#slate side missions

[bunnithechubs]

Episode One- Meet & Greet!

These men are SO toxic and I love it. Some interesting strategies were played and some were successful. So far Silas is in the lead with Jasper tailing behind him. Hopefully the boys don't break out into a fight at the pool part!

@invisblequeen , @duusheen , @moonwoodhollow , @changingplumbob , @aniraklova , @simsmoonie , and @neishroom

[drabblesandimagines]

Scoot On Over

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, fluff with a tiny bit of suggestive spice at the end

Leon threw himself down onto the mattress with a relieved sigh – a cliché, but there was nothing like sleeping in your own bed after being away. It had been a mixture of questionable motel beds, a couple of nights in the backseat of the car, another night of no sleep at all and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the brink of exhaustion, running on adrenaline until he made it back home to you that evening.

He rubs his cheek against your pillow, inhaling the scent of your perfume and allows himself to close his eyes. Now, he just needs you in his arms for a perfect’s night sleep…

--

“Leon?”

Nothing – again. You’d worry he had stopped breathing entirely if he wasn’t letting out soft snores from where his face was pressed against your pillow. He’d been away on a mission for two long weeks and had arrived home early evening, duffel bag in hand, covered in fading bruises, kisses and wandering hands tinged with weariness despite his obvious excitement to be back home with you.

You made small talk as you’d made a light dinner – get him fed and then you could both have an early night. He didn’t like to talk much about his missions had entailed – he wanted to keep the two things as separate in his brain as he could – but he knew if he needed to talk about something, you’d be there and that was enough.

You’d sent him up to bed first whilst you finished up in the kitchen – you liked to start off each morning with a clean slate in there and it would only take you ten minutes tops to sort, you’d assured him, a cheeky pat to his backside as you encouraged him up the stairs.

He’d changed into a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and a plain white tee, so he must’ve brushed his teeth and then just… collapsed? You place a hand on the broad expanse of his back, giving him a light shake. “Sweetheart?”

The problem is, Leon is broad and tall and currently, somehow, taking up the whole of your double bed. You can’t even see a reasonable space you could try and curl up into against his side and be remotely comfortable, the way his limbs are spread out like a starfish.

“Leon,” you place another hand on his back and give a more vigorous shake. “I just need you to scooch on up a bit, sweetheart.”

Nothing.

You change tact and try and lift an arm, maybe you can get him to roll with a little encouragement, or he’ll wake up? Surely as an agent he’s a light sleeper anyway, what if you were an enemy or any sort of threat?

His arm is deadweight, all muscle - even if you try and lift it with both hands, embarrassingly, you can’t get it even an inch or so off the mattress.

You try and push it inwards so it’ll sit tight against his body, but it just won’t move.

“Leon?” You grab hold of his shoulder and shake it with all of your strength.

“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles.

A sign of life – hallelujah. “Can you move along a bit for me?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t move.

“Just need you to scooch up a bit for me, handsome.” “Mm-hm…” And he snuggles his face further into your pillow, an adorable smile on his face as he does.

With a sigh, you try and wedge yourself into the space in defeat – maybe he’ll subconsciously feel you and lift his arm up for a cuddle, and then you’d be able to fit a little more comfortably? He did prefer to sleep with an arm wrapped around you, keeping you pressed close up against him, legs tangled together.

After trying out various positions in the hopes of coaxing him into a spoon, a few more vigorous shakes and, finally, a more than playful smack to his backside that achieved no more than a mumble – not proud of that one, but needs must - you admit defeat, kneel down beside the bed and stare at his slumbering face in thought.

He must be utterly exhausted and, despite the frustration of not being able to cuddle up against him after so many nights apart, it is flattering, you suppose, that he must feel safe within your company to allow himself to relax so completely and be out like a literal light.

You lean down to pick up his neglected pillow and press a kiss to his forehead, and grab the throw from the end of the bed – looks like it’s a night on the couch.

--

Leon wakes up slowly as light filters in through the curtains. His body had been aching from his time away, but it seems a night in his bed has set him right. He stretches his arms out, expecting for a hand to brush up against your warmth but is dismayed when he finds the bed empty.

He turns and sits up, cautiously, rubbing the back of his head with a loud yawn and takes in his surroundings, wondering if you’ve just nipped to the en-suite, but the door to it is ever so slightly ajar.

Your phone is plugged in on the bedside table, charging, which is odd – although not glued to the thing, it's strange for you not to have taken it with you if you’d gone downstairs to make breakfast…

There’s a sickening feeling in his stomach when he realizes he doesn’t remember you coming to bed at all, that he had been waiting for you to come join him and…

Hazy memories of you calling out to him?

Fuck.

He jumps up to his feet, dashes out the bedroom and takes the stairs down two at a time, trying to think. He’d left his gun in his duffel bag, hadn’t even taken it up with him, left it by the door when he arrived home last night. Had he been drugged? He had felt exhausted, but he’d put that down to the poor sleep over the last while. Could someone have followed him home last night, drugged him somehow, a tranquilizer, waited for him to be out for the count to swoop in and…?

His heart stops as he sees you lying on your side on the couch, the throw from the bed now twisted around your legs, arms wrapped around his pillow.

Safe and sound, and fast asleep.

He exhales, calming himself for a moment with a chuckle, before kneeling down besides you and tilting his head, awkwardly, so he can kiss you up the lips.

The sensation is enough for you to stir, blinking up at him with a dozy smile.

“Morning.”

“I don’t recall us having a fight last night, sweetheart.” He grins at his joke, but it’s one that falls flat.

“A fight?” You repeat, confused.

“You know, when couples fight, one of them ends up sleeping on the couch...”

“Oh, yeah,” you yawn, sitting up with the slightest wince. “You wouldn’t let me in the bed.”

“Huh?”

“When I came up to bed you were dead to the world, literally star-fished. I tried to get you to scoot up a little so I could get in but it was impossible, so I slept down here.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm, you must’ve been exhausted.” You nod, shuffling around to place your feet flat on the ground. “Lemme make us some coffee… Ow!” You hiss as you stand, placing a hand on the small of your back.

Leon is quick to his feet, eyes wide in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay, it’s just my back,” you rub at the sore spot, the muscles feeling tender. It had been fine last night… “Maybe the couch isn’t the best for sleeping on.”

 You take another step forward, intent on heading to the kitchen, but there’s no hiding the wince from Leon’s gaze. “Oh, baby…”

“It’ll be fine, I just need to walk it off.”

“Uh-uh, come on,” and those muscular arms that were so impossible to move last night are suddenly scooping you up and holding you against his chest as he heads back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s still early and a couple of hours on a proper, supportive mattress might work wonders.”

You wrap your arms around his neck in turn. “Oh, I know your game, Kennedy.”

“And what’s that?” He replies, nonchalantly as he begins to ascend the stairs, careful not to knock your legs against the banister.

“The other activity you like to conduct in bed, the one that’s not sleeping? I just…” You tense in his arms, looking a little hesitant. “I don’t know if my back’s gonna play ball...”

Leon reaches the top of the landing and smirks, “Trust me - stretches work wonders for back pain, sweetheart.”

He strides into the bedroom and kicks the door closed with his foot.

It doesn’t open again until late afternoon. -- AN: Inspired by my boyfriend actually star-fishing me outta the bed and me having to sleep on the couch x

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[espace--positif]

Focus and Distraction

A Zayne x F!Reader fluffy shortfic [Love and Deepspace]

Summary: What do you do when you’re distracted by your partner’s arms when trying to work? Arm wrestle him, of course. Pairing: Zayne x F!Reader WC: ~1.5k Content tags: fluff, suggestive themes, arm wrestling, thirsting over arms A/N: Reader is better than me cause I personally would’ve asked to be put in a chokehold and dragged to the bedr— *gets shoved in a van* THANKS FOR READING *scrumpt through the cracked windows as the van speeds off*

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

It was a day as normal as any, with Zayne tapping away at his laptop, buried in his work, while you polished off reports and fielded mission requests on your tablet. Seated comfortably at his kitchen table, you both toiled away at your respective responsibilities. You’d often engage in this coworking practice — it was the perfect solution to your unfortunately busy schedules, granting you a chance to see each other despite it all.

And the comfort that his calm presence provided during your work sessions was no secret; you found yourself more productive, more motivated, and less likely to spiral into needless anxieties when your slate grew a little too full. You liked to think he felt the same, that you could at least make his work more bearable, though he’d never verbalized it.

But today, his presence was beginning to become a bit of a problem.

You see, it was a balmy May afternoon, and with the weather becoming increasingly warmer, wardrobe changes naturally followed. Namely, Zayne’s dress shirt, usually neatly cuffed at the wrist, was now rolled up, exposing his sculpted arms. It was a minor change, one that could easily be overlooked and probably went unnoticed by everyone else, but it was all you could look at right now. Consuming your every thought, as your finger hovered over your tablet, occupied by nothing.

“It’s not break time yet,” Zayne sighed with his eyes still glued to his screen, and you startled. The man truly had a sixth sense.

The timer-clock you’d purchased for him as a gift, in the shape of a cute tomato, sat between you at the table, confirming that you were indeed only five and a half minutes into your fifteen-minute work block. You frowned at its adorable yet accusatory gaze.

“I know, I know,” you replied, willing yourself to return to your reports.

But the rhythmic typing that came from Zayne’s side of the table called you, and it wasn’t long before your eyes were glancing upwards again. The small, almost imperceptible throb of his arm muscles as he pressed down on the enter key, a push ever so slightly harsher than his normal typing, had you captivated. You loudly tapped at your tablet, paying the endless words on your report no mind as you stared. If he could hear you working, then he couldn’t possibly catch you in the act, right?

But he did. Eyes darting up impossibly fast, Zayne’s gaze caught yours and you were far too slow to look away.

“If you need to take a break right now, we can do that,” he said. He’d always been understanding of the ebbs and flows of focus, and how uncontrollable those tides were. So when you would become visibly distracted, he’d be less rigorous with enforcing the schedule you’d both set for yourselves. Little did he know that he was the very reason that your mind was endlessly wandering today.

“Nope,” you said as your shifty eyes met with your tablet once more, only to find that you’d deleted the last five lines of your report in your blind tapping. Resigned, you sighed. “Ok, maybe I do need a break.”

A soft smile tugged at Zayne’s lips as he half-closed the lid of his laptop, directing his full attention to you. “Short walk or tea?”

You pondered your two choices for a bit before a glint of playfulness flashed in your eyes. You couldn’t suppress the smile that invaded your expression as you responded: “Neither. Arm wrestle me.”

Zayne raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Arm wrestle?”

“Yeah, you know, to refocus,” you offered. “Something about muscle activation, blood flow…”

You trailed off, hoping he’d have some explanation that could give credence to your odd request.

“Stretching one’s muscles is important to reduce strain caused by long stationary periods, and light exercise can improve blood flow, which is linked to—”

“Exaaactly,” you interrupted, which earned you the mildest frown, more of a pout really. But you had more pressing matters at hand. “So let’s do it.”

You gently swept the devices and papers that littered the table to the side before leaning your elbow onto the dark wood. Zayne stared at you for a moment, incredulous, but soon obliged, clamping your hand within his. His soft fingers were cool to the touch, yet the warmth that settled within you was anything but. For the sight you were taken with right now was even better than you’d imagined. The muscles of his arms were now fully flexed despite his gentle grasp, their chiseled edges sharp enough to cut glass. Yet the soft curves where the muscle dipped beckoned you, the outline of taut veins branching under his skin as he shifted his elbow.

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, satisfaction taking over. You’d already seen every part of Zayne, countless times at that, but you doubted you’d ever find a sight more perfect than this. It was the subtlety of it all, the way the weight of his muscle shifted with every small movement, the way his sleeves constricted around the girth when his elbows bent, the almost forbidden setting in which all these little details invaded your eyes and mind. You briefly pondered whether this was how Victorian men felt when they managed to glimpse a stray ankle in the ballroom.

“Ready?” Zayne said in that low half-whispered tone he knew you liked, and the smirk he wore let you know he was probably already onto you. Not that you cared.

“Don’t hold back,” you replied. If only he knew how much you meant it.

You gently tapped the table in a mock countdown, signaling the beginning of the battle. Three, two, one.

You braced yourself, digging your free arm into the table as you pushed. But your strength was met with no reciprocation — the fact that your joined palms remained in a standstill told you as much, and the barely perceptible twitch in his arm confirmed that he wasn’t even playing, not really. And the ratcheting anticipation that had built up within you remained an unresolved ache that bloomed in your abdomen.

“You’re letting me win,” you huffed, and he confirmed your suspicions with a smirk as he let you slam his arm down with a soft thud.

He chuckled as he softly stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “There’s no fairness in beating such a distracted opponent.”

A flush crept from your ears and through your heating face. You felt silly for getting so worked up about something so banal, but part of you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Zayne was actually entertaining this. Seemed to be enjoying it, even.

“Hmm,” you hummed, bringing your free hand to boldly trace at the ever so slightly raised veins on his arm. “That won’t hold up in court. When I tell all your colleagues that I beat you at arm wrestling. Maybe I’ll post a moment commemorating my victory…?”

You trailed off, the delectable firmness under your palm, his muscles constricting and relaxing as you moved up his arm, the goosebumps you felt prickling at your fingertips, all doing nothing to quell the mounting thrill drumming in your core.

“In that case…” said Zayne before gently pulling your free hand away. And his next gesture was not so gentle. He effortlessly pushed up against your palm, teasingly letting up as your interlinked hands were upright again. You grabbed onto the edge of the table with your free hand, which you were pretty sure was considered cheating, as Zayne somehow kept your strengths matched while his hold on your palm somehow remained soft. And in an instant, the tables were turned. Your arm was roughly shoved down before you had the time to react, but you only had eyes for one thing.

You watched the muscles in Zayne’s arm ripple deliciously as he stretched his fingers, finally untangling his hand from yours. He let out a soft breath, something between a grunt and a sigh, relishing in his victory. And you were relishing in something else entirely. You let out a breathy sound of your own, much less intentional than Zayne’s.

“And that’s five minutes,” Zayne coolly remarked, as if nothing had ever happened. “Break time’s over.”

“Oh.”

“We are still working,” he said as he adjusted the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves, his taut muscles constricting the fabric with the movement. Thirty wanderers wearing top hats could walk through the front door right that instant and you still wouldn’t have been pulled from the sight.

Right. Work.

“Do we have to?” you pleaded.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “That depends. Are you still… distracted?”

“Yes.”

Zayne sighed, a voiceless exhale. But the twinkle in his hazel eyes, the half-cocked smile that tugged at his lips, and the soft tightening and releasing of his forearm muscles as his fingertips drummed the table top betrayed a palpable anticipation. “Then we should do something about that.”

[dadbodbuck]

fine, you've forced my hand!

It’s by some miracle that Buck doesn’t show his hand the instant he turns on the lights to see him sitting in the corner chair of his hotel room.

“They’ve got you in some pretty shitty digs, Evan,” he says, and Buck fights tooth and screaming nail to hold onto his composure. “Nash so low on funds he had to put you up in a crusty motel?”

“Agent 217,” Buck says, hand itching for his comm. He knows better, knows that 217 has his service weapon tucked neatly away in a holster at his side, knows he’d be dead before he could click on to make the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Please, call me Tommy,” 217 says with an innocent, dashing grin, even inch the handsome James Bond everyone assumes Buck must be. “You have something I want.”

“Like we’ll ever tell you anything,” Buck scoffs, “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

217—Tommy, and why would he give Buck a name to call him?—stands, and stalks over. “Who says I’m after information?”

Buck swallows, tensing himself for a fight. “So, what, this is a hit? Are you here to gloat?”

Tommy continues walking, appraising Buck where he stands in his unassuming civvies. Jean jacket, cotton tee, khakis, tennis shoes. Compared to Tommy’s government-issued slacks, crisp button-down, and polished shoes, Buck feels a little underdressed. He glances down as Tommy rounds his back and leans forward to whisper. “You were at the boardwalk tonight. I know what Nash is after. Going up against the entire establishment, Evan? That’s a suicide mission.”

And—okay. Contrary to popular belief, being a spy (“Intelligence Agent,” Bobby always insists) doesn’t get him laid all the time. He’s actually been going through a bit of a dry spell, with the recent push towards leaking the project they’d been a part of before they went rogue. They just need a little more information, a little more time. Point being, it’s been a fucking goddamn minute, and 217 is smoking. Curly hair, slate gray eyes that sparkle with dry wit, pearly white smile that is condescending, maybe, but in a way that gets Buck’s dick standing at attention. Broad shoulders, big arms, solid muscle. He could bend Buck completely in half, if he so desired. And God, Buck desires.

“Sorry,” Buck blinks, while Tommy smiles his little Cheshire Cat grin, “What was the question?”

“Oh, I’m not here for questions,” Tommy murmurs, hands slipping over Buck’s hips. “I’ve seen the way you watch me, Evan. You’re not exactly subtle. It’s a wonder Nash still employs you.”

“I’m not hooking up with a fucking Fed,” Buck says, even as he gasps with the way Tommy leans down to mouth at his neck.

“Kinda sounds like you are,” Tommy grins, obnoxiously smug, “Besides, weren’t you a fucking Fed three years ago?”

“People change,” Buck says mindlessly, “Fuck, touch me.”

“As you wish,” Tommy replies, sounding affected for the first time that night. Buck catches a glimpse of them in the standing mirror in the entryway, sees the way Tommy’s eyes are blown dark over his shoulder. Watches his hand snake down his front, gently palm over the (frankly, humiliating) bulge in his pants.

Buck wishes he could say it felt like nothing. It would be so nice to be disappointed by Tommy’s touch, when he hates the guy with a burning passion. Unfortunately for Buck’s pride, it’s electric. Tommy’s hand is firm and warm on his dick, even through the layers of fabric.

“They told me about your reputation,” Tommy breathes, “Told me about Agent Buckley, back in the day, sleeping with marks more often than tailing them.”

Okay, so maybe sometimes being a spy got him laid. “It was very effective,” Buck says defensively, “Got a lot of good intel. Why, you want to see what all the fuss was about?”

“You know what they say about curiosity and cats,” Tommy muses, “And satisfaction bringing them back.”

Buck hums, and loses the last tenuous grip on his dignity. “I could blow you.”

“You mean I’d get a blowjob and spared the sound of your voice?” Tommy says, pressing a little harsher into Buck’s clothed dick, delicious friction pushing a moan out of Buck’s mouth. “Is there a downside?”

“Your dick will be extremely close to my teeth,” Buck returns, “And I don’t want you to come down my throat. I want you to fuck me.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Tommy simpers, before dropping his saccharine tone for a bossy: “Now get on your fucking knees.”

And, really, who told him that Buck’s favorite part of his 1.0 phase was when his marks would boss him around? Against his will, his knees give out, and he drops down, watching himself kneel in front of Tommy before reluctantly breaking eye contact with the mirror, shuffling around to a face full of tented polyester.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious,” Buck says, even as he leans forward to run his tongue along the outline of Tommy’s cock. It’s mouth-watering.

“I thought the point of sucking cock was to have your mouth occupied,” Tommy scoffs, hand fisting Buck’s hair a little meanly. Buck wishes he could stop another moan from spilling out of his mouth, but the pain hits him just right.

With fingers that are still thankfully on board with what he’s doing, Buck deftly undoes Tommy’s belt buckle, unzips his pants, and marvels at the thick, long cock that he pulls from his boxers. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this. He licks up the underside of Tommy’s dick, slow and wet, and revels in the way his hand tightens in his hair.

It’s like riding a bike, or something, probably. Buck finds himself sucking on the head of Tommy’s cock like he was born for it, bobbing his head down the length of him, letting the filthy, wet, clicking noise of his throat echo around the hotel room. It must be like riding a bike, because the other option is that Buck really did need Tommy this bad. And it can’t be that. Bobby would skin him alive.

“Jesus,” Tommy swears, hips hitching into Buck’s mouth. It’s almost like he’s trying to hold back for Buck’s sake, which is… cute. Certainly nicer treatment than he’s used to, but he can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not.

Either way, he can’t handle tenderness. Not now, and maybe not ever. He doesn’t get to have attachments. That much is clear. He sees the way Eddie and Hen and Chim worry over their loved ones. This way is better. He’s already got Christopher and Maddie and Jee-yun to worry about.

Buck pulls off Tommy’s cock with a loud pop. “You can fuck my throat. It’s okay. I won’t break.”

“I hate to think of what your team would do to me if I broke their favorite toy,” Tommy chuckles, “Especially Diaz. I hear he’s creative.”

“Do me a favor and don’t mention him with your dick next to my face,” Buck rolls his eyes, desperately ignoring the way his dick twitches at the mention of Eddie’s name, “I’ll be fine. Take me for a ride. I know you want to.”

“Oh, you’re gagging for it,” Tommy surmises, guiding his cock back to Buck’s mouth. Buck, unable to deny it, willingly goes down on Tommy, letting him set the pace as he fucks leisurely into Buck’s mouth.

Tommy pushes him down further, and Buck relaxes into it, until he can feel the warmth of Tommy’s hip where his nose pushes into soft flesh. “Holy shit,” Tommy says, “I’m starting to get why this was so effective, I think.”

Buck stays until black spots start dancing at the corners of his eyes, pulling back and heaving breath, and then returning to his spot with Tommy’s cock all the way down his throat. It’s alarmingly comfortable. For the first time since his team went AWOL, he wishes he wasn’t in too deep to quit. He could spend an entire lifetime sitting at Tommy’s feet with his dick choking him stupid.

He gets maybe three more off-breath-down reps in before Tommy is pulling him off by the hair. “Okay, if you still want me to fuck you, we have to take this elsewhere.”

“Yeah, I want,” Buck croaks, voice alarmingly fucked out. Tommy helps him up—strangely chivalrous for a man who has tried on multiple occasions to shoot him with a gun—and they tumble into bed together. If it weren’t for the fact of who both of them were, it might even be romantic.

Tommy has his mouth on Buck before he can get another word in edgewise. Buck starts scrambling to get the rest of their clothes off, and shirts, pants, underwear, and shoes end up scattered around the room.

“Lube? Condoms?” Tommy asks as Buck bites at the junction of his neck and jaw.

“Side table,” Buck says, “You don’t have to use a condom. I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Poor thing,” Tommy says, faux-pitying, as he rifles through the drawer of the side table, “You must be so pent up.”

Honestly, Buck’s just used to his marks not wanting to use condoms, and dealing with the potential fallout later. Still, he’s kind of disappointed when Tommy pulls them out of the drawer along with the lube packets.

“You’re adorable when you pout,” Tommy grins, pressing a sickly sweet kiss to Buck’s cheek, “I’m using a condom.”

“Fine,” Buck huffs, rolling his hips up into Tommy’s, “Just hurry.”

Tommy, thankfully, wastes no time in emptying a lube packet into his hand and swiping it up against Buck’s hole, slicking the way for his fingers. He’s clearly no slouch at this, either, thick fingers deftly opening him up beneath him, forearm muscles flexing so deliciously.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck,” Buck says, squirming as Tommy slides his fingers in and out in intoxicating rhythm, “Fuck me, Tommy, Tommy—”

“Finally, you’re saying something worth listening to,” Tommy smiles against Buck’s neck, “Never thought I’d get to hear the great Evan Buckley beg for my cock.”

“It’s—ah—it’s a specialty,” Buck pants, rolling his hips as he aches for more, for a harsh little sting, for something to distract him from the way this is starting to feel too much like intimacy and not enough like fucking.

“Maybe I’d like to hear some more,” Tommy says, pulling away to roll a condom on and slick himself up.

Buck, suddenly cold and empty, lets the words fall unabashed from his mouth. “Oh, please, Tommy, I’ll make it so good for you, it’ll feel so good, just need you in me, just need—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tommy says, just on the wrong side of tender, “I know what you need. Hold still for me.”

And then there’s the thick press of Tommy’s cock against Buck’s hole. Tommy slips in with a stretch that has Buck mewling something embarrassing in the back of his throat, and leans forward as he slides deeper, inch-by-burning-inch, encouraged by the way Buck grips at his biceps.

“Breathe,” Tommy says as he bottoms out, at which point Buck realizes he’s been stuck with his head tipped back and mouth open. He sucks in a gasping breath, relaxing under Tommy’s bulk. Tommy is warm above him again, haloed by the dim hotel light, so close Buck can feel his breath on his cheek.

“Move,” Buck demands, squirming. Tommy seems only too happy to oblige, mouth finding Buck’s again as he starts to roll his hips into him. It’s a slow, languid fuck, but still enough to have Buck seeing stars.

“This how you got all those people to tell you what they were up to?” Tommy asks, a hand roaming down to pinch Buck’s nipple, coaxing a groan out of him. “You’d just lay here all pretty and let them take what they wanted?”

“Nnnnngh—usually they wanted me on top,” Buck says around a reedy moan, “But yeah, that’s the general idea.”

“You take it so well,” Tommy murmurs, snapping his hips in with just a little more force, “Makes me wonder how many times you’ve done this before. How many times you begged on your knees—how many times you’ve been a slut for terrible people.”

“You’re in perfectly fine company, I can assure you,” Buck says, trying to regain some of his composure, “Art thieves, mob bosses, hackers. You work with monsters every day, why can’t I sleep with them?”

“I’ll have you know that the monsters I work with are working for the greater good,” Tommy says, with a huffed laugh, “And if you keep talking about them I’m not going to let you finish.”

“Oh, you’re not going to let me?” Buck says, “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of taking what I want, too.”

“I’m sure you are, stud,” Tommy says, in that same condescending tone of voice that goes right to Buck’s dick. He fucks into him harder, right at the perfect angle, and Buck can’t help the pathetic moan that spills out of his mouth.

“You—were—talking—a little—too much,” Tommy grunts between thrusts, slamming into Buck again, and again, “Just lay back—and fucking take it.”

Like Buck could ever want to do anything else. He’s well aware of the fucked-out little uh, uh, uh noises that Tommy’s forcing out of him, but he’s far too gone to be embarrassed about it. This is the best fuck he’s had in years, he could care less what he sounds like or looks like right now.

Not that Tommy seems to mind. If anything, given the way he’s latched onto Buck’s neck like a goddamn vampire, he likes that Buck’s a writhing mess beneath him. Buck’s nerves are lit up, from the pain of Tommy’s less-than-gentle biting, from the way Tommy nails Buck’s prostate with every thrust, from the skin-on-skin he hasn’t had in so long.

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Usually, he’s a lot better about announcing it, giving his partners time to decide what they want, but Tommy is—Tommy is grunting and his back muscles are flexing under Buck’s fingers and his cock fills him so beautifully and Buck didn’t even think he could come without something on his dick, but—

Belatedly, as Buck rockets towards the clouds, he realizes that maybe there is something special about Agent 217. 

Buck comes down slowly, to the feeling of hands gently petting his sides, and a softening dick sliding out of his ass. It’s gross, leaves him feeling sticky and a little used, but he can’t bring himself to care that much about it at all. To his complete shock, he feels Tommy rummaging around for something, and then the soft cotton of his shirt wiping the cum off of his stomach, and the lube from his ass.

“It’s okay, Evan,” Tommy says, gentle, soft, “You can rest.”

Buck, despite every ounce of self-preservation that says he’s leaving himself completely vulnerable, does.

He wakes to an empty room. Nothing seems amiss, so despite the deep humiliation and regret, Buck packs his things (luckily, finding his hiding spots untouched) and heads back to the rendezvous point.

Athena is waiting for him at the café, in streetwear that looks unnaturally casual on her. “Got everything?”

“Check and check,” Buck says, handing her the dossier, “Got some lovely pictures. The sunset was especially gorgeous last night.”

“You sound like you could use a tea with lemon and honey,” Athena winces, “You coming down with something?”

“No,” Buck says, fighting against the urge to flush.

Athena passes him a knowing smile over her coffee. “Thanks for this, Buck. I’ll let Bobby know you came through, and he’ll want to meet with you later. I think we’re getting close.”

“Good,” Buck sighs, “I can’t wait for this whole mess to be over. I never thought I’d say this, but it would be nice to do some paperwork for once.”

[heartofmortis]

✧ exile (what a ghostly scene)

. *. ⋆ Anakin / Vader x Reader

summary: you were bail organa’s ward, raised on alderaan with your younger sister. in the twilight of the clone war, you and anakin fell in love. when the war died, it dragged you and anakin to early graves with it — leaving only darth vader behind. even after years without you, he still wants you back. and there is nothing he would not do to bring you back to him. . .

tags: angst, tragic romance, suitless vader, no y/n, gn reader, inspired by the 2020 vader comics & vader immortal, past major character death, mourning, vader needs a hug, resurrection

note: my first reader/second person fic — i’m sorry if the tense is bad ajsjwjwjqjq. i’ve had this in my drafts for soooo long and i finally decided to finish it 🫶

word count: 1k

part 1 of 4

The stars have died, fizzling out into oblivion. All that remains is a charcoal heart that once belonged to Anakin Skywalker.

The boy from Tatooine is unreachable now, trapped inside the twisted soul of Darth Vader. The galaxy’s beloved Hero With No Fear is gone. With the rise of the Empire, the Jedi and their sympathisers will be erased from memory. A clean slate to start a new era.

Three years after the creation of the Empire, Darth Vader stands alone. His tower on Mustafar is isolating; its strategic position is a constant reminder of that day. His injuries still hurt sometimes: phantom itches on his now metal legs; scars from his burns that did not fully heal. The medical droids say he is lucky — the fire could have done more serious damage, and he could have been forced to rely on a suit keeping him alive for the rest of his days. Instead, the ebony coloured mask and suit he wears are to conceal his identity. A precaution so that Anakin Skywalker can fade from people’s tongues and memory, leaving the tyranny of Darth Vader in its place.

The weight of his failures is not the heaviest burden. Darth Vader drowns in his anger and grief. He was not strong enough to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was not strong enough to save you.

(All things die. Even stars burn out.)

You were the stars in his sky, his light in the dark, the silvery moon to his blazing sun. So tender and kind. Perhaps your heart was too good for this world. Perhaps, it was your weakness all along. (How could peace ever love a dragon?)

Since you met, you had been Anakin’s sun. You anchored him; guided him home. You were his destiny. And, without you, the galaxy had turned cold. The fiery world outside, all hot air and lava fields, only stood as a reminder of his failure. He’d lost you. After everything Anakin had tried — surrendering himself to the dark side, betraying the light — he could not save you. Time had not quelled the pain.

Vader wonders if you would still recognise him. His copper hair has grown longer (he remembers how you used to cut it for him after he returned from another mission, and you’d giggle as you braided thin locks together), but his face hides behind an obsidian mask. You always loved the blue of Anakin’s eyes, but now they are blazing amber.

Mornings are the only time Vader allows himself to dwell on the past. It is when he finds himself alone and does not have to hide.

Vader recalls how you arrived on Mustafar like it was yesterday. (You haunt him every waking moment.) He could sense your conflicted emotions as soon as you disembarked your ship. Vader wasted no time approaching you, drawing you into his arms (where you belonged; where you were safe). His lips reconnected with yours, fitting together like puzzle pieces as he kissed you hungrily, his hands settled on your hips to keep you close.

You and Anakin had met after turning nineteen. He and Obi-Wan were called to Alderaan to protect the Queen and Viceroy from an assassination attempt. Being their ward, you had been there the whole time and quickly formed a connection with the young padawan — your relationship had blossomed during the Clone Wars.

He rested his forehead against yours as you spoke. “I heard terrible things. Tell me none of it is true.”

Vader hadn’t replied immediately and instead drew his head back to look at you. He would tell you any sweet lie if he needed to as he fought to quell the anger flaring in his eyes. “What have you been told?”

“Obi-Wan told me—”

Vader’s grasp around you tightened protectively. “Obi-Wan is alive?”

“He said you’d killed Jedi. Killed younglings.”

“You must not believe him, my love. He’s a traitor.”

It wasn’t the answer you sought, and you took a step backwards out of your husband’s grasp. “What have you done?”

“I did this for you. To save you.” He cupped your chin in his flesh hand and whispered your name. “I love you.”

Your eyes trained into his. There was no denial, no remorse in his stature; his only regret was letting Obi-Wan tell you anything.

He repeated his words. “I did this for you.”

From the shadows of your cloak, you drew a blaster. Only a small, weak thing. Vader watched your hands tremble. He did admire your courage. “Fix this,” you demanded. “Please,” you begged.

Anger flickered in Vader’s eyes. He had never seen you unimpressed with him. With an easy glide of his hand, Vader used the Force to knock the blaster out of your grip and pin your arms by your sides

“I am stronger than the Chancellor now,” he explained desperately, drawing you to his side. “I can overthrow him. Then you and I can be together; we can run away — just like you always wanted to.”

(But you didn’t. He lost you. Some might call you a traitor — Vader maintains that you were misguided.)

Three years later, regret still festers inside Vader’s hollow soul. There must have been a way to save you.

He misses you endlessly: craving your touch and the sound of your voice. (There is nothing Vader desires more than to have you back in his arms.)

Part of him wants to forget. To cast his memories of you into an abyss; to put the past behind him. But it is an impossible task. You are too well tangled into his soul. You haunt him. (And you’ll haunt him until his death.)

Today, there is no time to focus on you. A new morning brings meetings and training. You were Anakin’s Achilles Heel — but Darth Vader shows no such weakness. As Vader sits on his throne, reading over mission logs and other updates from the spread of the Empire across the galaxy, he receives a message: he must make his return to Coruscant immediately. (Your memory pulls him under the ocean again until he can no longer breathe.)

[pisoprano]

Thinking about the symmetry of Catwalker and Loveybug.

Yes, they’re both just a version of their civilian selves, but those versions have been pushed to extremes. For Catwalker, he’s the embodiment of perfection and doing what he’s told, but Adrien the civilian often pushes back against being controlled. For Loveybug, she the embodiment of daydreams and affection, but Marinette the civilian is often gets in her own way of fulfilling her romantic dreams.

But these two aren’t just mirroring their own civilian selves, they’re also mirroring their superhero partner. Like Ladybug, Catwalker is focused on the mission above all else and tries to be professional. Like Chat Noir, Loveybug wears her heart on her sleeve and indulges in grand romantic gestures at inappropriate moments.

And this new version of the heroes is simultaneously all their partner thinks they want, and yet not at all what they truly need. Catwalker can help her carry her burdens, but he can’t be the partner who knows Ladybug well enough to be her best friend. Loveybug can shower him with affection, but she can’t be the partner Chat Noir knows well enough to love him for the real him.

And even when you remove the partner they know from the equation and just have it be Catwalker and Loveybug, they still find themselves drawn to each other. Loveybug knows from prior experience that Catwalker is a total sweetheart and is exactly the sort of boy she’d drool over if she didn’t have Chat Noir and/or Adrien. Catwalker knows from prior experience that Loveybug is totally lovey-dovey and is exactly the sort of girl he’d want to have close to him if he didn’t have Ladybug and/or Marinette.

And both are internally screaming just being transformed like this. Catwalker is stressed over having to force himself to conform to a strict standard for Ladybug’s approval, but he thought that having this clean slate would let him be by her side after facing rejection. Loveybug is stressed that letting loose on her emotions so much will be lead to a mortifyingly embarrassing rejection, but she thought that having this clean slate would let her act on her feelings for once without having to worry about long term consequences.

And in our scenario where Catwalker and Loveybug have become partners, it’s only a matter of time before they both crack from pushing their identities to their limits (her from showing a boy more love than her comfort zone has ever allowed, him from restraining himself from reciprocating the love he desperately wants). And once those cracks finally show? Then they’ll be able to see—just a bit more fully—who their partner has been hiding under the mask all this time.

[figgrrr0]

Heyy!! If head cannons are still open I’d love to see one about Tartaglia, Dulic, and Wonder react to fem!reader telling them about how they’re going to go on an adventure for a couple weeks to explore! (Sfw or nsfw is fine)

Their S/O goes on a solo adventure

Characters: Tartaglia/Childe, Diluc, Wanderer/Scaramouche // Reader: Gn

Genre: Smut // CWs next to the corresponding character

Tartaglia:

Cw: Rough sex, implied biting and pain play, public sex?

When you told him, Tartaglia would be surprised. He'd have to take a couple of seconds to silently collect himself, which from your perspective looked quite funny because of how stunned he was. He'd definitely make some kind of joke, like how he's the usually the one having to leave you for missions, and how heart broken he'll be if you go (how much of a joke really is that one?).

You'll be basically forced to spar with him before you go. He uses it as a ploy, saying that you have to convince him that you're strong enough to go alone, but really he just wants to spend as much time with you as possible – it only helps that it'd let you get a bit stronger. He also gets the chance to show you some new techniques! He only means well, and if at any point you do get annoyed by his showmanship, you can't help but feel your irritation be quelled by the proud look in his eyes and the smile he holds when you get it right.

We all know that Tartaglia is battlesexual, so it's only natural that your training session would lead to something more. He becomes more and more distracted on how dishevelled and sweaty you're getting, and he needs another outlet for all of his pent up energy from the fight, since he can't just completely let loose on you.

He'd take you right there in the arena, his movements fast and grip rough enough to colour you in the prettiest shades of purple. His exhilarated breaths puff into the side of your neck, kisses and bites and nips of all manner latching onto your pulse points; and if you'd been able to see his eyes from the place he'd taken over you, you'd have seen the outright love that he presented to you, just barely containing something more.

When all is done, Tartaglia would help you get redressed, as messy as you still looked with all of the fabrics torn, looking as though you'd been attacked by a wild animal. When you go to reprimand him with a swat to the arm, he just lets out a bashful laugh, taking you into his arms as he walks home, cleaning you up and setting you into bed for the rest of the evening. He knew that you'd need to... recuperate, to say the least.

And when you awake the next morning, unable to walk and sore all over, as well as completely covered in marks and bruises, some of which you had no hopes of covering, you knew that you'd have to reschedule your adventure. But, even though he was apologetic, you couldn't help but wonder if that was his plan all along...

When it really came time for you to leave, Tartaglia would let you go seemingly pretty easily, but says that you'll have to spend extra time with him when you return to make up for the lost time. He couldn't help but think of you almost constantly; even when he's working, questions of your safety would pop into his mind, overthinking the possibilities of dangers that could hold you back... as much as he knew you could fend for yourself, he couldn't help but worry. More over, his subordinates and even those who see him regularly would notice that he's been colder since you left, his face a blank slate and eyes darker than ever, and his temper easier to flare...

Diluc:

Cw: Soft sex (making love 🩷)

As soon as you mentioned your plans for an adventure, Diluc was immediately running through the list in his head of what he could help you with to ensure your safety. A part of him thinks that he should accompany you, in case something goes wrong and you need help, but the other side of him knows that you need your freedom. After all, even he needs a bit of space every now and then. And so, he insists that you let him make all of the arrangements, in terms of hotels for you to stay at and ordering provisions and equipment that could come of use. It'd really put his mind at ease to know that everything was taken care of.

On the morning that you are set to leave, Diluc wishes you good luck on your journey, accompanied by a sweet goodbye kiss that lasts longer than you'd expected, and holds the promise of a warm return. He spends that first day as he would any other, working away as though he'd never stop – maybe that had been his intention. Because he knew that his bed would be cold and empty without you by his side.

He tries not to think about you too much, because he knows that acknowledging your absence will only make things harder. He trusts you to take good care of yourself, and lamenting further would only run the risk of unnecessary worry, and of him ruining your journey by coming to find you. He manages to pass through the days that you are gone quite easily after the first few, a new idea fueling his work hours:

If he can get all of his work done while waiting for you to come back, he'll have even more time to spend with you; and so that becomes his goal, with the help of the maids keeping his self care relatively on track.

Upon your eventual return, Diluc is almost literally plastered to your side for at least a day or two. He's helping you unpack, and as soon as you're ready to relax and settle down, he's running you a nice, warm bath, of course with a couple of candles for ambiance.

When you've soaked for a while and get cleaned up, Diluc will be patiently waiting for you in your bed, where he'll immediately pull you into his arms, wanting to hear all about your adventure. Now, he's content to just cuddle; but being separated from you for longer than a week had been harder than he'd anticipated.

If you so choose, your first night back with Diluc would turn to breathless lovemaking, the thrusts of his hips precise and familiar – exactly what you'd been missing for weeks on end. He could easily get carried away. Being away from you means that he'd gotten used to being alone again, and having you here, so close and so sudden, can be a little overwhelming... his pace will pick up intermittently when he forgets himself, caught up in the smell and feel and sounds of you. he'll be much more vocal, too. His grunts and moans picking up in pitch while his mouth spouts his wandering thoughts, all entranced in you, a seemingly endless profession of his devotion.

Wanderer:

When he finally stills, he'd look you in the eyes, his gaze simultaneously hazy but clear as he leans down to kiss you one final time. And when you awake the next morning, having gone to sleep during the process of him cleaning you up, you find yourself still encircled in Diluc's strong arms, where usually he would have already been pulling on his shirt halfway across the room, ready to start his day.

Cw: slight blowjob, implied overstim, not dacryphilia but he cries, angst. (It's so hard for me to get a hold of his character)

The Wanderer's immediate reaction is frustration. He'll kind of shut himself off from the conversation, and when you pause your explanation, in wait of an answer from him, all he could force out is, "I don't exactly... approve of this decision, but you're free to do whatever you want." But his discomfort is obvious. He'll want to get away for a few hours to try and sort out his thoughts, knowing that he was probably being unreasonable, as much as he wanted to be selfish when it came to you.

In truth, his frustrations stemmed from his worry and insecurity; he doesn't even want to think about being forgotten again, especially not by you. But he can't accompany you, he wouldn't even be able to subtly work his way into your day like he usually does (not that he'd ever admit it). He'd just have to hope that you'll come back to him; and that uncertainty, that sheer dependency on another is what makes him second guess the situation.

However, when you find him again, really trying to settle his thoughts and lay out your intentions, only then does Wanderer finally manage to rein himself in. It'll take a couple of minutes for it all to sink in for him, but if you just stand by, maybe keeping a source of contact between the two of you – a hand on his arm, for example – to show that you're not leaving, well... that's when it'll finally click. He'll begrudgingly repeat his words from earlier, but this time, you can tell that he understands. He may not want you to leave, but when you do, at least he won't have a silent meltdown as soon as you're gone.

That being said, the final days prior to your departure, Wanderer will try and distance himself from you. In his mind, when you leave, the change won't be so sudden. It only makes sense to prepare in this way. So if you can't find him on the day you're set to leave to say goodbye, don't take it too personally; he doesn't think he could make it through an actual goodbye from you, and he doesn't want to look any weaker in your presence.

While you're away, there's a nagging thought in his head that won't go away, constantly telling him that he shouldn't have let you go alone. It'd get to the point that, at least once, he'd reluctantly have to go to Nahida for reassurance, to stop him from spiralling, or impulsively trying to find you.

Despite all of this, upon your return, it may feel as though he's purposefully avoiding you, but he's not. Not really. But he does want you to be the one to seek him out. He's feeling slightly petty that you left him alone, even though rationally he knows that you needed the time to explore; it's the nature of humans, after all. The easiest way to get him to "forgive" you is to sit him down and almost literally beg (I plays into his god complex really well, even though he knows that's why you're doing it).

Your Wanderer will also be deceivingly desperate for your touch, though. He needs your hands on him, passing over every inch of his body. He needs to feel your breath, your lips, your tongue, when you take him into the heat of your mouth. He needs to grip your hair, keeping you exactly where he needs to feel you most. And he needs to feel your rising heartbeat against his bare chest, when you finally slide him into your constricting walls, the drag more overwhelming than he'd ever remembered.

And when he turns his head, hiding the tears that you know fall so easily, that's when he knows that he can let you go; that you could be anywhere in the world, and still you'd come back to him. So when he no less than passes out straight after you've drained him as much as you felt was needed after so long away from each other, you have no doubt that he'll be back to normal, tomorrow.

Thank you for reading! 🩷

Want to send a request/brainrot with me? Check my rules!

[avelera]

Meta: Balancing the Ledger in Arcane S2

Whatever people might have thought of Vi and Jayce's actions in S1, Arcane Season 2 was definitely listening. The whole point of their arcs in 2.1-2.3 seems specifically aimed at them getting point by point retribution for everything they did wrong, intentionally or unintentionally, sympathetically or unsympathetically, in S1.

Vi:

Is hurt and abandoned by Cait in almost exactly the same manner that she hurt and abandoned Powder in S1. If you thought Vi got off too lightly for her treatment of Powder in S1, she has now experienced the full brunt of what it would be like to be on the other side of that fight.

Is attacked, terrorized, and made to feel helpless by the very undercity people who she led an attack against in S1 in which she overpowered, terrorized, and ultimately led to the death of a child as collateral damage. The escalating cycle of violence that she took part in came back to bite her, hard.

As for Jayce:

He was warned repeatedly that Hextech was dangerous. He is now seeing and experiencing first hand the risks of unchecked magical/technological progress, not only seeing how it damages the world he was trying to save, but personally experiencing the horrifying, reality distorting effects of the wild runes as of 2.3.

He left Viktor in order to pursue the higher calling of politics, ostensibly to support their research too, but it took him from his partner's side. He was also motivated by a woman, Mel, and his care for her in doing so. Regardless of intention, politics and Mel took him from Viktor's side at a critical moment when Viktor's life hung in the balance.

Now, Viktor has left Jayce, pursuing the shadow of a dead woman who inspires him now, pursuing a higher calling of bettering the lives of others in the Undercity, and while he doesn't have the same real world powers manipulating him as Jayce did, there are parallels between the Hexcore and the Council's ability to drag Viktor and Jayce respectively forward into dangerous territory, following the siren song of their ambitions to change the world for the better, away from the partnership that launched their innovations in the first place.

Jayce also took part in the rogue mission against the Undercity factory, and in the process, killed a child thus escalating the cycle of violence between Piltover and Zaun.

If you blamed Jayce for becoming a councilor, getting into a relationship with Mel while Viktor was dying, for abandoning Viktor and the lab for other pursuits, for killing that child in Zaun, or in general for escalating the cycle of violence between Zaun and Piltover, then S2 seems to have set out very deliberately to address each one of these.

Jayce is abandoned by Viktor in a similar way and for similar (if not the same) causes as Viktor now abandoned Jayce. Meanwhile, the mother of the child he specifically killed shows up to take her pound of flesh, escalating cycle of violence that has him and his loved ones caught up in it, having now arrived at his doorstep when once it was far away in Zaun, and Hextech has become everything that Heimerdinger (who he deposed in a coup d'etat in order to override his warnings and his power to stop Jayce) warned that it could be.

I stand in awe of how deliberately set up it all is, and offer this analysis of why the narrative took the time to so specifically address and bring retribution for Vi and Jayce for these specific sins, in an almost exactly eye for an eye manner.

Before Jayce and Vi can continue forward as our protagonists, we needed to wipe the slate clean.

These beats are so specifically addressed at their sins (real, imagined, or overblown) in S1 that it's impossible to say going forward that they haven't suffered the consequences of their actions. They have now both been intimately on the receiving end of the consequences of what they did to others.

Furthermore, in S2 we are seeing that Vi and Jayce were less outliers as far as people making mistakes but rather were simply ahead of the curve. Now they have seen both sides of the cycle of violence and deeply suffered the consequences of their actions, many of which were impulsive. Going forward, I think it's safe to say we're going to see Jayce and Vi become voices of reason as they continue to learn, grow and experience the consequences of the events that their S1 actions had a big hand in causing in the first place.

I think this is also why Jayce, humbled and wiser, is becoming a much more popular character in S2 while Vi is becoming a much more universally sympathetic one, though I loved them both in the first season as did many other people. But their actions were controversial in some cases and it's been fascinating to see how systematically S2 has addressed each one of their controversial actions from S1 before moving them forward as heroes and protagonists.

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 9: Virgin!Levi & First Time

Word count: 1900 Tags: levi x reader, smut, fem-bodied!reader, virgin!levi

The strongest were not born, they were sharpened. It was never his goal to earn that superlative, rather, the world had forced it onto him through its kicks and punches. Levi’s walls were impenetrable, you were the first to show him that there was weakness to that. When he wanted to let someone in, there were no points of entry. Getting to know him - first the friendship, then the relationship - your love was a blade that sawed its way through: act by act of kindness. 

Tonight and its milestone. Was this the completion of your carving? Had you finally stepped through to the other side? 

You had not the mind for that now: in his room, on his bed, bare before the other. Clothed only in moonlight and an entanglement of his pristine white sheets, shrouded in disbelief at the scene you found yourselves in. You never imagined you would get to see him like this. He never thought he would show this side of himself. 

Tearing down that slate, stripping him free from garment after garment, you had gradually revealed the man beneath. Vision honed into his tells. Hands in his lap, holding each other: his grounding technique. Minute twitches in his perpetual flat lip: wavering composure. Those familiar signs helped to decipher those new to you. The flush in his chest and face: blood running hot and fast. Arousal half-hidden beneath the bridge of his hands. Toes curled into the comforter. Heels dug into the mattress. 

Playing witness to his nerves made them contagious. To see unease in a character defined by calm resulted in a shared anxiety. He was the one you turned to for solace. Now, the tables had turned, and he was the one in need of comfort. 

That sense of responsibility filled you with a sudden confidence, a mission. You cupped his cheek in your hand, softly, “Don’t worry, Levi.” You thumbed some sweat from his skin, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Levi closed his eyes and sighed. Foreheads pressed together, he closed his fingers around your wrist, “I know.”

Communicating his trust to you, but convincing himself to have faith. His intuition was remarkable among all, immaculate above all, but some unspeakable irritant kept him tethered to doubt. He found the days you were together uncountable, but knew the times you betrayed him to be zero. Levi inhaled: you’re fine. Then exhaled: and you know it. 

You watched his breathing, not with anxiety, but with adoration. Just watching him be, watching him live, felt like a privilege. The thought of pushing him had not crossed your mind. Palm descended from his cheek to his heart, “You know, we don’t have to -”

“No.” Levi’s gaze snapped open, his breaths regulated, “I want to.” A deliberate swallow, throat cleared of hesitation. He tilted his chin and brought his lips to yours, “I want you.” 

Your eyes widened just briefly before his hand caressed your nape and pulled you to him. Tongue swiped the slit between your lips and prodded you open for his kiss. Your gasp, he drank it, fuel for his venture. Levi explored every part of you, moaned as he savored your taste. Teeth grazed your bottom lip then bit, anchoring you to him. Authoritative and assured. There he is. 

Just as infectious as his angst was his assertion. As he confidently dipped his tongue down your throat, you took control in your climb up his body. Hands on his shins, over his knees, crawling up and up his thighs. Deliberately, you passed over his neediest spot. Lust encouraged you to be hasty in fucking Levi Ackerman. Love reminded you to be gentle as you made love to your virgin. 

Along the sides of his waist, through his sultry groans and your enamored sighs, you both adored the touch: soft grip a lovely contrast to his sharp hip bones. Fingernails traced each muscle of his abdomen. Palms to his pectorals. Right hand ran over and around his throat. Left hand tangoed with his locks. At his undercut, they met: fingers knotted together, a grapple to your ride. 

Your legs landed on the outsides of his, running parallel. Backs of your thighs to the tops of his. Chests apart just enough to aggravate him, make his mind wander about how good it would feel to have your front wholly to his. Mind fucking made the physical version better, but he would learn that eventually. 

Small and slow steps for now. You reached down quickly, but delicately grazed his member. Fingertips to his shaft, base of your hand to his tip. Establishing your hold, not even working him yet - despite your carefulness, Levi clenched his teeth and hissed. The first time he had been held by another. He tilted back against the headboard, loosened his jaw, and sighed. Once again, convincing himself of a fact he knew to be true. It felt good. You felt good. 

Brows narrowed, you lingered for a handful of seconds, surveying his state for a sign of stoppage. Instead, he clutched your arm and began to push and pull your grip - back and forth, up and down his length. Moving as one. Together. With each oscillation, you felt his solidity strengthen, both in his erection and his stability. Mentally comfortable in the pursuit of pleasure, though his strained tendons and exasperated exhales suggested the opposite. 

Circling over his tip, drifting your thumb along his slit, “A’Ah!” Levi squirmed beneath you. Fists bunched in the sheets, bolts to his writhing,“Sh’it…” 

Veins began to make themselves visible. His cock began to rise into a steep arc. It was then that your daydreams came to fruition, recognizing how perfectly that curve would fit inside you, and how even the inexperienced newcomer would reach your most sensitive spot.

You manipulated your movements to bring him just outside your sex. Bent forward, your lips to the cusp of his ear. Eagerly, yet calmly, you cooed, “Just sit back, relax. I’ll take care of you, Levi.”

Taking care as you lowered yourself that crucial distance. Cautious as your hips began to rock. Nervous yourself, but projecting control as you made his pleasure your priority. Hands knotted behind his neck combined with the bend of your knees provided the leverage for it. 

His tip hit your favorite patch. His length filled you up while his girth stretched you thin. The sensation he brought you lured shameless sounds out from in, coloring the air of his room. Swears he never would have expected the first time he laid eyes on you. 

You fluttered your eyes shut and deepened your fucks. From base to top every time. So deep in your warm velvet caress, Levi grit his teeth and cursed. 

The stress in his tone brought you back from your selfish escape. A soft, soothing kiss, you ensured, “Let me know if it hurts, okay?”

He could only tilt his head back and moan. You were correct in translating: it didn’t. Physicalities reinforced those ideas. His passion had begun to leak inside of you. Your arousal started to seep, drenching his shaft. You held your breath in anxious await of your clean freak’s panic, but he did not seem to notice. If anything, the syrup to his voice and ripple of his abdomen suggested he enjoyed it. 

Dangerously sweet. Levi did not have much experience with orgasm, though even that he was ashamed to admit, but his intuition remained keen even as you rocked him. Building pressure in his core caused his floodgates to shake. Legs trembled, failing to stabilize. Arms spasmed, unable to slow your bounces. Lip quivered, incapable of warning you of his symptoms. On top of it all, a blinding headrush of a degree he had never encountered before, a spiral he was helpless to stop.

Levi flushed red in an embarrassed sweat. He had told himself that he wouldn’t cum too fast, not before you, but “Fuck…” Levi moaned, “you feel so good!”

Poor little thing could hardly help himself. His strain was pathetic, but with your infatuation, you dubbed it heartwrenching. Twitches and trembles seized his body, and suddenly, humanity’s strongest was reduced to pure weakness. That’s how good you were. 

Even as your head swelled with that compliment, your concern for him remained steadfast. While delighting in his vulnerability, stronger was your urge to watch his release. 

You withdrew your hands from the back of his neck to the sides of them. Slamming your lips to his, a hard and fast kiss accelerated your movements. You could taste the desperation in his gasps, could feel the surge in his length. His end was near, it was all but spelled out. Having dreamt of this so long, though, you needed to hear it.

“Gonna cum?” You beckoned, “Gonna cum, Levi?” 

Your tone bordered on teasing. The personification of his insecurity in finishing too fast. “N’No…” Levi flung his head to the side, exhibiting stubborn denial, “N’Not… yet…”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. Didn’t he want this? Your memory rang clear: I want to. I want you. You studied his expression: bright red blush, grit teeth, gaze laboriously squint. In that eye contact, you wordlessly understood his refusal to give in. Perhaps more than anything or anyone, you had learned how considerate Levi was. Sacrificing his own time, energy, joy for nameless strangers, let alone you. 

The thought of faking it crossed your mind, and it was not only that you did not want to establish a dangerous pretense, but more so that you recognized how easily he would see through it. And how livid he would be.

In lovely compromise, you intertwined your fingers with his and serenaded, “Go ahead, baby. Cum.” A selfless demand. “Cum for me.”

For you. Only with that pretense could Levi allow himself to give in, and you knew it. In this context and others, if it served you at all, he would strive for it. With how amazing you felt, that strife did not last long. 

With his last ounce of control, Levi squeezed your hips in a white-knuckle grip, jerking you into the places and rhythms that would get him there. All the while, emitting screams that would wake the city and squander any doubt over what was going on in his room. 

“A’Ahhh!! F’uck, (Y/N)...!” A couple of heaving breaths nearly worried you, but the violent slams of his hips and fervent warmth inside actually quelled you. To his loud and repeated melody of oh god - oh fuck - fuck - fuck me - your content hums played harmony. In peripheral vision, you caught a glimpse of the clock and smirked to yourself: record time. 

As his breathing returned to regular, as his eyes drifted back open, you smiled and slowly lifted yourself off his lap and spun yourself to his side. His arm wrapped around your back, hand took a strong hold of your shoulder. Before your eyes, you savored the way his chest rose and fell, the overstimulated nerves that twitched themselves to calm. Most of all - the erasure of his embarrassment, replaced by consideration then determination.

After all, he still had his mouth. 

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

[writerscall]

how can i be dead to you when we’re looking at the same moon?

part two to this. the moment of truth between you and hazel holds more than one big reveal.

author’s note/s: 1.1k words. angst, hurt and no comfort for now. i apologize in advance for the ending of this chapter.

Surprisingly, it isn’t very hard to make sure you don’t spend too much time around Hazel until you felt ready to fall back into your old closeness. You were roommates, but your schedules clashed greatly — blessing in disguise? — and the only free times you had together was late afternoon to dinner, which you usually decided to spend anywhere but your room. It was just too weird. She was so ready for a blank slate and you just… weren’t. There was still a mix of guilt and disappointment and bitterness from high school, and immature as it was to not just let it go like Hazel seemed to have done, you didn’t know what to do with it.

You didn’t know what to do with her. It wasn’t fair to her back then and it wasn’t fair to her now, but how could you tell her?

You don’t. You can’t. Not without the bigger possibility of truly ruining everything between the two of you now.

Unlike yourself, however, Hazel was on a mission to get things back to the way they were before that football game. “Oh, hey! I’m so glad I caught you before you left for the library,” she says as she closes the door behind her, smiling at you even though she looked exhausted.

You wanna ask her about how that last class on her schedule was going cause she mentioned that was gonna be a loaded one, but you stop yourself.

“I was just about to leave actually—”

“Do you wanna go get take-out for dinner?”

Both of you just stare at each other for a second after speaking at the same time. Then she shakes her head and chuckles, saying, “I found this amazing Chinese place nearby. Might even say they’re a little better than that old resto we used to go to back home. Their shrimp dumplings are to die for and I know you like those, so…”

“Um,” you start, the ache already building in your chest because you know you're about to see yet another drop in her expression at what you’re about to say. “Maybe another time. I really have to get started on this reviewer for my test. Sorry, Hazel.”

You shoot her an apologetic look as you pick up your bag, but instead of the usual resigned nod and mumbled ‘alright sure, happy studying’ response that you get, you see her hands ball into fists at her sides before hearing a frustrated, “Why do you keep blowing me off?”

She’s angry and rightfully so. “You said that whatever happened back in high school doesn’t matter but it mattered— it matters to me and I don’t even fucking know what it was that made you treat me like… like I did something to make you hate me.”

Her voice cracks as she says ‘hated,’ and you take the smallest step forward but she keeps going. “And obviously it still matters to you too because you’re not acting like it doesn’t. You don’t wanna hang out, you’re barely in our shared room, you send me the most uninterested-sounding replies with every message, I,” she sighs, tilting her head at you. “Could you at least tell me what I did wrong before you go study for that test that may or may not exist?”

Moment of truth. You knew it was gonna come sooner or later and that you would never feel prepared either way. You just hoped that whatever came after wouldn’t totally suck.

“That football game… you know, the one where you guys beat up the Huntington players?”

She nods. You can feel your throat start to close up. “You and PJ kissed,” you tell her plainly with a shrug. Your eyes flit to hers once before looking elsewhere; you can’t look right at her with your next words. “And I… I had this silly little crush on you so I took it personally as some sort of sign that I should finally get over it. Over you.”

To no avail, you add silently in your head. The silence stretches between the two of you for what seems like a whole thirty seconds that you’re almost sure she’s about to either shout at you or walk out.

Then, in a soft voice that catches you by surprise (she was supposed to be mad, wasn’t she?), Hazel says, “I’ve liked you since the day we met in fifth grade, I— it crushed me when you just shut me out halfway through senior year. How could you do that? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Well, this wasn’t how you were expecting the conversation to go.

Feeling defensive because you could ask her that same second question, you finally look at her, but she cuts you off. “Do you even know of any of the stupid things I did to get your attention after that? Even to just get you to look at me? I tried joining the clubs you joined but of course I wasn’t qualified, I waited in the hall by your locker almost everyday to try and talk to you— god, I even went to some of those stupid baseball games to see you even if I had to watch you cheer for your stupid boyfriend. And that one really hurt to sit through.”

“Hazel—”

“I feel like I turned myself inside out liking you and trying to figure out why we suddenly weren’t in each other’s lives anymore. But all this time it was because you liked me and… and what, you didn’t think I liked you back?”

The room is silent again as you just stare at each other for a moment. There was so much to say. Of course you knew she tried out for your clubs because you had a hand in not letting her in any of them. Of course you noticed her lingering nearby whenever you had to get something from your locker during breaks. Of course you saw her at those games; having to act like you were really into the sport and your boyfriend was hard for you, too.

But all that comes out is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say except that I’m sorry, Hazel. For all of it.”

Her face crumples and you just can’t be there, so you start walking towards the door. Hazel blocks it just as you reach for the knob.

“Please let me go.”

“I can’t,” she whispers. “I just got you back.”

She’s close, closer than you think she’s ever physically been in all your years of friendship. Close enough that you could close the gap if it was a more appropriate time.

Hazel seems to think it is, because barely a second passes after she eyes your lips that she kisses you.

[bunnithechubs]

Episode 4- Party in My Bed

Well well well, the party went much better than the meet and greet. It seems like the only person who realizes this is a competition is Darius. All the other guys were more interested in being bros than taking Penny's painfully obvious flirting. Darius however, kept in proximity and let her approach without giving her crap for the flirting so won the opportunity to spend the night with Penny!

[hihhasotherfixations]

Truth or Dare - Price x reader | Part 1

CW: no gender - reader is a blank slate. Love as a pet name. Suggestive talk, though nothing truly explicit. You’re both drunk, you’re playing truth or dare - whaddya expect 🥴

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1249

It had always been a one-sided attraction. A silly crush you had to deal with while balancing your work with the team. It would fade in time.

It wasn’t your fault when it had been a couple of years and it still hadn’t.

Captain Price was nothing if not professional. He loved his team and he treated everyone equally. You included. Well… maybe he did treat you a little more fondly than others. But that was only logical, given you’d been his lieutenant, working by his side for so long.

Despite the slight favouritism, he’d always been professional.

So, when after another successful mission, he’d invited you all to go to the bar, you didn’t expect the night would end up here. With you, alone together in your room on base, playing truth or dare.

Just moments prior, he’d pulled you onto his lap, your face darkening in a blush while his face remained flushed from the alcohol - your own doing no better of course.

“Gonna accept the dare and stay put?” His gruff voice pulled you out of your musings regarding his face and you briefly glanced to the side, thinking it over.

Neither of you had any alcohol to be able to take a shot instead of playing the round, but you’d kept a tally marking. One kept suspiciously empty, with neither of you refusing just yet.

Turning back to look into his eyes, you smiled ever so slightly, nodding and Price hummed in approval, his hands on your waist twitching slightly. “Good. Your turn now, go on.”

“Truth or dare.” You questioned, already having a guess for what he was gonna pick.

“Truth.”

Right on the money you were. Mulling it over for a second, the man chose right that moment to shift his hands from your waist down to your hips, pulling you just that tiny bit closer that made your breath subtly hitch. Looking at him, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, an expression not even his beard could hide and you squinted.

If he wanted to play it like that- fine. “What’s the most inappropriate thing you’ve done on base?” You asked the first thing that came to mind, intent to perhaps embarrass him a little like he was clearly doing with you.

Instead of any embarrassment over his days as a rookie however, you were first witness to his pupils expanding as he stared dead into your eyes, nearly looking hungry.

“You sure you wanna know that?” He questioned, his voice sounding a little more gravelly than normal due to the alcohol and you swallowed.

“If you wanna tap out, there’s the board.” You spoke, breaking eye contact to reach for the pen and clipboard but before you could, your wrist was grabbed.

Snapping your head back to him, his gaze had never left you as his eyes drilled into yours. “I’m asking if you want to tap out.” He clarified.

“I asked the question, so no.” You whispered back, feeling suddenly small even while sitting on top of him. A fact you were becoming painfully aware of.

“Then the most inappropriate thing I’ve done was two years ago, when seeing you during that heatwave.”

“Me?” You questioned, unable to look away from his increasingly hungry gaze.

“You didn’t leave much to the imagination, love. Especially after PT.” He growled, almost as if he could see your sweaty form in front of him now. “Had to dip into the nearest broom closet.”

Blushing darker and darker, you swallowed softly, seeing Price’s eyes dart down to follow the movement of your throat bobbing before he glanced back up.

Unable to say anything, the man noticed and smirked, sliding his hand from your wrist to your hand, bringing it up to his mouth where he pressed a kiss to it. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

“T-Truth.” You managed to get out, though even in your inebriated state, you were beginning to think tapping out might be the safer option, given how your captain was looking at you.

Price however, was unforgiving, having had his question ready before you could even finish saying the word. “Do you stare at me when you think I’m not watching?” He questioned, his lips quirking up into a smirk when you stiffened on his lap.

“Yes…” Your voice was barely over a whisper as you admitted it, not willing to be the first to place a tally on the board.

Price however, placed both hands back on your hips and squeezed appreciatively, humming. “Thought as much, I just needed a confirmation.”

Pressing your lips together, you narrowed your eyes at his smugness, deciding enough was enough.

Despite your raging blush, you put your hands on his shoulders, shifting your hips closer to his which made him choke on a groan, his eyes finding yours as he raised a brow. “Truth or dare, captain?”

“Truth.” He rumbled out, moving his arms to hug around your hips, keeping you pinned to his chest as he looked at your face, completely entranced.

“What are you thinking of right now?”

For a second, Price was silent, scanning your face as he slightly wetted his lips before landing back on your eyes. “I’m thinking of how much I want to kiss you right now.” His voice was quiet, near a whisper as he answered honestly.

A flutter shot straight down your spine at his words and you couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, partially hidden by his beard.

Unable to stop yourself, you bit down on the tip of your thumb to try and stop yourself from smiling, glancing back up at his eyes which were focused on your mouth before he realised you were looking at him, making him look up as well. “Alright, your turn to ask me.”

Steeling himself only a little, Price squeezed at your hip where his hand sat. “Truth or dare, love?”

“Dare.” You smiled.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Though his words were plain and almost dry, there was a hint of desperation that made your heart beat just that bit faster, your smile growing into a grin. “I knew you would.” With that, you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders as you leaned in and kissed him.

The moment your lips connected to his, Price shot his right hand up, cradling the back of your head as he pushed you further into himself, a little groan leaving the back of his throat.

He wasted no time, moving his mouth against yours as he deepened the kiss, pulling your pelvis into his in a greedy pull that made you sharply inhale before a little noise left you.

Almost instantly, you felt Price smirk into the kiss, his palm searing hot where it touched your skin.

Shifting your hips, you fluttered your eyes closed; fully letting him overtake you as you parted your lips to which he instantly took advantage of.

For years you’d thought of this moment, of kissing him. And yet you could barely believe it, now that you were here. Feeling his beard, coarse yet gentle with how it pushed into your skin. His lips, hungry and inviting. His tongue, eager and overpowering from how it moved against yours.

The kiss was messy and hungry, small grunts and noises sounding in the room as Price refused to pull away, keeping your head still, not willing to end the dare just yet.

But then again, the game didn’t end there.

-

I might make a p2 continuation of this ;3

Part 1 | Part 2

[clayderogatory]

hello and welcome to "the leon autism experience" where I, Clay, express the autistic traits that i believe are very heavily seen and coded within Leon's character + my own personal headcanons! This is mostly pulled from RE4R and RE2R!!

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One just right off the bat seems to be expressing emotions. To me at least, Leon doesn't really have a whole lot of facial expressions or a lot of change in tone. Sure he has his quips and remarks, but I feel like those are more of a sort of stim or coping mechanism for himself in these situations he is always put in. Like the best example I could give is if he was opening a gift on Christmas and he is mostly just blankly slated but he appreciates the gift. Something like that...or he sees the practicality of it and gives a simple "Thanks" before moving on.

Another big one I noticed is physical contact. I believe Leon tends to keep to himself, and he tends to stray away from people touching him or as such. Not to say that he would never ever want physical contact, cause there are moments where he will pat someone's shoulder or carry them, etc. But if there wasn't much of a reason to, I don't think he would. Especially with biohazard zombies grabbing him all the time, he might have a distaste for it because it could bring back the memory.

This is more of a personal headcanon but with his own personal life i think he would definitely tend to stick to a very strict internal schedule that he doesn't like to be disrupted. If he has a mission or work, he would prefer to know ahead of time unless it is an emergency call in where it may bother him but not to a crazy degree.

Food. He either is very bland with his taste or will eat anything at all. I tend to think he's more on the bland side but enough to sustain himself. Obviously because he's so fit he has to have at least some sort of caloric intake to maintain a diet, but I think he wouldn't stray far from the usual foods he would find appealing.

His tone may definitely come off as a little blunt sometimes, especially with his silly little "Okays" in important situations. His social cues may be a little off and especially with how awkward he is and can be, it doesn't help those specific situations.

Also, I think maintaining friendships would not be easy for him. Not only because of his job and work, but because I believe he's more of the person who would answer if someone else calls/texts him, but he would not go out of his way to do the same for others. And even then, he's very cut and dry with responses because communication in that way isn't easy for him. It may be too difficult to understand the tone or hard to visualize how someone would say a text out loud, so being in person or calling would be easier. He's also a bit of a lone wolf and probably prefers doing tasks or things on his own.

And lastly, I don't think he could communicate his feelings or emotions very well. He doesn't understand it enough to word it so he just stays quiet about it all until it gets bad enough where he unhealthily tries to cope with it (alcohol). On that note, maybe he partly abuses alcohol because it lessens his symptoms a bit, and for once he can feel a sense of 'normalcy' in his mind.

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and that's all! i hope that makes enough sense and if anyone has their own thoughts or ideas i would love to hear it :)

[winternet-s]

BEGIN,BEGINING - g.satoru

(synopsis): [name] living creature of Frost, a planet where girls have little to no rights decide to leave after hearing the story of a woman who escaped the planet to live on Earth. And this one night [name] also tried.

notes : i've been inspired by xg's storyline/music videos - might see some typos / grammatical errors. pardon my writing skills i'm working on it 🫡

━━━ 𝓓rop by drop, drop by drop, they came one after the other, forming a perfect harmony. The recital continued at a steady pace, but suddenly the wind came and blew the rain with passion, harmonising with each other. That’s what was witnessing the white-haired man while looking through his window, it’s been Satoru was assigned a mission that was without doubt the least usual but also the most abnormal - his eyes had been through a lot but he would never have believed it.

Yet the proof was there laying in his bed, the person was sound asleep it was her most active phase since he took her in. Everything about her was off, if we took off the bruises that were marked on her forehead. It was a truth that fashion was now advanced but not that advanced, plus the place where he found her was strange too. In what kind of mess did I put myself in he thought, his gaze turning on the new figure.

Meanwhile you were still asleep, your consciousness was awake, taking in account the pain you could feel in your arms and the pounding in your head was telling you to stay laid down. Every thoughts was taking steps, leaping and twirling with each other, leading you to wake up physically.

You woke up the way hospital patients do, it hurts you thought while grumbling. Cursed to wake up with waking up with pain, your eyes opening greeted a new place, unfamiliar to you. 

At first sight it was pretty minimalistic. There were not much decorations put into that place, the white color was the master ruling the room with his inseparable sidekick being there at some places. Sitting now on the bed, you finally realized that you were in some new clothes. Clothes that were way bigger than your frame. 

Continuing to scan the room with your curious eyes you mentally captured every new item in your mind. Until your eyes locked with a pair of blue eyes, slate outer rings with teal all the way to black, those blue eyes were beautiful yet intimidating, they were staring at you with amusement.

The man in your sight nonchalantly sat on a chair, but what caught you was the type of beauty he radiated. He was the type of beauty you could witness once and never see again. That beauty he got outside could capture anyone’s attention, so how would it come when we got to know him? 

Messy hair looked good on his head, for it flows upon his face every time he would tilt it, a thing that didn’t tilt you. The strands moving in synchro with his head movement, “Your staring is starting to creep me out,” the man said owly blinking at you, his comment woke you up for the third time usually a woman would say that to a man.

“I’m sorry my intention wasn’t to make you feel uncomfortable!” You quickly apologized, avoiding his eyes to focus on playing with your hands, “But you’re a beautiful being!” You continued, this time you directly looked at him, a shy smile adorning your face. 

“It’s refreshing to see someone acknowledging it,” His overconfident side spoke before realising, “Wait you can speak our language– No actually could explain to me what happened to you? And who are you?”

His childish side quickly turned on something odd, which surprised you. But once again you were in a place where you didn’t know anything you didn’t know what he was capable of - “U-Uh I’m [name] from Frost,” You introduced yourself with your eyes still on his frame, noticing his puzzled expression. That very expression could be a sign that you've actually arrived at your destination, or it could just be a sign of something else. The last few minutes of memories you had of your journey was pretty eventful in the worst possible way. 

“That would explain why I found you in that destroyed spaceship..”

“I guess yeah... Also may I ask who you are?” 

“Gojo Satoru, and may I ask what exactly happenee to you?" The white haired asked curiously his eyes analyzing yours, that were avoiding his.

The wind outside murmured secrets through the night, whispering tales of distant lands and forgotten dreams. Satoru’s gaze softened, taking in the fragile figure before him, her presence a delicate ripple in the fabric of his world.

[name]’s eyes flickered like distant stars, struggling to make sense of the swirling memories that danced just out of reach. Pain and confusion clouded her mind, yet there was a fierce determination in her gaze, a will forged in the cold fires of Frost.

"Gojo Satoru," she repeated, the name tasting foreign yet familiar on her tongue. "I... I was escaping. Our planet, Frost, it’s no place for freedom. Especially not for someone like me."

Satoru leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Tell me more. What drove you to risk everything?"

[name]’s fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, her voice a fragile thread weaving through the silence. "There was a woman, a legend among us. She spoke of Earth, of possibilities and rights, of a life where a girl could be more than just a shadow. I had to find that life. I had to escape."

Her words hung in the air, delicate as the rain outside, each syllable a testament to her resilience. Satoru watched her, the light in his eyes dancing like the moon on water. "And the ship? What happened?"

"I... I don’t remember everything," [name] admitted, frustration flickering across her features. "There was a storm, not unlike the one outside now. I thought I was lost, that the universe itself was swallowing me whole. Then, nothing but darkness until I woke here.

Satoru nodded slowly, the pieces of her story forming a mosaic in his mind. "You’re safe now," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "But Frost, it’s not just a place, is it? It’s part of who you are."

[name] met his gaze, her eyes reflecting the depth of her journey. "Yes, but it doesn’t define me. Not anymore. I want to learn, to grow, to be free."

A silence settled between them, thick with unspoken promises. Satoru’s lips curved into a rare smile, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Then you’ve come to the right place. Earth has its own challenges, but it also holds the keys to the freedom you seek."

[name] took a deep breath, the weight of her past slowly lifting. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with hope and gratitude.

Satoru stood, offering her a hand. "Rest now. Tomorrow, we’ll start anew. The journey you’ve begun is far from over, but you won’t face it alone."

As she took his hand, the room seemed to brighten, the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness. Outside, the rain continued its symphony, a gentle reminder that even the stormiest nights give way to morning light. Together, they would navigate the path ahead, bound by the shared promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

[name] lay back, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Sleep came fitfully, but when morning light spilled into the room, she felt a strange sense of calm. She rose, dressed in the oversized clothes, and stepped out of the room, guided by the sound of voices.

Satoru was in the kitchen, moving with an effortless grace, preparing breakfast. He glanced up as she entered, offering a smile that seemed to light up the room. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, thank you," she replied, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. "This place... it’s peaceful."

"It’s home," Satoru said simply, handing her a plate. "Eat. You need your strength."

They sat in companionable silence, the food a comforting contrast to the starkness of her recent memories. After a while, Satoru broke the silence. "You mentioned a woman who inspired you. Tell me more about her."

[name]’s eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "She was a rebel, a beacon of hope. She spoke of Earth as a sanctuary, a place where dreams could flourish. Her words were a lifeline in the darkness."

Satoru listened intently, his expression thoughtful. "And you believed her. Enough to risk everything."

"Yes," [name] said firmly. "I had to. For myself, and for others like me. Frost is a cage, and I refused to let it define my fate."

Satoru nodded, respect shining in his eyes. "You’re brave. Braver than most. But now that you’re here, what will you do?"

[name] looked out the window, the city beyond a maze of possibilities. "I want to learn, to understand this world. To find my place in it."

"You will," Satoru said with conviction. "And I’ll help you. But first, we need to make sure you’re safe. There are people who might not be happy about your arrival."

[name]’s heart skipped a beat, fear mingling with determination. "What do you mean?"

"Frost isn’t the only place with secrets," Satoru explained, his tone serious. "There are those who would see you returned, or worse. But you’re not alone. I’ll teach you, guide you."

A flicker of hope ignited in [name]’s chest. "Thank you, Satoru. I won’t waste this chance."

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I know you won’t. Now, let’s get started. We have a lot to cover."

Together, they stepped into the new day, the world before them a canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of freedom and possibility. For [name], the journey was just beginning, but with Satoru by her side, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

winnie's thoughts : here another one and longer hopefully you'll enjoy it let me know in the comments <33

[winniemaywebber]

The Apple Tree • part 2 🌳

2/7

read chapter one here

It's rainy in Thorpe Abbotts. Six planes go up, only five come back. Y/N worries about Rosie.

A familiar rumble distracts the class from their work, the scratching sound of pencils on paper ceasing almost immediately. Today, they had been sheltered from the graying drizzle of the village, much to their discernment. One look at their sad little faces pulled at your heartstrings, and the words “go on, then” had barely left your smiling mouth when they had all rushed to their cubbies to pull on their raincoats to protect themselves from the horrific weather. 

Six had gone up, according to the second teacher down the hall who had happened to be on a tea break when she saw the planes ascend. You hadn't told your class the number, not wanting to potentially make their miserable day worse. You wondered if the weather had affected anything - whether the thick, black clouds full of raucous thunder  had blocked their vision, the harsh wind causing them to break out of formation and bringing danger to themselves. And, in the back of your mind, you wondered about Rosie, hoping that he was safe.

It had been a couple of days since your last meeting, wherein you'd seen him taking a walk alone around Thorpe Abbotts, you spotting him as you rode home on your bike. You had waved nervously, precariously taking a hand off one of your handlebars to do so. Even from the opposite side of the road, you saw his face make a huge, beautiful smile, his baby blue eyes twinkling at the sight of you.

“Hi, Y/N. Wonderful to see you again.”

“Rosie,” you'd replied, your mouth also instantly bearing a grin at seeing him. “You, too. How was your weekend?”

“Ah, nothing special. I flew a practice mission, came back and wrote my mom. I try to keep her updated, she worries about me so, especially with me being so far away.”

“Oh, I understand. That's very sweet,” your heart melting at a man caring so much for his family. There is a pause as you keep smiling sweetly at one another, stuck for words due to being so excited at seeing each other again.

“So,” he breaks the silence. “Are you headed home?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “It's been a long day. It wasn't sunny enough to let the children play outside, and being cooped up drives them mad!” You laugh, hoping to diffuse the butterflies rising up in your stomach as he begins to offer to wheel your bike home so you can walk alongside him. 

“I can imagine!” He responds, once again smiling in your direction as his eyes dart around, trying to get his bearings. A crack of thunder from above distracts him, his shoulders sagging with a sigh. 

“We'd better hurry you home, ma'am.” 

Running through the rain, you arrive at the cottage quick as a flash. “Come in and warm up by the fire,” you shout over the loud pattering of raindrops on your slate doorstep, both of you sheltering under the front door canopy. 

“I'd love to, but I gotta get back to base. We have a briefing in the morning and I should get some rest.”

“Oh, of course. Well, thank you for walking me home again. You're great company.”

“You too, ma'am,” he smiles, exhaling through his nose with a slight giggle. “Are you doing anything Thursday afternoon?”

“No, I'm not,” you reply, the fastest answer that's ever left your lips. “I leave the school at around 2pm. You could meet me there? I could show you around a little. Bring your bike!”

“Oh, er–” he stutters, face turning red with embarrassment. “I haven't quite got to grips with that thing yet.” You try your best to stifle a giggle, shaking your head.

“I've heard you're the best pilot in the Army Air Force and you can't ride a bike?” You wink at him jokingly, his face now a cute shade of pink. 

“Leave me alone, Y/N,” he pokes at you, his face however, still holding that beautiful smile. 

“I'll teach you…if you'd like,” you say with a shrug. He nods, the color of his cheeks returning to normal. He reaches over and softly kisses your cheek, your hand coming up to touch it as soon as his lips break contact. 

“Miss, I saw five come back,” Penelope says in a small voice. “How many were there?” Feeling your heart jump to your throat and your breathing become ragged, you try your best to maintain composure. 

“I believe it was five, little one,” you respond, gritting your teeth into a reassuring smile. “Mrs Meldrum said five, but she was nose deep in the biscuit tin at the time. I'll ask her later, okay?” The wide eyed little girl nods and rushes back to her seat, pushing her round glasses up her nose as she sits down, once again ready to learn. 

Getting through the rest of the day without making your unease obvious is an arduous task. Every time you think of Rosie, you feel your heart almost stop, feeling like a phantom hand has its grip around it, crushing it bit by bit. You find yourself taking a moment while the children are distracted to place a hand on your chest, willing your breathing to return to its usual pace, arguing with yourself for feeling so anxious over somebody you've met only twice. 

To your surprise, you see your friend Sally outside as you corral the children out the door for home time, zipping coats and tying shoe laces as they rush out of the door into the cold drizzle. She's stood in a yellow rain coat, a black umbrella swaying slightly in the breeze.

“Sally?” You call. “Come in, doll.” A look of concern etched on your face, she runs in, dismantling her umbrella, a sob catching in her throat as she runs past you into the schoolroom. 

“Oh, Y/N,” she wails, her pretty face crumpled. Her eyes are squeezed shut, black inky trails from her mascara shooting down her face. “Only five–” she stutters, before taking a deep breath to try and compose herself. “Only five came back…and–and I don't know if James…”

“Hey, Sal,” you murmur, pulling her into a tight hug, her wet raincoat against your skin causing you to shiver suddenly. “It's all going to be okay, just–” you pause, a hand on her cheek now. “Just be patient. He'll be knocking on your door tomorrow.” She nods, a small sob escaping her lips as she wipes her eyes. You hand her a small white handkerchief, embroidered with your initials. This seems to make her cry all the more. 

“I still have the one your Granny made me,” she says as she dabs away the mascara lines. “Maybe I should start carrying it again.” You titter, exhaling as you do so. 

“She gave them to us when we were, what, six?” You look at Sally inquisitively, and she nods. “And she made us promise to always stay friends. I'm not sure why she thought matching handkerchiefs would cement that, but…”

“I'm glad we did, though,” she laughs, sniffing. 

“Me, too. Now, come on. You're about to freeze if we don't get you some place warm. I'll light the fire at home and you'll stay for dinner to take your mind off this.” You grip her softly by the shoulders. “He will be here tomorrow, okay?” But you're not quite sure who you're trying to reassure more: yourself or your best friend. 

A restless night awaits you, tossing and turning in your bed as the moonlight peeks through your thin curtains. All you can think about is if Rosie and James are safe, the weight of your thoughts crushing your chest with every attempted deep breath. You fall asleep just as the sun is rising, and you wake feeling horrific. You pad to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth, hoping going through your daily routine will bring some color back to your pale face and somehow, take your mind off things. 

It's only when you pull your bike from against the wall of the cottage that you realize it's finally stopped raining for the first time in three days. You breathe in the fresh air, hearing the soft breeze blow through the leaves on the tree outside your gate as your eyes close softly. “Y/N!” you hear a voice call from down the lane. There, in his uniform, looking a little battered, is James. As he approaches you, you see he has a small scratch above his eyebrow and another gash upon his cheek. 

“James!” You reply, extremely happy to see him. “You're here! Oh, Sally came to see me in such an awful state yesterday. We only saw five planes come back, and–”

“I'm headed there now,” he responds, interrupting your train of thought. He smiles brightly at you, and gives you a friendly wink. “Thank you for looking after her,” he says, softly. “I sure do hate worrying her but…it's just the way of the job.” 

“I understand, James. I know. She just has such a big heart.” You begin to wheel your bike down the lane towards the school, waving a goodbye to James and trying your best to avoid asking the one question that kept you up all night. The temptation, however, is too much and you stop in your tracks. 

“James?” You call after him. He turns but keeps walking, looking precariously behind him every few steps to avoid potholes and small ditches. “Is Rosie okay?”

“Finally!” He yells into the distance between you. “I was waiting for you to ask. He's fine, Y/N. Teach him how to ride that darn bike before he puts himself in the infirmary again!” 

The day passes in a blink, which you think is mostly in part of you wishing the day away. The children leave in a gaggle of excitement, looking forward to feeling the warm sun on their sweet faces as they begin their short walk home, playing together all the while. As they disperse, you look out of the bay window and spot someone under the apple tree, reading, their brow furrowed in concentration. “Rosie!” you squeal, swing open the door and run towards him as fast as you can. He spots you immediately and stands up, just in time for you to fling your arms around him without second guessing yourself.

“Well, hi,” He murmurs, his face buried in your neck. You breathe a huge sigh of relief into him, your eyes squeezed shut. 

“I didn't know if you were--oh, I was so worried about you,” you hold him a little tighter, wanting to make the embrace last a few moments more. “Oh, I'm so happy to see you, Rosie.”

“Likewise, Y/N,” he replies, reciprocating the tighter hug. You finally break apart, your hand finding its way to cup his cheek. 

“Now,” you sigh, finally content. “Tell me why you can't ride this bike.”

He demonstrates, looking a little embarrassed when you see him begin to try pedal backwards. 

“Hey, stop!” You call after him. “What are you doing?” 

“I'm trying to stop the thing,” he laughs, but obviously frustrated.

“Darling,” you reply, the word just spilling out of you. “These–” you gesture to the long buttons just off the handlebars, “--are for stopping.” He rolls his eyes jokingly, comically slapping a hand to his head. 

“Wow,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I guess I can ride a bike. You really are a great teacher, Y/N. Those kids are lucky.” You shove at him playfully, laughing at his tone, until he grabs your hand. “Seriously…” he pauses, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “You're wonderful.” 

Both balancing your bikes against the schoolhouse, you find yourselves under the apple tree, the sun just beginning to set. You had grabbed a spare blanket from the classroom, just in case the weather began to turn at a moment's notice which you knew was a terrible habit England possessed. Rosie places it around both of you and pulls you in close, your head resting on his shoulder. You close your eyes and exhale, contentedly, the rollercoaster of emotions from the past day finally leaving you in that breath, grateful and happy to have him here with you and safe for the time being. You reluctantly check your watch as he runs his fingers through your loose hair.

“You probably should get going,” you sigh, eyes a little sad. “It's late. I don't want you in trouble.” 

“I can handle it,” he says quietly, his whole body relaxing underneath you. “Just a few more minutes, please. I just want to be a guy, watching the sunset with a pretty girl on my arm.” 

chapter 3

masterlist

[milfstalin]

[...]

Ultimately, this story about Pakistan is more properly understood as one about the contest between China and the U.S. that pits the rest of the world in the middle. Chinese officials, we learned, regularly told their Pakistani counterparts that Beijing doesn’t see the contest as zero sum, that it’s okay to be friendly with both major powers. The U.S. does not quite see it that way, and Pakistan knows it. The result is the story below. If you’re at all interested in foreign affairs, we think you’ll find this one enlightening.

[...]

In October of 2022, a pivotal year for Pakistan, military chief Qamar Javed Bajwa finally won what he had long been striving for: an official state trip to the United States. His mission was explicit; a document prepared for Bajwa ahead of the visit is titled, “U.S. Re-Engagement with Pakistan: Ideas for Reviving an Important Relationship.”

[...]

From New York, Munir Akram, Pakistan’s representative to the United Nations, began reporting back cables highlighting “sarcastic” comments from his Chinese counterpart, who openly tweaked Akram about Pakistan’s sudden swing toward Washington. In private conversations with their Pakistani counterparts over the past year, as reported by Pakistani diplomats, Chinese officials have expressed displeasure with Islamabad for “switching camps”—rather than merely seeking open relations with both countries.

Now, with their U.S. gamble failing to pay off, Pakistani officials have become increasingly frantic in their efforts to repair relations with China, including, asthe documents reveal, by granting China approval for a military base at the port of Gwadar—a major and longstanding strategic demand of Beijing—and authorizing joint military operations inside Pakistan.

[...]

Internal reports emphasize Pakistan’s wish that its relations with the U.S. and China not be “zero-sum.” “What the Pakistani military prefers is to be able to maintain a balance between their Chinese and U.S. military relationships,” said Adam Weinstein, deputy director of the Middle East program at the Quincy Institute and an analyst on Pakistan. “They believe that if things are balanced, both sides will have an incentive to keep relations strong.”

Despite this preference, a classified internal Pakistani intelligence assessment judges China to be a more “natural strategic ally” than the U.S., with whom Pakistan is deemed to share “limited” strategic interests.

Facing such loss of trust from a key ally, the documents also show that Pakistan’s military-backed government privately promised Beijing a long-coveted concession: a Chinese military base in the key port city of Gwadar. Gwadar is a key node in China’s Belt-and-Road Initiative—the last stop in a land corridor through Pakistan that would connect China’s economy westward, and make it less reliant on shipping transit in the South China Sea. 

In return, Pakistan asked for a major upgrade in economic and military assistance from Beijing in order to insulate Islamabad from the fierce reaction from the U.S. such a deal is expected to provoke.

[...]

This August, Pakistani government sources vented frustration to the media over their failed reconciliation with the U.S., lamenting the meager benefits that mending ties had brought. Government sources told the Express Tribune that “Pakistan’s reliance on the United States to secure the IMF package was not yielding the results.” This week, the IMF announced a decision to consider Pakistan’s loan request at an upcoming meeting slated for September 25, raising hopes that a deal may still be secured.

Pakistan’s private concessions to China come as the U.S. State Department has continued to publicly defend the military regime from criticism over its role in rigging elections this February, gross human rights abuses inside the country targeting the press and civil society, and an ongoing crackdown on supporters of now-imprisoned former Prime Minister Khan. That crackdown now includes credible threats to Khan’s life, as he continues to be held in government custody despite repeated rejection by the courts of the charges against him.

“We believe good governance, long-term capacity building, and sustainable market-based approaches that let the private sector flourish are the best paths to sustained growth and development,” the State Department told Drop Site News in its post-publication statement. “Our partnership with Pakistan spans the full range of regional and bilateral issues, including increasing trade and investment, strengthening security cooperation, promoting regional security and stability, building climate resilience, supporting democracy and human rights, and expanding people-to-people ties.”

The rigging of elections this February was met with general indifference in Washington, as has the ongoing suppression of press and political activism in the country.  On the economic front, Pakistan’s imploding economy has consumed Western aid with nothing to show for it but soaring inflation, blackouts, an internet slowed to a crawl, and joblessness. 

18 Sept 2024