#this goes a little further out than the current events

[p0orbaby]

Do Not Disturb (Unless You're Drunk and Nosy)

summary: privacy? you wish

warnings: suggestive, alcohol, literally everyone being a little shit, angry ale (hot)

a/n: may or may not be inspired by real events…

word count: 1.6k

-

You always thought getting walked in on would be, you know, mortifying. Like, your face turns tomato red, you start stammering, and then you spend the rest of your life avoiding the person who caught you with your pants down—literally. But it turns out that, in reality, it’s way worse than that.

Here’s the thing: Alexia Putellas is perfect. You know this, because you’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time cataloging her perfections. Her perfectly toned legs that could crush a coconut. Her perfectly sharp jawline that could carve Mount Rushmore. Her perfectly soft lips that could silence an entire stadium with a single kiss. And when you’re drunk at a friends house party, it’s easy to forget that this perfection isn’t something you should casually indulge in right now, in a random upstairs bedroom, while everyone else is downstairs playing beer pong and comparing their World Cup tattoos.

But when Alexia grabs your hand and drags you away from the chaos, her eyes all dark and dangerous, any rational thought you have dribbles out of your ears like last week’s gossip. So here you are, in this bed—well, on this bed, because you didn’t even make it all the way under the covers—desperately trying to remember how to breathe while Alexia’s tongue is doing things that would make a priest reconsider his career choices.

You’re about to reach the kind of nirvana people write songs about when the door slams open. Not opens—slams. As if someone was just waiting for the right moment to ruin your life.

“Oh my God,” someone says in a tone that suggests they’ve just witnessed a murder, except, of course, that would be preferable.

Alexia’s head snaps up so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash, and you have about two seconds to see the wild panic in her eyes before her entire body goes rigid like a cat that’s just been sprayed with water. She’s still on top of you, which would be hot if you weren’t currently wondering whether you’re legally obligated to register as a sex offender for being caught like this.

And who’s standing there in the doorway? None other than Jenni, who you’re pretty sure was voted “Most Likely to Show Up Uninvited” in high school. She’s holding a half-empty bottle of tequila in one hand and a phone in the other, like she’s been documenting the worst possible moments of the night, and this one’s going to top the list.

“Holy shit,” Jenni says, blinking as if she’s trying to reboot her brain. It doesn’t work, because the next thing out of her mouth is, “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

That’s it. You’re going to die. This is how you die. Not from the embarrassment but because Alexia is going to murder you both. You can see it in her eyes. She’s doing some very fast maths in her head, and it ends with Jenni’s body floating down a river somewhere.

“Close the door,” Alexia snaps, and it’s the first thing she’s said in what feels like hours. Her voice is sharp enough to cut glass. Jenni just stares at her for a moment, then at you—still half-naked, because of course you are—and then at Alexia again, like she’s debating whether the smart move is to leave or to stay and further ruin your life.

But of course, Jenni’s never been one for smart moves.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she says, waving her tequila bottle around like it’s a magic wand that’s going to make this situation less awkward. “This is gold. I’ve got to tell the others.” She turns around and yells down the stairs, “Hey, guys! Get up here, quick!”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to crawl under the bed and maybe live there forever with the dust bunnies and whatever sock the last person to use this room lost. But you don’t get the chance to do any of that, because Alexia has now flipped the fuck out, and she’s off the bed and across the room in a flash, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“Are you insane?” Alexia hisses at Jenni, who looks like she’s genuinely surprised that Alexia isn’t finding this whole situation hilarious. “Do you have a death wish?”

Jenni, who’s clearly never learned to read the room, just grins, leaning against the doorframe like she’s auditioning for the role of “World’s Biggest Pain in the Ass.” “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You’re the one who decided to get frisky in someone else’s house”

You’re still lying there, half-dressed, your shirt tangled up with some lacy thing that definitely belongs to Alexia, watching the two of them bicker like you’re not even here. You could say something, of course. You could try to diffuse the situation, maybe crack a joke or two, but that would require actual brain function, and right now, all you’ve got is the mental equivalent of elevator music.

Alexia’s about to bite Jenni’s head off—probably literally—when, as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with your current level of humiliation, there’s a knock on the door.

“Jenni? What’s going on?” You recognise that voice. It’s Mapi, followed by a snicker from Patri and what sounds like Ingrid trying and failing to shush them. Great. Just great. Now you’ve got an audience.

Before anyone can react, Jenni swings the door open with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to introduce a sold-out concert, and your teammates spill into the room like they’ve been rehearsing this all night.

“What the—” Mapi starts, then stops dead when she sees you, then Alexia, and then your clothes all over the floor like some kind of chaotic breadcrumb trail. Her eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into her hairline. “Oh, wow”

There’s a moment of silence that’s so uncomfortable you could bottle it and sell it to masochists. You’re pretty sure you’re about to melt into the bed and become one with the mattress. Meanwhile, Patri has the audacity to wolf whistle, which earns her a glare from Alexia that could stop a freight train.

“So,” Ingrid says, doing a terrible job at hiding her amusement. “This is…unexpected”

“Unexpected?” Mapi echoes, looking at Ingrid like she’s just suggested that the earth is flat. “This is fucking hilarious”

Jenni’s practically doubled over with laughter now, leaning on Mapi for support, which only sets her off too. Pretty soon, all three of them are giggling like schoolgirls who’ve just found out their teacher’s dating the P.E. teacher.

Alexia is standing there, jaw clenched, probably wondering if anyone would notice if she threw them all out the window. You, meanwhile, have reached a state of embarrassment that transcends space and time. You’re floating above the situation, looking down at your life and wondering where it all went so horribly, horribly wrong.

“Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you ask, even though you know it’s hopeless. “It’s not like we were…” You trail off, realizing that there’s no good way to end that sentence. Not like you were what? Sorting laundry? Rearranging the furniture?

“Having sex?” Patri supplies helpfully, still grinning like she’s just won the lottery. “You totally were. We walked in at the good part, didn’t we?”

Alexia makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, which is probably the only thing that stops her from committing actual homicide. “Out. All of you. Now”

But no one moves. Because why would they? They’re having the time of their lives. Jenni’s already pulling out her phone, probably to tweet something like “Just walked in on the most awkward team bonding experience ever #FML”

“We’re not going to let you live this down, you know,” Mapi says, her smirk so wide it’s a wonder her face doesn’t split in half. “This is going to be the story we tell at every team event from now until the end of time”

“Your kids are going to hear about this,” Patri adds, not even bothering to hide her amusement. “Hell, your grandkids. This is legendary”

You’re going to need therapy after this. Maybe a lot of therapy. But, honestly, that’s future you’s problem. Right now, you just want them to leave so you can salvage whatever dignity you have left and maybe finish what you started with Alexia—assuming, of course, that this hasn’t killed the mood entirely.

Finally, because even she knows when enough is enough, Jenni straightens up and nods toward the door. “Alright, alright. We’ll give you two lovebirds some privacy.” She winks at Alexia, who looks like she might actually be considering taking up a new sport just to avoid ever having to see Jenni again. “But don’t take too long. We’re going to need the play-by-play downstairs”

With that, they finally—finally—file out of the room, still snickering and whispering like they’ve just uncovered the juiciest gossip of the century. As the door closes behind them, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Well,” you say, turning to look at Alexia, who’s now standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “That went as good as expected”

She gives you a look that could freeze hell, but then, after a moment, she sighs and shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We are never doing this again”

“Sex?” you ask, and the horrified expression that crosses her face makes you burst out laughing. “In someone else’s house,” you clarify, still giggling. “I think that’s a solid rule”

She rolls her eyes but then moves back toward the bed, a mischievous glint in her eyes that tells you maybe the night isn’t entirely ruined after all. “Well, we’re here now,” she says, climbing onto the mattress and pulling you toward her. “Might as well make the most of it”

[clazaries]

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.” 

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?” 

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.” 

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do. 

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order. 

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful. 

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.” 

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best. 

“Stay sharp.” 

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it. 

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests. 

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military. 

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.” 

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.” 

“Then why isn’t he out?” 

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.” 

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm. 

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?” 

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.” 

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…” 

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.” 

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.” 

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume. 

“Why the fuck are we here then?” 

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.” 

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--” 

“Frankie! Do you copy?” 

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup? 

“He needs help!” 

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?” 

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage. 

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!” 

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle. 

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--” 

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.” 

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos. 

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.” 

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago. 

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself. 

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?” 

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?” 

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.” 

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?” 

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily. 

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.” 

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge. 

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece. 

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear. 

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?” 

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.” 

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?” 

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots. 

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him. 

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers. 

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised. 

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot. 

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--” 

“No! No, I-I want to stay.” 

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.” 

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.” 

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.” 

“How?” 

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?” 

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him. 

Your thighs press together beneath the table. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“A…A little, sir.” 

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.” 

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had. 

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.” 

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified. 

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer. 

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?” 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily. 

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating. 

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority. 

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit. 

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt. 

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in. 

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.” 

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum. 

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.” 

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter. 

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…” 

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off. 

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts. 

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.” 

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?” 

“No, but--” 

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.” 

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close. 

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes. 

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him. 

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.” 

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes. 

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.” 

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise. 

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway. 

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.” 

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior. 

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries. 

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years. 

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you. 

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly. 

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point. 

You sigh. “I know.” 

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.” 

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—” 

This again. “But Frankie--” 

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.” 

“But I didn’t die.” 

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.” 

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that. 

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.” 

“I promise.” 

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.” 

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.” 

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.” 

[strniohoeee]

Stainless

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is a virgin who so badly wants to have sex with Matt, but she’s scared. However when they’re alone in the triplets house things take a turn….this is for the two requests I got for a virgin reader having soft sex with Matt🥹

Warnings⚠️: This is soft cute sex. Virginity lose, and that’s about it 🫶🏽

Song for the imagine: J’s Lullaby(darlin I’d wait for you) Delaney Bailey

⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

Matt and I had been dating for roughly 7 months at this point. These past 7 months have been the best months of my life. I was surrounded by 3 people I loved, and making memories that would last forever

About five months into the relationship is when Matt and I finally decided to tell their fan base. Since I was always in their videos, some fans started to notice some vibes between the both of us.

Honestly I was petrified to tell them because a lot of their fans were super protective over them, and I’m a sensitive girl. I didn’t want to get any hate. Surprisingly we received way more love, and the occasional hate from some 14 year old, but nothing to make me feel any type of way.

Constantly Matt and I would watch shipping edits of us, some that even showed how we acted like a couple months before we even started dating. We loved it so much

Other times I would watch edits on my own of us, or just of Matt, and the comments had my jaw on the floor.

“I know he gives y/n the pounding of her life”

“He’s a skinny white boy. You know he be laying that pipeeeee”

“Poor y/n…..I know he be tearing her shit up”

Although these comments made me laugh, they also made me blush from embarrassment because they couldn’t have been further from the truth. I was a virgin, and Matt and I had only really made out and got handsy. Usually I’d break away and stop it, and he respected it and never said anything about it.

I knew he wanted to have sex because he’s a 20 year old man, and I for sure wanted to have sex because?? We’ll have you seen Matt??

But in the back of my mind I was so fucking nervous. I had never ever had sex. I’ve never given a handjob, a blow job, a hickey…..I’ve never even seen Matt’s dick.

Many times I would crave this intimacy, but I always allowed my fear to get to the best of me. However I was more than ready to have sex with the love of my life, Matt.

Matt and I were alone at their house since Chris and Nick had an event that Matt really could care less for. We spent the whole day together, and now we were currently in his room watching a movie

The whole time I kept thinking about having sex with Matt, and what it would be like. If I’d be bad, nervous or just out right not cut out for losing my virginity.

“Matt…” I said waiting for him to look over at me

“Yeah?” He said looking over and smiling at me

“Can I ask you something?” I said

“Of course baby” he responded back as he paused the movie

“Do you want to have sex with me?” I asked him, and to this his eyebrows raised

“In general or right now?” He asked laughing a little bit

“In general” I told him

“I mean it’s not something that’s necessarily crossed my mind. Of course I get urges, and want to have sex, but it’s not something my mind is always on.” He responded

“Well how come?” I asked him

“I mean I just care about you, and making you laugh and smile, and spending time with you. I just love to be in your company” he said back

“Oh….well have you ever thought of having sex with me…like at all??” I asked him

“I mean sure. Whenever we’ve had heated make out sessions it has crossed my mind. You know? It’s like I think to myself could this go further” he told me

“Oh…” I responded

“Have you thought of having sex with me?” He asked

“Mmm quite often actually” I said being completely honest

“Oh?” He said starting to blush

“But I know I always pull away before it goes any further” I told him

“Yeah, but I don’t mind at all” he said smiling at me for reassurance

“I guess I’m just scared” I said

“Scared of what?” He asked me with a head tilt

“Well I’m a virgin” I told him

“Oh” he said actually shocked

“Yeah, and I just never felt like I could move forward. Not because of you! I know I want to lose my virginity to you, but because I’m so afraid of being bad, or too nervous that it doesn’t work out” I said to him

“I get that. Losing your virginity is very intimate, and for sure scary. That’s valid” he said to me

“I was thinking maybe we could have sex” I told him

“Yeah of course” he said nodding his head and smiling

“Tonight” I then responded

“Tonight?” He said surprised

“Yes. I think I’m ready for tonight” I told him

“Okay. Then tonight it is” he said leaning over and kissing me

Matt and I had been making out for a good five minutes

“Are you doing okay?” He asked looking into my eyes

“Yes Matt I’m doing great” I said giving him a smile

Matt had kissed down to my neck. Leaving light kisses that were making me burn up inside. He had removed his shirt, and I removed mine as well

“Can I take your bra off?” He asked me leaning back a little bit

“Of course” I said shyly

Matt reaches behind as I lift up, so that he could unclip my bra. Slowly pulling it off of me, and allowing my breast to fall exposed

I started to blush. Never allowing a man to see me this way causing me to get a little shy

“Don’t get shy on me baby. You look perfect” he said giving me a sly smile

Matt had started to kiss my neck, and slowly went down to my breast. Massaging both breast before taking one into his mouth

“Oh Matt” I said in a whisper as my eyes fluttered shut

He then went down to the valley of my breast, and started to kiss down leaving sloppy kisses on my stomach. I was aching for his touch.

He kissed both hip bones before looking up at me

“Can I take your pants off?” He asked, and I nodded

He started to take my pants off as I lifted up a little for him to get them fully off. Matt in return removed his sweat pants as well

He went back to kissing above my underwear. This feeling alone left my hair rising and my thigh quivering

Matt laid next to me, and started to kiss me soon breaking away

“Okay baby. I have to stretch you out” he said. I turned my head towards him and agreed

Slowly he trailed his hand down to my underwear. Slightly dipping his hand in to massage my pelvic area before completely sticking his hand down my underwear

“Open wider baby” he told me, and I allowed my legs to open up more for him

“Perfect” he said, kissing me, and then he slid his hand all the way down coating his fingers in my arousal before bringing them back up to massage my clit

I just gasped and opened my mouth as Matt and I kept looking at each other

“Feeling okay?” He asked

“I feel so good Matt” I told him licking my now dry lips

Math started to rub my clit in circular motions. Allowing me to squirm and moan at this foreign feeling.

“Okay baby this may hurt” he said before sinking his middle finger to my entrance. He was looking into my eyes as he slowly started to insert his finger into me

This was a burning stretch I’ve never felt before, causing my eyes to shut and my brows to furrow

“Ow Matt” I said finally opening my eyes

“Too much? I can stop” he said reading my face

“No no keep going” I told him, and so he did. He slowly started to rock his fingers in and out curving them up to hit my G spot

“Oh fuck” I moaned out

“That feels so fucking good” I said as he started to rub my clit with his thumb

Slowly he inserted his ring finger. This burn was something that almost made me stop him, but I wanted this way too much for him to stop now.

Once he got the second finger in he started to pump in and out at a come here motion

“Oh Matt….ive never felt something like this” I told him as my mouth fell open

“Does it feel good?” He asked

“So so good” I said whispering the last part

He was slowly fingering me for 5 more minutes before he decided to stop

“Do you think you’re ready?” He asked me

“I think so” I told him, Matt removed his underwear and my mouth fell open

“Matt….I don’t know that that will fit in me” I said almost laughing

“Baby don’t boost my ego. It will fit” he said blushing and biting his lip

“This will hurt, so I’m going to go slow, and if it’s too much I’ll stop” he said

“Okay thank you” I whispered to him

Matt had both arms on either side of my head and was looking into my eyes

“Ready?” He asked one more time

“Yes Matt I’m very ready” I told him

Matt grabbed his dick with his right hand and slowly started to push the tip in. Looking up at you to read your face. He slowly started to push the tip in, and as he started to get in is when you winced

“Fuck Matt that hurts” I said gripping his left arm with my right hand

“Want me to stop?” He asked

“No no keep going” I told him

He slowly started to insert himself into me. Paying close attention to my face. Soon he was all the way in, and he let out a sigh

“So perfect,” he said, moving my hair out of my face. Matt was allowing my vaginal walls to relax around him before moving

“You can move” I told him, and so he did. Slowly sliding back and then in. My pussy was still stretching and burning around his dick

He was letting out little moans that were making me so wet.

Slowly Matt started to pick up his pace. Sliding in and out of me in such a delicious way

“Fuck Matt you can go a little faster” I told him

Matt started to thrust into me a little faster and I was completely losing my mind. If sex felt this good, why was I waiting this long?

“Matt this feels so good” I said moaning

“You feel so fucking good around me” he said moaning the last part

Matt had gotten a little more on his knees, and allowed his arms to bend. Coming down closer to me our chests were touching, and his head was right next to my ear

I could hear his pants into my ear as he was thrusting into me

“Fuck Matt you sound hot” I told him pulling his hair at the back of his head

“Yeah?” He said in a breathy tone

“Yes…so so hot” I said as I continued to pull at his hair

Matt continued to thrust into me becoming a sweaty and groaning mess above me

“I’m going to start rubbing your clit, and you’ll be able to cum in no time” he told me before snaking his right hand down to my clit starting to rub

“OH MY GOD” I screamed out at the intense sensation I was feeling

“Too much?” He asked looking at me

“No no just right keep going. Fuck Matt I think I’m going to cum” I told him as I started to clench on his cock causing him to moan

Matt was fucking into me at a good pace and rubbing my clit, going in between slow and fast circular motions

“Matt Matt Matt” I said scratching his back and clenching down on him harder

“Come on baby! You can do it for me” he said rubbing his fingers faster

“I’m going to cum. Fuck fuck fuck” I said shutting my eyes and throwing my head back even more

“Come on. Come on give it to me” he said into my ear

“FUCKKKKK MATTT” I screamed out as I started to convulse and tremble. My orgasm completely washing over me. I was seeing white and my legs were shaking as I was cumming so hard. Slowly I started to come down my from my high with heavy breathing and dry lips

Matt pulled out of me when I stopped twitching around him. I felt weird without his dick in me. He started to pump his cock

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” he said kissing my lips

He pulled away and his lower abdomen started to contract as his mouth fell and his brows furrowed. He looked into my eyes as he came all over his hand and my lower stomach. Slowly coming down from his high and rolling onto his back next to me

“Matt that was amazing” I said looking over at him

“Was it? You don’t have to lie” he said catching his breath

“No matt. It was amazing, and you were so careful with me I appreciate it” I said rolling over to my side and kissing him on the cheek

“Anything for my pretty lady. I love you” he said looking over at me

“I love you too Matt” I said smiling at him

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Follow me let’s shower” he said and grabbed my hands

When I got off the bed my legs completely gave out on me and I almost fell to the ground

“Oh my god Matt…my legs are fucking jello” I said laughing as he grabbed me and helped me walk to his bathroom

“I’m sorry baby” he said also laughing

“I can now say Matt Sturniolo has made me weak in the knees physically” I responded laughing

“Shut up” he said all shyly as he turned on the hot water and let me step in first

We had showered together, and then spent the night watching movies until we eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

The End

I hope you guys enjoyed this one! And for the two people that requested this I hope I didn’t disappoint, and I’m so sorry it took forever for me to get this out 🥹❤️❤️

-J💅🏽

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 3

Ta~ da~! Part 3 and done. (Here's Part 1 and Part 2, if ya want.) It didn't go exactly as I wanted but when I went back to rewrite part of it I couldn't make myself do it so. Welp, it is what it is. But, here we go -

---------

A little while later, Tim yelps from his side of the bed. Jason’s head whips around to see what the commotion is, bumping shoulders with Tim who has also hastily sat up.

Craning his neck, Jason looks down over the side of the bed to where Tim is staring, dumbfounded. All he sees is Tim’s bag, open with the Red Robin costume on top. Sort of strange since leaving their gear out in the open isn’t exactly Bat-protocol. No telling when a nosy or distracted maid might barge in. Otherwise, nothing is amiss. Color Jason confused.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes as he scoots further back till he’s half in Jason’s lap which, awesome, but weird.

“What?” Jason snaps. 

Over the side of the bed, the sleeve of the Red Robin suit snakes up and slaps down hard on Tim’s wrist near the edge of the bed. He makes a high noise of surprise then he’s fully in Jason’s lap. Still awesome, very much so, but bigger fish to fry and everything. Such as the irrefutable proof that Red Robin has gained the nebulous honor of having a mind of its own. And it’s apparently not very happy with Tim if the way it snaps out to hit him again is any indication. This time, Tim pulls his hand back before he can get slapped.

“How-” Tim chokes out, whipping his head around to stare at Jason.

Their faces are so damned close Jason can feel the too fast puffs of Tim’s breath against his cheek. It’s doing him absolutely no favors in staying focused on the issue at hand. 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Did you do something to it?”

“Me? That thing was totally normal until you got a hold of it. What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Un-fucking-likely!”

A pitter patter of sound draws both of them away from the edge of their budding argument. Back at the side of the bed, the Red Robin suit is padding its sleeves against the blanket to draw their attention. Guess it didn’t like where their conversation was headed. 

“Oh yeah, that thing is totally alive,” Jason says. 

“No” Tim drawls sarcastically. He frowns at the suit. A flash of understanding brightens his face as his mouth drops open. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Mind cluing in us pea brained peons?”

Without looking, Tim hits Jason in the chest with the back of his hand. “All the malfunctions!”

Tim doesn’t need to say anything else for Jason to pick up what he’s laying down. The events of the past few weeks make a lot more sense now. Including their current predicament which has led to a lap full of dressed down, sleep warm Tim. Touche, Red Robin, well done. He has to hand it to the suit. Red Hood is all overt action with very little subtly but Red Robin had completely flown under his radar. Even yelling at it earlier was based more on a vague hunch.

“I’m glad I hollered at it earlier then.”

Tim’s eyes snap back to him, incredulous and amused. “You were talking to an inanimate object?”

“First of all, it isn’t inanimate any more. Second, don’t act like you’ve never talked at something before.”

Tellingly, Tim stays silent. 

“Look at it this way, you’ve been chosen,” Jason says with a shrug. “Better than, I guess, since you brought the fuckin’ thing to life.”

Tim does this odd thing where he goes boneless. As in he falls limp against Jason’s chest with his head resting on Jason’s shoulder. For a second, he’s worried something is wrong. Tim wouldn’t be Tim if he weren’t wound tighter than a spring. He’s the most neurotic sonuvabitch Jason knows. To have him so soft and pliant? It’s kind of throwing him for a loop.

Looking down at Tim’s face, Jason’s worries bleed away. The content, gentle happiness he finds there, only a thin thread of bitter sadness belying it, tells Jason all he needs to know. Once more, because he’s just that good, Jason has stuck his foot in his mouth. Except in a good way this time. 

Thinking back, Tim told him what it was like when he was first Robin. It sure as hell hadn’t felt good when Robin didn’t want anything to do with him. He can’t imagine what it was like for Tim to have to actively fight against the suit. To push and push and push till he was finally, reluctantly accepted. Only to be dropped and have nothing waiting for him, ready for him. The lonely ache of wondering if he’s good enough and that’s why a suit doesn’t come for him. Needing to push past all that, piled on top of the long hours and endless horrors the nightlife brings, and keep on keepin’ on. 

But Jason has pointed out the obvious which he doesn’t doubt Tim completely overlooked. In agreement, Red Robin raises its sleeve and points at Jason.

“Oh,” Tim breathes. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Me neither. Way to make history.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “But I don’t get it. Why do all of this?”

Once more, Red Robin pointedly gestures towards Jason. He glares at the damn thing because if anyone needs to shut up, it’s Red Robin. Given the genuine curiosity and bafflement in Tim’s voice, Jason’s pretty sure he’s not being purposefully obtuse. Granted, Tim can lie with the best of them, the little scamp. Jason has been meaning to get a few lessons. His gut is telling him this isn’t one of those times. Tim really doesn’t get it and Jason would like it to stay that way until he can either nut up and confess or brutally murder the impulse to fuck him raw at the first opportunity.

“No idea,” Jason replies lightly.

On his side of the bed, Jason’s bag wiggles violently. He groans and clenches his jaw, unwilling to let Red Hood enter the chat. This is a recipe for disaster. Adding in his suit won’t help him in keeping his inconvenient crush under wraps. For all he knows, Red Robin and Red Hood have been colluding together to make this shit happen. 

“What,” Tim starts before trailing off. 

The stare he pins Jason down with is so intense and invasive Jason feels like he needs to shove Tim off and disappear for a few months. It’s something akin to being flayed alive. His eyes skitter across Jason’s face, breaking him down bit by bit without needing to say a word or lift a finger. Really, Jason should get Tim away from him before he peels away the last layers keeping Jason from being truly perceived. 

Lightning quick and catching Jason unaware, Tim lunges across him to drape himself over Jason’s side of the bed. With deft fingers, he yanks open Jason’s bag. There the Red Hood is in all its glory, helmet on top of a bundle of heavy padding and armor. The lights on the eyes flash and Tim blinks down at it. 

“Hey, now!” Jason chides, dipping down so he can shut the bag before the shit show starts.

He doesn’t get that far before he’s getting full-on backhanded by the sleeve of his own suit. Wow, the suits are being aggressive. He’s not even sure what to do so he tenses up and stares at the wall. There’s enough semtex in the bag to blow it all to hell, right? He could totally ask Alfred to call up Lucius for a new suit. If Tim can finagle a consciousness into a regular suit, Jason should be able to as well. Maybe the next one won’t be such an asshole. Though he doubts it. On all counts.

He doesn’t remember if actually brought any plastique. Lucius isn’t exactly itching to do Jason any favors and Alfred would be more likely to politely mock him for doing something as stupid as blowing up his own suit. There’s no way for them to know how Red Robin is Red Robin now. And he’s, admittedly, a major asshole so it only makes sense whatever suit gets stuck with him has a personality to match. 

Tim bops the helmet and scowls at it. “Rude.” Red Hood doesn’t hit Tim. Instead, it pats him on the cheek gently. “Much better,” Tim says, satisfied.

Jason gapes at the interaction. “That is so unfair. What the fuck!”

“I told you things went well when I covered for you.”

“Apparently. Maybe a little too well.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It seemed like the Red Hood lik-”

Flipping over so his ass is seated in the well of Jason’s legs, back arched over his thigh, Tim looks at Jason. Jason doesn’t like the way Tim is looking at him. It’s less wondering and more knowing. So he does what he does best and tries to push Tim off him. They’ve been too close to too long and the need to run is an overwhelming compulsion at this point. Like a goddamn lamprey, Tim winds his arms around Jason’s waist and holds fast. The guy doesn’t go anywhere despite Jason’s best efforts since he isn’t in a position to get the leverage he needs to pry Tim off.

“You like me,” Tim says simply.

Jason chokes as the bottom of his stomach falls out. “No, I don’t,” Jason denies.

His helmet makes a high pitched whine of protest like the voice modulator got hit with a current and fried the circuitry. Goddamn, he thinks he even hears a click from one of his guns. Red Hood is a straight up thug. Which Jason loves but, holy hell, right now he definitely doesn’t. Being bullied by what amounts to a souped up, military grade Call of Duty cosplay hits him right in his pride. Forget Bruce and the clusterfuck of that whole thing, this is his new villain origin story. 

Red Robin isn’t so charmed by his denial either. The suit flops onto the bed, farther up this time, so it can nail him right in the shin. Jason makes a pained noise more from being startled than it actually hurting. If the blanket weren’t draped over his legs, then, yeah, that would’ve stung. Great, now, he’s being bullied by the equivalent of a theater major seamstress’ fever dream too. When will the injustices end?

Throwing his hands up, literally because he’s so far past settling for metaphorically doing it, Jason looks to the ceiling and prays for patience. And to not get socked in the jaw by Tim for what he’s about to say. Still, to the pock-marked ceiling, Jason says, “Fine, yes, I like you! Jesus, fuck, everybody lay offa me! This is the worst kind of peer pressure. At least I could cunt punt a peer but no. I get some goddamn JoAnn Fabric cast offs harassing me.”

“And me,” Tim pipes up.

“And you! Which, can’t we focus on the miracle of your suit showing signs of intelligent, manipulative and kind-of-dickish life? Let’s go back to you getting misty eyed over a newly minted supernatural costume.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Tim agrees, “but first we should probably deal with this. Just, Jason...”

Well, shit, he doesn’t like Tim’s tone. It’s not the voice of a man about to lay his heart bare in preparation for an emotionally charged conversation destined to end in a heated kiss and a roll in the sack before the camera cuts to black. Nor is it shy and demure or happy and accepting. Jason doesn’t want to put a name to it but, if he had to, he’d say Tim sounds distinctly awkward and uncomfortable. Hesitant and pained. This does not bode well for his chances. He can already smell the acrid, sharp scent of his chances going up in flames. 

“There’s a lot between us,” Tim says somewhere around the bottom of Jason’s ribcage. “That we’ve never talked about.” Now Tim pulls away fully until he’s back on his side of the bed.

Jason knows a let down when he hears one. He opens his mouth to tell Tim to can it, spare them both the continued embarrassment. On some level, Jason always knew anything between them would be doomed. Forget burning the bridge between himself and Tim, Jason incinerated it. With prejudice. The fact they’ve come so far already is a miracle. It’s the little, emaciated street kid in him that makes him greedy, to take and take and take until he can’t anymore. Well, this is the can’t anymore, he guesses. But now he’ll lose it all. 

The words are there on the tip of his tongue when his helmet makes another whirring, whining noise of protest on one side of the bed and there’s the pat, pat, pat of fabric against fabric on the other. His head whips between the Red Hood, disgruntled and displeased, and Red Robin attacking Tim’s leg much as it had Jason. Tim quickly scoots back towards Jason and pulls his legs in. In response, Red Robin flops onto the bed again and nails Tim right across the face. 

Jason has never claimed to be a good person so he laughs. “Okay, I’m starting to feel fuckin’ hunted here. I get why they’re coming at me but-”

He breaks off since there’s no point in finishing the sentence. Tim is a genius. Point blank, period. It’s a verifiable fact Jason hates and likes in equal measure. If his big brain can’t piece together a puzzle, Jason doesn’t stand a chance but by no means is he a slouch. For this, understanding why Red Robin and Red Hood are coming at Tim just as hard as they are at him, Jason doesn’t need a three digit IQ. 

“You little shit, you like me too,” Jason accuses, honestly mad Tim was about to dismiss him out of hand. 

Tim doesn’t say anything which is answer enough for Jason. Not for Red Robin who whips out at Tim again, making him curl up tighter and away from the offending garment. Or offended garment, in this case. 

“I’m bad at this,” Tim hisses to his suit. “God, why are you so-”

“Oddly violent?”

“Persistent,” Tim insists, glaring at Jason. 

Jason fixes him with a look.

“And a manipulative asshole,” Jason supplies but he isn’t talking about Tim’s suit anymore.

“I’m bad at this,” Tim says again, this time directly to Jason.

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

Red Robin and Red Hood voice their displeasure as much as they can.

Rolling his eyes, Jason talks at the ceiling again because it’s easier. “Why wouldn’t you just say that? Okay, you’re bad at it, fine. I literally paved the way for you to just say ‘Golly gee, me too’.”

“I’m awkward, okay?” Tim blurts, irritated and not bothering to pull on his usual carefully crafted mask of indifference. “I’m not exactly the greatest when it comes to interpersonal relationships. You can just ask Steph.” After a brief pause, Tim backpedals, “Actually, don’t. Never do that.”

“Well now I have to.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such a coward-”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Jason says maturely.

Jason should’ve known the kiss was coming as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Not once has Jason seen Tim back down from a challenge once it has been set down in front of him. Including the time Jason gave him a spectacular beat down in Titans Tower and demanded to know if Tim thought he was good enough for Robin. Half unconscious and bloodied, Tim had said yes. 

This isn’t so different, Jason thinks, because he kisses back, brutal and vicious and commanding, while Tim takes it all then dishes it back. More than once, Jason’s teeth clack against Tim’s but neither of them pull away. Somewhere between now and Jason’s head emptying of rational thought, his hand has found its way to the back of Tim’s neck, keeping him in place. He doesn’t have to worry about Tim pulling away, not really, with the way Tim holds onto Jason’s waist.

The world drops away till there’s nothing but the soft, barely there moans Tim breathes into him. He swallows them greedily, vows to get more of them till he’s had his fill. His other hand, the one not latched onto Tim, finds Tim’s thigh and kneads at the muscle there. One of Tim’s hands slides down and skirts along the edge of his shirt till it teasingly slips under the fabric. The rough, calloused pads of Tim’s fingers ghost over his stomach, making the muscles twitch. 

It all comes back into focus, hitting him like a freight train, when the hand on Tim’s leg can’t wander any farther up than it already has even though he knows he’s nowhere near his ultimate end goal. Cracking open his eyes, Jason looks down to see Red Robin forming a blockade to preserve Tim’s chastity. Red Robin doesn’t get to mastermind them into a bed together then dictate what they do when Tim’s making those encouraging, willing little noises.

Leaning back to catch his breath, Jason reluctantly lets go of Tim’s leg and scruffs the Red Robin suit then tosses it over the side of the bed with a growl. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tim tells him.

“You want me to stop?” Jason asks.

“No. Very much no.”

“Then it was called for,” Jason asserts. 

“Fair enough,” Tim laughs. He huffs as his eyes dart from one side of the bed to the other. “It’d be weird to do anything with the suits here though.”

“They literally fondle us on a nightly basis. I think their definition of propriety is a little different from ours,” Jason points out. 

Looking thoughtful, Tim says, “Huh, I knew the Red Hood suit was chafing weird when I wore it.”

Leaning over, Jason slaps his helmet and shoves his bag under the bed. “Goddamn dirty dog, keep your kevlar weave off.” 

The Red Hood doesn’t make a peep or put up any protest. Jason doubts it’s because the suit wore itself out being more active than usual. Stupid thing probably doesn’t have a good counter argument, having been caught out and ruthlessly thrown under the bus by Tim. 

“In its defense, it really made things easy and protected me well. It was, sweet, too, I guess?” Tim offers.

“Well, good,” Jason replies lamely. “Can’t say the same about Red Robin,” he adds with a glare at Tim’s side of the bed where Red Robin is hopefully puddled on the ground and content to stay there.

Meddlers, the both of them. Grade A meddlers of the highest order. 

“Yeah,” Tim says contemplatively. 

To poke the bruise one more time, Jason tells him, “Yanno, the suit’s probably something special because you’re something special.”

The sappy ass words make Jason feel like the world’s biggest tool but it’s worth it for the instant flush. His cheeks and ears and neck all go a delicious pink that Jason wants to bite at. Take the light dusting and make it vibrant. Create a portrait of deep reds and purples wherever he can. Jason thinks he’ll get the chance to do that sooner than expected when Tim tackles him. After a brief scuffle, Jason rolls them so Tim’s under him with his wrists pinned and legs draped on either side of Jason’s hips. Tim could get out of the hold. Jason isn’t trying to really keep him down. 

But Tim doesn’t. 

He allows it which is enough for Jason to settle his weight over Tim and forget about the busy body suits probably basking in smug satisfaction for getting them to this point.

[starryriize]

heyy if you can would you write more leehan 18+ thoughts? i loved the first one

more 18+ thoughts | leehan

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 hehehe you know my weaknesses nonnie! leehan… my man my man!! im glad you liked my first one 🫶🏼 i wasn’t sure how to end this one not proofread!

minors dni!

thinking about…best friend fratboy! leehan but he’s just a cutie who joined the frat for the networking opportunities. he only goes to events that he knows you’ll be attending too! one time, there was a talk for extra credit about some boring new marketing strategy and you sat in the back. and he takes the open seat next to you, his hands lightly grazing your thighs! things best friends don’t do- that’s what your actions are filed under. best friends don’t stare intensely at each other from across the room. you definitely don’t wear skimpy outfits knowing that leehan drools over them. the way he holds your waist, places his hand on your thighs when you sit…again, things normal friends don’t do.

so here you were, sitting in the back of the auditorium, watching another talk that happened to be required for your honors program. and of course, next to you was leehan. you would call him your “friend with benefits but included dates” but you couldn’t focus on anything the speaker was saying due to his hand slowly moving up the expanse of your thighs. his fingers making their way under the silky fabric of your skirt. oh he knew, he knew that you wore that skirt for him.

your professors would never guess what their star student was like behind closed doors...except you weren't behind closed doors. despite your mind telling you everything about the current situation was wrong, you felt your mind becoming hazy. his fingers were further up your legs, grazing the edge of your panties. if anyone walked in the auditorium doors in the side entrance, it wouldn’t take long for them to see what was going on.

leehan pulled the your panties to the side, rubbing your folds softly. your eyelids were fluttering and lips parting, struggling to keep your composure in your seat. he knew his effect on you, reveling in how the star student was so pliant just for him. goes so far as to tease you in your ear whispering how much of a little slut you are and how you’re his good girl. at this point, you’re gone. the way he looks forward, pretending to focus on the speaker, while innocently plunging two fingers into your now dripping heat. you knew the seat was probably wet, giving you two options: either leave early or leave early.

“oh. would you look at that? you’re soaking my fingers.” he whispers against your ear as if he’s commenting on the speaker’s topic. you clench on his fingers, knowing that he’s the cause. the way he curled his fingers up, hitting the spot that made you see stars and want to moan out loud. putting a hand over your mouth, you bite your lip, trying desperately to hold your whines in.

“hannie…can we go?” you ask him as quietly as you can without letting out a breathless moan, hoping that he'd want to leave early too. “sure,” his eyes were full of desperation and want, pupils blown wide. his fingers were sticky as he pulled them out, putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. watching him made your knees weak and you wanted more than just his hands.

when you guys leave, you both make a beeline for his dorm. as soon as you are in his room, your hands are all over each other in desperate need. he was tugging at your skirt, opting to simply hike it up as he pressed you against his desk. pulling you in for a heated kiss, he lets out a soft moan as you bite his lip, your free hand tangled in his hair. “mhm.. keep doing that, princess.” if your mind was foggy before, now, you couldn’t think about anything but the warmth of leehan’s lips on yours. you definitely weren’t focused when he bent you over the desk, sliding your soaked panties down your legs. leehan’s mind was dizzy, getting drunk and needy at the sight of you open and wet just for him. your whines were like a beautiful harmony that he could listen to for hours. you were blissfully fucked out by the time he slid his dick into your dripping, clenching hole. he bottomed out, giving you a few minutes to adjust before thrusting at a steady pace, hitting your cervix causing your hands to grip the table. “oh, fuck, that’s it-“ the moans you let out were shameless and that’s when you remembered that you were in his frat house. “ah-han, wh what about the others?” you whine, knowing that they probably knew what was going on in his room. “what about them?” he arrogantly replies, slowing his pace down to make sharp thrusts into the spot that had you screaming and breathless for more. “be as loud as you can dear, i want them all to know how good i’m fucking you.”

well, the night was only just beginning.

[anonymousauthorsblog]

Turning Passions

chapter 3 • smile for the camera!!

lowercase intended

*there is writing sections in this chapter!”

symphonia IX - current joys

•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.•

y/n pov..

y/n glances over her phone one more time to see the tweet toge reposted while maki is spamming her phone asking when’s she’s coming home and if she can relieve her from the torture that toge is forcing her to do. as maki would be entering the stream with him that night. she shuts off her phone before shoving it in her dance bag. y/n gets up and enters the dance room where her class is supposed to be. it’s always been routine for y/n to show up 20 minutes earlier before class to get extra practice in to make sure her ballet is on peak, before presenting herself to any dance teacher. this has been a routine for her since she was a young teen in determination to stay on top of her class and to push herself to become more flexible, more precise and overall perfect. But as she walks in she sees students already doing the same thing, many students at the barre, others practicing turns and overall dancers becoming better than her. she quickly finds her a spot at the barre a little more further from everyone with her head facing down so others don’t see the panic rising up. y/n realizes that this dance class isn’t normal from the ones she used to call home, she trembles as she lifts up into a relevè her feet getting shot with the same pain as usual- she sits in that position until it wears off. y/n suddenly understands the situation- in this class everyone is fighting to be the best, she continues the stretches until the teacher walks in, everyone then runs into a line waiting for instruction. y/n quickly follows behind standing in first position waiting to hear from the dance instructor. “welcome to NYSSU academy, you made it in first into the school and now into the dance program. i would say congratulations but the hard part starts now” boomed the small older mature lady walking pass the dancers, judging as they stand tall in perfection. the teacher continues welcoming in a younger looking coach around her twenties “this is my co teacher” don’t be mistaken she isn’t here to play around. the lady continues in a large demanding tone. “your practices are always a test, always be on your best performance- nothing will go unnoticed. But if you’re wondering what your actually graded on in this class is performances. we have big 3 events and one mini in the middle of the year, be prepared because each day is a drill to see if you can make it onto the stage”. hearing those words send chills across y/ns skin as she keeps her head forward, but her eyes are drawn to the teachers movement. y/n isn’t usually afraid of any teachers tone, words or actions- living and growing in the world of dance she’s already used to these types of teachers, even harsher. Instead she takes these as a challenge because how can you succeed without a little push? The teacher words continue- “our first performance this fall, we will be doing the swan lake, make today our first rehearsal. more information on parts and lead rolls will be announced later, but for now let’s start our class, as this is the closest thing you’ll get to a professional taste in the real cold world. I expected you guys already to be stretched and ready?” she asked, many replied with a small yes while others nodded their heads. “perfect she replied okay everyone on the barre.” Practice continues on with additional leaps, pointe work then finally turns- something that y/n excelled in. the teacher groups each student in a group of four before calling each group to do a sequence of turns the last step holding into multiple pirouettes as they can. y/n is confident and collected as the first group goes on- then finally her group is called. she enters the stage, then the teacher calls the counts “alright, 1, 2 3…” y/n tunes her out hitting each step until it’s time to hold the turns. she hits and hits for what seems forever trying to calm down as she assumes that the other 3 members are done. Until from the blink of an eye one person is still standing. it’s a competition in her mind, she turns and turns matching the pace of the other dancer, 5 turns done and the other girl isn’t giving up.

y/n is getting tired, she messed up by putting most of her stamina in the beginning portion making it harder to hit these turns clean. she tries to fight for dominance until the teacher slams on the wall “stop!” she yelled out, “what’s your names?” y/n, l/n maam” “kai, everdeen” the two dancers say. the teacher looks them up and down before saying in a loud demanding tone, “if you’re going to do turns like that for a long period of time, make sure you technique is on point” the teacher dismisses them away, then ends the class altogether. she speaks loudly “that was good for today, but you guys need to step up your game because what I saw today was a disaster waiting to happen, goodbye” with that, the words brought y/n back to reality. she feels her throat closes up realizing with this competition with her peer that in this class, makes her realize that she’s just an ordinary dancer in this world, nothing sticks out making her great or special. y/n feels flush and embarrassed getting called out in the class as she makes it through to the dressing room taking off her point shoes, tossing them in her bag. she quickly puts on her boots and makes her way out towards the door to leave. she runs out feeling her breath quicken, she doesn’t understand, she was supposed to be the best- she grows frustrated. to anyone else this simple call out and for how long the turns were going for it would be a simple okay, but to y/n this proved that she was getting farther towards sheer overall goal. scaring her that all this work and years she put in this sport was for nothing. she leaves and makes her way to her dorm, still fully dressed in ballet clothing, the difference is the strain of dance coming for her mentally and physically.

3rd person pov

Toge and Maki settle down in his room as he launches the discord call. “Yooooo Yujiii” he exclaims. “HEYYY TOG- who’s that” yuji replies. “oh that’s maki, she’s my friend/roomate and she’s going to join the stream if that’s okay” toge explains. “alright that’s cool, we’re just waiting on nobara and megumi and the we can start.” Not even a minute later both megumi and nobara join on and everyone introduces themselves again. After all the introductions and testing each camera and mic are finished, it’s showtime. toge and maki play on split screen, interacting with the fans and instantly clicking with the trio on the other line of the call. they play for thirty minutes and on the line of maki and toge they hear a knock. “Y/N finally”, maki sighs as she gets up waving bye to the stream, she walks up to y/n. when y/n finally looks up to maki she puts on a soft smile. “everything okay?” maki ask, “yeah!” y/n replies a little too fast for comfort, “okay, how was danc-.” maki is cut off by y/n yelling “oh toge your on stream??” he turns around from his desk and happy greets her “y/nnnnnnn welcome home come say hi. “hey everyone!!” she waves towards the computer screen, “smile for the camera!!” toge tells her. She smiles and starts looking at toge screen. maki grows suspicious but lets it be not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of a livestream. Behind the camera on Megumis side he widens his eyes, he scoffs recognizing the same person who ran in late to his statistics class. He then slightly curses at himself for making an expression over someone thats just in the same class as him. then panic overfills his head as someone who’s known for being expressionless and not very expressive just made a face for a random girl who popped on his screen. he tries to continue on, trying to cover up his mistake and focus on the game he’s playing on his computer. yuji suddenly pops up and yells “HI Y/NNN IM YUJII” nobara pops up as well introducing herself making it known that she will become friends with her. toge then pats the chair that once accompanied maki and asked her to join the stream, even though y/n is exhausted she agrees hoping it would take her mind on things. the stream continues on with nobara and y/n tag teaming toge, yuji and megumi each team destroying each others plots and taking each others treasured things. with almost an hour and half passing the stream ends with each player saying its farewells. Yuji bounces off his desk running into megumis room jumping off the walls. “that was fun megumi, megumi was that fun??” megumi looks up with an annoyed tone remembering about the homework he put off for this task. “yeah” he whispered. “i guess”.

megumis pov 3rd person

megumi found himself staring straight into his homework, he was assigned to direct an advertisement for his own made up brand due at the end of the week, assigned in class that day. he slams his fist down not being able to think of anything besides the problem he’s in with the world. after the stream he gained a lot of popularity finally making it to the 10 thousand club of followers. he groans as he starts to get stressed, streaming and posting on the internet was something he did for fun with the peer pressure of his childhood friend- he never thought it would grow to this level of popularity. every time he opens his phone now it’s a reminder of that new fame he has with new demand. with doing the math and thinking, he applies that in order to continue this support for his channel for not only himself but his friends, that means he has to upload a lot more. meaning more unwanted fame and more workload. megumi never really minded playing and uploaded as he thought it was fun and something to do in his free time, but now he’s rethinking his future and his channel completely. he grazes down to see the new “fan edits and ship names” created by his delusional fan base. this ship annoyed him a bit based on the sole fact that she’s in arm reach to him and she definitely knows about this new ship. he gets embarrassed because he has no idea who she is and where she came from. but after this scandal on the internet, she’s been in his mind the whole night. megumi groans frustrated as he turns away from his chair to settle down for bed, he doesn’t understand the complexity of the internet but he knows he’s becoming the middle of it. with many thoughts rushing in and out of his head he finally flips over to finally release the now throbbing headache he has, he falls asleep waiting for the troubles to attend to tomorrow.

Authors note: chapter 3…. a little angsty this chapter but MEGUMI AND Y/N FINALLY MET!!! in this chapter y/n took us along on her first day of dance… i don’t think she expected it to go like that tho… ANYYYYWAYYS i hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter and let’s see how the relationship develops. like always see you next chapter <3

fun facts:

• the gc was being a bit dramatic when they said his eyes “lit up” when he saw her, but at the same time it’s RARE for megumi to show any emotion on his face… maybe he saw something he liked….

• growing up y/n did many styles of dance her favorite being ballet because of how strict and demanding it is.

• nobara got pretty close to maki and y/n (new friendship #girlpower???

• megumi gets irritated when people on the internet ship him with other creators based on the fact that he doesn’t know them at all. making him a little uncomfortable

[shirohige-pirates]

A Truly Mythological Christmas

Cisfem!Reader x Marco the Phoenix

You've seen the Hallmark movies where the successful business lady comes home to her small town hometown for the holidays and falls in love with the local stud, right? She gives up all that success and city living, and often dumps an otherwise decent city-business man in order to cozy up to the simple life in Simple Life City, USA.

This ain't that fucking story.

But it is a Hallmark AU - big city reader goes back home to the small town for the holidays and falls in love, but if that's all there was to this book, it wouldn't be very Mythological.

18+ - this story is going to get steamy in ways not allowed for your holiday Lifetime specials. Swearing, cheating, assassins, intrigue - you know, all that simple small town stuff.

Chapter 1: Values

Looking out over the city that was far below you right now, as the thrum of jet engines kept you in the air and vaulted you toward home, you took a moment for yourself.

Your parents had passed away when you were so young that the only parent you can remember is your adoptive mother. She was a big, take no prisoners kind of woman, stocky and full of piss and vinegar, with hair as fiery as the attitude she was willing to give.

Dadan had been a life saver for you, and you would be forever grateful to her.

Through her you made the most of what you had left to you, and now here you were. Graduated, and a financial officer in Candy Land, Inc. Six years with the company and you had gone from a nameless financial auditor into a person whose decisions could make or break the success of the company. Only your boss, Katakuri, and his mother, Linlin, had more weight in making financial decisions, but since Katakuri oversaw finance, quality assurance, and security, he often deferred to you without further input.

The freedom had given you the ability to steady profits in a positive trend, while also seeing that the company’s workers were properly compensated. Not that Candy Land had a reputation for undercutting, but Linlin herself had praised your efficiencies.

Which came with its pros and cons.

Linlin had a large family, and while a good number of them were tied up in the family business, a larger portion of them had been utilized, to either completely take over, or mostly integrate other businesses into her control. It was often phrased as a matter of protection, especially in the financial sense, and thus Candy Land had under its umbrella nearly thirty businesses that had initially stood well on their own.

All those lives thrived, and keeping it that way was effectively your job.

In doing that work, and working so closely with Linlin, you were introduced to her eldest son, Perospero. He was six years your senior, thirty-five to your twenty-nine, and he was currently in charge of the distribution centers for the company.

Dorky, but smart and more easy going than you had expected, it wasn’t surprising when he asked you out officially. You were both busy, but you were both in the same business, so you were still able to spend time, and meals together, and slowly get to know one another. A few months later he proposed, just the two of you, in the late hours of the night, after a particularly long and exhausting day at work.

It was sweet. Simple. Everything you had requested that it be, because despite the love for theatrics within his family - mostly from his mother, granted - you preferred things to be more intimate. The idea of him getting down on one knee during a charity event was enough for you to consider saying no, and you had warned him.

Pero had even apologized, once you accepted, that there would indeed be a public moment for this, at his mother’s insistence, but this way you wouldn’t be surprised. The two of you could play your parts to placate his mother, and leave her none the wiser on how it really went down. It would be your secret.

Something to hold you both together just a little closer.

Somewhere in the back of your head it had felt wrong. A dream, maybe. All of it seemed like a dream. The job, the success, the speed at which things had progressed. You worked hard at what you did, and Katakuri was neither empty with his praise, nor overly flowery about it. It might have felt like a dream, but your work, your worth, was valid.

Opportunities were likely to open up once you were officially married into the family, but you had not been incorrectly praised up to this point. There was nothing for Linlin to gain by offering one of her sons, save maybe assurances of your loyalty, but you had no business holdings or savings of your own. No innovative ideals, nothing that would balance the “loss” of one of her treasured assets. It was a statement of the value she placed in you, that she would be so accepting of your relationship.

Linlin’s value of you.

The thought gnawed at you. Clawed at any sense of peace you were trying to feel. The way that you’d always felt bad for Linlin’s children, that they always seemed to know, and accept, that they were going to be utilized by their mother. The gains of the company were the gains of the family, and everyone loyal to them, so they seemed to be mostly okay with that.

“Most everyone finds happiness.” Praline had told you during one of the family tea parties. “Angel and her husband live separately, but have stayed married. Angel’s kind of ruthless, if she was really unhappy I almost think her husband would have had an,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “unfortunate accident.” She laughed. “I just can’t see her suffering, but Mama’s also not unreasonable. She let Broye and Cracker get divorces when things didn’t work out, and even let Smoothie call off her wedding.

“She wasn’t happy, but who is with stuff like that?” The young girl had shrugged, and you had to concede the point. If you grew up that way, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal.

Still, it chewed at you. The idea of it rankled. You cared about Perospero, even loved him, but there was something about it that felt transactional. He was always so attentive, and kind. He wasn’t too much with his gestures of affection, and he wasn’t too little with them either. Soft caresses and chaste kisses when others were around, passion when the doors were closed.

Privacy, like you liked.

But you knew. Even before that moment you knew. Standing there you were caught between surprise and vindication. Terrible, nauseating vindication, but vindication nonetheless.

You knew when he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed. You knew when you’d almost turned him down, the cold ball in the pit of your stomach dismissed as nerves. Dismissed as nothing more than maybe it was all progressing a little too fast.

You knew, and now it wasn’t just a feeling in your gut, it was a truth before your eyes.

What you hadn’t expected was to find him in your bed with two other people. The one you recognized as his secretary, Nokotti. It was such a cliche that you hadn’t even considered the possibility, but they never acted inappropriately at work. The other woman was called Tori, you think, but you’d only met her a couple times and had been mostly sure her and Nokotti were lovers.

Sitting on the plane, you look out the window and let the damnable scene play out in your mind again. The stupefied look on his face, the shock that changed to relief on her face, and the apathy on Tori’s face. You weren’t sure what expression was on yours, but it was enough to keep everyone quiet.

No one even flinched when you took a picture of the event with your phone. The soft sound of the shutter made by the phone was the only sound in the eerily silent room.

“I’m going to go home for the holidays.” You managed to say it evenly, as far as you could tell. The plans for you to return home had long since been set. You and Perospero were going to visit Dadan, stay for the autumn feast, and probably leave before Christmas.

There was a lot you both had to do for your work, it had been the most time the two of you could take at the same time.

“You and your things will be elsewhere when I return.” You’d tucked the phone back in your pocket, standing in silence for a long few moments as the other two took the hint and left the comforts of your bed. You barely even looked at them as they gathered their things, dressed enough to be legal, and left you and Pero alone.

To his credit he at least had the decency to look ashamed. Pulling off the ring and letting it drop to the floor had been both painful and relieving. You had cared for, and even more than that, trusted him. Maybe you should’ve asked if he was doing all of it for his mother’s sake, maybe you needed to let yourself realize you didn’t want to know.

Maybe it was for the best this way. Months before any wedding plans had been set in stone, instead of years after vows had been exchanged and children were involved.

The phone call with Dadan had been helpful, and the conversation with your boss had been awkward. She promised that your old room would be cleared out and ready for you. Warned you that her house was full again, but you’d already known that. Your boss had been very understanding, especially considering he was brother to your fiancé, and both were sons to the CEO.

He agreed to extend your time off, effective immediately, until after the first of the year. No additional paperwork on your end, and he’d make sure everything was covered. He couldn’t promise longer during that first phone conversation, but you’d spoken a time or two since then, and all the details were set.

Katakuri, at least, had sense enough to agree that was the bare minimum you were owed, considering Pero had done such a thing. He promised to do his best for you when you returned, and that had been effectively that.

And so you were off from Thanksgiving to New Years. Any longer and it would have to be a sabbatical, which was a valid option, but not what you wanted to consider at this point.

Ah, if only you had foregone your own morals and pursued your boss, you muse on the airplane, coming back to yourself and ending your walk through the last few days’ frustrations.

You wave your hand in front of your face and shake away the useless thoughts. Kata was a good soul, a rarity among his siblings in your current mindset, but he was also already madly in love. You might not be his personal assistant, but as a direct report you caught him looking wistfully at his phone enough times to know what was up. You were pretty sure you knew who he was looking at so lovingly.

It hadn’t been overt, but there’d been shifts in his demeanor whenever Smoothie’s fiance had been in the same room. It had been, you’d felt, a sentiment that was returned, but you couldn’t dare ask, or even hint at offering support. Katakuri wouldn’t have let the words escape you, he was too good at reading people and often either cut them short, or agreed with their resolutions before they had a chance to voice them. Sometimes it felt like he could see the future, but it was more likely that he was just more observant than most.

Idly, you hoped his mother wouldn’t destroy that love, whoever it was. Unlike some of his other siblings, you had the distinct impression that Katakuri would tear himself to pieces trying to obey his mother, so great was his loyalty.

The soft chime of an incoming announcement catches your attention, and you look out the airplane window as they speak. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, we’re approaching Orthrus City, and will begin our descent into SPX airport. The temperatures are a brisk 42 degrees Fahrenheit, 5.5 degrees Celsius. Thank you for flying Wanotori airlines, we hope you had a pleasant flight, and we look forward to helping you navigate the Grand Lines again.”

Shoving the thoughts of the big city out of your head, you try to focus on your stay in your hometown. A small farming town, Sphinx had 100 acres to every one resident, but the rolling hills and wide open spaces had their own charms. The city was nice, and you loved your job, but there wasn’t much that could beat the comforts of home.

Especially when you were in need of comfort.

[valalice]

WORKS IN PROGRESS.

REQUESTS & FUTURE FICS. this is a queue of some of (not all) my current wip, including request and original ideas; strictly for full fics and headcanons — drabbles will also be sprinkled in between these uploads. in no way does the order of this reflect when they're going to be published.

SNOWED IN ⟡ OLDER GF!CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

when an unexpected snow storm hits the city overnight, preventing your girlfriend from going into office for work. you're more than happy to keep her snuggled in bed, and luckily enough the storm outside leads to other endeavors. | fluff & smut

YOU MAKE ME WANNA ⟡ GIRLFRIEND!ELLIE WILLIAMS

request ༝ in which a girl with brown hair, green eyes, freckled cheeks, and a cute smile happens to be all yours. | fluff

XO TATTED ALL OVER HER BODY ⟡ ROOMMATE HOCKEY JOCK!VI

a new year, a new roommate. except this year you drew the short end of the stick (pun not intended) by getting the hockey team's captain as you roommate. | suggestive

SCOTTY DOESN'T KNOW ⟡ ABBY ANDERSON

countless hidden touches, stolen glances, and little written slips are exchanged between you and abby, all while you feed your girlfriend lies about your true whereabouts. it isn't your fault when you were pushed to extremes to seek out someone who could pleasure you better than the person you say you love. but, at this point it's her fault if she remains oblivious to the truth. | smut & angst

BLINDS WIDE OPEN PT. 2 ⟡ STALKER!CAITVI

you're stalkers are making their presence known after their little stunt, their efforts to win you over becoming bolder by the day. seeking help in the authorities only unknowingly pushes you further into their arms. | dark content & smut

CHERRY COLA & MOTOR OIL ⟡ MECHANIC!SEVIKA

car terminology is not one of your strong suites, it goes in one ear and out the other. so, when your car starts having unexpected car troubles you take it to the nearest shop, pleasantly surprised when a buff, oiled up woman takes care of all you troubles. with your car all fixed up, weeks past and the woman is still fresh on your mind, but you're left without a means to see her. . . so you create them. | smut

HANDLE ME ⟡ OLDER GF!CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

request ༝ the mystery sickness that's been going around has finally managed to latch itself onto you, trying your hardest to persevere through it, and failing. you're just thankful your girlfriend is there to nurse you back to health. | fluff & slight angst

BURIED FOR A NIGHT LIKE THIS ⟡ PIANIST!CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

when world renowned pianist, caitlyn kiramman, disappears from the public eye after the death of her mother and makes a return five years later with exclusive tour dates to perform never before heard pieces; you get tickets. from the magical night, one event leads to another and you're able to work out a once in a lifetime interview with the secluded pianist. a story of grief, healing, and love (in more way than one) unfolds throughout the process. | fluff

LAY ME DOWN ⟡ GIRLFRIEND!SEVIKA

request ༝ to most people your girlfriend is scary, intimidating, brash, that just happens when you're not her favorite person. | fluff & smut

YOU'LL BE ON MY MIND FOREVER ⟡ BARISTA!ELLIE WILLIAMS

hushed murmurs, the scent of coffee beans encapsulating the place, and soft music over the speakers perfectly describes the local cafe ellie's been working at for years. the barista takes pride in knowing all her regulars and their usual orders, but when a new face enters the shop and throws off the routine of her job by ordering a new drink; whether it's hot, iced, coffee, tea, or neither, she's naturally driven to crack you, creating a challenge for herself to figure out the special drink that'll become your usual. | fluff

DRABBLES : soft kind of love with vi | just the tip with caitlyn | bold little one with ambessa | tinker with jinx (request) | a glimpse of you with ellie | i'm an excellent shot with commander!caitlyn | still got it with jinx | forget what i said with venom!abby

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 2.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, guns, serious injury, mentions of potential character death

…

…

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice is dry, hoarse. Worn out from crying and screaming, breaking your hurt and cursing his name. Jake presses his tongue softly to the inside of his cheek, setting his hands in his lap, staring at a cigarette burn on the window ledge.

You’re sitting in the bay window of Allen’s youngest daughter’s room, head leaned back against the wall behind you, your heart aching. It’s raining tonight, which seems fitting. A peaceful and sunny afternoon, washed away by the events of this evening. Allen had mown the lawn earlier. It still smells of wet grass and fresh air.

Jake cracked the window a while ago to see if it would get your breathing back in check. He glances towards it now, and back at you, wondering if he should shut it before you get too cold.

Out of your dress and wrapped up in more of Allen’s daughter’s hand-me-downs, you should probably be trying to sleep. There’s no way you’ll be able to.

“I need you to know that I did everything that I could to stop it from happening.” Jake says quietly, his tie has been discarded and his jacket is downstairs on the back of an arm chair. He sits beside you now, a white shirt with a blood-stained collar and circles under his eyes.

He should be letting you sleep, Allen told him to just give you some space. He couldn’t. Even with what you had said to him, he can’t leave you like this.

“You didn’t fucking tell me.” You answer immediately. Jake closes his eyes. Exhausted, you close your eyes and grit your teeth, certain that you must be out of tears by now.

“I know,” He nods slowly. “I believed what they said — that you would be safer if you didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, this wasn’t what they told me —“

It all feels so obvious now. Jake hates this feeling — perspective, wondering if he is a fucking idiot for not seeing it coming all along. Copper on his tongue, his ears are still ringing, and his heart is beating so fast that he can hear it.

“What did they tell you? - What was supposed to happen?” You interrupt him this time, growing tired of his excuses. You pull your knees up to your chest, drawing further from him.

Allen’s place is cozier than you were expecting. A real family home, just as warm as Jake’s. Even the clothes feel softer. You haven’t been left alone once since you got here. Allen’s wife sat with you for forty minutes, coaxing you out of your dress and into warmer clothes, washing the blood gentle from your skin with a warm washcloth.

The dull ache, the violent envy that you have always pushed to the back of your mind, it sits in your very core and threatens to consume every smiling family portrait in this home.

Jake stares at the ground, fidgeting with his hands. He can’t look at you to say it. There’s no justifying it. He wants to touch you. To graze his palm against your ankle and make you understand. He doesn’t even understand it. He knew that it was wrong and he let you walk in there.

You just can’t stop thinking about every opportunity that he must have had to warn you. Your mind goes back to the last time that you were in D.C with him. Sitting in the bathtub with your back to his chest, telling him how terrified you were.

The thought crosses your mind that he must have known. He must have remembered that conversation in the bathtub too, remembered holding you and promising you that he was going to protect you. Bullshit. Anger bubbles in your stomach, watching him stall.

“It… I was told that it was a kidnapping plot. But we had a plan, we — I — I wasn’t going to let anything-“

“Oh my god,” Nausea rising in your core, you stand up a little too quickly and ignore the head rush and black spots in your vision as you stumble back. Jake stands with you, brows knitting together as you bump into the bed frame behind you. “You son of a bitch!”

You reach behind you, for something, anything that will work as a projectile. A stuffed animal first, it hits his shoulder and falls to the ground. Then, a pen holder filled with colourful markers on the nightstand.

Manny glances up at the ceiling as a loud thud comes from above him, then winces sharply as the needle drags through his arm.

“Hold still, son, gotta make sure this is closed up and clean.” Allen mumbles, somewhat tenderly, pushing his glasses up his nose with his shoulder. He hasn’t worked with stitches like this in years. Manny doesn’t have the luxury of a hospital tonight. He’s luckily that he was just grazed by a fractured bullet, no real harm done.

“You fucking asshole! I can’t fucking believe you! Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

They both glance up at the ceiling together as the screaming continues again after maybe fifteen minutes of quiet. More thudding as you throw what you can find at him.

Allen shakes his head, “Told him to leave her alone.”

“So, you, uh — you knew about them?” Manny’s knuckles whiten around the edge of the table, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He hates needles. He stares at the ficus in the corner.

“You didn’t?” Allen scoffs.

Manny chuckles dryly and rubs at his temple, giving a soft shake of his head, “Plausible deniability, man. I didn’t know a thing.”

They exchange half-amused, knowing glances. This entire thing is just a time bomb, and after what Jake did tonight, it’s only a matter of time. Only now, the entire world is going to have eyes on you and your family for the next few weeks. With the election drawing to a close too, it’s going to be quite the scandal to end your father’s time in office.

Manny finally looks away from the ficus and happens to glance upwards, catching sight of the muted news broadcast on the television to his right. He reads over the information at the bottom detailing the events of the attack. Suspected terrorism. Four dead, nine injured. The First Lady in critical condition at Walter Reed Military Medical Centre.

“Oh my god,” Manny breathes out, brows knitting together. He swallows quickly and reaches for his phone. “Did — did anyone call you? — Shouldn’t someone have called us?”

“Stop — Stop it.” Jake grabs your forearms and holds them down at your sides, eyes stormy, jaw clenched. Your features ablaze, you thrash against him, trying to pull your arms free. “I’m sorry, okay? — I didn’t fucking know.”

You struggle against him, growling in frustration and kicking at him in an effort to get free, all the while still yelling. “You listened to me sit there and apologise to you tonight and you knew that this was going to happen — you let me, my family, walk in there!”

“Your family? — Your family fucking knew!” Jake barks back. It’s cold and maybe he should have lied to protect your feelings, but he’s done protecting those people. They wouldn’t do the same for you. “I begged your dad to do something, I called him every day for a week.”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with your shoulder, sniffling as you tug against his grip. Exhaustion sets in, aching each muscle that you flex in the struggle. You swallow the whimper in your throat. “Are you kidding me, Jake? — Do you seriously think that he would let me, my mom, walk in there if he knew that it was going to be like that?”

“Do you think I would?” Jake answers back, shaking his head. Stepping closer, trying to hold your gaze, Jake wills you to see what he’s trying to show you. “I have been with you every single day and night for four months. I love you, and I’m sorry that I let you down. But I’m not lying, your dad knew about all of this.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whimper. He wouldn’t risk his career for this. You, maybe. It doesn’t even hurt you to realize. But his career? — Never.

“Believe what you want,” Jake squeezes your forearms, brows knitting together. He exhales slowly. “I love you, and I did what I had to do — but you have to trust me,I—”

“I don’t trust you!” You snap at him, voice trembling.

The door to the bedroom swings open. Allen glances between the two of you. You, with your tear-stained cheeks and furious glare. Jake, with his heart in your hands.

“Sweetheart,” Allen says softly, taking a cautious step into the room. You didn’t think you heart could have possibly sunk further. Jake slowly lets go of your arms. “It’s your mom. I think you should let me take you to see her.”

Jake thinks back to the voice in his ear, the urgency and the panic and you barely conscious enough to stand in his arms. He could have gone back, he chose not to. You’re standing in front of him now. He doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

You stare at Allen, wordless.

“She’s in surgery at the moment, I think that you should be there.”

Walter Reed is one of the best facilities in the country. A punctured lung is practically a broken wrist to them. A splintered bullet, sitting in three different spots amongst the large intestine, that’s complicated for anyone. It’s a tricky procedure, and she lost a lot of blood — but no doctor wants to be responsible for the death of the President’s Wife.

You’ve lost track of what time it is by the time you arrive there, still in Allen’s daughter’s pyjamas. Dropping Allen’s hand, you rush forwards and your father opens his arms. Jake tucks one hand into his pocket. Once you’re wrapped into a warm looking hug, all attention turns towards Jake.

Matthew looks at him over your shoulder.

Everyone heard him over the comms, his defiance is practically headline news amongst the White House staff. He couldn’t care less, you’re standing here to witness the trouble that he’s in and that’s all that matters.

Including this moment, Jake has seen your father hug you twice in the past four months. Your mother maybe five times. Still, easy enough for him to count on one hand.

Arms crossed over his front, blood on his collar, Jake watches your father with discontent. A furious look in the green of his eyes. He isn’t listening to the conversation that you’re having, he doesn’t particularly care about whatever it is your father has to tell you. Lies, probably.

For a man who almost lost his wife and daughter in the same night, Jake notices that Matthew looks pretty put together. Hair still styled neatly, suit perfectly in place. Not even his tie loosened.

He seems calm. Well prepared. Jake stares calmly, studying him as the two of you talk. He can’t help but wonder where all of this intel came from. These tip-offs, anonymous warnings of what was to come. All of them directed at you, not one at your father. Something that left the entire staff hideously under-prepared for tonight.

It’s absurd — a baseless and ridiculous accusation, but he’s not even sure of the motive behind all of this. Something Matt had signed off on that an activist group was upset about. That’s as much information as Jake has ever been given.

It doesn’t make much sense. That they’ve never once targeted your father in these past four months.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course, princess. She’s sleeping but you can go in and sit with her,” Matthew smiles at you calmly, squeezing your shoulder gently. “I’ll be right in.”

Eyes on the ground, you walk by without a word. You’re glad that he doesn’t reach for you, you’re not sure that you could take it right now.

“Seresin.” Matthew’s attention is on Jake from the moment that you’re out of the room. Jake uncrosses his arms and gives a nod of acknowledgement. More defiance, a blatant disregard for the highest figure of authority that there is. “Heard that you were quite the hero tonight.”

Jake shrugs.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe,” Matthew slips his hand into Jake’s clasping their palms together in a firm handshake. Jake stares at him, cold. Matthew leans in slowly, his polite smile fading once he is close enough to Jake to whisper.

“If you ever disobey orders like that again, I’ll see to it personally that you never work again.”

Jake squeezes his palm a fraction tighter and nods, his face stoic. “If you ever put her in danger like that again, you’ll wish you had gone out quick and easy tonight.”

“Are you threatening me, son?” Matthew squares his shoulders and steps towards Jake like he is something to be feared. Jake stands up straighter, silent.

It takes either a lot of guts or a real lack of brains to be speaking like that in front of all of these people. Matthew studies Jake. Having worked as a politician now for longer than Jake has been alive, Matt is an expert at calling bullshit.

People try to lie to him regularly, he lies to other people even more frequently. He has become pretty skilled at calling someone’s bluff. He knows that Jake isn’t bluffing.

Standing down, Jake gives your father a shake of his head and turns away. In search of a coffee machine, or water — some reprieve from your fucking family, perhaps.

“How long has he been working with my daughter?” Matthew asks, brows furrowed as he watches Jake walk away.

“Um, around four months, Sir. Since the end of April.” An assistant answers sheepishly. Four months is a long time. Matthew hums in annoyance.

“Do some digging. Camera feeds, paparazzi that we might’ve paid off — come get me if you find anything.”

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[zoeykallus]

Aloha,

First I want to tell you I love your works and how much work you put into your writing. I can't imagine how much effort goes into them!

If you are taking requests, how do you think the batchers would react to receiving naughty pictures of from SO? Maybe their meshla took the pictures themselves, or got boudoir style pictures? Did they get them in person, or maybe they got sent to them during a mission? And anything else you think would happen in this scenario?

If you're not taking requests don't worry about it, I just thought I'd ask 🤣

Aloha!

So sorry for the long wait! Finally, I'm here 😅 I think I got some ideas for this one 😁😁

"And anything else you think would happen in this scenario?"

So far it was tasteful, now you gave me ideas 😋

Now, as always, I remind you, if no gender is mentioned, I'm assuming a female reader.

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader HCs (Shorts) - Picture Perfect

Warnings: Strongly Suggestive/Mentioned Nudity/Mentioned Masturbation/ Humor/Fluff/A Little Angsty (I guess)/18+

________________

What's Happening: You have been separated from each other by work for a long time. You come up with a salacious, wild idea. Sexy photos, from elegant to more than just charming, so that your lover can in no way forget you. Sent as a message, this erotic gesture makes for interesting events. "Hey darling, I miss you. I know you miss me too. That's why I have a surprise for you in the attachment. I love you!"

_________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

>MASTER LIST<

Hunter

You are away on business for a long time, and he is currently on a mission with his squad and a few men of the 501. You promised him a surprise, for which he is already waiting impatiently, something to sweeten the waiting time until you meet again. On the new comm that Tech developed, he would receive a message. The men have set up a couple of tents that they share two at a time, with him lies Crosshair grumbling, "When are you going to stop staring at that thing? She's not getting back to you today" Hunter says unimpressed, "Yes she does, she promised. Just sleep." Then the comm beeps, finally. Hunter excitedly opens the message, it's a short voice message. "Hey darling, I miss you. I know you miss me too. That's why I have a surprise for you attached. I love you!" Hunter's heart beats faster, just hearing your voice releases tons of endorphins in his brain and gives him a deep sense of comfort. Automatically, he has your smell in his nose and his heart beats faster.

He can't wait to see you again, but he'll have to be patient. He opens the attachment and freezes for a moment as a picture of you pops up on the holo image, one of many you've taken. Very revealing, very raunchy, incredibly sexy, tastefully erotic, at least most of them, some even go a little further and Hunter feels himself getting hot. He licks his lips, already thinking about you, when he hears a blanket rustling next to him. He had completely forgotten about Crosshair for a moment. "Holy shit," the Sniper mutters, "Not bad." Hunter hastily turns away with the comm to hide it from him, a reflex reaction where he accidentally presses a wrong button. The next moment, the comms in all the other tents beep. Clearly he hears your voice repeatedly from the other tents, your message. Hunter has accidentally sent your message to everyone else, a newsletter to everyone present. He gets ice-cold, nauseous. Then he clearly hears Wrecker's voice, "WOAH!"

Hunter crawls out of the tent, accompanied by Crosshair's sneering giggle, and shouts in a panic, "DON'T OPEN THE ATTACHMENT!" From most of the tents he hears a "Too late" or "Woah" or some other astonished exclamation, of course no one has been able to resist opening the attachment. The men crawl out of the tents, some laughing, some blushing. "You're a complete idiot," Echo says dryly to the sergeant. Hunter's heart races in panic. He raises his hands and says urgently, "No one breathes a word about this, she can never know" Tech sighs and rolls his eyes like he's surrounded by idiots. He collects the comms without being asked, even against a protest or two, and deletes the message on all comms except Hunter's. Hunter feels a small surge of relief and says wearily, "Thanks Tech." This incident will be on his conscience for a long time. Sooner or later, he'll confess to you what happened.

Echo

He has locked himself in the refresher after receiving your message. He is standing in the shower with the comm on one of the trays in the shower directly in front of him. He knows that his brothers will only eavesdrop or spy if he doesn't retreat. He listens briefly to the message and smiles dreamily. Echo misses you very much, your voice, your smile, your touch, just everything. He misses spoiling you and cuddling with you. It seems to him as if you haven't seen each other for ages. He has undressed and turned on the water in the shower, starts to wash himself and opens the attachment on the side. Why not kill two birds with one stone? But he stops abruptly while soaping up when the first image of you appears on the holo imager. "Oh," he says softly. He blinks, slowly realizing the nature of this surprise. He glances around as if someone might have snuck into the locked refresher, then a grin appears on his lips.

Echo is excited, his pulse begins to race as he slowly clicks through the images. "Damn lady, now I miss you even more". He pauses at a picture he particularly likes. Your lips are slightly parted, a gorgeous bedroom look in your eyes, your hands on your breasts. Almost automatically, his hand moves to his swelling cock. His gaze jumps back and forth between your lips and your breasts as he begins to pump his hard length. Echo curses softly, in his mind he shoves his cock alternately into your mouth and between your breasts. It's not long before his hard length is pulsing, spurting his seed into the shower unit. Echo hastily makes everything clean, suddenly he is ashamed, somehow it seems dirty to him. But then again it doesn't. The next time you see each other in person, he confesses to you what he has done, as if he had committed a crime. Amused and flattered at the same time, you make it clear to him that you had hoped that your pictures would have this effect.

Wrecker

"Yeah, I miss you too, little lady!" he says to the message, even though he knows you can't hear him right now. Wrecker is not alone, though; communicative and cheerful as he is, he trumpeted loudly that he had received a message and opened it before anyone else. "Wrecker," Crosshair says quietly but admonishing, "I don't think you should open the attachment in public." It's too late, Wrecker has already opened the attachment and the first image appears on the Marauder's holoprojector, almost life-size. "Never mind," Crosshair murmurs, eyeing the holo-projection interested. For a long moment, the men stand around the projector, staring at your very salacious image. As if spellbound, all pairs of eyes are fixed on your exposed body. But finally Echo clears his throat and turns off the projection. "Wrecker", he says calmly, "I think this is only meant for you".

"Uhu," he says, still a little shocked. Of course, he's looking forward to seeing the other pictures and having fun with them, but he's worried that you might find out that his brothers all know what you look like naked. He has the data stick with your message in his hand, is about to pull back and stops once again. He turns around, looks into the round. All eyes are on him, as his brothers already sense he's about to tell them something. "Guys, can this stay between us? I mean, that she doesn't find out what just happened here?" Approving murmurs fill the small room. Wrecker smiles gratefully, then grins mischievously and says, "Well, I'm going to retire to the refresher for a while." Crosshair says sternly, "Please clean up properly afterward." The rest agree again, muttering. Wrecker rolls his eyes, "Don't worry, I'll clean up, but I'm not getting out of there anytime soon."

Tech

He is so excited when your message arrives that his hands shake. You haven't seen each other in over a month. Tech is alone on the Marauder and busy with repairs when the message reaches him. He sits down in the cockpit, puts the comm on the console in front of him and listens to it. "Hey darling, I miss you. I know you miss me too. That's why I have a surprise for you in the attachment. I love you!" Just hearing your voice makes his heart race and triggers a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Expectantly, he clicks on the attachment and the first picture opens. A beautiful picture, elegant, in beautiful underwear. Tech takes off his helmet, places it on the ground next to him, and examines the picture more closely. He smiles dreamily, with slightly heated ears and cheeks. Then he sees that it is only the first of a whole series of pictures. He clicks further, another very nice picture in underwear, in a different pose this time. In the next picture, you are no longer wearing a bra. A soft "Oh", comes across his lips. Tech slides around on the pilot's chair because his cock is getting hard and the posture uncomfortable.

He continues to click through the pictures, fascinated. Until you are finally naked and the poses become more and more salacious. By now, he's so hard that he automatically takes off his codpiece because it just gets too uncomfortable. Absentmindedly, his hand strokes the bulge in his Blacks. Finally, he reaches under the waistband, pushes the pants down a bit and his fingers embrace his cock. He's so starved for you, hasn't touched himself once since you left. But here and now, he can't help it. You know exactly what he likes and have saved the best for last. Naked on all fours, you stretch out your ass towards him, casting a ravishing bedroom glance over your shoulder, one hand on your buns, like an invitation for him to take you from behind. And in his fantasy, that's exactly what he's doing as he starts pumping his cock, moaning and shaking with tense arousal. It doesn't last long, it's built up too much, too long. Tech cums so hard, so much so that his whole body jerks for a moment, his thighs quiver, and a thick load spurts onto his comm and the console.

It takes him a minute to come to and realize what a mess he has made. Hastily, a little panicked, he turns off the comm and the holo-projection, straightens his clothes and quickly cleans everything up properly. Not a second too late, because in the next moment he hears his brothers coming back.

Crosshair

You've been away for a long time, and today you finally meet Crosshair again. You can't wait to hear what he thinks about the little surprise you sent him a few weeks ago. You are all tingly, all excited. Your eyes keep wandering back and forth to the passersby looking for him. You are too early at the agreed meeting point, actually he still has time, but you are still nervous, can't stop looking for him. But suddenly you hear his voice behind you. "Hey Kitten" You should have known he would sneak up on you. Beaming with joy, you turn to him, fall around his neck and kiss him. He returns the kiss, but finally breaks away from your lips and says, laughing softly, "Slow down, save some for later". "How did you like my little surprise?" you ask with a grin. "Surprise?"

You blink and say, "Yes, my surprise, the message with the attachment." He looks at you blankly. "What attachment?" Slowly, panic rises in you. Did you accidentally send it somewhere else? "The pictures I took for you," you say, a little breathless with shock. "Pictures?" You ruffle your hair and say, "Yes, pictures." Slowly a smile creeps onto his lips and you realize he is teasing you. You sigh in relief and annoyance at the same time. "Cross, don't scare me like that!" He laughs softly. "Did you like them?" you finally want to know. "I love them, Kitten. Very appetizing, had a lot of fun with them. In fact, I don't think I need you anymore. I have the pictures and can do the rest on my own." You box him playfully and say, "Stop teasing me". He laughs again, then kisses your neck, his lips move up to your ear, and he whispers, "Actually, the pictures have given me a lot of ideas. Do you want me to show them to you?" Your ears and cheeks get hot, and you say with a grin, "Absolutely." He smiles with satisfaction and says, "Good, because I've reserved a hotel room for us."

@rintheemolion

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[gffa]

Dearest gffa, you are the only person I know whose been reading Batfamily comics. (Though I do read some of the fanfic haha). The destiel meme informed me that Bad Things just happened in the latest comics. Is there a primer to the latest drama? (Everyone seems upset). Are you ok?

Best wishes, your fandom neighbor on Star Wars Street

I assume this is about the Batman #148 leaks? I haven't seen a ton of drama (other than a couple of posts, including the Destiel meme notification that got me to go see what was happening) but if that's it, it's kind of funny, because okay. As far as I've seen (the issue isn't even out yet, so I can't read it until tomorrow, I'm only going on the leaked panels I've seen) what happens in the issue is that Failsafe-- okay, let me back up. In the current Batman run (written by Chip Zdarsky), awhile back Bruce created a super powerful robot that was meant to be activated in the case of him going rogue so that it could take him down, and it's very coldly logical, based on his patterns, so it knows him extremely well and is hard to beat. It's powerful enough that it apparently took out the Justice League awhile back (I haven't read that arc yet, so take that with a grain of salt), which means now that Failsafe has gone rogue in the current Batman series that Zdarsky's writing, Bruce is having a hell of a time fighting it, especially with his "backup personality" Zur-En-Arrh (Bruce is a paranoid shit and I love him the most) is also running amok in his head and he's fighting back against that. Back up further--in late 2023, there was an event called "Gotham War" that was basically, "Bruce has been through a lot of shit lately, so he was out of commission for several months, in that time Selina stepped up in Gotham and started training crooks to be cat burglars instead of rogues' goons, Bruce woke up, thought this was bullshit, despite that crime was down, and they basically had a turf war while Bruce was losing his goddamned mind because of what he'd been through and because Zur-En-Arrh was literally ratting the bars of the cage of his mind, and part of the fallout being that Bruce dosed Jason with a gas that basically made his adrenaline go wild any time he would do anything dangerous, so that he could no longer be in this life of crime or vigilantism, because Jason had killed a lot of people, but Bruce couldn't bear to send him to jail, so this was the only way he could live with taking Jason out of the life they lived". Gotham War was extremely controversial--I had fun with it, because it was BONKERS and I fuckin' love bonkers stuff in the "punching people in the face solves crime" genre, but a lot of people were really angry about how Jason was treated in the arc. Zdarsky co-wrote Gotham War, so this is a continuation of a lot of people's frustration and anger towards how Jason has been treated by DC especially by this author.

There's also a lot of lingering frustration and resentment in fandom because Jason is not always written well or frequently. He doesn't have his own solo book these days, half of what's written about him is written by authors with VASTLY different takes from the other half of the writers out there, and there's a lot of fanon that goes around with Jason's sub-section of fandom where I think it furthers the divide because the fic that's written about Jason delves deep into his character in specific ways that the canon doesn't match and I think it can set expectations for some fans that are just not matched by DC themselves, either because they see Jason differently or because Jason just doesn't have a lot of fans at the company itself, I couldn't say for sure. So, now comes Batman #148 leaks (it's not actually out until tomorrow), where Failsafe kills Jason and Bruce has a dramatic reaction to it, and a lot of people are furious that DC would kill Jason at all, much less with such little fanfare, after how little focus he's gotten over the last several years. The thing is, though, that Jason doesn't stay dead, he's alive again by the end of the issue (I've seen panels from later in the issue) and I'm not sure how many people are reacting just to seeing the posts flying around fandom versus how many people have actually seen the whole context. Because context is slowly rolling out, but people generally aren't soothed by that, given the lead-up to this moment. Basically, years of Jason not getting much focus in the comics + the events of Gotham War have led to a powderkeg of a situation and the contextless leaks (ie, without the panel where Jason's alive again) took a match to the whole thing. And that's what's going on, as far as I know! I personally am having a great time because I was extremely skeptical that they would actually kill Jason without any fanfare and also I like Jason as a hot mess with crunchy relationships with people and that he's done bad things and had bad things done to him/been a victim as well, so all this messy drama in the story has me living for it. (This would have been a very different situation if I'd thought Jason was really dead, but I didn't, so I'm doing fine right now. Also, my Blorbo is Dick Grayson, so I've already been through this wringer and I'm still mad at DiDio for it, so it's Jason-Blorbo's time now.)

[sciderman]

Currently reading through the spiderpool blog and just finished the civil war era. That alternate timeline where Pete is an assassin, of course we know Ben is alive but what happens to that version Ben and May? I wonder if they know what he is doing and if they are still even apart of his life.

oh, anon. anon... it's a sad little tale,, it's a sad little story. i do imagine that this specific peter parker pursues his career of fame and fortune, and becomes vain and horrible. a real "talk to my agent!" kind of asshole.

and initially, he still cares for uncle ben and aunt may. they're the only two people in the world who loved him properly. but... but. fame goes to his head. the old cliché. he's making bank, and – there's less urgency for him to stay to support aunt may because uncle ben's still around, so, peter kind of goes his own way. very quickly he can afford his own apartment by doing tv deals and very quickly he's signed on for a movie deal. he is hot shit.

of course all of that fame and being so busy and being so secretive and spider-man's identity still being a secret to the public and to ben and may means that he ultimately grows distant from may and ben. he skips school to pursue fame, doesn't think he needs it. and i mean, the guy hates high school. it's a living hell for him. he's given an out - of course he'll take it. he doesn't graduate high school. doesn't get a college education. doesn't tell uncle ben and aunt may because obviously they wouldn't endorse him dropping out of school.

they wouldn't get it. they wouldn't understand. he becomes a mystery to them. they don't know where he goes, what's going on with him. he's barely home and then he, so very quietly, moves out with all the money he's made.

fame is fickle, though, and - spider-man doesn't capture peoples hearts for the long-term. spider-man doesn't inspire heroism in this world. he doesn't waste his effort on selfless deeds. he doesn't become a heroic figure. hence why wade doesn't join weapon x.

the spider-man of this turn of events doesn't amount to more than a quick cash-grab, and the people are over him so quickly. people who worked with him realise he's kind of a jerk, and isn't even pulling in money anymore. spider-man becomes a has-been before he even reaches his twenties.

so, this spider-man lives alone - can't face uncle ben and aunt may because he's quickly realising that yeah. he made the wrong choice. he dug his grave, and he has to lay in it. he's a drop-out, and he feels like peter parker is entirely worthless. he can barely look at himself in the mirror. at least as spider-man he has some power. some reputation. something. peter parker? peter parker disappeared off the face of the planet some years ago, and nobody knows who or where he is. peter parker is dead and neglected. there's no future for peter parker. so he builds a life with the skills that he has, as spider-man. he does what he's good at. becomes hired muscle. becomes hired muscle for anyone that can pay his rates. those are usually bad guys.

he falls deeper and deeper into that rabbit hole. and the further he falls, the harder it is for him to conceive he could ever come back to uncle ben and aunt may and have them welcome and accept him, with all the mistakes he's made.

unfortunately, in this particular timeline - as bex and i'd plotted it out for the alt!verse fic where wade winds up trapped with this sad, isolated peter parker - it still takes uncle ben dying to destroy peter's barricades and have him finally reach out to aunt may, in his way. first distantly offering her financial support before he, after months, eventually gains the courage to face her. and she can see the scars on his face.

i think it kind of universally takes uncle ben dying for peter to learn "great power great responsibility" - not as peter interprets or misinterprets it, but... the loss of uncle ben meaning peter recognising he has a responsibility to the people around him. he can't disappear from it. he can't isolate himself from it. when uncle ben passes, he finds out he has a responsibility to aunt may. that's kind of the whole thing, that's what great responsibility is. him filling uncle ben's shoes.

i think that's something i'm obsessed with - that peter knows that the loss of uncle ben means he needs to step up and fill ben's shoes, but he's still not entirely sure what it means. what he has to do to be able to fill that void that's left empty by ben's absence. what ben meant. what manhood means.

great responsibility is about manhood, and looking after the people you love. it's not - it's not about what you owe the world.

i think peter unfortunately has to learn that lesson the hard way, every time.

but, eventually, at some point, peter comes home.

[tavyliasin]

The Highs and Lows of Fandom Creation

Hello darlings~ It has been a little while and this one has been on my list to get to for a while, and with the Baldur's Date Valentine's Fanworks event soon to draw to a close it seems appropriate to start preparing ourselves for the cycle of what happens when we release our works into the wild. So without further ado, our latest essay~

The RollerCoaster of Emotion That Comes With Being A Creative In Fan Spaces (FanArt, FanFiction, Cosplay, Photography, Music, and So Much More) ((Another CallOut Essay Prepare To Be SEEN)) (((Also I Have Some Coping Techniques Here Too!)))

As usual with my essay pieces I will be making plenty of use of the headers to divide topics, and I fully welcome any thoughts and feelings in the comments. Whilst I am really only in the FanFic side, and a focus on Baldur's Gate 3, I do intend to make this essay inclusive of the trials and tribulations that we all tend to face in making and sharing fanworks of all kinds and through all fandoms. The more people I speak to, the more it seems to be a universal experience, so hold on to your hats it's a bumpy ride! The first part will talk about the Rollercoaster itself, the how and why behind it all, and the second will be around how to cope with it. For readers and appreciators of fan content, I urge you to have a little look too, and at the end I will add in some ways you can help support your favourites too~

Creatives Are Emotional Beings

Starting off with the obvious callout - most of us are. We feel things deeply, and that emotion can often be an incredible driving force behind our works. Whether we're creating around things we've experience, being inspired and influenced by our current emotions, or drawing on our well of imagination to work out what characters might feel (and often more importantly how/why they feel that way), emotion is a strong part of the process.

This can be an incredible strength! Tapping in to the deeper parts of ourselves, our experiences, and the emotions at our cores, can bring out the very best in our works across all creative formats. It also tends to help our audiences engage too, as they recognise their own emotions mirrored in the works.

The Downside to Strong Emotion - The Rollercoaster Effect

This chart was initially drawn up based on writing, but truly after speaking with a few beloved Discord friends it was quick to see that this easily applies to art as well, so I'm going to go over this slightly differently to the initial plan.

The Start Of Every Ride

We begin usually around a neutral baseline, or maybe a little below if we haven't created in a while, perhaps we might start higher than baseline with the rush of an exciting new idea. Either way, the first part of the project tends to go up in mood very quickly when we share those early unfinished parts.

For writers this might be a beta reader or sharing a sample of the work as they're still writing as a teaser, artists might see this as their initial sketch or linework stage if they're sharing progress and teasers too. Cosplayers could be the first part of a build, musicians sharing a few bars of the melody - whatever it is, that first little positive boost that says Keep Going is a powerful one.

But what happens next? Well, you still have more work to do! That initial boost and confidence can drop down to a slump, especially if it's taking longer to complete than you thought it would, and double that if something goes wrong that needs to be changed or fixed.

You may, hopefully, find it begins to rise as things start to come together again and that finish line in sight, but then...

I Finished Making The Thing, Now What?

Well, first you're going to feel that massive surge of satisfaction from completing the thing. Sometimes a dopamine rush in the brain, and all that excitement of "Finally I get to share the thing I worked so hard on! It's done!" So, off you go, you post it. You share the links, maybe drop them in some Discord servers, other social media...and then, often very quickly, it hits you.

Post Publishing Drop

Those of you in the convention and event scene might also know this feeling as "Con Drop", which can take a little longer to manifest. Post Publishing Drop hits quite quickly. Sometimes it might take a few hours, but other times it starts almost within minutes of posting as all that rush of energy finishing and publishing is just...gone.

If you're lucky, you might get some quick and early feedback, especially if you're a well known or popular creator, but I imagine even those of you who tend to get very high engagement can feel a lot of this too so I don't mean to exclude any of you in any way at all~ So what is it? What's happening? WHY?!

Well darlings all that adrenaline is wearing off and realistically you're not likely to get that creative feedback and validation instantly. So that wonderfully powerful emotional heart of yours is going to crack a little. It won't last, it won't stay this low, but good gods that lack of engagement and positive reinforcement can be devastating.

The first engagements you get - kudos, likes, reaction emotes on a Discord post - they may be enough to boost you right back up to your baseline or even a little above, until the worry creeps back in again. And I know that it does, clawing and slithering in the back of your beautifully creative mind whispering those horrible lies:

Why isn't this getting the reaction I hoped for yet? Is this work not as good as before? Have people stopped liking me? Is the website/platform hiding my work? Have I upset people somehow in ways I can't even see?

Then Back Up We Go, And What Goes Up...

Hopefully those voices don't get a chance to be too loud for too long before you see more of that engagement. Maybe it's a heartfelt comment from someone, or a share from someone you respect, or just a little surge of interaction in general. You're back on top, darling, your creative heart is soaring, finally your work is being seen in a way that reminds you why you put in all that time in the first place!

And each time, the high wears off again, with a drop, though the extremities of each is likely less and less as time goes on. Unless, of course, we make one little mistake and the gradual confidence build comes crashing back down...

The Perils Of Comparing

Sometimes this might be looking at someone else's work, seeing a similar style or similar topic get far more engagement than your own. It can be really hard not to feel discouraged by this, and falling into that trap of questioning where you're "going wrong" can lead to absolute agony - I urge you to do your best to move away from this as soon as you notice the feeling. I'll cover some proper techniques later though, I promise!

The other trap with comparison can be looking at your own past works, and over-analysing why some pieces never got the same love and appreciation as others. Picking it apart to find what you can do better is not as wise a plan as it seems for one simple reason:

Over half of this is down to pure chance!

It might be the time of day it was posted, or just one or two people seeing it and deciding to share it on that gives a work a massive boost to interaction and engagement. Maybe a work was lucky enough to get shared in a prominent community by one of the members, or even had someone with a huge following give it a boost.

At the end of the day, there seem to be very few ways to predict this. Of course there are some characters, topics, art styles, writing tropes, etc that will have a tendency to get more love from their respective fanbases - that's how popularity works - but there is no guarantee that, for example, two portraits of the same character in similar styles by different artists will have the same levels of engagement and "success". The main person you should be aiming to please with your own work is yourself~ After all, when working on it you will be the one going over it again and again, knowing every detail in and out, if you don't love the subject of those details your less likely to even reach that finish line~

And It All Begins Again

At the end of the cycle there's often one last spike up. Maybe it's a comment or interaction from someone who truly felt the depth of meaning in your work as you hoped it would, or you realise that it has done better overall in the numbers, or most often you get that creative surge of a shiny new idea that calls to you with that familiar siren song, promising the high of satisfaction and sweeping the memory of that Post Publishing Drop under the rug all over again so you won't see it coming when you trip on it.

How Do We Get Off This Ride? Where's The Safety Bar?

Darlings, be honest, you didn't want to stop. You still don't. That's why you're still right here, reading this with me. Your cycle might take a day, a week, a month, or you may go through the whole thing in a matter of hours.

Riding The Waves

The first way to begin coping is to prepare. Know yourself and how you're likely to feel, and plan ahead for it. If you know the drop is coming, you can try to avoid it, or deploy distress tolerance when it feels too much.

On a very simple level, this can be reminding yourself that the lows do not last, and those highs will still be there. You might even be tempted to try to regulate the highs as much as the lows, to bring everything a little closer in to the baseline throughout the cycle.

Distress Tolerance techniques can be important to practice when you're feeling close to your baseline and calm so that they're easier to turn to when you're feeling that low hit. There are lots of things that work for different people, so it might be trial and error - largely you're looking at relaxation techniques, distraction from the source of the distress, and/or community support.

You Can Rely On The Community!

It is ok to ask for help! You can ask people for reassurance, directly ask for feedback, or even just talk over how you feel with other creators and find out how they're handling things. Sometimes just knowing you're not alone and that your feelings are real, valid, and matter can be a real boon - that's why I'm here, spending a couple of hours putting all of this into words as best as I can for you all. I've felt this cycle too many times, but the more I talk about it with other fic writers the more I feel we are connected and that I'm not just losing my marbles over nothing~

We are human, we have emotions - strong ones, remember? - and there's nothing wrong with that at all!

There is nothing wrong with having emotions and experiencing them!

Knowing When To Step Away

If you know you're more likely to have a swift drop from lack of quick feedback, it's a great idea to plan to step away from socials as soon as you're done. Have an activity planned, or do it all write before bed so you can switch off and go to sleep. Turn off those notifications so you aren't fussing over each one of them as they come in and don't go back for a while.

Allow a realistic amount of time to pass for people to see and engage with your work before you worry it is invisible!

The Next Shiny Idea

Conversely, if you're feeling too much of a creative itch, then as soon as you're done sharing move right on to starting the next project. Let the initial surge of energy from completing and sharing something be the driving force to kickstart the next great adventure! That way you're thinking more about the new work, the sparkling allure of a fresh idea, rather than fixating on the success of the last.

Cashing in on that adrenaline rush to make a good head-start can boost you right to that early feedback stage too, then if you're really lucky when you hit the first drop-off you'll have the positive engagement from the last work to boost you back up, so in some ways you're overlaying your graphs to balance them out with each other.

Naturally this only works if you have the time and energy to do so. It's also important to know when to take breaks to avoid burning out.

General Mood Boosting Ideas

These might not work for everyone, but here are some things to try when you're in one of those lows. A lot of this may be trial and error and knowing yourself best, so treat this as a few things that may or may not be effective rather than Lia's Super Snake Oil Cure For Everything (you have to buy that from me separately, it's super expensive but it is delightfully cherry and cinnamon flavoured~)

Check in on your basic needs. Drink, food, meds (if applicable), sleep/nap, caffeine (if you usually have it), shower/bath/hygiene needs (even if just a quick freshen up it's better than nothing), fresh air/outside time (if possible), exercise/physical movement (if you're able to), social needs (can be in person or online, any social interaction/support)

Music can be a powerful mood tool. Sometimes it's cathartic to listen to music that matches your current mood, but other times it is better to listen to music with the mood you want to feel.

Media from the fandom, like the book/film/game/etc that you're making fanworks for - return to the thing that inspired you to create and remember all the things that you loved about it in the first place.

Look at other fanworks but be very cautious! Do this for inspiration, to look at things you do and don't like in other pieces, but do not do this if it will be likely to cause a mood drop for you.

Do something different and change up your routine. Something entirely new or something you haven't done for a while.

Try something small, not connected to a large piece. A few sketches, doodles, make a meme, write a few short lines of dialogue or a brief scene. Share something with far lower stakes for a little boost.

Talk to others in the creative community and have a bit of fun, maybe try some games together, whatever you like!

I'm Not A Creative, How Can I Help?

This also counts for creatives who want to support each other, too! Of course I will put the caveat that I do understand that not everyone is comfortable visibly interacting with spice and that's fine~

Drop a like or kudos if you enjoyed the piece, it takes a second and means the world~

Leaving a comment, even a couple of silly words of "I loved it" is great!

Leaving a longer comment, picking out your favourite parts? That is the kind of boost that lasts weeks darlings it really does.

Sharing the work is also a big boost, whether publicly or privately to friend/fan groups, but especially when sharing art/images please share the link with it not just the image or a screenshot~ let people find and appreciate the artist.

Follow or Subscribe or Turn on notifications if you really want to see more of their work, then you can interact sooner and give that much needed boost~

Try to be patient, especially with longer or higher effort works. Expressing excitement is a boost, but just be careful you're not putting too much pressure on the creator. We do have things going on behind the screen that can delay our plans at times.

Consider dropping an interaction on something else, or check in on how they're doing in general - a little kindness outside of just the works being produced can be a boost too!

The Grand Finale of the Rollercoaster

Thank you for staying with me to the end darlings, I know this was likely a bit of an emotional ride, but please do drop in some comments or reblogs with the other things you experience and how you handle the emotional whirlwind of being a fan creator. Always remember, you are valued for more than just what you can produce, your works are adored but the person behind them is worth so much more and always will be. Look after yourselves, I love you dearly~

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW - Always Remember Us This Way (Romanogers AU)

Artwork by @faith2nyc Part III of the So It Goes... 'verse

“These are the occupancy numbers for the month?”

Natasha’s lips curl up into a smirk as Loki peruses the latest report on the tablet. “Try the entire Summer.”

Loki’s eyes dart to her. “You don’t say,” he says, a smile spreading across his face when she nods in confirmation. He hands the tablet back, and the pride that fills his expression is difficult to miss as he leans back against the couch cushions. “Seems our little experiment is working.”

“Maybe a little,” she says, causing them both to chuckle.

If working meant blowing projections out of the water, then that’s absolutely what their experiment – that is, throwing rolling, invitation-only events at each revamped Red Guardian property – is currently doing. Their Las Vegas property had benefited from a surge of bookings following the opening of the Red Room, and if there’s anything she’s gleaned from the sudden resurgence of their once ailing asset, it’s that there’s still cache in the hotels that her parents had built. The waning interest of their patrons in recent years had nothing to do with them tiring of their prime locations but with the predictable, cookie-cutter experiences they were offering. After all, luxury hotels on the Strip were a dime a dozen in Sin City. But crown one with an ultra-exclusive rooftop club and suddenly everyone is clamoring for an invitation.

Needless to say, they had taken that concept and ran with it, applying it next to Red Guardian’s hotel in Milan. Following the rebuild of its grand ballroom and the subsequent Masquerade Ball that Loki’s company had arranged with every celebrity and socialite in attendance, what was once considered a hemorrhaging outpost in their portfolio is now a go-to destination in the North of Italy – a fact she’ll happily highlight at her next meeting with the board.

“So, where to next?” Loki asks, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “Tokyo? Dubai? Oh, what about Ibiza?” He sighs. “A couple of glasses of tinto de Verano under the Iberian sun sounds heavenly right about now.”

“Are we picking our next project or your next vacation?” she says with a scoff.

Loki rolls his eyes. “One day, darling, you will learn to play as hard as you work.”

“Who’s to say I don’t?”

Intrigue colors Loki’s face, but before he can ask one of the hundreds of questions she knows is already forming in his mind, a knock causes them both to look towards the doorway of her living room to see Steve standing there, a folder clutched between his fingers.

“Mr. Rogers,” Loki greets cheerfully. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” Steve says, and she doesn’t miss the way his tone sounds more formal than usual. She offers him a little smile when he turns her way, but it does nothing to dislodge his humorless expression. “When you have a minute, I’d like to go over the preliminary background check for your potential client.”

“The one who requested to meet with us tomorrow?” Loki clarifies before she can respond, earning a nod from Steve. “Since when do we run background checks on clients?”

“Since it’s become clear that security’s been a little too lax as of late,” Steve says, to which Loki arches a brow at. “Safety isn’t something we’re going to trivialize.”

“We can go over that report right now,” she says before Loki can say anything more, tapping his foot with her own in an attempt to get the man to shut up. From her periphery, she catches the confused stare Loki sends her way, but she ignores it as she directs Steve’s attention back to her. “We’re just about done here anyway.”

Steve walks further into the living room at that, stopping just in front of her coffee table to hand her the folder. As she opens it up, Loki scoots closer to her, peering over her shoulder as they both study the picture clipped to the corner of the report. The woman in the image couldn’t be much older than she is, her striking features breathtaking. Everything from her flawless, porcelain skin to her gray eyes that are wide and piercing – a stark contrast to the dark curls cascading down her shoulders – made for an intriguing sight.

“Her name is Viper?” she asks as she unclips the photo to read the rest of the information on the page.

“Yes and no,” Steve says, prompting her arch a brow. “Viper is her online persona, but her real name is Ophelia Sarkissian.” He gestures towards the rest of the report. “If you turn a few pages, there are some screenshots from her social media profiles. She made a name for herself by reviewing cosmetics for the eleven million followers she has across all platforms.”

Loki lets out a low whistle. “That’s quite a following.”

“Which is why she may be looking to capitalize on it,” Steve says. “She recently filed an LLC for a company called Viper Cosmetics.”

“Finally putting her doctorate to use,” she notes, reading over Ophelia’s accomplishments that include multiple PhDs on top of being a board-certified chemist. “Filing for an LLC is literally step one in putting up a company, though. Why would she want to meet with us already?”

“Probably to secure a venue for her when she’s ready to launch,” Steve says. “Between Vegas and Milan, the uptick in your occupancy has been all over the news.”

She rolls her lips, considering the thought before looking at Loki. “She’s not our usual clientele.”

“True, but it could be a good way to get our hands into that industry,” Loki offers.

“I suppose,” she says. “What else do we know about her?”

“At the moment, not much more than what’s in that file,” Steve admits, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice. “But like I said, this is just a preliminary check. The team and I haven’t found anything online that’s raised any red flags either, so as long as the meeting is in our territory, we don’t see an issue with tomorrow’s meeting.”

“I trust you,” she says, watching the way the tension in his shoulders ease ever so slightly at her words.

The faintest of smiles cross his lips, and she’s glad when that softens his worry-hardened expression. “I’ve also reached out to my contact at the FBI to see if she can find anything. Just in case.”

“Well,” Loki says, “I, for one, already feel very safe.”

This time, she doesn’t even think twice about joining Steve in sending him a glare, shaking her head when Loki only whips out his phone in response, scrolling through it unbothered. She looks back at Steve. “You’ll let me know if she finds anything?”

“Of course,” he says, checking his watch. “I’m actually going to meet with her this evening. Sam’s right at the door, but I’ll be in first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, feeling a sudden wave of disappointment at the idea. Even so, she musters a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight,” he says before turning to leave.

She watches his figure retreat down the hall until it disappears from her view as he turns the corner, and it’s only when the telltale sound of the front door opening and then clicking shut fills the room that Loki turns to her. “Has he always had that stick up his ass or did he put one up there today just for me?”

She leans her head back, sighing. “He’s been this way since we got back.”

“You’ve been back for weeks,” Loki says, smirking as he adds, “I thought he’d be a giant ball of sunshine after your little side trip.” She turns to him to send a glare his way. Needing someone to confide in after the events in Vegas, she’d told him about the true nature of her relationship with Steve. And while in hindsight, she should’ve known her best friend could not help but meddle, she was still a touch surprised when he’d admitted in return that he had some hand in setting things in motion. Nevertheless, she’s glad to have someone to talk to about all of this now – even if she is, at present, regretting the decision as she catches the mischievous glint that sparkles in Loki’s eyes. “Did you two have your first little domestic up in the mountains?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Those three days…” she trails, reminiscing. “Well, they were perfect.”

She isn’t even being hyperbolic. Short as the trip they had decided to take after the event in Milan was, there really isn’t any other word to describe the days she and Steve spent alone together in her cabin in the Alps. With her phone forgotten in the deepest crevice of her luggage, it’s as though time spanned endlessly, allowing them to explore every nook and cranny of the little remote village they found themselves in. And with no one to recognize her, there hadn’t been a need for them to hide. They spent the days walking in and out of the quaint shops, sipping on mulled wine, and stealing kisses as they huddled for warmth. Then as the night rolled around, they would find themselves retiring by the fire, where they would talk and laugh and eventually find their way into each other’s arms again. Those days were nothing short of blissful, and she couldn’t think of a time where she’d felt so happy. So complete.

“What’s changed then?” Loki asks.

She sighs, recalling the exact moment in the car ride back home from the airport where she felt their euphoric little bubble burst right in the backseat of the SUV. “When we got home, his team told us that someone had sent me letters,” she says. “They were similar to the ones my stalker had sent me in the past.”

“Natasha,” Loki says, every trace of his upbeat mood gone as he sits up straighter, grabbing her hand. “Are you alright? If you’re in danger again-”

“I’m okay, Loki,” she says, finding that she truly does mean her words as she squeezes his hand back in reassurance. She’d been paralyzed with fear the first time she’d received those letters, and even more so when that maniac had found a way to corner her in the elevator bank way back when. But things are different now. She’s capable of fighting back, of protecting herself. And now she has Steve, who along with his team, she trusts whole-heartedly to never let anything like that happen to her again. “The guy’s been apprehended. Steve… well, he and his team made sure of it.”

“I’m relieved,” Loki says. “Though I suspect he isn’t.”

She shakes her head, running a hand tiredly over her face. “He’s been… distant?” she says, trying the word out for size. “He’s here, watching me and our surroundings like a hawk, but at the same time it feels like he’s a million miles away.”

“He cares about you. Deeply.”

“And I feel the same way about him,” she says, her answer coming to her almost instantly before she finds herself admitting the one thought that’s been weighing on her since the jet touched down in Teterboro last week. “I just wish we never came home.”

A beat of silence hangs over them before Loki sighs. “Natasha,” he says, “I understand why the two of you have been keeping things under the radar, but… would it really be the worst thing? The two of you out in the open?”

For a moment, she can only stare at her friend, contemplating his question. “I don’t know,” she says eventually.

Full chapter coming soon...

[renegade-skywalker]

A snippet from my massive kotor 2 epic, Out of the Abyss, where Atton and Eden share a moment aboard the Ebon Hawk but are interrupted by floating space debris on the approach to Dantooine courtesy of Malak from the first game, haunting the narrative almost as much as Revan is because even in death the man hates to be upstaged

~~~

Atton couldn’t tell which was stranger - the knowing or the not knowing. 

He watched Eden as she examined the nav computer from the corner of his eye, tracing the outline of her as if to match her present self to the stolen one still buried in his memory, wrenched from the mental depths of the mark he’d beaten and turned on Revan’s orders. It fit but also didn’t, lining up in places he did not expect and differing in ways that surprised him further still. But it was the coincidence of it all that unnerved him most, the pieces of his past fitting uncomfortably into place the longer he was in the woman’s presence.

“So,” Eden began, her glance skewing sideward as if detecting his gaze. “What’s our ETA?”

“Uh,” Atton sputtered, turning his attention towards the controls in a way he hoped conveyed that it had always been there. “Less than an hour, looks like.”

Dantooine was a place Atton had never ventured, nor had he ever wanted to. People generally didn’t. From what he knew, it was a fringe world on the cusp of the Outer Rim, known mostly for its farming and for its Jedi. Two things Atton had made a career of avoiding at all costs. 

“An hour,” Eden turned the phrase over, considering it. “Alright.”

Atton afforded her a genuine glance now, unafraid if she noticed this time, and furrowed his brow. She was tracing the trade routes again, and from what he could spy from the pilot’s chair, she was currently examining the backwater Myto's Arrow with a careful hand. Atton knew that route by heart, mentally reiterating its coordinate path in his mind as he watched Eden do so with her index finger. 

“A lot’s changed in the last ten years,” Atton said, taking a stab at what mired Eden’s mind. She’d been standing behind him for the better part of the last hour, entranced by the map as if she’d never seen one before. “Must be strange.”

“Hmm,” Eden hummed in somber affirmation, her posture wilting slightly. She cocked her head the other way, as if the map might betray something else from that angle. Judging by the way she then shook her head, Atton figured it didn’t. “I never thought about it ‘til now, but to see it all laid out in little informational blurbs and data, it’s just-”

Eden sighed.

“I forgot the rest of the galaxy kept moving.”

Atton had no follow-up to this. Instead, he internally cataloged what planets had since joined the Republic and which routes had changed in the last ten years as if it were a new mental exercise to add to his ongoing repertoire of meticulous distractions. Even the last five years alone were eventful in that regard, and with the Peragus depot now having been exploded out of existence…

“So it goes,” Atton sighed himself, pushing away from the pilot’s console and standing up. His lower back popped with a satisfying crack followed in quick succession by his shoulders snapping out of their shared stasis upon stretching. 

“I feel like I need to do that to my brain,” Eden commented with an air of jealousy.

Atton laughed breathily before turning back to the white-blue expanse of hyperspace, his face feeling hot. 

“Don’t we all?”

He counted the planets again in his mind, surprised with just how much he remembered. Even when his mind was elsewhere, Atton was always paying attention. It came in handy when your main reaction to the going getting tough was running away to the place no one would ever find you. He’d done it to escape his mother, then the Republic, followed by the Sith, and now anyone looking to cash in on the debt Atton hoped was wiped out with the destruction of Peragus, so long as Luxa was good on her word. If he wanted to keep running, it helped to have a running tab of where he might disappear to next.

“It’ll be weird, being back,” Eden said, turning from the computer and instead standing near the co-pilot’s chair. “I haven’t been to Dantooine since before I joined the war, and even then, the place changed so much before my exile.”

Eden stared out the window, no doubt imagining both a remembered version of the planet as well as a predicted version of what they were about to discover. After a beat, she smiled, and her gaze met Atton’s. He shivered just as she said, “You’ll hate it there.”

“Oh?” If Atton’s face was already hot, it was searing now. “Know me so well already, do you?”

He not only repeated Myto's Arrow in his mind, but simulated a version of Eden tracing its trade route alongside it. Examining Eden was easier inside his own head, not to mention there was less of a chance he’d get caught staring again. 

Eden shrugged. 

“I’d like to think so,” she said with a slight smile. “You seem to have a pretty solid grasp on me.”

Do I?

Atton only furrowed his brow further at her and walked over to the navicomputer himself, unsure of how he felt to be in such close proximity to Eden even if a baser part of him yearned for it. The longer he traveled with her, the more it became an unavoidable certainty. Maybe delaying the inevitable would help him build up a tolerance, like to the juma he so desperately craved.

“What makes you say that?”

He was genuinely curious. Atton had always prided himself on reading people. It was the main reason Malak had selected him for Revan’s Sith task force, and the reason his father harbored any relationship with him as a child if only for his knack at counting cards and scrutinizing his gambling opponents. It was the reason Atton was of any use to anybody, and if he could be that for Eden too, well…

“You have a knack for anticipating what I might do next,” she said, sounding both bashfully awed yet undeniably somber, almost suspicious. “And even when you don’t, you-”

Eden paused as she turned to face him. Her brow knotted as her eyes narrowed, glowing silver in the light of the navicomputer as she tilted her head ever so slightly. Atton had every opportunity to avert his gaze but instead he held his ground, pleasantly surprised when Eden’s eyes met his. He allowed himself to be observed, to be read, even if in the confines of his mind he was still relaying coordinates and trade routes. But it remained only a vibration beneath it all, a soundtrack to the way he was reading Eden’s expression in turn, taking in the sight of the endearingly messy waves of her hair, the curve of her face, the cut of her jaw, and the way her eyes shone through the thick of her lashes over the crest of her freckled cheekbones while she examined him and thought of what to say next. 

“I what?” Atton implored, trying not to sound so interested, trying not to imagine what it might be like to trace Eden’s features with his hands instead of his eyes, skin to skin, and how her body might feel against his. 

A feeling washed over Atton, like a question and a comfort both, borne outside himself and instead from the orbit he shared with Eden now.

“You always have my back,” Eden finished, uttering the statement as if a question mark should have accentuated its end, her query only half-realized when she spoke it aloud. Atton tried to imagine the woman before him leading armies, slaughtering thousands with the saber she’d described. This version of her now, wide-eyed and vulnerable? No, never. But the version he’d seen at Lopak Slusk’s throat, face covered in blood, heat radiating off her in a way that was both cold and calculated yet raw and rending? Without a doubt. 

There are those who wage war, Kreia had said back in the cell, an image of a younger Eden superseding the version that Atton saw now, a version of her that was both imagined and true, seen through the eyes of her brother. And those who follow them.

He thought of Eden back at the military base, alternating between retching at the sight of death and conversely being the perpetrator of it. Two sides of a coin that did not match yet completed the coin nonetheless.

“Why’s that?” Eden asked, her voice whispersoft. Her eyes fluttered, surprised by her question just as Atton was, a storm brewing in his chest at the sight of her. Eden’s gaze flickered across Atton’s features, only stoic because he was now internally playing his favorite Pazaak game from start to finish, his brain humming with satisfied calm in the wake of his habitual dopamine loop. “It’s not like you owe me anything.”

She asked it as if it weren’t deserved. As if she hadn’t saved his life. As if she’d done something wrong. 

She had, of course, at Malachor. But Atton wasn’t about to say that. 

And perhaps he never would. At least not yet.

“The only reason I’m not rotting in some forgotten force cage is because of you,” he muttered. 

He imagined Corr Desyk’s horror-struck face moments before utter obliteration, his entire squadron turned to dust as Malachor’s surface decayed a thousand years’ worth of rot in an instant, and the smile of the Jedi he killed later, blood curdling on her lips as she bestowed Jaq with what she thought was a gift but was instead a curse he’d carried for years after, her words weighing heavier now than ever before -  You are a survivor, through and through. Your allegiances tell as much. 

“I owe you my life, but don’t worry. I won’t be dramatic about it.” Atton feigned a lilted, charming smile. “Promise.”

He’d always had a knack of latching onto people who would ensure his survival, even if a part of him yearned for death. It was never out of any desire for it, but out of obligation, those he left behind often paying the debt in his stead. His mother. His squadron. Corr Desyk. Even Revan and Malak perished not long after he escaped their elite forces.

Atton wondered if Eden could sense all of this, feel it in the ether between them despite the coordinates and the power couplings and the Pazaak hands running amok in his brain otherwise, not quite drowning his thoughts out but distorting the feed like a faulty radio signal. But all he felt in her presence was instead an undeniable tranquility, almost like being drugged or lulled to sleep, just as he had been by that HK back on Peragus…

Only in Eden’s presence, submission felt… nice.

Atton swallowed. Hard.

But it is your connection to the Force you must thank, for it is the reason you yet live.

“Your decision to stay is saving me more than you know,” Eden offered with a half-laugh, a blush overcoming her features in a way that endeared Atton to her more than he wanted to admit. Atton mirrored her unwittingly, unable to stop himself. It was as if he’d lost control of his body even if his mind remained his own, unlike when Kreia entered it uninvited. It wasn’t entirely different, but it also wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. 

Different versions of Eden swam in his vision, both in the real and within the confines of Atton’s mind - memory that both did and did not belong to him mingling until they merged into one. Whatever pieces felt wrong clicked into place now as goosebumps rose along Atton’s arms. She was both the villain of his past as well as his present savior - neither ruling out the other but coexisting seamlessly as if the universe suddenly made sense, as if his accidental birth, his mistake of a life and his every escape from death in the mess of its aftermath were all given sudden purpose.

“I don’t know what it is but you look… different ,” he said, the thought occurring to him as he spoke. This, too, was unbidden, speaking as if possessed. She did look different, but also very much the same. Eden only made more sense to him now, and Atton wasn’t yet sure what that meant for him. “It’s almost as if - ah, nevermind.”

This he had control over. This he could stop in its tracks. Though why Atton had no clue, and no time to question it. His mind was moving faster than he could translate, quicker than any string of coordinates he’d memorized to drown it all out. Eden - not only every facet of her being but every bit of him and where he fit in the kaleidoscope that was her - here and now, but also where their pasts lined up, parallel but never perpendicular, crossing only now, but why? And where would that lead?

��C’mon,” Eden pleaded, playfully punching Atton in the arm, her hand lingering over his elbow before pulling away. “Let me be the judge.”

Atton mulled it over, his eyes roaming Eden’s features again as if there were some detail he’d missed. 

“It’s like…” he began, the air between them both solidifying as if in amber but also dissipating as if they were dissolving into nothing but space dust, “It's like you've got this glow, but only when I see you out of the corner of my eye.”

Atton shook his head.

“It’s hard to explain, but it’s, uh,” his mind reeled, sensation and sentiment folding into one, intermingling to the point that he could not tell between the two of them, his mind brimming with numbers otherwise. “It’s good to see.”

Eden bit her lip, blushing further before betraying the smallest yet most self-indulgent smile Atton had seen yet.

“You can thank Chodo Habat for that,” Eden said. “I… I think I feel more in touch with the Force than I’ve maybe ever been.”

Eden shook her head, disbelief coloring her every gesture as her gaze receded to the middle distance and no doubt into memory. But the air between them still felt warm, comforting. Atton wanted to question it, to distrust it. Though much like Eden, he could not recall a time in which he’d felt more at ease.

“You do seem pretty calm,” Atton admitted softly, moving ever so much closer to her, yearning to feel Eden’s skin against his. Eden’s gaze only met his again, her eyes wide, moving none as Atton neared, as if wanting it, too. “A lot calmer than you were on Peragus when I first met you, at least.”

“Really?” Eden asked. She scrunched up her face slightly, her incredulity genuine. 

Atton nodded, again feeling like a willing puppet, unable to control his every impulse when this close in Eden’s proximity.

“It’s practically streaming off of you,” Atton admitted with a breathy laugh. And it was true - everything Atton had learned about the Force told him to be cautious, forever wary and always on edge. His mind a vault with no way to worm oneself in. And despite Kreia’s ability to breach his otherwise steadfast defenses, he felt himself melt in Eden’s presence, soothed by her smile and the pacific sensation radiating off her, reassuring and warm like the sun. 

“I-” Eden faltered, choking on her own words. She searched inward, unassuming, before resurfacing with the explanation, “I don’t think I’ve felt this good in a long time, actually.”

It felt like a secret, and Atton liked that.

“Well, it shows,” he said. “You’re a nice counterbalance to that old witch back there.”

He hadn’t meant to say it, but he warmed at the sight of Eden smiling in response, overcome with a bashful laugh that lit up her face, but especially her eyes. Her eyes - her painfully familiar eyes.

“Don’t tell Kreia I said this either,” Eden murmured, her smile fading thankfully little, cementing the secret between them as she leaned towards him and half-whispered, “There’s a lesson in this somewhere, but for now I’m just glad I don’t feel like I’m drowning. At least not as much as before.”

Eden shook her head.

“You probably have no idea what I’m talking about,” Eden sighed, “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Atton breathed, the words tumbling out despite being a lie as he reigned in his growing desire to reach out and touch her. But beneath the warmth of his desire was something colder, something that struck a chord of fear within him just as the ship lurched, jolting out of hyperspace ahead of schedule.

Before Atton could read into the feeling, the Ebon Hawk careened into a field of debris, a few pieces precariously striking its hull and sending them sideward. Without thinking, Atton reached out for Eden, steadying her with his hands as he eased them into the corner beside the pilot’s chair, anchoring them there and preventing them from falling by hooking each of the heels of his boots behind the console and around the base of the seat. 

Eden had not only fallen into his arms but against Atton entirely, her torso pressed to his as the ship slanted sideways before eventually righting itself. Only Eden did not relieve herself of Atton’s questing grasp right away. Instead, she lingered. And Atton was in no rush to push her away. 

“You okay?” he asked.

She was surprisingly soft despite how solid she was, the sinew of her muscle evident even beneath the layers of her clothing and his. But there was an ease to their closeness that surprised Atton more than anything, an equilibrium he did not expect. His eyes met Eden’s and her gaze softened beneath his heavy-lidded stare. Eden eventually nodded.

“Fine,” she breathed. “You?”

Atton held Eden’s gaze a moment longer before blinking and nodding in turn, regrettably tearing his eyes away from her to cast about the cockpit, squinting against the duraglass in search of the ship’s unusual disruption.

“What was that?” he asked.

He was still holding Eden in his arms, but the woman made no motion to leave, her eyes following his out the window.

“No idea, but-” Eden paused, a startled choke erupting from her throat a moment after.

Atton turned to her once more, again unnerved by how comfortable he felt being this close to her, at how natural it felt, and how unquestioningly Eden remained there as she searched for words. Her eyes remained fixed on the duraglass this time, honing in on a hovering object now floating into view of the cockpit.

“Debris,” Eden said, her voice hoarse. “From… Malak. ”

The name sounded alien on her tongue, wrong. As if she’d never once uttered it before. Atton didn’t question it as his mind put the pieces together. Scorched matter slowly circuited the ship as it now hung in the planet’s orbit, no doubt the remaining aftermath of Darth Malak’s attack on Dantooine some years ago. Were it not for the planet now crowding the view, the vision was not that far off from the ruins of Peragus.

“Do you have any landing codes for us?” Atton asked, easing his grip on Eden though moving away from her none, regretting its inevitability whilst simultaneously recoiling from the contact as if he might soil her. Not that her soul was any cleaner than his. “Did your friends share anything useful?”

Eden nodded, eventually shaking her head as she looked down. She paused, as if examining their proximity and deciphering its meaning before backing slowly away. Eden only moved an inch out of Atton’s grasp, the resulting emptiness all the heavier for her closeness despite it. 

“They did, yeah,” she said. 

Eden shook her head again, all calm dissolving for a moment before the stillness returned to her; another look for the books. Atton mentally clocked her expression again, as if studying her like an animal, yearning to feel her weight against his again while also fearing it, unsure what might transpire should it happen again. 

Atton remained at the ready, prepared to catch Eden again if need-be while also awaiting her answer. 

You will not find blind obedience a difficult master. 

The need didn’t come, but there was satisfaction in the act of it. 

You chose it once. 

“You ready for the input?” Eden asked as if the last few moments hadn’t happened. 

“Ready whenever you are,” Atton nodded as he leaned over the controls, roused with absolute assurance.

You will learn to embrace it again. 

[pileofsith]

Hello there (no pun intended),

I do not have any questions regarding the Grand Inquisitor/Nameless comic per se (which reminds me of the fact that I still need to leave a comment on Ao3), but I just wanted to say that you rewired my brain with the page on which Tion Medon talks about a young Grand Inquisitor being taken in by the Jedi without him knowing that the guy in front of him is actually the person in question (and the Grand Inquisitor looking kinda like a kicked puppy). I'm especially obsessed with the line "Very polite child, very sweet, but so very timid." due to the sharp contrast to who and what the Grand Inquisitor has become. 

On another note: I also love that one piece of yours that depicts the Grand Inquisitor scrambling on the floor, all bloodied up, after Darth Vader backhanded him as punishment for his failure on Lothal, because it just makes so much sense, especially after reading Charles Soule's Darth Vader series (2017). The way the Inquisitors are depicted as both abuser and abused in it is really fascinating, which makes me wonder whether Vader ever maimed the Grand Inquisitor like he did with the other Inquisitors. Do you have any thoughts on that? Also sorry if I'm assuming too much! You referenced the Grand Inquisitor's strained relationship with Jocasta Nu very early into the Grand Inquisitor/Nameless comic and since it was a bigger plot point in the Darth Vader series (2017), it felt like a natural conclusion. I'm currently trying to finish a little character study on the Grand Inquisitor, which is mainly based on that source, and your comic was a very big inspiration for me to even try writing down the first draft.

Either way, have a nice rest of the day! Can't wait to see more from you!

Hello! Huge thanks for your awesome ask and your kind words, made my day! Thank you for reading the comic!

And please do share what you'll create for your character study, I'd love to read it! :)

So: I have only read a few snippets from the comic series, but have definitely used them as a basis to expand on the Inquisitor's character - I'd love to read the whole thing, however, I don't know where to find it!

"The way the Inquisitors are depicted as both abuser and abused is really fascinating" <- This is 100% my opinion, too! I have a lot of thoughts about them that I have a hard time putting into words, but this really sums it up, thank you!

For my comic, I admit I am definitely woobifying him a bit, but I can't really help that when I write stuff about villains, I just tend to make everything three shades nicer than in the source material. :-/

But I do try to keep his main personality intact, I just glaze it over with a more sympathetic view than I expect a canon explanation could offer.

This is the pic you referred to, if anyone's wondering (it's super old but still checks out, lol):

I do not think Vader ever maimed him like the others, but I think he would have opportunities to casually injure or torture him, if he ever feels like it the Grand Inquisitor goes out of line. Having said that, I do think the Pau'an seems to be perpetually aware of the risks in working with Vader, as he does carefully defy some of Vader's decisions with a verbal objection, but he never tries to contradict him further if his input is dismissed.

My pet theory is that neither Reva nor the Grand Inquisitor were ever maimed as a lesson in loss because they had both already survived loss events that filled them with enough rage: for Reva, it's the massacre of her Temple friends. For the Grand Inquisitor, it's the end (betrayal?) of the Jedi Temple Guards he was dedicated to.

I also find it interesting how Vader reframes his own greatest "weakness" in Jedi terms - dealing healthily with loss - into a template for how to teach others how to turn into darksiders.

I generally think Vader treats imperial inquisitors similar to imperial officers - useful if competent, but ultimately expendable, and free to use as a squeaky toy to vent frustrations. For the Grand Inquisitor, since the Pau'an is really arrogant and thinks so highly of his own intellect, the most efficient way to put him in his place would be for Vader to flaunt his own Sith powers against the Pau'an's humble dependence on him, to deny him some knowledge or to humiliate/humble him in some way...

About "Very polite child, very sweet, but so very timid":

When Jocasta and the Grand Inquisitor fight in that comic, he says something along the lines of how he never felt he belonged among the Jedi. I thought that was a really good starting point to imagine his life decisions. What brought him from being wholly dedicated to protecting Jedi, to becoming a hunter of the very group he vowed to protect? It's such a contrast! There has to be some nice, meaty psychology there to dig into and explore.

I imagined him as a subconsciously lonely sort of child, being from a much longer-lived species than anyone else (and in an Order that values detachment, perhaps one would diagnose that as a problem), so that when he grew into a detached, bookish individual, he sought to gain belonging in the Temple Guard as a permanent fixture around which to base his whole life. But then the Jedi Order starts shaking at its foundations, and he wants to escape, but his particular ~*°special-secret-Force-magic°*~ vows to the Temple do not make it possible to just walk away like Ahsoka or Dooku did. And that leads to inner tensions and a pull to the Dark Side, eventually.