, and now she’s working on your movie?”

“Not my movie. Thor.” Loki corrected. “I haven’t even agreed yet.”

“I know you, brother.” Thor chuckled, leaning against the balcony railing. “You will take the job just to figure out who she is.” He shook his head. “But what exactly are you trying to prove? What if she’s not Eirwen? What if she’s just–”

“I know she’s not her.” Loki whispered, then sighed, stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray. “Maybe I just need to know why she’s here, why she looks like her.”

Thor studied him for a moment. “And what if she’s just… her? Just a woman who looks like someone you lost. What then? Will you still fall in love with her?”

Loki’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know. The weight of that uncertainty sat heavily in his chest. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” He muttered, taking another sip of his mead. “But you and I both know there’s no such thing as coincidence.”

Thor looked at him, a faint smile on his face. “Maybe not,” He admitted. “But sometimes, brother, things don’t need a grand purpose to happen. You just have to live through it and see what happens.”

Loki pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “You really think the Norns are just playing games? That fate has nothing to do with this?”

Thor shrugged, taking a sip of his mead. “I’m just saying, it will be easier if you just let things happen.”

Loki shot him a look, “I’m not exactly a believer in fate or letting things ‘just happen.’ You know that.”

Thor clapped him on the shoulder, a bit more forcefully than necessary. “Then this will be quite the challenge for you, won’t it?”

Across the city, Luna closed her laptop, leaning back in her chair, and sighed. The small project she had been working on was finally done. She pulled off her headphones and set them aside on the cluttered desk. Then, she stood and stretched.

Silence, finally. Or at least, as close to silence as she could get in the middle of New York.

Wandered toward the balcony. As she slid the door open, the world around her rushed in a roar, noise from the city street hit her all at once– car horns, distant conversations, the hum of life below. Everything sounded too loud, too sharp. Her brows furrowed, instinctively covering her ears with her hands, but she stopped herself.

“Breath.” She reminded herself, she knew the steps.

⁤They had taught her how to manage it. ⁤��She knew how to quiet the sounds when they became too much. ⁤⁤With a few deep breaths, she pushed the chaotic noise in her mind away. ⁤⁤A sound engineer with hypersensitive hearing- a small, bitter smile crossed her lips at the irony as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, leaning against the balcony railing. ⁤

⁤Her gaze drifted down to the street below. ⁤⁤People walked by under the city lights, some laughing, some lost in their own world. ⁤⁤She taps her cigarette, letting the ash fall to the pavement beneath. ⁤⁤Her mind replayed the moment from earlier, the moment when the god of mischief had grabbed her arm. ⁤⁤She could still feel the weight of his hand, the way his grip tightened- like he was afraid she'd vanish if he let go. ⁤

⁤Loki. ⁤⁤Or, Luke Ashford. ⁤⁤The charming celebrity plastered across every social media feed and magazine cover. ⁤⁤Someone she never thought she'd see again, nor she has expected to run into him, and certainly not like that. ⁤⁤She remembered clearly that day his face had first started appearing on every celebrity site, social media, and even the glossy covers of magazines in the grocery stores. ⁤⁤At first, it had been... confusing, almost laughable. ⁤⁤This Norse god hadn't even bothered to change much. ⁤⁤Sure, a new hairstyle and a mortal name, but it was unmistakably him. ⁤⁤It was almost like he was daring the world to notice. ⁤

⁤Luna took another drag and exhaled slowly, the smoke mixing with the cool night air. ⁤⁤Her thoughts swirled with the smoke. ⁤⁤For a long time, she thought Loki was still in Asgard, locked up. ⁤⁤His role in the attack had been all anyone could talk about for months, though his image had never been publicized. ⁤⁤They didn't want a mass panic, after all. ⁤⁤And then there was the business in Greenwich, but that had been labeled “classified” so fast that even she barely knew the details. ⁤⁤And now, there he is, in New York, living a life that seems so… ordinary. ⁤⁤Not that she was one to talk. ⁤⁤Her life had been far from ordinary, especially during her time working with the Avengers. ⁤⁤There was no way he remembered her. ⁤⁤That would be impossible. ⁤⁤Loki had never seen her, and she'd made sure of that as she was always in the shadows, never supposed to be seen. ⁤

⁤But today? ⁤⁤When she saw him today, there was something different in his eyes. ⁤⁤It wasn't the Loki she had seen before, not in New York during the battle. ⁤⁤Something she hadn't seen before. ⁤⁤Something- sorrow? ⁤⁤She wasn't sure, but its weight lingered. ⁤

⁤Pulling out her phone, she tapped open Instagram, scrolling through the updates of her friends and colleaguesᅳnight outs, food, work stuff. ⁤⁤She never posted, this was more of a way for her to keep up with her friends or catch bits and pieces from the industry. ⁤⁤Her finger hovered on the search bar, she hesitated for a second before typing Luke Ashford into the search bar as her curiosity got the best of her. ⁤⁤His profile came up instantlyᅳmillions of followers, flawless pictures of him at various events, perfectly curated snapshots of his life. ⁤⁤She tapped on his latest post, a candid photo of him at some event, probably a movie premiere. ⁤⁤He was, without question, very attractiveᅳLuna wasn't about to deny that. ⁤⁤His suit was tailored just right, his expression charming yet effortlessly casual. ⁤⁤It was easy to see why people were drawn to him. ⁤

⁤Scrolling photo after photo, she found herself searching for something more, trying to find that same look she had seen earlier. ⁤⁤But the expressions in these pictures were different, distant, even detached. No sign of the sorrow she'd seen in his eye today, no hint of that brief vulnerability he'd shown when he grabbed her arm, mistaking her for… someone else. ⁤⁤His post, these curated moments, snapshots of life seemed so far removed from the god of mischief she remembered- arrogant, dangerous, yet full of a strange passion during the battle of New York. ⁤

⁤“You are indeed very attractive,” Luna muttered to herself. ⁤⁤Her eyes lingered on one of the photos longer than she intended. ⁤⁤It wasn't just his looks- though he was undeniably captivating- it was more like that sense of mystery, of power that always clung to him, whether as Loki or Luke. ⁤⁤But there was something off with this man in these pictures, he wasn't quite the same. ⁤⁤No. ⁤⁤She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts loose. ⁤⁤No. ⁤⁤She reminded herself again that she wasn't part of that world. ⁤⁤You weren't supposed to care about things like this. ⁤⁤She was just a sound engineer now, and if this god of mischief wanted to live as a mortal, then that was his choice, and it wasn't her place to wonder why. ⁤

⁤Luna locked her phone and slipped it back into her pocket. I shouldn’t get involved, but something about thisᅳabout Lokiᅳwas pulling at her, and it made her question. ⁤⁤

Days later, Loki woke up– or rather, he sat up from his bed. Sleep had been a fleeting thing lately, slipping away each time when he thought he might catch it. It was because of her. Luna. With a sigh, he ran his finger through his hair, feeling more tired than he had laid down hours ago.

Pushing the thought away. He wandered to the kitchen. The morning light was soft, cutting through the blinds just enough to remind him that another day had started. Reaching up into the cupboard, he reached for the familiar box of Froot Loops. The unnatural colors of the cereal rattled into the bowl, and then milk followed. Loki smirked a little, staring down at the vibrant mix– of all things Midgard had to offer, this had somehow become a small comfort. The memory of the kid on set showing him the sugary cereal for the first time came back, telling him they were “a proper breakfast,” That had made him laugh. Now, though? There was something about it, something that made him feel more settled in this strange world.

As he landed against the counter, spoon in hand, a soft chuckle escaped him.

Eirwen.

He could almost hear her voice, teasing him about his ridiculous breakfast choice.

“A trickster god, the prince of Asgard, and you eat like a child?” He could see her expression so clearly, the faint smirk tugging at her lips, eyebrows raised in that way she always did when she was trying to hide her amusement, and it made his chest ache. She would have laughed.

The memory shifted, pulling him back to the great halls of Asgard. Loki was walking with her, Eirwen’s armor clinking lightly with every step, his cloak swirling behind him. Her gaze fixed ahead, but her lips– her lips fought the smile that wanted to break free.

“You know, you’re entirely too serious,” His voice was light as he glanced sideways at her.

“I’m serious because someone has to be,” she said. “And you’re entirely too frivolous.” Her tone was calm, but it carried that undercurrent of challenge he loved so much.

“I like to call it… balance,” Loki mused, eyebrow raised, waiting for her to take the bait.

Eirwen shot him with that mock glare she was so good at. “You? Balance?” She laughed. Loki’s smile deepened. She always did that, knocked him off-kilter when he least expected it.

Placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “And here I thought you enjoyed my spontaneity.” He said. “Would you prefer I start making royal proclamations, all stoic and kingly?”

Eirwen’s laughter bubbled out, unexpected and warm, and Loki couldn’t help but join her, just for a moment. It felt like… breathing. It was easy, natural.

He’d lived for that sound.

God, he missed her.

Back then, it was easy. The banter flowed naturally, like the way their footsteps had always fallen into sync without them even trying. He could always get a smile out of her, even when things were tense. Even when they were surrounded by the weight of Asgard’s endless battles and politics.

Now? It was different. The memories were soft-edged, and the ache they left behind felt sharp.

He sighed, shaking his head as if he could physically dispel the past. He conjured a book, out of a habit more than desire, flipping the pages aimlessly as he sat down to eat. Barely made it past a couple of paragraphs, his phone buzzed.

Loki didn’t bother to check the screen. He already knew who it was.

“Yes?” He answered, his eyes still skimming the first line of his book, even if none of the words were sinking in.

“Luke,” His manager’s voice came through. “Have you decided yet? They’re both waiting, and I need an answer.” Cutting straight to business.

Loki leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated this part. The constant back-and-forth, it was all so tedious.

“The movie.” He said after a beat, though his voice was devoid of hesitation. The decision had been made days ago, but he’d been in no rush to make it official.

His manager hummed approval. “Good choice. I’ll deal with the producers, lock in the deal, and get back to you with the contract.”

“Wonderful.” Loki replied, though there was no enthusiasm behind the word. To him, this was just another job, another role, another mask. He hung up before the conversation could drag on, not in the mood for more of that chatter.

Shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, he stared into space. The words on the page in front of him blurred, his mind circling back, back to her.

Luna.

Why could’t he stop thinking about her?

He stirred his cereal, but his mind wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. It was back in that moment, in the way she looked at him when he’d grabbed her arm on the street. Those eyes– Eirwen’s eyes.

But not.

It was driving him mad. She wasn’t her, but she was, in ways that Loki couldn’t describe. It wasn’t just her looks, though that was haunting enough. There was something deeper, something… unnerving. The scent of her, the way her presence stirred him in ways no one else had. She was a puzzle, one that felt like it was missing too many pieces for him to solve.

And Loki hates puzzles he couldn’t solve, doesn’t he?

← part 1 · part 𝟥 →

[appalamutte]

hi i used parvuls’ new writing prompt generator to write this small little thing

trope: enemies to lovers setting: lighthouse word: potato

“I see you’ve finally taken to the bed.”

Mr. Zimmermann nods over to the wrinkled sheets on the bed, setting the crate of produce and bread on the small table in the middle of the room.

Eric rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says begrudgingly, crossing his arms, “you were right. The bed was much needed once the frost came in. Though it’s still a pity sight for sore eyes.”

With his back turned, Eric can only hear Mr. Zimmermann’s hum, though he’s sure Mr. Zimmermann’s mouth is twitched in that subtle way of pride. “Very well,” is all Mr. Zimmermann says, and when he turns Eric can find no such trace of pride left. Not that he looks very hard, though.

“There are a few sacks of grain and flour in the jolly,” Mr. Zimmermann continues, briskly crossing to the door, “and a satchel of potatoes from Londonderry.”

“Londonderry?” Eric asks, following him down the stairs.

“Up in New Hampshire,” Mr. Zimmermann says, and how he says it flares Eric’s chest with anger, like how he always says it when Eric thinks they may just be past their animosity. He says it like Eric’s just another senseless Southerner with no meaning to be in Massachusetts after the war, even though Eric’s family fled to New Haven at the first word of Fort Sumter and spent years donating as much of their monthly earnings as they could allow to the Union’s troops.

It’s always been like this, though, for as long as Eric’s been the keeper at Cape Samwell. The Zimmermann’s own a swath of lighthouses up the coast, all the way to Maine, and at first Eric had thought he struck gold when he was accepted for the position. Robert Zimmermann is one of the few businessmen Eric’s met who values well-being as highly as profit, and his wife Alicia vows as much to pageantry as she does to goodwill. They’re not perfect by all means, but they regard Eric’s family with the respect most others can’t seem to give, and for that Eric is happy.

Then he had the misfortune of meeting Mr. Zimmermann’s sole heir, who wouldn’t even shake Eric’s hand the day they met. Jack Zimmermann is a breathing contradiction from his parents, callous and cold and not at all charismatic. It’s just Eric’s luck that Jack asked to personally deliver the monthly supplies to Eric’s lighthouse, supposedly doing so as soon as Eric was hired, no matter that he’s never done so for any other lighthouse before. It’s a selfish demonstration of how much a nuisance he is, something he won’t even admit, and—well, Eric is able to send his parents his earnings, which makes it bearable.

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Mr. Zimmermann all but shuts the door in Eric’s face in his haste to get outside. “Well, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric says once he’s standing atop the stoop, cheeks surely red in distaste, “Thank you for your family’s continuous generosity. You can just leave the grain and potatoes here at the door.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Zimmermann says from the dock.

“I like to believe it’s in both of our best interests if you did so.”

Mr. Zimmermann lifts two sacks of flour, the seams of his sleeves pulling taut around his arms as he does so, and carries them back to the stoop with near grace. He stops short of Eric, one step below him so that they are almost of the same height. “I cannot deliver these to your quarters with you in the way,” he says.

Eric doesn’t give a reply. His mother would surely have his rear with the impoliteness.

Mr. Zimmermann raises an eyebrow, and for a moment it is only the salty breeze ruffling his hair, the sea reflected in his eyes, the dry pink of his lips that draws Eric’s unwilling attention. It’s no secret Mr. Zimmermann is handsome, be it that half of Boston’s daughters have been vying for his hand in marriage ever since he turned of age, and sometimes when he gets near enough like he is now, Eric feels this pull high up in his stomach near his lungs that he never likes to acknowledge.

That is, until he remembers this is Mr. Zimmermann, and the pull dissipates as quickly as it comes. How unfortunate it is that such an ugly-acting man can be so beautiful.

“Fine,” Mr. Zimmermann suddenly says, dropping the flour to the wood and turning, “I shall let you see to it these make it up to your quarters then.”

He retrieves the rest of the grain and the satchel of potatoes, and it’s only when they’re all sat at Eric’s feet and Mr. Zimmermann is halfway to his jolly that Eric finds his words. “Thank you again, Mr. Zimmermann. Please send my gratitude to your parents,” he all but yells.

Hoisting up the first bag of grain, Eric maneuvers himself to shoulder open the door to the stairs, wondering in the back of his mind why his stubbornness always wins out. The grain is always heavier than he remembers it being, and the stairs are always longer, and yet every time Eric can’t fathom the thought of Mr. Zimmermann being in his quarters longer than necessary.

“It’s Jack!”

With the door nearly shut behind him, Eric quickly leans back and peers back outside. “Pardon?”

Mr. Zimmermann is still at the dock, his jolly yet to be unmoored. “Enough with the formalities, Eric,” he yells. “My name’s Jack!”

Eric will haul his body over the coals himself if he were to ever openly refer to Mr. Zimmermann in such an informal manner. It’s undeserving and, frankly, far too intimate. He still politely smiles, though, and yells back, “Safe travels, Mr. Jack!”

The door shuts behind him, and as it latches Eric thinks he hears Mr. Zimmermann laugh, but the wind plays tricks on his ears all the time.

As if Mr. Zimmermann knew how to laugh.

[tommyspeakycap]

I love your work! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something about (toddler) baby Shelby having Alfie help her bake a cake for Tommy

omggggg that’s so so cute!!

A Bakers Help

The burly Camden Town ‘baker’ was nothing short of completely shocked when he heard a soft banging on his office door in the mid afternoon. His eyebrows had furrowed and he had kept his hand readily on his weapon so he was prepared in the event of an enemy being on the other side of the door. He was surprised to say the least when he tugged open the door and had to look down multiple inches to spot she who knocked on the door.

There stood a little girl. One he knew fairly well but who’s appearance outside his office was still a shock. That little girl was notorious around most of England, especially in heavily gang populated territories where the “Shelby” was a household name and everybody who knew that name knew the littlest member of the family was something akin to a jewel in Tommy Shelby’s crown. Alfie had been curious as to whether or not she was actually attached to Thomas Shelby’s hip in consideration to how much time she spent right by his side, teetering along on little legs so he knew she was safe right by his side. It wasn’t often that Tommy entrusted others to watch over his youngest sister, so it would be safe to say that Alfie was incredibly confused.

“Good morning.” The little girl greets, her lips plastered with a bright smile as she lifts a hand to wave at him. Alfie braces himself on either side of his doorway with strong hands so as to lean out of his office to look out into the ‘bakery’ to both the left and right before stepping back in. “Mhm yes it was actually. Where’s your brothers?” He asks, turning his eyes back to the girl in the doorway who fights to pull her wool coat back up from falling off her arms due to the fact it hadn’t been buttoned up. The girl shrugs, “Dunno...Can I come in?” She asks politely, “It’s very cold.”

Alfie Solomons squints his eyes and forms a crease between his brows, but even he can’t deny the chill in the winter breeze through the unheated factory and the shivering of the child, and so he steps to the side and gestures her in the door. Alfie hums, or maybe something more akin to a grumble, in thought as the five year old wanders around his office to take in the whole surroundings. “And where are your pikey brothers then yeah?” His voice rumbles deep and gravelly the same way it always does, not missing the chance or thinking twice about dropping an insult to the Shelby men as he speaks. The youngest of the clan shrugs her little shoulders. “Dunno,” she says again, “I’m with Ada. Told her i was going out to play.”

The words most definitely do worry Alfie Solomons after the girl with Tommy Shelby’s striking blue eyes and his heart in the palm of her tiny hand finishes speaking flippantly. It occurs to him that she’s simply too young to understand both risk and consequence. She knows that Tommy Shelby dotes on her like the little princess he believes her to be. She knows he loves her, he tells her every day. However, Alfie knows the far darker side to that love. He’s heard of people brutally murdered with remains unidentifiable after coming close to her, and although Alfie has no desire to harm a child who probably doesn’t even understand what it is the rest of her family do when she’s not around, that doesn’t reassure him even in the slightest that Tommy, Arthur, Ada and John Shelby along with Polly Gray wouldn’t rip him to shreds if they knew their little princess was stood in his office for whatever reason.

“Right,” Alfie states, “Better get you home then,” He strides easily towards the door to hold it open, but the little girl simply quirks one eyebrow and remains where she stands. “It’s Tommy’s birthday soon.” She declares, looking up at the hardened London gangster as if he poses no threat nor fear to her in the slightest bit. She smiles at him, big and bright. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know if he was violent, didn’t know if he was supposed to be scary. She just knew she had met him before, he was relatively funny as the 5 year old obviously did not pick up on the thinly veiled threats hiding beneath the verbal back and forth between her favourite brother and the man she stood with now, and more importantly than anything; she knew he was a ‘baker’. “You need a cake on your birthday, you know.” She adds very matter of factly, and Alfie Solomons doesn’t fight the little grin he gives. “And you’re a baker, so you can make good cakes. I need you to help me make Tommy’s cake for birthday cake time on Saturday.”

There’s virtually no way this little girl had just come up with this by herself. The way she acts, her generosity, her sweetness and her absolute insistence of cake for her brothers birthday was not something she had adapted by herself. Children don’t just come up with these things. That thought, for Alfie, means that those who have raised her have drilled a certain kindness into her. Thomas Shelby has raised his little sister to be the kind of kid who will find a man she thinks is a baker just because her brother told her he was, so that he can help her make a cake. That makes Alfie want to laugh. Tommy Shelby acts the part, but Solomons now knows he’s the type who taught a little girl about the importance of cake and birthday fun.

“Fine.” Alfie responds, out stretching his arm to gesture the little girl out into the factory. He did actually have a designated area for the ‘bakery’ just in the event that someone came looking or investigating and he needed to show there was actually a bakery there. He was thankful for that now, because he got the feeling that there was little to no chance he would have gotten away from the very very persistent little Shelby trailing behind him. It becomes apparent very quickly that little (y/n) will have no luck when it comes to seeing what was going on up on the counter, considering she wasn’t even nearly the same height as it, never mind tall enough see over it. Alfie has to get creative in that respect, eyes flicking around until they lands on a a stack of crates that he grabs a couple of to pile them next to the counter so that the youngest Shelby can contribute as she pleased to the cake making.

All things considered, Alfie was actually a fairly good baker. He didn’t come up with the idea of a bakery to cover his illegal business work for no reason. He knew he could bake if it was necessary (which it sometimes was to smuggle alcohol), so this ask from the little girl who had a list of ingredients and an exact image of how she wanted this cake to look, wasn’t a huge task for him.

In the process of the bake, Alfie learned a lot. He learned that little Shelby couldn’t quite pronounce her L’s (which Tommy was apparently working on with her), so she called him Afie. He learned that Tommy’s favourite cake was vanilla sponge, which was why it was a four tier vanilla sponge with extra strawberry jam that his sweet little sister had chosen. He learned that the little girl got here by very discretely tripping up her cousin, Karl, so that Ada was preoccupied giving him a plaster for his knee and stopping his tears and (y/n) snuck off from Ada’s London home in the direction she felt like she remembered Tommy going when he had taken her to Alfie’s bakery once, albeit leaving her in the car with Arthur and John. She had to ask for directions from confused strangers a few times, but ultimately she found the place on her own. Alfie learned that little Shelby talks a lot. She’s very clever, can follow instructions a lot better than most children of a similar age. It had become increasingly clear she didn’t see any problem with talking about the fun things she did with her brothers. The way Arthur and John like to throw her about to hear her giggles, how Tommy tucks her in every single night that he can. How he tickles her, how he still carries her around even though her aunt Polly protests it. How good her aunt Polly’s cooking is. How much she loves her family. She sees no problem with divulging these soft family moments, although Tommy would probably be absolutely appalled that people knew these things about him and his brothers. It made the head of the Peaky Blinders seem so incredibly mundane.

Alfie could see now why that sweet girl was so loved and held so dear by the family. He also had to wonder if she truly was one of them. She was funny and bright, she giggled with him and babbled on about sorts of rubbish. Alas, she was bossy as Thomas himself. She was loud like Arthur, sarcastic as John, self assured as Polly, as independent as Finn and opinionated as Ada. She made sure to tell Alfie exactly how to stack the first layer while she mixed ingredients for the next layer and he was kept on a very short leash, reminded every so often that he was not to dip his fingers in any of the mixtures and leaning over as he worked to tell him Tommy liked more jam than what Alfie had put on.

“Wait!” She yelps out, leaping off the makeshift kitchen stool made from those bottle crates to chase after Alfie until she reaches the man who was carrying the cake towards a box. “Finishing touches,” she insists, ever so slightly dusting the cake with powdered icing sugar to give a final decorational appearance. Alfie smiles subconsciously as the small girl stands back with a proud grin, turning her eyes to man holding the cake, “Thank you Afie,” she beams, her cute little way of saying his name never lost on him as his heart flutters. “Welcome, baby Shelby.” He responds as he slips it into the cake box he’d ordered one of his men to go and get without question.

Alfie was certain he would step outside his bakery and London would be burning. He expected to have Shelby’s killing people on the streets searching for their baby, their sweet little princess. He assumed (and rightly so) that Ada hadn’t told Tommy that she had absolutely no idea where his most precious little love was for genuine fear of his reaction and so she had mobilised some friends and acquaintances she had made while in London to try finding her little sister. Albeit they were evidently unsuccessful and absolutely no one expected little (y/n) to be baking with Alfie Solomons for her gangster brothers birthday because she just loves him so.

Ada literally burst out the front door frantically when she saw the car headlights pull up outside her house, wrapping herself tightly in her coat as Alfie Solomons lifts her little sister down out of the car. The 5 year old stands innocent as ever next to the man who Tommy never truly knows if he can trust or not as he reaches back into the car to lift out a white cake box with two strong hands. “Better keep a closer eye on this one yeah?” He gestured his head to (y/n) who runs towards Ada and jumps into her open arms to be squeezed incredibly, almost painfully tightly. “Never run off like that again!” She hisses, her concern and anxiety clear behind her words as she speaks into her sisters soft hair, stroking it with her hand for some form of reassurance.

“Sorry Ada,” she hums cutely in response, “We made Tommy a cake though, for his birthday!” Ada let’s go of (y/n) and turns to the little girl. “Go inside and find Aunt Pol, i’ll be in shortly.” She says as she eyes Alfie Solomons with the stoney faced glare he assumes she learned from Polly Gray and her often stoney resolve. “Bye bye Afie!” The 5 year old chimes, scuttling up to him to wrap her arms around his legs for a moment before turning and running off with a wave at the doorstep with Alfie a little bit to stunned by how kind she was to him despite the bad man he was to do much else than wave after her. “You,” Ada snipped, cutting him out of his thoughts and crossing her arms firmly over her chest, “Baked a cake with my little sister?” Her words leak with confusion, eyebrows furrowed with her head tilted in question as she continues to be unable to think of any reason why Alfie Solomons hadn’t turned the little girl away or even used her as a bargaining chip with threats of harm to the child if Tommy didn’t do as Alfie wanted. Instead he baked with her a cake for Thomas and she was returned without a bump, not even a hair on her head harmed. He had returned the little Shelby who was uncharacteristically clumsy for a Shelby without her falling off of anything, burning herself on any ovens or accidentally eating something she was supposed to.

“Yeah.” Alfie responds, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Ada steps closer to him to try in some way to read what he’s not saying, her heels clicking with each step. “And you want nothing for it?” She presses, her eyes narrowed as he shrugs. “Birthday gift innit yeah?” He grumbles, handing the cake to Ada. “She’s the best of you lot,” he states firmly as he turns his back to climb back into his car, “Keep her that way yeah?”

Ada’s frown turns to a soft smile as she nods, watching as Alfie Solomons pulls his door shut firmly and turns on his ignition.

“Mr Solomons, Oi!” She calls after him, forcing him to roll down his window to hear what she has to say. “Thank you.” She breathes, “For looking after her and bringing her home. And for the cake.” Alfie nods his head in acknowledgment. Ada isn’t sure what else to say. She still feels fairly nauseous at the fact her little sister was missing for virtually the whole day and littered with further nerves at the fact Tommy would be around to pick her up in a half hour and it wasn’t like little Shelby to keep quiet about anything, especially not when it came to Tommy and especially when it came to her adventures that her favourite brother hadn’t been part of, so assuredly she would let him know all about her baking day with Alfie after the cake was revealed tomorrow afternoon for his birthday. Alfie knew this too and he imagined he’d get a visit from the head of the Peaky Blinders relatively soon after he found out.

Tommy would probably be as confused as Ada as to why Alfie looked after little (y/n) the way he did. Alfie couldn’t even really explain it himself, she just warmed up his heart and the sweet little girl showed Alfie truly why Tommy loves that little girl so much. She brings laughter and happiness and fun. She brings light into a very, very dark life and Alfie appreciates that dedication Tommy had to keeping her safe a lot more now. He himself now had a soft spot for the kid and there was a part of him that knew for a fact he too would be making sure no one in his circle was breathing words of harming that little girl who had promised she would bake with him again, and had his birthday written on her hand so she could bake for his birthday.

Maybe the Shelby’s weren’t so bad after all.

[whatsmyline-pb]

Of Lamps and Men

I couldn’t help but write some silliness based on Alfie’s lamp. Only warning is slight spoiler for Peaky 6.02

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37609558

Alfie has a lot of reasons to be annoyed with Tommy after their most recent rendezvous. First, the cunt brushes off the operatic entrance he gifts him; doesn’t seem to appreciate the personal touch he provides. Then the fuck has the audacity to rub his face in the death of a most beloved Uncle, uses it as barter in a play for control. Smokes in his presence and tells him he’s weak. Even thinks he can write Alfie’s own fucking ending. The arrogant shit.

What irks Alfie most, though, is Tommy’s refusal to acknowledge his lamp. It’s one of his most prized possessions, inherited when he’d bought his Margate home. Spent hours beneath its warm light, hadn’t he, while he watched ships and shot at seagulls and read Tolstoy and Blake and the likes? Its presence in his basement distillery is an homage to his death and resurrection and, more importantly, a testament of taste and character.

But the magnanimous prick doesn’t even look at it, just keeps his eyes trained on Alfie as they speak. Even when Alfie turns, reaches up to stroke its tassels, Tommy doesn’t take note.

And that just won’t fucking do.

—

The large crate that appears in their foyer one day sets a deep unease in Lizzie. They’ve a poor track record with unsolicited deliveries; the lifeless bodies of kin in their drive, deadly landmines buried in their yard. She has no intention of nearing the imposing crate, marked with bold black lettering— Fragile— and gives it a wide berth when she ushers the kids to bed that evening.

Thankfully, Tommy has returned by the time she makes her way back downstairs. He’s standing in the foyer with a crowbar in one hand and note in the other, blinking at the contents of the crate with an odd expression.

And the contents. It’s more horrifying than she’s imagined but not in the dangerous way she assumed.

Simply put, it’s hideous. A lamp that stands at hip-height, the leg of it an actual leg— a woman’s leg, adorned with sheer black stockings and a heel to boot. The edge of the yellowed shade is fringed with black velvet tassels.

Lizzie balks.

“Tommy… no. ” The gaudy, life-sized portraits of their family scattered throughout their home are one thing. But this…

Tommy silently hands her the note.

Tommy,

It occurs to me, as ingenious ideas often do, that it’d behoove you to write your own final act. For that you’ll need proper lighting, of both quality and style. I noticed you admiring my impeccable taste in furnishings the other day and took it upon myself to ensure you’ve the same.

You’re welcome.

Alfie

“For fuck’s sake,” she says and looks back to Tommy. The suggestion to bin the monstrosity dies on her lips, her heart leaping. Tommy is returning her gaze with eyes bright and, rarity of rarities, a wide grin stretched across his face.

They place the lamp in a corner of Tommy's study. Lizzie catches him occasionally smirking at it when she enters. She sends a thank you note— Alfie Solomons, she decides, isn't so bad after all.