#so it’s nice to know that it’s become a reprieve for others

[mxtxfanatic]

Your thoughts on MDZS are refreshing and enjoyable. The many times I had to retrieve my eyes because they rolled so hard out of my head due to lack of reading comprehension I see on posts about the book. Nopeing out of stories due to the character assassination of WWX and LWJ. Thank you for the many essays on my favorite subject. Sorry about the like spamming. Some people have issues with it. I was just 😊.

Nothing to be sorry for, I love when people binge through my blog because it means that my essays are still relevant and people enjoy them 🥺

[sugarcoated-lame]

Always A Bridesmaid | Jake Seresin x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI!

Jake Seresin x female Bradshaw!reader

read part two here

Synopsis: Bradley tells all the guys at his wedding that his little sister is off limits… But when has Jake ever listened to Rooster?

WC: 10.5k (she’s a long one folks)

Warnings: a teeny bit of angst, mentions of alcohol, drinking, smut, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected pinv, slight overstimulation, age gap (not really specified but reader is around 23-24 yrs old, jake is in his early 30s), jake being too damn charming for his own good, rooster being a very overprotective big brother, jake being a menace, and natasha being the best sister-in-law, for the sake of this story we’re gonna pretend that Goose died a few years later than what is canon to explain how Bradley has a sister that’s 10+ years younger than him lol

a/n: it’s been like two months since I initially started writing this, so I’m so happy to finally get it out! (:

⋆ . ˚ ✩ comments, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! ⋆ . ˚ ✩

*

Today was a big day, and you wish you could say you were more excited about it. It’s not every day that your big brother gets married to the love of his life. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and Natasha “Phoenix” Trace had finally said “I do” and you were ecstatic for your favorite female pilot to officially become a part of the family. 

But you were also recently single, having been broken up with by the boyfriend you’d been with throughout most of college and the following two years since you’d graduated.

Things hadn’t ended on bad terms, the two of you just weren’t in love anymore. What worked in college just wasn’t working anymore, and you’d spent the last few months of your relationship denying to yourself the fact that you were unhappy. 

You’re pretty sure now that the both of you had known for a while you weren’t right for each other, but you had been scared to end it–terrified at the notion of starting over. But, the relationship had run its course and, ultimately, he was the one to end things. 

That was three weeks ago. You’d come to terms with the break-up, knowing it was what’s best for you. But that didn’t mean it still didn't hurt. It didn’t mean you weren’t sad, or that you were ready to be subjected to all the happiness and celebration that goes into a wedding.

You’re granted a brief reprieve from your melancholy thoughts when your new sister-in-law sneaks up and taps you on the shoulder. “Hey… You don’t look like you’re having much fun. Are you okay?” 

Natasha asks the question with a sheepish grin. You can tell she’s trying to seem nonchalant, but you can hear the underlying concern in her voice. 

Bradley and Natasha had been together five years now, engaged for one, and you could clearly see from the way that he smiled at her and the permanent glimmer in his eyes, that your brother was truly happy. He and Phoenix had become fast friends during their time together at Top Gun, and it eventually evolved into something more.

When Bradley brought Natasha home to meet you at Thanksgiving during your sophomore year of college, you knew even then that she would be the girl he was one day going to marry. Best friends turned lovers. You could only dream you’d find that for yourself someday.

You and Natasha had quickly become close as well. Bradley and Uncle Mav were the only family you had and it was nice to have another person–especially a badass woman like Natasha, in your corner. 

The two of you got on like a house on fire, and Natasha was always there to give her love and support. She was like the big sister you never had, and it wasn’t long before the two of you were ganging up on your brother and teasing him together.

As Natasha’s maid of honor, you’d spent the morning with her and the other bridesmaids, helping the blushing bride get ready for her big day. In a fancy suite getting all dolled up while drinking mimosas, having your hair and makeup done before changing into matching bridesmaid dresses of a silky satin—cowl neckline and spaghetti straps, in a soft lavender shade. Helping Natasha into her beautiful, intricately lacy, white wedding gown.

The wedding ceremony was absolutely beautiful and had gone off without a hitch. Bradley had tears in his eyes as Natasha walked down the aisle to the Wedding March, matching smiles on their faces as they joined hands at the altar. 

You even shed a tear yourself as the couple exchanged their vows, and before you knew it, Bradley was pulling Natasha in for a loving kiss and they were declared husband and wife.

Then, onto the reception, you’d watched with a slightly sad smile as Bradley and Natasha shared their first dance as husband and wife. You were so happy for the two of them, truly, but it was hard to get into the headspace for celebrating. Seeing two of your favorite people so in love when you’d just been dumped. When your own love life was at a standstill and you were left feeling lost and lonely.

You’d been too preoccupied in your thoughts to notice the first dance had come to an end before Nat came to talk to you. You felt guilty at the fact that she was spending her time worrying about you when she should be enjoying her big day. You’re lucky to call Natasha your sister.

So, you force your most convincing smile onto your face and nod your head, telling her that you’re just fine.

“Just tired from the long day, but I’m having a great time. I’m good, I promise!” You weren’t sure if she believed you, but luckily Natasha was pulled away by one of her aunts gushing over how beautiful she looked and offering her congratulations, before she could protest.

It’s especially hard to enjoy a wedding reception when you’re sat at a table alone, watching as everyone else is having a good time, dancing along to the music being played by the DJ. 

Once the first dance was through, the rest of the guests were welcomed to join the happy couple on the dancefloor. You knew your brother had plenty of cute pilot friends, and you also knew–thanks to Natasha–that some of them were single. So, you were hoping that one of them might ask you to dance.

You may have also been hopeful for the possibility of getting laid tonight. You were newly single but even then, it’d been months since you and your ex last had sex. You were sad and lonely and thought, what better way to get back out there and help yourself feel better than hooking up with one of said cute pilots? 

Your plan, however, seemed futile because none of the guys would even talk to you. In fact, since Bradley had introduced you to them after the ceremony earlier in the day, his fellow pilots could hardly look you in the eye.

“Guys, this is my little sister.” With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, your brother had rattled off each of the naval aviators’ names and callsigns, and told his friends your name. They were all nice enough, each politely shaking your hand and making small talk, a few of them making jokes at your big brother’s expense.

But you could sense there was an awkwardness there, almost as if the members of the Dagger squad were afraid of you. You couldn’t understand why, but you could tell they were hesitant to keep the conversation going with you.

Initially, you brushed it off. However, as the day went on, whenever you’d find yourself alone in conversation with one of the Top Gun pilots, they each kept the interactions very short and sweet, acting as though they couldn’t get away from you fast enough. Leaving you feeling unsure of yourself and wondering what you could have possibly done to have them all so blatantly avoiding you. 

So, after sharing a dance with your dear Uncle Mav and relinquishing him back into the awaiting arms of Penny, you spend the next half hour moping at the table on your own. Absent-mindedly swirling the straw around in your drink, chin resting in your other hand as you watch the festivities going on around you. 

And that’s how Jake finds you.

You were adorable. With your sparkling eyes and your hair pinned up into some intricate up-do that Jake wanted to see undone, a few pieces flowing down and framing your face. The hint of cleavage Jake could see beneath the cowl neckline of that lavender dress that hugged your curves so well as you leaned forward against the table, a slight pout on your lips as you observed everyone having fun on the dancefloor.

Jake could tell that you weren’t having a good time and he knew exactly why. 

Little did you know that earlier that morning while Bradley and his groomsmen were getting ready in a suite separate from the girls, your brother had had a “talk” with all the guys.

Debriefing about last night’s rehearsal dinner, Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy–all of the single groomsmen–had been discussing a few of Natasha’s bridesmaids that they thought were cute. Especially the maid of honor. 

Rooster’s ears had been ringing when he heard them describe you to a T, and Jake could practically see smoke coming out of them as he turned toward his friends, always the overprotective big brother ready to shut them down.

“The maid of honor,” all of the groomsmen turned to look at the mustached groom as he began to speak.

“Is my little sister. And she’s off limits.” At his words and the stern, serious tone of Bradley’s voice, Jake and the others collectively shut up, matching caught-out and shocked expressions on each of their faces.

“I mean it, guys, I don’t wanna see any of you hitting on her. I love you all like my brothers, but I’m not afraid to kick someone’s ass if I see you trying it on with my sister.”

The guys all knew that Rooster wasn’t bluffing. With rushed apologies and confirmations that they’d leave you alone, the tension left the room as they all laughed it off and went about their business getting ready for the ceremony. 

With Bradley’s warning in mind, the Dagger squad had spent the rest of the day being nice—but not too nice—whenever they spoke to you, and tried to keep their interactions with you to a minimum, so as not to face your older brother’s wrath.

They all knew that Bradley could be a bit hotheaded. Even Bob, who is very happily married, found himself a little afraid to spend too much time conversing with you.

Jake was ready to follow the rules too, it was Bradshaw’s wedding after all. He could hold off on pissing off his best frenemy for one night. At least that was the case, until the reception. 

When he saw you sitting all alone, all gorgeous and sulking, Jake knew right then that he had to go talk to you. He knew he was the only one stupid enough—or brave enough, if you ask him—to go against your brother’s wishes, and who was Jake if he wasn’t stirring the pot?

Was it so wrong for him to help a pretty lady have a good time? And you were beautiful, strikingly so, so Jake wouldn’t mind if he got a little something out of it too. 

Jake isn’t scared of your brother. Besides, Rooster is far too busy dancing with Phoenix, the newlywed couple far too preoccupied with making heart-eyes at each other to notice him making his way over to you.

Your eyes widen with intrigue as the tall, blonde pilot—Jake, or Hangman as he’d been introduced to you—sidles over to where you’re seated. 

God, was he handsome. You sit up a little straighter as he plonks himself down in the chair next to you, a devilish smirk on his lips as he turns toward you. 

“What is a pretty little thing like you doing sitting here all on her lonesome?” He inquires, a slight Southern drawl to his voice. Texan, maybe?

“Um… drinking?” Your answer is short, but you’re a bit caught off guard and still annoyed by the fact that all of your attempts at socializing tonight with anyone outside of the few members of your family and Phoenix, had failed. 

But now, here was Hangman, going out of his way to talk to you and looking you straight in your eyes. His green gaze intense and leaving you a bit flustered. 

Jake glances down to where you’re still toying with the straw in your near-empty glass. With that playful smirk still present on his face, he goes to speak again.

“Well, darlin’, I cannot in good conscience let you drink alone. What are you drinking and how ‘bout I buy you another one?” His question makes you scoff. 

“Tequila Sunrise, and it’s an open bar, so… no, you can’t buy me a drink.” You roll your eyes at the almost too handsome pilot. 

Oh. Pretty and feisty. Jake was going to have a hard time staying away from you.

“Well then, how about I acquire you another one, and because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll even join you?” Jake winks at you and stands, striding towards the bar before you could even answer his question. 

Your brother and Natasha had mentioned Hangman to you a handful times over the years, and he was just as cocky and self-assured as they always said. But, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you don’t find it kind of charming, or that you aren’t extremely attracted to him.

Jake returns a couple minutes later, a Tequila Sunrise in one hand and a glass of what looked to be whiskey in the other. He places your drink down in front of you and slides back into the chair next to yours, albeit a few inches closer this time.

“You know, you look pretty miserable over here. Though, I guess I would be too if I had to grow up with Rooster as my brother.” That draws a genuine laugh out of you.

“There she is!” His exclamation makes you giggle, a slight blush taking over your cheeks. Jake loves the sight of your smile. The sound of your laugh. He decides that he wants to hear that sound over and over again.

“He’s not so bad.” You refute through your laughter.

“I just don’t really know many people here, and I kind of get the feeling my brother and Nat’s friends don’t like me very much. I’m not sure why…” You trail off and look down at your lap, shy all of a sudden. Jake has to fight very hard to not smile at how adorable your furrowed brows and pouted lips are.

“You’re the first person here to actually talk to me for more than two seconds.” You let out a nervous laugh and start sipping your new drink.

Jake feels bad that your dumbass brother’s plan to keep the guys away from you is the reason you’re feeling so down, without you even knowing. And no matter how cute you may look, Jake doesn’t like seeing you sad. He’s going to rectify that.

“Well darlin’, now that I’m here, you don’t need to talk to anyone else.” Jake’s smile is still smug, but sincere, and you can’t help but grin back at him. You shake your head and giggle at the cocky pilot, thinking to yourself that it wouldn’t be so bad if he were the only person you had to talk to for the rest of the night.

“Now, how about we finish these drinks and then we head out onto the dancefloor?” To that, you agree, and the two of you sit sipping your drinks and talking for a little while. Getting better acquainted. Jake is fun and very charming, and you love how easily he’s able to make you laugh.

When Jake notices that you’re just about done with your tequila sunrise, he quickly shoots back the rest of his whiskey, ready to get you onto the dancefloor. He stands and you accept the hand he’s extended toward you, his large hand engulfing your smaller one and letting him lead you into the crowd of people. 

Standing in front of him now, you only just notice how good Jake looks in his suit. It’s a simple black suit, white undershirt and black tie, like all the groomsmen wore. But the way it fits his body, the way the jacket sleeves are ever-so-slightly too tight around his big arms, and the way you could tell he was extremely toned even under layers of clothing, made you dizzy.

As you make it onto the floor, Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Everywhere’ begins to play through the speakers. Jake pulls you in close to him by your joined hands and spins you around under his arm. The two of you laugh, both a little tipsy. 

You spend the duration of the song dancing together like children without a care in the world. Not much rhythm to it or any real dance moves, mostly just jumping around and singing along to the lyrics, Jake twirling you around a good number of times. You’re sure that the two of you look like idiots, but it’s the most fun you’ve had all night.

You dance together to a couple more upbeat songs, and Jake can’t help but admire you. He finds it incredibly sexy how carefree you seem in this moment.

As another classic rock song comes to an end and a slower song takes its place, Jake pulls you in again. This time by the waist, until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. The warmth of his hands setting your skin alight through the thin, satiny fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress. 

Your own hands slide up his biceps, coming to rest on his broad shoulders. You look up at him with those bright, beautiful eyes and a shy smile, and Jake finds himself entranced. 

God, he wants to kiss you.  

You rest your head on his chest as he begins to sway you softly along to the music. As if Jake can feel eyes burning into the side of his face, he turns the two of you slightly, only to find Rooster glaring at him as he stands across the dancefloor, slow dancing with Phoenix.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Bradley quietly asks, mostly to himself, but the question catches his wife’s attention. 

“What is who doing?” Natasha queries with a laugh as she turns to look at where Bradley’s hard gaze is pointed.

“Aw, maybe Bagman does have a heart.” Her lips form into an exaggerated pout as she watches Jake and you sway from side to side as he holds you in his arms, your head leaning on his chest. Bradley looks down at her with a bewildered look on his face.

“No, that is most definitely not AW, and no he doesn’t!” He grouches with a sigh. Natasha gives him a questioning glance, waiting expectantly for whatever the hell it is she’s missing right now.

“I told those idiots to stay away from her.” Bradley mutters dejectedly.

“What are you talking about, told who to stay away from who?” Natasha narrows her eyes at her husband.

“Jake and the rest of the squad. I overheard them talking about how hot they thought my sister was, and I told them to leave her alone.” Bradley whines.

Natasha stays silent for a few moments, processing this information and looking up at her husband with a stunned expression.

“Oh, honey…” She can’t help but laugh. Now she understands why you’d spent much of the evening sulking.

“What?!” Bradley practically shrieks. “She’s my baby sister, I just wanna protect her!”

At that, Natasha cracks a smile. She’s always admired how much Rooster loves his little sister and how, with your parents gone, he always felt it was his responsibility to take care of you. 

“Bradley, I love you, but you really are an idiot sometimes.” Natasha grins, shaking her head at her husband. The look he gives her is dumbfounded and one of slight offense.

“Babe, I get that you want to protect your sister, but she’s not a kid anymore. She’s an adult and you have to let her make her own choices and her own mistakes. Even if one of those mistakes is Bagman.” Natasha scrunches her nose playfully and Bradley gives her a deadpan look. 

“You know she’d be pissed if she found out that you did that.” Natasha smirks, thinking back on a few of the silly sibling spats that she’s had to mediate over the last few years since she’s been with Bradley—most of them due entirely to his overprotective tendencies and your desire to escape them. 

“Come on, Roo, you know I’m right.” Bradley rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs, wrapping his arms around his bride. 

“Yeah, you always are. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He places a kiss on her forehead, and murmurs against her skin. “But if he hurts her, I’ll kill him.” 

Bradley glares in Jake’s direction once again.

Jake can also feel the eyes of the other Top Gun pilots on the two of you. They’ve all just witnessed the interaction and look between him and Rooster, some looking on in amusement, others in fear for Jake's safety.

Jake has to bite back a laugh, leaning his head down on top of yours to hide the cheeky smile that plays on his lips. The two of you slow dance a little while longer, Jake’s hands rubbing gently up and down your sides and sending your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies.

Jake decides he’d like a moment alone with you, away from prying eyes. His hands leave your torso, moving to rest on your arms, giving them a light squeeze to gain your attention. The hazy, content look on your pretty face when you look up at him only strengthens his desire to be alone with you. Fuck, he wants you.

“Come with me?” Jake leans down to whisper into your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. When he pulls back, you look up to see his emerald eyes boring into you, and you simply nod.

You aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but if he keeps looking at you like that, you’re pretty certain you’d follow him anywhere. He grabs your hand and spares a last glance at your still glaring brother, smirking as he leads you to the exit of the ballroom. 

Before you can make it past the threshold though, Jake comes to an abrupt stop and lets go of your hand.

“One second.” He quickly breathes out, leaving you standing by the door as he darts back over the bar.

You’re confused for a moment, but you can’t help but giggle to yourself as you watch him look around to make sure no one is watching before he reaches behind the bar, grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne. 

He sprints back over to you, once again taking your hand in his free one and speeding out into the hallway, pulling you along with him. You’re unable to keep from laughing, near breathless as you try to keep up with Jake’s long strides in your high heels.

When he finds a dark, empty room towards the back of the venue hall, Jake pulls you inside with him and closes the door. Before you know it, your back is pressed against it, hitting the hard wood with a thud as Jake crashes his lips against yours, kissing you breathless.

Catching your plush bottom lip between both of his, one of his hands finds your waist in the dark, the other still holding onto the neck of the champagne bottle. You kiss him back with just as much fervor, reaching a hand up into Jake’s blonde hair and tugging lightly, pulling a soft groan from him. 

The two of you move in sync, lips pressing together at an increasing speed and intensity until your lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen. Jake pulls back for some air and both of your chests are heaving, light pants escaping your lips as you stare at each other in the dark of the room.

When you look down and catch a glimpse of the bottle still in Jake’s grasp, you let out a breathless chuckle.

“You forgot the glasses.” 

He follows your gaze and laughs along with you, though it comes out as more of a pant.

“Shit, yeah. Maybe we can find some in here, if I can just find a light…” Jake trails off, his body leaving your personal space and pulling the warmth of him along with it. You’re left standing by the door, feeling cold and already missing his presence and his weight against you as he goes off in search of the lights. 

It’s a quick search, after about only 30 seconds, Jake finds a lamp on a table in the corner of the room. He switches it on, casting the room in a soft, dim golden light.

No longer bathed in darkness, you now see that the room you ended up in is another suite like the ones the bridal party had used to get ready that morning. A couple of fancy olive green velvet couches spread throughout the space, a few vanity mirrors along the far wall, a door leading to a bathroom at the back. 

You take a seat on one of the lavish couches and remove your heels, feet aching a bit after the long day. You pull your legs up onto the couch as Jake goes on the hunt for champagne glasses. After a brief and unsuccessful search, Jake joins you on the couch.

“No luck.” His playful pout makes you giggle as he plops down onto the cushion next to you. 

“Fuck it!” Jake exclaims as he turns the champagne bottle away from you to open it, a small gasp escaping your lips as he sends the cork flying somewhere across the room. 

He hands the bottle over to you with a grin.

“Ladies first.” And there’s that wink again. As you take a swig from the bottle, Jake pulls your feet up into his lap, and you nearly choke on the fizzy liquid in surprise when his fingers begin to massage your calves. Once the initial shock wears off, you can’t stop the contented sigh that escapes your lips at the feeling. 

When you’ve taken a few sips, you hand the bottle back over to Jake, fingers brushing as he takes it from your grasp. His eyes remain on your face as he takes a big swig of the champagne and you can feel a blush beginning to heat up your face. 

Setting the bottle down on the floor, Jake tugs your legs closer to him again, this time pulling until you’re nearly sitting in his lap and drawing a little yelp from you. Your face is inches away from his and in the dim lamplight you can see that his eyes are blown wide, mostly black with only a hint of that pretty green visible.

Jake reaches a hand toward the back of your neck, gently running his fingers between your shoulder blades and down your upper back, bare due to the low backing of your dress. Grazing your skin with a featherlight touch before curling his fingers around the nape of your neck and pulling you in to kiss him again. 

The taste of champagne is prevalent as Jake attaches his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your waist to help guide you fully onto his lap. Your own hands slide along his chest over the soft fabric of his suit jacket and up to his broad shoulders, fingers gripping lightly at the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Your lips move softly against his, finding a rhythm and allowing yourself to get lost in it.

Jake’s hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs just barely grazing the underside of your breasts through your dress as he deepens the kiss. Pulling you impossibly closer as he nips at your bottom lip, eliciting a quiet whine from you. His tongue tracks along the seam of your lips and you’re quick to part them for him, allowing his tongue to work softly against yours.

You and Jake relish in the taste of one another mixed with the sweetness of the bubbly alcohol, your movements becoming more fervent. Your head grows dizzy as Jake groans into your mouth when your fingers gently tug at the hair at his nape.

Jake feels his cock twitch in his pants when he pulls away and sees your hazy expression, all hooded lids and kiss-swollen lips. He presses a trail of sweet kisses to your jaw and chin, working his way down to your neck. His nose grazes the column of your throat, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent of your perfume.

Your head tilts back on a quiet moan, granting Jake more access as his mouth begins to work at the side of your neck. Sucking and biting at the soft skin, teeth sure enough to leave a mark. With your hands still in his hair, you pull Jake back up to your lips, kissing him ardently as your hips involuntarily rut against the growing bulge in his trousers.

You both moan at the friction as Jake’s hand moves to cup your cheek, fingers tangling in your intricately styled hair. As his tongue glides against yours, you feel him begin to pull at the pins, loosening your hair from its confines until it flows freely around your shoulders. He pulls back from the kiss to look at you with a look that screams pure lust.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” Jake breathes as he runs a hand through your silky locks. Since he first laid eyes on you, he’d wondered how you’d look with your hair all messy and free, your perfect little up-do unraveled. And fuck, does he like what he sees.

With a newfound sense of need, you reattach your lips to Jake’s, sliding your tongue into his mouth as your hands begin to push the suit jacket off of his shoulders. He shrugs it the rest of the way off, letting out a whispered ‘fuck’ as your lips trail down his sharp jawline to his neck as your nimble fingers begin to work on untying his tie, and straight to unbuttoning his dress shirt after that.

When his upper half is free of clothes, you tease soft, barely-there kisses along Jake’s shoulders and the hard plains of his chest. Eager to touch more of your skin, Jake’s hands make their way down to your thighs, changing positions to pull you underneath him on the velvet couch, your legs wrapped around his hips. He sits up and runs an index finger lightly under the thin strap of your dress.

“Can I?” You nod fervently in response to his question and Jake gently pushes the straps off of your shoulders.

You sit up and Jake pecks your lips, his hands moving behind you to unzip the top of your dress. The soft satin falls down around your torso, revealing a strapless lacy bra that matches the pastel purple of your dress. His hands reach again behind your back, making quick work of unclasping your bra to reveal your perfect, supple breasts.

Jake takes a moment to admire the beautiful picture that’s in front of him before he leans down to kiss at your chest. His lips work softly at the swell of your breast, thumb and index finger coming to pinch at one nipple while his mouth engulfs the other. The moan it pulls from you is music to Jake’s ears.

Your fingers tangle in his hair once again as his tongue swirls your nipple, quiet whimpers escaping you as he kisses and suckles at the skin. His mouth travels to your other breast, leaving a trail of kisses along the way before sucking the bud between his lips, tongue working softly at it until it forms a hardened peak.

Satisfied with his work, Jake grazes his teeth against your nipple, evoking a breathy gasp from you and a tug on his hair as he nips at the sensitive bud before releasing it. You feel a gush of arousal at your core as his mouth starts to trail lower down your torso. Kissing softly at your sternum, your ribcage, and just above your navel.

Goosebumps form along your skin as Jake lowers himself down on the couch, strong hands gliding up the sides of your thighs. Pushing the silky fabric of your dress along with them until it’s bunched up at the middle of your torso, revealing pretty, sheer lace panties that you’re sure are probably soaked through.

Jake presses a kiss to your hip bone, looking up at you with wild eyes awaiting your permission. You swallow hard, nodding your head frantically. You need him to touch you before you go insane.

“Please, Jake,” You hardly recognize the breathless, whiny voice that comes out of your mouth. “Need you.”

Jake runs a finger along your slit over the damp fabric of your panties, your desperate, breathy cries painting a smirk on his lips. He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He teasingly bumps his finger into your clit just to hear you whine before his fingers grip onto your waistband, pulling the lacy fabric torturously slow down your thighs. He sits back on his knees, pressing a kiss to your knee as he helps get your underwear the rest of the way down your legs.

When they fall to the floor, Jake repositions himself on the couch between your thighs, lifting one of them over his shoulder. His lips make a trail up the inside of your thigh, kissing and nipping at the soft skin and enjoying the way your breath catches as he inches closer to where you need him most, before ultimately moving back and starting again on the other thigh. Your fingers tug at his roots, chest breathless and heaving as you wait for Jake to just do something.

You moan out loudly in surprise as your wish is granted, Jake’s tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds. Your fingers tighten in his hair when he presses a kiss to your clit. He pulls back for a moment and just stares at your cunt, pretty and glistening just for him. 

You’d be embarrassed at the attention if it weren’t for the look of complete awe on his gorgeous face as he gazes at your core. His tongue glides through your folds again, collecting your arousal.

“Mm, so fuckin’ sweet, baby. Just like you.” And with that, Jake sucks your clit between his lips, drawing a loud cry from your lips as he applies a firm pressure. He alternates between suckling the sensitive bud and dipping his tongue into your hole, tasting the wetness that continues to flow at his ministrations.

As his lips wrap around your clit once more, you feel one of Jake’s fingers begin to tease at your entrance. Gathering the wetness there before the digit enters you, he lets out a low groan as you clench around it. He works his finger in and out, adding in a second to help stretch you out and get you ready for his cock.

Jake can hear your soft whimpers and heavy breathing, he can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers even tighter as he prods at that spongy spot inside of you and he knows that you’re close.

“Gonna come for me, Sweets? You gonna come all over my tongue?” Jake implores with a teasing smirk before he dives back in, tongue replacing his fingers and licking into you.

“Fuck, please, Ja- OHH!” Your plea is cut short as his fingers pinch at your clit once more. Rubbing tight circles in time with his tongue that’s fucking in and out your hole. Jake’s fingers quicken their pace, pressing firmly against your sensitive bud while he devours you, and you fall over the edge with a sharp cry that borders on being a scream.

“So fucking good for me.” Jake mutters against your center, his tongue lapping up your release while his fingers still gently swirl your clit and work you through your orgasm. He licks up every bit of your sweetness, rutting his hips against the velvety couch cushion to gain some friction on his still-clothed cock that strains under the fabric of his pants, as he watches you writhe under his tongue, hands tugging at his roots hard as your loud cries turn into soft whimpers.

Jake only lets up when your shaky hand tries to push his head away from your center, the pleasure becoming too much. Leaving one final kiss to your inner thigh, he pulls back, lips and chin glistening with your release.

You tug at Jake’s hair again, guiding his head back up to be level with yours. You pull him into a bruising kiss, moaning into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands travel down to unbuckle Jake’s belt and open the button of his trousers, one hand dipping into the waistband to cup him over his boxers. 

Jake grunts above you as you palm at his hard length, his own hands reaching down to help you remove his pants.

Only able to get them about halfway down his legs from his position hovering over you, Jake pulls back and stands from the couch. He pulls his dress pants and underwear down in one swift motion. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, his cock long and hard, the tip red and dripping with precum.

Before he can return to his previous position kneeling above you, you too stand up, pushing Jake back onto the couch in a seated position.

“Wha- where ya goin’, darling?” Jake questions you with a breathless chuckle, a bit surprised by the moment of dominance from you. As you drop to your knees in front of him though, he starts to get the hint.

“Just wanna return the favor.” You say it sweetly, giving him your best doe eyes. Jake’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, caressing the skin softly and letting out a desperate groan as you position yourself between his thick thighs.

You trail your nails along the skin of his thighs, leaving light pink marks in your wake as you tease your way to the apex of his thighs. When you finally wrap your hand around him, you feel Jake’s cock twitch in your grasp and look up at him with a sweet smile. 

Minx. Jake swears he could cum right then and there.

Your hand rubs along the base of Jake’s cock and up to his tip, collecting the precum dribbling from his slit and dragging it down his length to aid in your movements. Your grip tightens around him just slightly, and you enjoy the desperate sound he makes as you lean down to place a kiss to his weeping tip.

Hand still cupping your cheek, Jake’s fingers move into your hair as you kitten lick at his tip before taking him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the ridge of his head, sucking softly and moving further down onto his length. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, eagerly sucking his shaft and using your hand to rub what you can’t fit.

Your fingers move to grip one of Jake’s strong thighs as you take him as far down your throat as you possibly can, blinking up at him with wide doe eyes. Your cheeks suction around his length and Jake chokes on a loud moan, his fingers tightening in your hair when his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck, fuck.” He gently pulls you off of him with a groan, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen pink lips to the head of his cock. Jake knew he was getting close and he didn’t want to finish before feeling your sweet cunt wrapped around him.

“Need to be inside you, darlin’.” Jake practically begs as he pulls you up to your feet. He finishes unzipping your dress that’s still hanging down around your middle the rest of the way, watching the fabric pool around your feet before guiding you to sit atop his thighs. Fully naked and secure in his lap, you wrap your arms around his neck and lead Jake into another fiery kiss.

“Need you, Jake.” You breathe against his lips, noses rubbing together as you nod your head against him. 

You grind your hips down against his in an effort to convey your need. Jake’s hand reaches down to grip his cock, running it along your soaked folds and bumping your clit with his tip, teasing you both as you moan against each other’s lips.

“Shit… I don’t have a condom.” Jake realizes, voice sounding defeated as he looks down and  watches the head of his cock tease at your clit once more.

“Fuck.” The word comes out of your mouth as a whine. 

Fuck was right. All that hoping and planning to get lucky tonight, and you hadn’t had the forethought to bring protection? Whoops.

Lucky for you, you’d been on the pill for a couple of years now, having started taking it when you were with your ex. You place a gentle kiss to Jake’s cheek before pulling back to look in his eyes as you speak.

“I’m on the pill. And I haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I’m good.” You chuckle sheepishly, brows furrowing slightly as you wait for Jake’s response.

Jake nods his head eagerly. “Fuck-yeah, I’m all good too! If you’re sure…” he wants to be sure that you’re comfortable.

He can’t help but grin as you nod your head just as eagerly, but that grin is quickly wiped off Jake’s face.

Your brother can never find out about this… Rooster would actually kill him. It’s bad enough that he’s sleeping with Bradley’s little sister on his wedding day, let alone without protection.

It’s an afterthought that Jake realizes he must’ve accidentally spoken aloud, as the giggles that erupt from you in response to the words spoken under his breath hit his ears.

“Yes.” You plant a kiss on his jaw. “I’m sure, Jake.” Another kiss. “Need you.” Your lips move to peck his hungrily.

His thoughts are immediately pulled away from Rooster and Jake couldn’t be happier. Not only does he get to be inside of you, but he gets to feel you wrapped around him with no barrier in between. 

Your blatant need for him only inflates Jake’s ego, and makes him impossibly harder. His hand cups the side of your neck, pressing his lips firmly to yours one more time before leaning back to look at you with a smug smirk.

“Go ahead. Take it, baby.” Jake drawls as he leans back, arms stretched along the back of the couch, his words have you clenching around nothing.

At his request, you lift your hips slightly, taking Jake’s hard cock into your hand and lining it up with your entrance. He watches in awe as you sink down around his length slowly, the both of you hissing simultaneously. You at the stretch, and him the tightness of your walls enveloping him. 

Your hands hold onto Jake’s shoulders for support as you take him, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside of you. You both let out quiet curses at the feeling. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so full, but your slickness makes for easy movement once you get used to the stretch.

You lift your hips until just the tip of his cock is still inside of you, before slowly sinking back down and grinding your hips against his.

“Fuck. Feel so good, darlin.” Jake groans as your muscles clench around him and you let out a quiet whimper in response.

You bury your face in the crook of Jake’s neck as you begin to ride him, moving up and down his length as your hips work to find a rhythm. Jake groans as you begin to pick up the pace, his hands moving to your hips to help guide your movements.

When you’ve found a good rhythm, Jake plants his feet firmly on the floor beneath him and begins to thrust up into you. Pulling your hips firmly against his with every thrust, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you cry out in ecstasy.

The soft whimpers you let out against the skin of his neck are driving Jake’s movements, the sweet, open-mouthed kisses littered against the column of his throat spurring him on. He grunts as your walls tighten around him in a vice-like grip on a particularly hard thrust. 

Jake can tell you’re getting tired as your thighs begin to tremble over his, hips stuttering and losing their tempo as you rise and sink yourself down on his cock.

His hands wrap around your thighs, lifting you off of him and you whine in protest at the loss of the fullness of him. With you still hovering over his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, Jake easily flips the two of you over, gently placing you so that you’re lying back on the velvety couch. He hovers over you, knees digging into the cushions and he leans down to attach his lips to yours as he lines up with your entrance again.

You moan into the kiss as Jake bottoms out inside of you, your velvety walls welcoming him in with ease. Jake lifts one of your thighs around his hips, your leg going to wrap around his back automatically as he plows into you, the head of his cock hitting that spot deep inside of you again and it has you seeing stars.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, Jake’s soft grunts and your blissful cries mingling together. Skin slapping against skin as Jake drives into you, the sound of your growing wetness as his cock moves in and out at a rapid pace. Jake leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth as he fucks you, nipping lightly at the skin.

“Jake…fuck! Please…” You’re babbling almost incoherently, the fucked-out look on your face sending Jake into a frenzy.

“I’ve got you, honey. Want you to come for me.” He mumbles against the skin of your chest as he continues to fuck you, one hand gripping onto the top of the couch for support.

He can sense you’re getting close and he applies a firm thumb to your clit, the pressure willing another moan from deep within you. Your fingers lock onto the strands of his hair as his fingers begin to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Jake quickens the pace of his thrusts, and his hand moves to grab the leg that’s wrapped around his waist, instead pushing your knee up to your chest so he can plunge into you deeper. The new angle combined with the consistent pressure on your clit has you screaming out, and you pray that no one walks down the hall past this room right now because they’d definitely hear you.

The sensation of Jake’s thumb and forefinger harshly pinching your clit sends you over the edge, a loud, broken cry escaping your throat as he fucks you through it. His length continues to move in and out of you, hips never slowing their pace. The overstimulation leaves you a whimpering mess, nails clawing into Jake’s shoulder as he searches for his own high.

Jake is nearing his end too, the tightness of your walls constricting around his cock as you writhe and whimper underneath him makes his hips stutter as he slams into you. With a few more thrusts, he reaches his peak with a deep groan. His warm, sticky release coating your walls and you sigh blissfully at the feeling. Jake’s hips slow, not stopping fully until he’s spent, wanting to fill you up with every last drop of his cum.

Once he’s sure that you’ve milked him of every last bit, Jake pulls out of you gently and you whimper at the feeling. Missing the fullness of him already, a sigh escapes your lips as a mixture of his release and yours begins to dribble out between your thighs.

Jake moves to flip the two of you over so that you’re lying on top of him, your head resting upon his chest. You can feel his still-fast heartbeat against your ear, getting slower by the minute as he recovers from his high. 

Your own heart is racing too and your mind is hazy as you wind down, you’re not sure that anyone has ever fucked you so good. Jake’s arms wrap around you, one hand reaching up into your hair and gently massaging your scalp as the other softly rubs at the skin of your back.

The two of you lay there for a while, cuddling and quietly talking about everything and nothing. Sharing details about yourselves, wanting to get to know each other a little better. 

At some point, you pick up the bottle of champagne from the floor again, still resting on Jake’s chest as you pass it back and forth. Taking sips, both of you pleasantly buzzed—from both the alcohol and the orgasms—as you talk about your jobs, your families, anything and everything that comes to mind.

Eventually, the topic of discussion turns to the events of the day and the wedding, and Jake has you giggling as he makes some joke at your brother’s expense. 

Spending time with Jake is easy. You feel giddy, yet comfortable in his embrace and his cocky-but-charming personality hasn’t failed yet to make you smile.

“Maybe we should get married.” The sarcastic tone of Jake’s voice lets you know he’s obviously joking, but his words still have you lifting your head from his bare chest to look up at him, a bit bemused.

“It would make my entire life to see the look on Rooster’s face when he has to tell people that I’m his brother-in-law.” Jake continues, looking down at you with that signature smirk, the mischievous mirth in his eyes eliciting a giggle from you.

Even though he doesn’t know you very well yet, Jake can’t help but think it might actually be pretty nice to be married to someone like you. Sweet, funny, beautiful–and Jake finds he really enjoys spending time with you.

“Yeah, I’d pay good money to see that.” You agree, your body being gently bounced around with the movement of Jake’s chest beneath you as he joins you in your laughter.

“Ok, so I know it’s a little soon for marriage, but I would like to take you out.” For the first time since you met him earlier that day, Jake actually seems a bit… nervous? The smile on his face is a bashful one and you find it’s adorable. From the stories your brother had told about the cocky pilot, you never would’ve thought you’d find him so endearing.

“Like… in the murdering sense?” You try to alleviate his nerves with a bit of humor and Jake’s subsequent deadpan stare has you giggling again. You lean up to press a kiss to his jaw. He pretends to be annoyed by your antics, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile.

“On a date.” He drawls with a dramatic eye roll. You suck in a breath and plaster a pensive look on your face, pretending for a moment like you actually need to think about his offer. You exhale with an exaggerated sigh.

“Ok.” Your arms tighten around Jake’s torso and you press a kiss to his chest.

“Yeah?” Jake tries to keep his cool, but he has a hard time hiding the excitement in his voice. He knows you can probably feel the way his heart has sped up beneath your cheek that’s resting against his skin too.

“Yes. I’d love to go out with you.” You lift your head to gaze up at him once more, trying to bite back your grin. But Jake’s thumb reaches up to release your bottom lip from between your teeth, gently running over the tender skin as he gazes down at you with those glittering green eyes. Yeah, you could get used to that.

The two of you stay wrapped up together on the sofa a little while longer, still talking quietly so as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the ambiently-lit suite. You’re still lying on Jake’s chest, your legs intertwined with his, lulled into a hazy state of comfort as one of his hands lightly runs through your hair, lazily twirling the locks around his finger. His other hand is softly tracing patterns onto the bare skin of your back.

You and Jake have been gone a long while now, and you know if you don’t return to the party soon, Bradley is going to come looking for you. Deciding you’d rather not have your brother find you in such a compromising position with one of his friends, you begrudgingly lift your head from Jake’s chest.

“We should probably head back out there.” You say with little enthusiasm. “My brother’s gonna think you kidnapped me and send out a search party.” 

You grumble, pouting as Jake’s hand lightly caresses over your hair. Cute. 

He laughs at your sour expression and hums in agreement, sitting up on the couch. The movement of his body taking you with him as you’re still wrapped around him.

Jake ponders if he should maybe tell you about Bradley warning all of the men at his wedding away from you—but ultimately decides against it as you seem so content, so at ease with him. He didn’t want to ruin your good mood or cause problems between you and your brother. And, he really likes you. He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

Maybe he’d tell you one day when Bradley is really pissing him off, he thinks to himself with a smirk.

Jake helps you to your feet before standing up himself and stepping back into his boxers. He tells you to wait a moment while he runs into the bathroom that’s at the back of the room. 

While you’re in the midst of securely clasping your bra back over your chest, Jake returns with a damp cloth, kneeling down to gently clean up his cum that’s now dried down the inside of your thighs, leaving a soft kiss to the skin of your hip. 

Once you’re all cleaned up, Jake helps you step into your lace underwear, bracing yourself with a hand on his shoulder for balance as your legs still feel a bit like Jell-O after the earth-shattering orgasms he had given you.

He stands to help you back into your bridesmaid’s dress, leaning down to place featherlight kisses to your shoulder blades as he closes up the zipper. Jake even helps smooth down your hair—surely a mess from your earlier activities and his hands running through it—leaving a chaste kiss to your lips before he moves to re-dress himself. This time forgoing his tie in favor of stuffing it into his pocket. 

With your heels strapped around your ankles once more, you let Jake lead you out of the suite. Your hand joined with his and your cheek resting against his shoulder as you navigate your way, side by side, back to the ballroom. 

When you reach the double doors, you tug at Jake’s hand to stop him before he can open them. The blonde’s cute, inquisitive look reminds you of a golden retriever puppy and it makes your heart flutter. You reach up to cup his cheeks, pulling him in for a brief, but passionate kiss.

“Sorry, I just really wanted to do that again.” You tell him with a nervous laugh and he lets out a satisfied groan.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” Jake pulls you back in and you can feel the smirk on his lips as he attaches them to yours. The two of you spend the next few minutes just standing there, making out outside of the entrance to the ballroom. 

Mouths moving languidly together, and you don’t hesitate to grant Jake’s tongue access when it runs along the seam of your lips. Tongues swirling lazily around one another trying to memorize the taste. When you finally pull back, your lips are swollen, and both you and Jake are beaming.

The reception is coming to an end, and you make it back into the slowly emptying ballroom just in time to see the happy newlyweds making their rounds about the room, accepting congratulations and thanking their guests for coming. 

As they come across you and Jake, Natasha is all smiles while Bradley’s expression drops into one of annoyance, his hazel-eyed glare directed at Jake. 

Never one to be intimidated by his best frenemy, Jake’s mouth forms into that distinctive smirk, extending the hand that wasn’t holding yours toward your brother.

“Congratulations, Rooster.” Jake speaks confidently. The two of them shake hands, not dissimilar to how they did after the success of the Uranium mission. Except this time, Bradley isn’t smiling.

By the happy look on your face and the fact that you’re not glaring at him—or trying to hit him—Bradley realizes that Jake must not have told you about his earlier warning to his groomsmen. Though he’s still annoyed with Jake for going against his wishes, he guesses that’s for the best. Maybe Natasha was right.

“Thanks, man.” Bradley’s face softens just barely. 

“But, just know, if you hurt my little sister, I won’t hesitate to shoot your plane out of the sky. We clear?” Your brother continues, still shaking Jake’s hand all the while. Natasha watches the whole exchange, trying not to laugh.

“Bradley-!” Eyes widening, you try to intercept but Jake stops you, giving your hand a light squeeze.

“No, no. It’s okay, Sweets.” You can hear the mirth in his voice when he says it, knowing he’s going to get a reaction out of Bradley.

“SWEETS?!” Your brother all but shrieks, ripping his hand away from Jake’s as if he’s been burned and Natasha is no longer able to hold back her laughter. The pouty glare he gives her in return ends up pulling a snicker out of you too. Jake chuckles haughtily and wraps an arm around your shoulders before addressing your brother again.

“I’m not gonna do anything to hurt her, Bradshaw. I promise. You have my word.” You smile sweetly up at Jake, delighted by his words. 

Your brother grumbles in agreement, recognizing the sincerity in his friend’s voice in that moment, before the two of them shake hands once more. Then, Jake offers the bride a hug and his congratulations, and tells you he’ll give you a moment with you brother, that he’ll be waiting for you by the exit.

With Jake making his exit, your brother’s face finally softens as he turns his attention to you. 

That is, until he glances down a bit and you know that he’s clocked the very obvious hickey blooming on the side of your neck when his expression hardens again. You can swear you see his eye twitch and you have to refrain from laughing. Luckily, for both of your sakes, he doesn’t bring it up.

Bradley just sighs before shaking his head. For the first time since the breakup, his little sister looks genuinely happy and if that’s the case, then he’s happy too.

“Hangman… really?” He scrunches his nose and at that, you simply shrug at him with an amused grin.

Your brother groans, “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t wanna know.”

“Deal.” The two of you share a laugh and Bradley pulls you into a tight bear-hug, which you return gratefully.

“Love you, sis.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “Love you too, Bradley.”

Natasha watches the sweet moment between her new husband and sister-in-law with a smile.

“I’m really happy for you, big bro. And so proud. Mom and Dad would be too.” Your arms tighten around him as you quietly deliver the sentiment.

You turn your gaze toward Natasha to let her know that you’re now addressing her as well. “Congratulations!”

When Bradley releases you from his embrace, Nat pulls you in for a hug as well. With that, they bid you goodnight and make your way back over to Jake who’s waiting for you by the ballroom doors.

Bradley opens his arm for his wife to step under, which Natasha does gladly, her own arm draping around Bradley’s waist as his moves to wrap around her shoulders. The couple watches on as you cross the room to reach the cockiest member of the Dagger squad.

“I actually think they’re kinda cute together.” Natasha’s tone is a jesting one, but there’s definitely some truth to her statement. Bradley just tilts his head up toward the ceiling, eyes clenched shut as he groans in response.

With the festivities coming to a close, you find yourself incredibly tired. After such a long day–and all the exertion with Jake that evening, you’re more than ready for a good night’s sleep. Fortunately for you, everyone was staying in the hotel at which the reception was held, so it wasn’t a long commute. 

Despite your increasing exhaustion though, you were reluctant to bid Jake goodnight.

“So… I guess, if you want, you could walk me to my room? Or…” You trail off, leaving the ball in his court. A tad nervous now, blinking up at him with a bright-eyed, hopeful expression, unsure if Jake will get the hint. 

But he definitely does, and the expectant look on your beautiful face makes him smile. What you don’t know is that Jake isn’t quite ready for his time with you tonight to come to an end either.

“Or… you could come back to mine?” He finishes the sentence for you, his grin morphing into more of a smirk, but his tone remains sincere. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean up to peck Jake’s lips.

“I’d love to.” You speak softly against his lips and Jake can feel you smiling. “Just don’t tell my brother.”

Your cheeky remark has Jake letting out a throaty chuckle, his breath warming your cheek before he briefly presses his lips to yours more firmly.

“How else am I gonna piss him off?” Jake jests and you retreat from the kiss, playfully smacking his chest. Shaking your head as the two of you share another laugh. His hands move to slide up the bare skin of your arms as you pull back and Jake can feel the goosebumps forming there.

He removes his suit jacket, leaving him in just his dress shirt, and carefully drapes it over your shoulders. The coat dwarfs your smaller frame, and Jake decides he loves the way you look all wrapped up in his clothes.

“Come on, Sweets. Let’s get you to bed.” Jake softly drawls. The look you give him is one of pure adoration as he takes your hand in his and leads you out into the halls of the hotel.

And though you’re most definitely tired, you have an inkling you’d be more than okay with spending a couple more hours wide awake with Jake when you get up to his room.

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Thank you for reading! x

Part two

Taglist: @sebsxphia @wkndwlff @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87

also tagging a few others who reblogged the sneak peek of this story:

@sunlightmurdock @rosiahills22 @gigisimsonmars @wildxwidow @sarkasfics @roosters-girl <3

[kissingchoso]

i’m so into the thought of your “best friend” just pressing you into the bed, making out with you.

it starts off as a slow afternoon. the sun was shining directly into your room with a nice summer breeze entering through the crack of your window. your favorite album is quietly playing on the record player somewhere in the corner. and there lies a handsome boy, right on top of you, dancing his lips on yours as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

he excuses this as a way to pass the time. lazily make out with one another until the heat from the summer and your hormones becomes too bothersome and you’re whining for him to pull away.

his tongue traces against your bottom lip before gaining access to your mouth. teeth gently knock into each other every once in a while the more he tilts his head. any onlooker would probably think he’s trying to devour you whole— and for a split second, you would’ve believed it.

he swallows all of your small sounds, every sigh, moan. it’s all claimed by him with no chance of you owning up to it completely.

this is the part where hands wander and your bodies readjust themselves. large hands slide from your hips down to the backs of your knees, pushing them up and out so he can slot his hips in the space. your cotton shorts slide up even further from the new position and right against your clothed cunt do you feel the hardness of his dick pressed up right against you. your smooth legs wrap around his waist to keep him trapped there while your hands slide up to the back of his hair.

you moan quietly against his lips at the new position, silently craving more but you didn’t know where to even begin asking for it.

it’s fine though. your best friend’s got it covered.

he pulls his lips away from yours to allow you to catch your breath, a thin string of saliva connects you two together before inevitably snapping away. you don’t get to properly look at him before he’s diving back down, peppering kisses against your check and all the way down to your sweaty neck.

it’s so hot in there.

a large hand slides its way up and under the tank top you were wearing. the heat from his hand almost feels scorching but that sensation fizzles out to pleasure once it reaches your breast. this is usually how far this goes before he stops completely, but there’s no end in sight this time around. your nipple is teased with his thumb rubbing against it every once in a while and causing it to pert up against his ministrations.

at this time, your moans have picked up much more. your head is pressed against your pillows and your rocking your hips against his without fully realizing it.

he doesn’t realize that he already has begun to grind down into you, offering the both of you some reprieve this way.

the heat becomes more pertinent when he breathes against your neck. his lips found a new spot to assault for a little while but this is a certain spot that has you keening. your body temperature has undoubtedly gone up higher and you can now feel the sweat beads forming against your pores.

you breathe his name out airily, squeezing the strands of hair that find themselves tangled between your fingers. but he doesn’t answer, opting to move his lips and tongue against any skin he finds.

again, you try his name but a little firmer. finally getting the hint, does he pull away to look down at you with far away eyes, struggling to bring himself back to his current reality.

“hm? what’s wrong?” he initially asks, bringing his hand from under your shirt to to cup your cheek. “‘s too much for you?”

quickly, you shake your head. “no, not that,” is all you say, legs tightening against him. the movement causes him to grunt slightly. “what is it then?”

“‘m really hot,” you whisper, pouting up at him. it’s only then does he realize the heat in the room. the once opened window does nothing to stave off the warmth emanating in the air, nor the rising heat from the skin to skin contact your bodies are making. there’s even hair sticking to his damn forehead from how hot he is.

he blinks a couple of times before nodding. “let me close the window and get the AC going, yeah?” he reasons.

while yes, it would be good to get some cold air circulating, he just wants to be between your legs again and making out with you. even if it doesn’t lead to anything more.

before he can move off of you, you grab his elbows. “just take your clothes off…” you say, albeit desperately.

“baby…”

“it’s fine. i promise. ‘s just me,”

“i know, i know. but we can’t go back after i get you completely naked,” he starts, eyes trailing down the bead of sweat that slides from your jaw to the base of your neck. “might not be able to stop myself at that point.”

you reach up from the bed to kiss him a couple of times, each of which he reciprocates immediately. “i don’t want you to, dummy.” you giggle. “if you don’t do anything, i swear to god i might implode or something.”

a devilish grin appears on his face at the implication. “been holding out on me, baby. if i knew i left you like this, i would’ve gotten you naked a long time ago.” he finalized his statement by sitting up, sliding his shirt off completely.

“we can make up for loss time starting now,”

“oh, i plan to sweetheart.”

kaeya, childe, kazuha (biased), aether, kaveh (i have a soft spot for him), hinata (extremely biased), bokuto, sugawara, kuroo, atsumu, gojo, toji, sero, shindou, steve harrington, eddie munson, your other favs ofc <3

[yandere-daydreams]

I think Nanami infantilizing kink could come from an overprotective place... like after him or his darling go through a near-death experience he becomes convinced that he needs to keep his darling safe at all costs and it eventually translates into baby proofing his apartment

hear me out tho... wouldn't it be hot if he was... i don't know... just a little... selfish...?

i definitely think it would start from a place of genuine fear for your life/safety, hence the kidnapping and why all the sharp corners in his apartment are covered with a nice, soft, impact-proof foam, but the aesthetics of it - the babydoll lingerie, the all-pink wardrobe, the stuffed animals littered across your bed - that has to come from somewhere less benevolent, somewhere more self-indulgent. he understands that you're confused, that you don't fully grasp what he's doing for you just yet, but he can't control what the sight of your watery-eyes and pouting lips as you struggle not to cry in front of him for the nth time does to him. he wants to act like a saint, to show you that he only has your best intentions in mind, but then catches you curled up on the couch in his office, wearing one his shirts (it must've ""accidentally"" found its way to your wardrobe, possibly on a day where all of your other, more conservative clothes were miraculously unavailable) and looking so innocent, it'd be impossible not to do anything. he wants to keep you safe, to make sure you never have to find out how dangerous the world can be, but he's been weathering the worst of its cruelty for months, now. as your gallant protector, doesn't he deserve his own type of reprieve?

[targaryenluvs]

VICTORS SPOILS

pairings: dark!finnick odair x fem!capitol!reader

warnings: obsession, following/stalking, creepy behaviour, naive/younger reader, age gap, (reader is 19 and finnick's around 25), non-con touching and kissing, manipulation, bj mentions/insinuations, sex mentions, prostitution mentions, finnick lowkey preying on you - descriptions of brown reader (i was self indulgent since i’m indian 😁) condescending/nit picking mother and pushy parents!

summary: a victor should be celebrated! a victor should get what ever they wish, even if it’s a sweet capitol girl who misplaced her kindness in someone who was in desperate need of reprieve and distraction.

a/n: ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!! HERES A GIFT FROM ME TO YOU ❤️GUESS WHO MADE HER OWN LITTLE HEADER GAHH!! i tried my bestttt - ive been away for a littleeee!! sorry babes <33 it was like 3am and i cooked this up in my head before opening my brewing pot (notes app) and jotting it down - NOT PROOFREAD

the hall was so loud.

they always were at capitol parties. your mother and father always dragged you along, stating that a young lady should be getting out, meeting people, friends, becoming well versed and established in the capitol. and that they wouldn’t always be here. “you need to learn to be alone, fend for yourself and stand your ground. how are you gonna do that if you’re always trying to keep to yourself dear?” your mother sweetly smiled as she looked over you, “i think you still have time to change that dress, not the most flattering sweetie.”

you scoffed as she walked away ever so elegantly. you looked over yourself in the mirror, the green dress was gorgeous, to you at least. but the blue dress your mother had chosen was breath-taking, as much as you hated to agree with her opinion. so you bit your tongue and put the chosen dress on.

mother knows best right?

the sun was setting with an especially beautiful array of colours to which you figured no one would really notice you were gone if they were all focused on something else. there was probably a screen upstairs which you could watch something on. a few things to eat and drink then you’d head up there.

finnick was glancing over to you the whole night. you’d worn blue, and he’d taken it as an ode to him. you hadn’t looked over at him yet but your leaving of the party seemed like an invitation to him to finally introduce himself.

as you settled down on the plush couch you felt all your tensions melt away. but finnick wouldn’t leave you alone for long. “i’m sorry i didn’t know this was occupied.” finnick looked sad and you had no clue why, so being as nice as you are had you opening the room in invitation to him. “no, no! i just wanted to get away from the party. you’re welcome to sit with me finnick.” it felt odd to you for some reason, calling him by his name as if he was a friend. you’d only ever seen him through screens and from afar yet he looked as amazing as always.

“are you sure?” you nodded and smiled, moving down the couch to make room for him. he sat down, respectful of your space. he looked drained and you felt the same way. “tired of the party?” you asked as he smiled and nodded, “a lot of people asking a lot of questions.” you spoke, “everyone has something to say or ask. my dad told me he got three men asking for my hand. we haven’t even been here for two hours. it’s like being in a room with vultures. and if i do accept i’ll just be, nothing. someone stuck to the side of some ugly guy who just wants a pretty face.” you didn’t know what it was about him but you felt as if you could tell him anything.

and he sat, and listened. nodding his head and adding it where appropriate. it felt, nice. having someone actually listen to what you said rather than just asking what you were wearing. he was nothing like what you expected. you’d heard the whispers. that he was a playboy, he was with and had been with multiple women and men over the years. and that he liked it, the gifts, the people, the uhm, other aspects.

“but you, i’m sure you have people to meet, scope out.” you wanted to curl up and die as soon as the words left your mouth. “no! oh my god, i do not mean it like that. you- i- you should not feel ashamed of what you like. i am so sorry- i didn’t mean to imply-” god would you stop droning on? finnick pressed his lips into a thin line, “hey it’s okay. you’re fine. in all honestly, i know everyone has mis-conceptions of me.” you took his place in attentive listening as he explained the truth.

the threats, the people pawing at him, him being sold from fourteen.

you were crying. it all sounded unbelievable and unbearable for someone to go through at such a young age, his life was ruined all because he was pretty, desirable. no child should even have to think of such things let alone experience them. and rather than you comforting him, he was sitting with his arms around you. he was too good to be true.

“i- no i’m so sorry that happened to you finnick. i had no clue, no one does. you are such an amazing person, from the little time i’ve known you. you don’t deserve any of this. how could you get away from this? we could- we could expose snow we could-” finnick cut you off with teary eyes, “there’s nothing we can do. trust me, if there was i would have tried. but i think, if i got married perhaps. i’d have a reason to stay away from the captiol. we’d live in district four, in peace.”

the idea was pretty decent, you’d give him that. and you couldn’t help your heart running a little faster at the prospect of potentially marrying him. you were already fast friends, at least you’d marry a friend? even if he potentially loved someone else or you loved another.

“what if- if you married me?”

he’d hoped you’d say that.

“you’d do that for me? seriously?” finnick faked shock as you nodded, “we’re friends, i’d much rather marry you than anyone else here to be honest. we could be happy.” you smiled as he wiped away his last tear. “y/n, that’s an amazing idea.”

your wedding was marvellous.

your parents pushed out buck after buck, no expense spared for their little girl. as if they actually cared for you. your wedding dress was white and pristine, courtesy of snow. your brown hair in curls and your brown skin glistening. but you added blue accents for finnick, or you thought you did. it’s not like he pushed for you to wear the things he bought by incessantly reminding the makeup artists and helpers that you were marrying the finnick odair, his wife deserved nothing but the best.

you stood infront of a friend, smiling, happy to be marrying a kind soul.

he stood in front of the object of his affection, his desire and love.

in the first few weeks you were undeniably happy, finnick was as sweet as ever and respected you. it was your best outcome. but overtime you seemed to notice changes in his behaviour. when you’d want to go out into town for dinner he’d always have an excuse up his sleeve.

“there’s roadworks towards your favourite restaurant honey. maybe another time?”

“apparently they’re all booked out, maybe in a few weeks time?”

“wouldn’t you rather have a home-cooked meal? i made your favourite sweetheart.”

it began to annoy after the sixth time. “it can’t always be busy can it? we use to go all the time, and it’s not like they’d refuse you finnick. what’s going on?”

“i give you everything you could ever want. why the hell do you want to go out so much? am i not enough? are you- are you seeing someone?” finnick slumped in his seat.

your eyes widened as you rushed over to him, settling on your knees as your hands were placed on his thighs, “finnick how could you say such a thing? i would never do that to you. i swear there’s nothing going on, i just, i’m bored. i’d like to go out with you, explore your district with you, meet new people with you.” finnicks eyes burnt into yours. this is certainly not how he first wanted to see you on your knees, but at least you were whining.

“yeah? you like me? you promise there’s nothing going on?” you nodded dumbly, “yes yes! nothing i promise.” finnick looked down at your hands in his lap, “how do i know you’re not lying?” your hands were on his knees as you straightened your back, coming closer to his eye level, “i promise finnick. you are my husband, i’m with you. i’ll do anything to prove it to you.”

finnick was fighting off every muscle in his cheeks to not start grinning whilst the sad look on his face was breaking your heart, “yeah? anything?” oh this was going to be good. your cheeks were flushed as you heard the words come of out his mouth, “undo my belt sweetheart, show me how much you mean it.” wavering hands hovered over his belt buckle as finnick relaxed into his seat, it couldn’t get better than this right?

wrong.

every time you asked to go out, to meet a friend, to go to the capitol he’d always sulk. and the night would end with you on your knees, him on his to make you forget, or the two of you tangled in sheets.

finnick was finally happy, he had the girl of his dreams after such a long period of sadness, of exploitation and terror. fake smiles and lingering eyes.

he finally got something out of the games.

and his gift?

the victors spoils.

[cinnamostar]

blankets and kisses

pairing : chan x gn!reader

summary : the bitter iciness of winter wore you down, yet your boyfriend knew how to melt away your sorrows

wc : 913

cw : alludes to seasonal depression, established relationship, comforting bf chan, fluffy, not proof read

a/n : this was entirely self indulgent LMAO sorry if formatting is bad though, im on my phone and wrote this kinda quickly bc i felt inspired hehe . also im floridian so i know nothing abt snow or winter so i did my best

in the hushed whispers of the night, you found yourself yearning his comforting embrace, a closeness you always craved and yearned for. the chilling zephyrs brushing against your skin, your hair bellowing in response as you shiver under the icy winds the harsh winter always brought in its company.

you couldn’t bear this season alone, it was taxing to repeat the same mundanity and solitude adulthood had introduced you to. daylight was always so fleeting and witnessing it had become a luxury during these cold months.

it was always the same deep blue morning sky that greeted you as you made your way to work, and after eight grueling hours, the same sky would be waiting to be welcome you once more, except this time with the sun rays barely peeking out from the edge of the sky. you hated this time of year, and you could never understand the holiday joy and excitement everyone seemed to buzzing with around you. what was there to enjoy?

the weather was unpleasant, the low temperatures of the world pricking the tip of your nose as you briskly made your way home, trudging your way through the light sheets of snow that covered the sidewalks. the glacial breeze never relented its attacks on you, always piercing through the layers of warmth you adorned yourself with.

the lack of sunlight allowed dreary, dark clouds take over your mind as you surrendered yourself to exhaustion. how much longer would your days be like this? how much longer would the wintry season plague your mind with somber thoughts?

you crack for the door open to your shared apartment, basking in its inviting warmth that provided you refuge from the world you had just shut behind you. the comforting smell of fresh linen making its presence known as a grateful smile graces your features. you gently place your bag on the small side table, shedding the layers of coats you had worn to endure freezing winds, not caring that they’d remain on the floor.

your mind was too focused on finding solace and reprieve to worry about your belongings as your feet dragged you to your living room. your own personal source sunshine that kept your afloat during these difficult times was waiting for you on the sofa, his head turning to your direction once he heard the pitter patter of your steps.

a smile stretches across his face, his eyes becoming crescents as he lifts himself off the couch to meet you half way.

“hi baby,” chan whispers as his arms envelope you, a chaste kiss landing on your forehead, melting away the restricting stiffness the icy winds had diseased you with. the tension in your muscles loosen under his summery touch, your mind relaxing knowing you had found safety in his arms once again.

“hi,” was all you could muster out, your sleepiness catching up to you as your heavy eyelids flutter shut, snuggling your head into his chest, taking in the comforting thumping of his heartbeat.

chan’s hand found itself resting atop your head, his other drawing gentle circles on your back, “i warmed up some blankets for us to cuddle up in,” he spoke, “i think you deserve some rest.” he knew this time of year was suffocating for you and without fail, he found ways to bring light and warmth into your gloomy world, whether it was through gentle words or acts of love, he was the healing your ailing mind needed.

his words were soothing to your worn-down soul, a small smile appearing on your face as you peer into his eyes, chin resting on his chest. “that sounds so nice, thank you, chan,” you feebly mutter.

without skipping a beat, chan swiftly lifts you up, carrying you to your bedroom as a hearty giggle escapes him, you squealing at the unexpected action. he softly drops you atop the bed, the sheets rippling under the sudden weight as you lost yourself to a fit a giggles, blood rushing to your face as you succumbed to the bustling butterflies that made themselves home in your stomach. chan lays himself next to you, hastily pulling a toasty blanket over your bodies. his arms pull you into him, your body fitting snuggly into his as his leg rests over yours. he cups your face with one hand as his lovingly gazes into your eyes, his eyes sparkling with adoration as he drank in every detail before peppering your face with kisses.

airy laughs continue to leave both of you, overwhelming you as each kiss tickles your flustered skin, leaving burning warmth and desire behind each kiss as your eyes squeeze shut. after bearing his feverish affection, he then places one last, languid kiss on your lips, lingering for a few moments before pulling away, beaming at your dazed state.

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, chan.”

despite the brutal winter season that sapped the happiness out of you, as long as you had chan by your side, you knew you’d be able to uncover the joyful glee everyone else seemed to have. his very presence shooed away the heavy snow clouds that darkened your thoughts, rays of sunshine peaking out to thaw out the icy shell that encased your heart, reminding you that this too shall pass. somehow, in the midst of harsh snowstorms, he was a blooming flower that emanated infectious jubilation, and you were blessed to be able to bask underneath it.

[adventuringblind]

Two Things to Celebrate

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: fluffyyyyyyy

Summary: Reader gets sick during the race weekend. When she comes to congratulate Oscar on his race the next day, he finds out there is more to celebrate than just a good result.

Warnings: talks of sickness and pregnancy. Mentions of sex. Not proofread... *Snape impression* obviously.

Request: Yes, I'm here for it, I didn't know I needed this in my life until now. Also, requests are open. Specifically for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, and possibly Danny Ricc.

Notes: written in second. This is out of my comfort zone.... much better at writing angsty things me thinks XD

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Oscar is the gentleman that everyone expects him to be. He opens the door for you. Buys you flowers on random occasions. He had pratically given you the role of passenger princess (not that you protested).

You, on the other hand, got the privilege of knowing that he is not always a gentleman. The side of Oscar that was only for those close to him.

He doesn't like showing his more vulnerable emotions to everyone. Lando, who had recently gotten close to Oscar, was shocked when he started yelling in frustration.

You knew there needed to be some reprive for him. The season had started off terribly. Often leaving Oscar in shambles after races.

He'd be calm for that camera. Always trying to find the positives of the weekend. Then found himself breaking down at home.

You hated seeing him like that.

Depending on the mood, you would simply listen and run your fingers through his hair. Other times, you distracted him with a nice meal and a movie of some sort.

When he was angry, though, you found yourself letting him use your body for reprieve. Letting out his pent up frustration and adrenaline from frustrating weekends became part of the routine during the season. Sometimes getting so frustrated with his results that you let him have his way with you for hours.

You two didn't think much of it. The sex was great, and the aftercare care even better. The thought of a second form of contraception not crossing either of your minds. You were on the pill and thought it would be enough.

That's probably the reason you got yourself here.

You were in Silverstone with Oscar. Both of you keep your fingers crossed that the car upgrades work as well for him as they did for Lando. It was killing you waiting for Q3 to start.

Maybe it was anxiety for Oscar, but you hadn’t been feeling the best for a few weeks now. You’d assumed it was just because of everything going on. Today seemed to worse then any other. The nausea becoming increasingly overwhelming.

Drinking water was only helping the pain so much. You needed it though. You are determined to watch Oscar finish. It was his first time getting into Q3 and you wanted to be ready and cheering with him when he came back. Whether he was tenth or not didn’t matter, he’s driving brilliantly which is always something to be excited about.

Then the feeling caught up to you. Quickly having to excuse yourself and find the nearest restroom. Only to to feel the water you had been drinking burning up your throat.

The feeling didn’t stop either. Your body deciding to continue ridding itself of whatever was in your stomach. Meaning that you spent the rest of Q3 locked in the restroom. Forced to watch from your phone.

You burst into tears when Oscar qualified third. Sobbing like a maniac over how proud of him you are. The suddenness of it making you keel over again.

Oscar got back to the garage as fast as possible. He couldn’t wait to find you thank you for having so match faith in him. Maybe he would take for a nice dinner to celebrate.

When he got there, however, you were nowhere to be seen. He knows you wouldn’t just leave without saying something, but where would you have gone?

He finally started asking anyone who would have been with in the garage with you. Eventually getting his answer.

He approached the bathroom door and knocked gently.

“Are you alright, love” Oscar wasn’t sure what had happened so he tried to keep his voice calm.

“It’s not locked I don’t thing.” He heard you rasp from the other side. Immediately he tried the handle to find that it is indeed not locked. He pushes the door open revealing your body barely able to hold itself up agains the wall. You were trying to stand on shaky legs but smiling excitedly and him nonetheless less.

You were grateful when Oscar came to help up upright. “I’m so proud of you.” You sobbed.

Oscars mix of emotions overwhelmed him. He had questions and concern for your well being but was smiling and embracing with joy.

Finally coming down from the high, he is able to address the current situation. His eyes scanned over you body and face. Particularly noting how your eyes are puffy and your cheeks shiny from tears. “Are you ok.” He finally managed to get out.

“Yes, I’m just not feeling the greatest. I think I might of picked something up.” Your throat still hurt from dry heaving leaving your voice broken.

Oscar move you to the side of him so he could help you walk out. “Lets get you home then.”

“But don’t you want to celebrate?”

“We can do that at home, in bed with tea to help you get well.”

Oscar bid farewell to the team. Telling Zak that it was urgent he get you home.

Being the gentleman he is, Oscar got you changed and into bed. He then decided soft foods were necessary incase you got sick again.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll get sick also?” You ask.

Oscar just smiles and crawls into bed with you. “And give up a cozy movie night? Never.”

You wonder for a moment how you got so lucky. Almost crying again at the thought. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with you.”

Oscar whips his head around to look at you. An exaggerated look of shock plastered on his face. “Don’t you dare apologize for getting sick because you know it’s out of your control.” He pulls you into him and threads his fingers through your hair. “I do think you should go to the doctors in the morning though.” He admits.

Night came and went to quickly. Hating that you and Oscar had to say goodbye and go your separate ways. You’d taken his advice and decided to see a doctor just in case it was something more serious since you’d not been feeling well for a long while now.

A month ago you’d contracted an infection and had to be put on antibiotics. It was miserable but you thought you were on the mend. Seems you were mistaken.

The waiting was killing you. It had taken so long that you had to call Oscar to wish him luck then watching the race from your phone. It hurt you because you have a feeling it’s going to go amazing for him.

Finally after some tests, the doctor came in with the results.

“Congratulations,” she smiled. “You’re pregnant!”

Your fall falls open in shock. How did this happen? We’re you ready for this? You and Oscar had mentioned kids in the future but would he be ok with now? Your mind reels with emotion. Tears again in the verge of spilling. “How?” Was the only question you managed to get out.

“Well birth control doesn’t always work, and you had an infection recently correct?” She asks. You nod your head in response, slightly confused at the correlation. “Antibiotics negate the effects of birth control.” She explains.

Realization settles into your stomach. How could you not have know that? You mentally smack yourself for being stupid.

You thank the doctor and quickly get into your car. There is still time before the race ends and you’re determined to be there.

The drive goes by in a blur, listening to the race going as you drove. Getting slightly frustrated with the unlucky safety car but happy that Oscar was still up in fourth.

You finally got parked and practically sprinted to the McLaren garage. Just in time for the last few minutes. Everyone cheering wildly at the boys placing second and fourth.

When Oscar was finally able to get back to the garage after doing some interviews, he was not expecting to have you jumping into his arms.

He spins you in the air as you two embrace each other. “I’m so proud of you.” You smile at him. He only hugs you tighter and mumbles like ‘thank you’s into your skin.

When he sets you down, he looks relived. “Good news from the doctor then?” His eyebrows lift in curiosity.

“More like interesting news.” You immediately find that it’s much harder to tell him then you thought. Playing with the sleeves on your shirt instead of looking at him.

Oscar is immediately filled with concern again at your sudden change of emotion. “Whatever it is love, we’ll get through it.” He cradles you face in his hands. Gently coaxing you into communicating with him.

You inhale deeply, steeling yourself for whatever reaction he might have. “I’m pregnant.”

You find his eyes and search for any sign of anger or disappointment. Only to be met with an ear to ear grin. “I’m gonna be a dad?!”

Oscar picks you up and spins you again. “I guess we have more then one thing to celebrate tonight!” He shouts. The rest of the garage now staring at the two lovebirds. “I have to tell Lando. He’s going to be thrilled.”

You giggle at the relationship between the two boys. They’d gotten so close through all the struggles this season. Thankfully it didn’t take you long to find him. Not like it was that hard considering he is wearing neon yellow.

Oscar almost tackles him into a hug. Lando laughing at him, not having see this side of the Australian yet. “What’s going on with you.” He laughs. “The adrenaline getting to your head?”

Oscar makes a quick recovery and catches his breath. “I have to tell you something.” His smile so large it might come off his face. “We’re expecting.”

Lando stares between you two for a moment. Processing what he just heard. Before finally he shouts in happiness for you. “Oh my gosh this is amazing!” He smiles and throws his hand up. “I call being the godfather. I called it first so you can’t say no.”

You laugh at his antics. Both boys now coming back to you with cheery words.

As you and Oscar went home that night, you realize just how much you love each other. It might not have been what either of you planned, but neither of you would have it any other way.

[iliketangerines]

Tangerine, can I request angst?

One wherein the reader is Shang Taung's minion who was sent to Liu Kang's timeline to disrupt their peace but fell for the Fire God instead because he helped her find herself. Like originally, the reader was like Harley Quinn towards Shang Tsung but Liu Kang helped her heal. Angst ensues when her origins were revealed and she was defeated by Titan Shang Tsung and was taken back to her original timeline where she was killed by that timeline's Liu Kang.

Sorry if it's too long, and it's alright if you don't want to write it!<33

you're not him

a/n: ahhhh, yes, let me flex my angst writing muscles real quick, haven't done this in a while, changed some stuff around but it still fits the basic permise

pairing: liu kang x gn!reader

warnings: canon typical violence

this wasn’t right, none of this was right

he was kind, nice, warm, everything Shang Tsung wasn’t, and you felt yourself drawn to the god despite your orders

you really had tried your best to create chaos, to find this timeline’s Shang Tsung and Quan Chi and harness their ambition and sorcery to create death

but then, you had gone and found them and saw that they were already taken in by Liu Kang, to be reformed and taught to harness their powers for good

you had tried to infiltrate Empress Sindel’s court, to whisper thirsts for power to General Shao and Reiko nand cause an uprising to kill Outworld’s champions

but the suggestions seemed to fly right over their heads, and they remained fiercely loyal to Empress Sindel

you didn’t even try with Mileena, and when you had gone in search of anyone that could and should have wanted to usurp the throne for themselves, you found nothing but peace and tranquility and happiness

every problem that they might’ve had were already solved or mitigated, and your mission was on the trajectory to fail

you could not fail Shang Tsung, he would kill you if you came back fruitless and without disrupting the peace of Lord Liu Kang’s timeline

and so, you went straight to Liu Kang, to go straight to the source of all this peace and kill it at its source, except that he had already been expecting you

he had seen you through the sands of time, granules not meant to be in this hourglass, and he sat you down and drank tea with you

not an ounce of stress or worry marred his features as you picked at your fingers in nervousness, had he poisoned the tea? was he planning on killing you? was he going to send you back to Shang Tsung with no results?

he didn’t do any of those options, instead he talked about idle things, about how he solved his realm’s problems before they got out of control and how he knows you’re here to disrupt his timeline

and yet, even after that conversation, he offers you reprieve, to train underneath him and get away from Shang Tsung from your timeline

you hesitate for a moment, confused by the warmth he extended to you, but you take his hand after a moment

one of his monks escort you to a personal room, gives you clean training uniforms that fit you, and leaves you alone to gather your thoughts

you want to kill him, you need to kill him, to please Shang Tsung, because Shang Tsung would slit your throat, would kill you, would torture you, would spare no mean to make sure you suffer

then you thumb the soft material in your hands, the clean training uniform, a personal room, an adjacent bathroom just for yourself

Liu Kang had managed to bring peace to all of the realms here, and he must be a powerful god to do so, perhaps the god would be able to protect you from the wrath of Shang Tsung

and so, you train at the Fire Temple with the other monks, you meet his champions and become friends with them, you grow closer with Liu Kang as he talks to you over tea

he doesn’t poke or prod, just listens and hums, filling in the empty silence with his own words to keep the conversation going

day by day, you relax, you stop checking every corner for danger, you stop guarding your food like it’s your last and only meal, your stop pushing and straining your body until you collapse during training sessions

you feel your spirits lift, your body feels lighter, the world seems brighter and warmer and better

you sit next to Liu Kang, talking to him about a flower you saw yesterday, how beautiful it was and how it bloomed in the sun

it was something you had never really seen, no Shang Tsung’s realm was just full of death and anger and husks, nothing alive was there, nothing beautiful existed

he asks you more about the realm you’re from, how different everything is, if the counterparts of his champions live with Shang Tsung

you clear your throat, fingers gripping onto the teacup as you think and dredge up the memories

you tell him about Shang Tsung’s champions, about how Lord Raiden and Fujin still exist but do the bidding of Shang Tsung to clear and conquer the realms

you tell him about how screams constantly fill the air, how blood stains the ground and leaves the permanent sickly smell of iron in the air

you tell him how Liu Kang also exists in Shang Tsung’s universe, how he is much crueler, angrier, fast to fuse and killed without remorse

Shang Tsung’s Liu Kang was the perfect lap dog and weapon against any unruly civilians or protests or civil wars in the realms

he was Shang Tsung’s best fighter, and if Liu Kang wanted to, he could snap your neck easily, break you in half and not even bat an eyelash

you flinch as you feel Liu Kang place a hand on your thigh, drawing you out of the memories, and he smiles at you, a little concerned

he tells you you do not have to worry about that, that he will keep you safe from Shang Tsung, that you do not deserve to wilt in such an environment

it makes your heart warm as you blush and tilt your head away to hide your face and sip on your tea

after that day, the relationship between you and Liu Kang shifts

he’s much closer to you, much more handsy and touchy, and he always finds time to bring you bouquets of flowers from his personal gardens

you find yourself leaning into his touch, seeking him every time you walk into a room, reaching out to brush your fingers against his when you two stand close to each other

you lay in a field, an off day to relax from training, and you read a book, something that you hadn’t learned how to do until you came to this realm

it was fascinating, the characters, the words, and it was quite entertaining

you don’t even have to look up to know Liu Kang approaches you, and he sits next to you and glances at what you’re reading

he passes you a cup of tea silently and lets you read in a comfortable silence as he skims the pages while you go over the sentences

finally, you reach the end of your chapter and set the book down to look at Liu Kang, and you hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours

you flush but don’t move away, and he doesn’t either

instead, he leans in a little closer to you, bringing his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and you bring your hand up to cup his and bring it to your cheek

he holds onto your face gently, carefully, as if you would break

you tilt your head back, and he leans his head down, lips only a breath apart, so close to touching you, kissing you

the alarm bells ring in the courtyard, and the both of you jolt from your hazy daydream and back into reality as you stand up and rush to the main courtyard

you find Shang Tsung standing in front of a dark portal, clutching onto the neck of a monk and draining them of their power before dropping them to the ground as a husk

the titan spots you and gives a wide smile, but you can feel and hear the malice in his voice, how he’s going to make you regret for you decision to turn against him

you ready your stance, ready to fight him, but Liu Kang pushes you behind him, shielding you away from Shang Tsung’s maniacal glare

he laughs at how protective Liu Kang has grown of you before he starts to insult you, calling you a dirty traitor, a good for nothing harlot, how you’re useless and a pathetic excuse of a warrior

Liu Kang scowls at the words and his fists light into flame, and Shang Tsung smiles and continues his insults

you see him ready his claws, his powers glowing in his hands, and you know that this not an encounter Liu Kang will survive if you don’t intervene

as Liu Kang lunges forward, you grab onto his clothes and pull him back, using your body weight and momentum to throw him to the floor and yourself forward into Shang Tsung’s body

you push him through the portal, and the titan grabs onto you tightly, bringing you through the portal with him

you catch a glance backward, and you see Liu Kang reaching out for you, his words forming a sound of anguish

and then the portal blinks away and you’re back in your own dimension

Shang Tsung throws you onto your back, causing your breath to disappear into the air, and he stabs his claws through your stomach, and blood spurts from your mouth

but you grit your teeth and bear through the pain as he slashes and claws and beats you within an inch of your life

your blood paints the ground in a twisted canvas, but Shang Tsung stops just a few seconds before dealing the landing blow

he calls over Liu Kang, and you see him come over to you, eyes no longer warm, hands cold and painful, and words sharp and jagged as he beats you to death

he smiles at you wickedly as he deals the final blow, and you hope that your Liu Kang has found a way to protect the peace of his realm as your last thought

[leqonsluv3r]

hi! hope you’re doing well <3 so this past months i have been feeling really bad and going to the doctor he said one of the possibilities would be cancer (im scared as fuck) so could you write some hcs about how leon would deal with it? i guess im just searching for some comfort since im a little scared lol i love your write hope you have a great day <3

trepidation

—leon!kennedy x reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: i’m so sorry anon, i really hope it isn’t cancer. i did my best with this one and it took priority because it struck a chord with me. you can imagine whatever leon you desire, i used re!2 for aesthetic purposes. pls let me know the results anon, praying for ya <333

leon!kennedy who does his best to make sure your comfortable all the time, everyday, wakes you up with breakfast in bed and some pain meds for your headaches.

leon!kennedy who puts on a brave face when you feel ill and you don’t know the cause. your scared and so is he, he’s trying his best to be strong for you.

leon!kennedy who admires your strength these days. that even when you feel like your lowest because of your pain and illness that your still smiling and trying your best to laugh. he loves that about you.

leon!kennedy who sees you have a good day, one out of the few you’ve had in this month. he sees you read, laugh at a tv show your watching with him. he even lets you kiss him a little because he knows your having a good day. and he wants everyday to be like this.

leon!kennedy who is rubbing your feet at the foot of the bed, watching you try and find joy in the book your reading. you have good days and bad days now, today was in the middle. it was filled with a little bit of hurt but also a little relief.

leon!kennedy who presses kisses to your head while your curled up next to him, hand resting on his chest as you slept. as you got a reprieve from the hurt that drowned and consumed your body. these little moments with you were precious to him, happy he could give you some reprieve from everything. he was glad to be that for you.

leon!kennedy who watches tv with you, you don’t feel like going out these days, the unknown sickness of your body was worrying him. but he was determined to be strong for you still, because that’s what you needed. you needed support.

leon!kennedy who makes you some lunch and rubs your back as you eat, trying desperately to stomach some food and try your best not to feel ill. your doing your best to be strong for him too, even if it kills you.

leon!kennedy who runs you a bath each evening, letting you both relax into each other in the tub. your body soaking in the hot bubbles and water, letting him rub soothing circles on any part of your body that he can. he knows he can only take away so much and he’s hoping that it’s enough for you.

leon!kennedy who wash’s your hair and scrubs and massages your scalp with such care, trying to ease some of the hurt your feeling. trying to do anything he can to make you feel better.

leon!kennedy who drives you around, gets you out of the house. he wants you to have a little bit of normalcy even if you feel ill all the time. he drives you to the bookstore, to a nice cafè and even to a park. he wants you to feel like your world is okay, that your safe and happy. only if it’s for a little bit.

leon!kennedy who tries not to notice how weak your becoming, who holds your hand when you feel pain and feel sick. when your joints ache and you have splitting headaches that caused you to cry and soak your face with tears. he just holds your hand, holds you, he can’t bare to see you like this but he loves you. so he’s going to stay even if it makes his heart ache.

leon!kennedy who takes you to the doctor after you finally give in. he doesn’t want you to be scared so he whispers reassurances into your ear even if he doesn’t entirely believe them. he just wants you to feel better.

leon!kennedy who sits with you in the waiting room, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, holding your hand tight as you both wait for the doctor to come out.

leon!kennedy who walks close to you, still holding your hand and making sure your okay, trying to soothe your nerves with just a simple touch. even if he wishes he could take it all away just like that.

leon!kennedy who comes into the doctors patient room with you. who lets the doctor run a couple procedures and asks you about how your feeling. asks what’s been happening and whatever you don’t remember, he’s happy to help and fill in. he wishes he could take the pain away, the pain you dealt with.

leon!kennedy who listens as the doctor tells you that it could possibly be cancer. that you could have it, he doesn’t miss the way you squeeze his hand tighter at the doctors words or how you have water in your eyes. and now he really wishes he could take that pain away, because you didn’t deserve this. you didn’t deserve a single bit of it.

leon!kennedy who after the doctors appointment holds your hand, holding it over the console of the car as he drives. he keeps looking over at you every few seconds. your eyes still red and watering a little as if your trying to hold them back. this is killing you, all of it is and you don’t deserve it. he knows that, his own eyes water a bit as he drives.

leon!kennedy who lets you cry into his chest and holds you on the bed, letting you wrap your body around his. he holds you close, he gives you comfort and love, his own reassuring words that he’s trying to desperately to believe and grapple onto.

leon!kennedy who wiped your tears away and presses kisses to your head, your cheek as he kisses some tears away. he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and loving. he keeps you close, he holds you. because no matter what, he would hold you. cancer or no cancer. he was there for you. and he’d never go away, not ever.

an: i love you all. pls reblog if u feel like it, like and my taglist is linked above at the beginning. i hope this brought comfort to you anon, thank you for asking this of me. i hope it didn’t disappoint. im honored you came to me for this. we always need a leon when times are tough, and i hope this helped.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley takes you out to thank you for taking care of him when he broke his nose. He didn't expect dinner to turn into something else.

pairing: baseball!Bradley x reader (Angel)

warnings/content: depictions of broken nose, Bradley being a manwh*re, sexual references, fluff, awkward first date.

word count: 2.3k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted @sorchathered, @sarahsmi13s, @hangmansgbaby, @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

Bradley wasn’t the dating type.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the drive over to the San Diego pier. 

As Bradley crossed the bridge from quiet, serene Coronado into the bustling downtown core, he tapped his hand against the steering wheel, nervously drumming the beat to a classic rock song. He pulled up into a parking space, looking around the parking lot for your obnoxious little car with its pink interior that he’d been thinking about since you took him to get his nose checked out. The break had healed nicely, unable to tell that two weeks prior, his nose had met with the fist of a grown man. Bradley sighed as he realized you weren’t here yet, adjusting his sunglasses in his rearview mirror. 

He didn’t date. 

It wasn’t his thing. 

The awkward small talk. The painful silences. The uncomfortable stage where you waited to see how the other person wanted to proceed, all for it to fall apart in the end anyway. He knew dates were just a stop gap to heartbreak. He was the expert, in fact. In the years since his marriage fell apart, he’d skipped dating all-together, resolving himself to one night stands and quick hookups as a means of bypassing the inevitable heartache he’d be faced with if he’d gone the dating route. 

After his marriage, he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d wanted kids, he thought, but then again, kids meant his career got less focus. Kids meant he’d have one of two choices — retire and become a picture-perfect dad, working a normal career and being the doting husband and father he knew he’d want to be, or, stay playing baseball, continue his dedication to his career, and always feel guilty for not being home, fielding the upset accusations of his wife, telling him he was doing it as an escape, running from his responsibilities. 

Being alone gave him freedom. It gave him the ability to further his career and focus his attention on whatever the fuck he wanted. And he liked it that way. 

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop you from occupy every thought that he had over the past two weeks. Being unable to play didn’t help — doctor’s orders had him benched for two weeks until his nose had healed. 

He’d attended practices, worked out at the gym a few extra times for good measure, and even took a guest spot in the commentator booth for a game over the past fourteen days to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. 

Every time he thought he was comfortably distracted, focused on something else, his brain would circle back around, coming back to you each and every time.

It was exhausting.

He tried so hard to push it off. Too hard, in fact. As he sat in his Bronco, hands still drumming on the steering wheel as he listened to the radio, now blaring The Beach Boys through his car, he hummed along to the familiar tune, hoping that it would provide him a little reprieve from the all-encompassing thoughts of you. 

Just as he closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him to the beach, walking across the warm sand, cool waves lapping at his feet as he stepped towards the ocean, he heard a gentle tapping on his window. Snapping back to reality, his eyelids fluttered, eyes opening wide as he spotted you gently tapping your knuckles against the window. 

He turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. Your warm, friendly smile was enough to make him weak in the knees and he could barely keep himself together when he saw you standing there in that sweet, pretty little sundress you were wearing. He just hoped that his light-washed denim jeans didn’t betray him and give away how tight they were getting.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you smiled as you looked at Bradley, hand raised to gesture at his healing nose, “Looks like you healed up nicely, Bradshaw.” 

“Not having baseballs flying at my face for the last two weeks might have helped. Stayed out of bars too, wasn’t about to risk having another drunken baseball fan taking swings at me.”

“You just didn’t want to lose another bar fight, did you?” you teased, pursing your lips as you looked around at the pier. 

“There’s like four different restaurants here, I figured I’d let you take your pick. Reservations aren’t an issue,” Bradley explained calmly, giving his head a gentle nod as he surveyed the parking lot. 

“Wow, you have that much influence here? Aren’t they used to pro-athletes?”

“That’s not what I meant. I made reservations at all four. Just in case.”

“Wow, never had you pegged as a people pleaser, Bradley. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to pick something and find out you were deathly allergic to seafood or something. Killing you with a food allergy didn’t seem like an appropriate way to thank you for helping me the other night.”

“You’re right, unexpectedly poisoning me doesn’t sound like a good thank you. You’re in luck though, no food allergies.”

Bradley let out a sigh and looked around again, looking more vulnerable than ever. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Steak?” You hummed, raising an eyebrow as you tried to break any tension between you. “I could go for steak.”

“Steak works,” he grumbled, nodding his head. He leaned in towards you, his lips just milimeters from your ear as he whispered softly, trying to be as quiet as possible before being spotted. 

“Photographers are over there, they’re gonna want to snap a few photos of us. Are you ok with that? We can either play it up or downplay it. Up to you. I can always walk in ahead of you if you don’t want the attention.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he whispered into your ear, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at full attention. Craning your neck to look above his shoulder, you spotted a white Escalade with a short, weasel of a man sitting in the front seat, camera poised and ready to capture a shot. Your eyes flitted back to Bradley as you nodded your head. 

“Give them a show,” you nodded, granting him permission to play up the dinner, “Maybe it’ll help stop people from watching you for a reaction now that your ex’s upcoming nuptials are plastered over every glossy magazine there is. I can’t even read Cosmo without seeing her—” 

Bradley grumbled something at you, interrupting your ramble. He took you by the hand and nodded his head, looking back over his shoulder towards the camera before his gaze landed on you once again. Before a word was spoken between the two of you, Bradley’s large hand was on the small of your back, pulling your body in against his. Lips pressed together, you felt your body melt back into his hand. 

Although you’d never admit it to his face, you’d thought about kissing Bradley Bradshaw’s lips over and over and over again since you met him two weeks ago. You’d thought a lot about Bradley, more than you’d care to admit. You thought about those large hands of his, picturing his rough, calloused palms cupping at your tits, feeling their weight as he gently squeezed at them. You’d pictured his lips on your skin, soft and slow, pressing hot kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, unable to keep his hands and mouth off of your body. 

Bradley Bradshaw had you tangled up in a crush that rivalled the ones you’d held in high school. And weirdly — you found yourself refusing to give it up. Since that night you dropped him off to get his nose examined, bloodied and battered and vulnerable in the passenger seat of your car - you’d been completely head over heels for him, whether you liked it or not. 

As Bradley’s calloused hand held yours, enveloping it in his large fingers, his expression softened, lips forming into a gentle smile. The two of you walked hand in hand towards the restaurant, with Bradley giving his name to the hostess as he approached. He gave another glance towards the photographer behind him, furiously snapping photographs from the seat of his car, headlines practically writing themselves in his eyes as he watched Bradley closely.

Bradley didn’t want to admit it, but you agreeing to give the press a little show was helping his career more than anything - appearing to be on a genuine date would help quell the rumours about his long-storied sexual escapades since his highly publicized divorce. 

When his marriage crumbled, he went through a series of bad decisions. His temper was already the stuff of legends in the game, with stories about locker room fights and fines for unsportsmanlike conduct, but those rumours proved true when his life began to fall apart around him. He’d been caught, on more than one occasion, with a pretty blonde in a compromising position with him. Dancing in bars, drunken stumbles in hotel lobbies, walks of shame the following morning. He’d earned the nickname Bradley “Hit-It-And-Quit-It” Bradshaw for crying out loud, and while it wasn’t something he was proud of, it sure wasn’t something he chose to dispute either. 

As Bradley tucked your chair in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear once again, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he spoke. 

“Let me know if this gets uncomfortable for you,” he nodded slowly.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, shivers running up and down your spine. 

Bradley took the seat across from you, smiling politely at the waitress as she took your drink orders. Moments later, his hand wrapped around his beer glass, raising it to his lips as he took a long sip, the frothy head brushing against his mustache as the liquid passed his lips. He watched as you looked out at the pier, eyes gazing at the sunset over the horizon, the sky painted shades of pink and orange. 

“It’s nice view sitting here, isn’t it?” Bradley nodded in agreement as he spoke. “It’s my favourite. I haven’t come in a while though.”

An awkward silence washed over you both. 

The kind of silence that reminded Bradley why he hated dating.

An uncomfortable pause later, Bradley cleared his throat, nodding his head towards you as he forced an uneasy smile. You looked back at him, sensing his discomfort and wanting to smooth the tension as best as you could, you said the only thing that came to mind as a safe topic of discussion.

“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah,” he nodded casually, sipping his drink. “I’m excited to be back on the roster. Did you hear the excuse they came up with for how I broke my nose? PR said a bar brawl wasn’t a good look, so they said I did it during practice.” He scoffed, laughing softly. 

“Practice? What’s the story they came up with?”

“Mhmm, said I missed a rogue line drive, caught it with my nose instead of my glove.”

You shook your head and laughed, cocking a manicured eyebrow up at Bradley as he spoke. Another awkward pause hung in the air as you took a sip from your wine glass. Your eyes drifted back to Bradley, sensing his nerves.

“Alright, enough of this,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Why do they call you Rooster?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide as he set his drink glass down on the table. His dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at you. A strained laugh escaped his parted lips, his dark brown curls moving as he shook his head. 

“It’s not exactly dinner conversation,” he said simply.

“What—you’re joking,” you retorted with an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way.”

“‘Fraid so. Rooster Bradshaw. It’s not because I’m up early for practice every day.”

“It’s because you’ve got a big—”

“Not at dinner,” Bradley warned, shaking his head.

“So, the whole, you know,” you frowned slightly as you thought over how to word your inquiry, your voice dropping down to a whisper, “Bradley-hit-it-and-quit-it-Bradshaw thing, that’s connected to it?”

“Unfortunately,” Bradley grumbled, shaking his head, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Another awkward moment passed, the clinging of silverware against a dish was the only sound emitted from the two of you as you sat there. Between bites of steak and sips of wine, the odd question would slip out, basic small talk that no one enjoyed on dates, facts about the two of you that weren’t important to anyone. You had to remind yourself at several points that this was never a date - it was never intended to be. It was a thank-you. A half-hearted gesture of kindness from Bradley in exchange for you not running to the papers about his bar-room brawl and his broken nose. A gesture of thanks for not fuelling the already tainted reputation he had for himself. 

Between the breakdown of Bradley’s marriage, his subesquent outbursts that he was prone to devolve into at any time on and off the field, the heated locker room exchanges that got him traded between teams, and the now infamous, and probably over-dramatized accounts of his sexual conquests, his life was falling apart around him. You keeping his broken nose a secret was the first kind-hearted gesture anyone had made towards him in he didn’t know how long. 

All Bradley knew was, despite the clumsy awkwardness, the silences and pauses, the uncomfortable pressure he was putting on himself despite reminding himself it wasn’t a date. Bradley was left wondering. 

Maybe he wished it was. 

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Upstairs, the club is already full and alive with music and lights and people. While the others walk out on the dance floor, making their way toward the DJ booth, I stay back, allowing myself a few minutes to acclimate. I find a spot in the back, out of the way, and watch the crowd on the dance floor as they smile and cheer and dance, some goofing off and laughing with friends, others serious and focusing only on the music as they move. It occurs to me that it’s been years since I’ve been to a club. Dawn used to drag us out all the time when we were in college together, and I got kind of burnt out on it after a while, but I’m glad I came out tonight.

I look past the dancers to the booth and recognize the DJ as our co-worker Kamryn, her signature bright pink ponytail swaying as she dances behind the decks. I had no idea she did this kind of thing, but she’s good.

It’s not long before I find myself moving my head and shoulders to the beat, the rest of my body itching to be set free and move as the bass thumps in my chest and a familiar warmth radiates through my limbs. As I expected, the tablet Lex gave us contains MDMA and something else, and whatever that something else is multiplies the sensation and I feel it hit me all at once as my entire body flushes with heat and a gentle euphoria lifts my anxiety up and away.

I look around to try to spot Ash, and as if I manifested him with my mind, I see him walk out of the crowd right toward me. His black t-shirt is soft and thin and hangs on him just right, and my mind flashes briefly to the exposed skin underneath. Catching myself, I take a breath and look up quickly to see his playful smirk. “Are you gonna come dance, or what?” He asks.

“Yeah, I was just about to.”

“Let’s go then.”

He extends his hand to me, and I take it, letting him lead me through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor where the moving lights and loud music and energy of the dancers take over. I let it envelop me and flow through me as I let go and dance and become part of it all.

[music]

I look over at Ash and am immediately mesmerized by the way he moves, weightless and fluid. I’ve seen him dance dozens of times, and he always looks good, even when we’re just fucking around in his living room trying to make each other laugh, but this is different. His footwork is quick and smooth and hypnotic, his weight shifting, pulling him side to side, crossing over and back again. It’s a style so distinctly urban that I can’t help but wonder where the fuck in Brindleton Bay he learned to dance like that. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Part of me is tempted to reach out and pull him into me, but I also don’t want to interrupt him. I watch as someone else comes up behind him and tries to dance with him, but he shrugs them off and shakes his head, clearly wanting to be left alone to do his own thing. So, I leave him be and dance beside him, keeping my hands to myself. It’s probably for the best anyway… I have an image of Lex popping up between us if we get too close, as if I’m a teenager again at a church dance being monitored to “save room for Jesus”. Little did they know what Henry and I had gotten up to earlier that day. I smile to myself at the memory. He may have broken my heart in the end, but that day… that was a good day. It feels nice to be able to enjoy a happy memory without being dragged down by all the sad ones attached to it, even if only temporarily. I silently thank Lex for whatever she gave me… and thank myself for only taking half. The night is already starting to blur around me as it is.

Soon, a song comes in that drags me gently out of my wandering thoughts and wraps around me like a warm blanket. It’s beautiful, layered and flowing like waves, the beat quick but more subtle than the others, a welcome reprieve. I look over at Asher and he smiles at me, nodding; he likes it too. Letting the beat guide me, I close my eyes and move to the music, feeling it wash over me as I lose myself again.

[1:50] The song slows and gets quiet sooner than I’d like it to, but I take advantage of getting a moment to breathe. Ash is grinning up at me, and I get the distinct feeling he’d been watching me.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“Having fun?” He was definitely watching me.

I laugh a little, more flattered than embarrassed, “Yeah, you?”

He shrugs casually, but, judging by the size of his pupils and the grin on his face, I’d say he’s feeling as good as I am.

“Where’s Lex?” I wonder, realizing that I haven’t seen anyone else from our group in a while.

Ash searches the crowd for a moment before pointing to the far end. I turn to see her familiar mop of ginger curls, and smile when I see her laughing and dancing with her friends.

“Enjoying her birthday, I see.”

“Yep.”

[2:20] The music dips quieter as the layers are removed bit by bit. When I turn back to Ash, my smile falters as I look him over, the image of his shirt lifting up refuses to leave my mind, and my body trembles from the effort of holding myself back from reaching out to him.

My desire (or desperation?) must show on my face because he peers at me through his long lashes, gives me a playful grin, and asks, “What?” The way he says it comes out like a dare, and I watch as his eyes dip down and then slowly follow the lines of my body back up until they meet mine again, making my heart race and turning the last ounce of my willpower to dust at my feet.

[2:40] The music is starting to rise, so I gesture for him to come closer. When he leans in, my body reacts instantly, as if each and every individual cell is reaching for him, so I take his hand and I put my mouth to his ear and say the only thing I can think of to say, “I want you to kiss me.”

Our cheeks are so close that I feel the disturbance in the air between them as he smiles. He pulls back, and holds up a finger, telling me to hold on. I watch curiously as he listens to the music, nodding his head to the beat, as if waiting for something.

[2:55] A second later, he looks back at me with an excited smile, and in one swift motion, he reaches a hand to the back of my head and pulls himself into me. The second our lips touch, I feel the energy rush through my entire body as the music drops and the crowd around us erupts in cheers and dancing.

Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s him, or maybe it’s the combination of it all, but it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.

Prev // Next

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch9 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~7K

❥ Warnings: non-con, handjobs (btwn stsg), deepthroating (btwn stsg), strap-ons/pegging (w/ gojo), gojo being the submissive brat boy we all know he is.

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Stepping into these pampering sessions after another monotonous day has come to be one of your few reprieves in a situation like this. Geto finds any and all ways to try to sway you to his direction, so he dials everything up to 100 during these sessions. This time he’s hired some of his devotees who runs a spa nearby to treat you to some facials, full body shaves or scrubs, or massages. He’s happy and content to be on the sidelines just observing you. It might be over the top, but that’’s something he has in common with Gojo: he’ll do everything and anything to get you to favor him.

And for Geto, it doesn’t stop here.

While the nail techs from the spa work on your manicure—they’re in the middle of buffing your nails after removing your cuticles—you glance up as Geto approaches you. You’re relaxing on a lounge chair, adorned in a fancier silk robe Geto bought you a couple of weeks ago. It’s a deep burgundy with gold lining on the rims of your sleeves. Geto tells you when he gives it to you that you look something more akin to royalty in it. It’s an appropriate compliment to him, all things considered. But you don’t feel like royalty. Not even a tiny, little bit.

“Enjoying yourself?” Geto asks as he brushes his fingers across your forehead with a little smile on his lips. You shut your eyes again, taking a deep breath. It’s a nice break from everything, yes. You know it’s because he’s trying to get something from you. Whatever it is, you don’t really care about at the moment. Now two more nail techs are working on scraping off the callouses off of your feet.

You nod, adjusting yourself a bit in your spot. “Mm-mhm. Thank you, Suguru.”

His smile brightens his entire face. Something you have to admit, you have never seen before. Lately it’s like he’s been carrying some heavy burden on his shoulders that you haven’t pieced together yourself. Satoru’s visits have become next to none lately, and you know it’s because of whatever obligations he has outside of this. Geto has expected it, the longer absences, and that’s precisely why you’re here. At least at the beginning, now it seems like you have taken on a larger role than both of them initially anticipated.

But maybe Gojo’s absence is affecting him more than he lets on. But on the bright side, he hasn’t been initiating anything intimate between you both. He seems more concerned in making sure you really are comfortable here.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

You bite back a knowing sigh. You know the game by now. He does something over the top like this and it means he wants something more from you. You don’t know what that is just yet, but you don’t have to worry or speculate about something you already know is going to happen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

“Relax your hands,” one of the nail techs instructs while patting the hand she’s working on. You try. You can’t really relax in his presence but you sure damn try.

Geto pulls up a chair and settles down next to you. He rests his chin in his hand, smiling at you. You try not to pay attention, focusing on the way the nail techs are so gentle and slow with their treatments. The heels of your feet are probably already much smoother than they were previously—the exercise routines Geto’s forced you on has worn you out in more ways than one and has done a number on your skin health—and you can’t remember the last time you actually took care of your body like this. Not beyond the basic stuff.

Being someone’s pretty pet often left you no time for such things; apparently, you have a more important matter which is making sure your captor is thoroughly satisfied with you.

The pampering does feel so short-lived. After they’re done, your finger and toe nails are painted a nice matte black color, the gel shining brightly every time it reflected some light. They take the time to comb and snip off the breakage from your hair and provide all kinds of intensive hair care treatments, and you have never felt better (you know, all things considered). You wonder why Geto keeps going above and beyond like this. It’s like you said before, it can’t mean anything good for you at all.

After your evening pampering session, Geto escorts you back to the bedroom. He watches as you settle onto the bed, fingers running through your smooth hair after the keratin treatment the spa techs provided for you. Your hair feels great. So bouncy. So shiny. So soft. You’re practically beaming while swinging your legs against the bed and your entire expression brightens. It’s probably the first time in a long time you felt something other than utter dread and boredom.

Suddenly, his voice breaks your silent rejoicing.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers, lowering his head.

You freeze. Suddenly all of that little sliver of joy evaporates into thin air as you glance up at Geto, timid. Frightened. As if this can’t get any worse for you?!

“I… what?” You blink. He’s admitted to you before that he’s gotten some kind of affection for you, yes, but… in love with you? That sounds downright wacky considering his whole spiel.

“I meant to tell you sooner,” he goes on as he moves to disrobe. “But I figure there’s never going to be a good time. I’m in love with you. You’ve…made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I know you probably still aren’t happy here, and I can’t expect that you ever would be. That’s fine with me. You know what your job is here.”

“You want a functional family for the twins,” you tell him, looking away as he settles in bed next to you, his weight dipping the mattress.

He rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging out a sigh.

“Your cooperation is enough,” he insists, kissing your temple. You’re surprised you don’t flinch this time. “But I’d like to make this a real thing. One of these days.”

“What do you mean?” you find yourself asking out loud. You fear what he means. You know exactly what he means, yet you want to hear him say it. He smiles again, but it’s a little more solemn this time. Likely because he’s anticipated an unhappy reaction because of course, what else is he going to expect from you at all?

“Marriage, of course,” he answers with a little purr, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. His hand trails down to your neck, where you still wear that gold chain on your neck like a dog collar. He owns you—entirely and completely, as much as you loathe to admit it. It’s already been a year and a half. Your spirit has begun to wear down. You have come close to accepting your fate. The same monotonous routine. Again and again. Being forced into a role you never wanted to play. Pretending like you actually care about the twins, which, truthfully, there’s a little part of you that does but a part of you resents them. Resents them for bringing this man into your life. Resents them for being the ones to suggest any of this at all.

Yet, a part of you can’t wholly fault them, either. They have been caught up in all of this mess. While they understand the kind of man Geto is…

No.

You have every right to be as resentful toward the girls as you are toward Geto and Gojo.

The tears dropping to your palms catch you by surprise.

And you’re sniffling. Loudly.

“Haven’t you done enough?” you whimper, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t hold back the sheer resentment and hatred. Your body trembles, your vision blurring as more tears stream down your cheeks. So much for acceptance, huh? “Or does finding other ways to make me loathe you more get your dick hard?”

Geto’s eyebrows raise at that, and you’re shocked that it’s not anger you see in his eyes but pain. Exhaustion. “Mamma…”

“Don’t call me that,” you sneer through a sob, shooting him a glare with a fury you have kept buried in you for so long you’re impressed you’re still managing an even tone. “I don’t understand why you don’t just off me like any other non-sorcerer. I’d just be one less monkey for the world, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not true,” he replies, his expression crestfallen. “You’re damn worthy of everything I have to offer you. You know I don’t say things like that freely. You have the girls to thank for that. They helped me see how worthy you are.”

To hell with the girls, you so dearly wish to say but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross with Geto unless you really are asking for something.

“Do what you must to me,” you finally reply, “No matter what you do—punish me, whatever the hell it is you choose to—it won’t change anything. Ever. I loathe you. I loathe you and I loathe Satoru.”

“Mamma,” he murmurs, inching closer to you and resting a hand on the small of your back—but the way he touches you feels less like a warning and more like he’s attempting to console you instead and you can’t decide which is worse in that moment. Like what he does to you, what he has done to you, and what he will continue to do to you means nothing and that all you’re doing is overreacting. He rubs soothing circles into your back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t believe the audacity of this man.

“I won’t punish you,” he starts in an authoritative tone, much like he uses with the twins. “There’s no point to that anymore. Besides, it’s proved ineffective in the past if my goal is to make you feel like you’re part of our family.”

“I will never be a part of the family,” you shout, but the sob that comes out of your mouth makes you feel pathetic. More tears streaming down your face uncontrollably and you’re surprised how much comes out. How long have you been holding it? How has it taken you this long to release it?

Instead of scolding you, or being the condescending prick he usually is, his hands reach up to cup your face, brushing away the tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. He leans in and presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, frowning as he allows you to finally fucking crash out on him like you’ve wanted but you know this is ultimately going to solve nothing. He’s selfish; he won’t set you free. You’re everything he wants (apparently), and the girls adore you. Satoru adores you.

But it feels damning. It feels like a sentence worse than eternity in Hell. Every time you have tried to attempt at hurting yourself, something forbids you. You don’t know what it is, but you know Geto and the girls must have done something. With whatever they’re capable of doing as sorcerers. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t harm yourself. Every time you try you fail and due to forces you can’t see yourself.

“I still don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he whispers to you, and you break down into more sobs. You’re more than afraid of him. You loathe him—doesn’t he fucking see that?

“There’s nothing you can do to change that now,” you reply in a snippy tone. “Like I said, Suguru, do what you must. It won’t change my feelings. Nothing you do ever will. It must suck for you, huh? Living with someone who can’t even stand to look at you let alone breathe the same air as you, and it’s from a part of a subspecies you hate. Must really piss you off.”

“Not quite,” he answers flippantly, his expression hardening. “But I am disappointed. All I want is to be let in your world, Mamma, because I’ve already let you in mine. And there’s no way out for you now. I’m going to help you make the best of it.”

“Burn in Hell,” you quip, scrunching your nose before swatting his hands away from your face. He looks at you with wide eyes before he fully retracts his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m not letting you get off that easily,” he says, “But fine. Get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be all calmed down in the morning and we can have a civil discussion about our future together.”

“But if it eases some of your pain, Satoru doesn’t have to come near you like that anymore,” he decides, hoping that would gauge a more favorable reaction out of you. It does. A little bit. “I know you haven’t been fond of that as of late.”

“Fine,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest with a stubborn little pout for good measure. “Keep your fucking promise about that and then we’ll see.”

Jackpot. Don’t you dare give anything away. Don’t smirk or smile, nothing. That gets you out of something, at the very least. No more punishments. No more Satoru. That just means you have much more wiggle room.

Men really can be easy, can’t they?

Geto treats you to another date at a park. Unaccompanied by the girls this time around (otherwise it won’t be a date, he jokes)—likely in an effort to see how well you’re going to receive spending the rest of your life with him in a nightmare as hellish as this. It doesn’t matter what he does. It doesn’t matter what he changes. You aren’t in love with him. Not even a little bit. Not even a hint of Stockholm Syndrome because that’s just not who the fuck you are. You refuse to allow your resolve to crumble like paper; you’re made of fucking titanium and the fact that you’ve gone on this long without crashing out is a fucking miracle.

His hand is tightly wrapped around yours, and you can’t help but marvel at how much larger he is all around compared to you. His hand makes yours feel puny in his like a child’s, and he stands tall like a majestic Greek statue replica of a God. You can admire someone’s objective beauty without being attracted to them, and Geto’s the definition of an ethereal beauty. You have noticed the stares. He’s popular in the area; everyone knows about that wacky cult leader who performs exorcisms at his temple for those who believe they have been by spirits. Little do they know their suspicions are correct and they aren’t the crazy ones, but to the general public, it obviously sounds fucking insane.

But the more you pick up on curse spirits, the more you realize how much of humanity has been the cause of their own suffering. You have overheard Gojo and Geto discuss how spirits are born from negative human emotions, and when you think about the history of all of the supernatural folklore you’ve consumed in your youth, you can’t say you’re surprised. Most monsters are human, or human-born, and Geto is an example of that fact: born from normal humans but became a monster due to negative human experiences. Gojo on the other hand is seemingly attempting to take a more noble approach but there’s nothing about that guy that screams ‘noble.’ He’s as wicked and vile as Geto, but perhaps in more specific settings.

You glance at your surroundings. It’s a clear sky. You hear various species’ of birds chirping and while in the early mornings it grinds your gears at this moment it feels tranquil and peaceful. Even if you are with an absolute psychopath keeping close to you like a shadow. Everyone’s out enjoying their simple lives; you even catch a few happy, carefree couples like the day Geto spirited you away from the bakery. Something tugs at your heartstrings at the sight.

Even if you do get out of his hands, are you ever going to have a normal life? Are you ever going to find a peaceful, safe love, like these couples seem to? They seem like they’re glowing and perhaps that’s in part due to the glow of the sun’s rays bathing their skin. It all seems so unfair that your chances at anything normal might be done for the count. All because you have caught the eye of two greedy sorcerers who think they rule the damn universe.

They may as well be, if what they say is true: that they’re the strongest of the strong. Nothing can stop them. The only people who can stop each other, is well, each other. And neither of them want to destroy the other for the sake of stupid sorcerer vs human politics.

Geto calls your name, and you don’t realize you stopped in the middle of the stone bridge.

“Did you want to stay and enjoy the view here?” Geto inquires with a hum, shifting to wrap his arms around your stomach. You rest your hands over the rail and look out, smiling a little as you can see little schools of fishes in the small pond below. You sigh in delight as a refreshing gust of wind rushes past you both; the ends of Geto’s mane tickling your neck a little.

“I guess I had been lost in thought,” you admit shyly, not protesting as Geto pulls you in closer until your the back of your head rested against his chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, looking ahead to the distance with you. “Is it true, that only Gojo can kill you if it ever came down to it?”

“That is a matter that doesn’t concern you,” he mumbles, “But it is getting more complicated for him to see us.”

“Do you miss him?” you ask, rolling your eyes upward.

“Of course I do,” he says, lowering his voice a little. “But I have you here now. I’m not all that lonely anymore.”

Even if I can never love you back? Because the difference between Gojo and I is that he loves you, you think to yourself, biting back a groan in annoyance as Geto tightens his grip around your waist, fiddling with the hem of your pants absently like he wants to avoid this subject. Maybe Gojo’s absence really is affecting him.

“You know, maybe you should go after him,” you offer, “He might need to be the one to be chased, sometimes, you know?”

What the hell are you doing?

Not even you know.

But you don’’t think you’re crossing a line if you’re trying to console Geto in this case, and it’s all between you and him, right? You’re trying to push them in the right direction. Whatever the hell that means for them. As long as it gets them to shove you all the way out because you still don’t fully understand your purpose or your role.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he mutters after a period of reflection. “I think I’ll try that this time. I expect you to be on your best behavior if I’m gone for a while.”

“I don’t think you can expect anything less.” You can’t go anywhere. Not yet, anyway. But you’re going to find a way out of there.

You prefer without the ‘die trying’ part. You want to have some life left in you when you finally escape.

“I’m growing bored,” Geto announces while tugging you along across the bridge. “Come on. Let’s stroll around for a bit longer and then we can grab dinner anywhere around Takeshita Street.”

With a reluctant pout you allow him to tow you in wherever direction.

“Mom!” Mimiko calls out to you while approaching you with a little skip to her step. After the park date, Geto excuses himself to follow through on your suggestion under the guise of some matters he has to handle outside his business. He comes up with some elaborate yet believable lie, but now you’re left to cater to the twins in his absence while Miguel and some of his other nameless goons keep an eye on you.

You greet her with the most plastic smile you can.

“What is it, love?”

“How was your date with Mr. Geto?” she asks eagerly. Then Nanako steps in, shoving past her.

“Yeah! Did he get all romantic and everything?” she asks while clasping her hands together.

“Are you falling in love with Mr. Geto, Mom?”

“Girls, girls!” You sound like a kindergarten teacher calming a group of rowdy children as you raise your hands up in surrender. “Geto has been wonderful, no doubt.” What a fucking lie. “But everything is going to take some time to develop.”

“But you are staying, right?” Mimiko asks with hopeful eyes.

No.

“Of course,” you reply in a more robotic tone that they don’t point out much to your relief.

The girls beam at each other before turning to you again.

“We just want you to be happy too, Mom!” Nanako says, “And we don’t want you to be sad!”

Such fucking lies.

You can feel Miguel observing the scene unfold from the sidelines, his arms folded over his large, chiseled torso and you can’t make out his expression. He tends to maintain a neutral facade perhaps to protect himself.

As Nanako and Mimiko talk amongst themselves, you retire to sit on one of the couches. The thuds of heavy footfalls approach you, and you glance up to meet Miguel’s unreadable face.

“Hello,” you greet, your lips a bit pursed.

“So, got room to breathe did ya?”

You shrug. “Whatever that means for Geto, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and you quirk an eyebrow…for what? You have a feeling for what, they don’t think you belong here. Not for the reasons you at first suspect which is they all share disdain toward non-sorcerers. But because he pities your situation much like Suda does.

“Don’t have to be,” you reply, offering a small smile.

Miguel takes out your hand and rests a tiny, folded slip of paper onto your palm.

“I’ll escort you to your room now.”

“Thank you,” you respond, clenching your fist with the paper in it.

When he does, he speaks up again just outside the bedroom door.

“Your insignia,” he gestures to the pendant on the gold chain around your neck. “I added a little something extra for your sake.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head as your eyebrows knit together.

You unfold the paper and reveal the message.

It’s some kind of incantation along with instructions.

“Memorize it now. I have to burn the evidence,” Miguel instructs you. You nod, ingraining it all to your memory the best that you can. “While Satoru Gojo might be a little more difficult to escape, you’ll have no problem getting out of Gsto’s radar.”

Your brain short circuits for a moment.

…Hold the fucking phone.

“You know?” you gasp.

“Yeah,” he almost snickers, “Everyone and their mother here does. Those guys really think they have everyone fooled but no one is that dumb.”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a snort.

“Hang in there. I love Geto like a brother, but these matters aren’t your concern. You’ve just been dragged in for some unfortunate reason,” he goes on, adjusting his collar with a little grunt. “And I don’t know. I guess I just can’t let myself live with that. Neither can Miss Suda. Just remember, it’s between us.”

Miguel swipes the paper back and burns it to a crisp with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen. That is just like when Geto killed those innocent victims.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “So why did you choose to work for him?”

He shrugs as he brushes past you.

“I guess I just get where he’s coming from,” he answers, “He’s not all wacky, you know?”

“I very much disagree,” you counter with a frown.

Miguel laughs heartedly at that. “Can’t blame you one bit, Miss …. We’re not here claiming to be right or good, you know? We’re sorcerers, not saints. No matter which side we fight on.”

You bite your bottom lip.

“What more can you tell me about this world?”

It doesn’t look like Geto will return for a bit. Might as well take advantage of his absence while he fights for whatever it is he believes in between he and Gojo.

Miguel finally fills you in on some details Geto conveniently leaves you in the dark about.

It is in the dead of night when your sleep is interrupted by some rustling beside you. Geto curls an arm around you and kisses into your shoulder.

“Miss me?” he whispers with a little chuckle. Yeah. Sure, sure whatever he wants to believe, you fucking guess.

You hold your tongue, always knowing better than to speak your real truth—not unless you want things to go south for you all over again and you can’t afford another failure.

You scrunch your nose, adjusting yourself a little in your side of the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit as you move. “Mmhm-mm. How did things go with Satoru?”

“Wonderful,” he breathes, you can hear his smile, you don’t have to go searching for it in the blackness of the room. “Thanks to you and your brilliance, Mamma. Thank you.”

“Good,” you reply through a loud yawn, once again shifting in your spot and trying to get comfortable. “Get some sleep, darling. I’m glad I could do something for you.”

Laying it on so fucking thick.

“Satoru is coming by tomorrow,” he tells you, and you make a sound before you could stop yourself.

Fear shoots through your veins like an injection.

“But—!”

“—worry not,” he interjects, stealing another kiss on the corner of your lips, and then your jaw. “I won’t let him touch you. Not unless you’re okay with it. I’m a man of my word, Mamma.”

You find that very hard to believe.

“Okay,” you whimper, not protesting as he pulls you in close, practically spooning you and your breath hitches when his pelvis grinds into your ass.

“Suguru, darling,” you whisper, hiding your face into your pillow. You know a tear has slipped from your cheek. A real one. You’re so tired, and not just from the day. “Rest.”

“Okay,” he replies, nuzzling his nose into your neck, keeping you caged around his body.

You feel like you might suffocate in his hold but you just remind yourself that it might very well be almost over. Miguel is there. Suda is there.

You’re going to be okay.

Needless to say, Gojo doesn’t take well to the change in the arrangement. You can’t remember the last time Gojo came for a visit so naturally he’s going to be furious at the idea of not getting his end of the deal. He ultimately won’t deny anything Geto tells him to, you have taken notice to that very early on.

Geto lets him down easy, but even then—

“—What the fuck do you mean I can’t do anything today?”

“She’s not feeling it,” Geto retorts, casting a judging glare at Gojo. “Simple as that.”

Gojo casts a curious glance at you, fuming like a petulant toddler.

“Can we still snuggle, Princess? I swear I’ll keep my hands in modest places,” he begs, stepping toward you.

You’re sprawled on the couch, and dragging out a defeated sigh, you gesture for him to come with a wave of both of your hands. Gojo beams and squeals in glee like a child who just hit the jackpot at an arcade and swoops into your arms, burying his face between your breasts.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your clothes with a pleased sigh, rubbing his face harder between your busty mounds. “Fuck, I’m in Heaven.”

So much for keeping his hands in modest places… they never truly follow through ok their word and you have come to accept that. It doesn’t mean it still doesn’t fucking piss you the fuck off.

You sneak a curious glance at Geto, who doesn’t seem pleased by Gojo in that moment. Oh so maybe he does actually want to show you a little grace for once? What a fucking refreshing change of pace!

Yet you doubt it’s going to last. Geto can only hang on for so long. His resolve crumbles so easily.

“Don’t touch, Satoru,” Suguru chides. This time his tone sounds a little different, like he’s playing a different tune. You sense a little note of jealousy. You aren’t sure if your ears are fooling you. Yes, Suguru believes he’s in love with you, but these feelings for you can’t possibly be real. “I expect you to follow orders.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves him off. His eyes roll up with a little sparkle to them. It’s here where you realize just how snow white his lashes are up close. It’s such a beautiful contrast, and such beauty is wasted on a man as pathetic as him.

Suguru joins the two of you on the couch, casting a sideways glance at Satoru burying his head between your boobs. You can catch that little flash of green from envy, like he fears Satoru may take advantage of you.

Why does he care so much all of a sudden? You feel your head winding like a spinning top—what the hell has changed all of a sudden? Nothing adds up. You’re adding two plus two and somehow coming out with five.

Then you remember what Geto brought up before. Realization dawns on you and your stomach sinks like the goddamn Titanic.

Is he serious about marrying you should things go to shit between he and Satoru because of that war?

When Miguel filled you in on the details you knew so little about, it still doesn’t make much sense to you, and nobody honestly expects you to understand anything. It’s a whole new world for you. Try as you truly might and even you have to accept the fact that indeed, this is not something you are meant to understand and maybe you just don’t have to. All the more reason why you have no reason to be here, in a world where nothing makes sense and you’re caught in a loop of being their favorite pet to torture.

“So what the hell are we doing then? If I can’t touch, Suguru?” he asks with a little indignant huff, snaking his arms around your waist and clinging tight. “Not sexually, I mean.”

As if this isn’t that, either?

“I’m still here, Satoru,” Suguru answers with a little smolder that makes you want to vomit. Satoru’s head snaps up and he grins wide.

“Of course I can’t say no to that!” Gojo says gleefully, his eyes practically lighting up at the prospect.

You wish you can breathe out in relief but you know that might raise questions. And you have no mood to be interrogated by the most infuriating duo. But Satoru settles onto Suguru’s lap instead, peppering slobbery kisses all over his face. Suguru cast a curious glance at you, hoping to see some kind of positive reaction that you won’t give him the satisfaction of giving because no one should be rewarded for basic decency. You turn away, hugging your knees to your chest.

As long as neither of them have to touch you today. Then you’re fine with whatever happens.

You just don’t want to be touched, for once.

“There was never us ruling out that she could be in charge of you today, Satoru,” you hear Suguru suggest and this time you twist your head over your shoulder, your mouth agape as you assess his expression for any catch to the idea.

“If it means I can feel her, then that’s a fantastic idea,” Satoru purrs with a wraggling of his eyebrows.

You definitely feel some bile threatening to spew out of your mouth. Fucking sickis. Fucking psychopaths. Fucking…dinguses! Morons! Nightmares! FUCKERS! YOU HATE FHEM WITH EVERYTHING IN YOUR HEART!

But you have to admit, Suguru’s idea does pique your interest a little.

“What am I allowed to do, Suguru?” you inquire with that same innocent tone, hoping your voice isn’t betraying you.

Suguru locks his arms around Satoru’s hips, humming in thought.

“Well, Satoru does have this little fantasy of getting pegged while he sucks me off…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Are you okay with that, Suguru?” you ask in a syrupy sweet tone as you inch toward him, brushing your lips against his ear in a tantalizing, delicious way. You see his breath hitch in his throat and you can’t help yourself, your lips twitching upward in a smirk. “I’m happy to do that, if it makes you happy, Suguru.”

“I’m only happy if you’re comfortable doing so. But Satoru doesn’t get to touch you. That’s the rule now,” he whispers seductively, stealing a kiss on your lips. His hands sneak up Satoru’s thighs and Satoru gasps, instinctively spreading himself against Suguru’s lap.

Suguru cups Satoru’s cock roughly through his slacks and Satoru inhales through his nose sharply, inching toward the touch.

“Satoru, relax,” he chuckles, slipping his lover’s cock out and cuffing his tip roughly with one of his hands as the other pumps his shaft. “I barely even started.”

You snake an arm around Geto’s neck, scooting closer. He flashes you a little smirk.

“Can’t—haaa—help it, missed you,” he whimpers while his hands fly up to Geto’s chest, pinching his nipples through his robe.

“Undress me, my love,” he instructs you and you nod, sliding off the robe and he adjusts himself to make the process a bit easier. Gojo whines again, latching his lips onto one of Geto’s pecs and lavishing it with his tongue while Geto continues to fondle his cock. It’s already strained and stiff and leaking and Gojo is squirming in his spot, rendered utterly helpless at the slightest touch.

“Suguru?” you beckon for further instruction, trailing your fingers down one of his arms. He lets out a dreamy little sound, pleased by your touch, by your cooperation more so.

“Just follow my lead, my love.” He’s been calling you that more than ‘little dove,’ which is an improvement but not ideal to say the very least about the shift. “He can’t touch you, but you can touch him. Do you understand?”

So, there’s the catch. Of fucking course it’s never that fucking easy.

You nod. His mischievous smile widens.

“Good. Go to the storage unit and pick your poison. Grab the lube and choose a large one to peg him with. He needs something my size or bigger to satisfy that slutty hole of his.”

He emphasizes that statement with a firm fisting of his shaft and Gojo squirms in his hold again, whining.

“Suguru…! Haaa…! Please! Want Princess to fuck me!”

“Patience,” he chides with a sharp swat on one of Satoru’s thighs, making him keen and arch his back into Geto’s body.

“Want her to fuck my brains out,” he babbles on as you gather the strap-on, lube, and eyeballing the sizes. You choose one of the far girthier ones. You furrow your brows as you adjust the strap on and return with the bottle of lube in hand. While you have gathered the items Suguru has yanked Satoru’s pants off and adjusted him so it was just him on the couch. He keeps his legs spread wide and you hand the bottle of lube to Geto.

“I can take care of the prep and I’ll talk you through it, my love. You haven’t done any of this before?”

You shake your head. Of course you haven’t. This is all foreign territory to you but the idea you can control what happens to a certain degree in this is kind of appetizing and you shouldn’t feel that way because you know it’s all part of some grander scheme up Geto’s sleeve. He wants you to want him. He wants you to return his feelings no matter what he tells you otherwise. He is trying to appeal to you.

Don’t fall for it, you remind yourself. Don’t fucking fall for it. It’s all a fucking game.

Suguru grabs Gojo’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks, and guides him to his cock. Gojo opens up without protest, groaning in delight and arousal the moment Geto’s cock fully settles in his mouth. Slobber dribbles messily down Gojo’s chin as he bobs his head back and forth on his lover’s huge, hard cock. Moaning and groaning like it’s an honor to please him.

All the while Geto’s dextrous, slicked up fingers work him open with his other hand still pumping Gojo’s shaft.

You’re awestruck at the sight in the worst way, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. Just like they go at it like rabid animals with you, they go at it like rabid, insatiable animals with each other. Geto maintains a stellar pokerface while making Gojo deepthroat him and you’re certain you’re appalled yet you can’t deny the arousal pooling in your groin. 

You’re sick of your own perfectly natural physiological reactions. Maybe you’re getting off to the fact that you can actually take something back. The lewd squelching noises and the slicht! Slicht! Slitch! from Geto fisting Gojo’s cock is overstimulating and Gojo shouts when he splatters his own seed all across his abdomen and torso. Geto just laughs with vigor as Gojo pants from the high, muffled through Geto’s cock constantly hitting the back of his throat mercilessly.

Geto’s piercing violet gaze fixes on you as he curls his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, and you cautiously approach him. He grasps the toy you chose that you attached to the strap on and lines it up to Gojo’s stretched entrance. He coos little sweet nothings to you as he assists you in sinking it inside, making Gojo thrash about but Geto commands him to hold fucking still.

“Just thrust your hips like that, my love. There you go, find a rhythm that works for you and makes him feel good,” he talks you through it like he promises, purring as he grabs a fistful of Gojo’s hair and controls the pace in which he fucks his mouth while you fuck into Gojo’s ass.

“Swallow me, Satoru,” Geto grunts a command and Gojo moans as he does as he’s told. He yanks Gojo’s mouth off of his dick and Gojo parts with kissing the tip of it before his voice breaks into more broken moans as you pick up a kind of moderate pace once you get the hang of it. Geto continues to coach you and guide you, admiring the view of the ridged girthy toy disappearing into Gojo’s hole.

“Fuuuuck, Princess, you’re such a fucking natural. Don’t stop!” Gojo babbles as a line of drool dribbles down his chin. Geto chuckles, remaining behind you and rubbing your shoulders as beads of sweat drops from your forehead and slides across one of your brows. Gojo’s praises and Geto’s words of encouragement do make you feel a type of way. You feel a sense of empowerment you haven’t felt in a long time. Watching Gojo grip the edge of the cushion he’s seated on trying to maintain some semblance of composure but he’s writhing and keening and all because of you and it’s riveting. Truly riveting and you can’t believe it.

“Ah—fuck—gonna—haaaaa—come, Princess! Fuck!” He shouts as Geto instructs you to watch his hole clench around the toy and his pathetic cock twitch as more seed splatters on his stomach again.

“You did so well, my love,” Geto gushes as he helps you pull out the toy and yanks it off of you. Gojo’s panting heavily, whimpering again.

“Don’t want to stop,” he begs, pouting, “Please please please let her fuck me again!”

Geto eyeballs you and you shake your head. While you kind of do, that took a lot out of you.

“Go easy on her, Satoru,” he purrs, “That was her first time doing something like that. And isn’t she a natural?”

His hand rests on the small of your back. You ignore the shot of cold crawling up and down your spine. You can’t show you still fear him yet you do. You do fear him and that’s exactly what he’s trying so hard not to make you feel around him.

But you mean what you said before—nothing’s ever going to change. Not for as long as your heart is still beating life into your body, are you ever going to feel anything other than fear and resentment for either he and Satoru. These men are a plague to you—parasites that have made a home out of tormenting you under the guise of affection.

“Want moooorrree, Suguru…” he drawls, sticking his tongue past his lips while clawing his hands at the air. “So good.”

“Looks like you broke him,” Geto murmurs in an amused tone into your ear, expecting a little giggle out of you at least but all you do is glance up at him with bewildered eyes. His expression falters. Of course you don’t fall for the schemes he pulls. “I got it from here. You rest now. You did so good.”

He presses a tender kiss to the bridge of your nose, and then your lips. When he pulls away, he has a soft look on his face. In another world it might have knocked the wind out of your lungs in the best way.

But this is not that world, you remind yourself. This world is still your personal Hell.

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter I : Apollo

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else. 

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored. 

Enter: The creation of myth.

Content Warnings: Dominant Din Djarin; Unprotected sex; Creampie;Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Overstimulation; Spanking; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to the new story! 

A few notes: We are starting prior to season one’s canon, and I am doing what I want and making it so that Din already knows about the Force and the Jedi. I make free use of canon and the timeline in whatever way I see fit to suit my own horny purposes, sorry. If things aren’t canon or don’t make sense pls don’t tell me. I am naught but a fragile flower who wilts under harsh criticism. 

Please note as well, that I do describe the FMC as having two different colored eyes although I do not specify what color they are. 

Also, I will be updating the tags as we go along so as to avoid spoiling too much too early on. 

Thank you and enjoy!

Word count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

PART I

CHAPTER I : APOLLO

Is it a god inside you, girl?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

The first time you meet, he’s sitting in the corner of the shithole cantina on the shithole backwater planet you currently find yourself on: Nevarro. Sometimes you were wont to flight – in search of a nowhere place in the middle of a nowhere part of the galaxy to lose yourself. And the barren landscape of the volcanic planet, a broken star of red, the only interruption in the black field of ash, no wind, no life, no sound; it provides the perfect environment for getting lost when necessary.

And then one day, unexpectedly: him. He is a shining, metallic, mountain of a man. 

Mandalorian. 

Whenever you’d felt too suffocated, strangulated, in need of a moment, a breather, a reprieve from the reality of what you were… what you are becoming – this place is enough of nothing to be just the perfect something. When you’re not busy flitting from planet to planet, sector to sector, looking for something to fill the gnawing void within you. Before landing here, you’d been on Sorgan for a time. It’d been… nice… peaceful, or whatever approximation of peace you could partially recognize after an existence such as that which you were currently trying to run from. A temperate climate, kind people, but after a while, you’d happened upon a community one day, and they’d been so… so together, so familiar. Happy, they’d be so openly, unabashedly, uncomplicatedly happy. It was simple, and it had made a terrible lance of poisonous jealousy roil through you. Jealousy and anger and bitterness and a loneliness so painful that you’d had to flee, as far and as fast as you could from the reflection of all your envy and shame. And so you’d come here instead, to Nevarro. A more barren, emptier sort of place – better suited to your ilk. 

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” you croon up at him, smoothly sliding into the booth he’s currently occupying in the furthest dark corner of the cantina, only the gleaming silver crescent of the curve of his helmet visible from the other side of the room. 

This is the first of many lies you will tell him. 

No response. Only the dark, yawning pit of his visor faced slightly away from you. 

The stark curve of his helmet gleams brightly. Beautiful. He looks strong, thickly built. His shoulders, so broad. The armor adorning his torso is beaten and worn, and yet, there’s something so… what’s the word? Lived, perhaps, about the facade of him. This is a creature who has lived – who has seen things, who has battled and survived and most assuredly killed. 

Maybe a little like you, but good. For this you know with certainty about Mandalorians – a flash of a pained scream, beskar crumbling beneath the force of you, for not even what could be considered the most endurable alloy in the galaxy could withstand something of your nature, blood, so much blood, and the sound of such defeat as you do the unforgivable– they are good and honorable and worthy – great warriors. But perhaps, on the surface, with a face of shared, painful history, of survival, maybe there are some things between the two of you which could be called similar. 

“I’ve always been curious, though… Always wanted to meet one.” You sidle closer to him. There’s something about him, the weapons, the breadth of his shoulders, the silence, which starts a chilled little shiver of fear that flashes and coalesces into something hotter and wetter deep in your belly, the closer you get to him. And the feeling of it – of apprehension, of standing in the presence of something other, something that could perhaps best, even you, it is exciting and arousing and different to everything else you’ve ever encountered.

Still no response. 

“You’re hard to come by now. Not many of you left, right?” A curdle of shame and regret hidden beneath your wry tone, “A girl’s got to get extra lucky to find something as interesting as you nowadays… something as pretty too.”

He does react to this, finally, and a little shock of victory fizzes in your belly at the fact that he’s at last deigned to give you even a semblance of his attention, for you are desperately in want of it, as he turns his helmet the fraction of an inch in your direction at the sound of you calling him pretty. So, it seems even a Mandalorian is victim to vanity. 

“Oh, so you can hear under there,” you quip, “I was beginning to worry…”

And then his voice, deep, and of potentially the lowest and smoothest baritone you’ve ever heard, comes through the modulator, “I can hear.” Clipped, and even maybe, a little cold. 

“And he speaks too!” He flexes open the fingers of the gloved hand that lays on the table. You’re annoying him. “How exciting.” You cross one knee over the other, elbow propped up on the edge of the table and chin cupped in your palm, looking up at him. He’s tall, even sitting. Your joint presses into the hard muscle of his thigh, and you feel him scoot just the tiniest bit away from you. You have the uncontrollable urge to snap your teeth at him. You must surely be at least half his size, especially with all that beskar covering him. Don’t act so scared, big, bad Mandalorian. I’m just a little girl. You don’t know what I actually am.

Helmet now turned entirely in your direction to keep an eye on you, he says, “What are you?” Or… whoops, maybe he does know. 

You ignore his question. “You know, I met a whore once – who claimed she’d fucked a Mandalorian. Is it true you just pull out the important bits and get on with it? Seems a bit cold, no? Even for a paid fuck?” He jolts a little at your vulgarity, and you flash him a wide grin, wriggle one delicate eyebrow provocatively. “No game?”

He turns his body to face you more fully now too, his thigh pressing into yours once again as he takes you on directly. Perhaps a warrior's instinct that can sense he is not in the presence of something to be trifled with. The helmet cocks slowly to the side. Silent, silent. Not one for many words this Mandalorian, although, it seems you’ve provoked him now. 

“What are you?” he says again, voice measured. 

“How do you mean?” You let your voice end on an upward lilt, and he shifts minutely, as if agitated at your uncooperativeness. 

“You’re not– I don’t–” The helmet tilts the other way as if inspecting you, and you cut him off before he can finish. 

“Oh, so many things.” You roll your hand on your wrist in a fluttering wave, tapping your fingers quickly against your thumb one by one, flexing a muscle you’ve not allowed yourself to use in a while and repressing it, all at once. You’re watching him so closely you see the small pivot of his neck to glance at your hand, and then back to your face. “Who can keep track anymore? So many strange creatures roaming the galaxy after the fall of everything. The Empire. We’re all just madly careening around as whatever the moment requires of us, aren’t we?” He’s quiet, still inspecting you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on the skin of your face. Like fire, like something that you remember from a nightmare, and that you think should be painful, but now only feels exciting. “So, what are you, Mandalorian? What does the present moment require of you?”

He goes silent again, and you watch the subtle downward tilt of his helmet as he inspects the length of you. You wish you could see if he was ogling the tight swell of your breasts beneath your dark clothes. You tilt your head side to side, smile big at him again, and you’re pretty sure you hear an agitated little huff of annoyance slip through the modulator.

And then: “I’m not interested.” He turns back to face away from you, both fists now firmly planted on the table’s surface, clenched into tight balls of clear annoyance. “Go away.”

Oh, he’s funny too. You throw your head back in a quick laugh, “Did I offer something?”

Silence.

“Dirty mind, Mandalorian.” You drag the vowels out to irk him just that extra bit more. “What? Just because I made one little mention of a whore means that, I too, must be peddling my wares?” And you knock your knee into his beskar clad thigh again. He scoots a smidge away from you, and you follow him, laughing again. Oh, you really should stop provoking him, but it’s just turning out to be too much fun. And you’d been watching him for weeks now, every time he came in here for a new bounty puck. You’d so wanted to talk to him, had snooped around to find out he’s in the Guild, and now you finally are. It was just too much for a girl who had too much time on her hands, and too many ugly thoughts she’d rather forget, roaming around in her mind, to look away from a moment of distraction such as this. 

“Stop,” and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

You snicker. “Stop what?” in a sing-songed lilt that you know must be grinding his gears. Poor, shiny Mandalorian. 

“Whatever it is you’re doing – speaking to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want something from me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Who’s the one peddling their wares now, Mandalorian, hmm?” He says nothing now, and you know you’re pushing him, you can see the vibration of his restrained agitation in the lines of his thick arms, but there is something needling and annoying and obnoxious inside of you that wants his attention, that wants to incite him. And so you make a mistake that perhaps, is not a mistake at all, but a call for something more, for a reaction from him because as you slowly start to lift a single finger up towards the curve of his helmet, you say, “Tell me, what do you have to offer?” At the same time, he pivots and snaps up to grasp the thin of your wrist in a bone crushing grip as you’re about to make contact with the smooth surface of the gleaming beskar helmet. And you know you were asking for it, that you should never have even insinuated that you were going to touch a Mandalorian’s helmet, and that this is only your own doing, but as his harsh strength makes contact with you, so unexpectedly, he’s so fast, that you’re caught almost entirely unaware, you react on pure instinct. A reflex so embedded into the deepest and most poisoned recesses of your mind, that despite the fact that you know this is the last sort of reaction you should exhibit, that above all else you needed to keep this part of yourself hidden and secreted away from the rest of the galaxy, you can’t help yourself when, at the moment that his crushing strength slams your hand back down onto the table, twisting painfully so that you’re crying out in shock and hurt, you weren’t going to do anything to him, you just wanted to touch a little, you can’t help it when you let go of the reins on your power, and you feel the Force snap out of you like a band of rubber, to crack out and wrap around his arm and rip his painful grip away from you. Another inviolable tendril shoves against his chest plate to push him back. His movements, too abrupt, too unexpectedly aggressive to give you a moment to temper your reaction, to give you a chance to remind yourself that this is not one of your painful, dark memories, that you’re free, you’re free, you’re free, and suppress your reaction to not reveal yourself.

The two of you pause for one long moment, him by force, and you in shock and fear and slight nausea as you pant breathlessly. It’s been a long time since you’ve lashed out like this, since you’ve used the Force in front of another person, and the sensation of being perceived, of being seen for what you truly are is disequilibrating and terrifying and sickeningly liberating all at the same time. 

One thick arm of his is held up and pinned against the back of the booth the two of you are ensconced in, hidden from prying eyes, at least. His legs start to shift restlessly, seeking purchase or trying to kick out, and you pin him there too, lest he try and hurt you again. 

“I do not like to be handled so,” you admonish him, clicking your tongue. You can feel the seething fury rolling off him. “I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I am not going to do anything to you.” He’s got a blaster strapped into a holster at his thigh, and you’re sure his vambrace is hiding several other nasty tricks up his sleeve. You eye them both. “If I let you go, are you going to try and hurt me again?”

“No,” he growls out.

“No,” you mock back, but release him anyway, letting an impenetrable wall settle between the two of you. He immediately goes for his blaster, and you block his reach which has him furiously growling and lurching towards you, only to be met by the invisible Force impeding his attack. He spits a frustrated volley of curses in a language you can’t understand, but that you’re fairly certain is Mando’a. 

“Ah, ah, no blaster,” you tut, and he settles, going suddenly, shockingly still, watching you watch him. “You really are quite poorly mannered and surly.” There’s a part of you that is still slightly unbalanced, heart beating painfully against the cage of your ribs, but you’re trying to hide it behind a wry smile and light tone. Echoes of pain and hurt and cruel and unyielding hands molding you into a thing that was just as cruel and unyielding. You cannot tolerate being handled like that anymore, and you feel contrite that you’d provoked him into doing so. Sometimes it is still difficult for you to remember how it is you’re supposed to behave around other people. 

And then something you weren’t expecting, for he says, “You’re a Force weilder. You’re a Jedi.”

You let out a barking laugh. “What do you know of the Force?”

“Are you?” He presses.

“Yes, but no, definitely not that, no.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Or… whatever the opposite of a Jedi is, I suppose.”

“The opposite?” He shakes his head, “I don’t–”

“Hmm…” you cut him off, turning to make sure the two of you still haven’t been noticed. “Not anymore. I don’t use it anymore.”

“Oh, no?”

“Well… you’ve gone and ruined that now, haven’t you?”

“You started–”

“All I was trying to do,” you interrupt, “Was make nice. I’d always wanted to meet a Mandalorian,” Lie, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little flirting? And I fear, now, you’ve painted them all in a very poor light,” Lie, “Look at how rude you’ve gone and been, when all I wanted was to be friends,” Another lie, “A shame…” you heave a big sigh, “You really are very beautiful.” Truth. That fist clenches again, and you cock your head to the side, getting one last good look at him. You feel suddenly sad, you don't want to go. You’ve enjoyed this brief moment you’ve gotten to talk to him. Even if you’d gone and pissed him off and ruined it all now. 

“It was nice meeting you, shiny. Even if you were an abominable beast about it.” You give him a nod of your head, and a quick two fingered salute before you’re sliding out of the enshroudment of the booth and slipping out the back of the cantina, into the dark alleyway, leaving him behind. 

The last glimpse you catch of him out of the corner of your eye before the door shuts behind you, is the sight of him scrambling out of the booth and starting towards the door to follow after you. 

A glutton for punishment, then, so it seems. 

You flit through the dark, dirty alleys, scampering from shadow to shadow. The city streets around you, gone quiet now as the sun over Nevarro sets quickly, and you can feel him hunting after you. He’s strong, and you can almost feel the heavy weight of his life force even at a distance, almost as if the goodness and honesty of his character is a presence of its own, sentient in a way. And he’s angry, and you can feel that too, charging after you, provoked, even if he does it on entirely silent and measured feet. You can sense that ravenous curiosity and frustration at being bested and evaded pressing up against you, chasing after you. As if there were some dark red thread connecting the two of you from spine to rib bone, leading him to you, pulling him along your trail. You tiptoe the lines of the shadows silently, making your way through the winding city streets, feeling him getting closer and closer, trying to confuse him, even as he gains on you anyway. 

And then he’s there. 

You feel a massive hand, strong and sure, clamp around the back of your neck, but his touch is measured this time – he’d heeded your warning. His other hand wraps around the bend of your elbow, twisting your arm back behind you, and then he’s kicking open the nearest door, what seems to be some sort of storage alcove, the space dark and humid and mildewed, and pushing you inside. He shoves you away from him once you pass together into the darkness, and you catch yourself on the edge of what feels like some sort of table or workbench.

You laugh breathlessly. Overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, of the feel of his hands on you, the surrounding darkness, the sound of his own panting breath through the modulator of his helmet. You hope he’s just as overwhelmed, disequilibrated, as you are now. 

“Oh, you again?” you laugh, turning to face him, bracing yourself back against the table. All you can see of him is the silver crescent of the curve of his helmet, the outline of his wide shoulders in the dim light of the moon seeping in through the cracks of space around the door. He is a steel giant.“Did you forget something? Need me to hand your ass to you again, Mandalorian?”

“You’re a fucking brat. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

You gasp mockingly, “Me? Never.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds vaguely like a taunt? Like you’re trying to provoke me.”

And, oh, he sounds just so unbearably serious and put out by you, that you pout, forced to match his serious tone with one of your own. You force the smile to leave your voice, “Maybe because I am,” and your voice goes quieter, softer, because again, truth. There is something about him that incites provocation, you want him rattled, come undone. “Maybe I want to see what happens when a man made of metal loses control.”

“I can’t – I don’t–” His voice, even through the modulator, is its own flavor of foreplay. “I don’t know…” he says again, whispers it, his tone seeping through the helmet, entirely uncertain, or at war with himself. 

He takes one menacing step forward, made even all the more intimidating by the vast difference in your heights, the sheer breadth of him, the darkness wrapping around him so that all he’s made into are slivers of gleaming silver flame here and there. You feel the whisper of one leather covered finger skim lightly over the outside of your right forearm, another soft touch to the left side of your waist, and you shiver all over. 

“Not a virgin? Your Creed lets you fuck?”

“No.”

“No, what? Use your words.”

Silence. Stubborn, silent, tin can.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Whores?”

A grunt. 

“Aha! Gotcha.” You start to toe your foot forward, bending your knee to make contact with him when you find his leg, tilting slightly away from the table so that you can slide your thigh between his legs. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

“No.” Fucking monosyllabic–

“Then what do you want from me? Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I want to fuck you.” Your cunt goes soaked and tight at his words, because yes, yes yes, this is what you were leading him to. Finally, he’s caught on, and then he’s planting a strong, broad hand to the center of your chest and pushing you back into the table, and pressing the hard, unyielding length of himself against you. He’s hard and swollen beneath his pants, you can feel the thick heft of him against your belly as he presses into you, and you bring your palms up to slide against the unprotected sides of his strong waist, sending him into a full body shudder as you touch him, helmet falling forward on his neck as he hunches over you, hands planted on the table behind. You can hear his labored, panting breath huffing through the modulator as you run your hands along the planes of him. He’s huge, pure muscle beneath unrelenting beskar, and if you weren’t the creature that you are, you’d feel slightly frightened at the unbelievable strength he’s made up of. He is a thrumming effigy of restrained power beneath your hands, different to that which makes you up, and you feel the strength of him once again, humming through the Force. His light burns so bright, almost blindingly. He’s strong. 

You slide one of your hands up his chest plate, tucking your fingers into the top-most edge to bring yourself up and closer to him as he curves over you, bending you back into an arch over the table’s edge. Your other hand reaches for his wrist braced against the table, wrapping around it, so thick your fingers don’t meet, to tuck your fingertips into the space where his sleeve meets his glove, and at the feel of your bare skin on his, just there, just there, he growls, deep and savage in his chest at the same time that you let out a breathy, warbled moan. His other hand shoots up to grasp at the small of your back and press you into him, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. He’s burning hot, sweltering, and he slides his palm lower, tilting your pelvis into his as you hitch one of your knees up the outside of his thigh to his hip, and then your cunt is rocking against the thick length of his cock, and another breathless, pained groan from the both of you as you make contact there, pushing and pulling against each other. You want to taste his skin, his tongue, you want to kiss him, to feel him licking into your mouth. You pull yourself in closer by the hand tucked into his chestplate to press your face into the warm space between his helmet’s edge and the folds of his cowl. He smells so good, like leather and sweat and metal. Something earthy and musky, something that proves to you that despite the beskar, there is only a man of flesh and blood and want beneath. 

His palm slides to grip the lush of your ass, rolling you onto his length harder, pressing deeper as if he could fuck you through your clothes. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you, little brat?” he pants, ending on a stuttered groan as you hook your calf around his waist and press your foot into the small of his back to grind particularly sharply onto him, pressing your clit into the edge of his utility belt, “Please, just– just–” you gasp, head falling back on your neck. And then he’s spinning you abruptly and pressing between your shoulder blades so that you're bent entirely over the table, cheek smushed against the hard surface. That wide palm slides down the slope of your spine, squeezes your asscheek harshly so that you’re moaning out in lust or pain, you can’t tell.

“Was that a yes? Who can’t use their words now?”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” you grouch, but then his fingers have somehow snuck their way up beneath your tunic and under the edge of your trousers, and he’s ripping everything down to leave you bare and unprotected from the sudden onslaught of that huge expanse of leather clad palm cracking down painfully on the soft skin of your ass so that you’re scrambling to find the opposite end of the table to pull yourself away from him. A pathetic little screech claws its way out of you, and he wraps the length of your hair around his fist to pull your head back and up, turning you into his own little bow string, head resting back on the hard pauldron over his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I caught you, you’re mine now.”

“Fuck off–” You try, but he clamps his fingers around your jaw, squeezing the fine bones of your face to cut you off, his other hand in your hair gives a sharp tug that makes the tips of your breasts go hot and tight and your cunt clench around nothing. You can feel yourself dripping down the insides of your naked thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, shoving the thick of his fingers inside to press down on your tongue. You try and moan around him, protest or something, but you can’t help but run your tongue around the digits, tasting the smokiness of blaster residue, the tang of whatever he must use to oil his gloves. “Finally, some silence. I like you better like this,” he taunts you with an imitation of your previous words. He bends his head forward, “Get them wet,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry through the modulator, and the moan you give him now is all desperation as you let saliva pool heavy on your tongue to coat the leather. 

When he pulls them from your mouth, tugging your head back further so that you can look up into the dark tee of his visor as he slides his spit slick gloves between your thighs to press against your throbbing clit, your whimpered little mewl has a chastising tut filtering through the helmet, “Slippery, little thing.” He starts to press slow circles to the aching bundle of nerves, sliding down on every other swirl to press gentle, teasing pressure to your clenching opening. “Did my chasing do all this? Do you like being hunted, brat?”

“Not–” you moan as he presses down hard on your clit, then back to the mouth of your cunt, giving you just the tip of his finger, “Not a brat,” you struggle to get out.

“No?” He starts to press two fingers inside at once, both of you groaning in tandem. “Maker – fucking tight–” He scissors his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist to fuck you open, making room for himself inside of you. “Don’t know if I’ll even fit in here.”

“No,” you groan, low and drawn out, and then, yes, whispered breathlessly, one of your arms reaching back to hold onto the wrist of his hand still twisted in your hair, trying to find purchase on anything to anchor yourself with. Because the stretch of just his two fingers inside of you – you can hear the slick squelch of your wetness as he starts to fuck them in and out of you slowly – is so unexpectedly obscene. You had not expected to find yourself in this position with any man, especially not one like this – had not thought you were yet ready to be touched by another person. Not so soon after– “Please – m– more. I want–”

“You think you’re ready for my cock, little one? Have I stretched this tiny cunt out enough?”

“Yes– yes. Just do it.”

“Fuck–” You listen to the wet little pop as he pulls his fingers from you, and the clink and shuffle of his belt and armor as he pulls himself out of his clothes, and then he’s shifting behind you as you brace against the edge of the table. The burning hot blunt tip of his cock skimming against the round of your ass, and you feel him spread his feet wide, bend his knees, and then his cock is there at the slick mouth of your cunt, and he’s thrusting up and into you on the downward roll of your hips, and Maker, he’s deep like this. Suddenly, twin strangled groans of pain or relief ripping from your throats in tandem as he grinds deep, deeper, for a moment. You feel the heavy kick and throb of his cock inside of you, and he is too big, too thick – he forces you to take it anyway. Stretching you in a way you’ve never been before, your eyes smart, forcing your body to make room for his inside of you, it leaves your breath to stutter out in a weak little puff of shock. 

And you moan, using the palms of your hands against the edge of the table to grind yourself back onto him while his hands clamp tightly around your hips, his fingers so long they almost meet at the center of your belly beneath your navel. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s so good.

You can’t tell which one of you is speaking. You can't even tell if you’re still breathing. And then he starts to move. 

You knew he’d fuck hard, from the first moment you’d seen him, you knew.

He pulls his hips back, the slick wet, the grasping walls of your cunt trying to suck him back in, and then the scorching slide of him pressing back in, in, in, grinding again, those long fingers pressing down on your belly so that you feel him from the outside too. 

“Harder,” you beg, because of course you want more. You are a creature made of greed and hunger. You always have been. 

“Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given,” but his hips slam back in, a savage growl punctuating the movement. 

He gives it to you almost brutally, without pause or thought, fucking punched out breaths and whines from you. 

“Shut up,” he spits on the end of one particularly deep, harsh thrust that’s followed by a high pitched mewl from you. “You want every piece of shit on Nevarro to find you split open on my cock like this?” Your head lolls back limply on his shoulder, the wet slap of his heavy balls against your clit overwhelming the sound of your thoughts. You can’t speak, your brain is currently being jostled within the confines of your skull by the force of his cock splitting you open. “No? Then be a good girl, and be quiet,” his voice, rough, even through the modulator is almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of him pounding into you. 

He brings one of his hands back up to your jaw, turning your head slightly so that your nose is almost smushed up against the chrome of his visor. He wants to look at you. The hard beskar of his chest plate rubs harshly against your back on every push upwards of his hips, and you’re sure that’ll hurt later, but right now you just can’t seem to care. You can feel the humid, warm air of your panting breath, foggy against the gleam of his helmet, and you bring one of your hands up to the wrist holding your face, holding on for dear life, sanity, you’re not sure what. Your other hand twists back into the hanging fabric of his cloak so that you can pull yourself more tightly back into him as he slows his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. “Yeah– like that. Settle… good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut. Too much, too much. It should hurt. You wanted it to hurt. Not gentle, you don’t want it gentle.

“Harder,” you whine, plead.

“No. How I say.” He rolls his cock into you over and over, your slick sliding down your thighs, the backs abraded by the plates of beskar over his own legs. He’s so deep, so big it hurts so good. Even if you want it harder, it still hurts so good. The hand at your face slides down to rip open the fastening of your high necked tunic, reaching inside and under your breast band to pull out the heavy aching weight of your tit and pinch your nipple, rolling it between his strong leather clad fingers – more high, desperate mewls that have him groaning deep in his chest. You’re sure if your face wasn't so close to his you’d never be able to hear them through the helmet, low and rumbly and so delicious. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs low, cupping your breast to plump it up, massaging it in his palm.

“What? You can see?” 

“Yeah– fuck yes, I can see.”

“Not fair,” you whine. It’s so dark in the little room he’d pushed you into, you’re not even going to get to take a good look at his cock before this is all over. 

“You don’t need to see. You just need to be good and take it.”

“Do you ever kiss?” you ask him suddenly. Irritated by the fact that you’ve not gotten to ogle him – or kiss him. If he even does that.

Another deep roll of his hips, a tight squeeze to the swinging globe of your breast, “No.”

“That’s a shame.”

And he responds immediately, voice subdued and even, underneath the helmet, despite the fact that you feel like he’s cleaving you in two. “Maybe next time,” he says. His palm slides down to your belly then, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to fold you over the table, hands moving to wrap around your hips and lift you up and back onto his impaling cock so that the tips of your toes are left skimming the ground beneath, your fingers scramble and claw for purchase against the wood of the table. You can feel the wide tip of his cock punching against your womb on every thrust in and stars flash behind your eyes, mouth hanging open pathetically. 

There is nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. Like he wants to split you in two, like he wants to make sure the shape of him is branded into the center of your body so that you’d never forget this. The sticky sweet coil of your orgasm starts up low in your belly, and you feel molded in his image for one second, pushed out of yourself to stand on the sidelines and look upon the sight of your much smaller form draped over the table and being fucked into so savagely by this silver blade of a man.

And then: they’re fucking bare, they’re fucking raw, and it has been so, so long since he has felt the touch of another person, someone else’s skin on his that was not bestowed upon him in violence or with the barrier of a sheath between. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, that of your hot, soaking wet cunt pulsing around him, you’re about to come for him, he can feel it. The fluttering of your inner muscles, delicate thing that you are, your thighs shaking as you struggle to push yourself back on to him to get it harder, deeper. He is, almost, made faint with the feeling. And those eyes… you’ve got the strangest multicolored eyes. One enshrouded entirely in darkness compared to its bright counterpart – as if one had forgotten to take that last step into the light. You’re fucking beautiful and–

You snap back into yourself. No, no, no, stay out of his head. Stay out of his head. Focus. You push yourself up again so that your back is against his chest, and he bands one tremendously strong arm around you, gripping your breast tightly. You feel him bend his knees framing your thighs to change and deepen the angle, and then he’s pounding right into that tender, devastating place inside of you, and your cunt twists and floods with your orgasm, electric shocks of pleasure numbing your fingers and toes. You can do nothing more than let him do with you what he will. Your toes aren’t even touching the floor. 

He presses as deep as he can, grinds for a moment, and then he folds you over the table once again and presses down harshly on the small of your back with one heavy palm as he pulls his cock from you and finishes himself off. You listen to the wet thwack, thwack, thwack of him pulling on his cock, and then the searing hot spurt of his come is hitting your ass and the exposed seam of your fluttering cunt, a savage growl ripping through the modulator as he squeezes all of the air out of you with that unyielding hand. You’re like a pressed flower between the pages of a book – wilted and frayed, but still held in the image of that which you once were. At the last spurt from his cock he brings his hand to your ass, spreads you apart to rub his spend into the tight furl of your ass, and then further down into your throbbing, overly sensitive clit. All you can do is cry and whimper weakly, still trembling from your own orgasm. “T– too much, nooo,” you whine pathetically.

“Easy – easy, settle.”

You feel him fall to a crouch behind you, pulling you apart with both hands by the meat of your ass to look upon the sight of your blushed, fluttering hole. Messy, little cunt, you hear him whisper. He rubs his come into your trembling thighs, over your swollen clit again, inspecting every vulnerable inch and crevice of your sex, and then he’s pushing two of those thick fingers back inside of you, the passage made slick and fucked open by your mingled come. “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. You try and wiggle away, tears of oversensitivity brimming beneath your lashes, I can’t, I can’t, you think you whisper, but he’s inescapable. He clamps one hand painfully over your asscheek, keeping you spread apart for his inspection, the other one buried deep inside of you so that his fingers are hooked against your g-spot where he presses over and over, quick and relentless, his fingers almost vibrating inside of you until your vision is going white hot and a buzzing sound rings in your ears, and you’re crying for what you think might sound like mercy or something equally despeerate. “Yes, fuck, yes. Just like that.” Your answering sob does not prompt him to abate, for he keeps his fingers pressed against that spot inside of you until you’re leaking an embarrassing amount of wetness down your thighs, until the rippling throbs of your orgasm have finally settled. You feel his head fall forward, the beskar of his helmet pressing against the space where your asscheek meets your thigh, and he holds there for a second against your burning hot skin, the scorching soothed by the cool metal.

You can’t stop shaking, you feel, suddenly, like you might cry. You were not prepared for something of this intensity, to be touched like this, and now that it’s happened you’re left reeling. You don’t even know his name. And now you’re sure he’ll go away to wherever it is that Mandalorian bounty hunters run off to, and you’ll never see him again, and you’ll have to live with the memory of this forever. And something like this… amidst all the other horror that lives within you, you’re sure that the intimacy, the fervor of this, will make it hurt all the more, even compared to all the rest. 

He uncoils behind you, rising up to his towering height. You listen to the rustling of his clothes, and then he’s smoothing a large palm over the slope of your trembling back and reaching down to pull up your trousers, tucking your breast back beneath your tunic, righting your clothes for you without commentary. When you think you’ve finally caught your breath, or can at least pretend you’ve done so, enough to push yourself up from your position over the table. Your eyes feel pinched and hot, your heart beating so hard, almost painfully, within the confines of your ribcage that it feels as though your bones are rattling beneath your skin, knocking together in the imitation of a death rattle so that he’ll surely know that you feel two paces away from falling apart entirely. 

“You’re… Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” Voice stilted.

“No more than I wanted you to.”

He’s silent for a moment, uncomfortable. You can feel the sensation of him pulling away, getting ready to make a run for it. “That’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Do you– do you spend much time on planet?” He’s awkward, uncomfortable now with this unnecessary notion of seemingly required small talk.

“No.” Lie. You like Nevarro, you spend more time here than anywhere else. 

“What’s your name?” It shocks you that he asks, for you know he’d not give you his if you asked it of him in return, but for one infinitely painful, insanely uncharacteristic moment, you want to tell him. You want to give him your real name desperately, tell him who you are. But if you were to do that, then you might tell him what you are. And then he’d hate you, and the memory would be ruined, and you have so few good ones, that this one must be protected at all costs. 

So instead you say that which you have no real desire to say, do what you have no real desire to do, and make sure that he thinks you’re not interested, that you have no desire to ever see him again. Maybe next time. Your heart gives a surprisingly painful pinch, your eyes growing hotter by the second. “This was just a fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Your voice is so cold, so uncaring. You hate the way you can make yourself sound sometimes. You sense him snap with tense shock, and he nods once, succinctly. “Very well. Thank you… for this. I suppose.”

You lean back against the table, trying your hardest to appear as unaffected as you can. You turn your face to the side, roll your cheek over the hill of your shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

He turns to go, his cape snapping with the sharp abruptness of his movements, and he pulls open the door of the little storage room letting a flood of moonlight sweep in to shed light on the construction of this memory you’re assembling brick by brick to preserve in your mind for as long as you possibly can. Your eyes sweep over the length of him ravenously, trying to catalog every single detail of him, the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the silver gleam of his beskar helmet, the sweep of his cape, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, lethal. He turns back to look at you for one moment, the yawning darkness of his chrome visor, “Don’t get killed, Mandalorian. There are so few of you left now.” And truth, truth, truth, for it would be a shame beyond imagining for a creature such as this, something so strong and beautiful and other, to perish when so few like him remain. He pauses to take you in, as well. You wish you had the courage to ask him what he sees when he looks at a thing like you. The tears are right there, and you hate them and feel weak and disgusted, but also relieved, and you could fall to your knees, in this moment, to thank the Maker that you still possess the ability, the heart, to cry, to succumb to something as trife as tears. You hope he cannot see them. The helmet cocks to the side for one second, perhaps he too is cataloging you to his memory. He nods once, and then he’s turning and gone away into the night. The door snicks shut behind him, and you’re alone once again. 

You pause for a moment, hoping that relief will come. He’s gone, you got what you wanted from him. You should be glad. But there is only the screaming thought of wait, there was still more, there was still more that I wanted from you. 

You let yourself sink slowly to the ground, hand braced against the edge of the table he just fucked you over, lest your shaking legs give out and have you planting face first into the dirt. You fold your legs beneath you, tuck your wild hair gently behind your ears, your movements measured, trying to breathe deep and slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t cry, there’s no reason to cry. But shouldn’t we be glad we can still cry? Isn’t it a sign that not all is lost? That there is still a part of us that feels enough to shed tears? This should be a good thing. And so you let the tears fall. You fold yourself over as small as you can, one hand pressed over your hot, leaking eyes, another over your mouth to keep your sounds contained, and you sob as quietly as you possibly can. It was so good and you’re crying and you’re alive and you’re free. You are free, and you should be glad of this. Cry, cry, but cry for your own victory, for your own freedom, for the chance to cry. This is what victory feels like. This is what it is to be alive. 

And so, here is your truth: It is a difficult thing, to shed the facets of the dark side after you’ve lived with it for so long. To be a Sith is to forsake all connection, all peace. There is only passion to strength to power to victory to the Force, but it is always alone. Always against someone or something else. So, yes, it is difficult to shed the facets of the dark side that have made you the thing you’ve been for more than half your life, since the time you were stolen from your cradle, your parents slaughtered, and spirited away into the shadow of a cruel and unforgiving master. What is it to know exactly how your life will play out, to see everything, to be so aware of what you will be – and to still be lost? Part agony, part madness. The pieces of you that are secretive, that like to hide, to run, these are especially difficult to let go of, and you are so, so interminably sad, you live in it. It’s all you feel you are now, after the dark, after the fall of the Empire and the Sith, after escape, after freedom, after you’d so forcibly ripped its claws, that were so deeply sunk within you, out by sheer force of will, by sheer force of desperation, you worry that it’s taken a piece of you with it, your soul. That it had eaten a piece of you. That you don’t have one anymore. 

You don’t even know his name. And even if you’re certain he would not have given it to you, for one moment, you feel an incredible lance of regret that you did not give him yours. 

But then: a person without a soul could not cry. 

And so this must only be proof of the fact that you must still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must. 

And you think: I am not unfamiliar with this half life – there is a wound inside of me – dark and putrid and festering. But perhaps my tears will heal me. Seal the wound closed. 

You feel lonely – worse, you feel strange. Once, you were terrible – now you are only yourself. So you cry for the passion of the moment, for the way he made you feel, for the loss of a name, for the truth of freedom.

Chapter II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[moodymisty]

I’m not exactly a writer by any means, and this isn’t a request, I just need someone to hear me out on this before I go insane. Space Marine 2 related but I don’t think it’s got spoilers, and I’ll keep it very vague. This idea has been rotting in my head for the entire time I’ve played the game and I feel like imma explode

Setting: Space Marine 2 timeline

Imagine you’re Titus’ personal serf, or at the very least you’re tasked with cleaning and caring for that sector of Astartes rooms (with other serfs of course - at first). Titus used to be a captain so I don’t think he’d be unaccustomed to it, but you happen to be one of the first people to show him genuine kindness, even if at first it’s a bit out of fear of him. I’ll be real tho he’s got this Aura™️ about him that makes me think once he’s interacted with you the first time, you realize he’s actually not an…overly-zealous Space Marine on the verge of throwing you out the door, or spewing insults your way on how your lack of efficiency offends him AND the Emperor.

You’re probably still prepping his room or doing final rounds, and he returns from the first mission and finds you there. After deeply apologizing for the lack of urgency on your tasks, deep bow and voice near shaking, he dismisses it with a wave and says none necessary, with no demeaning sneers or stabbing glares you’re used to receiving, no threats of reprimand or orders to leave his sight.

In a bit of a shock, you dare to glance up to him ever so slightly, to see who this surprisingly calm & somewhat tired-sounding Astartes is, and boom eye contact. You have a “oh no he’s HOT” moment, but also can’t help but notice how…tired his eyes look. Maybe tired isn’t the right word. But anyways you bow one more time and hurriedly make your way out to your other duties. You can’t help but think about him tho. Uh fast forward, you probably bump into him a couple more times, and each time a few more words are exchanged between you two. You obviously have no idea who he actually is - no idea what he’s been through or what he’s been accused of. He’s just a new marine on the ship you serve. But you can’t help but feel he’s got the weight of some great world on his shoulders. The look in his eyes. The tone at which he says some things. Guarded, almost. However, he doesn’t seem to be as on edge when speaking with you, or annoyed with the small talks. So, you feel encouraged to keep these talks happening.

In Titus’ view, you’re just a mere serf, and I think that gives him some reprieve — talking to someone who doesn’t know. No suspicion. No prying questions (or digging more). Just casual small exchanges between two humans, even if one is a genetically engineered demi-god. And it’s…nice. Like he breath a little, even just for a second, without worrying about what is stressing him out.

Eventually when he comes back from another mission, perhaps a more..taxing mission, you decide to have balls of adamantium and bring him some kind of drink that you and your fellow serfs enjoy now & then as a way to help ease themselves to sleep (I imagine it’s just some kind of hot tea…I love hot tea. In some Giant Astartes size cup). Obviously you KNOW Astartes don’t need this. They literally have to eat space mush bags of protein just to keep up with the demand of their bodies. (And I’m not 100% on the lore but I think they can still consume regular food??)

you just want to show a little bit of kindness to someone in what is a very, very harsh world, and Astartes are, beneath all that augmented muscle and training, humans. Titus seems more so than the others. He showed you that rare kindness from the first interaction. So, maybe you can return a little more kindness to him, since you doubt it’s hardly something he encounters anywhere else.

Anyway I’ll try to wrap up this idea oops I don’t mean to go on a tangent anyway this small gesture turns into you both becoming closer. There’s nights you just stay with him, no talking. You know it won’t help. And you know he can’t/wont say what this great burden on his shoulders is. You just want him to know you’re there for him. Maybe you stroke his hair gently to soothe him to his scheduled very small amount of rest. Maybe he does just want some casual company, someone whose conversations are as easy and light as breathing air. eventually becoming something he looks forward to when on missions, someone to think of when especially beaten down by enemies, his one place of solace he’s had in many. many. years. and yeah uh eventually yall smooch smooch and progresses to full on you gettin dicked down and now you’re both in this relationship you can’t put a label on exactly but you can’t imagine being with anyone but him and vice versa. I can imagine Titus also being a bit thrown off from these feelings (Astartes brainwashing crashed.exe), but he doesn’t…dislike it. And the further the relationship progresses the more he allows himself to feel them. Leading to the dicking down of a lifetime. They’re both letting themselves be a little selfish. Something/someone that’s theirs and theirs alone. Just this once.

or something like that. that’s just a bare bones outline and can be altered as anyone sees fit. but this is my little version.

sorry for the novel.

- 😈🐈‍⬛

God I would do fucking unspeakable things for Titus, let me clean his quarters all day, and then when he gets back I can spend time on my back worship the Emperor with him ❤️

I love the idea of Titus falling for someone that doesn’t know about his past or even better simply doesn’t care. He just wants to move on.

[joels-shitty-puns]

Kings & Queens

Pairing: Post-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I saw a list of reverse writing tropes, one of which was "too many beds" which I thought was hilarious until my brain went crazy. So here's where my mind went when there are oddly... too many beds.

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: None! This could even be read as platonic.

Other stuff: No descriptors. It can be romantic or friendly. Choose your adventure.

To those of you who are reading this: Thank you! I know I haven't written in months. I have barely even been on here. I want that again, but mentally I just haven't been feeling like much of anything lately. That being said, I saw the trope and I had an idea and quickly scribbled this down. It is short, not my best work, and doesn't have much emotion, but I did it :) To those of you who might also be struggling, I see you! You'll get through this. I hope all my tumblr buddies are doing well. I miss you guys.

_________________________________

It had been nearly a year of patrols with Joel. A year of nasty buildings and hard rocky floors to take shelter for the night, a year of either taking turns on watch, or being stuck sharing the same sleeping bag. Or the same mattress. Your only reprieve was your nice bed in Jackson, which you knew was safe, and warm, and most importantly… yours.

Joel was… alright. You two were friendly at best. But for the most part, it was all business. He didn't like to talk much, and you became tired of receiving looks or grunts when asking about Ellie, or Tommy, or his former life. But you worked well together, you made a good team, and you trusted each other to stay safe. You had run into trouble before, and you always had each other's backs. Words were often left unsaid, but you both knew what you meant to the other.

So when you stumbled upon an abandoned shopping mall while scoping potential areas of left-behind goods, it was a breath of fresh air. Malls could be dangerous with so much ground to cover, and so many potential hiding places and dark corners for the cordyceps to fester.

But the mall could also be a light at the end of the tunnel. A plethora of abandoned items to loot and sell or keep for yourself.

After hours of digging through every nook and cranny, you managed to fill a couple of bags full of items, and planned to make it a regular stop on your raids. But as the time grew later, the long-broken clock didn't tick on, and the windows grew dim, you knew it would be an overnight stay. However, choosing a sleeping spot was becoming exhausting with Joel around.

“I saw a sporting goods store. They probably have some sleeping bags, or maybe even a tent,” you provided.

“Nah, we're indoors. I wanna sleep like I'm indoors,” gruffed Joel.

“Oookay. How about that old food place? I think I saw a conveyer belt in the kitchen, next to the oven! It looks like it was used to make pizza,” you chirped excitedly. “I bet we could set up some blankets and make it like a bed.”

“Look, I know that machinery and oven have been dead for years, but on the off chance there's some malfunction, that just seems like a Final Destination event waitin’ to happen,” Joel shook his head.

“Wow you're difficult..” you huffed. “What if we go into the old children's photography studio and make a fort! The walls are even painted to look like a sky,” you offered with doe-eyes.

Joel just looked at you before grumbling back a “no. My back would kill me. There's gotta be a bed in here somewhere.”

Upon finding an old, faded mall map, Joel studied it before picking up the pace with a clear destination in mind.

He came to a stop in front of “Royal Mattressty.”

You raised a brow before saying “royal… mattress-tea?? What?”

“It's a play on words. Royal majesty.” 

“That's the stupidest thing I ever heard,” you rolled your eyes.

“No, no, it's because mattresses come in Kings, Queens, and-” he broke off at your grimace.

“You're such a dad!” 

____

The two of you made your way inside, only to find nearly 100 beds. Memory foam, spring, water, reclining… the possibilities were endless.

“WOW!” You squealed, running from bed to bed. “There's too many beds. I can't choose!”

Joel stretched, moving to a bed near the back corner. “I'm gonna set up here for the night. Sleep where y’want,” he gestured.

Sitting on a few different beds, you finally settled on one. A perfect, firm yet soft bed at the far end of the store. It was against a wall, allowing you to still see the door and keep your back safe. Perfect.

____

But as the night ticked on, you tossed and turned. You weren't at your home in Jackson. This bed was nice… but it wasn't your safe, cozy cabin.

When you aren't home, you're with Joel. All this time you've been wanting space at night, but now you feel scared and alone. Even a bit cold. But Joel was over on his own bed, probably sound asleep. You wouldn't dare take that away from him.

___

Until what felt like an hour passed.

___

And then another hour…

___

Finally, it had been about an hour and a half when you gave in. You wouldn't be getting any sleep at this rate. Fatigue is a dangerous fate when you need to be alert in this world. So you swallowed your pride and walked over to Joel's bed in the far end of the store.

But he wasn't there…

You wandered back, a bit nervous, until you spotted him. Curled up on a mattress only a row away from yours, you saw him blink in the night.

“You moved beds?” you whispered.

“Yeah, there was a draft over there…”

“A draft? In a mall with no electricity and no windows in this store?” You asked skeptically.

“Mmhm…” he grunted, sleepily.

“Sure. Well… turns out there was a draft over in my corner too. Move over,” you nudged.

“Draft, huh?” He wiggled over, letting you in the bed.

“Mmhm…” you mimicked his earlier grunt, settling in next to him.

“Good night Joel,” you whispered.

“G’night,” he replied, pressing his body closer to yours in the king sized bed.

Maybe there is such a thing as too many beds after all.

__________

Thanks for reading!!! Let me know what you think, and be sure to check out my masterlist for more. Reblogs are appreciated! Xoxo

[tinystepsforward]

i've still been keeping tabs on what's happening at automattic. a couple of things i've observed:

toni schneider (who is a man btw), the interim ceo, has been quite open with staff in ways that mean they generally seem relieved to have him leading the company for now. i've heard people speak optimistically about him from all parts of the spectrum (by which i mean: staff who are trans tumblr users right through to staff who are "anti-woke" or whatever and were absolutely intolerable to work with as a trans person), which seems like... a good sign? maybe.

this relative transparency includes things like weekly updates from an executive level, as well as openly saying that he did have to directly speak to matt and encourage him to, you know, stop posting.

matt is back to his usual milquetoast blogging, and replied to someone on mastodon about the AI issue saying he'd comment on it when he's back in may, so whatever toni said to him seems to have worked for him keeping out of it for now.

people have no idea what it's gonna look like when matt's back.

the best case scenario is that schneider manages to create a significant enough boost in morale and productivity that "it'd be nice if we just kept him" becomes a sentiment that isn't held just by the rank and file. i don't know how likely that is, but there's a sense of cautious hope and of making the most of this reprieve from matt's increasingly erratic decisions no matter what.

the tumblr staff statement was approved by schneider and hr, so i am also hopeful they won't face repercussions. what they said might seem pretty mild from the outside, or carefully worded, but it's pretty clear to me and to most people who've worked at companies like this that it's a pretty bold one.

i'll quote a friend:

keep reminding the more histrionic elements out there that: 1. there really are trans people, INCLUDING TRANS WOMEN, in the fight here. 2. we don't have nearly the power they seem to think we do. 3. we're fighting anyway. was the statement we wrote enough? fuck no. does it fix everything? fuck no. but we literally called out the CEO, and got the greenlight for it from the interim CEO. i don't know where this will end, but that's not nothing.

i'm not sure automattic deserves the immense honor of having this many of its brave, dedicated trans staff put effort into trying to make it better. but it has them, and it would be wise to do its best to keep them. so many of us — even me, even now — believe in the ideals that drew us to the work automattic does, and hope that it can return to them. we will see!

other things i want to say:

the wellbeing of my friends on staff is my priority. i am interested primarily in their safety, and won't pressure them to give me goss. the ways i've spoken publicly are already pretty scary to people who might worry about retaliation against them just for being known to be my friend.

this is a regular personal blog. i'll keep updating if there's shit to update about, but i also don't work at automattic any more (thank fuck, again), have a life, and am not interested in declaring matt my specific nemesis or otherwise acting purely out of spite.

some of youse really deeply do not understand companies, the internet, generative ai, or pretty much anything else i've said. that's okay — big tech in particular is fucked up on purpose bc it benefits those in power to have it be incomprehensible! but maybe it's not a great position from which to get mad at me specifically or at staff for idk not personally assassinating matt.

got tired of blocking transphobes so i've turned anons off. i'll probably flick them back on eventually.